I Didn't Know They Did That in Alabama

Someone is off helping PJ at some Alabama Ren Fest for the weekend.

Can they even spell "Ren Fest" in 'Bama??

I was supposed to do some sewing for PJ this week, but managed to do almost nothing useful instead, for two main reasons - first, because Monday evening something crawled into my respiratory system and began to wreak havoc (and is still doing so), and second because my sewing machine decided that nylon lined pleather is hateful and refused to sew any of it. In the machine's defense, it's used to lovely cotton fabrics and I can't blame it for finding that synthetic crap material to be less than ideal fodder.

Sigh.

I did cut pieces for a number of small belt pouches...but couldn't stitch 'em together here at Casa de Crazy.

We went down Thursday afternoon to help PJ load up the van and so I could drop Someone off (so he wouldn't have to leave a truck parked at PJ's all weekend), so I brought the pieces of fabric with me and finished 'em there...but not after we had the chance to compare notes about our respective days.

I can sum it up with this: Our vocabulary list for Thursday has two words on it - "cluster" and "fuck". Can you use them in a sentence, boys and girls?? I knew you could.

Whew.

Let me give you a sampling of the day: We were to meet PJ at K's house to pick up K's van. trailer, and whatever she was sending to the Fest (she isn't going, but PJ agreed to take her merchandise). I tried to sew pouches until the last minute while Someone packed. We would have left on time, but we kept forgetting things and having t run back into the house.

When we got to K's, she told us that she couldn't find the trailer keys so PJ would have to cut the locks off and buy new ones. Meanwhile, I called PJ for an ETA and was informed that she just discovered that her basement had been flooding for several hours thanks to an overzealous toilet. She was up to her ankles in water and was a mite busy.

K sent us on to PJ's, sans her van and trailer because PJ was going to pick them up later. I wondered why we didn't just take them right then, but figured there must be a reason. Next time I'm asking, because...

We got to PJ's and learned from her mother that she'd just left with D to pick up the van. We asked why we didn't just bring it and were told it was because they thought we were in two vehicle and they didn't want us having to leave one behind. Umm...huh...whoopsie...

I started sewing.

PJ got to K's, collected van and trailer, and returned to her house. En route, K called her and reported that E (K's husband) had a spare set of trailer keys, which was a good thing because the locks on the trailer? Bulletproof, apparently, and un-cutable. Without keys, they were going to have to leave the trailer behind or use a can opener to get into it via the roof! K would bring them right over.

A few minutes later, K called PJ and let her know that E had taken the kids in K's car, leaving his truck (and the trailer keys) with K. The truck is a stick shift, though, and K only drives automatic. Aww, dang. Out PJ went to collect the erstwhile trailer keys.

Meanwhile J was sewing buttons on belt pouches as fast as she could, but her hands were paining her, so I offered to finish sewing 'em and then do the buttons. I had to cut off all the ones she'd done, though, because she hadn't done them the way PJ wanted 'em. Poor J...all that work for naught.

While PJ was off fetching keys (and pizza for dinner because by this time it was getting late and we were all a mite peckish), Someone was hauling equipment to the driveway to stage it for loading. I kept sewing buttons.

PJ got home, and luckily the trailer keys worked. I got the belt pouches done. PJ's basement may never be dry again, but at least they stemmed the tide.

I got home late and despite nearly running out of fuel.

And Someone? Looks damn good in my old black RenFest boots - I extracted a promise from PJ that she would photograph him all dressed up in Renny garb...whew...look out, 'Bama...

Because It's On My Mind, That's Why

Brace yourself...more thoughts on polyamoury...

It occurred to me as I was writing those posts that I was taking a chance, risking the loss of readers, of friends (those well known and those as yet met only here in the Blue Nowhere), and even of family contact. This is an aspect of our lives that we haven't exactly advertised. It's not a secret...but like many things that can draw censure to a body, it's something we've chosen simply to live, to discuss if it came up or we were asked about it...but certainly not to wear on our t-shirts (not that I wear t-shirts), tattoo on our faces, or carry placards for.

So why write about it? Why make it so very public to friend, family, and stranger alike? Why invite confusion, disgust, scorn, anger, judgement?

Well...

In part because I use my writing to help me clarify my thoughts. And in part because I'm not ashamed of loving...and don't think anyone should be. Last summer I found myself wishing that I could love freely, love fearlessly, love without regret. It's something I wish for us all.

I truly believe that when one is honest, open, communicative, and (this part's awfully important) doing no harm to any one else involved (safe, sane, and consensual, people), there is no shame in loving.

