Being disconnected from the world as we are, the denizens of Casa de Crazy aren’t exactly up on the latest news and world events. I had to call a friend just to find out what time and channel the Super Bowl (or, ad-stravaganza, as I like to think of it) came on!
Bless her heart, Mizz B was kind enough to oblige me, and we chatted a bit before she found the info I needed. She mentioned something about an EMP (ElectroMagnetic Pulse, likely caused by detonation of a nuclear device in the atmosphere), and I laughingly said something about not being worried, I have a large umbrella.
Then I asked if there was actually the threat of such a thing, and she told be about the tests in Iran, how the Iranian government is working on/has a missile that can reach the continental US.
Hmm.
We discussed, for a moment, what an EMP can do, how it could affect us as individuals and a nation, and talked a little about prepping. It reminded me of the show coming on Discovery in the next week or two – Doomsday Preppers. It also reminded me that I need to be re-stocking our preps, as we’ve had to tap them a bit during our own personal recession.
Preppers.
I’m a prepper, he’s a prepper, she’s a prepper, we're all preppers, wouldn’t you like to be a prepper, too?
Sorry, couldn’t resist.
I’m not an Alfred E. Neuman, “What, me worry?” type, but neither am I a Chicken Little, “The end is nigh!” type – I tend towards a middle ground of “It’s just a good idea to have a little extra put aside”.
I suspect that the whole Mayan Calendar, Iranian Missile confluence is going to inspire a great deal of prepping in the next few months. Companies will spring up like mushrooms selling everything from food-safe storage bins to complete food supplies, from assorted seed packages to build-a-bunker-in-the-woods. Shoot, companies like that already exist – surf the Net and you’ll find ‘em by the score!
I grew up in a bad weather area – everything from hurricanes to blizzards were on the menu – and we didn’t have the Internet, or pizza delivery, or SUVs and the like. We knew we could go days or even weeks without access to stores and supplies, so it made sense to have a few cans of soup and some crackers around. We had fireplaces and wood stoves, so cooking wasn’t a concern, and since it got mighty cold in winter, if there was no power the porch became our refrigerator.
These days, my own prepping habits center around three concerns (in no particular order):
1. Our finances are so uncertain as to be non-existent. Buying storable food when I can means I’ll have it when there’s no money for groceries. I’ve had to rely on stores/preps in the past when I was between jobs, and my squirrel-hoard meant I didn’t go hungry.
2. While I no longer live in blizzard/hurricane territory, one snowflake can bring major metropolitan areas to a screeching halt around here, and tornadoes fancy our landscape for their sinuous dance of destruction, so weather can affect one’s ability to dine – keeping things on hand that don’t need cooking, or can be cooked over fire means not having to go out among the bewildered when foul weather strikes.
3. These are socially and politically unstable times. While I’m not one who believes the end will come on 12/21/12, and I don’t believe we’ll be nuked/EMPd/Drugged/Mass Hypnotized out of existence, I do have some concerns about the availability of basic goods and our ability to fetch them home when they can be gotten. Soaring food prices mean that the money that used to feed my family for months now lasts a couple of weeks – and while we may eat better than we deserve, we’re not living high on the hog either. Having a stock of staples like flour, sugar, corn meal, and salt (to name a few) is useful now and a hedge against the possibilities of later unavailability.
An EMP could certainly rearrange our lifestyle for a while, but it doesn’t have to be a disaster – as I understand it, electronics not in use/turned on when a pulse hits are largely unaffected, so as long as there are back-up electronics and systems waiting quiescent in the corner, and auxiliary hardware for the grid, we wouldn’t be too awfully stressed. Think of the jobs generated by the need to get things back up and running in a hurry! All the folks who love their good old cars and trucks would be mighty popular, too, since the strictly mechanical vehicles wouldn’t be effected at all. The Amish and Mennonite communities probably wouldn’t even notice.
Am I worried about an EMP? Not really.
That Mizz B and her husband are concerned enough to have begun prepping themselves tells me something…they’re pretty level-headed folks who don’t jump on the End of the World bandwagon every time there’s a saber rattled, so if they’re genuinely concerned then it’s worth worrying about…but I just don’t see Iran or any other nation being that stupid.
The threat of a strike has long been a popular tool in international politics. The use of violence is a whole other critter, though, and while something like an EMP or nuclear strike would certainly put a hitch in our gitalong, it would also deeply piss us off as a nation – and while we appear weak and unwilling to strike back, that’s an illusion. We have a deep reserve of anger, irritation, and resentment to draw upon, and a sub-strata of society that is well armed and happy to have a target to focus all that agita on, so it won’t take long for us to rally and (to sound a little redneck) git to whompin’.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
How Dry I Am (Or the Laundry Is, Anyway)
Our electric clothes dryer bit the big one a few weeks ago. Yeah, it never rains but it pours at Casa de Crazy, and old Aunt Entropy decided to remind me that she's boss, I'm her bitch, and I better mind her or she'll smack me around some more. Sigh. I love you, Aunt Entropy...
So the dryer went caput...quietly, without a hum, a buzz, a fizzle, a pop, or a wisp of smoke. It just...didn't dry. We think maybe a new heating element will right the poor thing, but given our current economic status, that'll be a while in coming.
Luckily, last year Someone installed a solar dryer for me. Yay, Someone!! I've been wanting one for a long while, and he obliged.
A solar dryer, for those not in the know, is also known as a bit of rope and some trees or posts. You know, a clothes line?
Even my better-than-well-off grandparents had one when I was a kid. We dried sheets on them, mostly, especially in the summer time.
Ours has been somewhat patchy in use - after all, a solar dryer can only work when there's sun. With no Internet and no television, and no radio reception in the house (I'd give just about anything for an old-fashioned transistor radio in the kitchen), we don't get a weather report unless we call a friend or family and ask for one, so I have to look out the window in the morning and determine if I think it's a laundry day.
I can get four or five loads washed and dried on a good day - the solar dryer is faster than the electric one, hands down (when it's working, that is). It's been quite warm and sunny lately, rather spring-like, so I've been doing laundry like mad and hoping for no sudden onset precipitation.
I like the way clothes and linens smell when they've been dried on the line. Sometimes they're a little stiff and raspy, but I don't mind. The only things that really want drying in a machine are Someone's socks. Socks dried on the line are not so comfortable - so socks come with me to Mum's once a week for a run through the machines. I'd use a laundromat, but Mum's machines don't demand quarters...
Luckily, Someone has lots of socks, so he doesn't have to recycle dirty ones or go without. I never knew anyone so fanatical about his socks!
When the sun is not obliging and I simply MUST have something washed, we hang it over the Evil Genius's shower rod and turn a fan on it to dry. Not exactly optimal, but it works in a pinch.
