Wednesday, Bird had his six-year check-up. Slacker mom that I am, I waited until too late to get an appointment anywhere near his sixth birthday, but at least this way we avoided the flu shot! He is just a little above average for height and a fair bit above average for weight, but not to worry - he's probably going to grow a foot in the next month. Heck, he's already outgrown the size 13 (kids) sandals I bought him two months ago - he'll be in size ones this fall, I know it. Oh, well - he won't need swim fins, then.
He also had a vaccination for Hepatitis A, but only after I had a good look at the information about it and got clarification at some of the ingredients. You know it's obscure when you stump the doctor and she has to go look it up! He said "Ow!" and looked offended at the shot, but otherwise was a trooper, and so far (knock wood) hasn't had any deleterious effects from it.
Meanwhile, Mum and I are on St. Simon's Island , exploring (to us) new worlds. We'll be here until Sunday. She has her computer along, and I hope to blog every day (perhaps even with pictures!), but in case I don't - see you Sunday evening!
*Edit - can you tell I pre-blogged this??
Friday, March 27, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
St. Simon's, Arrival Day
So we're here, and Mum's computer can tap into my beloved Internet - woo-hoo!
To get here, we had to drive through some farm country - namely, onion and pecan farming country. I took photos out the window while we were flying along - this was one of the few that didn't also feature my armpit reflected in the side-view mirror. You're welcome.
We also drove through some very small towns. I didn't always have time to wake my camera up before we were through them, but I caught this sign (yeah, I was thinking some dirty, dirty thoughts about it) and...sorry...my armpit. Don't you just love Motels off the beaten path...and the things people name them??
We also saw a lot of forest, most of it obviously planted by people (I'm pretty sure Nature doesn't plant trees in straight rows), probably for lumber or paper. They've had some fires (see the scorched trunks?), and we think they were controlled burns. Most shocking were the large empty places punctuated with piles of tree-debris that looked...barren...nothing but huge piles of trunks and roots heaped on sandy soil. One or two of them were all over purple flowers and looked like a battlefield where Man and Nature fought before the war moved on and the land healed over. I didn't manage any pictures of those areas, but maybe it's better that way. They were depressing.
We finally reached the coast and rolled onto the causeway that leads to St. Simon's. In the distance was the bridge that leads one to the Jekyll Island causeway. It's isn't a very good shot - I was twisted around sideways and backwards and trying to focus on a somewhat bumpy road - but if you can enlarge it you'll see the beautiful bridge that, to me, looks like it has sails. Also, there's all that awesome salt marsh. I just adore marsh grasses and all their muted, lovely colors!
The sign announces the distance to Fort Frederica, one of the sites Mum and I are looking forward to (especially as it was recommended by my Aunt S as a fine place to explore, and maybe see a few spirits from the past overlaying the place as it is today).
We found our Motel without much trouble, despite the Garmin (we call her Nigella) experiencing some confusion regarding the roundabout that she thought should be there...but was closed for paving!
After checking in (and completely flustering the poor desk clerk - I don't think he was ready for people as...odd...as we are!) and getting settled (Our room isn't huge, but we won't be in it much, so it's fine - why pay for what you won't be using?? It does have two sinks, one in the bathroom proper and one at a second vanity so one may brush hair or teeth while another bathes. Good thinking!!), we went in search of dinner.
As an aside - Dear St. Simon's Island...street signs would be a nice touch!
Ahem.
We dined at Mullet Bay, a very casual, family oriented, quasi-seafood place. The building interior reminded me of a boat-wright's workspace, large and open with a higher ceiling in the middle for masts and whatnot. It was, I think, designed that way - it's always been a restaurant, according to our waitress. The tables are covered with brown paper, and cups of crayons are provided for some before-dinner art fun. We doodled for a few minutes before our waitress arrived.
We both ordered the boiled shrimp appetizers and salads, and we didn't need entrees. I had the Greek salad, which was loverly...although I did wish it had more onions in it. Mum had the Caesar, which was...well...pretty much a Caesar salad, nothing special but just fine. The shrimp was boiled with Old Bay seasoning, peal and eat, with a lovely cocktail sauce, and at 1/2 pound each, we had plenty!
For drinks, Mum had white wine, which was fine, and I had a Daiquiri which didn't have much booze in it...which was fine with me but maybe not for veteran drinkers who like a little kick with their strawberry slush. For desert, we tried the Key Lime Pie and the Apple Crisp. The pie was nice, mellow, not too tart. The crust was a little soggy, but not too bad. Mine's better. The apple crisp was shaped more like a pie wedge, but it tasted alright. Mine's better.
The service was prompt and friendly, and our waitress checked on us several times during our meal - I always like it when they are a little solicitous without being unctuous. Pricing was moderate to expensive, especially considering the availability of shrimp and other seafood in the area and the lack of complexity in the preparation.
Dinner for two, with drinks but before tip, was about $52.00 - next time I would do without the daiquiri and the desert, maybe find those elsewhere if at all.
After dinner, we had an exploratory jaunt through the dusk to find the Fort. A few wrong turns had us at the Maritime Museum (a completely different part of the island!), but we managed to figure ourselves out and get to the Fort just as full dark was falling. It was closed, but we expected that - we just wanted to see how far it was from the Motel, because it's our first stop tomorrow.
During dinner we planned out the places we'd like to see and put them in order of importance, and I think we may manage them all in two days. We'll see. Tomorrow, Fort Frederica, Christ Church, maybe a graveyard, the Bloody Swamp, and more - and possible and after-hours ghost walk if we're not too tired!
Whew...I'm off to bed, now. Cheers!
To get here, we had to drive through some farm country - namely, onion and pecan farming country. I took photos out the window while we were flying along - this was one of the few that didn't also feature my armpit reflected in the side-view mirror. You're welcome.
We also drove through some very small towns. I didn't always have time to wake my camera up before we were through them, but I caught this sign (yeah, I was thinking some dirty, dirty thoughts about it) and...sorry...my armpit. Don't you just love Motels off the beaten path...and the things people name them??
We also saw a lot of forest, most of it obviously planted by people (I'm pretty sure Nature doesn't plant trees in straight rows), probably for lumber or paper. They've had some fires (see the scorched trunks?), and we think they were controlled burns. Most shocking were the large empty places punctuated with piles of tree-debris that looked...barren...nothing but huge piles of trunks and roots heaped on sandy soil. One or two of them were all over purple flowers and looked like a battlefield where Man and Nature fought before the war moved on and the land healed over. I didn't manage any pictures of those areas, but maybe it's better that way. They were depressing.
