Lost In Translation

I don't know what it is that I need, only that I need something, some indefinable thing, some thing that will take away the empty loneliness and shine some light in the dark corners or at the very least offer a few drops of comfort to fill a void that has grown for so long it may never be entirely filled.

I'm not sure what makes the emptiness ache the way it does, but it aches and I can't seem to numb the pain with any conventional means, and unconventional means are not an option although I can understand how people turn to drugs or drink or sex or some other thing to distract or remove themselves from what's paining them even when that answer isn't real relief and doesn't do anything but mask what's there without ever really fixing.  So why's it called a fix, then?  Those things just make it worse, and I don't need worse, I need better.

Oh, I am restless and want to wander free, wild, alone, no children or cats or fish or Someone or mother or friends or anyone or anything who is part of the history of me that feels so awfully heavy right now.  I feel the gypsy part of my soul stirring, turning her face into the wind, smiling, yearning to hitch up her ponies and follow the swirling autumn leaves away, away, away, but I am not the gypsy, not entirely, only partially, and she's been chained for so long that I don't know, really, if she remembers how to wander, how to dance beneath the moon on a winter-cold night while the stars burn with their tiny ferocity and the dew freezes into frost crystal patterns finer than the fanciest etched glass in the greatest manor house.

Something akin to peace, quiet, rest, solitude, something like not being responsible for myself or for anyone else, something like not having to clean or cook or make a decision, something like sleeping in for days and days and swinging gently on a hammock and napping and sitting out in the dark counting stars and not hearing people or feeling anger or fear or hurt or all this tired.

How does one find what one cannot name?

Without One, No Other

We never let the shadow swallow the light
Despite ourselves, we continue
To fight the desperate fight
Clinging with strong, bony fingers
And wiry strength
With all our might

We never let the light send the shadows away
Bright as it burns, we still seek shade
Hoping to make them stay
And help us sharpen
The glimmering hope
For which we pray

The one, the other
Each defining each
We between them twist and turn
Trying not to become lost
Trying not to burn

He Only Loves Me For My Baked Goods

He hasn't been around much, lately.  On the rare occasions He pops in, He looks tired and sad.  I don't like to mention it, because I would rather He view this place as a peculiar kind of sanctuary where He may simply rest and be Himself.

I can't help, it though, I worry, and so I speak up.

"You look tired and sad, JC.  What's up?"

"I could say the same for you, dear Witch."

"Well, I'm human and have a whole mess of terribly human concerns.  You, on the other hand, are half deity at least and shouldn't be worrying about mortal concerns."

"Well, I'm responsible for all of the wrong done in my name, or done and then repented.  They say that's why I was nailed up by the Romans."

"And here I thought it was because you were considered a criminal."

"Is that why you welcome me?"

"Yeah, I always did like the bad boys."  That gets a wan smile.  "So, come on, spill it.  You know whatever you tell me is between you, me, and The Blue Nowhere."

"You've seen what's going on in the world lately?"

"Well, a bit.  I don't watch TV, take the paper or most magazines, and try to avoid all the anger and hatred bubbling up on the Internet, so I am not always exactly current."

"I wish I could avoid all of that, but the things people do in my name..."  He falters, sighs, stares into the distance.  "How is it so unclear, my word?  When did I say to hate or hurt for my sake?  When did I say I only loved a few souls who followed a very narrow and particular set of rules written by men hundreds of years after my death?  Did I not say to love one another?  Did I not say to forgive?  Did I not encourage compassion and discourage judgment?  Did I not say that what is done to the least is done to me?  Did I not heal without asking who the afflicted loved, worshiped, or voted for?  Did I not strive to help all who asked without demanding they qualify for my help?"

He is agitated, now, up and pacing in the room in my mind, the room that always smells faintly of incense and cinnamon and tea but never quite looks the same twice.

"JC, you can't help what people do.  We're such ridiculous critters.  Folks are afraid, and they turn fear into anger and anger into hatred, and they turn that hatred on anyone who makes them feel uncomfortable.  You offer peace, but humans want more than forgiveness and peace.  They want to feel stronger, better, right.  Your Daddy laid down some crazy rules before he had you and mellowed, and some folks like those rules because those rules tell them who to judge, that it's okay to judge, that by following those rules they are better,more favored.  Those weird, ridiculous rules that should have been negated by YOUR words and actions (what with them being the more recent and clearly sanctioned by your Pops) let people feel powerful.  Those rules let people feel powerful and superior, and right now?  Oh, JC, there's hunger and hurt and fear, so much fear, and people need something to hold onto."

"So why can't they hold onto each other?"

"Way less satisfying to hold out a hand and pull someone up than to stomp them down, I guess.  The righteous can't stand the idea that anyone less righteous should be equal in your eyes, equal in your love."

"That's horrible."

"That's humanity."

"It doesn't have to be so."

"It isn't, always.  Plenty of people all over the world acting in your name, and not in your name, are doing incalculable good.  People feeding the hungry, healing the sick, striving to help those who need help without judgment or reserve.  Lots of people who, even when they don't worship or even believe in you, embody the same ideals you were created to embody.  Like you, they give unstintingly of themselves and seek nothing more in return than that those they help show the same love to others when they can."

"Why do you understand this?  Why do they?  How is it that so many who claim to be MY children have turned so far away from me?"

"Maybe because they ARE children, children in a world full of shadows and monsters, and they need to believe in a supernatural hero who can save them all from the ugliness because the realization that we, and we alone, can fix all this is too damned much for them."

"Language!"

"Pfft.  Damned.  Dammit.  Jesusmotherfuckingchristonamotherfucking cracker!"

He grins.  He can't help it.  He knows I love him, even in my irreverence, even though I don't worship him or his father and don't hold myself to their printed standards.  "But still, it's not as if I was unclear..."