Things will get back to what passes for normal around our place one of these days...but in the meantime, we'll muddle through somehow, just like we always do. It's not so bad...except for desperately missing the Blue Nowhere and you folks, that is...
So the dryer went caput...quietly, without a hum, a buzz, a fizzle, a pop, or a wisp of smoke. It just...didn't dry. We think maybe a new heating element will right the poor thing, but given our current economic status, that'll be a while in coming.
Luckily, last year Someone installed a solar dryer for me. Yay, Someone!! I've been wanting one for a long while, and he obliged.
A solar dryer, for those not in the know, is also known as a bit of rope and some trees or posts. You know, a clothes line?
Even my better-than-well-off grandparents had one when I was a kid. We dried sheets on them, mostly, especially in the summer time.
Ours has been somewhat patchy in use - after all, a solar dryer can only work when there's sun. With no Internet and no television, and no radio reception in the house (I'd give just about anything for an old-fashioned transistor radio in the kitchen), we don't get a weather report unless we call a friend or family and ask for one, so I have to look out the window in the morning and determine if I think it's a laundry day.
I can get four or five loads washed and dried on a good day - the solar dryer is faster than the electric one, hands down (when it's working, that is). It's been quite warm and sunny lately, rather spring-like, so I've been doing laundry like mad and hoping for no sudden onset precipitation.
I like the way clothes and linens smell when they've been dried on the line. Sometimes they're a little stiff and raspy, but I don't mind. The only things that really want drying in a machine are Someone's socks. Socks dried on the line are not so comfortable - so socks come with me to Mum's once a week for a run through the machines. I'd use a laundromat, but Mum's machines don't demand quarters...
Luckily, Someone has lots of socks, so he doesn't have to recycle dirty ones or go without. I never knew anyone so fanatical about his socks!
When the sun is not obliging and I simply MUST have something washed, we hang it over the Evil Genius's shower rod and turn a fan on it to dry. Not exactly optimal, but it works in a pinch.
Things will get back to what passes for normal around our place one of these days...but in the meantime, we'll muddle through somehow, just like we always do. It's not so bad...except for desperately missing the Blue Nowhere and you folks, that is...
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Shrimp Curry
Someone's mother brought us a blast from his past last year - curry mix. She used to make it when he was a kid.
Last October, a friend brought me a whole mess of shrimp he'd caught, as a gift. They've been lurking in the freezer.
Last week, tired of soup, tired of rummaging through various remnants in the fridge and freezer, Someone said "Shrimp curry..."
And so we did.
We peeled and de-veined some shrimp together - he peeled, I de-veined - and I chopped some onion, carrots, and celery as well. I adore cooking with him - and I love the fact that he's an adventurous eater, will try anything once, and doesn't complain about my often cockeyed cooking. This time, I followed the directions because curry is a little out of my element in the kitchen. I've eaten it, just never made it before.
We had saffron rice and something called "Japanese Blend" vegetables from the freezer section to go with it.
May I say "Yummy!!" Because...yummy!!
We will be having it again.
Last October, a friend brought me a whole mess of shrimp he'd caught, as a gift. They've been lurking in the freezer.
Last week, tired of soup, tired of rummaging through various remnants in the fridge and freezer, Someone said "Shrimp curry..."
And so we did.
We peeled and de-veined some shrimp together - he peeled, I de-veined - and I chopped some onion, carrots, and celery as well. I adore cooking with him - and I love the fact that he's an adventurous eater, will try anything once, and doesn't complain about my often cockeyed cooking. This time, I followed the directions because curry is a little out of my element in the kitchen. I've eaten it, just never made it before.
We had saffron rice and something called "Japanese Blend" vegetables from the freezer section to go with it.
May I say "Yummy!!" Because...yummy!!
We will be having it again.
Monday, February 6, 2012
The Bench (SO Series)
Her head hangs down. She seems unaware of her surroundings, unaware of the children laughing and playing a few yards away, unaware of the dappled sunlight that plays across her hair, unaware of the people moving through the park in their various orbits. If anyone notices her, they don't show it.
She's been crying. Look closely enough and you'll see the scant evidence - wet eyelashes, a hint of red around the outer edges, a slight pinking of her nose. She isn't loud, or showy, but she doesn't try to stop the tears, either. She knows no one will see. No one ever does. She is gifted at being unseen. Gifted and cursed.
She got a phone call from her brother yesterday. He told her he doesn't want his family associating with hers. He found out her partner is a sex offender, did an Internet background search, and that's that. It doesn't matter that it looks worse than it is, that her partner didn't do the things the charges would have one believe he did. Her brother doesn't care, isn't really interested in knowing what did happen. As far as her brother is concerned, her partner is a bad person and is not to be associated with - as if it's a stain that will spread.
So now she can choose - go to family events without her beloved or stay away and not see half her family ever again. Her children will not meet her cousins. She will be a stranger to her nieces and nephews. Her kids won't know their uncle or aunt. It's an untenable position to be in.
The crime for which her partner was convicted looks awful, on paper. In reality, a girl lied to him about her age when he was a young man, and he was foolish enough to believe without questioning. Her father saw him driving away one afternoon, didn't want to believe that his sweet baby girl would behave that way, wouldn't hear anything but that the young man was older and had kissed his little girl, touched her breast, didn't matter that she said she liked it. Daddy called the authorities, who knew this girl, knew this family, had been through this before with other young men.
The courts don't care if the alleged victim invited the attention. She's too young to know what she wants, the courts say. You can't show that she's had a pattern of this behavior - that would be blaming the victim for the crime, wouldn't it? You can't say she lied, and even though she's willing to say so, she's not allowed to speak because she's too young to understand what's happening. The girl will suffer no consequence for her serial behavior, will simply go on with her life careless of the lives she's shattered all around her.
So now the woman's partner is punished every day for a crime he served a prison sentence over - a sentence that should have ended it, should have been his punishment, except people won't look beyond what's on paper or their own prejudices.
The woman sighs, wipes her eyes. It doesn't matter. In the end, there's no choice, really - she won't abandon her partner, so she'll add one more name, one more family, to the list of people who want nothing to do with her. It hurts, but the hurt is less with every repetition.
She takes another deep breath, plasters a smile on her face, and calls to her children. She has taken some photos for her partner - he can't come to the park with her, the law won't allow it, so he has only seen their child swing, go down the slide, and ride the see-saw on a screen at home. He has seen swimming lessons and play dates through her lens. Sometimes she would like to just uncomplicatedly enjoy her children, but she can't bring herself to deny her partner this little bit of joy.
She thinks life can be awfully difficult, and that people can be cruel, but what can she do? Hide her tears, wear a false smile, and get on with it...
She's been crying. Look closely enough and you'll see the scant evidence - wet eyelashes, a hint of red around the outer edges, a slight pinking of her nose. She isn't loud, or showy, but she doesn't try to stop the tears, either. She knows no one will see. No one ever does. She is gifted at being unseen. Gifted and cursed.
