AOL (yes, yes, I know some wits call it AOHell, but I happen to love my long-established AOL account) has a sign-on feature that often strikes the thought "If only..."
Down at the bottm of the sign-on screen is a little toggle box that says "Make me invisible at sign in".
Huh.
Sometimes I wish it translated into real life.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Half Baked
Well...not really half baked...more like completely baked and a bit over the edge...but the house smells marvelous and I'm sending baked goodies home with friends and their kids so my arse doesn't grow pregnant along with the rest of me.
Banana bread had been eaten by the ton:
And the white and whole wheat breads didn't stand a chance:
I consider this Lammas a success.
Banana bread had been eaten by the ton:
And the white and whole wheat breads didn't stand a chance:
I consider this Lammas a success.I Found My Thrill...
...on Blueberry Muffin Hill...
La, la, la...
Two batches of blueberry muffins down, and I'm baking banana bread as I type (because I have mad skillz like that, yo). Next up? White bread, wheat bread, and maybe soda bread. It's Lammas, y'all, and baking is how I roll (hah!) on Lammas, yo.
La, la, la...Two batches of blueberry muffins down, and I'm baking banana bread as I type (because I have mad skillz like that, yo). Next up? White bread, wheat bread, and maybe soda bread. It's Lammas, y'all, and baking is how I roll (hah!) on Lammas, yo.Lucky for my arse, I never seem to have trouble finding homes for all these baked goods...
Country Gravy
For Bret...
Ok, sugar, you asked for it.
First, save all manner of bacon grease. You will need it for things like country gravy. I didn't say this was a healthy recipe. Bacon grease in a glass jar will keep indefinitely in the refrigerator. If it goes off, you'll know.
So, for gravy:
Melt a couple of spoonsful of bacon grease in a skillet, or even better, a cast iron pan, over medium heat. If you've been cooking meat like pork chops, steak, or sausage, just use the pan drippings, but this recipe is for when you don't have that delectable stuff on hand.
Throw in a little butter for good measure, maybe equal to the amount of grease. If you have no bacon grease, too bad - no gravy for you! Kidding...you can just use butter, but it won't be quite as marvelous.
Yes, yes, I can feel your arteries hardening, too.
Season with plenty of salt and pepper. Don't get fancy here. You can safely add a bit of garlic powder and onion powder, though...I like 'em.
Whisk in some flour. You want a very thick paste to form.
Now for the fun. What makes this a country, or white, gravy is the liquid - milk. Yes, milk. Preferably whole milk.
Pour in a little at a time and whisk thoroughly. It's fun to watch the rue (that's what that paste was) expand with the liquid. You want to constantly whisk, here, or you'll get lumps.
Keep adding milk until the gravy is a little thinner than you'd like. Keep whisking and let it come to a simmer. If it gets too thick, you can add more milk or thin it with a little water, but always, always keep whisking. Yes, this is a little labor intensive, but you don't want lumpy or broken gravy...those are among life's great culinary tragedies!
Once it comes to a simmer, turn off the heat and give it a little taste. Add seasoning as you see fit. I almost always need to add a little more salt to mine.
You notice there are no measurements? That's because gravies of all sorts defy measurement - they're an art, a skill that requires patience, effort, and more than a little willingness to fail spectacularly until you get it right. They're also easier than pie. No, really...I can make all kinds of gravies, but still can't manage pie crust. Thank goodness for Pillsbury!
This gravy won't be white like store-bought stuff...but it'll taste worlds better! Also, don't worry if it looks like you've made too much. There is no such thing as too much gravy. No. Such. Thing.
Abundanza, or some junk!!
Ok, sugar, you asked for it.
First, save all manner of bacon grease. You will need it for things like country gravy. I didn't say this was a healthy recipe. Bacon grease in a glass jar will keep indefinitely in the refrigerator. If it goes off, you'll know.
So, for gravy:
Melt a couple of spoonsful of bacon grease in a skillet, or even better, a cast iron pan, over medium heat. If you've been cooking meat like pork chops, steak, or sausage, just use the pan drippings, but this recipe is for when you don't have that delectable stuff on hand.
Throw in a little butter for good measure, maybe equal to the amount of grease. If you have no bacon grease, too bad - no gravy for you! Kidding...you can just use butter, but it won't be quite as marvelous.
Yes, yes, I can feel your arteries hardening, too.
Season with plenty of salt and pepper. Don't get fancy here. You can safely add a bit of garlic powder and onion powder, though...I like 'em.
Whisk in some flour. You want a very thick paste to form.
Now for the fun. What makes this a country, or white, gravy is the liquid - milk. Yes, milk. Preferably whole milk.
Pour in a little at a time and whisk thoroughly. It's fun to watch the rue (that's what that paste was) expand with the liquid. You want to constantly whisk, here, or you'll get lumps.
Keep adding milk until the gravy is a little thinner than you'd like. Keep whisking and let it come to a simmer. If it gets too thick, you can add more milk or thin it with a little water, but always, always keep whisking. Yes, this is a little labor intensive, but you don't want lumpy or broken gravy...those are among life's great culinary tragedies!
Once it comes to a simmer, turn off the heat and give it a little taste. Add seasoning as you see fit. I almost always need to add a little more salt to mine.
You notice there are no measurements? That's because gravies of all sorts defy measurement - they're an art, a skill that requires patience, effort, and more than a little willingness to fail spectacularly until you get it right. They're also easier than pie. No, really...I can make all kinds of gravies, but still can't manage pie crust. Thank goodness for Pillsbury!
This gravy won't be white like store-bought stuff...but it'll taste worlds better! Also, don't worry if it looks like you've made too much. There is no such thing as too much gravy. No. Such. Thing.
Abundanza, or some junk!!
Lammas
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.
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.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Harmonic Convergience
When Someone and I were living far apart (he in Houston and I here in Redneck Central), we had standing date on Saturday nights to listen to Thistle and Shamrock together...he on his computer and I on mine, streaming from the same Houston radio station. We would settle into our respective listening posts, turn on the show, and one would call the other. We would listen together for the length of the program, not saying much but enjoying the music together.
Someone thought that it would be nice to listen tonight. We try to remember more often, but we've gotten a little distracted by life lately. We decided to cook dinner together and have a listen.
Someone has had a hankering forcountry chicken fried steak since he moved here, but there's a dearth of it in these parts. Whoda thunk it, this being Redneck Central?? Mum found out about his yen and found a recipe for us, and it's been sitting here waiting to be tried...so tonight, Someone had a go at it. I played a supporting roll, singing backup to his lead as it were, turning the potatoes he dug from the garden yesterday into mashed potatoes, steaming the green beans he picked and trimmed this afternoon, and whipping together a bit of gravy to accompany the lot.
We stood side by side at the stove, each moving in concert with the other, a dance.
How simple and grand a thing, to share a kitchen with another, preparing the meal we will soon share...
Here, then, is our dinner:
Someone thought that it would be nice to listen tonight. We try to remember more often, but we've gotten a little distracted by life lately. We decided to cook dinner together and have a listen.
Someone has had a hankering for
We stood side by side at the stove, each moving in concert with the other, a dance.
How simple and grand a thing, to share a kitchen with another, preparing the meal we will soon share...
Here, then, is our dinner:
Can I begin to express how happy I am that we are not sitting far apart, listening to our computers and reaching through the aether to each other? No...I cannot...but there is one person, at least, who may feel likewise.
Thank you, love...
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Snake
I have a friend named Snake. Well...no that's not really his name...it's his nickname. There's a story behind why, but I am told it's not safe for human ears. Heh.
I first met Snake when I was sixteen, back when Mum first started going to the track as a worker. He's been a fixture there since dirt. He once told Mum he'd like to take out his dentures and gum her. Yes. He did.
Snake has a mental lexicon of dirty Irish jokes that are knee-slappers. He's Irish by blood, American by birth.
I've worked turns with his kids and given his grandkids guest passes to the track when I had 'em. Our families have gone out to dinner together, camped together, and raised (just a little) Hell together. his Daughter C and my Mum used to tear up the dance floor (also known as the grass/dirt at Fitzy Park) together, dancing with each other because the fellas lacked the chutz to join in...or couldn't keep up.
For many years, Snake has been the caretaker of our radio equipment, keeping our aging and often ailing landline system going with spit and bailing wire and safe-guarding the handheld radios with the ferocity of a really irritated spitting cobra.
Snake is dying.
He's had cancer for...umm...wow, I can't remember how many years. A lifetime of smoking, drinking, sunshine and hard living caught up to him. Snake is a tough old bird, though, and hard to kill. Still...time and tide catch us all, and it is Snake's turn to dance the last dance.
He's in hospice care as I type this. There's not much hope he'll outlast the week...maybe not even the next day or so.
I'm not going to visit him. Not because I don't care - the idea of a world without Snake in it is disheartening, to say the very least. I'm not going because he's not there. Not the part of him that I know, not my friend. He won't care that I'm there, nor miss me if I'm not.
Instead, I am going to relate one of the racing stories he told me a very long time ago...to this day, it's one of my favorites. I've told it my way because I don't have the skill to capture Snake's style...
~~~~~
When I first started working turns, we had a fairly extensive "breaking in" period, with classes to help train us in safety and response and even a fire certification school. A popular pastime for more experienced workers was to tell us newbies horror stories. Snake liked to tell new folks about one particularly horrid incident, which may or may not really have happened and one incident that did happen. The story itself always elicited wry laughs...stick with it to the end and you'll see why.
During one event, there was a somewhat spectacular wreck, the kind that shuts down the session. Back then, we had a lot more workers on the turns, and we would run onto a hot track (hot meaning the session was still...er...in session, race traffic still on the go) if needs must. The incident was severe enough to warrant a call for medical, but it would take a minute to get there, so workers responded to the cars involved. One worker noticed a helmet on the ground by the track and ran to retrieve it - a helmet can tell the medical crew a lot about what sort of injuries to expect. Much to the worker's horror, there was a head in the helmet!
A few years ago there was a motorcycle event at the track. Motorcycles have always been notorious for spectacular incidents and more than a few bizarre injuries (and yes, deaths). New workers are usually given "quieter" turns where more experienced workers help them learn the ropes. At this event, one of the new workers had been initiated with Snake's head-in-the-helmet story, and was hoping that no such incident would occur on his turn.
All was well for the first day or so - good riding, very few riders going down.
Day two, however, was a zoo. Perhaps the riders had partied too hard the night before (What?? Never!!), or perhaps the gremlins were simply having a field day...whatever the reason, bikes were sliding all over the place, and workers were running response and calling for transport so fast and so often, it seemed more like an ambulance race.
Our new worker was sent to respond to one such incident. His corner captain couldn't understand what seemed to be a sudden fit of hysteria, the worker dancing about, waving his arms, signalling for an ambulance, and retching in the tire wall.
