Rook

Last weekend, the kids and I went down to an event in Florida.  My band had a gig, and I thought it'd be a nice camp-out for us as well. We had a lovely time at a beautiful site.

We headed home on Sunday.

As I was breaking camp and packing, Someone texted me and asked me to call him.  I needed a break, so I paused tear-down and dialed him up.

With a broken voice and a broken heart, he informed me that he'd found one of our beloved furbabies dead that morning.  She'd been acting a bit off since before we left, but not worryingly so, and then on Saturday she'd seemed content to sit in the sun room on the fluffy pink heart pillow and collect pets and love whenever he passed through.  That night, she took her accustomed place at the foot of the big, comfy bed, went to sleep, and slipped away sometime in the dark hours.

I told the Evil Genius and we cried a bit together.  I opted to wait and tell Sprout once we were on the road - she was having a fine old time catching caterpillars and chasing chickens with a few new friends, I didn't want to spoil it for her.  We all had a cry as I drove, and talked about what we loved and would miss about our Rookers.

She was a damn fine cat.  She was a marvelous mouser.  We will miss her lashing tail, which usually indicated she required more petting, now, if you please.  She had an odd "meow", likely the result of the enormous wolf worm I removed from her neck when she was a kitten (the reason she was brought into Casa de Crazy in the first place) and she was hilarious when we played and got her riled up enough to spit.  She had fierce eyes and a huge backside - I would call her a footstool kitteh - and acted like she owned the place, as any cat would.

She usually slept at the foot of the bed, guardian of my feet, but sometimes would lie beside me and consent to let me sleep with my hand on her.

She only just started purring sometime in the last year.

She was eight, not so very old for a cat but old enough for her, I guess.  We won't know what caused her death; I opted not to have a necropsy because it won't change anything.

On Monday, the kids and I took her up to Mom's to bury under the Evil Genius's tree, next to the circle.  Someone had to start his new job and couldn't come with us, but I made sure that a laser pointer went in with her - she loved the damned thing and would perk up and come running as soon as he clicked the button - and Mizz A was with us, too.  She takes care of the kittehs and the kids when we're working or away, and is family to us.  We all helped dig the hole, placed her in, said a few words, returned her to The Mother, and had a little cry.

I miss her in fits and starts, looking for her when I put down the leftover milk from my cereal or sit on the lounge.  Today I stripped the big, comfy bed and wondered where my furry helper was - she liked to jump up on the bed when I took the sheets off and put fresh ones on, especially when I tossed the sheet over her and she was a cave kitteh.

May her journey over the rainbow bridge be swift and easy.  May she leave behind all memory of sorrow and pain, and carry with her all of her memories of happiness and love.  May she be met by those who went before her with fellowship and joy.  May there be catnip, mice to chase, lots of loving petting, a soft cushion in the warm sun, and wet food to nom, and if she returns to the circle, may those of us who loved her recognize her once again.

Happy St. Whatsis Day!