She got a phone call from her brother yesterday. He told her he doesn't want his family associating with hers. He found out her partner is a sex offender, did an Internet background search, and that's that. It doesn't matter that it looks worse than it is, that her partner didn't do the things the charges would have one believe he did. Her brother doesn't care, isn't really interested in knowing what did happen. As far as her brother is concerned, her partner is a bad person and is not to be associated with - as if it's a stain that will spread.
So now she can choose - go to family events without her beloved or stay away and not see half her family ever again. Her children will not meet her cousins. She will be a stranger to her nieces and nephews. Her kids won't know their uncle or aunt. It's an untenable position to be in.
The crime for which her partner was convicted looks awful, on paper. In reality, a girl lied to him about her age when he was a young man, and he was foolish enough to believe without questioning. Her father saw him driving away one afternoon, didn't want to believe that his sweet baby girl would behave that way, wouldn't hear anything but that the young man was older and had kissed his little girl, touched her breast, didn't matter that she said she liked it. Daddy called the authorities, who knew this girl, knew this family, had been through this before with other young men.
The courts don't care if the alleged victim invited the attention. She's too young to know what she wants, the courts say. You can't show that she's had a pattern of this behavior - that would be blaming the victim for the crime, wouldn't it? You can't say she lied, and even though she's willing to say so, she's not allowed to speak because she's too young to understand what's happening. The girl will suffer no consequence for her serial behavior, will simply go on with her life careless of the lives she's shattered all around her.
So now the woman's partner is punished every day for a crime he served a prison sentence over - a sentence that should have ended it, should have been his punishment, except people won't look beyond what's on paper or their own prejudices.
The woman sighs, wipes her eyes. It doesn't matter. In the end, there's no choice, really - she won't abandon her partner, so she'll add one more name, one more family, to the list of people who want nothing to do with her. It hurts, but the hurt is less with every repetition.
She takes another deep breath, plasters a smile on her face, and calls to her children. She has taken some photos for her partner - he can't come to the park with her, the law won't allow it, so he has only seen their child swing, go down the slide, and ride the see-saw on a screen at home. He has seen swimming lessons and play dates through her lens. Sometimes she would like to just uncomplicatedly enjoy her children, but she can't bring herself to deny her partner this little bit of joy.
She thinks life can be awfully difficult, and that people can be cruel, but what can she do? Hide her tears, wear a false smile, and get on with it...
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Happy Birthday, K2!!
So, yeah, happy birthday to K2, sister of my heart, who is 13 days older than me, so for the next two weeks I can tease her mercilessly about how she's forty and I'm not. Yeah...
Also, happy Imbolc - the sun's visiby growing stronger, the god is thriving, the goddess is happy, and Spring is showing signs of emerging from winter's rest. Yay!
What're y'all up to?
Also, happy Imbolc - the sun's visiby growing stronger, the god is thriving, the goddess is happy, and Spring is showing signs of emerging from winter's rest. Yay!
What're y'all up to?
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Three Things
Three names people call me: I'm guessing nice ones are in order so...hmm...Kyd, Flower, and Mommy.
Three places I've lived: Misery, Confusion...oh, wait...Rhode Island, New Hampshire, and Florida
Three places I have worked: Work? Me? Hmm...At a Montessori school (teacher), Michael's (framer), and Denny's (world's worst Denny's waitress).
Three shows I love to watch: No TV right now, but I WAS fond of Man vs Food, Dirty Jobs, and Any of the Blue Planet/Planet Earth type shows on Discovery.
Three places I have been: Hell (and back). Okay, really...hmm...Bunker Hill, Kennesaw Mountain, and Normandy.
Three things I love to eat: Food, food, and more food. What??
Three things I look forward to: Having the Internet back some day, being able to pay bills without wondering if it means going without toilet paper, shampoo, or cat food.
Three people I get regular e-mails from: Mum, Kerri, and Rachel.
Three places I want to go: Australia, Ireland, and Hawaii.
Feel free to take a turn...
Three places I've lived: Misery, Confusion...oh, wait...Rhode Island, New Hampshire, and Florida
Three places I have worked: Work? Me? Hmm...At a Montessori school (teacher), Michael's (framer), and Denny's (world's worst Denny's waitress).
Three shows I love to watch: No TV right now, but I WAS fond of Man vs Food, Dirty Jobs, and Any of the Blue Planet/Planet Earth type shows on Discovery.
Three places I have been: Hell (and back). Okay, really...hmm...Bunker Hill, Kennesaw Mountain, and Normandy.
Three things I love to eat: Food, food, and more food. What??
Three things I look forward to: Having the Internet back some day, being able to pay bills without wondering if it means going without toilet paper, shampoo, or cat food.
Three people I get regular e-mails from: Mum, Kerri, and Rachel.
Three places I want to go: Australia, Ireland, and Hawaii.
Feel free to take a turn...
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Who Wants Music on Monday?
Hey, don't get excited (or horrified), I'm just pre-posting some things so I don't feel like it's all echo-y and tumble-weed-y in here.
Some day I wanna sing with this woman...
Some day I wanna sing with this woman...
Friday, January 27, 2012
If I can Keep From Killing Anyone, It'll Be A Miracle!
With the Internet on endless hiatus at Casa de Crazy, phone service on permanent vacation, and the satellite service gone the way of the Dodo bird, we're on the road a little more, visiting friends, visiting Mum, visiting anyone or anywhere that may have wifi I can hunker down on and use for a few minutes.
On the road means dealing with other motorists and their...erm...foibles.
I am fascinated by the habits of the modern motorist - it's like this vast, diverse tribe wherein the only commonality is a propensity for rudeness and inattention.
A motor vehicle is a ton or more of metal, plastic, fuel, and trouble. Why don't people drive as if they know that??
There's the fellow who never uses the blinker. Never. Ever. It's like he was bitten by the blinker wand as a child and now bears severe emotional scarring from the incident. He just changes lanes without letting anyone know he's going to, but we should all be tolerant because he's got that blinker-trauma going on. The rest of us, however, better not try the same thing on him, or there will be hell to pay. Hell, I tell you!!
There's the gal who can't let anyone pass her. She's going ten under the limit until someone tries to get by her - then she's Mrs. Mario Andretti, Jr. Try to ease past just a few MPH faster than she? No way, pal - she'll edge up and block you. Try to kick it up a little more? Sorry, buster, not gonna happen today! Slow down and she'll pace you. If you think you'll get ahead of her because she's approaching slower traffic, think again - she'll hit the gas, jump in front of you, and then slow down again. Life's a race, and if she can keep you from finishing before her, so much the better.
