No Way

I was coming back in from the garage and opened a box on a whim.

Me: "Oh. My. God."

Someone: "No way. You're kidding."

Me: "I'm so not..."

And into the house I came, because...yeah...

See that box?

The grey one, there?

Yeah, that one.

Guess what's in it?

Go on, guess.

No, not a body. I'd hide it better.

This box we looked through several times, each of us. While he was looking, Someone carefully emptied each box to thoroughly search it.

So how come we found this?:

Let me help you out, a little.

Here would be the coffee pot and the one-burner:

And here would be my beloved nesting pots:

There were other things, but those were the main missing items.

Damn faeries...must have heard me thinking about hiring an exterminator and hosing the Casa down with faerie repellent.

Oh, well...at least now we can make coffee. I wonder if they realized they went too far, stealing Someone's Java supplies. Some things a man won't take lying down.

I AM glad they returned everything....before I had the trailer packed, even.

How was your day?

Damn Faeries

Casa de Crazy is lousy with faeries.

Not the Disney kind that laugh and frolic and twinkle and occasionally save our bacon from disaster - no we have mean-spirited little fuckers, trickster-faeries who hide things or steal them outright, often returning them only when we've gone halfway to insane looking for whatever we know, damn it, KNOW, was right there THREE MINUTES AGO!!!

They mostly pick on poor Someone, who isn't used to having so much house to hunt through for things he can't find where he last left them. I think they like to hear him swear ans watch him turn red, see the thunderclouds build over his head, listen to him mutter. They love to steal his lighter, his socks, and especially his tools.

We have witnesses, by the way, to our tricksters' antics. Several visitors have seen Someone open a cupboard to get something to find said something not there. A twenty-minute search ensues, after which Someone will open the same cupboard, look in the same spot, and there the something is, right up front, right where he looked before.

Once, when our friend Handy J was here, he watched Someone go through the search, then witnessed as Someone called me to ask where the item he was searching for would be - when I told him, he went and looked, and there they were. Handy J was insistent that they'd both looked in that very spot...

Of course.

Usually, if Someone finally enlists my aid, I'll either walk right to what he's looking for or be able to tell him where it is...or, it'll reappear where he knows it should be and he finds it soon after.

The trickster-faeries don't like to mess with me too much. I'm a finder-of-things. It's difficult to hide stuff from a finder-of-things. Not impossible - they've zinged me a few times - but difficult.

I've been told I should give them milk. Bah. They don't care for dairy products. They don't want baked goods. They are not traditional faeries. Offerings of whiskey, wine, or beer seem to please them a little, as well as rib bones, Quahog and scallop shells, Oreo cookies, and shiny, shiny things. We have even built them their own little shrine in the woods, loaded with the things they seem to like. Nothing keeps them entirely at bay, though.

Right now, we are trying to get a lot of work done in a short amount of time - we have, realistically, three days to finish sorting, packing, sewing, cooking, and loading. We don't have time for trickster-faeries...which is why, of course, they are more than happy to make time for us.

This morning, while sorting through camping gear, I noticed some things missing. It made sense that they weren't in their regular box - Someone took them with him last Autumn when he was helping a friend with her business, travelling to shows and vending with her. They were in a different box, a smaller, more portable box. THAT box, however, was nowhere to be found.

Both Someone and I clearly recall washing things, putting them in the box, and putting the box in the trailer for the winter...but it's not among the things we unloaded...and we looked into every. single. box. twice.

I would shrug and say "Oh, well..." but I can't - what the little fuckers stole this time is a handful of items we need for our trip but cannot afford to just replace (coffee pot, nesting pots, Coleman one-burner, and all our fuel ) and I don't have time to play their games and hunt high and low for stuff.

I am...irked...dismayed...frustrated...and irked.

I hope they return our things before we have to leave...because camping with Someone when there's no way to make coffee? Daunting doesn't begin to describe the prospect...

Lots to Do

We're going up to Ohio for Solstice in a week. Between now and then, we need to:

Move the trailer, empty it, patch the holes that the neighbor's tree made in the roof and side, sort out what we're bringing and what's staying here, and re-pack it.

Pre-cook and freeze all the veggies and sides for ten day's worth of dinners for five people.

Wash, fold and pack clothing for the whole fam-damily.

Clean the van.

Sew shirts to sell.

Cut wood blanks to make into jewelry.

Buy last-minute groceries.

Figure out a watering schedule for the gardens (thanks, Gypsy!!).

Arrange and implement visitation for the Evil Genius and his father so the boy doesn't have to wait until July to see his dad.

A myriad of other small things that add up a very busy week. What are you up to?

The Spam Knows

Rough night.

Feh, not rough, plain awful. Never mind. Let's look at The All Knowing Box O' Spam to see what kind of day it'll be, shall we?

Hmm.

I can earn up to $87 an hour, and apparently a hitherto unknown relative in the EU died and left me a fortune. There are two offers for the quick, free delivery of pills of unspecified origins or type.

Woo-hoo, party at the Casa!! One way or another, our cares are over!

The Things About A Baby Is...

...just when I think I'm hitting my stride, that we have a pattern to our day...she up and changes things.

Sprout's eating a bit of cereal twice a day. She had her four-month check-up last week - at 25.5 inches and 13+ pounds, she has nearly doubled in size.

She does not approve of shots, but recovers from her ire quickly enough. Yes,we immunize,and yes,we've read reports and personal anecdotes and considered the possible repercussions...and we've decided that we'd rather have some of the immunizations and chance the possibilities than have a baby or child die or be disfigured or come to harm from a completely preventable childhood illness.

She's trying to figure out how to roll over, getting closer every day.

She loves the bath - now, she likes to watch the water dribble from the little cup we rinse her with.

Look:

She thinks it's amazing.

Nap times are ever-changing. I try to get at least a little sleep-time with her every day,but some days we're too busy.

Speaking of busy...it's time for me to pack up these kids and hit the road...we have errands to run, and Someone could use a few minutes of quiet after his weekend of solo parenting.

What's new in your world?

I'm Here...

...but not entirely...heh...

I the chance to work this weekend and I took it. I'm tired - going to take a bath and go to bed. See you tomorrow.

How was your weekend?

