Thoughtfetti

Preggo edition.
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Why do people think "pregnant" means "incapacitated"? I am perfectly capable of lifting a bag (or ten) of groceries. When I was preggers with Bird, around this time I was two months recovered from an emergency appendectomy and still tossing cases of water and fifty-pound bags of ice over a twelve-foot fence while working twenty-hour days running worker hospitality for an international auto race. Trust me, if I'm tired, I'll rest...meanwhile, let me go about my business...please?
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Why do people think it's OK to touch the belly? First of all, right now the only folks who can tell I'm knocked up are the people who know what my middle usually looks like on a daily basis. I still fit in my regular britches, for the love of Pete! You wouldn't usually wander up and fondle a random stranger's parts, would you? Why does a baby bump change that? It's not that I'm trying to be a bitch about it...but I'm a depressed, OCD-ing, agoraphobic, claustrophobic xenophobe...it's a kind of Hell to be out in public, let alone to have people I DON'T KNOW freakin' touching me!!
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I'm not sleeping well at night...not because of heartburn or illness or because I can't get comfortable....no....it's because knocked up women aren't supposed to sleep on their backs (and I don't like to, anyway). So I sleep on my side. And lately, when I sleep on my side...I lose all feeling in my hands. Sleep on right side, numb right hand. Sleep on left side, numb left hand. What the Hell??
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Why can't I remember things? It's related to pregnancy...my friends and I have all laughed over it and named it "preggo brain". I've missed several doctor's appointments because I wrote them on the wrong day in two calendars (not one...two!). I've had to reschedule several other appointments because I've made them for days when I'm going to be out of town or otherwise busy. If I don't have a comprehensive list, I will bring nothing useful home from the grocery store. If all I need are eggs, apples, and toilet paper, without a list I'll bring home Oreos, catnip, and balloons. Why? You should hear me fishing for words. I draw blanks constantly and have to play a sort of word-charades to find something as simple as "sponge". Again...why??
~~~~~
Got a call from the specialist this morning - second round of tests came in normal, chromosomes all bright and shiny and in the right places in the right numbers, so small baby is just...small. Considering a baby's usual method of egress, is small really such a bad thing?

Things I Learned in the Last Few Days

One of the feral cats isn't a "she", after all, but rather a "he". Huh.

Jackson EMC is full of the awesome and has the best customer assistance personnel (Utility Company) ever.

There is a reason I will drive straight past two other supermarkets to shop at Publix. Their pharmacy folks are part of that reason. I heart my Publix Pharmacy. They don't know who I am, online, and haven't asked me to plug 'em - they're just that terrific.

There's a church in New Orleans wherein the dedicants worship their own beards. They meet in a bar. I wonder...if someone has a prosthetic beard, are they worshiping a false god??

The first round of tests came back from the amnio and are normal. Second round results in a week or so.

The baby is, without a doubt, a girl...unless the genetic testing is wrong. There is joy in Mudville, and the Evil Genius said he was OK with it, too...he can still teach her things.

Bees do no care for lawn mowers.

Especially when said mowers park on the entrance to their below-ground hive.

Things that sound drastic and expensive to fix on Rosie the Mule (my beloved Astro van) aren't always drastic and expensive to fix. Whew.

I don't bounce back as well as I used to from long weekends and nights with short sleep.

How've you been?

Looking Forward

It's September 11, and all over the Blue Nowhere folks are writing about what happened on this date in 2000.

While I remember clearly what I was doing when I found out, and how I felt, and how the nation reacted...I'm not writing about it beyond this opening.

We've moved past our sense of unity over the tragedy and have become fractured once more by opinion and politics, and I'm just not that into those games.

Instead, I'm cleaning up the Evil Genius's toy room, bit by bit, to make a room for the baby.

The space began as a spare bedroom, morphed into my sewing room, then was transformed only last February into a room for all of the Little Dude's playthings. How did he get so many dang toys? I clearly recall asking both families to please, please not give him a bunch of toys, but rather to give books, educational items, contributions to his savings account, or playthings with some kind of skill involved (Legos, K'Nex, that sort of thing)(which reminds me, did you know K'Nex has a DNA model you can build? Holy carp, I want one!!).

There was also a ban on things that run on batteries, make noise (especially without volume control) and video games. Branded items were right out, and I made it clear that if it involved Veggie Tales, Barney, or Wonder Pets, it would never make it into our house - I would burn it without hesitation. Few listened, it seems, and now we have a room full of...erm...crap, really. Cheap plastic crap that breaks easily but can't be thrown away because he loves it and cries and it breaks my heart, so I have to wait until he's not home for a few days (rare) and bin things, then hope he doesn't notice.

He's been helping me today, sorting through train things (and a huge thank to my Mum, who said we could bring the GeoTrax up to her place and let him play with them in her loft since there's nowhere in Casa de Crazy for him to set them up, any more) and taking apart the K'Nex roller coaster. I can't convince him to let me get rid of the train table, though...sigh...it may have to have an unfortunate accident...

While I don't have anything to put in the room yet, it's only because we haven't collected the things generously offered by friends and family. There's a crib waiting in Something Carolina, and a stroller/travel system and possibly a pack 'n' play here in Georgia waiting to be fetched home. If I can manage it, I will get new dressers for both rooms - the Evil Genius's has been on the receiving end of some serious little-boy play and isn't terribly steady on its feet, but it was the perfect height for changing nappies. I'm tall, and most changing tables are too short for me to use over the long run. I'd like to give him a new one and maybe find one for the baby's room that'll suit our needs.

I want to make a space in our home for this baby.

I'm worried...and will continue to be concerned until s/he is out and squalling his/her lungs out, running us ragged and being a perfectly healthy, normal little beast.

I'm trying to curtail the fear by being proactive, by focusing on something positive, by looking forward. The past is behind me. I cannot do anything about it. I have no choice but to dwell in the here and now...but tomorrow? Hasn't been shaped, yet...so I can look at it in whatever light I choose.

Waiting Game

The following is a letter I sent out to friends and family today. I figured it could serve as a blog post, too. Lazy, me...and in need of a nap...and as I can't seem to win the lottery or do any other essential things at the moment, lazy and a nap it is.
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I went to the doctor's today for an ultrasound...hoping to find out if we have a lass or a laddie goin' on. They wanted to check development of various parts, as well - standard stuff for higher risk pregnancies.

What we have here is a stubborn little beast. Not shy, just refusing to show us his/her bits and pieces. Grr. Yep, this is my kid.

Meanwhile, what we also have is a deficiency of amniotic fluid and a small baby. How small is small? They couldn't/wouldn't really say...but mentioned that small could mean that it's just small (I was small, my mother was small, Someone's mother was small), or that it's not getting enough nutrients, or it COULD mean chromosomal abnormalities (comforting) or developmental issues (whee), although the first trimester tests came back normal. So...I was offered the option for an amnio, which carries its own risks.

The doc wasn't going to press one way or another for the amnio. When I asked Someone, he said he didn't think anything was wrong...but that he knew I would worry and be unhappy if I thought there was something wrong and for that reason, perhaps it would be a good idea. I have to admit, he's right...I would fret...

I opted to have the amnio, because if I didn't, I would worry...and worry...and worry...because I do that. They had to sample the placenta because they couldn't find a big enough fluid pocket to draw from, and hopefully I'll know on Monday if there's anything to worry about. Not that I'll keep from worrying, because did I mention that's what I do?? Plus, how can I help it when they start throwing around words like "congenital deafness" and "trisomy..." and "retardation" and "not survivable" and "deficient nutrient absorption", even if it's just because there's a one in a million chance and they feel that they have to offer the information, just in case...?

We did find out that head, spine, and heart look fine, and that maybe, possibly, we could be having a lassie (although the angle of view and my stubborn little Sprout's refusal to make this easy meant the doctor wouldn't commit to one or the other possibilities)...and the amnio will tell us that definitively as well...

So I have to make it until Monday...and I'd be lying if I said I was calm and Zen and believed my instinct that all is well...because I'd really like to just curl up and have a good cry and then be told everything's alright. I'll have to wait until Monday for the first bit of news, then another week or so for the next round of info, and go back in three weeks for more measuring and testing and...sigh. Double sigh.

If y'all have any good thoughts or a bit of love to spare, I sure could use it right now. My Someone is calm, steady, and certain that all is well, and I am allowing myself to hope and to trust in his instincts while simultaneously being a bit scared inside (where no one can see).

Thanks for being here...
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If the nap succeeds in perking my butt up (that's a LOT of perking)('cause it's a LOT of butt)(never mind...), I may bake cookies later...because nothing says healthy living like chocolate chip cookies...

Holes

I've been called cold-hearted before. Unfeeling. Uncaring. Distant.

I suppose I can understand that.

I'm not awfully demonstrative. I never learned how to put my feelings on display for others to see, and have always felt a bit...I don't know...ashamed, I guess...when I've let things slip. I don't mean in writing...written words are different. I can write 'em and walk away and leave 'em to their own devices. While there's an air of permanence to them, it's a more distant permanence, one I can leave behind for others to mull over at their leisure. Spoken words and actions are so immediate and tend to linger in unsavory ways long after the sponsoring emotion is spent.

