The Lonely House In Carnesville

Lately it seems like I haven't been witching much.  Other things going on, distractions, life tangling me up in its strands.  Yesterday I got to go visit a beautiful old house with Mizz A, and at the same time be a Witch.

It sits not far from the road that winds through the countryside, hills and farms, churches and cows, horses here and there, and giant rolls of hay that look like unripened or lightly toasted marshmallows waiting for the harvest.  It's on 49 acres, much  of the land let to go wild-ish, because that's a lot of land to care for when you're one woman, kids not interested in the place or the work involved. No blame, there, they have lives, but one person with a dicky back cannot wage that kind of battle with nature and her kind of entropy.

It was a plantation, once, and had a post office/store kind of place, and slaves, and then not-slaves, and there's a graveyard somewhere among the weeds.  The chicken house is still standing, and a barn, and one of the slave cabins and a storage kind of barn thing.

The owner called Mizz A because Miss A is part of a paranormal investigations group, and the owner was concerned about some odd goings on in the house.  Concerned enough that she moved out, cleared a little patch of land nearby, and built a new dwelling there.  Maybe it's haunted, or cursed, and maybe living there is a chance she didn't feel like taking any more.

So the old house?  Sits empty.

She loves that house, though, can't let it go just yet.  She has hopes and dreams, hopes and dreams that won't dry up and blow away just because of some...oddities.

Mizz A asked me if I could maybe come with her to visit the place and maybe despook or decursify it.  I like old houses and outbuildings, and figured a day out of the Casa, sans kids, might be a good thing, so I agreed.  We planned our jaunt, and yesterday was the day so off we went.

As soon as we drove up, I loved the place.  You know the kind of place that's home, even when it isn't?  That's quiet and peaceful and maybe a little sleepy?  Friendly and welcoming and a little quirky, like your crazy Aunt Edna with the crooked straw hat that makes you cookies and tells inappropriate stories that make you laugh?  The kind of place that wraps you in a gentle hug and tells you it's okay, you're safe here, and comfortable, and time slows down a littel?  Yeah, that kind of place.

And as soon as we drove up, I knew there was no haunting, no curse.

The house, it's lonely.

(A view of one side of the house, shot from a little table that was waiting in the yard)
 
It's been empty for a minute.  It used to be full of children, and laughter, and tears; life.  The family that has lived there since forever, the family that used to fill it with noise and motion, the family that steeped its walls with their history, that family didn't want it any more.  No heat.  No AC.  All kinds of updating, restoration, modernizing needed.  No thanks, we have different lives to lead.  No sentiment.  No attachment.  No roots.  They gutted it, sold off everything that once made each room a living space, sold the property, brushed the dust of it from their hands, and left it to its own devices and the whims of its new owner.  

(Roof and chimney, sound and ready to serve)

She saw its bones and felt the lull, the gentle tug of a house that wants to be lived in, and she was caught fast in its spell.  Love me, the house says.  I'm strong, sturdy, I'll weather the storms and keep you safe.  Here, you will have a haven.  Love me.

(Slave quarters, one room with a fireplace, now used as a kind of guest room)

And she does love it.  Every inch.  Every creaky board, every crack in the plaster, aver stone of it.  The house, it knows.  Some of the things she experienced in there, the not-hauntings, not-curse things, were the house trying to welcome her home.  It remembers, and it wants to share that it was a living place, once, and wants to be again.  It wants to welcome her, here, sit on the porch swing and relax with me, be calm, drink tea and let the world go on around us, we're fine right here.

(Oh, this chimney...how I adore this chimney)

You can feel its age.  Smell it.  It was built in a time when air conditioning was the wind, and doors and windows were generous and placed to catch every bit of moving air, let it wander through the house and back out again, carrying the heat with it.

(A barn, still in pretty good shape)

Despite the day being on the hot side, temps around 90F, the house wan't unbearable.  A modern home would feel like an oven, but with doors and windows thrown open, arms spread wide in welcome, high ceilings ready to catch and hold the rising hot air and leave it cooler down below, it wasn't unpleasant.Warm, but not unpleasant.

(The post office/shoppish building, exterior)

We walked around outside, looked at the outbuildings, chatted about the history of the place.  The owner offered us lunch, an unexpected treat of home made tomato sandwiches, sliced and seasoned cucumbers, apples, deviled eggs, radishes.  Chai tea.  We sat and ate and chatted some more, and I told her about the house's loneliness.

(Interior shot from the side door of the post office/whatsis)

She is afraid she will have to sell it.  There's a good bit of work that must be done before it is habitable, and even more to be done to fully restore its splendor.  She has a bad back, and a small bank account, and it's just too much.  Too much, but oh, the heartbreak of having to give it up.  She sees, appreciates, this house and its beautiful bones.