The rider was sitting up and seemed OK, so what was the problem.
Hmm.
Oh, wait...the leg still attached to the bike might be a clue.
Wait. Rider over here. Bike over there. Leg on bike.
And yet...the rider didn't seem all that concerned. Must be in shock.
Not so much.
You see, this rider had a prosthetic lower leg...a fact none of the workers knew at the time. While a prosthesis isn't particularly hampering to a racer, it can be a bit of a boor when the foot constantly slips off the foot-peg and hits the track - makes cornering a bitch.
Being a competitive fellow, and somewhat innovative, our rider decided that a judicious application of Duct Tape was in order. He taped the foot to the peg, problem solved.
Until he went down and the bike went one way while his body went another.
Ouch. And, erm...oops.
Eventually the new worker was made to understand the situation, poor fellow. The rider, with some assistance, reattached his leg, got back on his bike and limped (hah!) back to the pits. The worker returned to his station and was the recipient of some not unkind ribbing from his fellows, and the race went on.
~~~~~
So long, Snake...I'll miss you, you grumpy old cuss. The track just won't be the same without you. See you on the other side...
I first met Snake when I was sixteen, back when Mum first started going to the track as a worker. He's been a fixture there since dirt. He once told Mum he'd like to take out his dentures and gum her. Yes. He did.
Snake has a mental lexicon of dirty Irish jokes that are knee-slappers. He's Irish by blood, American by birth.
I've worked turns with his kids and given his grandkids guest passes to the track when I had 'em. Our families have gone out to dinner together, camped together, and raised (just a little) Hell together. his Daughter C and my Mum used to tear up the dance floor (also known as the grass/dirt at Fitzy Park) together, dancing with each other because the fellas lacked the chutz to join in...or couldn't keep up.
For many years, Snake has been the caretaker of our radio equipment, keeping our aging and often ailing landline system going with spit and bailing wire and safe-guarding the handheld radios with the ferocity of a really irritated spitting cobra.
Snake is dying.
He's had cancer for...umm...wow, I can't remember how many years. A lifetime of smoking, drinking, sunshine and hard living caught up to him. Snake is a tough old bird, though, and hard to kill. Still...time and tide catch us all, and it is Snake's turn to dance the last dance.
He's in hospice care as I type this. There's not much hope he'll outlast the week...maybe not even the next day or so.
I'm not going to visit him. Not because I don't care - the idea of a world without Snake in it is disheartening, to say the very least. I'm not going because he's not there. Not the part of him that I know, not my friend. He won't care that I'm there, nor miss me if I'm not.
Instead, I am going to relate one of the racing stories he told me a very long time ago...to this day, it's one of my favorites. I've told it my way because I don't have the skill to capture Snake's style...
~~~~~
When I first started working turns, we had a fairly extensive "breaking in" period, with classes to help train us in safety and response and even a fire certification school. A popular pastime for more experienced workers was to tell us newbies horror stories. Snake liked to tell new folks about one particularly horrid incident, which may or may not really have happened and one incident that did happen. The story itself always elicited wry laughs...stick with it to the end and you'll see why.
During one event, there was a somewhat spectacular wreck, the kind that shuts down the session. Back then, we had a lot more workers on the turns, and we would run onto a hot track (hot meaning the session was still...er...in session, race traffic still on the go) if needs must. The incident was severe enough to warrant a call for medical, but it would take a minute to get there, so workers responded to the cars involved. One worker noticed a helmet on the ground by the track and ran to retrieve it - a helmet can tell the medical crew a lot about what sort of injuries to expect. Much to the worker's horror, there was a head in the helmet!
A few years ago there was a motorcycle event at the track. Motorcycles have always been notorious for spectacular incidents and more than a few bizarre injuries (and yes, deaths). New workers are usually given "quieter" turns where more experienced workers help them learn the ropes. At this event, one of the new workers had been initiated with Snake's head-in-the-helmet story, and was hoping that no such incident would occur on his turn.
All was well for the first day or so - good riding, very few riders going down.
Day two, however, was a zoo. Perhaps the riders had partied too hard the night before (What?? Never!!), or perhaps the gremlins were simply having a field day...whatever the reason, bikes were sliding all over the place, and workers were running response and calling for transport so fast and so often, it seemed more like an ambulance race.
Our new worker was sent to respond to one such incident. His corner captain couldn't understand what seemed to be a sudden fit of hysteria, the worker dancing about, waving his arms, signalling for an ambulance, and retching in the tire wall.
The rider was sitting up and seemed OK, so what was the problem.
Hmm.
Oh, wait...the leg still attached to the bike might be a clue.
Wait. Rider over here. Bike over there. Leg on bike.
And yet...the rider didn't seem all that concerned. Must be in shock.
Not so much.
You see, this rider had a prosthetic lower leg...a fact none of the workers knew at the time. While a prosthesis isn't particularly hampering to a racer, it can be a bit of a boor when the foot constantly slips off the foot-peg and hits the track - makes cornering a bitch.
Being a competitive fellow, and somewhat innovative, our rider decided that a judicious application of Duct Tape was in order. He taped the foot to the peg, problem solved.
Until he went down and the bike went one way while his body went another.
Ouch. And, erm...oops.
Eventually the new worker was made to understand the situation, poor fellow. The rider, with some assistance, reattached his leg, got back on his bike and limped (hah!) back to the pits. The worker returned to his station and was the recipient of some not unkind ribbing from his fellows, and the race went on.
~~~~~
So long, Snake...I'll miss you, you grumpy old cuss. The track just won't be the same without you. See you on the other side...
Saturday, July 24, 2010
New (To Me, Anyway) Tunes!
Cheers to Anarchangel (who likely doesn't even know I exist) for turning me on to this lot...I like 'em!
As the Evil Genius is with his father for the weekend, Someone and I are (weather permitting) going to play in the park tonight - there's a drum circle, lots of good rhythm and dancing. Y'all have a good one!
As the Evil Genius is with his father for the weekend, Someone and I are (weather permitting) going to play in the park tonight - there's a drum circle, lots of good rhythm and dancing. Y'all have a good one!
Friday, July 23, 2010
But I Just Don't Feel Like It
I should...
...clean the bathrooms...
...clean the kitchen...
...do some of the laundry mountain threatening to avalanche and block access to the bedroom...
...clean the Evil Genius's room...
...clean off the kitchen and dining room tables...
...be sewing together the six or seven pair of pants I cut last Wednesday...
...be baking banana bread with the rather...erm...antique bananas in the kitchen...
...be writing query letters...
...be cleaning out closets and storage spaces in preparation for a yard sale...
...be cleaning out the trailer and garage in preparation for a yard sale...
...be clearing out the room we just turned into a play room for Bird in preparation for a baby...
...sweep and mop the floors before they cat hair collects into a cereal studded carpet (whoops, too late)...
...be modeling patience and understanding to my son rather than grumpily telling him that I don't know where his fracking father is or why Daddy didn't come get him this morning when he said he would, or this afternoon, or yet this evening, or when he may actually show up...
...just go ahead and crawl into my bed for a minute and have a good cry (pregnant gals are moody bitches...or anyway, that's my excuse and I'm stickin' to it) - it'd likely make this headache go away, help ease some of the tension in my shoulders, and would certainly relieve some of the mental pressure I'm feeling today...
...just shut the hell up because really, who cares...
...clean the bathrooms...
...clean the kitchen...
...do some of the laundry mountain threatening to avalanche and block access to the bedroom...
...clean the Evil Genius's room...
...clean off the kitchen and dining room tables...
...be sewing together the six or seven pair of pants I cut last Wednesday...
...be baking banana bread with the rather...erm...antique bananas in the kitchen...
...be writing query letters...
...be cleaning out closets and storage spaces in preparation for a yard sale...
...be cleaning out the trailer and garage in preparation for a yard sale...
...be clearing out the room we just turned into a play room for Bird in preparation for a baby...
...sweep and mop the floors before they cat hair collects into a cereal studded carpet (whoops, too late)...
...be modeling patience and understanding to my son rather than grumpily telling him that I don't know where his fracking father is or why Daddy didn't come get him this morning when he said he would, or this afternoon, or yet this evening, or when he may actually show up...
...just go ahead and crawl into my bed for a minute and have a good cry (pregnant gals are moody bitches...or anyway, that's my excuse and I'm stickin' to it) - it'd likely make this headache go away, help ease some of the tension in my shoulders, and would certainly relieve some of the mental pressure I'm feeling today...
...just shut the hell up because really, who cares...
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
I've Had a Song Stuck in My Head
So I figure I'll share the joy. The video doesn't thrill me, but it was the best one I could find. I blame my mother for this song - she's the one who introduced me to Spike Jones when I was younger...
What's been stuck in your head lately??
What's been stuck in your head lately??
Sunday, July 18, 2010
My Not Terribly Interesting Motorcycle Story
Homesteading Neophyte is doing a blogathon to support a good cause. I don't have anything to donate, but at least I can point you in her direction. Meanwhile, I'm going to be a moocher and write a post as an entry into one of her drawings. Should I chance to win the lottery before her blogathon, I'll do the right thing...
~~~~~
I've spent some twenty years working turns at more than one track in the Southeast. We work all kinds of races - vintage cars, club racing, enduros, international races, and bikes.
For the most part, we have a few minutes between sessions, and then a five minute warning is given to tell us the next group is coming out. Now, five minutes is five minutes, right? Umm...not so much, not with vintage cars or bikes.
A vintage five means we have time to make a sandwich, go potty, maybe read War and Peace. A bike five means they're already coming around and if you haven't cleared the course you'd best see how fast you can run the hundred.
I've worked quite a few bike races, back when the AMA was still the AMA and not the nonsense it's turned into lately. Never mind why I feel that way...it's personal.
I loved working bikes, especially at turn one when they did the standing starts - dozens of bikes stampeding down the front straight, all trying to make it through turn one first. Turn one at Road Atlanta isn't meant to be a four-wide turn, even for bikes...but on occasion they managed it.
On one such an occasion, the five minute warning was give, and moments later the race was on! I watched them head toward us, braced to grab a flag, call for emergency vehicles, or run and respondwhen if things went wrong. The pack made it around the corner and up the hill to turn two just fine...we thought.
Until we realized there was a biker standing in the middle of our track. It's hard to explain his position without visual aids, but I'll try. He was partly crouched as though he was still on a bike, hands in front of him as though he were holding the handlebars. He looked neither left nor right. I was on communications for that session, so I called him in. My responder ran to get the rider off the course. Meanwhile, turn two was calling in an incident of their own. It sounded a bit more urgent than our oddity, so I opted to hold the rest of my call (my worker, via hand signals, told me the rider was unhurt, so I didn't need EV).