Eighth time I'm posting this, but why mess with perfection, eh? Yeah, yeah, I'm a lazy blogger.  You still love me, right?  Right???  Why do I hear crickets...?
~~~~~
With apologies to my friend Mizz D.D. who has a far better grasp of Irish history and much stronger Google Foo than I.

I'm cooking corned beef and cabbage tonight, much to my delight - there will be plenty for dinner and enough left over for hash tomorrow. Our friend Mizz A will be joining us, and Someone is finally home to celebrate with us as well.  The man is not patient when it comes to our corned beef dinner - he'll be poking his nose into the pot and tapping his toe...and the rest of him, too...impatient for one of his favorite meals to be ready.  Bird opts out of the feast entirely, causing me to question whether he's really mine. I get not liking cabbage, but potatoes? Something's not right with the child. Someone will happily scarf the lot and go back for seconds and maybe thirds, because he's a good Irish lad.  Sprout may try a taste, or she may not.  She's trying to be more adventurous about food, but she can still be put off if it looks odd.

I'm planning on making soda bread, too, because we like it and any leftovers can be used to make a nice doorstop or stone-like axe.

Seeing as I'm Pagan, you wouldn't think I'd celebrate St. Patrick's Day. Better than most, I am supposed know what St. Patrick did to get famous and earn his sainthood. However, I'm also part Irish, and I happen to love corned beef and cabbage. Also, I consider it a reclaiming of the day for Pagans, or some junk.

A bit of slightly bent history (that has, I'll grant you, been mangled in my head over the years and is rather truncated because I'm not writing a book, here)(I'm writing a book somewhere else). When I was a child, we were told that St. Patrick's day was to celebrate his chasing all the snakes out of Ireland. It is an historically serpent-free bit of earth, and the church attributed this to Paddy and his efforts...kind of overlooking that there weren't any of the slithery things on the island to begin with, if you ask me. Which they didn't, because I was a kid and most grown-ups weren't prepared for my staggering logic and keen grasp of history but rather appalling lack of respect for theology.

Many years later, people were saying St. Patrick's Day was a celebration of all things Irish, like green beer (wait, isn't beer German??) and green clothes, and green hair, and green mashed potatoes (which I won't eat on a dare because, really...green potatoes???), and rivers dyed green (I'm sure the fish are all so very thankful to be included...like Fridays and Lent weren't enough for them!)(that might only be funny if you're Catholic)(or not) and exclusionary parades, and funny little men waving their shillelaghs about (look it up you pervs!!) and that sort of thing.

 In none of the many different explanations for this seemingly random holiday did anyone mention pagans. A most curious oversight of you know what St. Patrick, who was just Patrick at the time (not really, I have no idea what his real name was. For all I know, it was Fred), was actually doing on the Emerald Isle.

He was born and lived sometime between 490 and 461 AD, give or take. Around age sixteen, he was either sent or stolen and taken to Ireland where he spent some time hanging out with sheep and being lonely. He talked to God a lot. You may notice that lots of shepherds do that. You would too if all you had for company all day was a bunch of mutton-heads. I'm sure the Pope understands...

Christianity was rolling along like a snowball in those days, spreading out all over the dang place. Good grief, it was getting so that a simple Pagan/Heathen (there's a difference between the two, not that the church cared much) couldn't get any peace any more. Everywhere they turned, there was a church being built where a sacred grove used to be, from the trees that used to be the sacred grove, or a church going up on a sacred hill, or someone bathing their dirty feet in a sacred stream. To be fair, there was a lot of real estate lumped under that "sacred" heading in the pagan world. We're like that - we just love our planet so. Plus, you know, all those gods needed housing, and they don't do the roommate thing very well. So the pagans were running out of places to have sex on the ground, in the woods, up a tree - they were big on the sex, those little devils - and to read entrails in their spare time.

I digressed. Sorry.

So there was this lonely kid, Patrick Whatsisname, hanging out with sheep and pondering life, the Universe, and everything. He got the idea, somewhere along the way, that maybe other folks should share his God. He got out of his contract (OK, probably slavery) and went around telling folks how terrific his God was, and how he reckoned they should convert. It seems that polite conversation wasn't doing it for the pagans, who tended to stare at him, or point and laugh. Rude beggars, huh? Now young Patrick (or middle aged Patrick, or old Patrick, I have no idea) decided he needed to be a bit more...persuasive. He had noticed something common among the pagan big-wigs. The guys at the top of the food-chain, magic/spirituality wise speaking tended to have a symbol on them somewhere...often around their wrist. On the wrist that indicated their "hand of power", or the hand which they believed their "magic" flowed from. If it wasn't a tattoo, it was a torque. Guess what the tattoo/torque was? A critter called the oroborus. For them as what doesn't ken what that critter is, it's a snake eating its tail, and often represents eternity.
Pat realized that if he took away this "power", he took away their mystique and leadership ability. So he removed the snakes - often with something edged and unpleasant. Yes, he whacked off their hands. Or branded their skin. Or took their trinkets. Converting Heathens is such messy work!! It was for their own good, of course.

Some pagans today go on "snake crawls", a sort of pub crawl where they wear snakes and proclaim their paganism. I'm not quite that...er...proactive. I also don't necessarily think old Pat went around mauling everyone he met in an effort to build church membership and win a nifty prize. But it's the bloody aspect of what he supposedly did that earned his name in Christendom and for which his holiday is celebrated.

So again, why would I celebrate the day? Well, I'm all for a day when families get together and discuss history, theology, spirituality, and the like. Traditions are important - they give us a foundation on which to build our lives. People should discuss their history so they don't repeat it - whatever side of the issue they're on. Also, as I mentioned, I am part Irish. I can celebrate that heritage even as I acknowledge its imperfection. And I am Pagan - and I am celebrating the fact that I can be pagan today without (much) fear of having my (largely not visible when I'm clothed) tattoos painfully removed and other unpleasantness (except for the odd zealot who thinks I'm fair game, but I'm used to that. I live in the Bible belt, after all). Precisely because we didn't get wiped out, I celebrate. And have you ever had a really nice corned beef and cabbage dinner? I mean, yum! Oh, but I won't be wearing green. I wear blue. Don't even think about pinching me.

Night Noise

Tink (wooden bead on the end of the fan pull, hitting the light fixture)

Tink-a-tink

Thunkatythunk (cat jumping down from somewhere she probably shouldn't be)

Snort (human, snoring lightly)

Tink

Tink-a-tink

Sktch-shktch-sraaaaaasktch (cat claws scrabbling on hard surface floor)

Skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch-skrtch (cat trying to bury something in the litterbox by scratching the bottom, sides, top, and even outside of the box)

Hng, hrck, unga, hrn, kha, hurg, hork (cat barfing soewhere

Tink-a-tink

Clackety whoosh clack whoosh whoosh clickety-clack (unbalanced fan at highest speed)

Snort, skng, sknnnnxxxx (more snoring human)

Sknnnxxx, snort, kah, SKNNNNNNXXXXXXXXXXX

Tinka-tinka-tink

Drip, drop, drip, drop (shower dripping)

Meow?  Mow.  Myow?  Mrrrrow.  MRRRRROWWWWWWW!!!!!  (cat announcing her kill of the water bomb ball she found on the floor)

MMMRRROOOWWWWW, MOOOOWWWW, MYOOOWWWWW, MRRRRRRRR!!!!! (cat announcing her desire for company in feasting on said water bomb ball)

Sssssst!  (human trying to quiet the cat)

Mrr...?  (cat wondering where the water bob ball went)

SKNNNNXXXXXXXXtink-a-tink-myow-dripetty-drop, snort, tink, Sktch-shktch-sraaaaaasktch, snort, kah, SKNNNNNNXXXXXXXXXXX, Clackety whoosh, Clackety whoosh
Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr (cats crowded onto the bed, content)

Sigh  (me, hoping to get back to sleep sooner rather than later)

To the Power of Four

Sometimes much can be said with little.  For instance:

Possibly the four most terrifying words one can hear - "We need to talk."  Those four words can strike terror into the stoutest heart!

Four powerfully uplifting words - "How can I help?"

Four words that will garner instant adoration from almost anyone - "I made some bacon."

What words or phrases are especially meaningful for you?

Thoughtfetti

With apologies to Robert Frost...something there is that does not love a charger cable.  Good cables make happy devices.  My devices, particularly my phone, are not happy.  Not just mine - darned near every cable in this house is cantankerous.  We can't keep them functioning around here.  Children are hard on charger cords and lose bricks left and right, and this leaves me wondering where mine went when they borrow 'em from me.  Somewhere, someone is making a fortune off of my family as I buy more cables with the hopes that maybe they'll last out the year.  Sigh.  I hope they enjoy their vacation home.
~~~~~
I have never kissed a clean shaven man.