I'll be the first to admit that my sexual and emotional histories are...ermmm...unusual. I lived a very sheltered life...right up until I didn't. In that sheltered time I was sexually and emotionally abused, silenced and marginalized. It will take a lifetime to soften the scarring from that...

Once free of my old life, I began to look around and see that there were many types of people, and they weren't all out to do me harm. Some of them loved a little differently, but they weren't inherently evil.

While I never practiced it, I was part of the BD/SM community (club secretary for a bondage club, I'll tell you about it some time) and learned a lot about so-called deviance. I learned a fair bit about traditional love and how it can flourish...and how it can imprison.

I've seen family's torn to pieces over who or how someone loves.

I don't want to hide.

A lot of the conversations around Casa de Crazy have been about polyamoury, of late...especially about Lady R and her situation, caught as she is between the beauty of love growing and the stones of tradition and mainstream thought. While Someone and I managed to find our way through what could be a very rocky shoal with each other, she is largely on her own navigating the waters.

If "love" hadn't been turned into "own" somewhere back in time, none of us would have this trouble.

If J could see how R shines when she's with him, how her love emanates palpably from her in his presence, and how it pains her to think of losing him...he would not fear her loss. He would know that she could no more move on to another, leave him behind, than she could separate herself from half of her soul. If he could see how she lights up with Someone, detach himself from jealousy enough to see her happiness, he would wish her joy in the association, in the loving, knowing as he would that she may love Someone...but J is home for Lady R, as I am home for Someone.

While it pains me to think that I may suffer loss because of this...it pains me more to think of the loss we'd all know if we had to bind ourselves up in a restrictive definition of what love is supposed to be.

Once again I find myself unable to put into words what's fizzing about in my mind...so I'm certain I'll touch on this topic again. If it's uncomfortable for you, dear reader, then I am truly sorry, and I hope you'll be patient with my need to write and write and write until I have found the words I'm looking for...and meanwhile, I'll try to give you some warning as to the subject matter so you can skip these posts entirely and move on to less discomfiting entries.

Morning Mourning

I'm declaring a national day of mourning.

Why?

You mean, you didn't know. Oh, dear...I'm so sorry to be the one to break the news...

Mrs Winner's has closed.

Wait, you don't know Mrs. Winner's?

Poor deprived soul...

Mrs Winner's is a cash-only fried chicken joint, fast food that isn't awfully fast. They serve...served...breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I adore their coleslaw, and their fried chicken, but most of all...

Sigh...

How I will miss my occasional breakfast treat - a steak, egg, and cheese biscuit. Country fried steak, scrambled egg, and cheese on a hot, flaky biscuit. Oh, my...delectable...

I have started many a long road trip with one of those biscuits and a large half sweet, half unsweet iced tea. I introduced Someone to Mrs. Winner's when he moved here, and he took to her like a swan to water - when we had somewhere to go early in the morning and there were a few ducats to spare, we got our biscuits and hit the road.

There was always something, some indefinable flavor to the biscuits, that kept us wondering. We tried to pinpoint the flavor, but it required lots of research, many biscuits eaten in the name of scientific research...

Now, without warning, the franchises in our area have closed. Not a word of warning, no indication of why a successful, fairly popular place is just...gone. We found out when we wanted breakfast on the road...and had to go to McD's instead. What a disappointment. Even the Evil Genius was stunned, and said he couldn't understand how such a popular joint (his words) could close down.

Now our only hope is that other franchises are still open...and maybe, on occasion, we can still get our fix.

Join me in wearing sackcloth and ashes, won't you??

Poly Wanna Get Interesting

When we discussed being open, being polyamorous, we didn't have much idea what that meant beyond being open to the possibilities of loving others as well as each other.

When Someone discovered that he felt quite strongly for Lady R, it prompted much discussion between us, and we came to agree on some (for lack of a better phrase) ground rules: open, honest communication at all times and with all involved; don't bring home any plagues.

Someone and I have never had difficulty communicating...or, rather, while we may struggle to find the right words and have (on more than one occasion) found ourselves frustrated in our struggles...we have never shied away from saying what we felt and dealing with those feelings.

When he knew he loved Lady R, he told me so. It can't have been easy. While I may worry that he'll leave me for another...he must have wondered if I would be enraged or hurt enough to send him packing. It takes courage to tell somebody "I love you, and I love this other person, too, equally well..." and let yourself face the consequences.

Poor Lady R...

Her partner (she is in a relationship) had said he was fine with an open relationship, but until now she'd never acted on that. She was worried about acting on it, to be honest...worried that she would hurt a man whom she loves deeply. She's not looking to replace J...and she certainly doesn't want to lose him.

She didn't tell him, at first, about her burgeoning love for Someone, nor that she had consummated it.