"No, but self-reliance and accountability are difficult and unpleasant.  We like the easy path.  Judgment, disdain, superiority...they're so much easier."

"It hurts to know that people are considered less than, in my name...that they are denied their love, their freedom, basic human rights...because of me."

He needs a big old hug and I oblige.  "Sweetie, they aren't doing it because of you, not really.  They are doing it because of the illusion of you made by a church run by very human men (for the most part) who have very human desires to have power and control others and force the world to behave in a way that pleases them.  If people who claim you could really know you, really follow your example, really understand what kind of pure, unadulterated joy and love you embody...they might burst into flames from it, or they might simply drop dead from the shame of who they've been and what they've done, or maybe...maybe...maybe they'd shake themselves a little and get right with you, reconcile themselves, move forward and be their Very Best Selves, do right by you.

I suspect, though, that as long as you keep showing up in MY dreams and nomming imaginary sweets (Snickerdoodles this time), talking to me, and not smiting me with lightning or plagues or whatever the going smite-y thing is, people will continue to be angry and smug and superior and all judg-y.  Of course you'll forgive them, it's what you do,and of course they will continue on and wonder how come I get to blog about these things and all they have are troubled, restless dreams that tell them something is missing but they don't know what or why.  And they aren't all bad, your people - I kind of like that new Pope of yours."

"Hmph.  Look how he's marginalized by his own church and followers!  I bet he knows how I feel, a little.  Maybe I'll go see him later, bring him a Snickerdoodle.  Pass me the cookies."

He doesn't want to talk about it any more.  He's worn to the woof, disappointed, and as dispirited as a spirit can be.  He'll keep striving, because he can't NOT, and he'll keep hoping, because he IS hope, and he'll keep haunting my dreams and asking for baked goods from time to time because even a Messsiah needs a break once in a while, and maybe I'll keep blogging about it and maybe it'll make a difference.

I hand him a bag of cookies to take with him.  Sometimes one can bear up a little better when there are cookies.  I hope the Pope like 'em.

It's Not Just the Bars Make the Prison

Treat a person like an animal, a dangerous creature to be caged and minimized, to be starved and controlled, and what can you expect but that they should become that ravening beast you have all along accused them of being?

Feed their spirit, nurture their humanity, show them that they can grow to be more than what they have been, and there can be tremendous change for good.

Idealistic?  Probably.  No less true for the idealism, though.  If one, even one, can change the path they're on and become a light in the dark, I would see them given the opportunity rather than let them be trampled into the mud and misery.

I have seen and heard of much of the negative in the world of jails and prisons, and certainly Hollywood has aggrandized the worst of it all.  What is missed or quashed or ignored is the good, the tremendous good, that happens among and between inmates every single day.

Yes, there are gangs.  There is bigotry.  There is violence.

There are also people who give a bar of soap to someone who can't buy their own.  People who reach out to their families in the outside world to help connect their fellows with THEIR families.  People who ask their loved ones to give a ride to a stranger so they can visit.  People who share food, offer a pair of socks or a shirt, lend some paper, a pencil, an envelope, a stamp, never asking anything in return.  People classified as less-than by society who act as more-than despite the expectation that they should be anything but their higher selves.

Prisoners are people.  They have souls.  They are imbued with the same divine spark as all living beings.  To see them as lesser is to diminish us and create the monsters they never would have been without our help.

Evidence Of Things Unseen

I am really so very tired of being told that I must prove I have mental illness.  It's not as if I can point to a place on my body and say "Look, see, there?  See that broken, damaged, bruised, twisted, destroyed, missing thing?"

I can't SHOW you a mental illness.  

I can show you what it does to me, but the illness itself is invisible.

I can tell you about my struggle every. single. day. to keep climbing the fucking mountain carrying my heavy-ass fucking basket of stones, sometimes with nothing but grim determination not to falter or fail, not to break my word and give up and let the mountain send me tumbling down into the abyss that dogs my heels waiting to swallow me whole, but the illness itself is invisible.

I can refer you to the rare few people who get to see it when it has me in its teeth, the very rare few people who I trust enough NOT to past the smile on my lips and falsify the light in my eyes, the rare, special few people whom I permit to hear it in my voice when I am worn down near to nothing and still have to carry on, carry on, carry on, but the illness itself is invisible.

I'm too busy trying not to die from it to show proof of its existence, and if I am not to be believed about it then there's not a damned thing I can do to convince anyone and I haven't the time, haven't the energy, haven't the strength to keep proving to anyone who simply won't believe me because the illness itself is invisible.

Grandparents' Day

Seems it's Grandparents' Day.  Honestly I had no idea, so it's a little funny-weird that this morning I woke up thinking about grandparents.

Specifically, I woke thinking about my daughter and how she doesn't really know what a grandfather is.   My father and stepmother came to visit when Sprout was a newborn, but otherwise have never been in the same room with her.  Aside from the photos I send every Christmas, and the occasional Facebook post (if they even read my Facebook posts), they don't know her at all.  Her other grandfather, Someone's dad, has seen her once, when she was just learning to toddle about and we drove to Texas to visit his family.

Oddly, for a child who hasn't any real idea what a grandfather is, she talks about "my grandpa" a lot lately.

"My grandpa has a flute at his house and he plays it all the time."

"My grandpa drives a car and he takes me in it and we go to all kinds of places."

"My grandpa has ice cream at his house."

And so on.

The only grandparent she knows, really, is my mother.  Now, my mother is a fantastic grandma and if my kids only interact with ONE of their grandparents, my mother's the one to have...but...I can't help feeling a little wistful, a little melancholy, because the whole burden of grandparenting falls on her shoulders and my kids are missing something that I had in spades as a child.