There's the woman who's texting, reading a catalog, and eating at the same time. No, really - I saw her. Luckily, I made it past without incident, but it was a near thing. She doesn't much care about the safety of the people around her - her car is like her house, she can do what she likes and no one has any say in it because this is a free country and fuck you if you think she's not allowed to swing wildly from lane to lane because she's trying to find the umlaut on her Blackberry.
There's the kid who only wants to drive fast, faster, fastest. He'll run right up your tailpipe, honk his horn, flash his lights, drop back and run up on you again. He thinks you're a Water Buffalo in the Cheetah lane, and nothing pisses him off like not being able to go Mach seven at will - never mind that you're in the left lane because you're going fifteen over the limit and passing right-laners like they're parked over there. Junior thinks you're a tortoise and he's about to run you down.
Let's not forget the motorcycles. Crotch rockets. Death on two wheels. Lest you get your knickers in a bind, I know many responsible riders who don't countenance shenanigans on the highway. I'm not talking about that kind of rider. I'm talking about the short-sleeved, short-pantsed, weaving-in-and-out-of-traffic, riding between the lanes, no-turn-signal-using, engine revving, helmet-scorning, no-mirror-using, speed-limits-are-for-chumps, let's race through rush hour traffic kind of rider. The kind of rider who bitches because people in cars don't make way for them or anticipate their every move, who wind up with head injuries and extensive road-rash scarring and mended bones (if they survive), the kind who cause others to have accidents and keep right on their merry way without concern for the mayhem they've wrought.
And finally (for now), the big trucks. Tractor trailers. Usually, I adore these guys. If I'm on a long haul, I'll tuck in with one going my speed and draft a little, let him clear the way for me. If I am in gnarly traffic, maybe four lanes going down to one because of construction or an incident, I will make a truck-sized space for them to get over - especially if they are using their considerable bulk to block the closing lanes and keep assholes from running all the way up to the head of the line and jumping over. Still, there are a few out there who need a bit of...help. Swaying from lane to lane is bad enough in a Nissan - that Peterbilt scares the crap out of me when it starts rocking over into the space my Astro is trying to occupy. Sudden lane jumps are not fun, either. It is especially frustrating when a truck leaps into the left lane like the driver was bitten, only to slow down to a crawl while attempting to pass the truck in the right lane that's moving only slightly faster than Congress passing a tax cut.
Share the road, people. We all want to get there as quickly as possible. We all want to get there alive. Driving is not, contrary to what people seem to believe, is not a right. It's a privilege. Act like you give a damn about that privilege before you kill someone. Or at least, before I finally go entirely off the deep end and decide to defend my piece of road with vigor and possibly a 12 gauge Mossberg. Fair warning.
On the road means dealing with other motorists and their...erm...foibles.
I am fascinated by the habits of the modern motorist - it's like this vast, diverse tribe wherein the only commonality is a propensity for rudeness and inattention.
A motor vehicle is a ton or more of metal, plastic, fuel, and trouble. Why don't people drive as if they know that??
There's the fellow who never uses the blinker. Never. Ever. It's like he was bitten by the blinker wand as a child and now bears severe emotional scarring from the incident. He just changes lanes without letting anyone know he's going to, but we should all be tolerant because he's got that blinker-trauma going on. The rest of us, however, better not try the same thing on him, or there will be hell to pay. Hell, I tell you!!
There's the gal who can't let anyone pass her. She's going ten under the limit until someone tries to get by her - then she's Mrs. Mario Andretti, Jr. Try to ease past just a few MPH faster than she? No way, pal - she'll edge up and block you. Try to kick it up a little more? Sorry, buster, not gonna happen today! Slow down and she'll pace you. If you think you'll get ahead of her because she's approaching slower traffic, think again - she'll hit the gas, jump in front of you, and then slow down again. Life's a race, and if she can keep you from finishing before her, so much the better.
There's the woman who's texting, reading a catalog, and eating at the same time. No, really - I saw her. Luckily, I made it past without incident, but it was a near thing. She doesn't much care about the safety of the people around her - her car is like her house, she can do what she likes and no one has any say in it because this is a free country and fuck you if you think she's not allowed to swing wildly from lane to lane because she's trying to find the umlaut on her Blackberry.
There's the kid who only wants to drive fast, faster, fastest. He'll run right up your tailpipe, honk his horn, flash his lights, drop back and run up on you again. He thinks you're a Water Buffalo in the Cheetah lane, and nothing pisses him off like not being able to go Mach seven at will - never mind that you're in the left lane because you're going fifteen over the limit and passing right-laners like they're parked over there. Junior thinks you're a tortoise and he's about to run you down.
Let's not forget the motorcycles. Crotch rockets. Death on two wheels. Lest you get your knickers in a bind, I know many responsible riders who don't countenance shenanigans on the highway. I'm not talking about that kind of rider. I'm talking about the short-sleeved, short-pantsed, weaving-in-and-out-of-traffic, riding between the lanes, no-turn-signal-using, engine revving, helmet-scorning, no-mirror-using, speed-limits-are-for-chumps, let's race through rush hour traffic kind of rider. The kind of rider who bitches because people in cars don't make way for them or anticipate their every move, who wind up with head injuries and extensive road-rash scarring and mended bones (if they survive), the kind who cause others to have accidents and keep right on their merry way without concern for the mayhem they've wrought.
And finally (for now), the big trucks. Tractor trailers. Usually, I adore these guys. If I'm on a long haul, I'll tuck in with one going my speed and draft a little, let him clear the way for me. If I am in gnarly traffic, maybe four lanes going down to one because of construction or an incident, I will make a truck-sized space for them to get over - especially if they are using their considerable bulk to block the closing lanes and keep assholes from running all the way up to the head of the line and jumping over. Still, there are a few out there who need a bit of...help. Swaying from lane to lane is bad enough in a Nissan - that Peterbilt scares the crap out of me when it starts rocking over into the space my Astro is trying to occupy. Sudden lane jumps are not fun, either. It is especially frustrating when a truck leaps into the left lane like the driver was bitten, only to slow down to a crawl while attempting to pass the truck in the right lane that's moving only slightly faster than Congress passing a tax cut.
Share the road, people. We all want to get there as quickly as possible. We all want to get there alive. Driving is not, contrary to what people seem to believe, is not a right. It's a privilege. Act like you give a damn about that privilege before you kill someone. Or at least, before I finally go entirely off the deep end and decide to defend my piece of road with vigor and possibly a 12 gauge Mossberg. Fair warning.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
One Year? Really??
One year ago, there was this:
Today, there is this:
Holy carp!!
She's one today...wow...
Today, there is this:
Holy carp!!
She's one today...wow...
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
A Letter
Dear AT&T,
A long while ago I had an account with your competitor, a carrier that was well known for having excellent customer service and competitive rates. I was happy with my cell phone company.
As with all good things, though, it came to an end when you bought them out. I was not delighted.