Also, when I was kid, visible strong emotion was frowned upon. It smacked of histrionics and bids for attention.

Nature and nurture have combined to make of me a woman who does not wear her feelings on her sleeve...not readily, anyway, and certainly not in public. Given my druthers, I'll just keep myself to myself, keep from dragging anyone else into my nonsense.

The problem with internalizing things is...people tend to think one isn't feeling anything at all, or that one doesn't require commiseration or comfort when one is hurting. Hell, most of the time, folks can't tell that I'm hurting. I'm usually OK with that...who needs all the fuss? Life goes on anyway, doesn't it?

This isn't going where I thought it would. I was thinking about my grandfather and how I mourn him in odd moments. Some twenty years after his death, I still miss him and find an emptiness where his silent, stern, huge presence used to linger. I talk to him, to my Papa, just about every day. When I greet the sun, I say "Hey, Papa" and half the time I don't know if I'm talking to the sun or my grandfather. I never mourned him with tears and wailing and the wearing of black clothes. I've just...missed him...every day since he died.

I imagine that's how it'll be for Snake. I didn't cry at his funeral...not much, anyway, and more for the folks he left behind. But on odd days, in odd moments, I'll remember that my grumpy curmudgeon of a friend isn't here any more...that when it's storming during an event, there won't be a phone call to the tower and a gruff voice lecturing me on the proximity of lightning and how it's bad for the net and (not inconsequently)(although secondary to protecting the communications equipment) for the workers connected to the net by wires...workers who'd probably prefer not to have their brains fried via their ears due to lightning strike.

There won't be a battered old blue truck parked right next to the Emergency Vehicles base, blocking half the drive and sometimes the doorway in. No stern lectures at the beginning of the Petit le Mans about charging the handheld every night and don't forget to bring the charger back at the end!

It'll take years, probably, for me to get used to his absence...if I ever really do. And probably no one except the few of you who're reading this (bless you for your tenacity) will ever know that I do miss him...and all of my dead...deeply. There's a Snake shaped hole that won't ever be filled again...right next to Papa, and Bart, and Fred, and my other grandparents, a host of other friends, and even a few cats, some birds, and a dog or two. I'll mourn quietly and in out of the way places, unseen and unnoticed because that's how I am.

And life does go on, whether we will or no...

So Long, Snake

My friend Snake died on Sunday. I had a post quasi-written about it, but I'm not feelin' it.

I'll miss the crusty old fart.

WHen I found out, I was knee deep in Dragon Con business, helping friends with their booth, and didn't have time to dwell on mortality.

So I said a prayer and got on with the day.

Since I'm not feelin' much like anything of note, I thought I could share my prayer, for what it's worth.
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My roots go down to the heart of creation
My branches reach high into the heavens
I am steady as the oldest stones, unmoved by time and tide
My leaves dance in the winds of fate
The music of the stars sings through me
I am strong
I am eternal
I am alive

Meh-eh-eh-eh.

The following are a few of the many things I've learned while living with cats:

That noise in the middle of the night is probably something you didn't want them playing with being batted around the house.

It is probably something that will break or unravel.

Cats can hide the evidence the moment they hear your feet hitting the floor, and be long gone by the time you take your first step. They have mastered the "Who, me?" look.

That noise in the middle of the night is probably something you'd rather not step in being placed strategically where your foot can't miss it when you make your wee-hours bathroom stumble.

While kitty foot pads make for terrific acceleration, kitty claws are not as effective for braking on hard-surface floors. This can make for much amusement.

Until they crash into the bookcase at the end of the hall in an effort to bank off of it and into the bedroom without losing speed.

Getting stuck in a plastic grocery bag is only funny when you're not the one who's stuck (and trying to get unstuck by flying around the house at mach three).

Laser pointers are endlessly amusing.

Until one gets out the video camera with aspirations of YouTube fame.

The larger the house, the greater the number of potential secret repositories for all sorts of squishy things that one will usually find with one's hand while blindly groping for something entirely different.

Laundry baskets are the preferred methods for sharpening claws, despite the expensive, five level, five-foot high, carpeted kitty condo (with sisal rope wrapped around one leg and dangly! things! for swatting!) placed with great care in a sunny window. This is especially true if the contents of the basket will get snags and runs in them due to the talon sharpenings.

Laundry baskets with clean clothing in them are the preferred place to nap and/or shed copiously, and/or leave squishy gifts for the resident humans.

It is always a good idea to look carefully where one is stepping, unless one enjoys cleaning things out from between one's toes, or stepping on fur-covered, plastic mice or whatever hard, pointy things could be filched from the Little Boy's room and played with in the middle of the night.

Sleeping humans are the best place to promenade in the wee hours, especially their heads.

It is fun to curl up in a purring ball of contentment in the middle of a sleeping human's bed, forcing them to contort into pretzel shapes to avoid disturbing the kitty.

It is not amusing when the sleeping humans don't care about the sleeping kitty and feel free to thrash at will.

A fabric or yarn project in the lap is an invitation to leap up and begin making kitty-biscuits (or plucking cotton, if you prefer). It does not matter if said project is still in the working-on phase and not in the feline-ready phase.

One should never ignore an invitation. It's rude.

One should not look too closely into the communal water cup.

What do you mean, it's not communal?

Of course cats belong on the kitchen counter. Why else would you keep the butter there?

Meh-eh-eh-eh means "I love you", or "I desire to dine upon that moth fluttering about the light" or "I have left you a gift in the hall" or "I've decided that your stomach wants kneading, and have you seen how lovely and sharp my claws are?" or "You have trimmed my claws. Revenge will be forthcoming" or "Have you seen that half-masticated pizza crust I left on the kitchen floor?" or "I shall now regurgitate the houseplant I ate earlier, as I find it no longer pleases me" or "I adore you, but I adore this piece of lint more at the moment, so please go away" or any number of things...but it almost never means "I have captured a Leprechaun and forced him to hand over his gold (despite Leprechauns actually being the cobblers of the Wee Folk world and not treasurers as some folks would have it)(cats are so picky about mythology!) and am now triumphantly handing said treasure over to you so that you may purchase kitty treats, catnip, and soft, fuzzy places for me to nap. You are welcome."

What have y'all learned from your furry little roomies??
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Mum's on a cruise and has asked me to post the Bourdain link where she can easily find it so she doesn't have to mortgage her left kidney to pay for shipboard Internet service...so here it is: ...:Read my Medium Raw challenge essay: It's not always about the ingredients, is it?
Feel free to ignore it, or go vote if you like...meh-eh-eh-eh...

Sew What?

Yesterday was a lovely break from reality - a day spent in the pool, or beside it, chatting with friends and eating good food while the kids (and a few grown-ups) splashed and played to their hearts' content.

Today, however, it's time to get busy again.

I'm doing some sewing for a friend - she sells costuming at sci-fi and fantasy conventions and other shows, and there's a big one coming up next weekend. Dragon Con. It's in downtown Atlanta, it's huge, and I've always had fun there (I'll be helping out in the booth this year as well). I am especially fond of the Storm Troopers (they invest a LOT in their garb). They're awfully cute, and I'm often offering to fetch a can opener or nut cracker to help them out of their costumes.

The Klingons are fun, too...but don't piss off the Keeper of the Sausage!

Anyway, I'm currently learning to sew cloaks. There's no pattern in any traditional sense...she tells me what to do, I sketch it in my little notebook and write out the steps, and then when I get home I panic because I think I've forgotten something so I call her and ask questions until I feel better about (ulp) cutting and sewing.

The material I'm working with is pane (pronounced puhnay). It is beautiful, drapes gloriously, comes in a variety of colors...and I hate it. it's slippery, stretchy, has a mind of its own (which doesn't often involve cooperating with the seamstress). I don't know how my friend works with it as much as she does - she makes the most amazing, slinky little dresses, skirts, and tops with it. She's trying to teach me the easier things so she can focus on the more complicated work.

The cloaks are simple enough to make...mostly straight lines using a straight or a zig-zag stitch. Until recently, my machine has never done anything but a straight stitch, because that's what I know how to use. The Singer and I are expanding our horizons.

I don't want to get these wrong - the fabric isn't cheap, and it isn't very forgiving of mistakes, and this show? This show is what has to get my friend through the Winter until the season starts again in the Spring...I don't want to be the reason she can't pay her mortgage. No pressure though...

It's been a family effort - Someone and the Evil Genius have both helped me measure, mark, pin, and cut where needed, and if all goes even moderately well today I should be able to finish all two-million (or maybe just a dozen or so) cloaks by the end of the day.

Wish me luck...

By the way - the contest is still on for publication and twenty grand. Do a gal a favor and go vote for her, huh? Puhleeeeeze???

This link should take you right to my thingy...I hope...:Read my Medium Raw challenge essay: It's not always about the ingredients, is it?

La-la-la-lazy Day

No sewing today. No housekeeping. No gardening. No cooking.

At least not until this evening.

Nope.

The denizens of Casa de Crazy are taking themselves, some deviled eggs, a few beverages , some towels and swimmies (inflatable things that go on the Evil Genius's arms), and we're invading our friend Mizz B's place for a combination birthday/pool party.

For a few hours anyway, we will not worry about bills or what needs to get done around the house or why the lawnmower won't start (Again. Evil fairies.), or anything else besides floating, splashing, throwing water bombs, and having a good time with our friends.