Turn two was having some trouble up their way - they had three bikes down but only two riders. A missing rider is a problem - sometimes they slide off into the hay bales or end up in, under, or behind tire walls...or, Gods forbid, one had gone airborne enough to clear the catch-fencing!
I had the opportunity to help them.
When all those bikes came around our corner, they were packed rather closely together. Our rider was towards the front, jockeying for position in the top five. It seems his foot got caught in the spokes of another rider's wheel, and he was pulled off his bike. Somehow he landed on his feet, still in the "rider" position! His bike, being crammed in with all the other racers, stayed up and forward moving, at least until it was time to corner turn two. The bike had ideas about straightening the turn. The riders around it had ideas about taking a more traditional route. Things went a bit pear shaped, and two riders and our fellow's bike all went down, sliding into the bales and giving the crowd something to cheer.
The workers at turn two did yeoman's duty cleaning up the mess so we didn't have to stop the race (they hate stopping televised races!), and we got our rider a trip to the Quack Shack via the infield to get checked out.
It wasn't the most spectacular incident I ever worked (bikes or cars), but it may well have been the oddest.
Go check out Homesteading Neophyte - she's cool, and her blog is chock full of useful information and stories about critters almost as cussedly stubborn as she is!
~~~~~
I've spent some twenty years working turns at more than one track in the Southeast. We work all kinds of races - vintage cars, club racing, enduros, international races, and bikes.
For the most part, we have a few minutes between sessions, and then a five minute warning is given to tell us the next group is coming out. Now, five minutes is five minutes, right? Umm...not so much, not with vintage cars or bikes.
A vintage five means we have time to make a sandwich, go potty, maybe read War and Peace. A bike five means they're already coming around and if you haven't cleared the course you'd best see how fast you can run the hundred.
I've worked quite a few bike races, back when the AMA was still the AMA and not the nonsense it's turned into lately. Never mind why I feel that way...it's personal.
I loved working bikes, especially at turn one when they did the standing starts - dozens of bikes stampeding down the front straight, all trying to make it through turn one first. Turn one at Road Atlanta isn't meant to be a four-wide turn, even for bikes...but on occasion they managed it.
On one such an occasion, the five minute warning was give, and moments later the race was on! I watched them head toward us, braced to grab a flag, call for emergency vehicles, or run and respond
Until we realized there was a biker standing in the middle of our track. It's hard to explain his position without visual aids, but I'll try. He was partly crouched as though he was still on a bike, hands in front of him as though he were holding the handlebars. He looked neither left nor right. I was on communications for that session, so I called him in. My responder ran to get the rider off the course. Meanwhile, turn two was calling in an incident of their own. It sounded a bit more urgent than our oddity, so I opted to hold the rest of my call (my worker, via hand signals, told me the rider was unhurt, so I didn't need EV).
Turn two was having some trouble up their way - they had three bikes down but only two riders. A missing rider is a problem - sometimes they slide off into the hay bales or end up in, under, or behind tire walls...or, Gods forbid, one had gone airborne enough to clear the catch-fencing!
I had the opportunity to help them.
When all those bikes came around our corner, they were packed rather closely together. Our rider was towards the front, jockeying for position in the top five. It seems his foot got caught in the spokes of another rider's wheel, and he was pulled off his bike. Somehow he landed on his feet, still in the "rider" position! His bike, being crammed in with all the other racers, stayed up and forward moving, at least until it was time to corner turn two. The bike had ideas about straightening the turn. The riders around it had ideas about taking a more traditional route. Things went a bit pear shaped, and two riders and our fellow's bike all went down, sliding into the bales and giving the crowd something to cheer.
The workers at turn two did yeoman's duty cleaning up the mess so we didn't have to stop the race (they hate stopping televised races!), and we got our rider a trip to the Quack Shack via the infield to get checked out.
It wasn't the most spectacular incident I ever worked (bikes or cars), but it may well have been the oddest.
Go check out Homesteading Neophyte - she's cool, and her blog is chock full of useful information and stories about critters almost as cussedly stubborn as she is!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Berried
Yesterday was a quiet-ish sort of day for us. We toddled up to Mum's in the morning, somewhat early for the denizens of Casa de Crazy - we had to be up before breakfast! Mum asked us to come up and help tinker with her decrepit mower so we could haul it home and mow our Serengeti.
While Someone and Mumbusted their knuckles and said many bad words worked on the mower, the Evil Genius and I hung out in the AC eating bon-bons reading and playing games while some clouds obligingly rolled across the sky, making shade.
We needed the shade, the Evil Genius and I, because we planned to go over to Mum's Very Nice Lady Neighbor's (VNLN fer short from now on, because I'm too lazy to type all that more than once) and pick blueberries. The lad mostly eats 'em as we go, but there is such a profusion of berries, he hardly makes a difference in the harvest.
When it looked cloudy enough, we trooped off, each carrying our container to be filled. It was hot, even without direct sunlight!
Much to my delight, VNLN was not only home, but was approaching the bushed as we were, intent on a mid-day snack. How delightful, to walk out your door and grab a bite to eat! We chatted amiably about off-grid living, and green living, and our dreams of doing so; about gardening, about grass-fed meats, freezing and canning, and prepping. Turns out she has something of a prepper's mentality, although she'd never heard it given a name before. We'd stop now and them to pop some berries into our mouths. Have you ever had a blueberry right off the bush, still warm from the sun? Such a treat...
Bird took part in the conversation as only an seven-year-old little dude can, and he even contributed a few berries to my container! He and VNLN got on nicely, eventually coming to rest in chairs under her grape arbor, where they talked about grapes and what can be made from them, and listened to the thunder roll along in the distance.
Mum and Someone went off to the local lumberyard for some planks to use as ramps to get the mower up onto the truck, should it deign to ever start again.
I kept picking and dreaming about winning the lottery and buying the VNLN's land (it's for sale), putting green houses and gardens on it, letting her stay in her house, maybe the nascent beginning of an intentional community. She likes the idea, anyway, and I think she'd happily stay if someone was there to help with some gardening, preserving, and maintenance. She doesn't really want to sell...just feels like it's too much for her. I need to win that lottery.
We had an abrupt end to our idyll when a wasp rather...erm...waspishly...stung Bird on his thumb. He let out a yell and cried a little, but he calmed down fairly quickly, only asking that I make it better. VNLN offered us a ride back to Mum's, which made Bird smile a little (VNLN is something of an Andretti, and the driveways are bumpy, so it was quite a ride), and we soaked his poor thumb in warm and then cold water until it didn't hurt quite as much. It began to rain, so we read some more, then played Plants Versus Zombies, and he felt better.
Mum and Someone came back and had to run through a frog-strangler to get into the house - it was really coming down! They commiserated with Bird on his wounded digit, then went about their business with the mower - rain or no, that thing was being fixed!
Eventually, another friend came over and helped tweak the dang machine, and Bird allowed as how he could maybe come pick berries with me again. We left the others with the mower and happily frolicked among the bushes until it was time to go (which time was indicated when Someone drove past VNLN's driveway in Mum's truck, mower on the back,
and hollered "See you at home!").
Now I'm carefully sorting and freezing the berries, with plans to go back and get more, more, more. VNLN harvests 'em until she's sick of 'em, and is happy to share, so we'll have some nice summer-ripe berries come winter. Mmm...blueberry muffins, blueberry pancakes, blueberry coffee cake...sweet!
I like the idea of putting food by, and hope to learn how to preserve, make jellies and jams, and pickle in short order.
Speaking of berries...Someone hauled in a nice lot of tomatoes in the evening, and we made BLTs with some of our Yellow Jubilee darlings. I like 'em - they're mellow, a little tangy, and not as acidic as traditional 'maters. Someone threw together a salad with an assortment of red and yellow tomatoes and some fresh broccoli (store bought, alas, as we can't seem to get it to grow here, and anyway they aren't generally in season together, broccoli and tomatoes) and a bit of Italian dressing, and he's a happy fellow.
The little guy's thumb is just fine, by the way.
So what do you like fresh from the garden?
While Someone and Mum
We needed the shade, the Evil Genius and I, because we planned to go over to Mum's Very Nice Lady Neighbor's (VNLN fer short from now on, because I'm too lazy to type all that more than once) and pick blueberries. The lad mostly eats 'em as we go, but there is such a profusion of berries, he hardly makes a difference in the harvest.
When it looked cloudy enough, we trooped off, each carrying our container to be filled. It was hot, even without direct sunlight!
Much to my delight, VNLN was not only home, but was approaching the bushed as we were, intent on a mid-day snack. How delightful, to walk out your door and grab a bite to eat! We chatted amiably about off-grid living, and green living, and our dreams of doing so; about gardening, about grass-fed meats, freezing and canning, and prepping. Turns out she has something of a prepper's mentality, although she'd never heard it given a name before. We'd stop now and them to pop some berries into our mouths. Have you ever had a blueberry right off the bush, still warm from the sun? Such a treat...
Bird took part in the conversation as only an seven-year-old little dude can, and he even contributed a few berries to my container! He and VNLN got on nicely, eventually coming to rest in chairs under her grape arbor, where they talked about grapes and what can be made from them, and listened to the thunder roll along in the distance.
Mum and Someone went off to the local lumberyard for some planks to use as ramps to get the mower up onto the truck, should it deign to ever start again.
I kept picking and dreaming about winning the lottery and buying the VNLN's land (it's for sale), putting green houses and gardens on it, letting her stay in her house, maybe the nascent beginning of an intentional community. She likes the idea, anyway, and I think she'd happily stay if someone was there to help with some gardening, preserving, and maintenance. She doesn't really want to sell...just feels like it's too much for her. I need to win that lottery.
We had an abrupt end to our idyll when a wasp rather...erm...waspishly...stung Bird on his thumb. He let out a yell and cried a little, but he calmed down fairly quickly, only asking that I make it better. VNLN offered us a ride back to Mum's, which made Bird smile a little (VNLN is something of an Andretti, and the driveways are bumpy, so it was quite a ride), and we soaked his poor thumb in warm and then cold water until it didn't hurt quite as much. It began to rain, so we read some more, then played Plants Versus Zombies, and he felt better.
Mum and Someone came back and had to run through a frog-strangler to get into the house - it was really coming down! They commiserated with Bird on his wounded digit, then went about their business with the mower - rain or no, that thing was being fixed!
Eventually, another friend came over and helped tweak the dang machine, and Bird allowed as how he could maybe come pick berries with me again. We left the others with the mower and happily frolicked among the bushes until it was time to go (which time was indicated when Someone drove past VNLN's driveway in Mum's truck, mower on the back,
and hollered "See you at home!").
Now I'm carefully sorting and freezing the berries, with plans to go back and get more, more, more. VNLN harvests 'em until she's sick of 'em, and is happy to share, so we'll have some nice summer-ripe berries come winter. Mmm...blueberry muffins, blueberry pancakes, blueberry coffee cake...sweet!