Thoughtfetti

I have a "new" oven/stove thanks to a friend, Someone, some sweat, the loan of a circular saw, and a bitof wiring. I'm very happy, both to have saved Mum the cost of a new one (thanks anyway, Mum) and to have a working oven again.
~~~~~
The space bar on Bob the Wonder Computer is still only working intermittently. Fun.
~~~~~
The same evening that Someone and our friend Handy J replaced the oven/stove, we had a big storm. Lots of wind. The neighbor's tree fell on my utility trailer. The utility trailer I need to use in two-and-one-half weeks. The one we'll be living in when we head to Ohio for our annual Solstice camp out. It has two holes in the roof. Someone and Handy J both assure me they can repair the trailer, make it waterproof again...just as soon as we get the tree off it.
~~~~~
The same tree took out our satellite dish. With some more sweat, some creative language, and a dollop of determination, Someone got the dish back into place. The tree that came down had been partially blocking our signal. Now that it's down, we can watch hockey again. Silver lining.
~~~~~
I had to make a choice...pay the phone bill or buy nappies and formula. If you don't see me around for a bit, it's not 'cause I don't love you.
~~~~~
How're you doing?

I Will Remember

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

Many of my family have served their country in the various branches. My brother was in the Army, but thankfully got out when yet another gopher hole tried to eat his ankle. Don't ask. My Uncle was in the Air Force, even flying Air Force Two for a while. My Grandfather was in the Coast Guard during World War II. I have a cousin in the Air Force. I believe he flies Airforce somethingorother from time to time. I have a friend who was in the Army during the Vietnam War (conflict, my ass!) - I never once resented the calls at three-o'clock in the morning; nightmares shy away from friendly voices, from reason and reassurance. Another friend was in the Army until it broke his back - literally. He survived, but not his plans for a lifetime in the military - they don't want broken people, no matter how useful or clever they are. Someone's family is jam-packed with folks who've served - mostly Navy, I believe - and deserve some respect and thanks. So...thanks.

For a history of this day, go here. Or here. Or here. In a nutshell, Memorial Day is for remembering the fallen. Veteran's Day is for honoring the living. That's why they get two days, and so they should. Men and women stand up and make targets of themselves to maintain our freedoms every day of the year, so the least we can do is take two days to tell them "Thanks. Thanks for acting against human nature and protecting me and mine. Thanks for losing an arm, a leg, a life so that I don't have to."

It's not about the politics. I'm non-violent. I don't think war is ever a reasonable response to conflict. I won't forget, though, that people have laid down their lives so that I may stand on a street corner protesting (I never would) them, or denigrating (never, ever!) them for their service.

Perhaps one day, we won't have any new graves to decorate. Until then, I remember and (as best I can) I honor.

While She Sleeps

I love to hold her while she sleeps, soft, limp, warm baby girl.

I love her sighs, little murmurs, tiny twitches, when she nestles a little closer.

I love to watch her wake, stretching, eyes opening, looking around,thousand-watt smile blazingonto her face.

Holding her is a reminder that despite my numerous flaws and failures, sometimes I do get it right.

She's a great comfort.

I love to hold her while she sleeps.

But You Can't Hide

From time to time I am nearly overcome with the desire...the need...to run away.

Run away from home, friends, family, this life I'm living.

Run away from the bills I can't pay, the house I can't keep clean, the broken things I can't fix or replace, the inevitable, resigned disappointment of those around me when I fail...again...

That's the fuel - that disappointment. It hurts.

I daydream about taking the kids and starting over where no one knows me.

But I know it won't make a difference. You can run...

One of THOSE Days...er...Weeks...

Aaaaaarrrrrrghhhhhhh!

Pant, pant.

Ahem.

Aaaaaarrrgggghhhhhhhhh!!

Pant, pant, pant.

Hrrrrhhemmm.

One more...

Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrghhhhhhhhh!!!

Pant, pant...pant...

Whew.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way...

I realize that I am Entropy's bitch. It doesn't have to keep driving the point home. And Murphy really doesn't need to chime his ass in, either.

My oven is kaput. Whaydaya mean, I can't bake??

The last bulb in the how-the-heck-do-you-change-the-bulbs-in-this-thing-? foyer light blew.

The dryer doesn't care to, at the moment.

The left "Shift" Key fell off of Bob the Wonder Computer.

I got it back on, but now the space bar isn't. Spacing. I have to keep striking it until it feels space-y again, which is about one-third of the time...this post took half of forever to type.

The trash company didn't pick ours up this week...probably because I haven't paid them. Unreasonable people.

The Blue Nowhere was just the Nowhere today at the Casa de Crazy - again with the whole paying the bill thing. Sigh. I need a patron. Or a lottery win.

Sprout decided that 4:30 was exactly the right time to get up for the day and naps are for chumps.

There's more, but between the space bar that isn't and the baby that thinks blogging, like naps, is for chumps, I need to be done. How's your life goin'?

Live and Let Live...Just Not Next Door (SO Series)

Imagine, dear reader, that you are looking for a home.

No problem, right? There are plenty of free publications offering rentals and homes for sale in every neck of the woods and at every price level

But wait.

You can't move in any old where.

You have limitations.

You can't live near a school. Hmm...OK...not too difficult, plenty of places not near schools, although that makes getting the kids to and from a bit more of a challenge.

Oh, wait...you also can't live near a daycare. Oh...OK...so any neighborhood with a home daycare or a daycare center is out

Whoopsie, forgot...no church, either. Huh...there are some parts of the country where that's just not possible. Heck, here in Redneck Central you can't spit without hitting a Baptist something or other.

Also, no playgrounds, parks, or places where children congregate. No YMCA, public swimming pool, or mall with a playground or skate park.

You need to search carefully around your prospective new home, because if you don't locate every one of the above and make certain it's more than 1,000 feet from where you'll be living?

Jail. Possibly for life.

Imagine being told you cannot visit your parents, or any of your family. If you do?

Jail. Possibly for life.

Imagine, dear reader, that the same applies for place of employment, or educational facility.

Imagine that you must find a way to support your family while living within these edicts. Imagine, if you can, your spouse being fired because you're married to him/her. Imagine your children relentlessly bullied at school, at church, at soccer/football/baseball because they're yours. Imagine people coming to your house and threatening you, threatening your family.

Imagine law enforcement providing your address to anyone who wants it, because it's the law.

Imagine not being able to travel for any length of time without first getting permission.

Imagine having to turn over every phone number, every e-mail or online account with passwords so that someone may, at any time, log on and see what you are doing...and if they don't approve?

Jail. Possibly for life.

Imagine having to go every year (in some place more often) to a dark, dreary office and proclaim your presence in the area, give your address and fingerprints, and wait for someone to come and confirm that you live there. Imagine having to move because someone opens a childcare, a church, a park within the thousand feet (unless you're lucky enough to live somewhere that has grandfather clauses).

Imagine having to wear an ankle bracelet, never to be removed, that has a GPS device, and if you stray into a no-no area (inadvertent though it may be)?

Jail. Possibly for life.

Imagine never being able to see your child's school play or recital, never attending a scouting camp out or overnight function, never serving as a classroom parent or chaperon, never taking your child to an amusement or water park, never going to the beach.

Imagine being afraid to change your daughter's diaper, wipe your son's bottom, give your child a bath.

Imagine having to worry about all of that for the rest of your life...all of that and more. Imagine people treating you as pariah because you've been labelled, and that label doesn't differentiate the severity of your act.

Imagine being eighteen and thrown into a cold, callous, uncaring system, knowing that the rest of your days you will be called "Sex Offender" and will carry the burden of that label until you die. No one will hire you, no one wants you living near them, no one cares that the girl* you "offended" was your girlfriend, that she consented, that she was three days from her seventeenth birthday. Or perhaps she lied and told you she was seventeen when she was not, that she has done this before, that she likes to toy with older boys, or perhaps she's looking to score, to gain merit in the eyes of her peers (if you think that doesn't happen, you're wrong - it happens every day, girls and boys both). Her consent, her deceit, do not matter. The fault is yours and yours alone.

No one cares - all they see is the label.

They see a pedophile. They do not look, do not want to look, beyond their own presumption of guilt



*I say "girl", but this applies equally to the males of the species. Please don't get your knickers in a twist because of my gender bias - I don't care to type "girl/boy", "his/her", or "they/their" all the time. I'm lazy.

At Mum's

There are worse place to spend one's last day, should it prove the Rapture is a-comin'.

Not that it applies to me - I'm not Christian, nor am I descended (spiritually speaking) from the first two (who couldn't be Christian because Christ wasn't born then, so how could they follow his teachings?)(not that following his teachings make a Christian, because if it did there'd be a whole lot of empty churches around where I live, and no one would have to worry about whether they had a place in heaven after the Rapture). Being Pagan, I get to sit back and watch, then go looting.

Oh, c'mon, tell me you wouldn't go picking through all the nifty stuff left behind. I really could use a recliner, and an oven that, oh, I dunno, actually works (ours died its final death a few nights ago...now I can't bake anything, and that's like not being able to go to therapy...ack!!). They can't take it with 'em, so why shouldn't I make use of what's there?

Still, if I was Christian, and if I did believe that the end is not only nigh, it's breathing down our necks and crowding us at the checkout, I think this would qualify as a most satisfactory last day.

We're up at Mum's. Lately, we're up here about once a week - Someone does yard work and I keep Sprout and the Evil Genius from taking over the world. Also, I cook breakfast and dinner, because Mum could use the break and shouldn't have to fix meals for all of us, and because I'm a better cook. OK, not really that last one, but Mum reads this blog and I have to get a dig in somewhere.