I had an excess of grandparents growing up, what with divorces, remarryings, and all that.  I think I had eight at the height of grandparentage.  I loved them all, although my mother's father was probably my favorite.  Probably?  No...definitely.  We were kindred souls in some small ways.  I miss him every day.

My kids, though - they have my magnificent mother and once in a while Someone's mother, and that's kinda it.

I would have liked there to be fond memories for them - fishing, swimming, rambling in the woods, playing cards, sitting on a porch somewhere, chasing fireflies, indulgent laughter, cookies, all the things that I'm told are part of the grandparent package.

The Evil Genius barely knows his paternal grandfather.  Goddess knows I've tried, but I had to stop.

I'm sure if I worked harder, chased more, made even greater effort, the other grands would take a tiny bit more interest in my kids, but I don't have it in me to chase people down and beg them for love.  Not for me, not for my kids, not for anyone.  I can't help thinking that it'd be nice if THEY cared enough to make an effort.  Their actions have shown me that my kids (and I) do not matter enough, and I am not throwing good love down a hole and hoping for a return.

So my kids have one Gramlin, mostly, and one Gammy Beff sometimes, and that's a lot, and it's enough, and with our extended family of aunties and uncles and misses and misters and nana's, we fill in the gaps quite nicely.

Happy Grandparents' Day to them what celebrates it!

Finding the Way Down a Dark Path On A Moonless Night While Blindfolded

Altenatively:  Here, Have Some Sticks

Wow.  I just found out that a person I was acquainted with committed suicide a few days ago.  We weren't good friend, only met the once.  He was a talented musician and a very likable fellow, and I'm sorry we won't have a chance to make some good craic together.  Whatever drove him to it, I hope he left it behind and finds himself welcomed with warmth and fellowship on the other side.
Suicide isn't about the wanting or needing to die, it's about NOT wanting to keep on living without hope or happiness, about NOT wanting to continue on down a seemingly endless dark and dreary path, about NOT seeing anything else, any other way to escape.

People who are there, they look around and see a world they can't touch, can't be part of, can't even fathom.

We feel alien, alone, unwanted, abandoned and we want it to stop.  Our bodies and souls ache and we just want it to stop.  We are blinded by the noise and shadow and silence and all of it, everything, and we just want it to stop.  We see others slip free and we wonder why we keep on slogging down the path carrying our loads of stones, the weight is unbearable, and we just want it to stop.

Some of us have tried counseling, meditation, medication, unlawful substances, primal screaming, sex, dangerous hobbies, prayer, pulling ourselves up by the bootstraps, getting over it, just ignoring it, faith healers, hula dancing, and every other thing that has supposedly cured anyone else, ever, and it hasn't worked.  We have a malady, a very real physical malady attacking our psyche, and we fight with it every day.  Every.  Day.

Remember that scene in the first Lethal Weapon movie where Gibson's character tells Glover's character that every day he has to wake up and think of a reason not to do it, every single day?  Yup.

It's contagious, too - one goes and others see it as an answer and they go, and more see it, and more, and before you know it a half-dozen people have slipped loose from life and left a wake of sorrow, confusion, anger, and envy behind them.

And death doesn't solve anything, but the dead don't care because, well, they're dead. 
Now, listen up - I get it.  I do.  I've been there.  Often.  I know...I do...and if it's what you really want there's nothing in the world can stop you but if you think, even for the briefest moment, that maybe you'd like to try one more time to find a way to keep on THIS side of the veil and maybe could use someone to talk to, get in touch...with me, with a hotline, with a friend, with a stranger at the bus station.  Reach out.  It's weird, I know, but people DO care.  You can't see it or feel it or understand it because you're wrapped in a thick bubble of psychological ick that distorts everything you experience (I know this because I'm in that bubble, too), but it's true, they care.  We care.  I care.  You matter.

Some resources (sticks, if you will):

National Suicide Prevention Hotline:  1 (800) 273-8255 or  www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

IM Alive:  1-800-442-4673 or www.hopeline.com

A list of hotlines by state with a link to international resources:  http://www.suicide.org/suicide-hotlines.html

Another list of international resources:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines

9/11

The past few years I've avoided the whole 9/11 memorial thing, largely because I think it's become such a source of politics and divisiveness among us and I find that distressing.

This year I've been thinking quite a bit about what we have become, how we as a nation have let this event shape us.

I don't like it.

Rather than rail on and on about the slow erosion of civil rights and the swift degradation into a Lord of the Flies mentality that we seem to have experienced since that day, I'm going to post the above picture and spend part of the day contemplating the heroes in my eyes - the people who went into dangerous situations knowing they could be hurt or killed but going anyway because there was a need and they answered.  I will contemplate the victims - the people who were going to work, who were going about their day, when hellfire rained down on them.  I will contemplate the survivors - the people who were victims and heroes who didn't die but will carry September 11, 2001 with them until the end of their days.

I will also hope that some day soon we will become United again, by compassion, passion, wit, wisdom, experience, empowerment, creativity, innovation, love, and above all the freedom that we have long been so proud of but have, of late, had in awfully short supply.

Thank You, Amy Pence-Brown

My body has swum in the deep Atlantic ocean.  It has sailed boats and dived from rocks into the embracing waves.

My body has climbed mountains, and it has skied down them.  It has waded in creeks and streams and paddled across rivers.  It has been in caves and on natural stone bridges.

My body has walked through the woods, lovely and dark.  My body has stood in the sun and heat of a southeastern summer and withstood the worst storms that weather could throw at it.  My body has worked and harvested from the earth.

My body has held snakes and spiders and scorpions and been stung by bees and bitten by mosquitoes and scratched by cats and bruised by falls and car accidents and bumps and bangs.