We finally reached the coast and rolled onto the causeway that leads to St. Simon's. In the distance was the bridge that leads one to the Jekyll Island causeway. It's isn't a very good shot - I was twisted around sideways and backwards and trying to focus on a somewhat bumpy road - but if you can enlarge it you'll see the beautiful bridge that, to me, looks like it has sails. Also, there's all that awesome salt marsh. I just adore marsh grasses and all their muted, lovely colors!
The sign announces the distance to Fort Frederica, one of the sites Mum and I are looking forward to (especially as it was recommended by my Aunt S as a fine place to explore, and maybe see a few spirits from the past overlaying the place as it is today).
We found our Motel without much trouble, despite the Garmin (we call her Nigella) experiencing some confusion regarding the roundabout that she thought should be there...but was closed for paving!
After checking in (and completely flustering the poor desk clerk - I don't think he was ready for people as...odd...as we are!) and getting settled (Our room isn't huge, but we won't be in it much, so it's fine - why pay for what you won't be using?? It does have two sinks, one in the bathroom proper and one at a second vanity so one may brush hair or teeth while another bathes. Good thinking!!), we went in search of dinner.
As an aside - Dear St. Simon's Island...street signs would be a nice touch!
Ahem.
We dined at Mullet Bay, a very casual, family oriented, quasi-seafood place. The building interior reminded me of a boat-wright's workspace, large and open with a higher ceiling in the middle for masts and whatnot. It was, I think, designed that way - it's always been a restaurant, according to our waitress. The tables are covered with brown paper, and cups of crayons are provided for some before-dinner art fun. We doodled for a few minutes before our waitress arrived.
We both ordered the boiled shrimp appetizers and salads, and we didn't need entrees. I had the Greek salad, which was loverly...although I did wish it had more onions in it. Mum had the Caesar, which was...well...pretty much a Caesar salad, nothing special but just fine. The shrimp was boiled with Old Bay seasoning, peal and eat, with a lovely cocktail sauce, and at 1/2 pound each, we had plenty!
For drinks, Mum had white wine, which was fine, and I had a Daiquiri which didn't have much booze in it...which was fine with me but maybe not for veteran drinkers who like a little kick with their strawberry slush. For desert, we tried the Key Lime Pie and the Apple Crisp. The pie was nice, mellow, not too tart. The crust was a little soggy, but not too bad. Mine's better. The apple crisp was shaped more like a pie wedge, but it tasted alright. Mine's better.
The service was prompt and friendly, and our waitress checked on us several times during our meal - I always like it when they are a little solicitous without being unctuous. Pricing was moderate to expensive, especially considering the availability of shrimp and other seafood in the area and the lack of complexity in the preparation.
Dinner for two, with drinks but before tip, was about $52.00 - next time I would do without the daiquiri and the desert, maybe find those elsewhere if at all.
After dinner, we had an exploratory jaunt through the dusk to find the Fort. A few wrong turns had us at the Maritime Museum (a completely different part of the island!), but we managed to figure ourselves out and get to the Fort just as full dark was falling. It was closed, but we expected that - we just wanted to see how far it was from the Motel, because it's our first stop tomorrow.
During dinner we planned out the places we'd like to see and put them in order of importance, and I think we may manage them all in two days. We'll see. Tomorrow, Fort Frederica, Christ Church, maybe a graveyard, the Bloody Swamp, and more - and possible and after-hours ghost walk if we're not too tired!
Whew...I'm off to bed, now. Cheers!
Thoughtfetti
The hits just keep on coming - in the space of seven days, T lost his job, we found out we have to rebuild the engine of his truck (we were hoping just to replace the cylinder heads, but alas, the engine-gremlins had other, more expensive ideas), Bob the Wonder Computer will need a visit to the Geek Squad (or something similar) to fix the issues...if they can be fixed...the desktop printer just decided to go on strike, and the speakers on Dino the Desktop are suddenly silent, and no amount of plugging, unplugging, and sacrificing of helpless kittens* to the gods of computing has helped, and I swear I saw a cloud of termites hatching out and fluttering around my house this afternoon.
~~~~~
I'm spending the weekend with Mum, out on St. Simon's Island. We've been planning this trip for months and I'm not missing it. We're leaving Thursday, and bless her, she's bringing her computer so I can blog and access e-mail every day - when I'm not out photographing anything that doesn't run away fast enough, that is.
~~~~~
Not all of the best things in life are free - but enough of them are that life can still be good. Bubbles are cheap, free if you make the solution yourself. The flowers a'bloomin' in my yard are beautiful and photogenic, and there's no charge for staring at the lovely moon.
~~~~~
I'm blessed with a strong community of family and friends who have offered to help us if we need it, something that not everyone can claim. For this, I am grateful.
~~~~~
I've invented a new ride - the Redneck Roller Coaster. That's when you put your kid in the back of a pickup truck and go up and down a hilly neighborhood street**, eliciting shrieks and giggles from the back. Not that I did that - I totally held onto the Evil Genius the whole time. Ahem.
* No kittens were harmed in the writing of this post or the futzing with the computer.
** A street ending in a cul-de-sac with almost no traffic in a tiny, quiet neighborhood, and yes, it's totally against the law here so please don't narcme the person who did this out.
~~~~~
I'm spending the weekend with Mum, out on St. Simon's Island. We've been planning this trip for months and I'm not missing it. We're leaving Thursday, and bless her, she's bringing her computer so I can blog and access e-mail every day - when I'm not out photographing anything that doesn't run away fast enough, that is.
~~~~~
Not all of the best things in life are free - but enough of them are that life can still be good. Bubbles are cheap, free if you make the solution yourself. The flowers a'bloomin' in my yard are beautiful and photogenic, and there's no charge for staring at the lovely moon.
~~~~~
I'm blessed with a strong community of family and friends who have offered to help us if we need it, something that not everyone can claim. For this, I am grateful.
~~~~~
I've invented a new ride - the Redneck Roller Coaster. That's when you put your kid in the back of a pickup truck and go up and down a hilly neighborhood street**, eliciting shrieks and giggles from the back. Not that I did that - I totally held onto the Evil Genius the whole time. Ahem.
* No kittens were harmed in the writing of this post or the futzing with the computer.
** A street ending in a cul-de-sac with almost no traffic in a tiny, quiet neighborhood, and yes, it's totally against the law here so please don't narc
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Minutes and Days
It is morning, quiet, the house still, holding its breath, anticipating the coming day. Three cats are curled beside me, purring commas, delighted to fill the space between me and the man sleeping next to me (turned on his side, deeply asleep, unaware of the world outside the dreams swirling through his head).