Today started early for me - 5 am - but it wasn't too bad. Nice sunrise, and Sprout cuddled up and dozed on me for a couple of hours, so I didn't have to walk her around or worry about her cries waking anyone else up. A nice leisurely breakfast, then I got a pot roast started for dinner while Mum and Bird played on the Wii for a bit. After they were done, Sprout and I snoozed on the recliner (I can't loot this one after the Rapture, because Mum's not Christian either, and she might get mad if her chair goes missing) while Mum and Someone finished erecting the deer fence. It looks good. A nice dinner, and then Sprout and I made use of the porch swing as evening finished falling (but not on our heads).

Listening to the birds, the pip-pip-pip of the humming birds chastising us for being too close to their evening snack spot, the humming of the bees coming in to the home they've made in one of Mum's bird houses, the frogs singing out in their chorus, swinging in the lovely coolth...it was peaceful in a way we cannot manage at Casa de Crazy.

Now there's hockey on, and since we're at Mum's it's a clear signal, no pixelating (like everything else at the Casa, the satellite isn't working right...ugh...), so Someone won't miss a goal or some other crucial play (I'll know it's really the end when things work they way they should at Casa de Crazy).

We'll be home again tomorrow, and the world will crowd in on us once more. I'll have to pick up the small stresses that I leave behind whenever we come up here, the little worries and cares that weigh on me at Casa de Crazy but have no meaning at Mum's - Rapture or not, bills need paying, laundry needs doing, there's sewing to finish and more to begin, the house needs cleaning...I'm too busy for the end of the world as we know it, thanks.

What're you up to?

There Is No Title

I have a recurring dream.

Actually, I have several recurring dreams, my psyche's own little video library, but I'll spare you most of them for the moment.

This one particular dream, I've had quite often, of late.

The colors are dark - greys, blues, purples, colors of night. I'm in a forest. There are hunters. They are not after me. I am gliding from shadow to shadow, sliding across frozen puddles of moonlight, seeking the hunters' prey.

He's there in the wood. I can hear him, soft though he treads; his heartbeat thunders in my mind.

I find him in a tiny clearing, illuminated. He is waiting for me, silver in the night. Just as I reach him, the hunters break through. He snarls. I place myself between him and the people who would kill him, though I am armed only with wit and will.

No words are spoken, but our intents are clear - the wolf will be the wolf, himself always, never tame, never docile, he will tolerate his chosen few but never bend himself to another's will. The hunters will destroy him if they can...all they see is his danger. And me? I will split wide the earth, call down the gale, loose the conflagration, summon the rushing waters, fight tooth and toenail to protect him. Whatever the cost, I will not let them destroy this wild, beautiful thing. In my dream, I am more than equal to these fluttering, ineffectual fools. All they have are weapons of metal and wood - I have Nature's fury with which to do battle.

Within the dream, I fear only that I will be too late. Once I've found him, that fear passes - I am absolutely confident that I will prevail. I will not make the first move, but I will not hesitate to defend him against all comers, and they will fail.

Sometimes the dream ends there - hunters circling, wolf growling, teeth bared, my hands raised, face set in stony determination.

Sometimes it ends in the midst of the melee, slain and wounded hunters scattered around us, more coming at us, wolf exuding primal rage, myself drawing on my cold anger to fuel the arts with which I do battle.

Sometimes it ends with the wolf and I walking through the silent forest, untouched, moonlight marking our path.

What have you been dreaming of?

Kick-Ass Pasta Salad

The Evil Genius spent the weekend with his dad, and Someone, Sprout and I went up to Mum's to get some garden-type things done there.It's slow going, because when we go up there it either rains or we discover that we need a tool or some other supplies to get a job done, or (as happened earlier this week) a piece of equipment craps out and we need to get it fixed (thank goodness for friends who are handy and kind-hearted - hopefully the mower will be up and running again very soon).

I made a pasta salad for lunch that was freakin' amazing. I have no photographs and no measurements, but I had to share the basic recipe with you because I am mighty chuffed about it.

The players:
Tortellini, any kind you like ( I used chicken and herb this time)
Pesto
Mayonnaise
Lemon Juice
Cabbage
Carrots
Celery
Salt
Pepper
Parmesan Cheese

Action:
Cook the tortellini until al dente. How much? Umm...how much pasta salad do you want?

While the pasta is cooking, thinly slice or shred some cabbage. How much? Again, it depends on how much salad you want, but I didn't use a lot - just enough to add a little texture to the finished product. Shred some carrots. See cabbage for amounts. Chop a stalk or two of celery.

In a separate bowl, mix two parts mayo to one part pesto. You can use more pesto if you want - I didn't have a lot of it, but may bump up the green stuff next time I make this, because I love me some pesto. Mix in some Parmesan, salt and pepper, and a few squeezes of lemon juice.

Toss the shredded cabbage, carrots, and chopped celery in a large bowl. Add half the mayo mixture.

When the pasta is cooked, drain and chill it. Once chilled, toss it into the cabbage mixture. Add the rest of the mayo mixture a little at a time until the salad is sauced to your liking. Chill. Nom. nom, nom.

What I didn't have but plan to use next time, maybe:
Green Onions
Artichoke Hearts
Fresh Peas

Lemme know if you make it, whether you add your own touches, and how you like it

Thoughtfetti

Sprout's morning playlist (she likes music, go figure) contains Flogging Molly, Godsmack, Natalie Imbruglia, Cheryl Crow, Slipknot, Great Big Sea, Eric Church, Jeannie C Riley, Pearl Jam, Coyote Run, and Nickel Creek. Wonder what she'll listen to when she's older...
~~~~~
I cut the catnip with the special Kitty Claw Trimmers o' Doom. I like the symmetry...
~~~~~
The last few nights, I've had troubling dreams, unpleasant subjects leaving me feeling worried and stressed, but they've been lovely because they're in water colors. If only I could paint as well as my mind...
~~~~~
I may have lucked into getting my little trio of childrens' stories published. We'll see...
~~~~~
Where does Sprout put all the formula she's drinking? Four ounces every hour or two, good grief...I think there's a portable hole in her stomach, and it's all flowing into another dimension.
~~~~~
The Thai Insanity Pepper sprout has its second set of leaves and is beginning the third...I may grow one, yet!
~~~~~
Is it too late for me to learn how to play the fiddle?
~~~~~
Someone tell me why I'm paying so much for the world's largest 3G network when I can't access it anywhere because either my phone or the system is buggy...
~~~~~
Bird brought home a bible and a book of bible stories from his last visit with his father. He's been reading the stories to me, and we discuss them. He didn't know I knew the bible fairly well. I don't mind - I want him to learn that there are many religions, philosophies, and spiritual paths, and I don't think any one is the only one...but I do wish they weren't the Jehova's Witness versions of the books...oy... Guess I'll have to go down in to the library and find my old Children's Bible (the one I had when I was a kid).
~~~~~
Spell Check doesn't like "Jehova". Huh.
~~~~~
The Evil Genius is with his dad for the weekend, and Someone and I are taking Sprout up to Mum's to install deer fence around the garden (it's a project, lemme tell you). What're your weekend plans?

Short Stories (SO Series)

These are all true - they happened, either to me or to people I knew. I'm telling these stories because they illustrate (I hope) that there are many facets to this issue.

One facet - I was ten years old when a neighbor decided I was old enough to touch his penis, to stroke him and felate him until he ejaculated. I learned to keep a Kleenex handy to wipe the weird white stuff of of my mother's couch. He opined that I would soon be old enough for him to put it inside me, and that it would feel so good. Eventually he and his family moved away. I never told anyone about our after-school "dates", for fear I'd get into trouble.

D was fourteen when she agreed to go into the barn with T. He wanted more than she did. He was nineteen, and stronger than she, and he got what he wanted. It wasn't the first time he'd talked a younger girl into the barn, nor the last. Going into the barn with T gave a girl cachet, even if she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it...and at that time, at that age, status was everything.

P was six when she went to live with her father. She was a teen when her mother finally got her back. Her father taught her many things which no child should know.

Another facet - S was fifteen when she met B. He was in his twenties, in the Navy. They were in love. They had sex. She got pregnant. They married. Several decades and two more kids later, they're still married.

K was a young teen when she met B. Still in high school while he was well out and making his way in the world (in his twenties). They dated with the consent of her parents. They married, and several decades and three sons later, they're still married.

And a third facet - S was nineteen when he met L at a party. In college, studying for his future, he was taking a rare break. She told him she was eighteen, in nursing school. They dated, had sex...and her mother found out. L's mother pressed charges, despite L's insistence that she'd consented, that she'd lied about her age (she was fifteen). He went to prison for several years.

J was in his twenties when he met X at the park. They talked on the phone a few times, and then she asked him over to her place. They fooled around a bit - no sex, just petting. Her father found out. J went to prison for twelve years. Turns out, X wasn't seventeen, as she'd said.

T was a middle-school teacher. He liked to go to the beach on the weekend, enjoy sun, surf, and sand. One day, he and a friend went to a nude beach, curious about it. They thought it would be nice to sun themselves without bathing suits. The beach was empty, so they shucked their clothing and commenced to enjoying a sunny day on the shore. The police explained, while arresting them, that the nude beach was actually several hundred yards along.

There are more stories to tell, but these should suffice. Which of the above are predators? Which are rapists? Which pedophiles? And which ones were the victims of their own misunderstanding or of another's misdirection? The law makes no distinction. The law says they are all criminals of the same class. This is wrong. They are not all the same - the young man who believes a girl when she says she's old enough is not the same as the middle-aged man who preys on his neighbor's ten-year old daughter (knowing full well her age). The man who unwittingly exposed himself to an empty beach is not the same as the one who coerced girls on the floor of a barn. They should not be treated as like...but they are. How is that just?

Vocabulary (SO Series)

I've had something on my mind for a long while now. About a decade, in fact. It is a knotty issue, one that won't easily, if ever, be unknotted. It's the kind of issue on which one generally remains silent unless one wishes to lose friends, whatever side one stands on.