I will admit...this troubled me. While I feel I have less to say on the matter than anyone else involved (because I am less directly involved in R's two relationships)...it troubled me. I understand, deeply, the fear of loss...how like walking off a cliff it must feel, and how much faith must one have in one's loves and in one's self to speak anyway...

It bothered Someone, too, that Lady R had not spoken to her partner...he didn't like being a secret, didn't like not knowing how he should act, that he would have to restrain himself in J's presence (he loves not only with words, but with frequent touch, with all of himself - such a loving is not easy to curtail...like breathing with only one lung)...but he and I have both respected Lady R's need for her own process and have not pressed.

She finally told J a bit about her feelings (although I do not know if they have had full disclosure...this kind of thing sometimes needs to be eased into. Please don't judge; she risks losing not one but two loves, risks having her heart broken in so many ways. I feel for Lady R...and have told Someone that, while I hope she never has the NEED, there's a place here at Casa de Crazy for her if it's wanted).

J was hurt...and fearful...but he has not (to my knowledge)given ultimatums or retracted his offer of an open relationship. He is looking his fears in the face and owning them. He has spoken of them to Lady R. He has not, yet, had an opportunity to speak to Someone or to me about his feelings and sound us out on ours...but I am hoping that one day he will, and that he will find his fears allayed. Someone isn't looking to replace J, nor is he hoping that Lady R will supplant me. He simply wishes to follow the dictates of his heart and...love...

Our first foray into ployamoury has been illuminating for me. I am not jealous...although I have owned that I may have moments of envy, little pangs for things that they share which Someone and I do not. There are things which Someone and I share which he and Lady R will not. In the end, it is what we have that matters.

I believe it helps that I like the lady. I believe it helps that she likes me well enough. I believe it helps that all of us - Someone, me, Lady R and J - are capable of being honest with ourselves and each other. I believe that it helps that we can and will communicate and strive to understand each other. I believe that it helps that we are not looking for another couple to be co-spouses with...a whole other form of polyamoury that I am not yet ready for. Sure, I can share my beloved...but not my living room.

I know it helps that, even after this beginning, Someone calls me home...and I believe him when he tells me that it doesn't matter whither he will wander...he will always come home.

This journey isn't over...it's only just beginning. I haven't looked outside my relationship with Someone, haven't tested those boundaries yet. I don't know that I ever will...I lack the confidence that more than one person could love me this way (if I'm being honest). I can love in the abstract, and do so easily...but physically? I am still amazed that Someone can call me beautiful...especially when I see the women he has loved, still loves...how strong, vibrant, intelligent they all are...how on earth could two people have the same delusion feel the same way about me at once??

I don't regret setting out on this path, though...and look with interest to where it may yet lead.

I don't believe there's such a thing as too much love.
~~~~~
I feel compelled to add that this was written from my viewpoint...and while I strive to be impartial, things will be colored by my experiences and opinions. If Someone, Lady R, or J should happen to read and feel compelled to add or discuss anything, I welcome their words.

I left a lot out, because this was long enough as it was. If you think I jumped about, have questions or wisdom to share...tell me. It is a simple and yet deeply complex issue, and so far outside the normal experience...while I've had many conversations about the subject, this is the first time I've tried to tackle it in writing...and I feel I have not done it justice, but have done the best I can at the moment.

Poly Wanna Some More

This past Summer, Someone met another woman for whom he felt great attraction...and love. He spoke to me about it, asked if I would truly be alright with him acting on his feelings.

There's a risk in being poly - what if he finds he likes the other better? What if he finds he loves her more, would rather be with her?

What if he realizes that I am not, after all, home?

It's scary, and for that alone it would be easy to take up the cry of "Monogamy! Monogamy!!". Still...what kind of love imprisons? I'd rather know he's here because it's where he wants to be, not because he feels he can't be anywhere else.

I examined my own feelings and told him I was fine with it. This was just after we'd discovered I was/am pregnant, and I admit to some trepidation about things...but mostly because I am not lively, not light in spirit, not petite and lithe in the ways that Lady R is (Lady R I shall call her so as to protect her identity until such time as SHE wishes to make herself public). I was very aware of the dangers involved with telling one's love to go and love another, freely...

But you can't hold onto the wind, can you? Or water? Or fire? Even the earth cannot, truly, be owned...and as I hold these things sacred, why would I try? I hold love to be no less sacred...and so, let it fly free.

My Swan (for so he is, even as he is another's love/lover...he's still My Swan)(and I am his Flower, even as I may one day love others...I will always be HIS Flower) didn't want to hurt me, and would have honored my fears. I'm glad he didn't have to.

He and Lady R acted on their nascent feelings, and their love has grown despite distance and...difficulties. She thanked me for sharing. I told her there was no need to thank...how can I share what is not mine to begin with? I don't mean that to sound harsh...to sound as if I don't care. I do care...to lose Someone would be...devastating...but he isn't mine any more than the sun or moon are mine...and while their light may warm, guide, and comfort me, they belong to themselves first, and to whomever they share themselves with second...

That Someone has chosen to weave himself into the tapestry of my life is a blessing beyond counting, beyond measure...and one I am happy to share with anyone who is lucky enough to catch his eye, his heart...
~~~~~
Next - some more of our story, the ground rules, and how things can get complicated despite one's best efforts...