The room is shaded, but not dark, a sort of halfway light that could be dawn, could be dusk, could be any of the in-between times of day when the eyes can't tell the time and a clock must do the trick.
I pet the cats, careful not to startle them into frantic, charged motion - I don't want them launching themselves from my leg, or his, digging claws in for purchase, leaving behind unwanted racing stripes.
I close my eyes for a few more minutes, drift between minds and places, float a bit before returning. How long was I gone? It felt like hours, but only minutes have passed.
There are minutes like that in every day - minutes stretched to their limits, full to bursting, suspending their normal tick and tock to hang in breathlessness, endless. Bad news, good news, no news, minutes that take forever to unpause and get moving into the next hour.
Then there are the days...days that boom across the hours, racing in their anxiety to be spent, done, to push through and pass the baton to the next span of the sun's journey. I wake, on these sprinting days, and suddenly I find myself readying for bed - despite all the long minutes between times, the day is done and I wonder where it has gone.
It is March, nearly April, and the balloon from Bird's birthday still hovers at the end of its ribbon tether, depleted but proud. I am caught, still in January when the shiny Mylar was plump, and new, and now, when it hangs like a soap bubble, not entirely sure what is keeping it up.
I'm hanging in time like that balloon, like the bubbles, caught between the dawn of creation and the end that, with a surety, is a sudden pop! before it all begins again.
Whirling in a mix of eternal minutes and rushing days, year passing years, gone before I've had a moment to grasp them, make them mine before releasing them again.
The room is shaded, but not dark, a sort of halfway light that could be dawn, could be dusk, could be any of the in-between times of day when the eyes can't tell the time and a clock must do the trick.
I pet the cats, careful not to startle them into frantic, charged motion - I don't want them launching themselves from my leg, or his, digging claws in for purchase, leaving behind unwanted racing stripes.
I close my eyes for a few more minutes, drift between minds and places, float a bit before returning. How long was I gone? It felt like hours, but only minutes have passed.
There are minutes like that in every day - minutes stretched to their limits, full to bursting, suspending their normal tick and tock to hang in breathlessness, endless. Bad news, good news, no news, minutes that take forever to unpause and get moving into the next hour.
Then there are the days...days that boom across the hours, racing in their anxiety to be spent, done, to push through and pass the baton to the next span of the sun's journey. I wake, on these sprinting days, and suddenly I find myself readying for bed - despite all the long minutes between times, the day is done and I wonder where it has gone.
It is March, nearly April, and the balloon from Bird's birthday still hovers at the end of its ribbon tether, depleted but proud. I am caught, still in January when the shiny Mylar was plump, and new, and now, when it hangs like a soap bubble, not entirely sure what is keeping it up.
I'm hanging in time like that balloon, like the bubbles, caught between the dawn of creation and the end that, with a surety, is a sudden pop! before it all begins again.
Whirling in a mix of eternal minutes and rushing days, year passing years, gone before I've had a moment to grasp them, make them mine before releasing them again.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Haikuties
Roll of white paper
The empty spindle awaits
Your tidy presence
~~~~~
The counter's no place
For a toilet paper roll
So why is it there?
~~~~~
Dishes in the sink
Will wait a little longer
Now it's time to play
~~~~~
Laundry in baskets
Waiting for agitation
Spin cycle and dry
~~~~~
Small cat, soft and sweet
Suddenly a giant is
Sleeping on my bed
The empty spindle awaits
Your tidy presence
~~~~~
The counter's no place
For a toilet paper roll
So why is it there?
~~~~~
Dishes in the sink
Will wait a little longer
Now it's time to play
~~~~~
Laundry in baskets
Waiting for agitation
Spin cycle and dry
~~~~~
Small cat, soft and sweet
Suddenly a giant is
Sleeping on my bed
Monday, March 23, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Somtimes I'm a bloomin' idiot...
...and sometimes I'm just bloomin'.
I found this cute quiz while blog-hopping (Foolery to Camp Cactus on Slim Jim day - go check it out if you don't already know about Slim Jimming - and on to the quiz crafted by This Garden is Illegal).
I took it twice because several of the questions had more than one answer that applied to me.
So,
and
How 'bout you?
I found this cute quiz while blog-hopping (Foolery to Camp Cactus on Slim Jim day - go check it out if you don't already know about Slim Jimming - and on to the quiz crafted by This Garden is Illegal).
I took it twice because several of the questions had more than one answer that applied to me.
So,
|
and
|
How 'bout you?
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Happy Ostara
For last year's long posts, look here and here.
~~~~~
Considering the greater-than-usual chaos going on at Casa de Crazy, we needed a day like today. T is working over at the track, something he wasn't able to do when employed. He's missed it and is happy to be over there with the sight, sound, and smell of racing all around.
Bird, Mum, and I slept until we were done, got up nice and easy, went outside an colored eggs, and blew bubbles. We soaked up the sun, enjoyed the bright blue sky, and just enjoyed each other.
The Ostara Hare brought by a basket of goodies for the Evil Genius.
He nibbled the marshmallow bunny's ears first. Yes, it is a bunny. Hush.
It may not be rocket science, but making egg dye baths is serious business. As an aside - doesn't my Mum have awesome hands??
The first egg had to be green, Bird's current favorite color.
While we played down below, a hawk (that speck in the middle) circled high above.
We scaled down to one dozen this year, but we have supplies for more if we feel so moved.
Then it was bubble time...
...and of course, Bird/Evil Genius had to chase and pop.
For once, reality and spirit/shadow were juxtaposed, in agreement, content with sun and simple joy. It's a bubble-Zen thing.
~~~~~
Considering the greater-than-usual chaos going on at Casa de Crazy, we needed a day like today. T is working over at the track, something he wasn't able to do when employed. He's missed it and is happy to be over there with the sight, sound, and smell of racing all around.
Bird, Mum, and I slept until we were done, got up nice and easy, went outside an colored eggs, and blew bubbles. We soaked up the sun, enjoyed the bright blue sky, and just enjoyed each other.
The Ostara Hare brought by a basket of goodies for the Evil Genius.
He nibbled the marshmallow bunny's ears first. Yes, it is a bunny. Hush. 
It may not be rocket science, but making egg dye baths is serious business. As an aside - doesn't my Mum have awesome hands??
The first egg had to be green, Bird's current favorite color.
While we played down below, a hawk (that speck in the middle) circled high above.
We scaled down to one dozen this year, but we have supplies for more if we feel so moved.
Then it was bubble time...
...and of course, Bird/Evil Genius had to chase and pop.