I stuck with you, although it was more from habit than from any sort of desire to be loyal. Honestly, it felt more like deciding the least horrid of the lot.
I will admit that you have surprised me over the years - your customer service and tech support people have gone above and beyond on many occasions...once I could reach them. May I suggest that you market your automated phone system to Guantanamo Bay and other places where prisoners of war are being tortured? It believe it would be most effective. Or, if that does not appeal, you could use it as a sort of psychological test. I am certain many interesting things can be revealed about one's personality if you recorded one as they spoke to the recordings. Or am I the only one who talks back to the computer?
May I also note the irony of telling a customer they can look up and/or deal with their bill online when they cannot, in fact, get online to begin with and that's why they are calling? Also, I am aware that I have called AT&T - never once have I suddenly cried out "Oh, my goodness, I thought I was holding for the Lottery Commission! How silly I feel!!" I don't need reminding every few seconds. Neither do I need to hear you tell me my call will be answered in the order it was received. I've always wondered why companies feel the need to tell us this - is there a company out there that is answering calls randomly, then?
I have had wonderful experiences in your stores, too, although I must say I get little frowny lines on my face when I am told I must pay an extra fee for using that archaic cash to pay bills. Cash is instant, hard currency, irreversible, unarguable - unlike a credit card on which charges can be argued for years before payment (if any) is finally made. So why penalize me for using it??
Lately, you have turned off my cell phone and Internet*. I don't blame you - you do actually expect to be paid occasionally for your service and I didn't keep up my end of that bargain (silly me - how could I think toilet paper and cat food were more important than my beloved Blue Nowhere??), so I understand completely your sudden cessation of service.
That said, I do wonder what you were thinking when you called me last night.
Really, AT&T, you want me to sign up for DSL? I was under the impression that I was not at all a desirable customer, but your employee (if her bruised, battered, broken, thoroughly demoralized English was to be understood) said otherwise. She exhorted me to sign up for DSL...or maybe she was telling me to go to Hell. Or perhaps she was saying I should ring a bell. Or that her feet were starting to swell. I'm not certain - I don't know that she actually knew what she was saying. I am half convinced she was reading something phonetically for two cents an hour and all the Aloo Kachori** she can stomach.
Here's a hint - if you really want me to to purchase a product or service, try making certain that the person selling it speaks the same language that I do. I can muddle along in a few languages, especially if I use them all together in one sentence, but I am primarily an English speaker. Yes, yes, insert your favorite elitist jokes here, but the truth is, there are what? thousands? millions? of languages in the world (including dialects and patois)? Is it really reasonable to expect that I speak/comprehend more than four or five at once? And you called me, after all - so it would behoove you to do me the simple courtesy of attempting to fleece me in my language of origin. For the record, I am fluent in both English and Bad English, with fair vocabularies in Slang, Typo, and Gibberish as well.
In addition, given the state of the economy and my distinct lack of employment (despite a shocking amount of effort on my part...although, if I am being honest, ANY effort on my part is a shock to those who know me, because I haven't worked in some 20 years for one reason or another, and am not terribly good at being employed anyway), having someone who is clearly not working inside the boundaries of the nation (let alone state) in which I reside, call me to sell me something displays a lack of wisdom on your part. Outsourcing is not MY friend, as I am not share holder in your company, and I am disinclined to reward it with my custom.
Clearly one branch of your company is not aware of how the other branches are bending in the breeze...and you a communications company! Save yourself two cents and a bowl of curry and quit calling customers that you've cut off in the first place.
Thank you - and by the way, it will be a minute before I can pay what I owe you, but I fully intend to as soon as I sell one of T's kidneys when he's not looking.
Cheers!
* Which is why I am once again borrowing Mum's.
**I am not bashing anyone, here...just playing on the fact that the woman was quite obviously Indian, and, at the same time, enthusiastically unable to speak even basic English but delighted to be giving it the old college try all the same.
A long while ago I had an account with your competitor, a carrier that was well known for having excellent customer service and competitive rates. I was happy with my cell phone company.
As with all good things, though, it came to an end when you bought them out. I was not delighted.
I stuck with you, although it was more from habit than from any sort of desire to be loyal. Honestly, it felt more like deciding the least horrid of the lot.
I will admit that you have surprised me over the years - your customer service and tech support people have gone above and beyond on many occasions...once I could reach them. May I suggest that you market your automated phone system to Guantanamo Bay and other places where prisoners of war are being tortured? It believe it would be most effective. Or, if that does not appeal, you could use it as a sort of psychological test. I am certain many interesting things can be revealed about one's personality if you recorded one as they spoke to the recordings. Or am I the only one who talks back to the computer?
May I also note the irony of telling a customer they can look up and/or deal with their bill online when they cannot, in fact, get online to begin with and that's why they are calling? Also, I am aware that I have called AT&T - never once have I suddenly cried out "Oh, my goodness, I thought I was holding for the Lottery Commission! How silly I feel!!" I don't need reminding every few seconds. Neither do I need to hear you tell me my call will be answered in the order it was received. I've always wondered why companies feel the need to tell us this - is there a company out there that is answering calls randomly, then?
I have had wonderful experiences in your stores, too, although I must say I get little frowny lines on my face when I am told I must pay an extra fee for using that archaic cash to pay bills. Cash is instant, hard currency, irreversible, unarguable - unlike a credit card on which charges can be argued for years before payment (if any) is finally made. So why penalize me for using it??
Lately, you have turned off my cell phone and Internet*. I don't blame you - you do actually expect to be paid occasionally for your service and I didn't keep up my end of that bargain (silly me - how could I think toilet paper and cat food were more important than my beloved Blue Nowhere??), so I understand completely your sudden cessation of service.
That said, I do wonder what you were thinking when you called me last night.
Really, AT&T, you want me to sign up for DSL? I was under the impression that I was not at all a desirable customer, but your employee (if her bruised, battered, broken, thoroughly demoralized English was to be understood) said otherwise. She exhorted me to sign up for DSL...or maybe she was telling me to go to Hell. Or perhaps she was saying I should ring a bell. Or that her feet were starting to swell. I'm not certain - I don't know that she actually knew what she was saying. I am half convinced she was reading something phonetically for two cents an hour and all the Aloo Kachori** she can stomach.
Here's a hint - if you really want me to to purchase a product or service, try making certain that the person selling it speaks the same language that I do. I can muddle along in a few languages, especially if I use them all together in one sentence, but I am primarily an English speaker. Yes, yes, insert your favorite elitist jokes here, but the truth is, there are what? thousands? millions? of languages in the world (including dialects and patois)? Is it really reasonable to expect that I speak/comprehend more than four or five at once? And you called me, after all - so it would behoove you to do me the simple courtesy of attempting to fleece me in my language of origin. For the record, I am fluent in both English and Bad English, with fair vocabularies in Slang, Typo, and Gibberish as well.