Poly Wanna

It occurs to me that, while I find it perfectly "normal", my relationship with Someone is entirely outside the norm.

As if shacking up and having a baby without (gasp) wedding vows being involved (although if you think the ring or the vows cause babies, then my disillusionment with the current school system holds and we really should have a talk) and our paganism weren't enough out of the ordinary, we have another facet to our relationship that I haven't much (if at all) addressed here, although he's mentioned it a time or two on one or the other of his blogs.

It's those mentions, in fact, that have caused me to realize the absence of certain information here - friends of mine who read our blogs have asked me about things he's said regarding a girlfriend.

You see, we have a polyamorous relationship.

Not that there are fifteen of us shacking up here at Casa de Crazy - although I wouldn't complain as long as everyone else did chores, leaving me free to lounge on the couch all day nibbling grapes. What do you mean, how would that be different than my life now??

Nope - here at the house, there's us, the cats, and the kid (soon to be kids).

Lemme 'splain.

Someone and I met largely because he wrote a post about polyamoury that caught my attention. I liked his viewpoint and how he expressed himself. In a later post we had a conversation about love and how it's defined and expressed in the comments section of that post. Several others joined in. It was lively, and I enjoyed it.

I was not poly at the time, because T and I were still married and, while I'd told him from the start that I was fine with an open relationship, he hated the idea and said so...so our boundaries were clear - monogamy.

I have never, in fact, been in a poly relationship before this one...mostly because I can honestly say this is only the second relationship I've been in, and while I feel quite comfortable with the idea of spending the rest of my life with Someone, it doesn't exactly make me a woman of the world, does it?

I've long believed that restricting love to one, and only one, was not right for me. I can live with monogamy in a sexual sense, but when loving (beyond the physical) is also bound up in vows and expectations, I believe the heart...fails...
~~~~~

I'm going to continue this in other posts, because otherwise it'll be too freakin' long...stick with me, won't you?

While the Swan Was Away

While Someone was out of town, I tried not to miss him too much. Yeah, no luck with that...

So I did the next best thing...tried to keep busy. Success.

He left last Tuesday. I spent the day in a sleepy fog, alternately cleaning house and sewing for my friend PJ. Tuesday night was...interesting...and largely sleepless.

Wednesday alternated between sewing for PJ and fielding phone calls from several quarters regarding the truck and its repair.

Wednesday evening was an early-ish nigh for me...I couldn't keep my eyes open.

Thursday was more sewing and then a jaunt down to Borders where Bird and I spent some quality time together. To bed early again.

Friday involved more physical labor, with the last bit of sewing and then a fair amount of lifting and hauling - I needed to load up the van with my yard sale junk priceless heirlooms and fantastic bargains so I could haul it all to the sale location (M's house - she gets better traffic than we do here at Casa de Crazy), unload it, and get it priced. Four years' worth of little boy clothing...groan. Got home quite late, went to bed even later.

Saturday we were up well before the sun and out the door - about an hour's drive to M's house and I still had items to price and we had to get the sale set up. Whew. I'm thinking about starting a petition to banish five-o'clock in the morning. Anyone else want in?? The yard sale went fine...I didn't sell a lot, so Goodwill made out like a bandit. People behave oddly at yard sales - if I ever wanted to write a paper on human behavior, I would visit yard sales and have material a-plenty! By the way...I am apparently unreasonable because I wasn't willing to sell my hardcover books for a quarter. Look, I know people buy books and re-sell them on Amazon or eBay for a nice profit...I just want' having any of it. A buck for a best-seller isn't asking too much, and I'd just as soon let Goodwill make the ducats from reselling. Home middling early, to bed early.

Sunday, up early again. M brought her little guy over so she could watch Bird while I went to a mask making workshop with Mum. It was lovely...Bird got to go hiking around the norther n part of the state and I got to go share some creative space with Mum and a whole bunch of other artistic ladies. We haven't had that kind of time together in a while, and I sure did enjoy myself. Sunday evening, I tried to wait up for Someone, who left Ohio late in the afternoon. I couldn't, though...so I went to bed and slept off and on until he got home in the wee hours.

Today has been about catching up with ourselves and the mundane world. Tomorrow it's back to sewing, doctor's appointments, more sewing...and Someone is out of town for the weekend again, this time helping PJ with a show while I work here at the track...but at least I'll be too tired and distracted to miss him...much...

I thought Autumn was supposed to be a time of slowing down...

Thoughtfetti

I'm watching The History of Sex on The History Chanel. Huh. Funny how something so basic, so primal, has stirred up so much trouble throughout history.
~~~~~
Ten years ago today I was married. Now I'm divorced and carrying my love's baby. While it isn't without its stresses, and while it isn't how I saw myself living my life when I daydreamed about my future as a child, I'm happy in ways I never knew I could be.
~~~~~
I miss Someone somethin' fierce.
~~~~~
The truck is fixed, thanks to some kind people, a shade-tree mechanic, and a few phone calls burning up the airwaves. It was, it seems, the alternator; at well over 200,000 miles and fifteen years of age, I guess it's reasonable that it finally gave up the ghost.
~~~~~
It's difficult to focus on what I'm doing when Rook is mewling piteously in my ear, crying out for a boy kitty to love her. Poor baby, she doesn't know what she wants, only that she is desperate for something...she keeps walking across my lap or stomach, licking my hands or feet, snuggling up, begging for mama to make it better. The boy kitties outside are either too young to care or terribly frustrated by our glass doors.
~~~~~
What's goin' on in your corner of the Blue Nowhere?