(An old saddle, waiting around)

We are kindred in our love of old houses.  There's something in the way they smell, of wood often polished and plaster, and memories.

(Shelf space...jars...shelf space...ooooh...)

She could do many things with this house.  Live in it, yes, but...

A bed and breakfast?  An event site, perfect for weddings and celebrations, parties, bonfires, music.

A museum, perhaps, or a gallery, or an artist's home.

So many things could be done in such a fine old place.

But you have to get there, don't you?  All it can be right now is a skeleton awaiting flesh, and that kind of flesh requires dollars.

(I wonder how much penny candy this old thing rang up...)

Love it all she may, the owner can't afford it.

(Dear old house)

She might be able to sell some of the land, but not too much, to fund the restoration.  That would be good, because the house doesn't care about the land.  It cares about feeling so empty and alone, and if land has to go in order to live once more, fine.  Make it happen, the house says.

(Front door)

It's not the land that makes the magic, here, although land is living and magical in its own right.  It's this house.  Something I can't quite name, but like the owner, I felt it.  heard it.  A humming, thrumming, in my center.

(Main hall, center through, similar to the house in Little Compton where I spent much of my early life)

As we sat on the lawn and munched our lunches, I felt the happy, tuneless song of the place; happy because people were there, eating, talking, sharing space and time, and even if it wasn't much compared to the past, it was something.  Stay, the house said.  Rest.  Relax.  Enjoy.  It crooned a soothing song, and even the occasional traffic on the road was hardly noticeable though we sat only yards from the pavement.

(The wood...the wood...I love the wood, great big planks of it running along the ceiling)

No curse needed lifting, no vengeful or restless spirit needed sending off.  I gave the owner a blessing I'd written, in Cherokee no less, and offered to do a little blessing but reassured her that there was nothing wrong there.  None of the sad or tragic things that had happened in the history of the place were anything more than life happening.  Nothing evil or angry.  Just a lonely house wishing for a family to fill it.

(The fireplaces all need work, but the chimneys are sound)

We went inside again, in where the feeling of the place was even stronger, the wistful welcome, and I lit some incense, mixed some things up, said a blessing for the house and its human, scattered the mojo mix around, and then played my flute for a bit.

(The kitchen fireplace.  I always wanted a kitchen with a fireplace.)

While Mizz A and the owner went out and chatted on the front steps, I went back inside and shot more photos.  I talked to the place.  Patted the door frames.  Tried to reassure it - someone will come love it, come live in it.  You, the house said.  You come.  I can't, I told it.  No money.  No resources.  No way to do it justice.  Maybe if there's a lottery win...

(The root cellar, currently full of cobwebs and a small water heater.  Yes, I went down there.  It was nifty!)

I felt like weeping.  Some houses are homes, yes, but they aren't alive.  They don't breathe.  They don't remember.  Some houses are just buildings.  No history, nothing and no one tied to them.  

(Chai tea in a chipped cup.)

This dear old place, though, was full of its past and hoping for a future.  One person, 20 people, it doesn't matter as long as there's life within, life without.

(Our hostess prepared a feast!)

I could see, in my mind's eye, what it could be.  Restored, lived in, this room a parlor or music room, center hall the living room, that room a library, those rooms bedrooms.  Dining room full of wooden furniture, kitchen modern but showing respect for the history of the place, maintaining the integrity of its origins in architecture.  Porches with rocking chairs.  Attic made into a finished living space, a staircase added in the front or side hall for access.

(The windows were glazed with old style glass, small ripples giving the world a watery look.)

I could see how I would finish the wood, paint the walls, arrange the kitchen.  I could imagine my family living our lives there, smells of baking, sounds of play, music, wind, fireplaces crackling in winter.

(Fireplace and closets in what would be the master bedroom)

For brief moments here and there, it was so real I could touch it.  The house, offering me possibilities, showing me what could be if only...

(A modern addition, the owner enclosed a bit of porch and added a bathroom - the house had none!)

Alas, I cannot bank if only, nor use it to pay for the artisans needed to do the house justice.  Sorry, house.  Oh, I can love you from a distance and daydream about you, and I certainly will hope that the owner can find a way to bring you back to your glory, but short of a miraculous lottery win, I'm afraid I can't do much more than write about you and wish you the best.

(More of the bathroom and a bit of the space beyond that could be a closet, but right now contains the attic access)

It's funny how old houses draw some of us in.  