I like the idea of putting food by, and hope to learn how to preserve, make jellies and jams, and pickle in short order.
Speaking of berries...Someone hauled in a nice lot of tomatoes in the evening, and we made BLTs with some of our Yellow Jubilee darlings. I like 'em - they're mellow, a little tangy, and not as acidic as traditional 'maters. Someone threw together a salad with an assortment of red and yellow tomatoes and some fresh broccoli (store bought, alas, as we can't seem to get it to grow here, and anyway they aren't generally in season together, broccoli and tomatoes) and a bit of Italian dressing, and he's a happy fellow.
The little guy's thumb is just fine, by the way.
So what do you like fresh from the garden?
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Telling Silence
It's been a couple of weeks since Someone and I announced, in various ways and through various mediums, that we're expecting. Yes, we...I didn't make this bambino alone, it's a group project.
We tried to call folks who ought t be told in person but don't live in or near Redneck Central, like Mum and Mum2 (Someone's Mum) and fathers and siblings. We e-mailed where necessary, either because phones weren't answered or because we knew the news would be faster received, and then chose a way that would announce it, with a bit of whimsy, to the rest of the world that might be interested - that silly bear photo.
We've had varying responses to the news, from stunned silence to grins and cries of "congratulations". One or two folks have been a wee grim at the idea. That's OK...I have concerns of my own that are being allayed as each test comes back normal.
What I find interesting...and, if I'm being honest, disheartening...are the silences. A few key people have said...nothing. No phone call, no e-mail...not even a "What the Hell are you thinking???"
I can understand disapproval. We're not exactly the cultural norm here at Casa de Crazy. A few folks have had the chutz to grow a pair and speak their piece, and I appreciate that. I'd rather really know what someone's thinking than be wondering if they're just making nice. I prefer honesty, honestly. But to say nothing? Weeks after receiving a call or e-mail? What the Hell is that about?
Is it a sincere case of "Eh, who cares?"? Is it supposed to convey some message? One case in particular, I know they got the e-mails. They would have had a phone call, but it went straight to voicemail and I know leaving a message is an exercise in futility. I know they've been online - thank you, AOL buddy list. So what's up?
Yesterday did not start well. I woke full of doubt. I decided, at one point, that I wasn't getting out of bed - why bother? At least if I didn't get out of bed, I couldn't fuck anything up. I cried...a lot. Pregnant women are already riding hormone highs and lows...couple that with depression and a few other factors and you have...umm...not much fun, that's what.
I was convinced that this poor little chickpea (cheers, Mizz Rene) would be damaged in some way, because of me.
And then I began to think about the resounding lack of response, the silence from certain quarters. It shouldn't bother me, but yesterday was the kind of day where it's all personal...and I told Someone (who was doing his level best to help me feel better about things) "It sure would have been nice to have hear from ___, even a negative response. It would be nice to think I had some value to them."
He didn't have an answer for that...who would?...but he held me and that was enough.
The day improved, especially after a phone call from the doctor's office, telling me that certain key tests came back normal. Whew.
As for the people who've said nothing? Their silence does speak. It tells me they can't be bothered. Their loss.
~~~~~
So here's where I am a pest. The contest is still on, and you can vote every day, so wouldja? Puhleeeeze?? Vote for me here: ...:Read my Medium Raw challenge essay: It's not always about the ingredients, is it? Thanks!!
We tried to call folks who ought t be told in person but don't live in or near Redneck Central, like Mum and Mum2 (Someone's Mum) and fathers and siblings. We e-mailed where necessary, either because phones weren't answered or because we knew the news would be faster received, and then chose a way that would announce it, with a bit of whimsy, to the rest of the world that might be interested - that silly bear photo.
We've had varying responses to the news, from stunned silence to grins and cries of "congratulations". One or two folks have been a wee grim at the idea. That's OK...I have concerns of my own that are being allayed as each test comes back normal.
What I find interesting...and, if I'm being honest, disheartening...are the silences. A few key people have said...nothing. No phone call, no e-mail...not even a "What the Hell are you thinking???"
I can understand disapproval. We're not exactly the cultural norm here at Casa de Crazy. A few folks have had the chutz to grow a pair and speak their piece, and I appreciate that. I'd rather really know what someone's thinking than be wondering if they're just making nice. I prefer honesty, honestly. But to say nothing? Weeks after receiving a call or e-mail? What the Hell is that about?
Is it a sincere case of "Eh, who cares?"? Is it supposed to convey some message? One case in particular, I know they got the e-mails. They would have had a phone call, but it went straight to voicemail and I know leaving a message is an exercise in futility. I know they've been online - thank you, AOL buddy list. So what's up?
Yesterday did not start well. I woke full of doubt. I decided, at one point, that I wasn't getting out of bed - why bother? At least if I didn't get out of bed, I couldn't fuck anything up. I cried...a lot. Pregnant women are already riding hormone highs and lows...couple that with depression and a few other factors and you have...umm...not much fun, that's what.
I was convinced that this poor little chickpea (cheers, Mizz Rene) would be damaged in some way, because of me.
And then I began to think about the resounding lack of response, the silence from certain quarters. It shouldn't bother me, but yesterday was the kind of day where it's all personal...and I told Someone (who was doing his level best to help me feel better about things) "It sure would have been nice to have hear from ___, even a negative response. It would be nice to think I had some value to them."
He didn't have an answer for that...who would?...but he held me and that was enough.
The day improved, especially after a phone call from the doctor's office, telling me that certain key tests came back normal. Whew.
As for the people who've said nothing? Their silence does speak. It tells me they can't be bothered. Their loss.
~~~~~
So here's where I am a pest. The contest is still on, and you can vote every day, so wouldja? Puhleeeeze?? Vote for me here: ...:Read my Medium Raw challenge essay: It's not always about the ingredients, is it? Thanks!!
Friday, July 9, 2010
How Unlike Me
Hey, y'all...I entered a contest. I wouldn't have, because I never win, but hey, the possibility of publication and ten grand can make a gal a little crazy.
Wanna help me pay for all the baby stuff I now need to procure?? Sure ya do! (Wait, was that manipulative? I'll be contrite later, when I have a crib, a dresser, and some actual clothing to put the bairn in.) Vote for me, wouldja? Puhhhleeeeeeze??
Click this thing:
and it should take you right to my entry. If it doesn't, search for "Sometimes it's what doesn't go into the food that makes a meal memorable." Yeah, I know it's long...concise has never been my strong suit, or hadn't you noticed. My blue flower is the avatar next to my essay (although I hat to call it that, it's so short), and right now I'm number 353, or DFL (as they call it in the racing world).
Thanks in advance if you go vote (you can go once a day, hint, hint), and I totally understand if you don't. Cheers!
*edit - this link should take you right to my thingy...I hope...:Read my Medium Raw challenge essay: It's not always about the ingredients, is it?
Wanna help me pay for all the baby stuff I now need to procure?? Sure ya do! (Wait, was that manipulative? I'll be contrite later, when I have a crib, a dresser, and some actual clothing to put the bairn in.) Vote for me, wouldja? Puhhhleeeeeeze??
Click this thing:
and it should take you right to my entry. If it doesn't, search for "Sometimes it's what doesn't go into the food that makes a meal memorable." Yeah, I know it's long...concise has never been my strong suit, or hadn't you noticed. My blue flower is the avatar next to my essay (although I hat to call it that, it's so short), and right now I'm number 353, or DFL (as they call it in the racing world).
Thanks in advance if you go vote (you can go once a day, hint, hint), and I totally understand if you don't. Cheers!
*edit - this link should take you right to my thingy...I hope...:Read my Medium Raw challenge essay: It's not always about the ingredients, is it?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
What Have We Here?
Ladies and gentlemen, we here at Casa de Crazy are pleased to show you what we've been up to for the last 11 weeks, 4 days:
It's a...it's a...umm...a bean? Well, I'm calling it Sprout until we know if it's an innie or an outie. Although, it DOES have something of a resemblance to a gummi bear. Hmm...
We invaded went to the perinatologist's office this afternoon, and they investigated the wee one as best they could, which was fairly thorough (I'll spare you the details). So far, they said, so good...but until all the usual blood tests come back and a few weeks go by (when they can take an even better look), we won't know for certain that all is perfectly...er...well, I'd say normal, but this IS my fetus we're talking about here, and normal is relative. And since s/he's my relative, poor bairn...
We heard the heartbeat. That's what drove home the reality when I was preggers with Bird - hearing that hummingbird whub-whub-whub and seeing the shadowy bits and pieces on the screen. The same with Sprout, up there...it became real when I heard the heart going along at a healthy 178 beats per minute, saw the little legs kicking about, saw the hands moving.
I don't mind admitting, I nearly cried.
I also don't mind admitting feeling a tremendous relief...and while I'll worry about the blood tests (for Down's and Trisomy-18 and a host of other things) and the next ultrasound (in five weeks or so), I feel much better about things.
I'm hoping that the next time they look at the little beggar, we'll know what flavor we've got in there.
Meanwhile, I have dinner to cook, and dishes to do, and a movie to watch with Someone, so I'll wish y'all a good-whatever-time-of-day-you're-reading-this and get to it.
Cheers!
Today's Mantra
Everything is always exactly as it should be, when it should be; the Universe is a perfect creation, and we are all expressions of that perfection.
So...yeah...
So...yeah...
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
This Post Brought to You By: Hormones, Nature's Little (Mood) Swingers
I had my first real doctor's appointment yesterday, went to the OB. Woo-hoo, fun.
Eh, it's not all bad...a nice fellow whom I've never met reached in up to his elbow and felt around for aliens, then said he thought I was farther along than the 11 weeks I should be. Huh. I don't think so...I'm very careful about keeping track of...er...things.
He wanted to do an ultrasound, but after waitingforever about half an hour, there was still at least another half hour to go, and then labs to get, and I was hungry, thirsty, and needed to get home so K2 (who was sweet enough to come watch Little Dude) could get home, so I was disinclined to hang around counting ceiling tiles. They allowed as how it could wait, because they wanted to refer me to a specialist, anyway. Yay, specialist.
You see, I'm 38, unemployed, uninsured, overweight and diabetic. Not that the deck's stacked or anything. Anyway, apparently those things put me in the "high risk" category, so to a specialist I go. He will check for such delightful things as whether or not my blood sugar levels have damaged the baby's heart (now there's a guilt trip waiting to happen), and whether or not my age and the likely stale nature of my eggs has relegated the peanut to a genetically undesirable category of human. Sigh.
Cheerful, huh?
And you know, pregnant women cry at freakin' coffee commercials, for goodness' sake...so you KNOW that I'm going to be worrying until I KNOW what's going on down there in the mysterious otherworld of the womb. I'm not delighted at the delay in getting the medication I need to control my blood sugar - see, pregnant women can't take the oral meds. I have to go on insulin...and for that I have to wait until I see this new doc.