For once, reality and spirit/shadow were juxtaposed, in agreement, content with sun and simple joy. It's a bubble-Zen thing.I hope you all have a lovely day, rich with blessings large and small, bright with sun, and spent with congenial company.
And Daddy Says...
Thanks to Blogger Dad for sparking this post with his Wednesday offering!
When he was a wee lad...or, at least, wee-er than he is today...the Evil Genius loved to play word games. He was picking up language at what seemed an astonishing rate, and T and I were aware that we would soon have to watch our language or pay the piper.
I've related the story about Bird and the F-bomb before, but Blogger Dad reminded me of Bird's very first experience with what could be termed a cuss word.
We liked to play word games, comparing the sounds made by various animals. I would query, he would answer...like so:
Me: What does the cat say...?
EG: Meow!
Me: What does the dog say...?
EG: Woof!
Me: What does the cow say...?
EG: Moo!
When he was maybe eighteen months old, I added a variant...and hilarity ensued:
Me: What does the dog say...?
EG: Woof!
Me: What does the pig say...?
EG: Oink!
Me: What does the mouse say...?
EG: Skeek, skeek!
Me: What does J say...?
EG: Wooo! (J is a wrestling fan, and at the time, Rick Flair was still wrestling, and he said "Wooo" all the time, part of his gimmick)
Me: What does Mommy say...?
EG: I love you!
Me: What does Daddy say...?
EG: Crap!
I was such a proud Mama! Of course, we have a recording of it somewhere...because someday, he will need therapy fodder.
When he was a wee lad...or, at least, wee-er than he is today...the Evil Genius loved to play word games. He was picking up language at what seemed an astonishing rate, and T and I were aware that we would soon have to watch our language or pay the piper.
I've related the story about Bird and the F-bomb before, but Blogger Dad reminded me of Bird's very first experience with what could be termed a cuss word.
We liked to play word games, comparing the sounds made by various animals. I would query, he would answer...like so:
Me: What does the cat say...?
EG: Meow!
Me: What does the dog say...?
EG: Woof!
Me: What does the cow say...?
EG: Moo!
When he was maybe eighteen months old, I added a variant...and hilarity ensued:
Me: What does the dog say...?
EG: Woof!
Me: What does the pig say...?
EG: Oink!
Me: What does the mouse say...?
EG: Skeek, skeek!
Me: What does J say...?
EG: Wooo! (J is a wrestling fan, and at the time, Rick Flair was still wrestling, and he said "Wooo" all the time, part of his gimmick)
Me: What does Mommy say...?
EG: I love you!
Me: What does Daddy say...?
EG: Crap!
I was such a proud Mama! Of course, we have a recording of it somewhere...because someday, he will need therapy fodder.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Gee, Thanks for the Heads Up
Mum sent me the following. Do you think she's trying to tell me something??
~~~~~
~~~~~
In 2009 the government will start deporting all the mentally ill people. I started crying when I thought of you. Run my little crazy friend, run!
Well, what can I say ?? Someone sent it to me, and darn it, I'm NOT going alone !!
~~~~~
I'm packing my bags...thanks for the heads-up, Mum!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Leftover Faith and Begorrrrrra
One of the finest things about St. Pat's around here is the leftovers. Despite healthy appetites and dinner guests, there's always a lovely pile of leftovers to play with. Here follows some of the (occasionally horrifying) things to do with them.
~~~~~
The Usual
Microwave a plate-full any time (sprinkle a tiny bit of water on to keep the meat from drying out). Or place items in a pie plate (glass works best for this, I don't know why), sprinkle with a few drops of water, cover with foil, and heat in the oven at 350 until warmed through.
~~~~~
Soup
Retain the cooking liquid (aka "pot liquor"). Strain and place in a ...pot. Now we get fancy, or not, as you like. You could add in the remaining cabbage, potatoes, and carrots, heat, blend until smooth (add water or chicken stock as needed to get the consistency you want), then add the remaining corned beef, chopped small. I don't know what to call this, because it isn't in any recipe book I ever read...but dang, it's tasty and freezes beautifully. You could opt only to blend the cabbage, or cabbage and carrots, or cabbage and potatoes, and chop the rest into small pieces, for texture. up to you. I like the blend-the-whole-mess-together method, and would love it even more if only I had an immersion blender to do it with.
Cut thick slices of the soda bread, butter, and fry like Texas Toast. Serve together. Yum!
~~~~~
Sandwiches
Cut the beef in thin slices. Pile onto the bread of your choice (soda bread isn't recommended for this) and slather with grainy mustard. Make an open face melt with Swiss cheese or slather the outer sides with butter and grill it. Add sauerkraut and thousand island dressing for a Reuben.
~~~~~
Corned Beef Hash
Cut the beef into small pieces. Do the same with potatoes. Heat a frying pan over medium for several minutes. Butter that thing - if the butter sizzles, it's ready. Toss together potatoes and beef, then drop into the pan. Press down on it to smush the potatoes into the beef, forming a sort of cake. Let it sizzle on one side until it's golden. Try to turn the whole thing at once and brown the other side - it's better with a nice, brown crust! If you're anything like my Mum, you want several eggs over-easy on top. Ow, I think one of my arteries just hardened. Toast up some of that soda bread and slather it with marmalade or your favorite jelly/jam, and even kings will envy your breakfast.
~~~~~
Casa de Crazy Fry-Up
I warn you now, this is death on a plate. You'll gain three pounds just reading it. I on;y eat it once a year, it's so deadly.
Cut beef, potatoes, and carrots into bite-sized pieces. Slice cabbage into shreds. . Heat skillet over medium. Melt several tablespoons of butter in pan. Add in beef and veg. Salt and pepper as you please. Sizzle, sizzle. Stir from time to time until it's all caramelized and brown. Serve.
Or
Beat several eggs together, add to meat and veg in pan, make a sort of fritata of it.
Or
Do either of the above but add some sharp cheddar cheese. Eat. Die happy.
However you fry-up, toast or butter and fry some of the soda bread, serve buttered and/or with marmalade or jam/jelly of your choice. Die happier.
~~~~~
The Usual
Microwave a plate-full any time (sprinkle a tiny bit of water on to keep the meat from drying out). Or place items in a pie plate (glass works best for this, I don't know why), sprinkle with a few drops of water, cover with foil, and heat in the oven at 350 until warmed through.