My body has done without water and food.

My body has functioned through asthma and pneumonia and broken bones and a broken psyche.

My body has shaped, nurtured, carried life within it.  My body has carried children in its arms and on its hips and on its back.  It has hauled children in strollers and wagons and on sleds.  It has lifted children up and cuddled them close.  It has offered warmth, comfort, and protection.

My body has pushed cars and stood for hours in the sun and rain at the track and given shelter to baby animals and worked to help nurture wild creatures.

My body has been strong and fit and curvy and sexy.  My body has been fat and out of shape and tired and sore.

My body sags and is deflated and floppy and sometimes I look at it and think it is gross and wish it was different, but it is my body and it has done all of these things and more and as bodies go it's pretty remarkable.

And...it carries me, the essential me, the non-physical me, it carries me through every day not matter what I do to it or say to it, no matter how I care (or don't care) for it.  It just keeps going, determined to carry me to the end of my road as best it can.

I may never be beautiful in my eyes, but...I can at the very least remind myself of this amazing vessel that bears me through my days.  I can at the very least work towards stopping or muting the constant internal dialog about how I am something lesser because I do not meet some false standard of beauty.

I am as beautiful as I perceive myself to be.  I am as beautiful as I allow myself to be.  I can be beautiful in ways beyond physical.

You are beautiful, too.

Let's celebrate us.