In addition, given the state of the economy and my distinct lack of employment (despite a shocking amount of effort on my part...although, if I am being honest, ANY effort on my part is a shock to those who know me, because I haven't worked in some 20 years for one reason or another, and am not terribly good at being employed anyway), having someone who is clearly not working inside the boundaries of the nation (let alone state) in which I reside, call me to sell me something displays a lack of wisdom on your part. Outsourcing is not MY friend, as I am not share holder in your company, and I am disinclined to reward it with my custom.
Clearly one branch of your company is not aware of how the other branches are bending in the breeze...and you a communications company! Save yourself two cents and a bowl of curry and quit calling customers that you've cut off in the first place.
Thank you - and by the way, it will be a minute before I can pay what I owe you, but I fully intend to as soon as I sell one of T's kidneys when he's not looking.
Cheers!
* Which is why I am once again borrowing Mum's.
**I am not bashing anyone, here...just playing on the fact that the woman was quite obviously Indian, and, at the same time, enthusiastically unable to speak even basic English but delighted to be giving it the old college try all the same.
Monday, January 16, 2012
In Brief
I am at a friend's house, borrowing a few inches of Internet to do some writing for her and to catch up a little on my electronic life. Funny how one doesn't think about how much the Internet is woven through one's life until one cannot use it.
Sprout turns one in a week-and-a-half. Holy crap. She is walking, trying to climb everything, rolls and bounces a rubber ball with great vigor and glee, and has several "words" with distinct meaning - "Daaaaaaaa" is for cat, "Da, da, da" is for bounce , and "Eh, eh, eh, eh" means pick me up and feed me or I will commence to make your life a living hell. Wordy, is our Sprout!
The Evil Genius just turned nine. Nine!! That means that next year he will be in the double digits, and soon after a teen. Oh, my aching head. He is so tall, now, and riding his bike with confidence (all over the neighborhood, which sometimes scares me, but I won't clip his wings) that amazes me. He is a great help with his sister, often playing with her for an hour or more so I can get some housework done - she is a social critter and won't be left alone.
I feel steam-rolled, aching from keeping up with the baby, climbing the various fences and gates that keep her from rolling down the stairs or getting into places we don't want her, holding and rocking her to sleep (which is bending my spine into all sorts of nifty ways), bending over to clean up her toys or wash the poor, abused floor. Whew.
I'm looking for work, but it's a wash so far. After twenty years out of the employment scene, it seems I'm not a desirable employee. Sigh.
We have managed to help curtail the kitty population thanks to Mum, who payed to spay two females, then gave one of them a home. I'll miss the springtime fuzz balls, but it's for the best.
I do not know when we will have phones and Net back - it depends on what kind of income I can manage and whether T can find the resources he needs to pay his bills AND child support (he is in arrears, but there's little I can do about that - can't squeeze blood from a turnip, and he's in much the same boat we are). I'm hoping we won't have to go past February...I know the Net is a luxury to many folks, but it's what we use to find work, advertise services, keep up with family, and even sell artwork and freelance writing, so it is a useful tool around the Casa.
Meanwhile, I am gypsying around from WiFi to Wifi, leaning on friends and family for bits and pieces of Internet access. My friend K2 is being terribly sweet, allowing myself and the kids to invade at least once a week, as is Mum. Thanks!!
See y'all soon - tell me how you're doing in the comments!
Sprout turns one in a week-and-a-half. Holy crap. She is walking, trying to climb everything, rolls and bounces a rubber ball with great vigor and glee, and has several "words" with distinct meaning - "Daaaaaaaa" is for cat, "Da, da, da" is for bounce , and "Eh, eh, eh, eh" means pick me up and feed me or I will commence to make your life a living hell. Wordy, is our Sprout!
The Evil Genius just turned nine. Nine!! That means that next year he will be in the double digits, and soon after a teen. Oh, my aching head. He is so tall, now, and riding his bike with confidence (all over the neighborhood, which sometimes scares me, but I won't clip his wings) that amazes me. He is a great help with his sister, often playing with her for an hour or more so I can get some housework done - she is a social critter and won't be left alone.
I feel steam-rolled, aching from keeping up with the baby, climbing the various fences and gates that keep her from rolling down the stairs or getting into places we don't want her, holding and rocking her to sleep (which is bending my spine into all sorts of nifty ways), bending over to clean up her toys or wash the poor, abused floor. Whew.
I'm looking for work, but it's a wash so far. After twenty years out of the employment scene, it seems I'm not a desirable employee. Sigh.
We have managed to help curtail the kitty population thanks to Mum, who payed to spay two females, then gave one of them a home. I'll miss the springtime fuzz balls, but it's for the best.
I do not know when we will have phones and Net back - it depends on what kind of income I can manage and whether T can find the resources he needs to pay his bills AND child support (he is in arrears, but there's little I can do about that - can't squeeze blood from a turnip, and he's in much the same boat we are). I'm hoping we won't have to go past February...I know the Net is a luxury to many folks, but it's what we use to find work, advertise services, keep up with family, and even sell artwork and freelance writing, so it is a useful tool around the Casa.
Meanwhile, I am gypsying around from WiFi to Wifi, leaning on friends and family for bits and pieces of Internet access. My friend K2 is being terribly sweet, allowing myself and the kids to invade at least once a week, as is Mum. Thanks!!
See y'all soon - tell me how you're doing in the comments!
Friday, January 6, 2012
Speak Your Piece
I believe in freedom of speech. I believe that one should be free to say what one thinks or feels without fear or repression, opression, or cencorship. Though I may not always like what another has to say, I will stand up for their right to say it.
Sometimes I will say things that annoy, distress, or anger others. Sometimes I may say things that offend. Sometimes others annoy, distress, or anger me, and I don't always like what they say or how they say it...but never would I tell them they cannot speak their mind. It's counter to my very core, to the basic idea of freedom that I hold dear.
Why bring this up, you ask?
It would seem that there are many folks in the world who would very much like to silence the voices they don't like.
Whether it's a song, a poem, a book, a political point, radio talk show, blog, or other means of expression, if someone finds it disagreeeable they begin to whinge about it being offensive, or hateful and mean, or encouraging "wrong" thinking, and try to shut it down.
Listen.
Hear that silence?
That's the sound of voices quashed, keyboards gone doormant, music muted and hampered by the wet woolen blanket of "for the public good".
I am not a white supremecist. I can't stand 'em, actually. I think they're crazier than shithouse rats and often question the hatred so frequntly spewed forth by their front men/women. Try telling hem they can't have or express their opinions, though, and I will, I must, defend them. Please don't make me do that.
Even if it's abhorrent to me, I will not seek to silence another's voice.