~~~~~
Soup
Retain the cooking liquid (aka "pot liquor"). Strain and place in a ...pot. Now we get fancy, or not, as you like. You could add in the remaining cabbage, potatoes, and carrots, heat, blend until smooth (add water or chicken stock as needed to get the consistency you want), then add the remaining corned beef, chopped small. I don't know what to call this, because it isn't in any recipe book I ever read...but dang, it's tasty and freezes beautifully. You could opt only to blend the cabbage, or cabbage and carrots, or cabbage and potatoes, and chop the rest into small pieces, for texture. up to you. I like the blend-the-whole-mess-together method, and would love it even more if only I had an immersion blender to do it with.
Cut thick slices of the soda bread, butter, and fry like Texas Toast. Serve together. Yum!
~~~~~
Sandwiches
Cut the beef in thin slices. Pile onto the bread of your choice (soda bread isn't recommended for this) and slather with grainy mustard. Make an open face melt with Swiss cheese or slather the outer sides with butter and grill it. Add sauerkraut and thousand island dressing for a Reuben.
~~~~~
Corned Beef Hash
Cut the beef into small pieces. Do the same with potatoes. Heat a frying pan over medium for several minutes. Butter that thing - if the butter sizzles, it's ready. Toss together potatoes and beef, then drop into the pan. Press down on it to smush the potatoes into the beef, forming a sort of cake. Let it sizzle on one side until it's golden. Try to turn the whole thing at once and brown the other side - it's better with a nice, brown crust! If you're anything like my Mum, you want several eggs over-easy on top. Ow, I think one of my arteries just hardened. Toast up some of that soda bread and slather it with marmalade or your favorite jelly/jam, and even kings will envy your breakfast.
~~~~~
Casa de Crazy Fry-Up
I warn you now, this is death on a plate. You'll gain three pounds just reading it. I on;y eat it once a year, it's so deadly.
Cut beef, potatoes, and carrots into bite-sized pieces. Slice cabbage into shreds. . Heat skillet over medium. Melt several tablespoons of butter in pan. Add in beef and veg. Salt and pepper as you please. Sizzle, sizzle. Stir from time to time until it's all caramelized and brown. Serve.
Or
Beat several eggs together, add to meat and veg in pan, make a sort of fritata of it.
Or
Do either of the above but add some sharp cheddar cheese. Eat. Die happy.
However you fry-up, toast or butter and fry some of the soda bread, serve buttered and/or with marmalade or jam/jelly of your choice. Die happier.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Well, Nuts
T was fired tonight - they let him drive all the way to the office to tell him he had to be out by six. He collected his things and will be home after a while...he needs to go decompress a little, himself. He doesn't drink, so decompressing for him usually means driving about, or hanging with some friends playing video games.
Sigh.
Anyone hiring??
Sigh.
Anyone hiring??
Faith and Begorrrrrra
Happy St. Pats to them what celebrates it. For last year's rant on the day, look here.
While Chicago and Savannah will bedying dieing dyeing coloring their rivers green and millions of people who may or may not have any actual Irish heritage will be parading, pub crawling, drinking whisky, green beer, and foofy green drinks of all sorts, here at Casa de Crazy we'll be supping upon corned beef, cabbage, potatoes, carrots, and Irish soda bread, because we always do (despite being only a wee Irish and a whole lot Pagan). As I am deprived of my beloved Bob the Wonder Computer until further notice, I can't post photos, but I thought I'd do the recipes, anyway. Maybe I'll get some pics up before next year. Umm...don't hold your breath.
~~~~~
Corned Beef Dinner
The Players:
One corned beef (yes, I buy mine pre-packaged at the store, because I have no idea how to corn a beef without using actual corn, and I'm pretty sure that's not the traditional way to go about it.)
Small potatoes of your favored variety, in numbers sufficient for dinner and a few left over
One Green cabbage
Carrots (completely optional), as many as you'd like and a few besides, cut into one-to-two-inch pieces
Aaaannnnd...action!
In a large pot, place the corned beef and the contents of the seasoning packet that comes with it. Dump the liquid from the beef package (does that sound dirty to you?) into the pot, too. Place enough cold water in the pot to cover the beef with four inches or so. Yes, its a lot of water, and I know some folks will tell you differently, but this is my blog and my recipe. So there.
Cook over medium heat for three to four hours, minimum. It will start out smelling a little funky but progress to grand in short order.
A half hour or so before serving, plop in whole potatoes and carrot chunks.
Fifteen to twenty minutes before serving, remove outer leaves of cabbage, then quarter that bad boy. I cut the heart/spine/solid bit in the middle, too, but you don't have to. Carefully place the quarters on top of everything else, put the lid back on, and step away from the pot for fifteen minutes! Over cooked cabbage is a travesty, and it is stinky, too. You want cabbage that's soft bu not mushy, still vibrant in color, and in large pieces - fork tender but not falling apart. The only thing falling apart in this mess (besides the cook, who habitually loses her shit because she can) should be the beef, all tender, relaxed, and happy after its spa day.
You can serve straight from the pot, but I actually like to dish out the veggies into serving bowls and slice/chunk the meat onto a platter. All you need to complete this is a sizable portion of butter, some salt and pepper, and (especially if you're my Mum) some grainy mustard. Add a lovely slice of the soda bread (recipe below), and you're full for a month.
~~~~~
Irish Brown Soda Bread
The Players:
2 1/4 cups whole wheat flour
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups rolled oats
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
2 1/2 cups buttermilk
Action!
Heat the oven to 400°.
Combine everything but the buttermilk in a large bowl and stir the ingredients with your hands. Kids love this part!
Make a well in the mixture and pour in 1 1/2 cups of the buttermilk.
Continue mixing with your hands, adding the remaining cup of buttermilk as you combine the ingredients. The resulting dough will be wet and very sticky.
Dust your hands with flour, shape the dough into a ball, and place it on a floured cookie sheet (I use Reynold's Release foil, which does fine). With a knife, score a deep X in the top of the ball, widening it with the sides of the blade as you cut.
Bake the bread until it's golden brown, about 50 minutes. Transfer it to a wire rack and let it cool for at least 10 minutes before slicing. Makes a crusty, dense loaf about 7 inches in diameter. No kidding, you could seriously damage someone's noggin if you bounced this bread off it!
~~~~~
Coming soon, what to do with the marvelous leftovers (including the liquid in the pot, oh, yeah!)
While Chicago and Savannah will be
~~~~~
Corned Beef Dinner
The Players:
One corned beef (yes, I buy mine pre-packaged at the store, because I have no idea how to corn a beef without using actual corn, and I'm pretty sure that's not the traditional way to go about it.)
Small potatoes of your favored variety, in numbers sufficient for dinner and a few left over
One Green cabbage
Carrots (completely optional), as many as you'd like and a few besides, cut into one-to-two-inch pieces
Aaaannnnd...action!