Thoughtfetti

I worked at the track this weekend.  My friend A watched the kids.  I appreciate her, and everything she does.  I lucked out in the friends department, for sure.  It's rare that one has so many good folks one can trust with one's children.  Sure make it easier to do the sporadic work I can do!
~~~~~
I read a joke yesterday.  It was bad.  Really bad.  Wrong.  Really wrong,  You know I'm about to share it here, right?

Here goes.

The person who proofread Hitler's speeches?  Really was a grammar Nazi.

Badump-bump
~~~~~
Sometimes I have to share bad jokes to dislodge them from my brain.  Thank you for helping me out with that.
~~~~~
I wonder why so many people are so angry and fearful these days.  I don't remember it being this way even a decade ago.  I wonder if it's like the chimps that got violent when there were too many for the land to support...they went to war and killed each other off until there were few enough for the land to support again.  yeah, that's a simplification, but...worth thinking about.
~~~~~
I don't believe in trophy hunting.  If it's not an unavoidable threat to one's life or one's next meal, there's no reason to kill it.  A life is a life.  Why's that so difficult to understand?
~~~~~
I like watching the goldfish swim in the big tank.  Sometimes they hover in one place, looking for all the world like little scaled sculptures in the water, and other times they bob up and down, and yet other times that flit about the tank.

They tease the cats, too, swimming to where one of the kitties peers through the glass, and I believe they do the goldfish equivalent of thumbing their noses.
~~~~~
We had one sunflower grow to maturity.  It is loaded with seeds.  Sprout likes to pull the seeds out and eat them.  I'd better grab some to save for planting next year before she munches them all.
~~~~~
Sprout tells me there's a fellow name Hi-You who has a magic wand on his head and wings on his feet and he flies upside down...and he's responsible for all the 'narls in her hair.
~~~~~
I am looking forward to taking the kids camping at one of our favorite places next month.  Little pleasures...
~~~~~
What's on your mind these days?

All Of It*

The apple I eat, the mosquito I slap, the cat I feed, the squirrel I hit with my van, the woman I give groceries to, the insects splattered on my windshield, every soldier that has ever died on any side of every conflict, women, men, other, more, less, in between, the tree I burn in the fireplace, the flowers I plant, the old woman and the infant boy, the well, the sound, the whole, the beautiful, the sick, the crippled, the shattered, the ugly, the feline, the canine, the equine, the avian, the bee and the butterfly, the squash and the carrot, the microbe in the dirt and the zooplankton in the ocean, the people I loathe, the people I love, the builders, the destroyers, the imaginative, the literal, the white, the black, the red, the yellow, the brown, long hair, short hair, no hair, fat, thin, tall, short, median, clothed, nude, naked, nekkid, wise, foolish, wealthy, poor, the givers, the takers, the singers, the silent, the life that I consume and the life that I nurture into being and the life that I live and the same, the same, THE SAME goes for you and you and you and every other being of any kind that lives and shines and is glorious and marvelous and overwhelming and complex and one tiny, tiny piece of this whole damned thing, and every, every, every life matters because lose one piece and the puzzle falls apart, and I love you, yes you, in all your glorious youhood.  

I matter.

Me.

You matter.

You.

We matter.

We.

We are all of us the whole.

We are all of us...

...all of it.




*Sometimes she speaks to me and I try awfully hard to take the hugeness of her voice and put it into these shallow human words but ours is a paltry language in the face of her tremendous love, and how does one capture the song of the universe and make it over into into a single note?

A Brief Interlude In the Yard at Casa de Crazy

(AKA:  Somebody Has To Feed the Mosquitoes)

I had a rare opportunity for some solo time this morning, as Sprout was deeply asleep when I got up and didn't even twitch when I rescued my arm out from under her head.  Yes, she sleeps with me sometimes, but these days it's only in the morning for a sort of prolonged cuddle.

I was turning on the fish tank light in the sun room when I noticed a puddle of cat pee.  Don't all the best stories start out with a puddle of cat pee?  Lately I feel like all of my stories start with a puddle of cat pee.

Anyway.

So I had to mop up the puddle of cat pee.  Say, I wonder how many times I will type "puddle of cat pee" in this post?  I'm not going to count.

Ahem.

Mopping up the puddle of cat pee (I'm on a mission, now) required fetching the mop from the back stairs where it languishes until I frantically fetch it forth in a dither because PUDDLE OF CAT PEE!!!

On fetching it hither, I chanced to look down in the yard and saw that the morning glories that I planted this past spring were blooming and was reminded that I wanted some photographs of them.  I mopped up the puddle of cat pee (it's like a refrain in my head, now), cleaned the mop and sent it back into exile, snagged my camera, and headed out.

I am, by the way, still trying to figure out all the functions on this camera.  Two years and I still mostly just kinda point, click, and hope for the best.

I planted the glories near the front stairs and in a pot near an old dead tree behind the house.

The vine by the front stairs isn't as hearty as they've been in years past, but given my rather neglectful style of gardening, I am happy to have even one bloom:

One of the blooms behind the house had a little visitor.  Can you see it?

The flowers are large-ish, about as big as my palm.  I have no reference photo, so, er, my palm is about as large as the top of a Chobani yogurt container.

I was hoping, when I planted them, that the back vines would climb the old dead tree but they were more inclined to sprawl on the ground.  Next year I will give them some guide strings and see how high they will go.  If, that is, the old dead tree is still there - it continues its slow, piecemeal shortening process with every good wind we have.  I haven't been fussed about cutting it because it falls away from the house, it anchors my clothes line, and I kinda dig seeing it continually change state.

See?  Old dead tree is nifty!

The Dogwood around the side of the house is in full berry.  I don't actually like this tree much - it's one of the pink blooming variety, and I prefer the white, but it was here when we bought the place and I am not going to cut it down just because I am not fond of it.  It's around the side and I don't have to look at it if I don't want, and once the flowers are gone we get along fine.

The Japanese Maple is preparing to set millions of helicopters loose on the yard.  Helicopters - that's what we called those seed doodads when I was a kid.  We also would break one in half, peel the bottom open, and stick it on our noses so we could pretend to be rhinoceroses.  Who need electronic games and smart phones?  No, I did not have a deprived childhood, why do you ask?

I had occasion a few days ago to be out in the yard, chatting with a fellow about lawn care, when I noticed we have some non-rent-paying residents (kinda like me, huh Mum?).

Can't see?  Here's a close up.  it is fantastic and when the denizens move on, I want it to hang from the center of my ceiling.  Perhaps as a light fixture.  Or, you know, not.

I was stalked joined on my little walk by the resident Kittens of Doom.  We have had a lot of loss in the outdoor cat population this year, but these four have hung in there.

Not a bad way to spend my morning, really.

How was yours?

Kids. Yup.

Sigh.  The Evil Genius is grudge cleaning his room because I made him do his chores.  He gets to sleep late, and usually by the time I get him up I've already done laundry, dishes, and several other chores.  All I ask of him is to clean ONE cat box, take out HIS trash, empty the compost bucket, and feed the outdoor cats.  Shouldn't take more than five minutes.  Every day I have to ask him of he did his chores, ALL his chores, and every day there's something he didn't do and hes says "Oops." and then I have to TELL him to do the chore he "forgot" NOW, please.

Then he's hungry or thirsty or exhausted from his stretch in the salt mines and needs to rest or some other excuse.  He puts more energy into NOT doing his chores than he does into doing them.

So today I got a little mad.  I woke him up at the ungodly hour of 10:00 (the morning one, no less - horrible!).  I woke him up again at 10:15.  Then at 10:20.  Then at 10:30. He finally got up a little after 11:00.  Thirty minutes later he still hadn't done a single chore - in that time I emptied three trash/recycling cans, put new bags in, hauled the full bags out, and got another load of laundry started.

He did one chore in a half-assed manner then flopped on the lounge as if he had Mono and I just made him run a marathon.

Did you do your chores?  All of them?

Oops.  Can I have some chips, first?

No.  Finish your chores, then you can eat.  And not chips.  You can't have chips for breakfast.  I think it's a rule.

Then he leaned on the door as if he'd never eaten and was faint with hunger and spent twenty minutes staring at me.

Then he started doing his chores, but with a huge chip on his shoulder.

By the way, I am NOT in a good mood today.  I am hauling around my own basket of stones, juggling flaming chainsaws, trying to get from one breath to another, and I don't need my almost-teenager kid to be heaping more crap in the middle of the room for me to shovel.