What're y'all up to?

Out of the Blue

I had an interesting e-mail today.

"I thought you’d be interested to read and share with your readers this Guideposts story..."

Huh? Has this person read my blog? And, umm...isn't Guideposts a Christian magazine? Have they not noticed that I'm not only not Christian, I am very much pagan?

"...written by actress Glenn Close. She talks about her attempts to help remove the stigma from mental illnesses by talking openly about people affected by them as well as their families’ struggles..."

Oooohhh...

Yeah.

About that...

Seems being nuttier than a Claxton fruitcake gets a body noticed.

So I read the article, and Glen Close owes me a tissue. It's only fair, she made me cry.

See, the thing is...I've been about as open as I could be about my variety-plate of crazy. Not only do I not hide it, I crack jokes about it and try very hard to make some of my...erm...quirks...useful. Wait, you mean you don't think having an OCD housekeeper would be useful? Dang...

One of the thoughts I had while reading the piece (which isn't awfully long or preachy, contains some interesting facts and poses a few good questions about the social stigma of nuttery) was about treatment...about people who receive it successfully and people who don't.

I'm glad there are folks out there who benefit from medication and modern treatment options. I don't. Meds don't do anything for me besides take away that which I consider to be most me...my creativity. It seems that my own brand of crazy shares the wellspring with whatever artistry I can lay claim to (and some days, I have to admit, I can't claim much)(most days, in truth).

I also had the thought...what if I can't get better? What if I have become so wrapped up in these conditions that they're how I identify myself? What if I can't be anything but the me I am now? What if sometimes, the idea of not feeling this way is terrifying and leaves me feeling lost instead? How depressing. And yet...

I'm oddly lucky. I've had a lifetime of my conditions. I know when what I'm feeling is true, is real, and when it's a figment of misfiring neurons and chemistry gone awry. That doesn't change the hurt, confusion, or frustration that I frequently feel...but somehow, knowing the source help me. I know I can weather it, because I have weathered it since I was a child. It may beat me down, but I'm never entirely beaten.

Which doesn't make it any easier. And while I'm blessed with a host of wonderful friends and several family members who are patient, compassionate, and understanding about my weirdness, most folks aren't so lucky. There are plenty of people...probably a few in your own life (and here's a hint - if you can't find the crazy person in the room, find a mirror instead....it may be you) who are hiding what they're experiencing and trying very hard to paste a facade of normalcy onto their lives because they fear being outcast, shunned, or otherwise stigmatized.

I have long held that depression (and other psychological conditions, too) is like emotional cancer, eating a person alive, riddling them with its sickness. It's not always survivable. And unlike cancer, which has causes, which has walks and runs and pink ribbons and fundraisers and survivors and sufferers who share their triumphs and tragedies publicly, mental illness is still largely a secret, remaining hidden in the shadows. We're still burdened with not only our conditions, but with shame...shame for something we can't control any more than someone with MS or Parkinson's can control their illnesses.

I applaud Ms. Close and her efforts to help open the doors and windows of the house of crazy, to let in light and air and stir the cobwebs and dust out of the corners. I wish her well in her endeavors.

On bad days, yeah, I struggle to breathe, to keep on moving forward on my life's path...I feel sorrow and pain and am ashamed because I am a burden, worthless, useless, pointless...

On my better days, I don't suffer from insanity...I enjoy every minute of it.

Either way, I've never been one to shut up about it...because it's part of who I am, part of how I live my life, like missing a finger or having a stutter, or tasting the color orange...as much a part of me as anything else.

So if you didn't click the link (provided several time above), here's one more chance. And then, if you feel like it and haven't been bored to tears already, check out my own take on the crazies by looking at the variety plate.

Oh...and I may be crazy, but I also have a long memory. Next time Ms. Close and I are lunching (yeah, that'll happen), I hope she brings a hankie...or at least one of those little pocket packs of Kleenex...

A Quickie

I've just finished making waffles for myself and the sleepy-heads. I would have waited until they're up, but it's a sleep-in kind of day and I have to head down to a friend's place to help her sew - she sells costuming and clothing at conventions and shows all over the country, and in two weeks is one of her biggest shows. She needs lots of stock!

Anyway, I have a few nebulous ideas for posts, but haven't had time to write 'em up. Sigh.

Desktop Bob, the big computer, is back to work. We had to re-set it to factory settings, but luckily there wasn't much on there but the original programs and Someone's videos and photos (which we backed up onto a portable hard-drive)(I love my passport drive!!), so we haven't lost anything but the time it will take to reload a program or two and whatever pics that are needed at the moment.

It was a problem with Internut Exploder.

I think I hear another waffle calling me - I hope y'all have a good 'un!

Modem Operendi

Or perhaps it should be "Modem Non-Operendi".

The modem on Desktop Bob, the big computer, is being...fractious.

Friday night, it simply quit. One moment, Someone was online wreaking havoc in the worlds of vampires and the Mafia, the next? Nothing. Nada. Screen freeze, then complete inability to connect to the Blue Nowhere.

Now every time we try to log on with Desktop Bob, the big computer, we are told that something or other cannot receive something or other else. As far as I can tell, it's trying to say the the Internet won't talk to Desktop Bob, the big computer, or perhaps Desktop Bob, the big computer won't talk to the Internet, or it may be a mutual snubbing.

In addition, I can't seem to convince Desktop Bob, the big computer, that he even has a modem. I may be doing it wrong, but when I ask him (nicely, too, without even a single threat of magnets or firearms to encourage him) to seek out his modem he contemplates his navel for a while them comes back and says he doesn't have one and would I like to install one? When I say yes, yes I would, he offers me installation options that may as well be in Esperanto for all I can comprehend them.

Yesterday a program popped up telling us we had more viruses in storage than the CDC, asking would we like to scan. Sure, why not? It listed a number of rather scary looking bugs it supposedly found on the hard drive, the offered to eradicate them. Score! Desktop Bob, the big computer, would soon be adrift in the Blue Nowhere again!

Umm...or not...

See, as soon as we clicked on the "clean up this plague riddled computer" button, we were taken to a website selling the clean-up service...for a lot of dough. Casa de Crazy is rather short on dough of the spending kind right now, although we can produce bread dough a-plenty on fairly short notice. I found it interesting that we couldn't get online in any other way except to this site trying to sell us stuff.

Today, I dinked around with poor Desktop Bob, the big computer, and discovered that although I had let our McAfee lapse (because remember that thing about dough?), it was still willing to do a scan and tell us what bugaboos we had that were born prior to the last update.

A long while later Desktop Bob, the big computer, was feeling thoroughly examined and McAfee reported...erm...nothing.

Well...shite...

Nothing else is malfunctioning...just our ability to get Someone into the Blue Nowhere via Desktop Bob, the big computer...and I'm at a loss.

Could the modem have simply given up the ghost? Is it an interface problem? Why does Desktop Bob, the big computer, think he's connected via our home network, yet won't let us online? Why does it tell us "Internet Explorer cannot display the webpage"? And when we click to diagnose the problem, why does it say "The remote device or server won't accept the connection"? Why does this sort of thing always happen to electronic devices in my employ? And why can't I win the lottery and hire a live-in geek to fix these things for me when they inevitably happen??

For now, Someone has to share Bob the Wonder Computer with me. Bob the Wonder Computer is feeling old, slow, and cranky and has a touchpad mouse that thwarts Someone's attempts to caress cooperation out of it, but the wireless modem is working fine...for now...

Don't even get me started on how the Evil Genius feels about all of this...I'm surprised they can't hear the howls up on the International Space Station!

Still A Sprout

We went to the neonatologist's today - nothing special, just a regular visit (I have to go because I'm considered high-risk). We were hoping to find out what flavor we're having, but the baby - typical of one of us - was not cooperating, maintaining the absolute worst position is could be in for determining sex. Sigh. The doc said all he could tell us is that there's a baby in there, and it has a perfectly lovely heartbeat...and it weighs five ounces, which can't be right because the scale says I've put on much more than that and clearly I am having Gigantor the Mega Baby. He did say he should be able to see better next month, so we'll just have to wait to find out if it's a bud or a chick pea. Double sigh.

I know I haven't been posting much of late. While I could blame Facebook and its attendant distractions, the truth is I haven't had much writing in me. I've been stressing about the usual things, and the unusual things, and generally not feeling awfully creative. As soon as I win the lottery, I'm sure I'll be back to my old self...only on a new computer (Bob's feeling his age, poor thing) in a motor home, touring the country and making surprise visits to my as-yet-online-only friends (without warning, because why give them time to run??). Meanwhile, the two or three of you (bless your hearts) who still read...thanks for hangin' in there!

Bra, Bra, Bra, Yackety, Schmackety

This post was inspired by a post over at The QC Report. She is brilliant and funny and has no idea I exist. This post is an expanded version of my comment on her post about the Bad Bra.
~~~~~
I have one bra. Yes, one. It is a perfectly nice bra. I don't wear it. It was purchased in a fit of optimism one day when I thought I might lose enough weight to finally fit into a bra. You see, I am rather on the plus size of the weight issue, but am not blessed in the bazooms...unlike most of the other well-padded women I know who could carry books on their shelves. No one makes a bra that fits someone big around but tiny in the cup. So I lost some weight and thought maybe I'd lose some more and be able to fit into this perfectly nice bra. Alas, it still does not fit, and so I am braless for the duration.