That thought popped into my head a few days ago, and made me giggle because it is apropos of nothing, but I can't seem to get it out of my head.
~~~~~
Another thought I can't seem to be shed of - it is impossible to sneeze in your sleep.  Just try to unlearn or forget that.  Betcha can't.
~~~~~
The band I'm in is getting back into a practice schedule in preparation for the coming season.  We'll be at Phoenix Phyre in March and May Moon Madness in May.  We're waiting to hear from our usual June event.  I hope we have a few more performances this year.  I like to sing.  It feels good.
~~~~~
Depression is most unkind.  I'm trying to keep ahead of it right now with little success.  Still, because I'm trying not to sink any further into the bogs, I've been working in my sewing room.  I've done inventory of my sarongs and clothing and now have lists of what I would like to order, what I'd like to sew,  and a couple of ideas for new (to me) designs.  I also pulled what I have on hand to sew into clothing so I can maybe get a jump on it instead of waiting until the last minute.  It will help me feel productive.  I could use that.
~~~~~
For more than a week I've been able to wear shorts both inside and outside Casa de Crazy.  In January.  Shorts.  Crazy.
~~~~~
In a few weeks I'm going on a cruise with Mom, and I'm looking forward to it.  The kids, cats, and Casa will have to do without me for ten days while I learn some new quilting techniques and drift around the Caribbean with a passle of other quilters.  For a change, I'm looking forward to February.
~~~~~
How are you doing?

Ink

I have tattoos.

Six of them.

I want more.

Many, many more.

There is something addictive in tattoo ink, I'm almost certain.  Ever since the first buzzing zing of the needles on my skin, I have wanted more, bigger, better.

Each of my tattoos has meaning to me - I don't just get ink for the sake of ink.  Each of the tattoos I'd like to get has meaning to me.  I am patient.  I can wait.  I prefer to ponder my ink art for a while, to be certain it's what I really want indelibly placed just beneath my skin surface to blaze out for all to see for the rest of my life.

I have a routine, when it comes to being inked.  When I find a design that I like, that resonates with me, I will think about it for a year, at least.  It's not a whim, for me.

It is sacred.

On her last cruise, my mother found a symbol that struck me to the core, and lately I have been noodling with ideas for a tattoo design.  It will have to wait, to ferment, to percolate, because tattooing isn't cheap, and I need to be sure.  Meanwhile, I have a few other ideas on the back burner.

Why bring this up?

Because I crave ink.

I spent about an hour this evening perusing designs and daydreaming about where to put them, and from whom to get them.

I'm going to need a lottery win to fund all the ink I want.

Are you tattooed?  What do you have, where, and why?  If not, do you want to be?

Guac's Up

I've been feeling kind of low, lately.  When I'm feeling low, I sometimes don't want to clean (Oh, who am I kidding?  I never want to clean!) or cook or do anything.

Still, a body has to eat.  Since the Evil Genius is off with his father for the holidays, dinner's are a bit scattershot around Casa de Crazy.  Sprout doesn't usually want to eat whatever I'm having, so it's sandwiches or quesadillas, machos or hot dogs, and usually some kind of fruit.

This evening, while I was feeling sorry for myself in a general, I have depression kind of way, I opened the fridge and found myself at the receiving end of the reproachful gazes of a couple of avocados that have been lingering in there for a minute.  I always have the best intentions to use them, sliced on sandwiches or in salad or something, and then lose my ambition once I bring them home.

I wasn't feeling particularly inspired by anything, so I grabbed the avocados and decided to make Casa de Crazy style guacamole.

And then, because I have been a rather lame blogger for the last few years, I decided to share the recipe and pretend like I got something accomplished.  Woot!

The players:
Avocados.  How many?  I dunno, how much guac do you want?
Purple Onion
Garlic Cloves.  How many?  Umm...depends on how much you like garlic.
Lime, or limes.
Cayenne Powder.  Some folks use jalapeno peppers, and sometimes I do, too, but I didn't feel like seeding and removing membranes and then mincing the peppers.
Salt - I used ground Celtic sea salt because I like it.

Aaaaand...action!

Use whatever method you prefer to get the avocado out of the skin.  I tend to cut it around the equator, lengthwise, give a little twist, and separate the halves, then whap the seed with the knife blade, twist, and pop it out.  A sort of sideways sliding motion, pressing against the cutting board, gets the seed off the blade.  The I slice the flesh of the avocado into cubes while it's still in the skin and scoop it out with a spoon.

Mash the avocado chunks with a fork.

Mince the garlic and add it to the bowl.  For two avocados I used four cloves of garlic because no vampire's gonna get me!

Stir it up.

Slice thin slices of purple onion - I find that one slice per avocado used is a nice amount.  Mince the onion and add it to the bowl.

Stir it up.

A pinch of salt and a sprinkle of cayenne come next.  It's all about what you like, so don't be afraid to season and taste as you go.  For me, a little cayenne goes a long way so I on;y use a light dusting.

Stir it up.

Finally, squeeze in some lime juice.  Use the real thing, you'll thank me.  Or maybe not.  But I think you will.  I used one lime for two avocados, but the lime wasn't particularly juicy.  I would have used more, but I was impatient.