I don't mind telling someone "Hey, I find that offensive" or "I disagree", but that's a far cry from telling them they can't have their say.
It's freedom OF. folks, not freedom FROM.
Sometimes I will say things that annoy, distress, or anger others. Sometimes I may say things that offend. Sometimes others annoy, distress, or anger me, and I don't always like what they say or how they say it...but never would I tell them they cannot speak their mind. It's counter to my very core, to the basic idea of freedom that I hold dear.
Why bring this up, you ask?
It would seem that there are many folks in the world who would very much like to silence the voices they don't like.
Whether it's a song, a poem, a book, a political point, radio talk show, blog, or other means of expression, if someone finds it disagreeeable they begin to whinge about it being offensive, or hateful and mean, or encouraging "wrong" thinking, and try to shut it down.
Listen.
Hear that silence?
That's the sound of voices quashed, keyboards gone doormant, music muted and hampered by the wet woolen blanket of "for the public good".
I am not a white supremecist. I can't stand 'em, actually. I think they're crazier than shithouse rats and often question the hatred so frequntly spewed forth by their front men/women. Try telling hem they can't have or express their opinions, though, and I will, I must, defend them. Please don't make me do that.
Even if it's abhorrent to me, I will not seek to silence another's voice.
I don't mind telling someone "Hey, I find that offensive" or "I disagree", but that's a far cry from telling them they can't have their say.
It's freedom OF. folks, not freedom FROM.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Away, Away, For a Year and a Day
Well...I hope it isn't that long!
Alas, despite my hope to start daily blogging again in 2012, I am thwarted by the mighty dollar...or, rather, by the lack thereof. The Internet and phones are shut off until further notice at Casa de Crazy, which makes it bloody difficult to blog! I'll be back and blogging daily when I can pay these unreasonable people - imagine, demanding money for their service! The unadulterated gall!
I miss you folks...I miss the Blue Nowhere...and I hope you won't all drift away while I'm floundering here in reality. I may have access once in a while when I am visiting Mum (like I am now), but it'll be sporadic at best.
See you again soon...I hope...
Alas, despite my hope to start daily blogging again in 2012, I am thwarted by the mighty dollar...or, rather, by the lack thereof. The Internet and phones are shut off until further notice at Casa de Crazy, which makes it bloody difficult to blog! I'll be back and blogging daily when I can pay these unreasonable people - imagine, demanding money for their service! The unadulterated gall!
I miss you folks...I miss the Blue Nowhere...and I hope you won't all drift away while I'm floundering here in reality. I may have access once in a while when I am visiting Mum (like I am now), but it'll be sporadic at best.
See you again soon...I hope...
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Soup, Why Not?
I woke up yesterday with a hankerin' for soup. I winged it. Didn't turn out too bad, at all.
The players:
1 lb Great Northern Beans
1 lb Chourico (spicy Portuguese sausage)
1 Medium Onion
8 - 10 Baby Carrots
2 Stalks Celery
4 Cloves Garlic
Liquid/Stock of your choice
Begin by soaking the beans overnight, or by quick-soaking (place them in a pot with 8 cups of water, bringing to a boil, boil for 2 minutes, turn off the heat and let sit for an hour before draining and rinsing). I quick-soaked this time because it was a last-minute souping.
Drain and rinse the beans. Set aside.
The players:
1 lb Great Northern Beans
1 lb Chourico (spicy Portuguese sausage)
1 Medium Onion
8 - 10 Baby Carrots
2 Stalks Celery
4 Cloves Garlic
Liquid/Stock of your choice
Begin by soaking the beans overnight, or by quick-soaking (place them in a pot with 8 cups of water, bringing to a boil, boil for 2 minutes, turn off the heat and let sit for an hour before draining and rinsing). I quick-soaked this time because it was a last-minute souping.
Drain and rinse the beans. Set aside.
Chop onion, carrots, celery, garlic, and sausage.
Heat some olive oil and butter in a pot. Saute onion/sausage mix until onions are softened.
Mix in the beans, then cover the lot with liquid - I used a mix of chicken stock and water, enough to cover the solids plus an inch or so over. Shake in a little cumin - maybe 1/4 teaspoon or so.
Cover. Bring to a boil, then simmer for several hours or until beans are cooked.
You can healthy it up a little by adding spinach, Kale, or cabbage at the last minute if you want.
Salt and pepper to taste. I served with corn bread. It was nicely spicy and flavorful, and hearty enough that I only ate one bowl.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Yule
Annual re-post freshened up with current info.
~~~~~
Happy Yule, y'all!
Wait, what? Yule - you know...Yule? The holiday that some people celebrated waaayyy before that poor wee baby was born in a pile of hay? Evergreens ring a bell? Holly? Ivy? Mistletoe??
OK, go get a snack and a nice beverage (eggnog on the right, pink punch in the center, pick a bottle from the high chair to spike it with)(yes, the high chair is our bar - the Evil Genius doesn't need it any more, Sprout is getting a new one that's a little more stable and able to handle her wiggling without that alarming creaking noise, and it's an heirloom that I want to keep on display - so why not??) and get comfy. All set?
Yule, or Winter Solstice, is a celebration of the returning light.
Yep, it's that simple.
The God is reborn today, and the days will lengthen with his growth, into the fullness of Summer. In some villages, way back in the past, hearth fires would be extinguished (a brave thing when you didn't have Zippos or matches or even two sticks to rub together). They would be relit from brands taken from a community balefire, lit by the sun himself with a little help from some glass (or a hidden coal or two - c'mon, we weren't above a little showmanship, back then), thereby bringing the sun (and, one hoped, his blessings) into the home. It also kept the community united, because everyone shared the same fire, the same light and heat. Cool, huh? Gotta love a religion that encourages playing with fire. Ahem.
The fir tree was (and is) a symbol of life lasting even through death, the promise of life and light renewed, and a reminder that beneath the snow, the Earth-heart beats on. Holly and Ivy were green, too, but they were also symbols of the Green Man, the Forest Lord, Jack o' the Green - the God primeval. The Holly King and the Ivy King, the old and the young, the constant, changing balance. Deep stuff, yo.
Mistletoe is still used in a fairly traditional way, although it wasn't always just kissing done under the stuff. I still use the leaves and occasional berry when I make love bundles for people (Note - a love bundle isn't a love spell, it is meant to strengthen what is already there, not coerce or sublimate the free will of another. I don't DO love spells, so don't even ask.)(I mean it.), and it's a terrific symbol. It was also a fertility and aphrodisiac herb, but only symbolically - even wigged out Druids knew the stuff was toxic!
We light a yule log, in our house one that's cut from the trunk of last year's tree (the rest of which is providing habitat and nutrients in the woods out back). Old tales say if it lights on the first try and burns for twelve hours, we'll have good luck...this year, I'm soaking one end in water, first. What? We need all the good fortune we can get...don't you??