I am usually content with this braless life (most of the time no one even notices my lack of over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder, I can run without needing a truss or fearing injury, I don't have as much to fear from the dreaded boob-sweats, they don't migrate into my armpits when I'm sleeping, and I need less soap in the shower), but every now and then I think it might be nice if I could look toward an elderhood wherein I don't have to worry about kneeling on my nipples. Even my tiny ta-tas will droop. In fact, I know they're not as...erm...perky...as they once were, and they display an alarming penchant for gazing forlornly downward at my feet rather than alertly out at the world as they once did.

When I was pregnant with the Evil Genius, I had high hopes that the Boob Fairy would come calling and present me with one of the badges of motherhood - breasticles! She must not have gotten the memo, though, because my wee ones remained anything but plus in size and even refused to function for my poor little guy, who had to be content with formula and longing glances at other, functioning, racks-of-mom.

While I'm told every pregnancy is different and things may change this time, I'm not holding my breath or buying a bra...heck even if they double or triple in size, my mazulagalagawangas won't need a supporting cast...an ace bandage will do just fine!

Why Politicians Should Stop Calling Casa de Crazy

The caller was polite enough, and human for a change.

Lately, it has been computers, auto-dialing and playing pre-recorded messages touting one candidate over another in the coming elections.

I was so surprised to hear a human voice, I interrupted him to remark on it - "Holy carp, an actual human!!"

He chuckled, understanding my surprise.

He asked if his candidate could count on my vote.
~~~~~
Here begins a small flight of fancy (wherein I may use a naughty word or three...).

"What's it worth to you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"My vote...what's it worth? Ten grand?"

"Are you offering to sell your vote?"

"Yep. What's it worth?"

"You disgust me! You don't deserve your freedom..."

"Can it. First of all, my family's finances are in the shitter thanks to people like your candidate, who bother us day and night with phone calls soliciting votes, recordings so full of hot air they make the AC kick on. There's not a single politician in this country that I'd trust any farther than I could throw a bag of fertilizer, which is the end result of all that bullshit they spew anyway. They're all liars, thieves, and cheats, out to serve themselves, and will say whatever it takes to get into office where they will seek only to serve themselves.

Secondly, I'm not sure it makes any difference who I vote for, the result will be the same - another asshole in office who doesn't give a plugged nickel for the people who voted for him, some jerk who's out to serve his own interests and the lobbyists who paid to put him there. So I may as well get something for my trouble.

Third, the people of this nation have been bled dry by people like your candidate, fed on empty promises, their hopes and dreams ground into bitter dust beneath the feet of politicians who swear oaths of service and are forsworn before their words have settled into memory. I foresee a time when the people of this nation will say "Enough!" and send all the politicians packing. We've reached the breaking point; we can't bear another tax, another stupid law, another self-aggrandizing gas-bag explaining why it's so important to waste the dollars squeezed from us on another frivolous, useless personal project that we can plainly see is meant only to distract us. We're fed an unending diet of cell phones, mindless games, movies, television shows, radio talk shows, social networks, manufactured wars and news stories, and blogs meant to set us against each other and keep us from noticing how we're being raked over the coals. It's bread and circuses, though, and we've come the the end of our patience with this diet of hot air.

So yes, I'll sell my vote for cash to the highest bidder and laugh my ass off when he's crushed with the rest of the vermin when we roll over Washington and reclaim what was once our birthright - our freedom, the very freedom you say I don't deserve, but has in fact been whittled and chipped away into nonexistence by unscrupulous men like your precious candidate who use words like "god" and "freedom" while laughing out the sides of their mouths, and which I will see restored to myself, my family, and my nation."

Here ends the flight of fancy.
~~~~~
In reality, I told the polite fellow I wasn't sure who I would vote for. He offered to answer any questions I may have about his candidate.

I asked how he felt about home schooling. He supports it, as well as reform within the educational system.

I asked how he stood on legalizing marijuana (at least for medical use). He's against it.

I thought about asking how the candidate felt about the recently proposed amendment to the Georgia constitution that would define a person's right to life as beginning at inception and ending in their natural death, and how that proposed amendment will impact Georgia's death penalty (because last time I checked, death by lethal injection, electric chair, hanging , firing squad, a steady diet of reality TV, or whatever method they use these days, do not count as "natural" in any sense of the word), not to mention how such an amendment would impact a woman's right to life if the foetus she's carrying could be the death of her (rare, yes, but it does happen...and I continue to hope I won't have to make the rather horrifying choice between having a baby and dying, or not having a baby and living with the choices I've made), but then I decided to give the poor man a break...he was just some poor schlubb volunteer and didn't deserve a dose of my irritation at the constant interruptions these phone calls bring my life, nor would he have an answer for my current disillusionment and sense of futility towards our political system and the people who frolic within it.

I think he was happy to end the call.

And I still don't know who I'll vote for...nor am I certain it will even make a difference. I have had a few mad moments when I considered just letting the Evil Genius push random buttons - these days, I feel as though it'd be much of a muchness.

So tell me - if you've made it this far - do you still believe in our system? Or are you laboring under the weight of this ennui that has gripped so many of us of late?

A Day for Poetry

Relax, I didn't write it!

Someone and I were discussing poetry for a while today - something I said reminded him of a Frost poem, and nothing would do but he had to look it up and read it. We debated a while the deeper meanings of the words after exploring the surface for a bit.

This led me to think of a poem that I love by John Donne. I am fond of many of his pieces, and I will admit that my current favourite of his became so because of a movie. If you haven't seen it, Wit is a stunner, although it's a bit slow in the action department and is guaranteed to make me cry every time. Throughout, there is a dissection of the Donne poem - Death Be Not Proud, or the Tenth Holy Sonnet.