My feelings on the matter stem from my own experiences in life, and from the experiences of a number of people in my life. My opinion has been shaped by laws and their implementation, and by my views of justice, of what is just.

I am not saying I'm right, or wrong, or anything but one woman who has had occasion to form an opinion regarding a particular facet of our society and its views.

The subject?

Sex offender laws.

It's too big for one, or even two posts, so I'm going to write a series of however many it takes to satisfy me that I've articulated whatever it is I'm trying to articulate.

So, to begin, let's have a bit of vocabulary, shall we?

Sex Offender (Dictionary.com)
noun
someone who has been convicted of a sex crime

Sexual Predator (Wikipedia.com)
A sexual predator is...a person who habitually seeks out sexual situations that are deemed exploitative...

Pedophile(Dictionary.com)
noun
an adult who is sexually attracted to young children.

Rape (Dictionary.com)
verb
any act of sexual intercourse that is forced upon a person.

Rapist (Dictionary.com)
noun
a person who commits rape

And one thing that is not a definition, but rather a parameter:
Age of consent in USA: 16 - 18, varying by state

One last thing - as I am certain I will write about other things (like Life, the Universe, and Everything), I will try to remember to add "SO Series" to any post title regarding this topic so you can skip the posts if you prefer. Just because I feel the need to express myself on the matter doesn't mean you should have to read about it.

Consider

Sex Offender.

What does that mean to you?

Fasten your seatbelts, this blog's going on a bumpy ride.

Mother's Day

I didn't post yesterday because I was busy being a mom.

The denizens of Casa de Crazy (the human ones, anyway) went up to Mum's place on Saturday night, and Someone and Mum spent most of yesterday prepping and installing the deer fence. They didn't finish, but they got a lot done, and should be able to finish it next time we're up.

This fence is an oddity to me - it's not very tall, which is counter to what I know about fencing out deer...and it's invisible. Anyway, it's invisible to the deer. I suppose it's meant to confuse them - can't jump over what you can't see. A friend of Mum's swears by it, so we'll see...if it works, we'll have more than quadrupled the garden potential for our family.

I spent yesterday hanging out in the cabin with the kids, swinging on the porch swing listening to Mum and Someone as they began fence assembly, and managing to score a nap. Not a bad day, all told.

I hope you had a pleasant Mother's Day, whether because you're a mom or because you were celebrating with one.

Aching

Whew...sometimes I wonder if I'll ever have another day without wincing.

Mind you, I know I have it fairly easy - I don't have any kind of degenerative disease or chronic condition...just a body that's getting a little older every day.

Last Thursday I was supposed to go have a little semi-surgical thing done, but I cancelled the appointment the week before. I was trying to get a straight answer as to how medically necessary it was, and no one seemed to be able to quantify the urgency...but given the casual tone of the nurse and the distinct lack of hurry-up in the return calls, I'm thinking I'll keep a little longer.

I don't really want to go have it done, if I'm being honest. I'm already tired, and hurt all over. I don't much care to add another zone of discomfort to the mix. Also, the "procedure" costs darned near $900, and that's with the pay-now discount! Talk about a pain!

Also, also, since I was first made aware of this condition (and that was an irritating process that I'm not sharing publicly...except to say that I'm not a doctor so maybe I don't understand these things, but when a patient tests positive for a condition that could maybe possibly lead to cancer some day in the future, I wouldn't wait almost a year to tell them. Just sayin'.), I was assured that it would most likely clear up. Another test, and I needed to come in for more testing because it wasn't going to go away just yet, and I would need another test. That test was near $300, and after it was done the doctor told me he didn't think there was anything to worry about, they'd call me with the results. Then they called and said I would need a "procedure" to take care of things...and here we sit.

Every step of the way, they've told me everything is fine, it shouldn't need anything more...and then they call and tell me there's more. After this, the next "more" is cancer. Can you blame me?

There's another factor here, one I'm not proud of. I'm tired in more than body. Mind and spirit are worn, too...and I have my darker moments when I must admit that I don't care if it's something worse or this next bit of medical trickery will do. Hey, I promised I wouldn't ever try to take my own life, but I never promised I'd make any effort to live.

Not that I expect anyone will, but don't panic - I am making another appointment. Eventually. Soon.

My toe aches from catching that can o' milk that cliff-dove off the counter two weeks ago. My foot, ankle, knee and hip hurt from compensating for the stupid toe. My lower back is stiff and sore. My middle back has a spot that hurts enough to make my breath catch when I don't move just. Exactly. Right. My neck and shoulders hurt from carrying around this marvelous, sweet, cranky baby girl for most of the day (because I would love to just sit and cuddle her all the time, but the laundry won't do itself, nor the dishes, nor meals prepare themselves...you get the picture), my head aches, my mind is sluggish (four hours of sleep a night for almost a week will do that to me), and my heart and soul are in desperate need of patching, if not a complete overhaul.

I'm trying to bounce. I'm trying to go outside and breathe in the sweet, clean air, trying to smell the honeysuckle and taste the strawberries fresh off the plant and soak in the sweetness, trying to enjoy the simplicity of hanging laundry out to dry...but some days it's all lost in the cacophony of a self that is aching.

How're you feeling?

Five Things (Casa de Crazy Needs Cleaning Edition)

Five Things...

...on the poor abused futon that serves as both our couch and our emergency back-up guest sleeping space (as long as the guest doesn't mind waking up crippled and/or pretzel shaped in the morning): cat hair (lots and lots of cat hair); two bath towels of indeterminate cleanliness; a roll of toilet paper; my arse print; the finest, most extensive collection of cereal crumbs, chip leavings, and other tidbits this side of the Mississippi.

...under the poor abused futon that hasn't had a break in years and has a cushion that is listing slightly to port because that's the side I sit on and my fifty-acre arse has flattened it beyond redemption: several entities that one could call dust bunnies if one was feeling charitable, and if dust bunnies could be made almost entirely of cat hair; a flattened and "stowed" purple Bongo Bag that was stuffed full of Mega Bloks and living in the garage until I "rescued" it and its contents (which contents are now in the baby's room because every newborn plays with blocks, right? Right.) and may or may not still have mouse...erm...leavings on it despite my having cleaned it several times; a large plastic tray/box insert full of tiny, baby-choking pieces of a zillion-piece farm set that won't fit anywhere else (except one duck that the Evil Genius deemed necessary for another game); part of the cereal crumb, chip leaving, tidbit collection that was deemed unfit for display but still necessary to the collection as a whole; several clods/clumps of something I hope is mud from off Someone's shoes and not the results of some unfortunate kitty digestive distress.

...that need the attention of my bored, neglected fluffy duster thingy, leaning forlornly in the corner waiting for me to love it again: every fan blade on every fan in the Casa - I bet I could shave a c-note off my power bill if I dusted those suckers and lightened the load; the place where the wall meets the ceiling (or vice versa), where I have a well-established community of cobwebs that I should take down and felt into a piece of found-object art that I could sell to help pay the fan-related power bill; the open area above the kitchen cupboards - I think a Hobbit may be wrapped up in one of those dust-danglies; the dining room light fixture, which has more hair than my haven't-been-defuzzed-in-over-a-year getaway sticks; the back of the fridge, a place I have never, ever dusted on the premise that it would take me a year just to clear off off the top so I could move it away from the wall without danger of a crapalanche, and that coat of schmutz is like insulation, isn't it?

...that should be put away but likely won't be before the year is through: the glittery gold reindeer that belongs in the box of Yule related interior decorations that is safely buried in the closet under the stairs behind where Harry's bed would be and is in no danger of being disturbed any time soon; the pile of clean laundry that has a rotating population but never seems to lose mass or density despite the ever-changing contents and frequent relocation from bed to various other furniture venues; the stuff on top of the fridge that makes it impossible for me to live the dream and dust behind said appliance; the mountain of books that teeters at the foot of the bed, waiting for space on the already stuffed-to-the-gills-no-really-one-more-book-and-we'll-collapse-in-on-ourselves-and-make-a-singularity library shelves downstairs; any and all of the millions of tiny, what the heck is this thing? toys and game pieces on the Evil Genius's bedroom floor (his feet haven't touched Pergo this year, and I've cleaned in there, honest!!).

...that should be thrown away, which is saying a lot when the person doing the saying is a freakin' packrat: the camera tripod with the broken, won't lock into place so you can't actually use it as a tripod because it'll go all wonky but maybe we can still fix it leg; the almost empty but if I tip it just right and wait for a while, maybe chant a Zen mantra or something, jar of my favorite lotion that's sitting by the bed; the self-propelled lawn mower that neither propels itself nor mows the lawn because it has an identity crisis and alternates believing it's a coat rack, a large, greasy, gritty paperweight, and an impediment to my walking through the garage without stubbing my toe; the pile of old bills and papers I cleared out of the downstairs closet so we could stow preps in there, said papers being a surprise to me because they used to be contained neatly in a file cabinet that oddly disappeared when T moved out, said filing cabinet being mine long before T and I ever met, but who's bitter?, said papers also being from before T and I met and long past the point of usefulness or necessity unless we wish to start a very large, ink scented fire; the pile of tubs, tubes, and canisters piled up with our home school art supplies because we might one day make them into musical instruments, pencil holders, or piggy banks for various grandparents and other family members, who will then be forced to keep and/or use them so as not to hurt the kids' feelings but who secretly wish they could throw them away when no one's looking because who wants pencils that smell of Pringles or cashews??

How 'bout you? Got one or twelve-thousand things that need doing? Tell me about 'em...

Printemps

So What's Different?

Gettin' political, y'all...
~~~~~
Osama Bin Laden is dead.