Fortunately, I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon. I wish it would hurry up and never get here.
Yeah, I'm scared. What if something I've done, or not done, has meant this poor little critter is all mangled up? What if I eat or drink or do the wrong things, and the wee mite gets damaged because of my carelessness, ignorance, or stupidity? What if this baby taxes my own system to the extent that I damage something I need to live? What if, what if, what if...
Sigh.
I've danced to this tune once before and came out fine...as did the Little Dude...and I know that whatever comes, Someone and I will deal with it together.
Despite my concerns, I must say...I get a goofy little smile when I think about this tadpole swimmin' around in the great, murky me. I'm hoping for the best and getting weepy at the same time, but hey, I'm pregnant, and that's the way the hormones tumble.
Eh, it's not all bad...a nice fellow whom I've never met reached in up to his elbow and felt around for aliens, then said he thought I was farther along than the 11 weeks I should be. Huh. I don't think so...I'm very careful about keeping track of...er...things.
He wanted to do an ultrasound, but after waiting
You see, I'm 38, unemployed, uninsured, overweight and diabetic. Not that the deck's stacked or anything. Anyway, apparently those things put me in the "high risk" category, so to a specialist I go. He will check for such delightful things as whether or not my blood sugar levels have damaged the baby's heart (now there's a guilt trip waiting to happen), and whether or not my age and the likely stale nature of my eggs has relegated the peanut to a genetically undesirable category of human. Sigh.
Cheerful, huh?
And you know, pregnant women cry at freakin' coffee commercials, for goodness' sake...so you KNOW that I'm going to be worrying until I KNOW what's going on down there in the mysterious otherworld of the womb. I'm not delighted at the delay in getting the medication I need to control my blood sugar - see, pregnant women can't take the oral meds. I have to go on insulin...and for that I have to wait until I see this new doc.
Fortunately, I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon. I wish it would hurry up and never get here.
Yeah, I'm scared. What if something I've done, or not done, has meant this poor little critter is all mangled up? What if I eat or drink or do the wrong things, and the wee mite gets damaged because of my carelessness, ignorance, or stupidity? What if this baby taxes my own system to the extent that I damage something I need to live? What if, what if, what if...
Sigh.
I've danced to this tune once before and came out fine...as did the Little Dude...and I know that whatever comes, Someone and I will deal with it together.
Despite my concerns, I must say...I get a goofy little smile when I think about this tadpole swimmin' around in the great, murky me. I'm hoping for the best and getting weepy at the same time, but hey, I'm pregnant, and that's the way the hormones tumble.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Oh, My
Check this out:
That's a home grown, still warm from the sun tomato on that BLT I had for dinner last night. Oh, yeah, my mouth was happy...
Next time, it'll be on home baked bread...mmmm...
That's a home grown, still warm from the sun tomato on that BLT I had for dinner last night. Oh, yeah, my mouth was happy...
Next time, it'll be on home baked bread...mmmm...
Monday, July 5, 2010
Say What?
It's time for another installment of "Say What?", where we take a look at what key words and phrases brought people over to my little corner of the Blue Nowhere. Weirdoes...
~~~~~
what to do with leftover cookies - eat them. Really, you need to be told this?
shades mangled and my head - umm...ouch?
cartoon people are cring - I'm thinking that "cring" should be "crying", poor things...
st simons iguanas remoulade - umm...ew.
pulling penis out in public - not advisable.
look up grannys dress - also not advisable, especially while doing the above...
~~~~~
what to do with leftover cookies - eat them. Really, you need to be told this?
shades mangled and my head - umm...ouch?
cartoon people are cring - I'm thinking that "cring" should be "crying", poor things...
st simons iguanas remoulade - umm...ew.
pulling penis out in public - not advisable.
look up grannys dress - also not advisable, especially while doing the above...
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Independence Day
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!
~~~~~
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!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Ugh, Whew, Mmmm
I just finished cleaning the downstairs bathroom. Big deal,right? Well, yeah, kinda. Remember at the and of May, when our septic system decided to choke on itself and backed up into the house? No? Lucky you.
Anyway, the downstairs bathroom bore the brunt of the back-up. Today I finally had time to go down there and give it a good scrubing. Ick. And bleh. And ugh.
It looks like a new bathroom, now, and I need a vacation.
I am almost caught up with dishes and laundry after our trip. Whew.
Tomorrow we're going to a pool party at a friend's, our Independence Day tradition. I will spend the rest of today baking brownies - double-double Ghiradelli brownies with fudge icing - and cutting fruit for a salad. There will probably be a nap thrown in there for good measure. I can think of worse ways to spend the afternoon. Mmmm, brownies...
Anyway, the downstairs bathroom bore the brunt of the back-up. Today I finally had time to go down there and give it a good scrubing. Ick. And bleh. And ugh.
It looks like a new bathroom, now, and I need a vacation.
I am almost caught up with dishes and laundry after our trip. Whew.
Tomorrow we're going to a pool party at a friend's, our Independence Day tradition. I will spend the rest of today baking brownies - double-double Ghiradelli brownies with fudge icing - and cutting fruit for a salad. There will probably be a nap thrown in there for good measure. I can think of worse ways to spend the afternoon. Mmmm, brownies...
I Forgot...
...how tired pregnancy make me. I just want to nap, then rest up from napping by having a snooze, followed by a rousing siesta.
Yawn.
How're y'all doing??
Yawn.
How're y'all doing??
Friday, July 2, 2010
Quick Pimp
We had some kind of crazy weird day yesterday and I didn't have time to post this...so you're getting it today. Better late than never? You decide...
My band, performing an informal set last week, one of our fans dancing with...erm...fans.
I'm off towatch help some friends move...
My band, performing an informal set last week, one of our fans dancing with...erm...fans.
I'm off to
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Semi Homegrown Dinner
Since we got home so late on Sunday, Monday was a day to rest, unpack a bit, and recover. Whew. I didn't make it to the grocery store, though, so dinner was something of an improv.
It started when a silly Swan was both unloading the van and gleaning from the garden. Like the hat? It's mine, but dang it, I think it looks better on him!
We had a goodly pile of green beans, a zuke, some cukes,
and some little green peppers.
I thought the peppers would be neat stuffed with something...so I cleaned 'em out...
...and stuffed 'em with frozen meatballs.
Then I chopped up the zuke and some green beans, added a few more meatballs...
...and covered the lot with marinara sauce from a jar (forgive me Angelo, for I have sinned...but dang, it's good sauce).
I baked it at 350 for a while, then remembered that I have a couple of string cheese things lying around,
so I chopped those up and added 'em into the mix...
so I chopped those up and added 'em into the mix...
...along with some Parmesan, because there's no such thing as too much cheese. Just ask your cardiologist.
It baked a little while longer, then I threw some freezer-section garlic bread in the oven to go with it.
Yummy.
Monday, June 28, 2010
What the Hell
I have a Swiss cheese memory - it's full of holes. Sizable chunks of my childhood are just gone, never to be retrieved. Also my teen years, and some of my young adulthood. These gaps are partly the normal process of aging - not that I'm old or anything, mind - and partly because of drugs (hush, I'm referring to the years I tried to be a good little doobee and took anti-depressants to make the mundanes in my life more comfortable with my crazy, one such medication making a hash of my memory storage and retrieval)(I'm lookin' at you, Prozac), and partly because of memories that my mind simply didn't (and occasionally still doesn't) want to think about, and so were stashed away in dark corners until they dissolved, or at least softened enough so as not to hurt when handled.
What I do recall, however, is with crystal clarity.
I remember Easter egg hunts at my grandparents (I wasn't always pagan), and going out on Papa's boat - he was my grandfather - and Mum making quiche for some friends who were visiting she made her own crust and good golly, it was tasty). I remember helping her crush pretzels for Margarita pie.
I remember nearly puncturing my eardrum with a Q-tip, and the hours spent in the hospital while doctors assured Mum that I wasn't going to be deaf because of it (although I have scar tissue that makes my hearing the tiniest bit fuzzy on that side). I remember breaking my wrist because I fell off a rainbow, and how charming the doctors thought that was. I remember the brown dress with the bells on the hem that would float up when I spun in circles. I loved that dress. And my patent-leather shoes that shone. Yes, I was once girly.
I remember, too, how Mum struggled to be a single mother with two kids. I remember wondering what this "father" was that other kids had but was absent in my own life. I remember the occasional gift from someone who called himself "dad" and wondering who that was. I remember hanging out down at the docks with him and his cronies from time to time, mostly ignoring them and staring far out to the horizon where sea and sky embraced.
I have not forgotten some of the things that helped fracture my mind, events and people that a child endured and a now (allegedly) adult woman still does battle with on a regular basis.
I also remember Mum struggling to make bills and feed her kids and pay for housing and trying (and sometimes failing) to maintain her sanity.
I remember her sitting up late into the night, alone in the living room, cigarette smoke curling above her head as she stared out into the vast nothing of the wandering mind, lost in trying-not-to-think.
I remember nights when she didn't eat dinner because she wasn't hungry...only I think it's really because there wasn't enough for two growing kids and her.
I remember her calling my teacher to get the recipe for candy cane cookies because we made them in class and I loved them, and all these years later she surfed the web to find 'em again because I waxed nostalgic about them one year.
We're so much alike, Mum and me. Different, but also much of a muchness.
I don't smoke.
I also can't sleep, sometimes, because I worry about how I will meet my obligations. Mine are different than hers were, but they weigh no less heavily.
Sometimes she had to ask her parents for help. They always did, but their assistance came with a heavy toll, one exacted in emotion, manipulation, and judgement...but she did what she had to to make certain Big Brother and I didn't need. Maybe we wanted sometimes, but we didn't need.
Sometimes (heck, most of the time), I have to lean heavily on Mum. I don't want to. I want her to breathe freely and not worry about what I may have to ask for next. She pays my mortgage - technically Casa de Crazy is my home but her house.
I can't work. Not a regular job. This makes paying bills a wee difficult. I try, though. So does Someone, now he's here. Occasionally, we try and fail. Life goes on. We're stung, our pride dented a bit, but we keep on keeping on.
When I have to ask Mum for help, she doesn't exact her pound of flesh - she won't do to me what her parents did to her. Still...I hate doing it. I think, sometimes, she feels a little guilty about how I turned out, and maybe secretly disappointed too. I think she wonders if she'd done things differently, would I be successful like Big Brother, rather than muddling along in a mire of mediocrity as I do.
So when I get a little behind here and there, I try not to say anything. I try to take care of my big-girl responsibilities without a crutch. And often I fail.
She understands my frustration, my Mum...how many times was she saving up for this or that, only to have to use the money to pay a bill, fix her car, put a cast on her daughter's broken arm? How much did she give up for her kids' sake? There was always something...