As I had the poem on my mind, I thought I'd share it:

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die.

If Only

AOL (yes, yes, I know some wits call it AOHell, but I happen to love my long-established AOL account) has a sign-on feature that often strikes the thought "If only..."

Down at the bottm of the sign-on screen is a little toggle box that says "Make me invisible at sign in".

Huh.

Sometimes I wish it translated into real life.

Half Baked

Well...not really half baked...more like completely baked and a bit over the edge...but the house smells marvelous and I'm sending baked goodies home with friends and their kids so my arse doesn't grow pregnant along with the rest of me.

Banana bread had been eaten by the ton:
And the white and whole wheat breads didn't stand a chance:

I consider this Lammas a success.

I Found My Thrill...

...on Blueberry Muffin Hill...

La, la, la...

Two batches of blueberry muffins down, and I'm baking banana bread as I type (because I have mad skillz like that, yo). Next up? White bread, wheat bread, and maybe soda bread. It's Lammas, y'all, and baking is how I roll (hah!) on Lammas, yo.

Lucky for my arse, I never seem to have trouble finding homes for all these baked goods...

Country Gravy

For Bret...

Ok, sugar, you asked for it.

First, save all manner of bacon grease. You will need it for things like country gravy. I didn't say this was a healthy recipe. Bacon grease in a glass jar will keep indefinitely in the refrigerator. If it goes off, you'll know.

So, for gravy:

Melt a couple of spoonsful of bacon grease in a skillet, or even better, a cast iron pan, over medium heat. If you've been cooking meat like pork chops, steak, or sausage, just use the pan drippings, but this recipe is for when you don't have that delectable stuff on hand.

Throw in a little butter for good measure, maybe equal to the amount of grease. If you have no bacon grease, too bad - no gravy for you! Kidding...you can just use butter, but it won't be quite as marvelous.

Yes, yes, I can feel your arteries hardening, too.

Season with plenty of salt and pepper. Don't get fancy here. You can safely add a bit of garlic powder and onion powder, though...I like 'em.

Whisk in some flour. You want a very thick paste to form.

Now for the fun. What makes this a country, or white, gravy is the liquid - milk. Yes, milk. Preferably whole milk.

Pour in a little at a time and whisk thoroughly. It's fun to watch the rue (that's what that paste was) expand with the liquid. You want to constantly whisk, here, or you'll get lumps.

Keep adding milk until the gravy is a little thinner than you'd like. Keep whisking and let it come to a simmer. If it gets too thick, you can add more milk or thin it with a little water, but always, always keep whisking. Yes, this is a little labor intensive, but you don't want lumpy or broken gravy...those are among life's great culinary tragedies!

Once it comes to a simmer, turn off the heat and give it a little taste. Add seasoning as you see fit. I almost always need to add a little more salt to mine.

You notice there are no measurements? That's because gravies of all sorts defy measurement - they're an art, a skill that requires patience, effort, and more than a little willingness to fail spectacularly until you get it right. They're also easier than pie. No, really...I can make all kinds of gravies, but still can't manage pie crust. Thank goodness for Pillsbury!

This gravy won't be white like store-bought stuff...but it'll taste worlds better! Also, don't worry if it looks like you've made too much. There is no such thing as too much gravy. No. Such. Thing.

Abundanza, or some junk!!

Lammas

Happy Lammas, y'all!

Wait, you don't know what Lammas is?

Well, you've come to the right place!

Loaf Mass, it was called long ago, a day to celebrate the first of the grain harvested and ground to flour. It's a day for baking, for sharing the bounty of the field with family and friends, for celebrating the hope of a Winter without starvation and the renewing of the cycle in the Spring.

Sharing bread is old, a tradition rooted back beyond religion to something so primal it didn't even have a name. Bread is life. Bread is a blessing. The wedding cake we have today began as loaves that were broken and crumbled over the bride's head for luck and fortune, fertility and abundance.

When you greet new neighbors, if you follow old traditions, you bring them bread or some other baked good. Houses aren't warmed until bread has been baked, or at least served in them. There are bread traditions in almost every faith.

One of the oldest forms of hospitality is to offer bread and salt - representatives of the elements, the sacred things. To offer them is to offer a place in the home to one's guest, to make them welcome like family, to offer not just food and hearth, but protection as well. To accept them is to promise not to break the peace of the home, to honor the family, the traditions, to do no harm.

Lammas, Loaf Mass, a day to bake, to break bread with friends and celebrate the wonder of grain and all its goodness.

It's also a day for beer and ale, if you're into those sorts of things.

Celebrate the harvest with me today. Take a bite of toast, or a sweet, tart, crisp apple, or a sun-warmed tomato fresh from the vine, or anything that smacks of "harvest", and savor it. The taste, the texture, the hours of sunlight and gallons of rain that went into the making of it. Taste of the wind and the earth, as well. Whatever you've planted, I hope it comes to fruition and will sustain you through leaner times, as the grain from the field carries us all through Winter.

Blessed be, y'all, and happy Lammas.

Harmonic Convergience

When Someone and I were living far apart (he in Houston and I here in Redneck Central), we had standing date on Saturday nights to listen to Thistle and Shamrock together...he on his computer and I on mine, streaming from the same Houston radio station. We would settle into our respective listening posts, turn on the show, and one would call the other. We would listen together for the length of the program, not saying much but enjoying the music together.

Someone thought that it would be nice to listen tonight. We try to remember more often, but we've gotten a little distracted by life lately. We decided to cook dinner together and have a listen.

Someone has had a hankering for country chicken fried steak since he moved here, but there's a dearth of it in these parts. Whoda thunk it, this being Redneck Central?? Mum found out about his yen and found a recipe for us, and it's been sitting here waiting to be tried...so tonight, Someone had a go at it. I played a supporting roll, singing backup to his lead as it were, turning the potatoes he dug from the garden yesterday into mashed potatoes, steaming the green beans he picked and trimmed this afternoon, and whipping together a bit of gravy to accompany the lot.

We stood side by side at the stove, each moving in concert with the other, a dance.

How simple and grand a thing, to share a kitchen with another, preparing the meal we will soon share...

Here, then, is our dinner:

Can I begin to express how happy I am that we are not sitting far apart, listening to our computers and reaching through the aether to each other? No...I cannot...but there is one person, at least, who may feel likewise.

Thank you, love...

Snake

I have a friend named Snake. Well...no that's not really his name...it's his nickname. There's a story behind why, but I am told it's not safe for human ears. Heh.

I first met Snake when I was sixteen, back when Mum first started going to the track as a worker. He's been a fixture there since dirt. He once told Mum he'd like to take out his dentures and gum her. Yes. He did.

Snake has a mental lexicon of dirty Irish jokes that are knee-slappers. He's Irish by blood, American by birth.

I've worked turns with his kids and given his grandkids guest passes to the track when I had 'em. Our families have gone out to dinner together, camped together, and raised (just a little) Hell together. his Daughter C and my Mum used to tear up the dance floor (also known as the grass/dirt at Fitzy Park) together, dancing with each other because the fellas lacked the chutz to join in...or couldn't keep up.

For many years, Snake has been the caretaker of our radio equipment, keeping our aging and often ailing landline system going with spit and bailing wire and safe-guarding the handheld radios with the ferocity of a really irritated spitting cobra.

Snake is dying.

He's had cancer for...umm...wow, I can't remember how many years. A lifetime of smoking, drinking, sunshine and hard living caught up to him. Snake is a tough old bird, though, and hard to kill. Still...time and tide catch us all, and it is Snake's turn to dance the last dance.

He's in hospice care as I type this. There's not much hope he'll outlast the week...maybe not even the next day or so.

I'm not going to visit him. Not because I don't care - the idea of a world without Snake in it is disheartening, to say the very least. I'm not going because he's not there. Not the part of him that I know, not my friend. He won't care that I'm there, nor miss me if I'm not.