Huh.

And this changes what, exactly?

Is the "war" over, now? Can all the men and women putting themselves in harm's way come home?

Yeah, I thought not.

It's never been about old Osama Yo Mama.

It's about the oil, and the balance of power, and votes, and retaining power by instilling fear in the populace while simultaneously thieving away our liberties. Not that I have an opinion, or anything.

I'm sorry, y'all, but Bin Laden was one man among many, and all I can muster up at the news of his demise is a half-hearted "So what?".

I am wondering if there will be any political repercussions for Pakistan, for harboring him...in a million-dollar mansion, no less.

Wait, what am I saying? Of course not. No one believes in consequences, any more.

Beltane

Whew...I'm a bit late with this, but I have a terrific excuse - we went up to Mum's, and I couldn't load photos on to her computer, and I couldn't manage to get my phone to let me write a post.

So we celebrated Beltane today. This is the holiday wherein the Goddess leaves the Maiden phase of the year and enters the Mother phase. This is where the God moves towards the fullness of his power, moving from Youth to Hunter. Today, he planted the seed for his rebirth, wedding the Goddess and (to use the vernacular) getting her with child (the child that will be born at Yule, himself come again into the world - dizzying, huh?). Lots of folks like to go "greenwooding" on May eve, and on Beltane. What's "greenwooding"? Hmm...how to put this...delicately...

Pagans. In the woods and fields. Celebrating fertility. Get it? Cool...save me from embarrassing myself.

As for myself, Someone, the Evil Genius, Sprout, and Mum? We celebrated with another tradition; we lit the balefire.

Lucky for us, Mum has a small parcel of dirt she calls her own, lives outside her town's limits (where there's a burn ban), and constantly has brush, deadfall, and various other burnables to...er...burn. Bonfire twice a year, at least, woo-hoo! Happy (not at all)naked Pagan dance!!

So, our fire:

It was a nice burn. We placed a bit of food and a libation on the fire, an offering to our Gods. We passed cakes (ok, ok, so they were Robin Eggs) and wine (eh, water, wine...it's all about the symbology)(that one was for you, Sir)(symbolism) and offered each other the blessing "May you never hunger. May you never thirst". I collected some of the ash, which I'll use year 'round for various blessings.

When we got home, Someone played in the new garden bed (he can tell you 'bout that some day), Bird played in the sprinkler, and I did dishes and kept Sprout from taking over the Internet with her cuteness. It was a close shave. You're welcome.

So how was your weekend??

Hope Greening

There's a lot going on outside Casa de Crazy - gardens being tended, new beds being tilled and cultivated. We've slowly begun to supplement our store-bought food with fresh things; spinach in our scrambled eggs, a handful of strawberries in the morning, a few green onions.

Last Sunday, while the Evil Genius was being loaded down with sugary-food-coloring treats at his father's, Someone, Sprout and I went over to a friend's house. Someone was going to do some yard work and I was there to give a Reiki treatment. Sprout was along for the ride, but once we got there she provided some amusement for the resident kitties (who, to my knowledge, have never met an infant before). We scored a bit of chicken wire while we were there (it was languishing under the porch) and Someone knew just what to do with it.

Pea fence!

So now the peas have something to climb and spread out along, and they're quite happy about it. Someone put up a bit right away, and on Wednesday evening we had house guests, one of whom helped Someone put up a bit more fencing. I'm looking forward to fresh peas, and will (if there are enough of 'em)(are there ever really enough fresh peas??) make some into baby food for Sprout - in a few months, she'll be able to start eating "solids" (because calling it "mush" isn't very appetizing, is it??), and as with the Evil Genius, I want to make as much of her baby food as I can.

We've had rough luck with the peppers this year, but I finally got one of the Thai Insanity Pepper seeds (aka Prik-e-gnu) that I won from Phelan to sprout. I am hoping it will flourish and provide us with eye-watering, tongue scorching, ear burning, peppery goodness.

Okra, beans, squash, cucumbers, potatoes and sunflowers are all showing promise. We'll get pumpkins in soon, with hopes to have some ripe by October. If we can get them to grow, what isn't carved (pumpkin seeds, woo-hoo!!!) will hopefully become puree for future cakes, bread, and muffins.

I am also hoping that anything we don't eat or sell (we're attempting a small CSA) I can either freeze, dry, or pickle. Last year, a lot was wasted. I wanted to learn to pickle, but did not. Hopefully I'll do better this year.

We may have a few blueberries from the bushes we planted last year...but I think I'll be raiding (with permission, of course) Mum's kind-hearted neighbor's lovely run again this year. We still have a wealth of berries in the freezer from last-year's forays!

Mum has a fig forest (it's one tree, but it looks like a forest). I do not care for figs...but I hate to let 'em go to waste...so whatever she and her friends do not eat, I will experiment with. If nothing else, I can always dry 'em...but I may get ambitious and try Cinner's recipe for fig newtons - which, despite my disdain for figs, I adore.

An upside to all this greening? Saving some green at the grocer's - good grief, have you seen how much fresh tomatoes cost? With fuel prices climbing, everything costs more...so anything we don't have to buy is a bonus.

There's another benefit to all this agriculture - we're outside more, which helps clear the cobwebs and get the blood circulatin', no bad thing in my book. Someone's working his butt off (not that he has a lot to work off, mind...)!

If you garden (even if it's just in your mind), what do you plant?

Analgesic

Tuesday, I dropped a can of evaporated milk on the second toe of my right foot.

It hurt.

It's turning interesting colors. I'd show you, but I can't get my camera to talk to my computer right now.

I'm walking funny because of it.

Walking funny while carrying a hold-me baby has made my foot hurt, and my ankle, and my knee, and even my hip and back.

So tonight, I took a pain pill. I don't often take them - even after the c-section, I kept the pills to a minimum. They make me feel dopey. Don't worry, it wasn't a heavy-weight one, just an Advil. I wouldn't have taken it, but I am tired in more than body and could use some sleep...not that I'm getting any, up all hours blogging...

Two hours later, my foot hurts a bit less.

Where's the pain pill for my heart, though? It's been rather hammered, lately, poor blighted thing, and could use a little relief itself...but I can't seem to find anything in the medicine chest to help with that ache.

Bothering

My camera is crapping out on me.

That's ok, though, because my computer's crapping out on me, too, so even if the camera was working properly, I couldn't off-load the photographs any way.

I can't crop or do anything else to my photos, and I can't afford to print them anyway, so I can't make cards for the co-op. I'm not sure that matters.

I used to write music, but lately? I can't seem to find it in me. I don't even want to sing. I have a huge case of "Who the hell cares?".

I don't even want to write. It's all unhappiness, isn't it? And can you honestly say you aren't tired of it?

I find myself wishing I could be in a terrible accident so I could abdicate responsibility for my life for a little while. Don't worry, it's just wishful thinking. I'm tired, and it all seems rather futile...like I needn't bother.