So I'm thinking about maybe considering giving some thought to pondering possibly applying for disability. I have ethical concerns about it...but if I cannot work (and please believe that I have tried, dear Internet) and I cannot manage to sell my stories or art, then I must do something to keep from having to ask Mum for help on a continual basis.
I hate the idea, frankly, of asking others to carry me...but isn't that what I'm already doing??
Sigh.
What the Hell, Internet? Considering everything she's given to her kids, to me...maybe giving up a little of my pride, bowing my head and admitting defeat, isn't such a big deal, ethics be damned.
What I do recall, however, is with crystal clarity.
I remember Easter egg hunts at my grandparents (I wasn't always pagan), and going out on Papa's boat - he was my grandfather - and Mum making quiche for some friends who were visiting she made her own crust and good golly, it was tasty). I remember helping her crush pretzels for Margarita pie.
I remember nearly puncturing my eardrum with a Q-tip, and the hours spent in the hospital while doctors assured Mum that I wasn't going to be deaf because of it (although I have scar tissue that makes my hearing the tiniest bit fuzzy on that side). I remember breaking my wrist because I fell off a rainbow, and how charming the doctors thought that was. I remember the brown dress with the bells on the hem that would float up when I spun in circles. I loved that dress. And my patent-leather shoes that shone. Yes, I was once girly.
I remember, too, how Mum struggled to be a single mother with two kids. I remember wondering what this "father" was that other kids had but was absent in my own life. I remember the occasional gift from someone who called himself "dad" and wondering who that was. I remember hanging out down at the docks with him and his cronies from time to time, mostly ignoring them and staring far out to the horizon where sea and sky embraced.
I have not forgotten some of the things that helped fracture my mind, events and people that a child endured and a now (allegedly) adult woman still does battle with on a regular basis.
I also remember Mum struggling to make bills and feed her kids and pay for housing and trying (and sometimes failing) to maintain her sanity.
I remember her sitting up late into the night, alone in the living room, cigarette smoke curling above her head as she stared out into the vast nothing of the wandering mind, lost in trying-not-to-think.
I remember nights when she didn't eat dinner because she wasn't hungry...only I think it's really because there wasn't enough for two growing kids and her.
I remember her calling my teacher to get the recipe for candy cane cookies because we made them in class and I loved them, and all these years later she surfed the web to find 'em again because I waxed nostalgic about them one year.
We're so much alike, Mum and me. Different, but also much of a muchness.
I don't smoke.
I also can't sleep, sometimes, because I worry about how I will meet my obligations. Mine are different than hers were, but they weigh no less heavily.
Sometimes she had to ask her parents for help. They always did, but their assistance came with a heavy toll, one exacted in emotion, manipulation, and judgement...but she did what she had to to make certain Big Brother and I didn't need. Maybe we wanted sometimes, but we didn't need.
Sometimes (heck, most of the time), I have to lean heavily on Mum. I don't want to. I want her to breathe freely and not worry about what I may have to ask for next. She pays my mortgage - technically Casa de Crazy is my home but her house.
I can't work. Not a regular job. This makes paying bills a wee difficult. I try, though. So does Someone, now he's here. Occasionally, we try and fail. Life goes on. We're stung, our pride dented a bit, but we keep on keeping on.
When I have to ask Mum for help, she doesn't exact her pound of flesh - she won't do to me what her parents did to her. Still...I hate doing it. I think, sometimes, she feels a little guilty about how I turned out, and maybe secretly disappointed too. I think she wonders if she'd done things differently, would I be successful like Big Brother, rather than muddling along in a mire of mediocrity as I do.
So when I get a little behind here and there, I try not to say anything. I try to take care of my big-girl responsibilities without a crutch. And often I fail.
She understands my frustration, my Mum...how many times was she saving up for this or that, only to have to use the money to pay a bill, fix her car, put a cast on her daughter's broken arm? How much did she give up for her kids' sake? There was always something...
So I'm thinking about maybe considering giving some thought to pondering possibly applying for disability. I have ethical concerns about it...but if I cannot work (and please believe that I have tried, dear Internet) and I cannot manage to sell my stories or art, then I must do something to keep from having to ask Mum for help on a continual basis.
I hate the idea, frankly, of asking others to carry me...but isn't that what I'm already doing??
Sigh.
What the Hell, Internet? Considering everything she's given to her kids, to me...maybe giving up a little of my pride, bowing my head and admitting defeat, isn't such a big deal, ethics be damned.
I Came Home Why?
Oh, yeah...because Ohio was hot, the Internet failed mid-week, and the cats were getting lonely.
Sigh.
It was a good trip, I just got in, have to get the Evil Genius settled. My feet are poofy from the heat, humidity, and what felt like several years in the van, driving home.
I may not have Internet for a while - the phones are already turned off (how lovely to come home to that) and the Net is sure to follow...but tomorrow I will try my dangdest to get things rolling again. If AT&T isn't willing to work with me, though, it'll be a while before I'm cruising the Blue Nowhere again.
Double sigh. Anyone have a rich uncle who'd like to adopt??
Sigh.
It was a good trip, I just got in, have to get the Evil Genius settled. My feet are poofy from the heat, humidity, and what felt like several years in the van, driving home.
I may not have Internet for a while - the phones are already turned off (how lovely to come home to that) and the Net is sure to follow...but tomorrow I will try my dangdest to get things rolling again. If AT&T isn't willing to work with me, though, it'll be a while before I'm cruising the Blue Nowhere again.
Double sigh. Anyone have a rich uncle who'd like to adopt??
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Hot, Hot, Hot
SO we're in Ohio.
You'd think Ohio would be pleasant this time of year..
You wouldn't think it would be hotter than Satan's sweat socks.
Ahem.
We had a lovely drive up, although I wondered if South Carolina was ever going to end. Please don't be offended, SC - you're a perfectly nice state, but when the kid in the back seat is anxious to get to Ohio and keeps asking if we're in a new state yet...well...maybe you could put yourself on a diet, skinny up a little?
Friday night we stayed at a local motel, and wound up watching something tantamount to COPS outside our room. Ahh, small town entertainment.
Yesterday we set up our campsite. To say it was warm would be to understate severely. I could have wrung out my top! Someone was sans shirt almost immediately. We had a nice day - even the Evil Genius was happy because there were scads of other kids his age to play with. He's off with them now, I have no idea where.
Last night I fell asleep to drumming.
I would post photos, but I forgot the camera dock, so it'll have to be words until I get home or think of an alternative.
I am sweating just sitting here typing, and it's not even the hottest part of the day. Whew. Ohio, what's up??
I'm waiting for some others to arrive so we can set up the vend site. Grooooaaaaannnn. Hot...whimper...
For those interested, my band's concert schedule for this event:
Wednesday, 5 - 6 at the cafe
Thursday - 8 PM, Main Stage
Friday - Noon at the cafe
We may be broadcast live, and if so it'll be through PaganSpace.net.
Now, whether you'll excuse me or not, I need to go corral the Evil Genius, apply more sunscreen, and figure out how to get a new air mattress...ours died beneath us as we slept last night, and that trailer floor is not notoriously comfortable!
You'd think Ohio would be pleasant this time of year..
You wouldn't think it would be hotter than Satan's sweat socks.
Ahem.
We had a lovely drive up, although I wondered if South Carolina was ever going to end. Please don't be offended, SC - you're a perfectly nice state, but when the kid in the back seat is anxious to get to Ohio and keeps asking if we're in a new state yet...well...maybe you could put yourself on a diet, skinny up a little?
Friday night we stayed at a local motel, and wound up watching something tantamount to COPS outside our room. Ahh, small town entertainment.
Yesterday we set up our campsite. To say it was warm would be to understate severely. I could have wrung out my top! Someone was sans shirt almost immediately. We had a nice day - even the Evil Genius was happy because there were scads of other kids his age to play with. He's off with them now, I have no idea where.
Last night I fell asleep to drumming.
I would post photos, but I forgot the camera dock, so it'll have to be words until I get home or think of an alternative.
I am sweating just sitting here typing, and it's not even the hottest part of the day. Whew. Ohio, what's up??
I'm waiting for some others to arrive so we can set up the vend site. Grooooaaaaannnn. Hot...whimper...
For those interested, my band's concert schedule for this event:
Wednesday, 5 - 6 at the cafe
Thursday - 8 PM, Main Stage
Friday - Noon at the cafe
We may be broadcast live, and if so it'll be through PaganSpace.net.
Now, whether you'll excuse me or not, I need to go corral the Evil Genius, apply more sunscreen, and figure out how to get a new air mattress...ours died beneath us as we slept last night, and that trailer floor is not notoriously comfortable!
Friday, June 18, 2010
Holy Carp, It's Friday???
Whew - how'd a week go by? I'm still trying to get everything packed for our trip. We leave in eight hours for Ohio, ten days camping, singing, and generally being pagan in a reclaimed strip-mine. I'll have Bob with me and hope to post now and then. I have, for once, NOT pre-written any posts. Whoah. Life's hectic just now and I didn't have the time.
I HAVE arranged for a friend to water the garden and houseplants, and to play with all the cats and tell them how marvelous they are so they won't feel completely abandoned. I'm blessed with some amazing friends, I must say.
OK, enough foolin' around...I am almost done loading the trailer and van, just a few last-minute odds and ends, and then a few dishes to do, and then a shower and bed.
Did I say whew? Yeah...
I HAVE arranged for a friend to water the garden and houseplants, and to play with all the cats and tell them how marvelous they are so they won't feel completely abandoned. I'm blessed with some amazing friends, I must say.
OK, enough foolin' around...I am almost done loading the trailer and van, just a few last-minute odds and ends, and then a few dishes to do, and then a shower and bed.
Did I say whew? Yeah...
Monday, June 14, 2010
Saturday, June 12, 2010
It's Only a Movie
Last night, Someone and I watched The Village. Have you seen it? I am rather fond of it.
The two characters around whom the human story circles are Ivy
The two characters around whom the human story circles are Ivy
and Lucius,
although there are plenty of other plot lines to follow. Ivy's a strong character, well written, well played. Lucius is also well written and well played. They are believable together. She is sharp, sweet, gentle, kind, tart, and capable. He is quiet, gentle, altruistic, and strong.
There's a scene wherein a warning bell is ringing, and the villagers are running for safety. Something has entered the boundaries, and they have bolt-holes to hunker down in. In this scene, Ivy is standing in the doorway, on the threshold between light, warmth, and safety, and the mysterious, chilling dark. Hand outstretched, she waits. She is blind, so she cannot see the creature, blurred in the background, approaching her. She is waiting for Lucius. Her sister is begging her to come inside, not to let "them" in, but Ivy insists that Lucius is out there, in the night, and she won't back down.