Instead, I am going to relate one of the racing stories he told me a very long time ago...to this day, it's one of my favorites. I've told it my way because I don't have the skill to capture Snake's style...
~~~~~
When I first started working turns, we had a fairly extensive "breaking in" period, with classes to help train us in safety and response and even a fire certification school. A popular pastime for more experienced workers was to tell us newbies horror stories. Snake liked to tell new folks about one particularly horrid incident, which may or may not really have happened and one incident that did happen. The story itself always elicited wry laughs...stick with it to the end and you'll see why.

During one event, there was a somewhat spectacular wreck, the kind that shuts down the session. Back then, we had a lot more workers on the turns, and we would run onto a hot track (hot meaning the session was still...er...in session, race traffic still on the go) if needs must. The incident was severe enough to warrant a call for medical, but it would take a minute to get there, so workers responded to the cars involved. One worker noticed a helmet on the ground by the track and ran to retrieve it - a helmet can tell the medical crew a lot about what sort of injuries to expect. Much to the worker's horror, there was a head in the helmet!

A few years ago there was a motorcycle event at the track. Motorcycles have always been notorious for spectacular incidents and more than a few bizarre injuries (and yes, deaths). New workers are usually given "quieter" turns where more experienced workers help them learn the ropes. At this event, one of the new workers had been initiated with Snake's head-in-the-helmet story, and was hoping that no such incident would occur on his turn.

All was well for the first day or so - good riding, very few riders going down.

Day two, however, was a zoo. Perhaps the riders had partied too hard the night before (What?? Never!!), or perhaps the gremlins were simply having a field day...whatever the reason, bikes were sliding all over the place, and workers were running response and calling for transport so fast and so often, it seemed more like an ambulance race.

Our new worker was sent to respond to one such incident. His corner captain couldn't understand what seemed to be a sudden fit of hysteria, the worker dancing about, waving his arms, signalling for an ambulance, and retching in the tire wall.

The rider was sitting up and seemed OK, so what was the problem.

Hmm.

Oh, wait...the leg still attached to the bike might be a clue.

Wait. Rider over here. Bike over there. Leg on bike.

And yet...the rider didn't seem all that concerned. Must be in shock.

Not so much.

You see, this rider had a prosthetic lower leg...a fact none of the workers knew at the time. While a prosthesis isn't particularly hampering to a racer, it can be a bit of a boor when the foot constantly slips off the foot-peg and hits the track - makes cornering a bitch.

Being a competitive fellow, and somewhat innovative, our rider decided that a judicious application of Duct Tape was in order. He taped the foot to the peg, problem solved.

Until he went down and the bike went one way while his body went another.

Ouch. And, erm...oops.

Eventually the new worker was made to understand the situation, poor fellow. The rider, with some assistance, reattached his leg, got back on his bike and limped (hah!) back to the pits. The worker returned to his station and was the recipient of some not unkind ribbing from his fellows, and the race went on.
~~~~~
So long, Snake...I'll miss you, you grumpy old cuss. The track just won't be the same without you. See you on the other side...

New (To Me, Anyway) Tunes!

Cheers to Anarchangel (who likely doesn't even know I exist) for turning me on to this lot...I like 'em!



As the Evil Genius is with his father for the weekend, Someone and I are (weather permitting) going to play in the park tonight - there's a drum circle, lots of good rhythm and dancing. Y'all have a good one!

But I Just Don't Feel Like It

I should...

...clean the bathrooms...

...clean the kitchen...

...do some of the laundry mountain threatening to avalanche and block access to the bedroom...

...clean the Evil Genius's room...

...clean off the kitchen and dining room tables...

...be sewing together the six or seven pair of pants I cut last Wednesday...

...be baking banana bread with the rather...erm...antique bananas in the kitchen...

...be writing query letters...

...be cleaning out closets and storage spaces in preparation for a yard sale...

...be cleaning out the trailer and garage in preparation for a yard sale...

...be clearing out the room we just turned into a play room for Bird in preparation for a baby...

...sweep and mop the floors before they cat hair collects into a cereal studded carpet (whoops, too late)...

...be modeling patience and understanding to my son rather than grumpily telling him that I don't know where his fracking father is or why Daddy didn't come get him this morning when he said he would, or this afternoon, or yet this evening, or when he may actually show up...

...just go ahead and crawl into my bed for a minute and have a good cry (pregnant gals are moody bitches...or anyway, that's my excuse and I'm stickin' to it) - it'd likely make this headache go away, help ease some of the tension in my shoulders, and would certainly relieve some of the mental pressure I'm feeling today...

...just shut the hell up because really, who cares...

I've Had a Song Stuck in My Head

So I figure I'll share the joy. The video doesn't thrill me, but it was the best one I could find. I blame my mother for this song - she's the one who introduced me to Spike Jones when I was younger...

What's been stuck in your head lately??