I'm bothering, anyway.

Peace

There is no peace here at Casa de Crazy.

Things beep and boop, creak and groan, buzz and hum, whoosh and whir.

The phone rings, rings again.

Cats meow.

The Evil Genius is never still and does not value or even understand silence - he seems to need to fill it with his motion and noise. If I don't pay attention, stop what I'm doing and focus on him, he escalates, often until I snap at him, send him outside, feelings hurt.

The baby cries.

The neighbor's dog barks.

Some of the noise is alright-wind in the trees, frogs peeping, the coyote pack yipping and laughing on the next ridge over (we are not out in the wilds, here - the coyote have adapted to farms and cluster housing), the baby cooing, giggling, making her happy noises - but too often the good stuff is interrupted by distant highway noises, loud voices at the neighbors', aircraft overhead, cars cruising through, civilization refusing to give us even a moment without a reminder of its existence.

I have occasionally wished I could scream "Shut up!!!" at all of it. I have even wondered if I wouldn't be happier deaf. Selectively deaf, deaf on demand, able to push some magical mute button that would allow me to savor some silence.

Without silence, without calm, without peace, I find it very difficult to do anything more than simply make it from one day to the next. I would like to do, to be, more...

Weather

We've had some storms here at Casa de Crazy, inside and out.

It may be that one reflects the other, but riddle me this: which is cause and which is effect?

Trying times.

Things tend to go wrong in clusters, around the Casa. It's never just one bad day, one bad mood, one angry moment. It's days and days of out-gassing, of blowing up and falling apart, of walking on eggshells and inevitably crushing them beneath our feet, dusting the grit from our toes as we plod on waiting for the next bright spot.

Bright spots, by the way, do not come in clusters. Elusive, they are so easily lost in mediocrity. We must actively seek them out, and once found, we must try to catch the ephemeral things, grasp them in less than perfect hands, hands rough from every-day use, calloused with frustration and toil, unsuited to holding gossamer mists, fairy wings, and joy.

Joy.

It flutters in on moth's wings and crumbles to dust in the corners, something else to sweep up and bin.

The children and I went for a walk one day last week. Someone was initially going to come as well, but something set off his anger - the Universe, playing its favorite sport, toying with him once again, knocking him around, bruising his dreams, his hands, his heart - and so we left him home to find his calm.

It was a windy day. Sprout, like her Papa, doesn't like wind in her face. I like to turn my face into the wind, breathe deep, taste and scent the story of its journey. It was a short walk, to the end of our street and back, perhaps a quarter mile all told. The Evil Genius was on his scooter (the old-fashioned, foot propelled, balance on one foot sort, not the motorized kind so prevalent today in grocery stores and among the elderly population) rolling ahead and then waiting for me to catch up.

We came home, walked and rolled around the cul-de-sac, content to circle and soak in the thin sunshine, unwilling to return just yet to the troubled light of home.

The wind stopped me, drew my eye to the crowns of some trees behind a neighbor's house. Towering above his two-storey home, they swayed, bowed, and twisted with the blustery gusts. My mind's eye saw fairies in their tree-top kingdoms, clinging to leaf and twig as they were tossed this way and that.

Sometimes it feels that way down here, as if life's winds have us in their grasp and are tossing us about, human hackey-sacs.

The trees, they bend and creak, give way a little while their roots go deeper, seeking better purchase.

Sometimes we bend, sometimes we cling, and sometimes we lose our grips and are blown to the corners of our world. Lately I feel like a piece of litter thrown to the ground, taken up by the storm, torn and tumbled about. I cannot seem to catch my breath, catch myself, before the thunder rolls once more.

So Tell Me...

I'm falling behind with blogging. I'm all tangled up with life, sticky, thorny vines wrapped around me so tight it sometimes feels like even breathing is a struggle.

Yesterday, I read this post over at BHJ's blog, and it led me down a line of thought that terminated with these questions: Are you seen? Are you heard? Is there anyone who cares enough to listen to and support your dreams? Tell me...

A Bit Late

Happy birthday, Mum!!!!!!!

Rats.

Or should I say, "Mice."? Well...mouse, anyway. There's a mouse at Casa de Crazy. It's not a pet. It's not in the Casa, but rather has opted for mobile home living in Rosy the (Astro Van) Mule. It has chewed papers, and crumbs, and the snacks that used to live in there because I have blood sugar issues and an Evil Genius who doubles as a bottomless pit (the way he eats now, I look toward his teen years with dread for my wallet, comforted in the knowledge that at least we'll get the economy back on track)(you're welcome), and it gnawed the scarf Mum knit for the boy. It pooped on the floor mats, it pooped on the back seat, it pooped in the console, and it pooped on the blankets that live in the back. It has made itself quite comfortable in there, and while I've been hoping one of the (not at all) wild cats would deal with it, I wasn't pressed about getting rid of it with any kind of violence. I was honestly hoping that once I cleaned the van out, the furry feller would find new digs. Instead, he found crumbs in the seat, crumbs under the seat, and a bag of sunflower seeds I didn't even know was there. I decided I had to get a trap. Today, when I went to the store to resupply the cupboards, I decided to get one. A trap, that is. I reached into the console for my cash - the last of my cash, in fact. Guess what else the furry little fucker chewed while he was at it? My forty bucks. Nothing left of it but a pile of greenish fluff. That's irony. I swear I can hear him laughing...

Wait, What Day Is It?

I keep losing track of days.

Whole days are disappearing.

Somebody call Mulder and Scully...somethin' fishy's goin' on around here. No it's not sleep deprivation. Who needs a full night's rest, anyway? Sprout doesn't. Neither does Rook. Why, just this morning they took turns helping me wake up.

Four-O'clock, and still a-bed? Sluggard!

Go back to sleep? Lazy bones...here, we'll help.

Rook alternated meyowling and licking my nose (talk about weird sensations) and Sprout joined in with a rousing chorus of "I May Sound Happy But If You Don't Feed Me Soon I'm Going To Make Tornado Sirens Sound Like A Muted Mime*."

Deceptive, these two girls - one's asleep on my arm, the other's curled up on the couch beside me. Ever diligent, though, they'll make sure I don't succumb to any nasty old naps. Meanwhile, there's work to do...somebody's got to locate those missing days...

"What're you lookin' at...?"

*The hit single by Captain Pooper and the Waaah-Waaahs, soon available for digital download.

Hard Lessons

When I was a kid, I left my favorite book outside our apartment, on a picnic table in the yard. Horton Hatches the Egg. I loved that book. It was my best friend. I took it everywhere with me. That night, it rained. Mum wouldn't let me go outside to get it, because it was quite a storm...so I knelt on the back of the couch and watched my beloved book get rained on, and I cried and cried. It was ruined, and I was devastated...but I learned a lesson. Bird's father let him have his old iPhone. Bird loved it, and played with the apps constantly. He'd fall asleep with it. Little Dude still wets the bed. The iPhone got wet and died, and T bought the boy an iTouch. Bird has played with it non-stop since he got it, downloading apps and watching videos. It has seen him through long waits in doctors' offices, long car trips, and is part of his bedtime ritual - play in his room until lights out, then play with the iThing (as I call it) until it's time to wrap it up and go to sleep. Then the iThing gets plugged in to charge and Little Dude goes to sleep. Can you see where this is going? Thursday evening, Bird told me his iThing wouldn't work. I told him to bring it to me - sometimes the battery is really, really dead and it just needs charging...but this time I could see something wrong. There was moisture inside the screen. I asked him if it had gotten wet...and he had to admit that he'd fallen asleep with it and wet the bed. I put the iThing in a bag of rice - sometimes it helps. Tonight, I tried to plug it in, but it wouldn't take a charge, wouldn't turn on. I'm going to try again tomorrow night, but don't hold out much hope. The iThing is dead...and Little Dude?? He's devastated. He's been crying in his room all evening. He was warned - if anything happened to the iThing, he would not get another. It is an expensive toy for a child to have. He was warned that he must look after it, was responsible for keeping track of it, and that he could not sleep with it, because if it got wet, it could be ruined. I hurt for him. We all have to learn this lesson...and it's not easy to watch him suffer his loss. In a perfect world, I could let him be sad for a while, let him learn his lesson, and then replace it eventually...but I can't. I don't have the money to buy such an extravagant thing, and T made it clear when he bought it that he would not replace it...so Bird's most cherished possession, his prize, the best thing his Daddy gave him (and part of his attachment to it is that it came from his father, so it's precious) is lost to him. It's a hard lesson, and it sucks.