At the last possible moment, just before the creature can touch her, the camera is focused tight on Ivy's strong hand, held still and graceful out to the darkness. Lucius's hand is suddenly there, grasping Ivy's with a smack. He has run to be with her. He pulls her into the house, bars the door, and goes down into the safety of the bolt-hole, all while holding her hand. A viola plays in the background, sweet, soaring, urgent. Lucius never lets Ivy go.
I cry every time I see that scene or hear the music (I own the soundtrack because? Beautiful.). Every time.
There is something primal about it, about the urgency, the steadfast faith, the need to protect and be protected, the connection of the hands, connection of body and spirit, of joining fates.
If you have never known a moment in your life where you wished someone would take your hand and lead you to safety...then I envy you. If you have never known with a surety that soemone would be there for you...then I pity you.
Yeah, it's just a movie...but I'll watch it again, and cry again...although perhaps not as wistfully as I once did...
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Scattershot
Ten days until Wisteria.Solstice Nine if we leave a day early because we can get in a day early, which is a bonus because it means we can take our time setting up.
Wait, what's Wisteria Solstice? It's our annual Solstice event, the one we go to in Ohio. It used to be PSG, but PSG moved elsewhere and Wisteria booked the band first, and sometimes it's about timing and commitment and patterns. Wisteria is part of the pattern of my year - the place, not necessarily the event. I love PSG, too...but can't afford to go to an event I'm not performing at. Not that I get paid much, if anything...but at least I get in for free, so all I have to pay for is fuel and food, and in the end it's not bad for ten days camping, singing, and hanging out with like-minded folks.
Anyway.
The point is, I have ten (nine) days to: clean the house (including the poor bathroom that bore the brunt of the septic tank hilarity); do laundry and pack clothing and entertainment for the Evil Genius (how many AA batteries do you think we'll burn through on our trip??); clean out the trailer, unpack, organize, and repack all the camping gear; grocery shop, prep, and freeze cook-ahead food items and meats; grocery shop at the last minute for fresh foods; clean more house; clean the van; rehearse with the band; figure out a time for the Evil Genius to see his dad since our plans for this week fell through and I'm worried the kid won't see his father again before July, at this rate; get the oil changed; pay bills so things don't get shut off while we're gone; learn to make pickles so the lovely cucumbers on our vines don't go to waste; make cards and mount/mat prints to (hopefully) sell at Wisteria; refill a prescription an hour from where I live because I didn't think to do it when I was up there yesterday; a ton of other things I'm too tired to articulate just now.
Whew.
I'll get it all done or I won't...either way, we're leaving in ten (nine) days for a week of camping, music, pagans, free spirits, and hopefully some relaxation. I may have Bob the Wonder Computer with me if I can manage to squeeze a new power cord out of my budget - the current (hah!) one has a break in the wire and won't power the machine unless it is in EXACTLY the right position and the planets have aligned. And it whines while it's at it. It's being held together with a rubber band. So yeah, I'm a little leery about traveling with it.
So what are you up to/planning these days?
Wait, what's Wisteria Solstice? It's our annual Solstice event, the one we go to in Ohio. It used to be PSG, but PSG moved elsewhere and Wisteria booked the band first, and sometimes it's about timing and commitment and patterns. Wisteria is part of the pattern of my year - the place, not necessarily the event. I love PSG, too...but can't afford to go to an event I'm not performing at. Not that I get paid much, if anything...but at least I get in for free, so all I have to pay for is fuel and food, and in the end it's not bad for ten days camping, singing, and hanging out with like-minded folks.
Anyway.
The point is, I have ten (nine) days to: clean the house (including the poor bathroom that bore the brunt of the septic tank hilarity); do laundry and pack clothing and entertainment for the Evil Genius (how many AA batteries do you think we'll burn through on our trip??); clean out the trailer, unpack, organize, and repack all the camping gear; grocery shop, prep, and freeze cook-ahead food items and meats; grocery shop at the last minute for fresh foods; clean more house; clean the van; rehearse with the band; figure out a time for the Evil Genius to see his dad since our plans for this week fell through and I'm worried the kid won't see his father again before July, at this rate; get the oil changed; pay bills so things don't get shut off while we're gone; learn to make pickles so the lovely cucumbers on our vines don't go to waste; make cards and mount/mat prints to (hopefully) sell at Wisteria; refill a prescription an hour from where I live because I didn't think to do it when I was up there yesterday; a ton of other things I'm too tired to articulate just now.
Whew.
I'll get it all done or I won't...either way, we're leaving in ten (nine) days for a week of camping, music, pagans, free spirits, and hopefully some relaxation. I may have Bob the Wonder Computer with me if I can manage to squeeze a new power cord out of my budget - the current (hah!) one has a break in the wire and won't power the machine unless it is in EXACTLY the right position and the planets have aligned. And it whines while it's at it. It's being held together with a rubber band. So yeah, I'm a little leery about traveling with it.
So what are you up to/planning these days?
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Thoughtfetti
I spent the weekend working communications at the track. It's fun, but the headset gave me a headache yesterday and today.
~~~~~
Someone did yeoman's duty this weekend - he looked after the Evil Genius, which deserves a medal of some sort.
~~~~~
Someone also cooked a fabulous dinner last night - homegrown cabbage leaves stuffed with sausage, homegrown baby zucchini, homegrown onions, a few tomatoes and some cheese. Spoiled, me.
~~~~~
We've been eating a bit from the garden, and I am enjoying it. The Evil Genius has even devoured more than a few raw peas and green beans. He ate our first cucumber a few days ago. Cool.
~~~~~
Lots to do in the next few weeks, and it's a little overwhelming to think about - we have to get ready for our Ohio trip. I don't feel at all prepared.
~~~~~
Lately I'm tired a lot. I don't like it. I have started stretching again, limbering up...soon, I will walk, and then perhaps run. If you feel the ground trembling, sorry 'bout that.
~~~~~
Someone did yeoman's duty this weekend - he looked after the Evil Genius, which deserves a medal of some sort.
~~~~~
Someone also cooked a fabulous dinner last night - homegrown cabbage leaves stuffed with sausage, homegrown baby zucchini, homegrown onions, a few tomatoes and some cheese. Spoiled, me.
~~~~~
We've been eating a bit from the garden, and I am enjoying it. The Evil Genius has even devoured more than a few raw peas and green beans. He ate our first cucumber a few days ago. Cool.
~~~~~
Lots to do in the next few weeks, and it's a little overwhelming to think about - we have to get ready for our Ohio trip. I don't feel at all prepared.
~~~~~
Lately I'm tired a lot. I don't like it. I have started stretching again, limbering up...soon, I will walk, and then perhaps run. If you feel the ground trembling, sorry 'bout that.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
A Little Perspective
I ran across this on Magpie Musing. It gives one a bit of perspective on the scope of the mess in the Gulf. Have a go yourself, if you like. She managed to get the map to show on her blog, but I'm not that slick, so...hit the link and see what happens...
If It Was My Home
It lets you put in where you live and shows the spill in relation to your home...and when I punched in Redneck Central's real name, it covered most of Georgia and some of Alabama, Tennessee, North Carolina and South Carolina. Wowzers.
The Evil Genius, when told that tar was washing up on Florida beaches, wanted to know why. I explained about the oil spill and how it will affect things. He said "Holy cow, how do we clean that up??"
Exactly.
If It Was My Home
It lets you put in where you live and shows the spill in relation to your home...and when I punched in Redneck Central's real name, it covered most of Georgia and some of Alabama, Tennessee, North Carolina and South Carolina. Wowzers.
The Evil Genius, when told that tar was washing up on Florida beaches, wanted to know why. I explained about the oil spill and how it will affect things. He said "Holy cow, how do we clean that up??"
Exactly.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Walled Off
Casa de Crazy is nestled down in the middle of Redneck Central. One of the things about living here is, the place ain't exactly crawling with pagans. Oh, sure, there a few here and there, but they're difficult to suss out what with the fear of cross-burnings in the yard, ostracism, stoning (not the fun kind) and job loss. Georgia's a right-to-hire/fire state, so yes, we can be fired for our religious leanings. Heck, just mention you're Catholic around your Baptist boss and you're likely to get your walking papers before you finish your cup-o-noodles lunch! They don't have to say why, and it's not so easy to prove religious persecution.
There are lots of churches around here, of every flavor, although the Methodists and Baptists seem to have cornered the largest part of the market for souls.
Some of the churches haven't changed much over the decades - built generations ago, they're quaint, brick and white clapboard with lovely steeples and stained-glass windows and columns out front, with gracefully arching doors and wide, welcoming porches.
Some of the churches, though have grown...and the growing isn't pretty. There's one in town that spurs a great deal of thought on my part. It was once a lovely brick building surrounded by lawn and old oak trees, their branches wide and welcoming.
Not any more.
No, their numbers grew , and rather than add more services, they decided to enlarge the building. Now, I've seen churches grow, build additions that match the existing structure. I know it can be done. These folks, though...that wasn't good enough for them. They had to build a whole new structure. Huge, featureless brick walls without windows, a steel-beam bell tower with a bell that never rings. Paved over the lawn, cut down the trees, put in a parking lot.
In the front corner of the parking lot is one of those new-fangled flashing electronic/digital marquis signs, in full color.
Maybe you're asking "So what? What's wrong with growing and expanding to better serve your spiritual community, Kyddryn? What, do you want all the church-goers to be in the dark about basketball camps, Bible study groups, and Weight Watcher meetings? Are you evil??"
No, I'm not evil (at least, not that anyone can prove...) and I don't have anything against an informed populace. I certainly don't object to a strong spiritual foundation. Yes, I'm sure I'm pagan.
But...I can't help thinking, when I see this building that looks like a prison with its ostentatious, flashing sign...
What happened to God?
I wonder how their God feels about all this. Is he fine with it? Is he happy, even? Is he really good with people cutting down his lovely old trees, building huge edifices in his name, blocking the air and light from his worshipers, closing them into what amounts to a large coffin, cutting them off from his creation? Wouldn't he rather they had a smaller building, maybe worship under one of his trees while the grass tickles their toes and reminds them of his kind and loving presence in their life? Wouldn't he rather they used an old-fashioned church bulletin or marquis sign and used the money for that digital contraption to feed, clothe, and house people who need it? Those signs aren't cheap, you know.
I mean...if I was a god and I made a beautiful planet for my people...I might be a mite irked when they dug it up, plowed it under, cut the tops off the hills, knocked down the trees, ripped stone from one place and forest from another to put a building up that would keep my people from seeing my beauty and cut them off from me, then paved the rest of it...all in my name.
Adding another service or two would have done the trick...but god forbid (hah!) anyone should have to get up earlier or perhaps have a later lunch in order to worship. That would be inconvenient.