My Not Terribly Interesting Motorcycle Story

Homesteading Neophyte is doing a blogathon to support a good cause. I don't have anything to donate, but at least I can point you in her direction. Meanwhile, I'm going to be a moocher and write a post as an entry into one of her drawings. Should I chance to win the lottery before her blogathon, I'll do the right thing...
~~~~~

I've spent some twenty years working turns at more than one track in the Southeast. We work all kinds of races - vintage cars, club racing, enduros, international races, and bikes.

For the most part, we have a few minutes between sessions, and then a five minute warning is given to tell us the next group is coming out. Now, five minutes is five minutes, right? Umm...not so much, not with vintage cars or bikes.

A vintage five means we have time to make a sandwich, go potty, maybe read War and Peace. A bike five means they're already coming around and if you haven't cleared the course you'd best see how fast you can run the hundred.

I've worked quite a few bike races, back when the AMA was still the AMA and not the nonsense it's turned into lately. Never mind why I feel that way...it's personal.

I loved working bikes, especially at turn one when they did the standing starts - dozens of bikes stampeding down the front straight, all trying to make it through turn one first. Turn one at Road Atlanta isn't meant to be a four-wide turn, even for bikes...but on occasion they managed it.

On one such an occasion, the five minute warning was give, and moments later the race was on! I watched them head toward us, braced to grab a flag, call for emergency vehicles, or run and respond when if things went wrong. The pack made it around the corner and up the hill to turn two just fine...we thought.

Until we realized there was a biker standing in the middle of our track. It's hard to explain his position without visual aids, but I'll try. He was partly crouched as though he was still on a bike, hands in front of him as though he were holding the handlebars. He looked neither left nor right. I was on communications for that session, so I called him in. My responder ran to get the rider off the course. Meanwhile, turn two was calling in an incident of their own. It sounded a bit more urgent than our oddity, so I opted to hold the rest of my call (my worker, via hand signals, told me the rider was unhurt, so I didn't need EV).

Turn two was having some trouble up their way - they had three bikes down but only two riders. A missing rider is a problem - sometimes they slide off into the hay bales or end up in, under, or behind tire walls...or, Gods forbid, one had gone airborne enough to clear the catch-fencing!

I had the opportunity to help them.

When all those bikes came around our corner, they were packed rather closely together. Our rider was towards the front, jockeying for position in the top five. It seems his foot got caught in the spokes of another rider's wheel, and he was pulled off his bike. Somehow he landed on his feet, still in the "rider" position! His bike, being crammed in with all the other racers, stayed up and forward moving, at least until it was time to corner turn two. The bike had ideas about straightening the turn. The riders around it had ideas about taking a more traditional route. Things went a bit pear shaped, and two riders and our fellow's bike all went down, sliding into the bales and giving the crowd something to cheer.

The workers at turn two did yeoman's duty cleaning up the mess so we didn't have to stop the race (they hate stopping televised races!), and we got our rider a trip to the Quack Shack via the infield to get checked out.

It wasn't the most spectacular incident I ever worked (bikes or cars), but it may well have been the oddest.

Go check out Homesteading Neophyte - she's cool, and her blog is chock full of useful information and stories about critters almost as cussedly stubborn as she is!

Berried

Yesterday was a quiet-ish sort of day for us. We toddled up to Mum's in the morning, somewhat early for the denizens of Casa de Crazy - we had to be up before breakfast! Mum asked us to come up and help tinker with her decrepit mower so we could haul it home and mow our Serengeti.

While Someone and Mum busted their knuckles and said many bad words worked on the mower, the Evil Genius and I hung out in the AC eating bon-bons reading and playing games while some clouds obligingly rolled across the sky, making shade.

We needed the shade, the Evil Genius and I, because we planned to go over to Mum's Very Nice Lady Neighbor's (VNLN fer short from now on, because I'm too lazy to type all that more than once) and pick blueberries. The lad mostly eats 'em as we go, but there is such a profusion of berries, he hardly makes a difference in the harvest.

When it looked cloudy enough, we trooped off, each carrying our container to be filled. It was hot, even without direct sunlight!

Much to my delight, VNLN was not only home, but was approaching the bushed as we were, intent on a mid-day snack. How delightful, to walk out your door and grab a bite to eat! We chatted amiably about off-grid living, and green living, and our dreams of doing so; about gardening, about grass-fed meats, freezing and canning, and prepping. Turns out she has something of a prepper's mentality, although she'd never heard it given a name before. We'd stop now and them to pop some berries into our mouths. Have you ever had a blueberry right off the bush, still warm from the sun? Such a treat...

Bird took part in the conversation as only an seven-year-old little dude can, and he even contributed a few berries to my container! He and VNLN got on nicely, eventually coming to rest in chairs under her grape arbor, where they talked about grapes and what can be made from them, and listened to the thunder roll along in the distance.

Mum and Someone went off to the local lumberyard for some planks to use as ramps to get the mower up onto the truck, should it deign to ever start again.

I kept picking and dreaming about winning the lottery and buying the VNLN's land (it's for sale), putting green houses and gardens on it, letting her stay in her house, maybe the nascent beginning of an intentional community. She likes the idea, anyway, and I think she'd happily stay if someone was there to help with some gardening, preserving, and maintenance. She doesn't really want to sell...just feels like it's too much for her. I need to win that lottery.

We had an abrupt end to our idyll when a wasp rather...erm...waspishly...stung Bird on his thumb. He let out a yell and cried a little, but he calmed down fairly quickly, only asking that I make it better. VNLN offered us a ride back to Mum's, which made Bird smile a little (VNLN is something of an Andretti, and the driveways are bumpy, so it was quite a ride), and we soaked his poor thumb in warm and then cold water until it didn't hurt quite as much. It began to rain, so we read some more, then played Plants Versus Zombies, and he felt better.

Mum and Someone came back and had to run through a frog-strangler to get into the house - it was really coming down! They commiserated with Bird on his wounded digit, then went about their business with the mower - rain or no, that thing was being fixed!

Eventually, another friend came over and helped tweak the dang machine, and Bird allowed as how he could maybe come pick berries with me again. We left the others with the mower and happily frolicked among the bushes until it was time to go (which time was indicated when Someone drove past VNLN's driveway in Mum's truck, mower on the back,
and hollered "See you at home!").

Now I'm carefully sorting and freezing the berries, with plans to go back and get more, more, more. VNLN harvests 'em until she's sick of 'em, and is happy to share, so we'll have some nice summer-ripe berries come winter. Mmm...blueberry muffins, blueberry pancakes, blueberry coffee cake...sweet!

I like the idea of putting food by, and hope to learn how to preserve, make jellies and jams, and pickle in short order.

Speaking of berries...Someone hauled in a nice lot of tomatoes in the evening, and we made BLTs with some of our Yellow Jubilee darlings. I like 'em - they're mellow, a little tangy, and not as acidic as traditional 'maters. Someone threw together a salad with an assortment of red and yellow tomatoes and some fresh broccoli (store bought, alas, as we can't seem to get it to grow here, and anyway they aren't generally in season together, broccoli and tomatoes) and a bit of Italian dressing, and he's a happy fellow.

The little guy's thumb is just fine, by the way.

So what do you like fresh from the garden?

Telling Silence

It's been a couple of weeks since Someone and I announced, in various ways and through various mediums, that we're expecting. Yes, we...I didn't make this bambino alone, it's a group project.

We tried to call folks who ought t be told in person but don't live in or near Redneck Central, like Mum and Mum2 (Someone's Mum) and fathers and siblings. We e-mailed where necessary, either because phones weren't answered or because we knew the news would be faster received, and then chose a way that would announce it, with a bit of whimsy, to the rest of the world that might be interested - that silly bear photo.

We've had varying responses to the news, from stunned silence to grins and cries of "congratulations". One or two folks have been a wee grim at the idea. That's OK...I have concerns of my own that are being allayed as each test comes back normal.

What I find interesting...and, if I'm being honest, disheartening...are the silences. A few key people have said...nothing. No phone call, no e-mail...not even a "What the Hell are you thinking???"

I can understand disapproval. We're not exactly the cultural norm here at Casa de Crazy. A few folks have had the chutz to grow a pair and speak their piece, and I appreciate that. I'd rather really know what someone's thinking than be wondering if they're just making nice. I prefer honesty, honestly. But to say nothing? Weeks after receiving a call or e-mail? What the Hell is that about?

Is it a sincere case of "Eh, who cares?"? Is it supposed to convey some message? One case in particular, I know they got the e-mails. They would have had a phone call, but it went straight to voicemail and I know leaving a message is an exercise in futility. I know they've been online - thank you, AOL buddy list. So what's up?

Yesterday did not start well. I woke full of doubt. I decided, at one point, that I wasn't getting out of bed - why bother? At least if I didn't get out of bed, I couldn't fuck anything up. I cried...a lot. Pregnant women are already riding hormone highs and lows...couple that with depression and a few other factors and you have...umm...not much fun, that's what.

I was convinced that this poor little chickpea (cheers, Mizz Rene) would be damaged in some way, because of me.

And then I began to think about the resounding lack of response, the silence from certain quarters. It shouldn't bother me, but yesterday was the kind of day where it's all personal...and I told Someone (who was doing his level best to help me feel better about things) "It sure would have been nice to have hear from ___, even a negative response. It would be nice to think I had some value to them."

He didn't have an answer for that...who would?...but he held me and that was enough.

The day improved, especially after a phone call from the doctor's office, telling me that certain key tests came back normal. Whew.

As for the people who've said nothing? Their silence does speak. It tells me they can't be bothered. Their loss.
~~~~~
So here's where I am a pest. The contest is still on, and you can vote every day, so wouldja? Puhleeeeze?? Vote for me here: ...:Read my Medium Raw challenge essay: It's not always about the ingredients, is it? Thanks!!

How Unlike Me

Hey, y'all...I entered a contest. I wouldn't have, because I never win, but hey, the possibility of publication and ten grand can make a gal a little crazy.

Wanna help me pay for all the baby stuff I now need to procure?? Sure ya do! (Wait, was that manipulative? I'll be contrite later, when I have a crib, a dresser, and some actual clothing to put the bairn in.) Vote for me, wouldja? Puhhhleeeeeeze??

Click this thing:



and it should take you right to my entry. If it doesn't, search for "Sometimes it's what doesn't go into the food that makes a meal memorable." Yeah, I know it's long...concise has never been my strong suit, or hadn't you noticed. My blue flower is the avatar next to my essay (although I hat to call it that, it's so short), and right now I'm number 353, or DFL (as they call it in the racing world).

Thanks in advance if you go vote (you can go once a day, hint, hint), and I totally understand if you don't. Cheers!

*edit - this link should take you right to my thingy...I hope...:Read my Medium Raw challenge essay: It's not always about the ingredients, is it?

What Have We Here?

Ladies and gentlemen, we here at Casa de Crazy are pleased to show you what we've been up to for the last 11 weeks, 4 days:

It's a...it's a...umm...a bean? Well, I'm calling it Sprout until we know if it's an innie or an outie. Although, it DOES have something of a resemblance to a gummi bear. Hmm...

We invaded went to the perinatologist's office this afternoon, and they investigated the wee one as best they could, which was fairly thorough (I'll spare you the details). So far, they said, so good...but until all the usual blood tests come back and a few weeks go by (when they can take an even better look), we won't know for certain that all is perfectly...er...well, I'd say normal, but this IS my fetus we're talking about here, and normal is relative. And since s/he's my relative, poor bairn...

We heard the heartbeat. That's what drove home the reality when I was preggers with Bird - hearing that hummingbird whub-whub-whub and seeing the shadowy bits and pieces on the screen. The same with Sprout, up there...it became real when I heard the heart going along at a healthy 178 beats per minute, saw the little legs kicking about, saw the hands moving.

I don't mind admitting, I nearly cried.

I also don't mind admitting feeling a tremendous relief...and while I'll worry about the blood tests (for Down's and Trisomy-18 and a host of other things) and the next ultrasound (in five weeks or so), I feel much better about things.

I'm hoping that the next time they look at the little beggar, we'll know what flavor we've got in there.

Meanwhile, I have dinner to cook, and dishes to do, and a movie to watch with Someone, so I'll wish y'all a good-whatever-time-of-day-you're-reading-this and get to it.

Cheers!

Today's Mantra

Everything is always exactly as it should be, when it should be; the Universe is a perfect creation, and we are all expressions of that perfection.

So...yeah...