See-Saw...

...Marjory Daw...

Up, down.

Up, down.

Up, down.

Tiring, sometimes. A nice, even keel wouldn't go amiss around here. Really, it wouldn't.

Up...my power bill has rather mysteriously been paid. I tried to find out by whom, but to no avail. I only know that someone, somewhere, has managed to pay my rather enormous back bill. If it was you, thank you. It's inadequate, "thank you", but it's all I have at the moment.

Down...the specialist and the midwife have made it clear that we may have to have this baby early, as she's on the small side and that may mean that she's not getting enough nutrients or there's some other trouble. If she stops growing, or slows her growth enough, out she comes. They are simply trying to prepare me, but at 25 weeks, the idea is horrifying.

Up...the baby may be small, but she's perfectly well formed- I've seen her heart beating away tickety-boo, seen her wee kidneys, wondered at her brain and images of her blood flow (there's blood flow to her brain, so a career in politics is right out), and today I actually saw her "breathing", pushing amniotic fluid in and out of her magnificent if minuscule (but perfectly formed) lungs. For all it's a pain in the buttocks, modern technology can be rather grand, too.

Down...I have to go back to the specialist every week for continued monitoring.

Up...Someone made it out of the house and on his way to Ohio this morning without too much delay, despite a wealth of things that had to be done at the last minute.

Down...the truck has died, leaving him stranded on the side of the road in the dark, in the back country of Ohio, close but not quite TO the campground he was trying to reach before nightfall. He has no cell service and had to knock on some poor woman's door to let her know he was broken down at her drive.

Up...the lady was kind enough to let him use her phone so he could call and let me know what had happened.

Down...he has to sleep in the truck until morning, and then (maybe) he can hike up to the campground and (maybe) call for roadside assistance info, and then (maybe) have someone drive him back to the truck to fetch his gear so he can (maybe) have the truck towed somewhere that it can be (one hopes) repaired without costing an arm, a leg, and a kidney. Making his stay in the truck even better, Someone forgot to pack pillows (don't laugh...sometimes it's the small things that bring the greatest comfort)(well, they would to ME, anyway).

Up...it may simply be a belt or a battery cable gone wrong.

Down...it's more likely to be the alternator.

Up...at least he'll be at the campground where he was trying to go, and one may hope he'll have a nice time despite this.

Down...I am a nervous wreck over this. Someone I love is hundreds of miles away, stranded, and perfectly capable of taking are of himself.,..but I'm not THERE and he's not HERE, and it's distressing to say the least, because I want to FIX it and I CAN'T. All I can do is sit here and wait for him to call when he can.

Up...whatever's wrong with the truck, it's fixable, and no one's hurt...and the people at the campground are good folks (some of them people I've known for a decade or more) and one of 'em may even be able to help fix the truck...or at the very least may know someone who can do the repair for minimum cost.

Down...if no one at the campground can help, we'll have to hope for a kind, honest repairman, because we don't know anyone locally to lend knowledge or a hand.