Stir it up.

Ready to eat!  I like it on tortilla chips with little pieces of thin sliced cheddar cheese on top.

You may have noticed something not included.  It's not a mistake.  There is not, nor will there ever be, cilantro in any recipe that comes from me.  To me, it tastes vile, like dish soap, and it flat ruins anything it touches for me.  I have stopped going to restaurants that used cilantro in everything, or changed a recipe to include the nasty stuff.

Feel free to use it if you are among the lucky souls to whom it doesn't taste like an accident in the soap aisle.  Just please don't serve it to me!

Merry, Merry

Fa La La La La, La La La Blah

I'm struggling with myself right now.  I'm feeling tired and worn, not entirely physically and in ways that mere sleep cannot mend.

Because he's on probation, there are things that Someone is not permitted to do, a curfew he must adhere to, and things that he must do to satisfy the terms of his plea agreement and his probation.

There are varying consequences for failing to do what he must or for doing what he mustn't.  They call these consequences "sanctions".

He was doing well enough, but in the last month he's had four sanctions.  He used substances bot unlawful and prohibited by probation.  The first sanction was extra community service and extra AA meetings.  The second sanction was 24 hours in jail.  The third was 6 days in jail.  Now he's on his fourth, a probation violation, and I'm told he'll be in jail until at least January 3.

He's barely been home and he's gone again.

Once again he will not be with us for Yule.  It is possible that he will miss both children's birthdays as well.  I am once again a single mother.

This has an impact on me, on my children, on our collective lives.  Not only do we not have what income he may have earned because he cannot work while in jail, I have the added expense of paying for phone calls and commissary if I choose to do so, and I can't just leave him in there without the means to communicate, at least.  I won't make the kids do without anything, but it does add to my struggle.  This on top of it being a time for spending on gifts and whatnot.

I hate feeling like I can't give my children very much when it comes to prezzies.  Luckily there are others in their lives who make up for my slack, people like Mom and T and K2 and Mizz A, and many more, all of whom love my children and spoil them silly.  At their ages, keeping the power and water on (not a given on a good day) and food available aren't awfully interesting or important, and honestly I don't even do that on my own, so I can't take credit.  Anyway, it's difficult to wrap the power, but sometimes I'm tempted to put a bow on the faucet.

I suppose I am just feeling the usual ebb that comes with this time of year.  I'm so frustrated by my inability to earn income, to manage finances like a wizard, to keep up with myself...everything seems so bleak to me.

I know it's crass to talk about money, but it'd be easier to avoid talking about if so much of one's value didn't hinge upon one's financial worth and if so much of our life in this country wasn't centered on income, on cash flow.
To help combat these feelings, I'm spending as much time as I can manage in the kitchen for the next few days.  It's cookie season, and while I don't have the demand for them that I used to, I still like to make up plates of cookies and give them to people.  I can still manage a little holiday cheer, even when I'm feeling rather in the dumps...and if making (and saying the name of) Snickerdoodles doesn't bring at least a small smile to my face, then I know things are dire, indeed.

Seriously.  Say "Snickerdoodle" without cracking even the tiniest grim.  Betcha can't.

So That Was Fun

Well howdy, reader!

How're you doing?  Didja have a pleasant Thanksgiving?  Lots of good food, good family, good fun?

Marvelous!

We had a pretty fine time here at the Casa, ourselves.

We've had an exciting week here at Casa de Crazy.  There was Thanksgiving, and then there were some tornado warnings, and then Someone's son welcomed his first child into the world - a daughter - and made Someone an awfully proud grandfather.

Someone was so excited, he lit a candle in celebration.  It's a thing us witches do.  We like to celebrate.  With fire.

There we were, eating dinner and waiting for the brownies to cool enough to nom.  Someone is away for a week, and Mizz A came over to hang out and harass the kids.  I was typing along on Albino Bob when I smelled something a bit...off.

Kind of like a plastic spoon hit the heating element in the dishwasher.  Phew.

So I opened the dishwasher, but that didn't seem to be it.  Then Mizz A saw smoke curling up from behind the stove.

Umm.

No?

I cleared of the stove and asked her to go get the extinguisher that lives just outside the door to the garage.  I had one in the kitchen, but it was quite small and maybe 20 years old, and I wanted a back-up, just in case.

I had Bird stand by to call 911 if need arose, and told Sprout to stay away from the kitchen so she didn't get in the way or get burned or smoked like a sausage.

When Mizz A opened the garage door, she found out that the fire was actually in the garage.  Whew!  So glad my oven wasn't toast!

Umm.

Oh, yeah...but that means the garage is on fire.

Dang.

I carried my small halon extinguisher (the old one from the kitchen) down the stairs and asked Mizz A to open the big garage door.  I went out the front, around into the garage, and hit the fire with the halon.  I'm really going to miss that little giant.  Sniff.

It did the job, that wee marvel, but is now kaput and I will never be able to replace it.  Thanks for your sacrifice, my halon hero!

Just for safety's sake, I popped my 5lb dry-chem bottle and hit the fire spot again.  I emptied it.  It was my oldest dry-chem bottle, and I'll miss it, too.  I worked many races with that as my sidekick, even put out a care fire on the side of the highway and a grass fire once.  Sigh.

Turns out Someone sort of forgot to tell me a candle was burning in there*.  I don't think it was the taper candle**...I think it was the jar candle behind it.  I'll find out whenever he calls.  Meanwhile, what a mess!

I shot a photo or two AFTER I got the fire out and doused the whole area with water to keep any hot spots from flaring up.  