This Post Brought to You By: Hormones, Nature's Little (Mood) Swingers

I had my first real doctor's appointment yesterday, went to the OB. Woo-hoo, fun.

Eh, it's not all bad...a nice fellow whom I've never met reached in up to his elbow and felt around for aliens, then said he thought I was farther along than the 11 weeks I should be. Huh. I don't think so...I'm very careful about keeping track of...er...things.

He wanted to do an ultrasound, but after waiting forever about half an hour, there was still at least another half hour to go, and then labs to get, and I was hungry, thirsty, and needed to get home so K2 (who was sweet enough to come watch Little Dude) could get home, so I was disinclined to hang around counting ceiling tiles. They allowed as how it could wait, because they wanted to refer me to a specialist, anyway. Yay, specialist.

You see, I'm 38, unemployed, uninsured, overweight and diabetic. Not that the deck's stacked or anything. Anyway, apparently those things put me in the "high risk" category, so to a specialist I go. He will check for such delightful things as whether or not my blood sugar levels have damaged the baby's heart (now there's a guilt trip waiting to happen), and whether or not my age and the likely stale nature of my eggs has relegated the peanut to a genetically undesirable category of human. Sigh.

Cheerful, huh?

And you know, pregnant women cry at freakin' coffee commercials, for goodness' sake...so you KNOW that I'm going to be worrying until I KNOW what's going on down there in the mysterious otherworld of the womb. I'm not delighted at the delay in getting the medication I need to control my blood sugar - see, pregnant women can't take the oral meds. I have to go on insulin...and for that I have to wait until I see this new doc.

Fortunately, I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon. I wish it would hurry up and never get here.

Yeah, I'm scared. What if something I've done, or not done, has meant this poor little critter is all mangled up? What if I eat or drink or do the wrong things, and the wee mite gets damaged because of my carelessness, ignorance, or stupidity? What if this baby taxes my own system to the extent that I damage something I need to live? What if, what if, what if...

Sigh.

I've danced to this tune once before and came out fine...as did the Little Dude...and I know that whatever comes, Someone and I will deal with it together.

Despite my concerns, I must say...I get a goofy little smile when I think about this tadpole swimmin' around in the great, murky me. I'm hoping for the best and getting weepy at the same time, but hey, I'm pregnant, and that's the way the hormones tumble.

Oh, My

Check this out:

That's a home grown, still warm from the sun tomato on that BLT I had for dinner last night. Oh, yeah, my mouth was happy...

Next time, it'll be on home baked bread...mmmm...

Say What?

It's time for another installment of "Say What?", where we take a look at what key words and phrases brought people over to my little corner of the Blue Nowhere. Weirdoes...
~~~~~
what to do with leftover cookies - eat them. Really, you need to be told this?

shades mangled and my head - umm...ouch?

cartoon people are cring - I'm thinking that "cring" should be "crying", poor things...

st simons iguanas remoulade - umm...ew.

pulling penis out in public - not advisable.

look up grannys dress - also not advisable, especially while doing the above...

Independence Day

Yep, this is a repost, but why re-write what already suits??
~~~~~
In writing the Declaration of Independence, in ratifying it, in signing their names to it, the men named at the bottom risked the very things they hoped to secure for themselves and for future generations. They were performing an act of treason, and by putting their names to it they made of themselves targets for the man, for the nation, they accused. They fought for the principles they named, fought for their families, for their lives, and for the burgeoning life of the tender new nation they hoped to nurture into a great place, a free place, a place where anyone could hope to not just survive, but thrive - a place where anyone willing to put their all into it, to do their very best, could find success, no matter what their gods, their nation of origin.

Since that time, people have tried to follow their lead, standing up and making their voices heard to help secure their rights, the rights of future generations. They have added color and sex to the list of things that cannot determine success, cannot be used as an excuse to deny equal opportunity.

You do the same when you vote. You do it when you attend council meetings, board meetings, town hall meetings, and speak your piece; when you ask the hard questions, protest with signs, songs, shouts; when you show people who think they own this nation to the exclusion of others, people who think they have the right to amend your rights to suit them, that you are watching them, that you SEE them, that you know better.

You do it when you tell our armed forces "Thank you for your service" whether you agree with whatever conflicts we're embroiled in or not - because they are standing up for our liberty doing a hard, dirty, often thankless job - and they are there, ultimately, to preserve our nation and its principles (As an aside - thank you, men and women of the armed forces. Thank you, and blessed be, and come home safe to the families who love you, miss you, and hope only for your swift return.).

You do it when you teach the children in your life what it means to be free - freedom to fly means freedom to fall, and freedom to rise up again; freedom to succeed means freedom to fail, and to try once more; freedom to speak means freedom for dissenting opinions to be heard; freedom is not comfortable - at times, it is downright terrifying...but it is necessary to the human spirit.

Given a choice to be cold, hungry, ragged, poor, weary, worn and free, or to be clothed, fed, housed, succored, safe and bound - I will be free. Do not make the mistake of giving up your freedom for the illusion of safety - you will one day wake to find you have nothing left but the yoke you bound yourself to.

I could go on, but to what purpose? You understand or you don't - and my little rant won't sway anyone, I fear.

Here, then, is a transcript of our most essential document, the one that began it all, the one that first gave shape to our name, to our identity as a nation. Read, if nothing else, the first two paragraphs. They are as stirring, heartfelt, and powerful now as when they were first written.
~~~~~

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.
He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.
He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.
He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.
He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.
He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.
He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.
He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.
He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.
He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.
He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.
He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.
He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:
For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:
For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:
For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:
For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:
For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:
For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences
For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:
For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:
For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.
He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.
He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.
He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.
He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.
He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.


The 56 signatures on the Declaration appear in the positions indicated:
Column 1 - Georgia: Button Gwinnett, Lyman Hall, George Walton

Column 2 - North Carolina: William Hooper, Joseph Hewes, John Penn
South Carolina: Edward Rutledge, Thomas Heyward, Jr., Thomas Lynch, Jr., Arthur Middleton

Column 3 - Massachusetts: John Hancock
Maryland: Samuel Chase, William Paca, Thomas Stone, Charles Carroll of Carrollton
Virginia: George Wythe, Richard Henry Lee, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Harrison, Thomas Nelson, Jr., Francis Lightfoot Lee, Carter Braxton

Column 4 - Pennsylvania: Robert Morris, Benjamin Rush, Benjamin Franklin, John Morton, George Clymer, James Smith, George Taylor, James Wilson, George Ross
Delaware: Caesar Rodney, George Read, Thomas McKean

Column 5 - New York: William Floyd, Philip Livingston, Francis Lewis, Lewis Morris
New Jersey: Richard Stockton, John Witherspoon, Francis Hopkinson, John Hart, Abraham Clark

Column 6 - New Hampshire: Josiah Bartlett, William Whipple
Massachusetts: Samuel Adams, John Adams, Robert Treat Paine, Elbridge Gerry
Rhode Island: Stephen Hopkins, William Ellery
Connecticut: Roger Sherman, Samuel Huntington, William Williams, Oliver Wolcott
New Hampshire: Matthew Thornton
~~~

If you've made it this far, thank you. To support out troops, go visit Any Soldier or Troop BeBop (I know this woman - she's a force of nature!). I wish you a safe, joyous, and happy Independence Day!

Ugh, Whew, Mmmm

I just finished cleaning the downstairs bathroom. Big deal,right? Well, yeah, kinda. Remember at the and of May, when our septic system decided to choke on itself and backed up into the house? No? Lucky you.

Anyway, the downstairs bathroom bore the brunt of the back-up. Today I finally had time to go down there and give it a good scrubing. Ick. And bleh. And ugh.

It looks like a new bathroom, now, and I need a vacation.

I am almost caught up with dishes and laundry after our trip. Whew.

Tomorrow we're going to a pool party at a friend's, our Independence Day tradition. I will spend the rest of today baking brownies - double-double Ghiradelli brownies with fudge icing - and cutting fruit for a salad. There will probably be a nap thrown in there for good measure. I can think of worse ways to spend the afternoon. Mmmm, brownies...

I Forgot...

...how tired pregnancy make me. I just want to nap, then rest up from napping by having a snooze, followed by a rousing siesta.

Yawn.

How're y'all doing??

Quick Pimp

We had some kind of crazy weird day yesterday and I didn't have time to post this...so you're getting it today. Better late than never? You decide...

My band, performing an informal set last week, one of our fans dancing with...erm...fans.



I'm off to watch help some friends move...