(At the back of the center hall, looking at the back door and side hall that leads to the dining room)

The owner told us that when she first saw the place, she wept to leave it.  She drove away crying.  So quickly, she was attached.

(The dining room and the kitchen door as well as a glimpse of the side door that leads to the side porch)

Do you know that feeling?  That feeling of this is the place, this is the one, this is where I belong, and my roots are already sinking deep?

(The kitchen, from the dining room door)

She invited us to come any time, perhaps to have a bonfire.  A drum circle would fit in nicely, there.  A witch could live happily there.  She was relieved to know that the house is not infested with ghostly remnants of the dead, nor cursed.  She was touched that I felt it too, the house's sense of desolation and wish to live again.

(The kitchen and pantry, from the small enclosed porch door)

We agreed that it needed an owner who would love it for that it is, and shared a horror of the idea that anyone could buy it, knock it down, put in tract housing, erase something so fine.

(A nifty plant hanging out in the yard)

I hope something wonderful happens and the owner can keep the Lonely House in Carnesville.  I hope that she can find a way to restore it fully, live in it, enjoy it, and sometimes maybe invite a certain witch and her friend for dinner.

If you know of anyone who'd like to help keep a bit of history alive, who can donate time, talent, or money to put the shine back into it, get in touch with me.  I can repay you in smiles and possibly cookies, and the owner would be most grateful for the assist.

Home Invasion, Casa Style

Greetings from Casa de Crazy!

Things have been, well, crazy around here.

We've had some friends pass through the veil (it hurt, we're mourning, and I'll get into it some other time when their losses - unrelated to each other - are not quite so raw).  I've been getting ready for my annual journeys into the wild north of southern Illinois and then later to Ohio.  I've been wrestling with my psyche.  I've been wrestling with my partnership with Someone.

And now?  I'm wrestling (figuratively, thank goodness) with the local wildlife.

Last evening I was talking with Someone down in the Quiet Room (serving as his quarters for the moment, and that's something else to be discussed another time) when I heard...a noise.  A sort of scritching, scratching, scrabbling noise.  It was in the wall behind the door.  Oh, no, I thought, the ants are in the wall!  Carpenter ants, they come around every now and then, and I have to have them dealt with because they will eat my house frame right out from under me.

I wandered upstairs to the back door and popped out to see if I could see them on the outer wall.  Nope, no ants.  I did see some of these:

"Howdy, neighbor!"

They were tiny, not even the length of my rather short pinky fingernail, and they didn't seem to give a fig about the fact that I hadn't invited them to nest in my siding.  I asked them politely to leave.

"What do you mean, you're evicting me?  But...but..."

They ignored me.  Rude.  I asked them again, with a touch more firmness, and they kept ignoring me.  A third attempt at a stern talking to led to the same result - yellow jackets ignored me and kept on with nesting in my siding.

Sigh.

I warned them that I was calling a bee remover and came back inside.  I found a bee person...well, a general wildlife person...who is local and asked him if he could come by, and he said he could make it in the morning.  I was hoping he could just remove the little darlings, but it turns out that yellow jackets aren't pollinators, get rather sting-y when someone tries to move then, and would require some serious removal or walls for that kind of thing.  If they were honeybees, I'd go the extra mile, but yellow jackets are just pissed off, aggressive stingers with wings.  Wildlife guy (Jason) suggested simply offing them, and after a silent request for forgiveness from the tiny-death-fliers-of-doom, I agreed.  They and their nest in the wall are now no more,

"I shall have my revenge!"

Meanwhile, Jason noticed something else near the Casa.  Very near.  Another house guest I hadn't invited to the party.  He saw this:

And this:

And on the other side of the house, this:

 I told him I'd been seeing that and thought it was from Rodents of Unusual Size scampering about but thinking better of coming in whet the garage cats tried to make their acquaintance.

He told me that the dropping are, in fact, from attic dwelling bats
 (aka Brown Bats).

"Yo, 'ssup?"

I believe I replied with something pithy like "Er..."

Seems the wee darlings have found their way into our attic space and have been happily living rent free up there for quite a while.  Years.  They're beneficial creatures to have around, but not so much actually INSIDE the house.  They're fastidious abut personal cleanliness but not so notorious for keeping their floor clean, and the urine and feces they leave lying about can be a health hazard.  As the Evil Genius has asthma, and I do, too...and as my attic space isn't a toilet...and as I don't care to contract any of the other diseases that bats can carry and share with their host families...I must have them removed.  Not killed, just...evicted.  And then the entire attic may need to be gutted and recombobulated.  Because of course.

I don't even want to talk about the carpenter ants...especially because, despite their name, they never build me any furniture or a new garden shed or anything like that!