In a large pot, place the corned beef and the contents of the seasoning packet that comes with it. Dump the liquid from the beef package (does that sound dirty to you?) into the pot, too. Place enough cold water in the pot to cover the beef with four inches or so. Yes, its a lot of water, and I know some folks will tell you differently, but this is my blog and my recipe. So there.
Cook over medium heat for three to four hours, minimum. It will start out smelling a little funky but progress to grand in short order.
A half hour or so before serving, plop in whole potatoes and carrot chunks.
Fifteen to twenty minutes before serving, remove outer leaves of cabbage, then quarter that bad boy. I cut the heart/spine/solid bit in the middle, too, but you don't have to. Carefully place the quarters on top of everything else, put the lid back on, and step away from the pot for fifteen minutes! Over cooked cabbage is a travesty, and it is stinky, too. You want cabbage that's soft bu not mushy, still vibrant in color, and in large pieces - fork tender but not falling apart. The only thing falling apart in this mess (besides the cook, who habitually loses her shit because she can) should be the beef, all tender, relaxed, and happy after its spa day.
You can serve straight from the pot, but I actually like to dish out the veggies into serving bowls and slice/chunk the meat onto a platter. All you need to complete this is a sizable portion of butter, some salt and pepper, and (especially if you're my Mum) some grainy mustard. Add a lovely slice of the soda bread (recipe below), and you're full for a month.
~~~~~
Irish Brown Soda Bread
The Players:
2 1/4 cups whole wheat flour
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups rolled oats
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
2 1/2 cups buttermilk
Action!
Heat the oven to 400°.
Combine everything but the buttermilk in a large bowl and stir the ingredients with your hands. Kids love this part!
Make a well in the mixture and pour in 1 1/2 cups of the buttermilk.
Continue mixing with your hands, adding the remaining cup of buttermilk as you combine the ingredients. The resulting dough will be wet and very sticky.
Dust your hands with flour, shape the dough into a ball, and place it on a floured cookie sheet (I use Reynold's Release foil, which does fine). With a knife, score a deep X in the top of the ball, widening it with the sides of the blade as you cut.
Bake the bread until it's golden brown, about 50 minutes. Transfer it to a wire rack and let it cool for at least 10 minutes before slicing. Makes a crusty, dense loaf about 7 inches in diameter. No kidding, you could seriously damage someone's noggin if you bounced this bread off it!
~~~~~
Coming soon, what to do with the marvelous leftovers (including the liquid in the pot, oh, yeah!)
Monday, March 16, 2009
Swinging Back the Other Way
I don't have the use of Bob the Wonder Computer, but I do have wit enough to load the photo program onto Dino without the part that seems to have choked Bob to near stillness...so I can post a pic or twenty again!
I had a moment this evening, as evidenced by my self-indulgent little melt-down in the prior post. To make up for that, I give you Puddle jumping and Genral Rainy Day Amusements With the Evil Genius:
I got to use my new brolly! Isn't it purty?
Bird didn't want a brolly, or even a raincoat...just his new Triceratops boots and a puddle to play in.
Joe (the truck) needed to be cleaned...so he could get dirty again.
What is this "mud" of which you speak?
Splish, splash, guess who'll be takin' a bath?
I had a moment this evening, as evidenced by my self-indulgent little melt-down in the prior post. To make up for that, I give you Puddle jumping and Genral Rainy Day Amusements With the Evil Genius:
It was a misty, grey, wet kind of day, but we went out anyway.
I got to use my new brolly! Isn't it purty?
Bird didn't want a brolly, or even a raincoat...just his new Triceratops boots and a puddle to play in.
Joe (the truck) needed to be cleaned...so he could get dirty again.
What is this "mud" of which you speak?
Splish, splash, guess who'll be takin' a bath?
Oh, Help
Things are reaching critical mass at T's workplace. He may or may not have a job after tonight, depending on whether they are willing to negotiate the new terms they set today...terms that would more than double his in-office hours, require continued work on-call when he is home, no more work at home during regular hours, and weekends in the office (non-negotiable, can't take vacation time that includes weekends) totalling a minimum eighty-hour work week...without a change in salary - not even to make up for the added expense of driving an exceedingly long distance every day instead of twice a week.
These new terms would mean significantly less time at home, no more gallery days for me, and I will have to cancel ALL of my/our plans involving weekends or out of town stays that don't include Bird - which includes telling people who were counting on me to be there for them that I won't be. And then there's all the time he won't have with me (not much of a loss, really - I AM somewhat abrasive, after all) or the Evil Genius.
His boss didn't even have the decency to tell him this in person...just relayed it through another employee.
I have advised T to answer, simply, "not acceptable" and place the ball back in their court. Either they will negotiate or they will fire him...if they negotiate, hurrah, there may be hope...and if they fire him, he collects unemployment until he finds another job. Ultimately, if they fire him, they will have to hire two, probably three people to take his place...and I am hoping they aren't that stupid.
Sigh.
I could cry...but I am, instead, reminding myself that it could be worse. We can't lose our home (long story, but true) or our cars, so we're miles ahead of everyone else facing the chop or making the choice to work horrible hours for little pay because they feel they must. It may suck to be us for a while - no medication, chiropractor, or doctor visits for either of us, (Bird will still be covered through the State) - and we may have to do without phones, TV, and anything extra (except Internet, because I cannot contemplate a future without your loving blue glow, dear Internet), but T is eminently employable and I am not too worried that he'll go long without a job. And I could sell a book, get published, and make millions. Quit laughing, I'm serious.
Still.
I hate the idea of him having to make such a choice. Sigh, again.
I am awaiting his call now, fingers crossed. Meanwhile, I am taking the Evil Genius outside to stomp some puddles and get delightfully muddy while playing in the rain. Priorities, people, priorities.
These new terms would mean significantly less time at home, no more gallery days for me, and I will have to cancel ALL of my/our plans involving weekends or out of town stays that don't include Bird - which includes telling people who were counting on me to be there for them that I won't be. And then there's all the time he won't have with me (not much of a loss, really - I AM somewhat abrasive, after all) or the Evil Genius.
His boss didn't even have the decency to tell him this in person...just relayed it through another employee.
I have advised T to answer, simply, "not acceptable" and place the ball back in their court. Either they will negotiate or they will fire him...if they negotiate, hurrah, there may be hope...and if they fire him, he collects unemployment until he finds another job. Ultimately, if they fire him, they will have to hire two, probably three people to take his place...and I am hoping they aren't that stupid.
Sigh.