This year we are spending Yule at Mum's, lighting the burn pile, celebrating the returning light with a little spark of our own. We'll collect some of the ash and bring it home to add to the ash jar and sprinkle around the foundation for a blessing.
Sometimes a group of us will get together and just spend a quiet day nibbling snacks, enjoying each other's company, and taking a break from the holiday insanity out there among the English. If we exchange gifts, we try to make them ourselves, or give things that encourage and nurture our spiritual or creative selves. Things will be a little sparse this year, and Someone and I have agreed not to exchange anything...we want the kids to have a nice holiday, although Sprout wouldn't know or care if she got a gift as long as there was a box and some ribbon to play with.
But mostly, it's a celebration of the returning sun, the waxing light, the cycle renewed.
Happy Yule - When the days be cold, may your hearth be warm. When the nights be long, may your fire burn bright. When the wind blows, may you find snug shelter. When tree and field are bare, may your larder be full. May you never know Winter's chill a moment longer than you care to, nor hunger nor want, and should you find you have all that you need and a bit more besides, may you find someone who will gladly take what you offer and live better for the receiving. Blessed be.
~~~~~
Happy Yule, y'all!
Wait, what? Yule - you know...Yule? The holiday that some people celebrated waaayyy before that poor wee baby was born in a pile of hay? Evergreens ring a bell? Holly? Ivy? Mistletoe??
OK, go get a snack and a nice beverage (eggnog on the right, pink punch in the center, pick a bottle from the high chair to spike it with)(yes, the high chair is our bar - the Evil Genius doesn't need it any more, Sprout is getting a new one that's a little more stable and able to handle her wiggling without that alarming creaking noise, and it's an heirloom that I want to keep on display - so why not??) and get comfy. All set?
Yule, or Winter Solstice, is a celebration of the returning light.
Yep, it's that simple.
The God is reborn today, and the days will lengthen with his growth, into the fullness of Summer. In some villages, way back in the past, hearth fires would be extinguished (a brave thing when you didn't have Zippos or matches or even two sticks to rub together). They would be relit from brands taken from a community balefire, lit by the sun himself with a little help from some glass (or a hidden coal or two - c'mon, we weren't above a little showmanship, back then), thereby bringing the sun (and, one hoped, his blessings) into the home. It also kept the community united, because everyone shared the same fire, the same light and heat. Cool, huh? Gotta love a religion that encourages playing with fire. Ahem.
The fir tree was (and is) a symbol of life lasting even through death, the promise of life and light renewed, and a reminder that beneath the snow, the Earth-heart beats on. Holly and Ivy were green, too, but they were also symbols of the Green Man, the Forest Lord, Jack o' the Green - the God primeval. The Holly King and the Ivy King, the old and the young, the constant, changing balance. Deep stuff, yo.
Mistletoe is still used in a fairly traditional way, although it wasn't always just kissing done under the stuff. I still use the leaves and occasional berry when I make love bundles for people (Note - a love bundle isn't a love spell, it is meant to strengthen what is already there, not coerce or sublimate the free will of another. I don't DO love spells, so don't even ask.)(I mean it.), and it's a terrific symbol. It was also a fertility and aphrodisiac herb, but only symbolically - even wigged out Druids knew the stuff was toxic!
We light a yule log, in our house one that's cut from the trunk of last year's tree (the rest of which is providing habitat and nutrients in the woods out back). Old tales say if it lights on the first try and burns for twelve hours, we'll have good luck...this year, I'm soaking one end in water, first. What? We need all the good fortune we can get...don't you??
This year we are spending Yule at Mum's, lighting the burn pile, celebrating the returning light with a little spark of our own. We'll collect some of the ash and bring it home to add to the ash jar and sprinkle around the foundation for a blessing.
Sometimes a group of us will get together and just spend a quiet day nibbling snacks, enjoying each other's company, and taking a break from the holiday insanity out there among the English. If we exchange gifts, we try to make them ourselves, or give things that encourage and nurture our spiritual or creative selves. Things will be a little sparse this year, and Someone and I have agreed not to exchange anything...we want the kids to have a nice holiday, although Sprout wouldn't know or care if she got a gift as long as there was a box and some ribbon to play with.
But mostly, it's a celebration of the returning sun, the waxing light, the cycle renewed.
Happy Yule - When the days be cold, may your hearth be warm. When the nights be long, may your fire burn bright. When the wind blows, may you find snug shelter. When tree and field are bare, may your larder be full. May you never know Winter's chill a moment longer than you care to, nor hunger nor want, and should you find you have all that you need and a bit more besides, may you find someone who will gladly take what you offer and live better for the receiving. Blessed be.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Let the Caterwauling Commence!
Since we're so close to Yule, I thought I'd be ridiculous and re-post some videos of Yule caroling. They aren't top quality, but they're what I have - between cats meyowling along because they thought I might be injured, the clock bonging away, the TV randomly coming on, the Evil Genius randomly wandering through, and the phone ringing, I had to reshoot a number of times, and my voice went away after an hour or so.
Anyway, here are three for your amusement.
If you want the lyrics, I'll e-mail 'em to ya. As always, I shot these with my trusty Kodak Easy Share CX7525 (now with a new! rechargeable! battery!!). Kodak doesn't know I exist, do for FTC purposes, I ain't disclaiming anything.
Anyway, here are three for your amusement.
If you want the lyrics, I'll e-mail 'em to ya. As always, I shot these with my trusty Kodak Easy Share CX7525 (now with a new! rechargeable! battery!!). Kodak doesn't know I exist, do for FTC purposes, I ain't disclaiming anything.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Pimpin' My Pal
Well hey there!
Ohmuhgoodness, look at the dust in here! I don't know what just brushed my face - it was either a cobweb or a gauze curtain.
Cough.
Is anyone still here? Looks like my little shanty in Blogopolis has been abandoned.
Is that...wildlife...I see creeping in the corners? Augh!
I need to get this place back in order, huh? M'kay - while I'm out renting a Blue Nowhere rated wet-dry vac, how about I give you a link to follow?
Trust me, this is a good link. I don't share it with just anybody. No - you're special!
Looking for a holiday/birthday/special occasion/no reason at all gift? Go see my friend, sister of my heart, and a talented-as-heck artist K2: Unleash the Goddess. She makes beautiful, unique, wearable art - and sometimes she lets me play with her glass.
Glass, people, glass!! Geeze...
Meanwhile, I am going to find an air filter and a giant incense stick - this blog smells stale...
I'll be back soon, just in case you have missed me...
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
In case you were wondering...
...Bob the Wonder Computer has a full memory and can't get online. A friend has offered to try and help clear the hard drive, but until that happens I have limited online access, so not much blogging is going on around here. I miss the Blue Nowhere and y'all...
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