So I snapped at him.  Told him I'm tired of every day being a struggle to do his damned chores, et cetera, and extra tired of being met with attitude and sass every time I ask him to do something.  So he finished his chores and slumped off to his room, and now he's grudge cleaning it because it's a horrid mess and has been for years (Not hyperbole - literally has been years since I last got it clean and we could see the floor.  I am not proud of this, it is simply truth.)  He is taking toys that he loves and throwing them away, saying he can't see the point in keeping them, has no place to put them, they'll just keep making his room messy and he'll get in trouble, and on and on and on.

I'm letting him.  Some things I am pulling from the trash heap because I know he will regret tossing them - the dinosaur we assembled together, the white tiger his father bought him when they went to the circus, his 3DS.  A couple of things I have given to his sister because she plays with them and loves them.

The trash has already been picked up today so he has a week to decide he didn't really want to throw something away.  I may even let him reclaim these things that he really loves but put in the rubbish out of sulky spite.

I'm such a great Mom.

If he's like this now, I dread the barreling-down-on-us teen years.  It's not too late to take up drinking, is it?

Five Nights? More Like Every Night.

The Evil Genius is rather enamored of the game "Five Nights at Freddy's" and its many derivatives.

He spends hours on end talking via Skype with friends both near and far, playing with them online.  They have their own FNAF related language.

I don't see the attraction.

The sounds of the game annoy me, and I am constantly telling him to turn down the volume, to lower his voice, to be mindful that there are other people in the house, that I think the neighbors up the street can hear him.

He will stay up until the very wee hours playing it if I let him, talking to a friend across the country or on the other side of the world.  He watches YouTube videos of others playing the game, spoofing the game, teaching game strategy and cheats.

At one time, I had to ban the game entirely because he said it was causing bad dreams.

For all that I don't care for it, there are some upsides.

He is developing an understanding of story line.  He is learning communication skills.  He is learning about game development.  He is honing his sense of irony.  He is using slang, which you might not think is such a good thing but he likes to know where the slang comes from so we get language history lessons.  He is continually using cooperative play.  He is learning to do Internet searches, how to filter out the useless or erroneous information and hone his searches to help minimize unwanted results.  He is learning to type.

He is also learning patience, as our desktop computer is slow and can't always handle the tasks he asks of it.  He is learning to trouble-shoot glitches, and learning that sometimes he has to walk away, sometimes there is no solution.

As much as the game can annoy me - and it does so often and in large quantities - I'm okay with him playing it as long as he's also gaining knowledge and skills.

There's always Vodka to numb the pain.*



*Not really.  I don't actually consume alcohol very often or in any quantity.  If the Evil Genius keeps on with this game, though, I could learn...

In the Holler

OMFG.

I was trying to have a no-yell day.

Fail.

In my defense:  I tried to take a nap but the Evil Genius and Sprout decided that THAT was the time to sit in her room and build block towers...to knock over.  Then when I hollered at them to cut it out because LOUD, and please put the blocks away because Marvelous Mizz A literally worked her butt off (it's two sizes smaller, now) cleaning that room and it WILLBYGODDESS stay clean for more than a minute, so they put some of the blocks away...by throwing them into the bins from across the room.

Sigh.

I hollered about that.

Then Sprout decided that she had to express her musical genius.  On the xylogator.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the common rainbow xylogator, this one somewhat less loved than the one currently residing in Sprout's room.

The xylogator is a wee loud in the best of circumstances.  When Mama's trying to get a little much-needed rest?  Not the best of circumstances.

So I hollered about that.

Then Sprout decided that she should lie down with me.  She really is a cuddle bug and most of the time it's just fine for her to snooze with me, but today was not most of the time.  Today was one of the days when she simply HAD to play games on her Papa's phone.  With the volume all the way up.  And her definition of "be still" is a little flexible - sometimes she will lie still, but sometimes?  It's like trying to sleep in a mixing bowl when the mixer is set to "high".  And then being tossed into a threshing machine.  And then being run through a laundry mangle.  An industrial one.

Actually, that looks like it would be more comfortable.

So I grumbled and then hollered about that.

Then I decided I may as well get up and get dinner started, which meant going downstairs and fetching some shrimp from the freezer because I want some kind of shrimp pasta and broccoli for dinner and it won't make itself (because that would require sentient, non-frozen shrimp and then I couldn't eat them because eating sentient beings could be viewed as rude, especially by the erstwhile dinner), and the freezer was a right mess because the Evil Genius's idea of putting things neatly where they belong in the freezer is defined as "Just toss that shit anywhere so I can get back to gaming or talking on the phone ASAP".

So I hollered about that.

Then I went into the living room and saw that all the lounge cushions were scattered on the floor despite my having asked the Evil Genius to put it back together again, and the clean laundry I had folded and placed carefully on the table to be joined by more clean laundry later was scattered all over the floor, and MY brand new pencil box had been played with despite clear instructions not to so much as breathe near it (because I know kids, my kids especially, and they WILL find a way to mess with things without explicit directions) and the tag removed and the hasp bent so that now I will not be able to latch it properly shut, and the 3-D puzzle ball that USED to be on the upper shelf on the bookcase in the dining room was once again in pieces and left by my place at the dining room table for me to reassemble, and I may have hollered a little about that.

Imagine the one on the upper right, only in pieces.

I swear, lately it's like I can't leave a room (or the yard) without things being knocked over, broken, torn, scattered, spilled and not cleaned up, mashed, crushed, banged, whanged, slammed, eaten, dirtied, stained, crashed into, killed, removed, slashed, cut, and otherwise destroyed.  Seriously, not even for a few minutes.  They're like rabid weasels on a meth-fueled tear.

Sigh.

Tomorrow, perhaps I will manage not to yell - after all, I'm supposed to go out for a few hours with a friend while roommate D minds the children.  What could there be to yell about?

Umm...should I take out extra insurance?

Hatred Is A Cage

Every time I see a law enforcement officer of vehicle, I have to fight a surge of adrenaline and the rush of anger and negative feelings that plow into me like a runaway train.

I remember a time, not so long ago, when I would say a blessing to every law enforcement, military, or first responder vehicle I saw.  I taught t hat blessing to the evil Genius so he could say it, too.

Goddess bless.

These days, I am more moved to mutter something a little less positive and a little more bitter towards law enforcement.

I am fighting this new instinct.  I don't want to feel anger or hatred toward anyone who hasn't themselves done me wrong, but it's difficult.

Whatever anyone feels about Someone and his past, or what put him in prison last year, or anything else for that matter...whatever HIS experience was and the reason he had that experience...my children and I were NOT part of his alleged crimes and we did NOT deserve to have our rights so thoroughly violated.  We did NOT deserve to be threatened with the removal of my children from our home and my care because ONE officer didn't like that the Evil Genius's room was messy.  We do NOT deserve to be treated like pariahs or ignored by the people who were supposed to represent Someone in court but did nothing.

Our home was invaded, searched, and parts of it damaged.  Evidence was fabricated or left behind (generally folks agree that it was left behind on purpose so they could "find" it a third time and use it to create yet another case, perhaps one against me this time), my property was taken and used as evidence of a crime that wasn't committed, children were scared, and all of it unlawful.

Even typing that little bit, I am angry.  I am trembling.  My shoulders hunch and my head ducks down, and every sound is magnified and distorted to become those heavy-footed thugs tromping up my steps to take my children away.

So.

Breathe.

In and out.

I am breathing.

I make an effort, now, not to shy away from law enforcement when I see them, not to cross the proverbial street or turn in a different direction or leave my grocery cart and walk out of the store.  I am trying to seek out positive stories of officers saving children from hot cars, or rescuing puppies or helping families of ducks across the road, assisting addicts into rehab and offering continued support, buying groceries for hungry families.  I am trying to avoid the stories, so many more stories, of law enforcement abusing their power, killing, ruining lives with impunity.