 
Pretty sure that's not right.  Cough.

And that's AFTER some of the smoke cleared.  The inside of the Casa wasn't much better.  Mizz A helped by making the smoke detector (that went off a bit late in the game) shut up and then opening windows and turning on bathroom fans up and down stairs.  Bird took care of his sister and then got a fan plugged in and placed in the door between the house and garage to help clear smoke from the downstairs.

I took more photos, because priorities.  I also called my mother to let her know what happened.  Yeah, I bet she's gonna sleep well tonight...the night before she leaves for a cruise in Europe.  I'm thoughtful, that way.  That white powder on the floor?  Used to be inside my dry-chem bottle.

All that blackened stuff?  Umm...didn't used to be blackened.

For a little while, Mizz A and I played "What the hell WAS that???" with all the charred, melted goo on the crate.  Good times.

Mmm, dry-chem powder...so tasty on the tongue, so lovely in the lungs. 

The cobwebs on the garage look spectacular.  Poor spiders... 

The ceiling above the crate where the fire was may need some love...but right now it looks like a goth kid's bedroom decor dream.

Seriously nifty cobweb action.  Mizz A will get some better photos in the morning with her camera that isn't a phone.  Everything is art, around here! 

More webs.  Groovy. 

So there was a bucket of fish tank gravel and an old TV remote.

This metal candle sconce thingy fared okay, just got a little powdered.  A wipe down will see it right as rain.

Then there's what we think may once have been a traffic light...light, and an old lawn sprinkler.

Now this hurts...Someone's carboys, some of them vintage, cracked.

Won't be brewing any more blueberry-pomegranate wine in there...waaaah! 

See that lovely soot?  It's kinds greasy and Mizz A and I had to wash our hands a bit to get it off.  Blech. 

Pan made it, and I'm glad of that.  I adore that Pan.

A look at the ceiling after most of the smoke cleared.

I will have to get quite a lot of wall and ceiling cleaned up and probably either re-painted or replaced, but that will keep.  Cleaning up the crate will keep.

The kids and cats re fine.  The Casa is fine.  Mizz A and I may have sucked in a bit of smoke, but we're fine, too.  Everyone responded marvelously to a moderately scary situation and the damage was minimal.  Also, we had brownies after, so there was that.

Now, I think we're due some good luck...so maybe tomorrow I will purchase a lottery ticket.

*We are usually very fire safe, and this was a rather unusual oversight.  No, really.  I've been burning candles and whatnot for more than 20 years and this is a first.  Had I known it was down there, I would have been looking after it and likely this wouldn't have happened.  Even so, this could have been far worse, and I'm just glad that this happened while I was here to deal with it and that when Someone comes home, he has a home to come home to!

**Edit - The candle in the photo at the top of the post did not cause the fire.  I repeat, that candle didn't cause the fire.  What DID cause it is a mystery and will likely remain so.  I'm not a fire investigator and I don't really need to know what caused the burn...we handled it and all's well that ends well.  There is no blame to be assigned.  The kids are fine.  They did great.  I'm proud of them.  The cats were annoyed.  They did fine.  I'm proud of them.  Mizz A and I are fine.  We worked well as a team.  I'm proud of us. Someone is chagrined that something of his cause such havoc.  He will live and learn.  We are now getting on with life, because that's what we do.  Thank you.

Happy Thanksgiving

Here followeth a Casa de Crazy Thanksgiving Day Tradicion:

We hope you have a pleasant, tasty, mellow, comfortable, not-at-all-contentious Thanksgiving day if you are in the USA and an all around good one if not in the USA.

Here's the link of you want to view full screen:  Alice's Restaurant

Thankful

I have a few traditions on Thanksgiving. Not many - the menu, recording the Macy's parade so I can watch it and fast-forward through all the crappy pop music, commercials, and talking heads to see the twenty minutes of balloons, floats and high school bands I'm interested in hidden among all that junk  (although I will have to forgo that pleasure, this year, alas, unless Mom remembers to record it for me to peruse at her house another time), and my list of some things for which I am thankful, in no particular order and in no way complete:

The house in which I live
The Evil Genius

Mum
Someone
Sprout
Gypsy, K2, Mizz A, Kit, Sam-I-Am, PJ, Mizz Beth, Martha 'n' Milo, Avalon, and all of my friends who put up with me when I am most myself and therefor least likable. They are the net beneath me when I fly and fall
Bread
The scent of leaf loam and woodsmoke in the crisp autumn air
Books, music, and art
Clean, plentiful water
Clean air
Clean clothes
Freedom
Nature and the way she finds to show me something new of herself every day
Words
Song
Dance
Adversity, that joy is all the sweeter (Okay, okay, the joy is sweet enough, so basta with the adversity for a minute, please)
Every creature and plant that I consume to sustain myself, because without the life I take, I would have no life to live
Love - that it exists at all is a wonder, and I feel blessed to know it in many forms
Chocolate, gift from the Gods (yes, even the perversion called "candy bar") (Mmm...candy bar...)
Honeycrisp Apples
Strong hands
Strong spirit
Strong will
Laughter
Cussed determination not to curl up and die just because life can sometimes be a succession of truly awful, bleak, and desolate days...but sometimes it isn't.
The Internet
You

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

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

Thanksgiving Cookery

Every year I post the menu for out Casa de Crazy Thanksgiving extravaganza and every year I wonder why I don't just cut and paste from last year because it very rarely changes.

Oh, the people change, and the weather, but what goes down in the kitchen and gets laid upon the table are as reliable as...well...something very reliable.