Up...Mum said she would drive up there with me and the Evil Genius if we had to go on a rescue run.

Down...doing so would mean missing the yard sale I've been helping to plan, and a workshop Mum and I are supposed to take together, and that I would not finish the sewing I'm committed to finish (and being paid to do) by Friday.

Up...Pepperidge Farm cakes were on sale at the market and I got two (a lemon one and a coconut one) for the price of one.

Down...the way things are going, I'll have eaten them by tomorrow morning, because I sure as Hell ain't gettin' any sleep tonight...

What Say You?

Entropy

"...the degradation of the matter and energy in the universe to an ultimate state of inert uniformity; a process of degradation or running down or a trend to disorder..."

The driver's side mirror of my van is falling apart. It cracked a while back, and bits of it are leaving themselves along the highways and secondary roads of Redneck Central, a sparkly trail of mirror crumbs to lead me home again (although I already know how to get to Casa de Crazy from there...wherever "there" is).

The passenger side window occasionally won't continue rolling in whatever direction one wishes it too. It just...stops...and takes a break, enjoys the scenery, lets in the heat, cold, or wet for a bit. Once it's had a rest, it can be coaxed (reluctantly) to finish the job.

Then there's the funny little light that illuminates the dashboard on a regular basis - I already know it's a bad sensor, but at more than $600 a pop to replace 'em...it can stay bad for all I care. Don't panic, it's not an essential item, I asked.

The dishwasher objects to washing dishes. Sometimes it will run busily, but do absolutely nothing. Reminds me of a politician.

The clothes washing machine has developed a peculiarity. It stops mid-wash and refuses to start back up again. Always in the same place in the cycle, just before it drains and rinses. If I hit it in a particular place (always with a fist - open hand slap doesn't work), it will then start back up again and finish the job.

My little cell phone, the sweet wee blue one that I've had for ages? The flippy bit fell off it, the part that lets me answer the phone by opening it. Of course, they don't make it any more...and of course, I can't afford to get a new one...so of course I am having to eke through with my poor broken phone (Did I mention it's blue?? A lovely pale metallic blue? 'Cause it is...), which is doing its best but isn't quite the same as it once was.

The button popped off my favourite pair of blue jeans. It's not the kind that can be sewn back on, it's the sort that looks like a giant rivet that is driven through the fabric.

The french press died a few months ago, and we've been using the drip maker...emphasis on the drip. While Someone likes his coffee, he doesn't generally like it ON him.

The door to the pantry closet won't close unless one lifts up on the knob while pushing the door shut.

Light bulbs are burning out at an alarming rate around here.

How's your Universe holding up??

Secretariat

So I scored a couple of passes to the pre-screening of Secretariat last night, thanks to Blogher.

I didn't keep the original e-mail regarding the screening, but in the follow-up, they never mentioned doing any sort of review. Still, it only seems fair to write a few thoughts on the film since they (and Disney) were kind enough to hook me up with a night out.

I don't know if you could call this a compensated review or not, so, umm...insert disclaimer type language here, please. Cheers.

Mum drove down to watch the Evil Genius for us so Someone and I could have a Real! Grown Up! Date! Our second in fact. Um...are we going about this backwards, what with shacking up and getting knocked up before we started dating?

Whatever...on with the show...

We got to the theater rather early and wound up close to the head of the line. If you've never done one of these pre-screening/review screening things, a bit of advice - get there early. They always promise more passes than they have seats for so they're guaranteed a full theater. We were close enough to the head of the line that we got seats right where my OCD/paranoid self we wanted them - all the way up and in the middle.

Once we had our seats, I wandered to the concession stand and procured popcorn and drinks for a small fortune. Good thing the movie was free or I'd have had to take out a loan! What's in that popcorn, gold??

M'kay, I'll spare you my thoughts on the crowded theater...except to say the crowd was quite well behaved and no one smelled bad.

There's not much risk of spoiling the plot...the story's a matter of history. If you didn't know Secretariat won the Triple Crown, well...now you do.

Also, I called one facet while waiting in the concession line - it's a Disney film, so somebody's mother will be dead in the first ten minutes. I don't know why they do that, but it's almost a sure thing...someone's snuffing it in either the first or the last ten minutes in just about everything Disney's touched in the last decade or so.

I thought the writing was well done - good character development, especially the equine characters, without being overblown. You know it's well written when the story's a foregone conclusion and you still find yourself rooting for the horse and offering up an atta-girl to the owner. Good set/prop continuity, keeping true to the time period. Some pretty nifty camera work, with some interesting shots from between horses' ears and hooves and some lovely race scenes.