I am trying not to hate.  Hatred is a cage.  Anger is the lock.  Compassion and love are the keys.  I am well and truly bound up right now, stuck inside this cage, and I want out.  I want to look on law enforcement the same way I look on every other being, and that is as individuals worthy of love and compassion no matter who they are or what they have done, the same way I look on the other prisoners when I visit Someone, the same way I look on my neighbor who has chosen to hate me simply because I am me without ever really knowing what that means, the same way I look on all of the angry, hateful, spiteful, mean, blind, beautiful, loving, kind, and compassionate people in the world.

It's a struggle.  I wish it wasn't.

Still, I'm trying.

Hatred is a cage.  I will be free.

A Letter

Dear politicians,

It's simple, really:

I'd like to know where my food came from and what's in it. 

I'd like to know that those enacting and enforcing our nation's laws are also subject to them, and even respect them to the extent that they seek to hold themselves to a higher standard.

I'd like to know that I can go to a protest or be an activist or attend a lecture or read an article or book and won't end up on a list somewhere as an appropriate target for persecution or that I am somehow considered less than others because I am passionate about a cause.

I'd like to smoke a bowl, or a joint, or eat a medible without wondering if the feds are going to crash through my door and flash-bang my family in order to remove the dangerous criminal from the community that never knew she was a criminal.

I'd like to point out that I do not consume marijuana because I can't legally, but that it would probably be really beneficial to me if I could.

I'd like to know that my fellow citizens and I, regardless of who or how or how many or when or why we love have equal rights and protections under the law.

I'd like to be able to go to school, or a doctor, without fearing the penury that is sure to follow.  

I'd like mental illness to no longer be used as a reason to marginalize people.

I'd like to go out in public without fearing that I, or my family, or anyone else, will be shot by another citizen, the police, or some government agency when we are not a direct threat to anyone or anything and are simply going about our lives.

I'd like you to quit thinking that a group largely made up of older white males has some moral imperative to regulate my (or anyone's) reproductive system - sex work, birth control, reproductive rights, and everything that goes along with them belong to me and whoever I share me with, not you or anyone else.

I'd like not to chew my water or air.

I'd like to know why The Constitution is only applicable when it backs you and yours, but not when it protects me and mine.

I'd like to see laws enforced equitably, not with bias reflecting beauty, wealth, popularity, fame, infamy, social station, sex, or skin color.

I'd like to see fewer laws.

I'd like a fair tax.

I'd like to know what it's like to not live in fear of the government taking or harming my family simply because I don't fit the defined norm.

I'd like to believe that you give the tiniest damn about the people you allegedly serve, but I don't.

I'd like to think we can fix this mess we're in, but hope is a tiny flame flickering against the cold and dark and you seem to be striving mightily to extinguish it.

You make me tired, and sick, and disheartened, and sometimes even afraid, but I'd like to think that those things will never silence me, and that somewhere, somehow, someday, you will hear me and the other voices crying in the wilderness and you will tremble.

Polynesian Inspired Pulled Pork Loin

Sometimes I just have to throw caution to the wind and play in the kitchen.

Today I made a Polynesian inspired shredded pork loin because pork loin was on sale this week and barbecue is passe.*  Two pork loins, really, because there were two nestled snugly in the package and I hated to deprive them of each other's company.

I started making this yesterday but decided to wait until all was cooked and tasted before writing a blog post .  If it turned out edible, I'd post, and if not?  Well, there's always a plethora of cartoons in the Blue Nowhere to yoink and share!

Clearly it turned out at least manageable, as I am posting.  Hurrah!

The players:

 
Pork loin.  I had bout 2 1/2 pounds in a package.
One can of pineapple chunks in pineapple juice.  I know there are two there - I wasn't sure what I'd need.  Turns out, I needed one.
Soy sauce, about 2 Tablespoons
Hoisin sauce, about 4 Tablespoons (I bought mine at the store because I cannot begin to figure out how to make it at home)
Lime juice, about 4 Tablespoons (I used key lime because it's what I had on hand and I didn't feel like squeezing fresh limes and I don't like RealLime because it doesn't taste real to me, so yeah, I used key lime)
Two slices of onion, chopped small but not quite minced
Peeled and grated ginger, about 3 Tablespoons, and two to three more Tablespoons peeled and chopped small
Three to nine cloves of garlic, minced-ish
Red pepper - I prefer to use flaked but I was mysteriously out so had to use ground
Aaaand - action!

In a large measuring cup (I used a 2 cup), pour about half a cup of the pineapple juice and add the rest of the liquid ingredients (Including the hoisin, which is more liquid-ish than actual liquid, but who's counting?) and give it a stir.  Shake a little red pepper flake in (how much depends on how spicy you like it). Reserve the remaining pineapple juice and chunks for later use.

Place the pork in a large Ziploc type bag.  Pour the liquid over it, then dump in the solids.  Get as much air as you can out of the bag and refrigerate over night.  Feel free to turn it, massage it, and read it bedtime stories to help make it happy.  Look:

Sooooo happy...all those chunks of garlic and ginger and excuse me I need to wipe my mouth before the drool hits the keyboard...

In the morning, dump the lot into a slow cooker.  I'll be honest - I wanted an excuse to try my roommate's slow cooker because it's bigger than mine, and it's new to me, and it's Wednesday.  Set the cooker on low and leave it alone to contemplate the nature of The Universe or something.

After a few hours, it'll be driving you wild with the scent of some kind of magical, alchemical cookery.  Embrace the madness.

I wound up adding a tiny bit of water and the rest  pineapple juice later in the day to boost the liquid content.  About an hour before serving, I cut the pineapple chunks in half and dumped them in.  Another hour, and ooohhhh...

Now came a debate for me - to remove the meat, reserve the liquid, and simply shred the meat without returning it to the liquid?  Or leave the liquid and toss the shredded meat back in?  I chose the latter, but I really don't think there's a correct answer, here.

Oh, my.

I served it with coconut sticky rice (for one cup of rice use one can of coconut milk and enough water to total 2 1/4 cups liquid, cook on medium until it bubbles then on low until almost all the liquid is absorbed, then turn it off and let it rest until all of the liquid is absorbed - it's exhausting bubbling up all that deliciousness!) and steamed carrots and broccoli.

The kids weren't really keen on it but my roommates?  Would have given it several thumbs up if they hadn't been busy using their thumbs to operate eating utensils.  Near the end of dinner, I just mixed all the meat up with the rice and ohmuhgodness.

I'll likely make this again, maybe tweaking the recipe a little because why not?

If you try it, tweak it, love it, hate it, let me know, wouldja?

*Not really.  Please don't feel hurt, barbecue, you know I love you!

Something to Look Forward To

I am a writer of songs.  I am a writer of blogs, a writer of Facebook posts, and even occasionally a writer of stories.  Of all these, my songs are most likely to be heard, seen, repeated, to last beyond my years.  I am learning to live with this, even as I am frustrated that I can't seem to give voice to the stories thronging inside my head, clamoring for release.

It sometimes happens that I experience a bleakness that is almost overwhelming in its nature.  I say "almost" because although I'd like to just let the tide swallow me whole, I can't.  It's no easier to endure, but endure I must.

From time to time, in the midst of the bleakness, I can find a spark of hope, something to look forward to - my childrens' birthdays, a visit with my mother, some time with a friend, something of the world that reminds me there is beauty yet to be seen.

And now?  A book.

There are a few, a handful at most, authors whose work I look forward to.  Patrick Rothfus.  Dean Koontz.  Dick Francis (although he's deceased, his son has been endeavoring to keep the family reputation alive and publishing).  Anne McCaffrey.  Starhawk.

The latter has something new in the works, and it brightened my day considerable to learn of it:  A sequel to one of my most favorite of books (The Fifth Sacred Thing, and if you haven't read it, do...it shattered me into motes of light and then coalesced me again, brighter than before) - City of Refuge is now something to look forward to.

Like my daughter waiting for me to scoop ice cream into the bowl, I am impatient for my treat, but I'll keep...for a little while...

Everybody Eats.

Hey, you.  Yes, you.  Are you hungry?  Is it because you're food insecure, trying to make groceries last, skipping meals to stretch the pantry contents a bit farther?  Read on - I post the following on Facebook from time to tie and thought I'd put it here, too.  I mean it.
~~~~~