Y'all, I love nature.  I strive to live with her, not in opposition to her.  I strive to be a warden to the land I occupy and to help the living things that share it with me.  But...enough is enough.  I don't bother them in their nests or burrows or whatever, and I'd appreciate the same consideration.  I don't want to have to declare war on the local critters, creepies, and crawlies, but I feel pushed to defend my home with vigor and feelings of guilt.

I'm all for "live and let live" whenever possible, but right now it's just not possible.

Look out, home invaders, it's on, now!

Memorial Day

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

For a history of this day, go here. Or here. Or here. In a nutshell, Memorial Day is for remembering the fallen.  Perhaps one day, we won't have any new graves to decorate. Until then, I remember and (as best I can) I honor.

~~~~~
In Flanders Fields by John McCrea

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead.  Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from flailing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields

Thoughtfetti

I have a friend with cancer.  He was just diagnosed.  I have hope that he will battle and win.  I have fear that he will battle and lose.  May hope triumph over fear.
~~~~~
Sometimes things escalate so quickly that I get thoroughly lost and wonder how the hell that happened, what I did wrong.  I've tried to stop shouldering blame for it, but it still bewilders me.
~~~~~
I keep getting headaches.  They radiate from the crown of my head down the muscles and into the basal skull area, and sometimes they make my shoulders ache.
~~~~~
I love my children, but once in a great while I kinda wish I was on my own, no one depending on me, no one to clean up after.  I suspect many mothers experience this.  I don't feel guilty for it, and I would never tell my kids I feel that way, but I will occasionally daydream about how different life could be before getting back to folding laundry or doing dishes.
~~~~~
I'm so tired all the time, I think I could sleep for a week and still have bags and dark circles under my eyes.  I wonder what people think, when they see me.  My mind tells me they don't think nice things.  My mind isn't kind
~~~~~
The kittens are walking...well...wobbling, anyway, and lort, they are precious!  I can't help but smile at them - kitten therapy cures many ills.
~~~~~
How're you doing?

Thoughtfetti (with photos!)

The kids and I were at an event in Florida in March.  While there, we became acquainted with a tree that the chidren dubbed 'The Coolest Tree in the World!" TM, Patent pending.

It's an oak that was knocked over some years ago in a hurricane.  Despite having been laid low, it continues to grow.

I like this tree.

~~~~~

 I'd like to dye my hair again.  Last year, K2 bought a box of this and we did my hair without bleaching it, and I liked the results.  I'm thinking of doing it again.  Heck, there are still faint traces of last year's blueing in my hair!  Maybe in June.

~~~~~
Proof that I do, indeed, like dogs: 

This is Sonny Brown.  He's an agility champion.  He has the magic ability to know there's a biscuit within begging range, and he has sense enough to know who the warmest person in the room is and come sit with her when it's chilly outside.  I'm not usually fond of small dogs, but Sonny is one of the exceptions.  He likes me even though I rarely have a biscuit to share.
~~~~~
Our one remaining female feral cat, Twoer, had kittens.  She had four but one didn't make it past the third day, poor wee thing.  The other three sausages are thriving.

There are few ills that can't be at least mitigated by a kitten cuddle puddle.

 The Evil Genius claimed the right to name this one, and he named it Hamster.

 Lort, the cute!  Sprout has named the black one (which also has white on its not-visible-in-the-photo tummy) Sausage.  The tabby has a name in the works - I offered Someone the option to name and he's mulling.
~~~~~
I have long enjoyed an Asian cucumber salad that K2 makes.  Seriously, for years.  I only just asked her for the recipe so I could make it at home.  Slow, me, but I get there eventually.  Lort, but I like these cukes!

~~~~~
Despite feeling a little chilly here at Casa de Crazy at the moment, things are growing, blooming, and ripening.  The blueberries are teasing me - they take on a slightly blue hue and then...sit there.  They know I'm waiting.  I know they're torturing me.  Every year, it's our thing.  Soon, delicious berries...soon...

~~~~~
How're you doing?

Beltane

Happy Beltane, for those who celebrate.

If you'd like to know a bit about the holiday, go here. Or here. Or here. Or Google search Beltane and duck before your computer spits out a load of links. When you're done reading, come back and giggle because I said "load of links". I won't tell.

Meanwhile, I'm going down to my sewing room and getting my hind quarters in gear - I have some serious catching up to do if I'm to be ready for upcoming events and (hopefully) a selling spree.  If you're celebrating Beltane today, leap the fire once for me and be careful in your greenwooding - poison ivy in certain parts of the anatomy can be...awkward...

Blessed be!

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.