I also wonder if anyone cares, but I kind of get a kick out of seeing what y'all are doing and I like to share, so without further ado, here's the eats for Thursday's T-Day dinner:

Turkey, a 14 pounder this year because we have a couple of extra guests.

Dressing.  Not stuffing.  I like the stuff the gobbler with herbs and use the pan drippings for the gravy, so it's dressing.  No one has complained, yet.

Mashed potatoes (Mum usually helps with these and I let her because she is Mum and you don't tell Mum "no" when she wants to help with the taters, but this year she's got other plans so I will do 'em, whimper, snuffle, sob, moan).

Gravy, of the home made variety.

Green Beans.  Just plain old steamed green beans.

Green Bean Casserole, because Someone asked me awfully nicely if I would, and I feel obliging.

Mashed Turnips and carrots, because Mum and I adore them and they're pretty in the fancy, cut glass bowl.

Can-o-Cranberry, because cranberry that isn't can shaped ain't right.

Desserts include Chocolate Silk Pie and Dutch Apple Crumb Pie made just for us by Marie Callender (her pie crusts are way better than mine and I'm fine with letter her do all the work) and a Key Lime Pie with a shortbread crust (crust store bought, pie made here).  Also Ice Cream and coffee.  And Tums.  Lots of Tums.

Whew, I am full already.  How 'bout you - what's traditional at your Thanksgiving dinner?  What's your favorite savory?  Favorite sweet?

Counting Down

It is Monday of Thanksgiving week and there is much happening here at the Casa.

Someone is out looking for another job and taking care of other business, and the kids and I are terrorizing the cats...er...tidying up a bit.

This is a somewhat traditional post for me - every year I write a little something about this week, as it is the lead-off to The Silly Season and often one of my busiest here at the Casa.

So, here we go.

Monday (today) - Dental appointment for Sprout (all good, just a check-up).  Housekeepery of all sorts.

Tuesday - Possibly making a pie, possibly two.  Pulling the turkey from the freezer.  Pulling the turkey stock from the freezer.  Mashing turnips and carrots.  More housework, including washing every last dish/bowl/platter that we'll use on Thursday since they're the "good" dishes* and sit all year until I pull them out for Thanksgiving

Wednesday - cleaning, cleaning, more cleaning (I move slowly, the Casa is enormous, and I am not a good housekeeper so when we DO clean, it's a job).  Getting the dressing ready to bake.  Maybe making the green bean casserole ahead of time.  Panicking about the butter - is two pounds enough for the day?  Gah!  Making sure the table linens are washed and ready to use and pulling out the "good" flatware**.

Thursday - Turkey goes in to bake.  Dressing goes in to bake.  Green bean casserole goes in to bake.  Green beans are steamed.  Finishing up any last minute cleaning.  Children are shooed outside to frolic.  Friends and family trickle in.  Set the table.  Fill the water pitcher.  Watch TV and baste the turkey.  Make food, food, more food.  Serve.  Eat.  Coma.  Dessert and coffee/tea.  More coma.  Play games.  Pack leftovers to go for guests.  Sleep well.

Friday - NO SHOPPING!!!  There may,however, be cookie baking.  Lots of cookie baking.  Certainly lots of leftovers eating and probably some Netflix watching.  Almost certainly crocheting.

Saturday - Start figuring out Yule stuff, maybe start addressing holiday cards...or, who am I kidding?  Napping.

Sunday - I'm not gonna and you can't make me!

How is your week shaping up?

*These are dishes that Mum and I bought one piece at a time from a grocery store a long, long,looooong time ago.  Service for fourteen including serving dishes, either free or bargain priced with purchase of a certain amount of groceries.  I love them.  Not fancy, but pretty and simple and I like them.

**Not sterling, but some rather lovely and solid stainless steel flatware from the Oneida Company, back when there was a Betty Crocker catalog and we clipped Betty Crocker points from boxes and saved them in a tin on top of the refrigerator.  Service for twelve, and some day I hope to expand it and add more serving pieces and other cutlery, but that'll have to wait a bit because it's a discontinued pattern and getting the pieces I'd like to have will cost a small fortune.  I adore my pattern, bought a few pieces at a time through the mail with little bits of cardboard and postage paid.

Keylime Bars

This weekend, K2 is having her annual pre-holiday shopping extravaganza home show, and today I'm making some keylime bars to take and share with shoppers tomorrow.  A friend on Facebook asked for the recipe and I figured I could share it here and help spread the keylimey love.

The players:

For the crust you will need:
2 Cups flour
1 Cup (2 sticks) butter
1/2 Cup powdered sugar
Pinch of salt (optional)
Dash of cinnamon (optional)

For the filling you will need:
4 eggs
5 Tablespoons keylime juice
4 Tablespoons flour
2 Cups sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt

Aaaaand...action!

Heat your oven to 325 F.  I don't know what that is in C.  You can find a conversion calculator on the Internetz if you need it.  You can find darned near anything on the Internetz whether you need it or not.

Mix the dry ingredients for the crust well.  

Melt the butter over low heat.  Wow, that's a lot of butter.  This has to be good!

Carefully pour the butter over the dry ingredients and not all over the counter while you're trying to photograph the action for your blog.  Ahem.

Mixa, mixa, mixa with a fork.  Don't get too crazy here or you'll wind up with a tough crusty part, and tough crusty parts are a bummer, man.

Once it's mixed and still nice and crumbly, dump it into a 9 x 13 pan.  Or a 13 x 9 pan.  Your choice.  Sometimes I'm a rebel and use an 8 x 11 pan so I have a thicker crust and deeper bars.  I'm crazy that way.