I could cry...but I am, instead, reminding myself that it could be worse. We can't lose our home (long story, but true) or our cars, so we're miles ahead of everyone else facing the chop or making the choice to work horrible hours for little pay because they feel they must. It may suck to be us for a while - no medication, chiropractor, or doctor visits for either of us, (Bird will still be covered through the State) - and we may have to do without phones, TV, and anything extra (except Internet, because I cannot contemplate a future without your loving blue glow, dear Internet), but T is eminently employable and I am not too worried that he'll go long without a job. And I could sell a book, get published, and make millions. Quit laughing, I'm serious.
Still.
I hate the idea of him having to make such a choice. Sigh, again.
I am awaiting his call now, fingers crossed. Meanwhile, I am taking the Evil Genius outside to stomp some puddles and get delightfully muddy while playing in the rain. Priorities, people, priorities.
Of Time and Tide
But mostly Tide.
I was over at Suzy's blog (thanks for following, Mizz Suzy - soon I'll have enough minions to take over Blogopolis...or at least the corner cafe) reading about a fund-raising program, and even though I am not part of the BlogHer network...what the hey...I figured I'd play along anyway.
P&G (Proctor and Gamble for folks who don't speak Initials or Abbreviations) has a nifty program going on, wherein they are selling vintage-look Tide T-shirts to help fund Loads of Hope.
I've seen blurbs about Loads of Hope before, and I must say - ingenious. When you see nature pounding the crap out of a community, laundry is the last thing you think they may need doing. Probably, you think food, water, shelter, maybe pets or evacuation...but clean clothes? Hmm...not so much.
But think about it. When you have been out in foul weather, playing or tarping the roof, or just trying to get into the house from the car, and you get inside all wet and cold and mucky...do you want to sit around in those clothes, or do you want to slip into something cozy, clean, and warm? So if families, communities, are covered in muck, wet, cold, devastated...wouldn't clean things just be a blessing? I think so. So, to the point. Click the t-shirt link or go to Suzy's and click hers (it's bigger) - if you use these specific links, you help show how useful social networking and blogging can be, and apparently there's a friendly rivalry going on between networks...and since one day I'd like to suckle at the BlogHer teat (yes, yes I did type that), I'm using their link.
And now a little Tide-back-in-time story.
A long time ago, when the world was new and working as a corner marshall (back then we called it "F&C") was still fun, we worked just about every weekend at Road Atlanta. Back then, they didn't have the cement walls, Jersey barriers, fencing, and widened track - it was raw, rough, often dusty, muddy, and filthy. Corner workers wear white in order to be more visible than the terrain, the flags, and the spectators.
Road Atlanta is in Georgia. North-ish Georgia. North-ish Georgia is famous for several things - the Mayfield visitor's center where you can get fresh-scooped ice cream cones that are the size of a cat's head for a quarter, chicken farms and the smell they perfume the early morning air with, small towns selling themselves to mediocre actresses, and red clay soil.
The old track had many, many banks which workers would run along and then slide down to reach "incidents", a fancy word for "wrecks".
I repeat - we wore white clothing, played at a greasy, grimy, dirty track, and slid down red clay embankments to reach dirty, nasty race cars that had likely spilled fluids, were possible in flames, and definitely landed in the most difficult places to reach.
When it was a dry day, the clay turned into a fine, fine dust. When cars drove off course, they would kick up a cloud that floated for ages before settling back down - only to be kicked up again by another car. We breathed that dust in, squinted through it, and knew we'd be sneezing red and scrubbing dust off our faces for days.
When it was wet, the clay got slick, sticky, and nasty. No matter where we worked a race in the world, people knew we'd been at Road Atlanta by the clay stains on our whites.
It was only a matter of time before we instituted The Tide Challenge. It was very simple - the worker who had the nastiest, most clay/dust smirched whites at the end of the weekend won a jumbo bottle of Tide. It did a fine job of getting most of the clay out, better than anything else, really...but nothing can get all of the stuff out in the wash. I won a few bottle, myself, thanks to some spectacular incidents, a few wobbly tire walls full of water and ick, and more than one really long slide down a bank.
The smell of Tide is indelibly linked in my mind to the smell of Nomex, racing fuel, clay, and the unique perfume of a road-racing course on a summer's day when the biggest worry I had was whether I could make the bus back to school and would the professor mind if there were clay stains on my homework.
I was over at Suzy's blog (thanks for following, Mizz Suzy - soon I'll have enough minions to take over Blogopolis...or at least the corner cafe) reading about a fund-raising program, and even though I am not part of the BlogHer network...what the hey...I figured I'd play along anyway.
P&G (Proctor and Gamble for folks who don't speak Initials or Abbreviations) has a nifty program going on, wherein they are selling vintage-look Tide T-shirts to help fund Loads of Hope.
I've seen blurbs about Loads of Hope before, and I must say - ingenious. When you see nature pounding the crap out of a community, laundry is the last thing you think they may need doing. Probably, you think food, water, shelter, maybe pets or evacuation...but clean clothes? Hmm...not so much.
But think about it. When you have been out in foul weather, playing or tarping the roof, or just trying to get into the house from the car, and you get inside all wet and cold and mucky...do you want to sit around in those clothes, or do you want to slip into something cozy, clean, and warm? So if families, communities, are covered in muck, wet, cold, devastated...wouldn't clean things just be a blessing? I think so. So, to the point. Click the t-shirt link or go to Suzy's and click hers (it's bigger) - if you use these specific links, you help show how useful social networking and blogging can be, and apparently there's a friendly rivalry going on between networks...and since one day I'd like to suckle at the BlogHer teat (yes, yes I did type that), I'm using their link.
And now a little Tide-back-in-time story.
A long time ago, when the world was new and working as a corner marshall (back then we called it "F&C") was still fun, we worked just about every weekend at Road Atlanta. Back then, they didn't have the cement walls, Jersey barriers, fencing, and widened track - it was raw, rough, often dusty, muddy, and filthy. Corner workers wear white in order to be more visible than the terrain, the flags, and the spectators.
Road Atlanta is in Georgia. North-ish Georgia. North-ish Georgia is famous for several things - the Mayfield visitor's center where you can get fresh-scooped ice cream cones that are the size of a cat's head for a quarter, chicken farms and the smell they perfume the early morning air with, small towns selling themselves to mediocre actresses, and red clay soil.
The old track had many, many banks which workers would run along and then slide down to reach "incidents", a fancy word for "wrecks".
I repeat - we wore white clothing, played at a greasy, grimy, dirty track, and slid down red clay embankments to reach dirty, nasty race cars that had likely spilled fluids, were possible in flames, and definitely landed in the most difficult places to reach.