It won't be one of the mega-blockbusters of the season, but it should do solidly well. It has what a movie needs...good writing, good acting, an interesting story, a bit of humor, and a happy (if not surprising) ending.

I've decided that I wouldn't have been disappointed had I spent actual money on tickets...which, if you ever went to a movie with me you'd know, is high praise indeed. If you're looking to be entertained without any violence, bloodhsed, or general mayhen, Secretariat is a good candidate. I'll go with you if you're buying...

Sigh

I'm having one of those days.

You know...the kind of day where you can feel the world outside pressing in on you, just waiting to cave in and smother you? You don't? Huh...

It's the kind of day that looks beautiful on the surface...sun shining, gentle breeze, clear sky, clean air, gorgeous early Autumn...the kind of day when one should be outside frolicking (or at the very least, cleaning the van or the garage or some other outdoor activity).

I have errands to run...we're out of laundry detergent and I have to pay the water bill, and the outside kitties want feeding. The mail is waiting to be collected, and I need to send out the Evil Genius's attendance form for September. I've been cleaning out the Sprout's room, and there's a bag of too-broken-to-fix, recyclable toys to carry down to the trash, and I need to fill at least one bin with things for the yard sale and one with things to take to Mum's for Bird to play with when we're there. The bins are in the garage, though.

I'm supposed to go on a date with Someone tonight - I managed to score tome advance-screening tickets for Secretariat, and as I'm a girl and grew up horse-crazy, it should be a fine way to spend the evening. Mum's even coming down to babysit.

But I just know that as soon as I set foot outside this house, it'll all come crashing in on me. The sky will fall. The Universe will collapse. I have difficulty breathing when I think about it.

Sigh.

Sometimes the Crazy isn't any fin at all.

Interlude

I've always liked this song, although I admit to feeling a touch of melancholy when I hear it. Not bad for a re-make...

The Calm Before

In about an hour I'm heading over to the track to set up my registration area. It's time once again for the Petit le Mans, and one of my busiest weeks of the year. Whew. I'm running worker registration again, but a few other kind folks are helping out with the hospitality aspect of things...although given the seriously truncated budget this year, hospitality won't be what it has been. Sigh.

I've got a corned beef on the stove for tonight and a relatively easy menu for the rest of the week. Bless him, Someone has offered to help with cooking and to take on the Little Dude each morning so neither Mum (who will be in the communications tower for the week as liaison, logger, and communicator for several groups) nor I have to wake, dress, feed, and transport the little fellow to the track at Ohgod-thirty AM. Whew.

Luckily, we at Casa de Crazy tend to rise a bit later in the morning when left to our own devices. There's a chance I'll be home from my morning stint before the guys are up...which means maybe I can have some fun waking Someone up catch a nap and perhaps even head over and, oh, I don't know, do something novel like watch some racing with Someone and the Evil Genius before I have my second round of registration for the day.

Bird likes to come over and "help", so I told him he could hang with me in the afternoons. If he gets tired or wants to come home, he can come back with Mum or me when we're done with our respective jobs for the day.

There's usually quite a bit of heavy lifting involved with this job, but I've told 'em that this time, I'm not doing it. I'm also going to jealously guard my time to rest. I'm not as young as I was when I was pregnant with Bird...that year, I tossed cases of water and fifty-pound bags of ice over eighteen-foot fencing and worked twenty-hour days. Not this year. I'm takin' it easy...maybe I'll have long days, but no hauling for me, thankyouverymuch.

Ah, well, time to go throw a few last minute things in the van, get the Evil Genius dressed, and then get movin'. Calm's over...

Hush

I'm enjoying a rare bit of quiet here at Casa de Crazy.

Well...almost.

I can hear the clicking of the keyboard and the creaking if the ceiling fan. Then there's the compressor in the fridge, which is barely audible. There are the birds outside and there's the rustle of cats rearranging themselves into furry little Gordian knots.

But it's quieter than usual.

Everyone's asleep. Late nights make for late mornings, and we don't operate on a schedule around here unless we have to.

I realized that quiet like this is rare enough...and in a few months, it'll be all but gone, what with a baby around and all. They tend to be noisy little things.

In a few minutes, the rest of Casa de Crazy will be stirring. I'll unload and reload the dishwasher and start running loads of laundry, maybe dismantle the train table for transport to Mum's, and the silence will be dismantled in bits and pieces by rushing, whirring, clicking, clacking, swishing, clattering...life.

So I hope you'll forgive me if this is all the post you get out of me today...because I'm going to sit and breathe in the peace while it's still here.

Some Days

Chew.

Chew.

Swallow.

Ugh.

Don't get me wrong, it's a perfectly nice apple, and there are worse ways to begin the day than with a lovely, juicy, Honeycrisp.