Wow, the summer's already half gone! I've been away for a minute or two, so it's time to post this again: If you or someone you know could use a little help with groceries, are wondering where your next meal will come from, are suffering from food insecurity, are skipping meals to stretch your groceries out a little more; if you are on TANF, SNAP, or WIC, are employed, underemployed, or unemployed; if you are single, married, divorced, poly, LGBT, asexual or think it's none of my damned business; and if you can get to me or I can get to you, let's raid my preps closet to help feed you. I don't care who you worship, who you love, or who you vote for, I care whether you are hungry. I have dry and canned goods to offer, and occasionally some frozen things, too. If the timing is right, I can even offer some fresh foods. It ain't the fanciest of vittles, but it'll stick to your ribs and maybe help get you through. PM me or comment here and we'll work it out.

If you can't reach me, try looking here for help: Feeding America

Everybody eats.

Mr. D*

Me and Mr. D have been going 'round since I was six.
I offered him a dance but he refused,
Telling me I was too young to follow his steps,
But I heard the music and knew how to move my feet.
When I was ten years older I asked him for a kiss.
He told me I was too young to kiss him
The way he should be kissed
And life had more to teach me
Before he would give me what I asked,
But I knew how our lips should touch
And what sweetness would follow.
Busy as he is,
Mr D follows me everywhere, watching me live
With a tiny smile quirking his lips
And a bemused expression on his face
But he doesn't like it that I see him
So he ducks behind trees and trucks
And tornadoes and blizzards
And wars
And other obstructions, thinking I won't know
That he wants the same damned thing I do
But neither of us can have it.
Not yet.
Sometimes we talk long talks.
He gets lonely, and bored, and usually
Usually when people notice him
They aren't in talking moods.
He says there are some like me, who have known
For a very long time
And we're puzzles to him,
Us fearless souls who look him in the eye unblinking
Unflinching,
Inviting.
Me and Mr. D are old, old friends.
He always sends his love on my birthday
Because irony.
Long before I understood what a lover was,
I knew he would be mine.
And he will be.
Eventually.




*I was at an event last week and Grandmother Elspeth was across from me, vending Nybor prints.  The below was one of them, and as soon as I saw it I knew I had to have it.  We made a trade for it.  I love it.  I'm torn as to where to hang it - likely it will go somewhere near the altar until I either make a memorial altar or decide I want it in my room to look at.  It reminds me to be patient, reminds me of...things...

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 difficult, 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.