You do NOT need to grease the pan.  Did you notice how much butter went into this crust?  Pat it down gently until it feels pretty even.  Or you could make it all bumpy and wavy and have kind of uneven bars if you want.  Who am I to judge?

Bake at 325 F for 20 minutes.  

Remove from the oven but leave that thing cranked to 325.  Look at that crust.  Mmm...

While the crust cools a wee, let's move on to the filling.  You can wait for the crust to cool entirely if you like.  Heck, you can just make the filling while the crust bakes and pour it right on as soon as the crust has cooked.  I'm just telling you how I do it.  Anyway, the filling...

Beat the eggs fluffy.

Next, add the sugar, still beating.  Pretend the mixer is all shiny and new and not distressingly worn and weird looking.  Thanks.

Once the sugar is well beaten in, add the salt.  I used Celtic sea salt because I like it, but regular table salt is fine.

Next comes the flour, one Tablespoon at a time.

Finally, the lime juice, one Tablespoon at a time.  Let it whisk around for a bit to get nice and creamy and smooth and tantalizing.

Pour over the crust, triumphant when you didn't spill it on the stove top while you simultaneously dumped and photographed.  Hurrah!

Oooh, purty...

Bake at 325 F for 25 minutes.  It should be well set, so if it still jiggles, leave it in for a few more minutes.

Oh, bubbly wonder!

Let the whole thing cool completely.  Once cooled, you can dust it with powdered sugar or just grab a fork and dive in.  Like I said, I won't judge!

Life Goes On

It's just after 10:00 at night.

The presidential election is being decided as I type.  It'll be a few hours before it's all settled.  I'm surprised at how close it is right now.  My son is worried about the results.  He's 13 and everything is so immediate, so urgent, so impossible, so he's worried.

I'm not.

The thing is, as far back as I can remember doomsayers have proclaimed that if this candidate or that wins, our country will crumble.  Various fates have been predicted.

And yet...

And yet...

Life goes on.

In the morning, when I wake and am bombarded by glee, misery, gloating, wound licking, and general post-election hangovery...I will still look for the hungry and try to feed them.  I will still do laundry.  I will bake cookies and play Candyland with Sprout.  I will empty the catbox and probably say a few cuss words as I clean up a puddle of pee from whichever cat has decided that litter boxes are for chumps.

I will play games on Facebook.

I will worry about bills.

I will plan dinner.

I will pester my children to do their chores, please, now, hey, chores, hello, can you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?

I will ask how I can help people who need helping and strive to embody compassion, love, kindness, patience, and even occasionally wisdom.  Sometimes I will succeed and sometimes I will fail and always I will hope and work to do better.

I will ask the gods to send the rain we've not had but desperately need.

I will watch National Geographic on Netflix and be thankful that my ex-husband lets us use his account so we can see so many beautiful and amazing things on our television.

I will crochet.

I will strive to help Cygnus walk his rocky path, and I will strive to walk mine with all the grace I can muster (scant though it be sometimes).

I will continue to love, as I always have.  Hatred is  cage in which I refuse to be captured.  I will love openly and freely and fiercely and madly and absolutely.

Nothing about this election can possibly change who I am at my core.  Nothing about any of the candidates or what the winner proclaims or attempts to keep or change about our laws, our nation, will alter one iota of my fundamental ME.

I will try, as always, to keep my integrity intact, and there's not a law on earth that can force me to do otherwise.

So, yes, life will go on.

It doesn't matter, this political brouhaha.

Life.  Goes.  On.

Mondaying

Well it started nicely enough with a long snuggle with Sprout on the big comfy bed and a slow wake up.

She asked for a bologna sandwich for breakfast and I obliged.  Heated some sausage biscuits for me.  Poured some OJ.  Settled at the table for a bite and some dinking around on the computer.

But then...

Then the cup of OJ levitated itself, turned over, and send an orange wave of utter, citrusy destruction flowing across the table and onto my computer, phone, and plate of biscuits.  Before I could even reach for a towel, juice was dripping onto the floor. And my feet.

One dishcloth and half a roll of paper towels later, it seemed like I had it all cleaned up, but my computer had a black screen and wouldn't talk to me.  Oh.  No.

As I ate an OJ infused biscuit, I pondered what to do.  Screaming and crying seemed like good options, but maybe I shouldn't just leap right into panic mode.

By the way, slightly orange juiced sausage biscuits are not horrible.

I decided to turn off Albino Bob and restart him.

So far, so good.  My keys may be a little sticky because they're the recessed kind and I can't pop them off for cleaning, but I'll live...and so, I believe, will Bob.  Now to finish breakfast and see what else Monday wants to throw at me.  Oy.

I know I've written quite a bit about depression of late.  I have an idea that it gts boring, reading about it, but in part I post because if there's someone out there who is looking for words, maybe mine will help...and if there's someone out there who is trying to help, maybe these posts will help...and sometimes I need to get things out of my head somehow, and writing about it helps.

So here's another thing about depression.

I had a pretty good day, today.  The Evil Genius is hanging with his father, and Someone offered to hang out with our daughter while I took some time for me.

I spent a few hours with K2, catching up and whatnot.

I found (thanks to K2) a new crochet pattern to try.

I came home and got some dishes done, listened to some music, had a bit of peaceful family time.

And all of a sudden, out of nowhere, for no discernible reason, I felt like I could cry.

In the middle of cooking dinner, I felt overwhelmed by sadness.

As the linguine bubbled in its pot, I felt a sense of futility.

As I stirred the mussels in garlic tomato sauce with white wine, I felt miserable.

As I seasoned and tasted the spinach, I felt empty and useless.

This is depression, the thief of joy, dimmer of color, taker of contentment.