When it was a dry day, the clay turned into a fine, fine dust. When cars drove off course, they would kick up a cloud that floated for ages before settling back down - only to be kicked up again by another car. We breathed that dust in, squinted through it, and knew we'd be sneezing red and scrubbing dust off our faces for days.
When it was wet, the clay got slick, sticky, and nasty. No matter where we worked a race in the world, people knew we'd been at Road Atlanta by the clay stains on our whites.
It was only a matter of time before we instituted The Tide Challenge. It was very simple - the worker who had the nastiest, most clay/dust smirched whites at the end of the weekend won a jumbo bottle of Tide. It did a fine job of getting most of the clay out, better than anything else, really...but nothing can get all of the stuff out in the wash. I won a few bottle, myself, thanks to some spectacular incidents, a few wobbly tire walls full of water and ick, and more than one really long slide down a bank.
The smell of Tide is indelibly linked in my mind to the smell of Nomex, racing fuel, clay, and the unique perfume of a road-racing course on a summer's day when the biggest worry I had was whether I could make the bus back to school and would the professor mind if there were clay stains on my homework.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Plip, Plop, Don't Stop
Plip, plop, don't stop, sweetly falling rain. The trees reach thirstily up for you - see how they strive? Like lovers reaching for their heart's desire, they stretch their arms wide and welcome your soft, shivery kisses down their length.
Plip, plop, don't stop, sweetly falling rain. The flowers shimmy under your soft caress, shake out their skirts and arrange the drops just so, diamonds and pearls catching grey light and making it shine.
Plip, plop, don't stop, sweetly falling rain. The earth, once cracked, dry, haggard, is swelling from your attentions, preparing for burgeoning growth, ready to cry out "Yes!" with a burst of color, exuberance, life. She is young, soft, pliant once more, and delights in your gentle ministrations.
Plip, plop, don't stop...
Plip, plop, don't stop, sweetly falling rain. The flowers shimmy under your soft caress, shake out their skirts and arrange the drops just so, diamonds and pearls catching grey light and making it shine.
Plip, plop, don't stop, sweetly falling rain. The earth, once cracked, dry, haggard, is swelling from your attentions, preparing for burgeoning growth, ready to cry out "Yes!" with a burst of color, exuberance, life. She is young, soft, pliant once more, and delights in your gentle ministrations.
Plip, plop, don't stop...
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Gone, Gone, Gone...
...real gone...I hope...
Mum and I are leaving the Evil Genius in T's care and heading for the coast for a few days at the end of the month.
We were going to Jekyll Island (a very photogenic island), but decided, instead, to go explore new worlds...so we're off to St. Simon's Island instead. It's as much about decompressing as it is about photographing the area...hopefully I'll get my head a little emptied of all the anger, resentment, irritation, concern, fear, and general ickiness that is cluttering it up.
I feel emotionally and spiritually bloated, stiffled, clogged...
Wednesday night I sent a begging letter of sorts to T. He's out of town...again...this time until Saturday, and I can't just chat with him about upcoming events, so I decided to send an e-mail and hope for the best.
At least we have e-mail so there's an element of potential instant-gratification in communicating, rather than waiting until he's home or hoping he'll call when he stops work for the night. He's not a travelling salesman, but I can certainly feel for all the salesmen's wives who missed their husbands for weeks on end back in the day.
Anyway.
I am hoping to be able to attend/work several events in the next few months. Some of them are weekends, and shouldn't be too difficult...but there's one really big one in May that I just learned about, and I am worried he won't want to/can't do it...and I've become very attached to the idea of going. I'll live if I can't attend, but it's a heck of an opportunity to network for my band, maybe sell some photos, tell some fortunes, make a few bucks, and decompress some more.
Hey, I can own it - I am not at all ashamed to admit that I want time away from my family to just unwind, detangle my psyche, and feed my spirit. I would be gone for nine days, though, and he would have to watch Bird alone for the bulk of (if not all of) it. I'm used to being a single parent, did it for weeks on end when he was with the racing school and had to go out of town or worked hours that kept him gone during the kid's waking hours...but T isn't used to it, at least not for more than a day at a time. Now I'm asking him for several weekends, one five day stretch, and nine days to top it all off, all within a three month stretch. Whew.
It needs nourishing, my spirit...it's been hungry for a while, and it wants a fire, drums, dancing beneath the stars, communing with my gods without a timetable, limits, or responsibilities tugging at me. It needs to feel free to soar again...it's been earthbound for so long.
Here's hoping...
Mum and I are leaving the Evil Genius in T's care and heading for the coast for a few days at the end of the month.
We were going to Jekyll Island (a very photogenic island), but decided, instead, to go explore new worlds...so we're off to St. Simon's Island instead. It's as much about decompressing as it is about photographing the area...hopefully I'll get my head a little emptied of all the anger, resentment, irritation, concern, fear, and general ickiness that is cluttering it up.
I feel emotionally and spiritually bloated, stiffled, clogged...
Wednesday night I sent a begging letter of sorts to T. He's out of town...again...this time until Saturday, and I can't just chat with him about upcoming events, so I decided to send an e-mail and hope for the best.
At least we have e-mail so there's an element of potential instant-gratification in communicating, rather than waiting until he's home or hoping he'll call when he stops work for the night. He's not a travelling salesman, but I can certainly feel for all the salesmen's wives who missed their husbands for weeks on end back in the day.
Anyway.
I am hoping to be able to attend/work several events in the next few months. Some of them are weekends, and shouldn't be too difficult...but there's one really big one in May that I just learned about, and I am worried he won't want to/can't do it...and I've become very attached to the idea of going. I'll live if I can't attend, but it's a heck of an opportunity to network for my band, maybe sell some photos, tell some fortunes, make a few bucks, and decompress some more.
Hey, I can own it - I am not at all ashamed to admit that I want time away from my family to just unwind, detangle my psyche, and feed my spirit. I would be gone for nine days, though, and he would have to watch Bird alone for the bulk of (if not all of) it. I'm used to being a single parent, did it for weeks on end when he was with the racing school and had to go out of town or worked hours that kept him gone during the kid's waking hours...but T isn't used to it, at least not for more than a day at a time. Now I'm asking him for several weekends, one five day stretch, and nine days to top it all off, all within a three month stretch. Whew.
It needs nourishing, my spirit...it's been hungry for a while, and it wants a fire, drums, dancing beneath the stars, communing with my gods without a timetable, limits, or responsibilities tugging at me. It needs to feel free to soar again...it's been earthbound for so long.
Here's hoping...
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