So there they sit, spending all that money on frippery while people all around them are jobless, hungry, soon to be homeless, struggling, and not terribly interested in the latest full-color, flashing notice about the next musical group to grace the auditorium, tickets on sale for only $29.99...there they sit, behind thick walls, cut off from the sun, the wind, the world in general, walled off from everything real.
I feel sorry for them.
There are lots of churches around here, of every flavor, although the Methodists and Baptists seem to have cornered the largest part of the market for souls.
Some of the churches haven't changed much over the decades - built generations ago, they're quaint, brick and white clapboard with lovely steeples and stained-glass windows and columns out front, with gracefully arching doors and wide, welcoming porches.
Some of the churches, though have grown...and the growing isn't pretty. There's one in town that spurs a great deal of thought on my part. It was once a lovely brick building surrounded by lawn and old oak trees, their branches wide and welcoming.
Not any more.
No, their numbers grew , and rather than add more services, they decided to enlarge the building. Now, I've seen churches grow, build additions that match the existing structure. I know it can be done. These folks, though...that wasn't good enough for them. They had to build a whole new structure. Huge, featureless brick walls without windows, a steel-beam bell tower with a bell that never rings. Paved over the lawn, cut down the trees, put in a parking lot.
In the front corner of the parking lot is one of those new-fangled flashing electronic/digital marquis signs, in full color.
Maybe you're asking "So what? What's wrong with growing and expanding to better serve your spiritual community, Kyddryn? What, do you want all the church-goers to be in the dark about basketball camps, Bible study groups, and Weight Watcher meetings? Are you evil??"
No, I'm not evil (at least, not that anyone can prove...) and I don't have anything against an informed populace. I certainly don't object to a strong spiritual foundation. Yes, I'm sure I'm pagan.
But...I can't help thinking, when I see this building that looks like a prison with its ostentatious, flashing sign...
What happened to God?
I wonder how their God feels about all this. Is he fine with it? Is he happy, even? Is he really good with people cutting down his lovely old trees, building huge edifices in his name, blocking the air and light from his worshipers, closing them into what amounts to a large coffin, cutting them off from his creation? Wouldn't he rather they had a smaller building, maybe worship under one of his trees while the grass tickles their toes and reminds them of his kind and loving presence in their life? Wouldn't he rather they used an old-fashioned church bulletin or marquis sign and used the money for that digital contraption to feed, clothe, and house people who need it? Those signs aren't cheap, you know.
I mean...if I was a god and I made a beautiful planet for my people...I might be a mite irked when they dug it up, plowed it under, cut the tops off the hills, knocked down the trees, ripped stone from one place and forest from another to put a building up that would keep my people from seeing my beauty and cut them off from me, then paved the rest of it...all in my name.
Adding another service or two would have done the trick...but god forbid (hah!) anyone should have to get up earlier or perhaps have a later lunch in order to worship. That would be inconvenient.
So there they sit, spending all that money on frippery while people all around them are jobless, hungry, soon to be homeless, struggling, and not terribly interested in the latest full-color, flashing notice about the next musical group to grace the auditorium, tickets on sale for only $29.99...there they sit, behind thick walls, cut off from the sun, the wind, the world in general, walled off from everything real.
I feel sorry for them.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Fireflies
Fireflies hang low in the trees, flashing their lonely, hopeful signals into the dusk. Drifting through the gloaming, always seeking that answering flash, the one light that is perfectly synchronized to their rhythm, the call home.
In the not-too-distant past, in a darkened room, a still form was silhouetted against the glow of a computer screen. The flash and flicker of page after page lit his face. Scrolling along, blog after blog devoured, words absorbed, he read and wrote, hours spent seeking.
His own words were calling, weaving through the Blue Nowhere, every letter an electronic pulse flashing along the wires, reaching for the unknown.
There.
Something...
Words that sang out the harmony to his Song.
They circled each other, typing, clicking, pulsing, two tiny lights in the vast and murky otherworld of Online.
They met and found that Reality did nothing to dim the brilliance, did nothing to dull the shine. Parting, meeting again, parting, and finally, finally, closing the distance for good. She welcomed him home.
They are sometimes incomprehensible to those who see them, synchronized, uncanny. They face difficulties, all is not easy, but they face what comes together.
Fireflies hang low in the trees, flashing their lonely, hopeful signals into the dusk. Drifting through the gloaming, always seeking that answering flash, the one light that is perfectly synchronized to their rhythm, the call home.
In the not-too-distant past, in a darkened room, a still form was silhouetted against the glow of a computer screen. The flash and flicker of page after page lit his face. Scrolling along, blog after blog devoured, words absorbed, he read and wrote, hours spent seeking.
His own words were calling, weaving through the Blue Nowhere, every letter an electronic pulse flashing along the wires, reaching for the unknown.
There.
Something...
Words that sang out the harmony to his Song.
They circled each other, typing, clicking, pulsing, two tiny lights in the vast and murky otherworld of Online.
They met and found that Reality did nothing to dim the brilliance, did nothing to dull the shine. Parting, meeting again, parting, and finally, finally, closing the distance for good. She welcomed him home.
They are sometimes incomprehensible to those who see them, synchronized, uncanny. They face difficulties, all is not easy, but they face what comes together.
Fireflies hang low in the trees, flashing their lonely, hopeful signals into the dusk. Drifting through the gloaming, always seeking that answering flash, the one light that is perfectly synchronized to their rhythm, the call home.
Monday, May 31, 2010
This Post is Not For the Faint of Heart...
...or stomach.
Yes, we went to Baton Rouge, and yes, we had a fine time - no protesters showed up, so that fun was spoiled, but the concert was fun and we were well received, which is always nice. You can read a bit about it here.
This post isn't about that, though...it's about what we left and came home to.
We had planned to leave Thursday morning, but had to vacate Casa de Crazy Wednesday night instead because of this:
Nice, huh? Last time I saw that, it was when I first moved in and the septic tank had to be pumped. We figured Wednesday night was not the best time to try and get it taken care of, and Mum wasn't going to spend the night in a house where we couldn't run water for fear of flooding the bathroom (her bathroom, might I add), so we hurried the packing and beat feet.
We came home a day early to deal with this:
And this:
Had to call these nice folks: 
They were here in an hour, and didn't charge holiday rates - same price, no matter what day it is.
Kevin (on the left) and Matt (on the right) were truly awesome - they had to dig carefully because the builder thought it would be fun to put the concrete pad for the stairs on top of one corner of the tank. Sigh. What the hell, builders??
The tank was so packed , it was nearly solid - it looked like a huge poo pudding. Poor Matt...as he was the new guy, he had to use the giant mixer and stir up the pudding, into a sort of poo shake, so they could pump it up. At least he didn't have to do it by hand...
Then he nearly fell into the tank while replacing the rear baffle. 
The line from the house was plugged because of the back-up. They had to come in and plunge the toilet and the tub...and again, Matt had the honors. He reached into the tub full of poo water to remove the drain. Wow. That's some dedication to your work. He even cleaned the tub a little.
They pumped dug, pumped, rinsed, hosed, plunged, jetted, replaced, treated, pumped some more and...umm...'scuse me...
I needed a moment to check out those arms. Whoa. Pumpin' poo is better than pumpin' iron, I guess.
A few hours and eighteen-hundred dollars later, Casa de Crazy is no longer full of shit. Ahem. We are free to shower (which, thank goodness, because after unpacking the van and stowing gear in the trailer and whatnot, I was a bit...erm...ripe).
It was one heck of a way to start/finish the weekend. Oh, well...shit happens. Ahem. Now of you'll excuse me - I have to go clean that bathroom. Fire's a cleaning agent, right??
Yes, we went to Baton Rouge, and yes, we had a fine time - no protesters showed up, so that fun was spoiled, but the concert was fun and we were well received, which is always nice. You can read a bit about it here.
This post isn't about that, though...it's about what we left and came home to.
We had planned to leave Thursday morning, but had to vacate Casa de Crazy Wednesday night instead because of this:
Nice, huh? Last time I saw that, it was when I first moved in and the septic tank had to be pumped. We figured Wednesday night was not the best time to try and get it taken care of, and Mum wasn't going to spend the night in a house where we couldn't run water for fear of flooding the bathroom (her bathroom, might I add), so we hurried the packing and beat feet.We came home a day early to deal with this:
And this:Had to call these nice folks: They were here in an hour, and didn't charge holiday rates - same price, no matter what day it is. Kevin (on the left) and Matt (on the right) were truly awesome - they had to dig carefully because the builder thought it would be fun to put the concrete pad for the stairs on top of one corner of the tank. Sigh. What the hell, builders??
The tank was so packed , it was nearly solid - it looked like a huge poo pudding. Poor Matt...as he was the new guy, he had to use the giant mixer and stir up the pudding, into a sort of poo shake, so they could pump it up. At least he didn't have to do it by hand...Then he nearly fell into the tank while replacing the rear baffle. The line from the house was plugged because of the back-up. They had to come in and plunge the toilet and the tub...and again, Matt had the honors. He reached into the tub full of poo water to remove the drain. Wow. That's some dedication to your work. He even cleaned the tub a little.
They pumped dug, pumped, rinsed, hosed, plunged, jetted, replaced, treated, pumped some more and...umm...'scuse me...
I needed a moment to check out those arms. Whoa. Pumpin' poo is better than pumpin' iron, I guess.A few hours and eighteen-hundred dollars later, Casa de Crazy is no longer full of shit. Ahem. We are free to shower (which, thank goodness, because after unpacking the van and stowing gear in the trailer and whatnot, I was a bit...erm...ripe).
It was one heck of a way to start/finish the weekend. Oh, well...shit happens. Ahem. Now of you'll excuse me - I have to go clean that bathroom. Fire's a cleaning agent, right??
Remember
Photo found here and copied entirely without permission but not without respect.I don't know if anyone I knew and loved fell in battle, but 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.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Red Stick
I'm in Baton Rouge at a campground in the middle of a swamp. There's no computer, but the daily frog chorus makes for interesting Morse Code.
We're performing this evening, and again on Sunday afternoon. I'll let you knowhow much if it sucked or if it was adequate.
Have a good weekend. If you're a veteran, cheers. If anyone in your family died in the service, my condolences, and my deepest, most heartfelt thanks. Watch over the weekend for more on that subject.
We're performing this evening, and again on Sunday afternoon. I'll let you know
Have a good weekend. If you're a veteran, cheers. If anyone in your family died in the service, my condolences, and my deepest, most heartfelt thanks. Watch over the weekend for more on that subject.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Because I'm Drawing a Complete Blank, Here
I'm packing (well, I'm supposed to be packing, anyway)(but I can't get motivated)(bleh) for Baton Rouge, and I can't think of a dang thing to say that anyone but me might like to hear/read/contemplate, so I'm handing the blog over to Danny Kaye for a few. He's always good for a laugh!
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