But today, I don't want to eat. I'm not sick...to my stomach, anyway. I just don't feel like going through the motions. My heart's not in it. My heart's somewhere down near the floor, rolling around between my feet when I walk anywhere, and completely disinterested in trifling things like sustenance.

But I don't have a choice.

Every morning, I have to inject myself with enough insulin to get me through the day. Then I have to eat. Not eating is not an option, even when I don't feel like it.

You wouldn't think someone as overweight as I am would have any trouble with the simple act of breakfasting (breaking fast?). Some days, though, I don't want food. It's all sawdust in my mouth. Swallowing takes more effort than I have in me.

But like it or not, I have to eat. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. At night, there are two more injections, and sometimes I have to eat before bed, too.

It wouldn't matter if it was just me. I could do without the medication and without eating for days on end if I didn't feel like 'em. The thing is, it's not just me. There's this poor baby, who made the daft decision to plant herself in my womb. What I want has no bearing right now.

So I'm eating this apple which deserves some reverence because it's a very nice apple and went to all the trouble to grow and ripen, to gather sunshine and rain and earth and wind and shape itself into something quite wonderful...and it may as well be a piece of wood.

You ever have days like that?

His People

I was listening to some country music a few days ago (hush), and one of the songs provoked a few thoughts.

The song?



I've had this conversation lately, about Jesus and the nature of his life, his purpose, and what he'd think if he popped in for a visit right now. Yeah, I'm still pagan...but some of us don't entirely pooh-pooh the idea of a man name Jesus who was an extraordinary man, a teacher, a healer, and an all-around decent guy. We just don't view him as the one and only son of a particular God, sent to earth to redeem us.

I don't think he'd like what he sees being done in his name. He didn't seem to be the sort of fellow who'd give a fig about who one slept with, or how often, or for what purpose. He didn't seem awfully concerned with marriage, or money, or status symbols. Temples weren't his sort of thing. He hung out with his generation's version of hippies, bums, and prostitutes. He didn't care who you worshiped - if you were hungry, hurting, in need...he answered. He embodied loving compassion and enacted it constantly.

If Jesus came back today, I think he'd be hanging out with us pagans. Yep. I think he'd be bangin' a drum at the fire, hangin' in the woods, eating, drinking, and smoking whatever's being passed around, howling and singing to the moon and stars. He'd share what he had and take what is freely given. He'd join in our potlucks, our community meals, our tent cities. If he needed shelter, it would be there. Shoes, no worries. Pants, socks, a toothbrush? Someone will have a spare to lend or give (I don't care if he is some God's son, once he uses the toothbrush, socks, or undies, they're his to keep...although the market on eBay would be incredible..).

We're not perfect...we squabble, flake, and judge as much as any group...but even when we don't particularly like someone, we won't let 'em do without.

I think Jesus would dig that.

I'm not saying there aren't any Christians who fit the bill...I know a few truly good people who happen to believe in Jesus as their redeemer. They may not always understand my paganism, but they don't throw rocks at my head, either. It's sad, though, that so many more members of his father's church, supposed followers of his path, are anything but Christian.

They judge harshly, seek to punish all who do not believe as they do, turn their backs on their fellow humans, and mistake wealth and its trappings for godliness. They scorn the natural beauty of the world they've been given, raze trees and hilltops to build monuments to the god to whom they pay lip service, edifices of brick and mortar that resemble nothing as much as prisons for the soul. They pour money, time, and other resources in these churches rather than using them to help build their community. They are focused on appearance, not substance.

I don't think they're his people.

Honestly, sometimes I think the folks who claim him as their own would lock him in the booby-hatch if he came back today as he was his first time through. You can perform miracles? Sure, sure...here's a nice room for you, and some pills that'll help with that...

Yeah, I think if Jesus should happen to return, he'd be camping in the woods, dancing at an old, reclaimed strip mine in Ohio or out in the desert in California or leaping the fire at an African bush camp. He'd be losing himself in the silence of the Never-Never, surfing the wild waves of the Pacific, climbing an ancient tree to bend with it in the wind. He'd sleep beneath an overpass, on a steam grate, in a shelter, and he'd eat at a soup kitchen, out of a dumpster, at a stranger's table where an extra place is set.

He wouldn't look at what church one claims, or what name one gives their god/s...he'd see us for who we are, down deep, where labels can't stick...his people...

Thoughtfetti

Preggo edition.
~~~~~
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?
~~~~~
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!!
~~~~~
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??
~~~~~
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.
~~~~~
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...
~~~~~
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.
~~~~~

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??
~~~~~
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.