Hello

Houseguests coming today. With any luck, they'll see some of this:

Thoughtfetti

We survived the weekend, collectively. I got home in time to pack the Evil Genius off with his dad (thanks to Mum, who packed his suitcase before I got home). A few Porsches got bent, and one or two were rather broken, but no one was hurt (except in their wallet) so the weekend was a success in my books. I had a blast, and I think they may ask me back again. Sprout had a good time at home with Someone - she loves her Papa!
~~~~~
I just learned that all the water in the world's reservoirs is causing a slight change in the Earth's rotation. Holy wow!
~~~~~
Popcorn + butter + salt + garlic powder = I need more of that!!
~~~~~
I never tire of watching Anthony Bourdain eat a warthog's asshole. It's wrong, I know...but ohmuhgoodness, it's sooooo funny! Having eaten my share of "eww" items, I can empathize...but I only have so much "polite" left in me, and I'm afraid it doesn't extend to dining on anus of any variety. He can have my share.
~~~~~
I suddenly have a craving for Jack Daniels Lynchburg Lemonade. Why? I haven't had one of those in decades. No kidding, decades.
~~~~~
I love listening to Someone talk to Sprout. It's even funnier when she talks back. She makes the funniest noises, now, and smiles. Hoo-ee, when she lays that thousand-watt smile on us, we melt. How has it already been two months??
~~~~~
How was your weekend?

Early Morning

Someone has been doing Papa duty solo this weekend as I'm working communications over at the track. Yesterday was stormy off and on all day, which made racing...interesting.

Last night, we went to sleep watching lightning strobe the night, listening to thunder rolling along the hills.

It seems the storm's gotten snagged in the trees, tearing itself open to scud along with the wind, dumping rain as it goes - this morning, it's a deluge outside Casa de Crazy, and the flashing outside is causing flickering inside. Racing today - two endurance races - will also be...interesting.

Sprout decided to wake me up a bit early this morning. I planned on being up at 5:40, but she thought 5:00 was better. It was nice, though, to hold her, feed her, and rock her back to sleep. I've missed doing it the last few days. This has been my first long stretch away from my family since before the baby was born. I miss them during the day.

Today, Someone gets a little reprieve - Mum is picking up the Evil Genius and bringing him to a friend's house-warming party. Then tonight, if all goes according to plan, T will pick the Evil Genius up and have him until Tuesday.

I wonder if I can get the boy's room clean in two days? Hmm...maybe if I had a steam shovel...

I have to go, now...time to paddle over to the track and see if our communications net is still alive or if we're relegated to using handheld radios for the day. I'm not holding my breath.

Guess What...

This man:

I love him. It's his birthday today. I have no gift for him. Truth be told, I think he's the gift. I baked him a yellow cake, and am going to frost it with home made chocolate frosting. For his birthday, I'm letting him cook dinner. Nice, ain't I?

Happy birthday, Sir. I'm glad you were born

That's Right, I Said "Bring It!"

What If...?

What if I hadn't been molested by a neighbor when I was 10? Would I have seen myself differently? Would I have grown into a different woman? Would I have seen the world differently? Would I have trusted more, or less?

What if I hadn't been molested by a family member between the ages of 13 and 15? Would I have done more, been more? Or would I have done, been, less?

What if I hadn't bee sexually assaulted when I was 18? Would I have felt more, or less, sure of myself?

What if I had stuck with the music degree, fought through the ennui, ignored the barbs of my fellow students, faked the confidence needed to make it through what is (believe it or not) second only to nursing as a killer major? What if I hadn't been content to be in the chorus, but had gone out for the lead every time? Would I be singing in a metropolitan opera house? Or would I be teaching voice lessons to the next aspiring generation?

What if I had paid better attention in English classes? Would I be a published author or still struggling with politely worded rejections? Or would I have seen the folly of trying to break into the vaunted halls of publication?

What if I had swallowed my anger, resentment, and pride and gone back to school, accepted my degree (I had enough credits when I left, how stupid was I to turn my back on that??)? Would I be a better person, more valuable and valued? Or would it make not a whit of difference?

What if I had done whatever it was I needed to do to hold my head up, look the world in the eye, and tell it to go fuck itself when it's being ugly?

What if, what if, what if...

I often say I wouldn't trade a single moment of my past for something different, because it brought me to this present. I've had my share of awful. Who hasn't? But without it, I wouldn't have the Evil Genius, or Sprout, or Someone, or the friends who love and tolerate me and my crazy.

Still...sometimes I will wonder...what if...

The Annual Ostara Shirk...er...Post

So it's Ostara again, and once again I have not written a post about what Ostara is besides the Equinox.

I know you're terribly disappointed. How 'bout I make it up to you with some chocolate? It's on the table in the kitchen, help yourself.

Meanwhile, we're at Mum's, coloring eggs and celebrating Spring. What're y'all up to today?

You Know, You Probably Shouldn't Encourage This Sort of Behavior

Hey, guess what??

I won something! No, not the lottery...if I won the lottery I wouldn't be blogging about it, I'd be collecting it.

Nope, no lottery...but I did win a blogging award. See?

SciFiChick gave it to me. Considering my content of late, I think she was being generous, but I was raised never to look a gift award horse in the mouth.

As is usually the case with these things, there are some rules. The question is, will I follow them?? Hmm...what to do, what to do...

I guess I'll play nice. For now.

First I'm supposed to tell you seven things that you may not know about me. Wow...umm...I don't know if I have seven things I haven't already blogged about. You already know I drive the crazy train, have two kids, a Someone, and a gracious plenty of cats. You know I'm a singer, a writer, a quilter, a photographer, and a lazy so-and-so. You know I'm Pagan. Huh...what have I got left? This is like writing a bio...and I really don't like writing bios. They give me hives. Ok, ok, enough with the stalling...here goes:

1. Some folks think I don't like dogs. That's not true. I grew up with dogs, and I love 'em. I don't like ill behaved dogs. I also don't want to be the only one cleaning up after or training a dog...so until recently I have refused to entertain the notion that Casa de Crazy could go to the dogs. Now I'm entertaining the notion, but have not begin to implement it yet - Someone loves dogs and I believe he would be a dab hand at dealing with them, but a new baby sort of put a crimp in caninery for a bit.

2. I have a dictionary that weighs more than my daughter. It is one of my favorite books. Someone likes it, too. We are constantly looking things up in it. We are, collectively, deeply weird and wordy.

3. I have been known, on rare occasions (although not in the last few years), to smoke something that is distinctly not tobacco. Shh, don't tell my Mum. Oh, wait...she reads my blog. Dang. I'm an advocate for legalizing said smokey comestible and will happily engage in a reasoned, educated conversation about it but am not interested in propaganda or hyperbole.

4. I am allegedly part New England Indigenous Tribal Person (read: Native American, but don't get me started on that semantic battle), which may explain why I don't like to borrow blankets from strangers.

5. I am an ordained minister. For reals! I can perform marriages and everything!

6. Whenever I'm in a new house, I mentally redecorate it with my stuff.

7. I have always wanted to be a phone, computer, or cartoon character voice. Really. I would love to be a voice-over artist or narrator (Hello, Discovery and Nat Geo channels, are you there??) as well. A gal can dream...

Whew, I'm glad that's over with.

And now I am supposed to pass the award along to fifteen other bloggers. This part's no easier - there are so many good reads out there...if I left you out, it's not 'cause I don't love ya!

In no particular order:

Hermit Jim. He's my kinda guy - warm, personable, intelligent, capable of spell-checking before he posts a blog...and he's practically family since I stole his nephew and brought him to Casa de Crazy to shack up with me!

Mizz Suzy. She's funny. Good grief, is she funny. She makes me laugh. A lot.

Mum. Hey, there was nothing in the rules about nepotism, and I happen to think my Mum is one classy and uber-stylish woman. Also, since usually all I give her is a headache...I figure she's due an award. Too bad there's not a cash prize along with it...sorry, Mum...

Vodkamom. I adore her. You, too, can adore her. Go on, try it...it's easy, and you'll live longer...

Mizz Rachel. Sister of my soul. Poet, mama, compassionate, intelligent, and one of the people I would very much like to meet in person some day.

Mizz Treesong. The woman is the epitome of perseverance. If introducing an art program to her community doesn't define style, I dunno what does.