It comes out of nowhere, flies back into nowhere, doesn't give a body a target to aim at, smashes and grabs and disappears, leaving a lingering greyness to life in its wake.

Nothing and no one can cure this.  It is to be endured, survived as best as can be, borne until it fades away for a brief respite.  It doesn't make sense, it can't be reasoned with, there is no logic to it.

I hate it.  I don't hate much or many, but depression?  Yeah...

Thoughtfetti

"Mama, what do oak trees do?"
"They grow tall and wide and produce acorns."
"No, but what do they REALLY do?"
"Ask one and see what it says."
She did.  It didn't answer.  I told her to listen differently.  She did.  Now she won't tell me what it said.
~~~~~
Code enforcement came by the house yesterday.  Some kind anonymous soul called them to complain about trash and debris in our yard.  They knocked on the door, told me who they were and why they were there, and let me know that my yard is fine.  Nothing wrong.  They didn't understand why they were called.

There is no trash or debris in our yard.  There has not been.  There will not be.  Since Someone got out of prison he has been coming over in his spare time and cleaning up the yard, in fact.

I explained that I knew who called, even though they can't tell me...same person who has done all of the calling since she moved in next door, and it was likely because they don't like us and are trying to harass us into moving.  The officers were not happy.  They know they've been out here before for nothing and don't like that kind of BS.  Code enforcement and law enforcement are not meant to be used to bother neighbors or try to make their lives hell.

I was polite, friendly, and helpful.  I listened and answered with a light tone of voice and with respect.  They apologized profusely for bothering me, and I answered that they have a job to do and I don't grudge them doing it one little bit.  They appreciated that.

Every time they are called out here by Anonymous for nothing, they become a little less inclined to think kindly of her.  They will always respond and come to the house, but they will also likely keep note of how often they are sent on a wild goose chase.

I suspect Anonymous will be finding herself on the receiving end of a nuisance citation from local law enforcement if she keeps this up.  I suspect I may feel the need to stop making nice if she keeps this up.  I suspect I may look into whether I can bring a suit against her for harassment if she doesn't cut it out.  I suspect she will learn the hard way that I will not be budged once I dig in my heels, and that kindness and compassion will move mountains but pissy assholery will garner less than nothing from me.

Some folks just have to learn the hard way.
~~~~~
"Mama, where should I plant my oak tree?"
She found some acorns and wants to grow trees.  She has an idea that it will be instant...but trees are not like microwave popcorn.  Trees take time and patience and there is no guarantee.  I suggested planting them in the woods.  If they don't turn into trees, then perhaps they can at least turn into a squirrel's breakfast.
~~~~~
Someone has been working in the yard and garden.  11 days back out in the world and he's already cleaned up 2 years of neglect in about 1/3 of the space I've ignored.  I'm so NOT a yard work kind of person!
~~~~~
I believe in second chances.
~~~~~
"I want to be a veterinarian."
"Okay."
"When can I be one?"
"Well, you'll need some specialized schooling and whatnot, so maybe when you're a grown-up, but we can find ways to help animals long before that."
"I'm going to feed the kitties!"

It's a start.
~~~~~
I'm in love with the way the sunlight slips gently into Casa de Crazy through the windows and gives a pale golden glow to everything it touches.  I am not often a person of favorites, but I do hold Autumn highest in my seasonal esteem.
~~~~~
How are you doing?

Bitch, Moan, Complain, Woof

Sigh. I'm trying to be my better self, but I'm annoyed and my compassion is slipping. The neighbors have a rather bark-y dog, looks and sounds like maybe a hound mix. It barks and barks and BARKS incessantly when we're out in our yard. It stands at the fence (which they put almost to the property line so it's quite close to Casa de Crazy) and hollers and growls at us constantly. The neighbors knows the dog does this and will occasionally make a half-hearted attempt at hushing the critter, mostly consisting of yelling the dog's name several times and then ignoring it as it continues to chastise us for existing. It seems supremely disinterested in making friends or being congenial. While I'm adept at ignoring noise for the most part, it is awfully difficult to ignore or be tolerant at 6:30 in the morning, or when we're outside dealing with the trailer, playing in the yard, even trying to have a simple conversation while enjoying the lovely weather out there. Bark, bark, barkbarkbarkbarkBAAARRRRRK!!!! We can't even walk to the mailbox or the shprt distance to the van without an explosion of woofs and general sounding of the hound alert announcing "DEFCON 5, THE HOTTENTOTS ARE COMING, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD WOOOOOOOOOF!!!!!" They haven't shown any interest in or effort towards teaching any of their dogs manners, and as they are usually indoors when the dog is outdoors, they just ignore the muffled noise inside their house seemingly without regard to how it disrupts anyone else's day. The dog is being a dog, telling us to keep away from its territory, warning its humans that strangers are near, and telling the world at large that it's ready to protect its pack. I get it. What I don't get is how any human who is kept by a dog could let it go apeshit that way and not teach it when to warn and when to be silent, how any human can keep from responding when their canine family member is going off like that. Dogs bark to communicate. Letting them bark constantly like that tells them that they don't matter or that they need to be louder and more urgent to get your attention. Also? It's rude as fuck. So now that you've read this far, question: What do I do about it? The neighbor is the unpleasant one,. When she saw me unhitching the trailer yesterday she rather hopefully asked if we were moving. So dejected when I replied no, we aren't moving, I was just keeping the trailer here now so it's handy for me. Trying to talk to her is like trying to hug a thorn bush...awfully prickly, not really productive, and not likely to be worth the effort. So do I call animal control? Code enforcement? The cops? Do I find some canine Valium and feed it doctored hot dogs? What's a gal to do?