Someone. What, you thought I wouldn't? Whoof...he's got some crazy style, and he's all sorts of sexy (not that I'm biased) and funny and sweet. Go look, you know you wanna.

Mizz Rene. Classy lady in the classic sense.

Kit. I adore her whole family.

Is that fifteen, yet? No? Huh...ok, then...

Friar. Ohmuhgoodness, his cartoons are hysterical (in the best way).

Mizz Marcy. She's so glamorous!

Pearl. She makes taking the bus sound like a good reason to stay home so cool.

Busted Knuckles. He uses grown-up words...lots and lots of grown-up words. I adore him.

Aunt Becky. She calls her kids "crotch parasites". What's not to love?

Mizz Suzan, who isn't blogging any more, dang it...but I'm giving it to her anyway.
~~~~~

Whew...done. I'm worn slap out...time for a nap. What're y'all reading, these days?

St. Whatsis Day

This is a (slightly edited) re-repost. You'll survive.
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I'll be cooking corned beef and cabbage for dinner tonight, much to my family's delight. Mum may come down because she, like me, loves the stuff. Bird likes the bread and meat fine, but not the cabbage, and he doesn't want the potatoes, which leads me to wonder if any of the one-quarter Irish in my veins made it to him. I get not liking cabbage, but potatoes? Something's not right with the child. Someone will happily scarf the lot, because he's a good Irish lad.

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

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

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

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

He was born and lived sometime between 490 and 461 AD, give or take. Around age sixteen, he was either sent or stolen and taken to Ireland where he spent some time hanging out with sheep and being lonely. He talked to God a lot. You may notice that lots of shepherds do that. You would too if all you had for company all day was a bunch of mutton-heads. Christianity was rolling along like a snowball in those days, spreading out all over the dang place. Good grief, it was getting so that a simple Pagan/Heathen (there's a difference between the two, not that the church cared much) couldn't get any peace any more. Everywhere they turned, there was a church being built where a sacred grove used to be, from the trees that used to be the sacred grove, or a church going up on a sacred hill, or someone bathing their dirty feet in a sacred stream. To be fare, there was a lot of real estate lumped under that "sacred" heading in the pagan world. We're like that - we just love our planet so. Plus, you know, all those gods needed housing, and they don't do the roommate thing very well. So the pagans were running out of places to have sex on the ground, in the woods, up a tree - they were big on the sex, those little devils - and to read entrails in their spare time.

I digressed. Sorry.

So there was this lonely kid, Patrick Whatsisname, hanging out with sheep and pondering life, the universe, and everything. He got the idea, somewhere along the way, that maybe other folks should share his God. He got out of his contract (OK, probably slavery) and went around telling folks how terrific his God was, and how he reckoned they should convert.

It seems that polite conversation wasn't doing it for the pagans, who tended to stare at him, or point and laugh. Rude beggars, huh? Now young Patrick (or middle aged Patrick, or old Patrick, I have no idea) decided he needed to be a bit more...persuasive. He had noticed something common among the pagan big-wigs. The guys at the top of the food-chain, magic/spirituality wise speaking tended to have a symbol on them somewhere...usually around their wrist. On the wrist that indicated their "hand of power", or the hand which they believed their "magic" flowed from. If it wasn't a tattoo, it was a torque. Guess what the tattoo/torque was? A critter called the oroborus. For them as what doesn't ken what that critter is, it's a snake eating its tail, and often represents eternity.

Pat realized that if he took away this "power", he took away their mystique and leadership ability. So he removed the snakes - often with something edged and unpleasant. Yes, he whacked off their hands. Or branded their skin. Or took their trinkets. Converting Heathens is such messy work!! It was for their own good, of course.

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

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

Oh, but I won't be wearing green. I wear blue. Don't even think about pinching me.

I Was Going to Write a Real Blog Post, But...

...I made reference to Break Dancing and the Evil Genius wanted to know what that was. Ouch. Generation gap, anyone?? So we had to surf YouTube and find some samples. Hey, home schooling takes many guises...we used this as an opportunity to discuss trends, fashion, athleticism, the need to focus and practice things, and busking, among other things.

Since I didn't write an actual post, I'm going to show you what the Evil Genius had for educational videos tonight:







Suddenly I feel all old and creaky...how're you doin'?

Weighty Matters

Sprout is reaching a point where she wants to be put down rather than held. She wants to look around, to gurgle, chuckle, coo, and squeak, to wave her arm, kick her legs, get the hang of this "life" thing. She is awake more and more (which means I can't sleep all day any more...dang), smiling, interested in the world around her.

Mind you, I like holding her. There's a special sweetness to a sleeping baby...especially when that baby's been fussing. Her warmth, her little hands resting on me, her limp collapse into me, the weight of her in my arms, these things I treasure, knowing as I do that they are all too fleeting. I will hold her for hours, just loving the feel of her.

Still, it's something of a relief, because even though it's usually just for a few minutes, I can get more done with two hands free...it's awfully challenging doing dishes or laundry or cooking a meal with a baby in one's arms. And typing a blog? Let's just say spell check and the backspace button are a mum's best blogging buddies.

Music on Monday

I've had a couple of songs stuck in my head the last few days. I used to listen to this fellow with Mum, especially on road trips - always liked his songs. Added bonus, he makes me laugh, which is nice on a grey, threatening-to-rain Monday.





And one more...



How's your Monday shaping up?

Thoughtfeti

I'm typing one-handed right now because Sprout is using my other hand as a bottom rest. I should put her down when she's sleeping, but I can't bring myself to. Help, I'm being held captive by a sleeping baby!
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Spring is coming on apace here in Redneck Central. I know this how? Not flowers or buds or birds...nope...but because the weather can't make up its danged mind and because my eyes are itchy and watery. Yay Spring...achoo...
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Sprout has had a bit of occasional colic. Imagine needing to burp or pass gas, but you can't. Ouch. So we've been having occasional distress/irritation/zombie-like time here at Casa de Crazy. We switched formulas, which seems to have helped but also seems to have constipated her a little. Poor kid...she keeps trying to tell us what's wrong, but we don't speak Waaaaaaaah.
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Also in Sprout news...she's smiling at us now. Of course, she won't do it when I have a camera handy...
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Mum stayed here for a few nights - she was working at the Sewing Expo, helping sell raffle tickets for a quilt. I asked what she wanted for dinner and she requested chicken fried steak. I made it last night while she played with Sprout. Believe it or not, making CFS, mashed potatoes, gravy (ok, so I cheated and used a powdered mix...but it's good, and I'm lazy), and green beans was a break! Sprout even snoozed during dinner, so Someone and I got to have a hot meal together, at the same time, in the same place! Alert the media...a family dinner was had at Casa de Crazy. We even sat at the dining room table. The end is nigh...
~~~~~
Yesterday I wondered how much bacon one pig can produce. An average hog will provide 34.5 pounds or about 320 pieces...almost one serving if you're the Evil Genius.
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What've you been wondering about?

Right Now...

...I feel tired, old, discouraged, disheartened, hurt, and deeply sad. I wonder why I bother caring, or dreaming, or trying.

This is depression. It is painful. It sucks - literally and figuratively.

Right now, I can't do anything right, can't say anything right.

This is depression. Insidious, it snakes itself into everything, so that the simplest tasks become building the pyramids blind-folded and one-legged.

Right now, I am hungry but do not want to bother eating, am thirsty but can't be bothered to take a drink.

This is depression. It saps a body.

Right now, I look at my future and wonder why I should make any effort at all to meet it.

This is depression, and it passes. Perhaps in a few minutes, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next week.

Right now, it is grinding me down a little more, wearing me a little thinner, sinking me a little deeper.

This is depression, and it doesn't get any better or any easier as time passes, or because I know what it is.

Do me a favor, go read this post - I'm pretty sure it doesn't suck entirely, and it's certainly less gloomy.

Right now, I endure.

For Mum

A bit of levity...we used to watch this cartoon together. This bit cracked us up.

It's Been a While...

...since I posted bumper stickers, and since Casa de Crazy is gettin' rained on and the day is a wee gloomy, I thought I'd share a chuckle or three. How's your day goin'?
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Before giving anyone a piece of your mind, be sure you have enough to spare.

Never let your mother brush your hair when she's mad at your father.

Never moon a werewolf.

Don't go to bed angry - stay up and plot your revenge.

I couldn't decide which bumper sticker to get, so pretend this is the one that annoys you most.
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Cheers, y'all...

Are Too...

I'm not sleepy...