I have a weekly date with Mum.
We spend Tuesdays together.
For a while, I brought the kids up to her place and we would spend the day harassing her cat and generally invading her home so that Someone could have a quiet day. For the last few months, however, he's been keeping the kids at home and giving Mum and I a day to do whatever it is we do without the kids around.
Thank you, Someone, for a day to breathe!
Mostly, we talk. We do things while we talk - knit, crochet, visit her local yarn shop, attend quilt guild, run errands - but always, we talk.
We talk about the past, the present, what we think the future holds. We tell out stories a few hours at a time, hers, mine, the tales of the people we know. We gossip and laugh and get serious.
I would love to say we are secretly international jewel thieves or rock stars, or that we don costumes and fight crime with slick moves and pithy catch phrases, but...nah.
Sometimes we go somewhere, do something. Almost always, Mum buys me lunch.
I love these Tuesdays with Mum. I think of it as banking memories against the inevitable days when I will want to have such a savings, when there will be nothing more to deposit and I will want something to help fill what will be a tremendous void.
Don't get me wrong, we're not exactly ordering sackcloth yet...although Mum DID have a conversation with a cremation society last week, which I would have loved to have heard because we both have something of an irreverence regarding death. It's just that we both know no one lives forever. No one.
So while we're living, we're making sure we sift through the sands of time for whatever shining gems we can find, polish them up, and set them in the crown of memory.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Saturday, January 26, 2013
We Shall Eat Cake!
Gramma B was kind enough to give me the recipe. Did you ever read an old book and see a recipe called a receipt? Anyway, she gave me the recipe AND her vintage bundt pan, and I made if for Sprout's first birthday (tasted great, looked a mess) and then for my birthday (came out terrific), and now I've made it again.
I don't dare make it too often, or I'll need new trousers. Two sizes larger.
I thought I would share the recipe so you can avoid making it too often, too. I warn you, it's a little costly at first, because of all the flavorings, but after the first bite, you won't mind.
The players
~~~~~
For the cake:
2 sticks of butter. Butter. Nothing else will do. No, it won't. Butter, I tell you! Ahem.
1/2 cup shortening. Crisco makes it in bars, now, with easy-measure lines so you can just cut it. I adore them, they make my kitchen life so much easier.
3 cups sugar. Do your teeth ache? Mine do every time I read that.
5 eggs, well beaten.
3 cups all purpose flour - none of that specialized stuff for us, we want the handy-man of the flour world for this!
1/2 teaspoon baking powder. I didn't realize until a few years ago that some baking powder has aluminum in it. I don't buy that kind, any more. I like my aluminum outside me, like covering a delicious cake...
1 cup milk. Now, some folks say skim is as good as whole, and if you're one of 'em that's fine, but I use whole milk.
1 teaspoon each coconut, rum, butter, lemon, vanilla, and almond flavors. I pre-measure them and use pure extracts where I can. I dig how the lemon makes the liquid cloudy - reminds me of chemistry class.
For the glaze:
1 cup sugar (oh, my poor teeth!).
1/2 cup water
1 teaspoon each coconut, rum, butter, lemon, vanilla, and almond flavors.
Action
~~~~~
Cream butter, shortening, and sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs (which have been beaten until lemon colored). Combine flour and baking powder. Add dry ingredients to creamed mixture, alternating with milk. Mix in the flavoring. I use a stand mixer, and once the flavoring is in I let it run for a few minutes while I prepare my bundt pan. I spray my pan liberally with Baker's Joy. Very liberally. Perhaps I am a bit crazed about it, but the first time I made this cake I used cooking spray alone and it did. Not. Work. Baker's joy lives up to its name. So, while your batter is mixing, prepare your pan, preferable a bundt pan but you can use a regular cake pan if you like.
Spoon the batter into a 10-inch tube/bundt pan. Bake at 375 for 1 hour, 15 minutes or until done.
You may have more than enough batter. The bundt pan shouldn't be more than 2/3 full. Any extra can go into another cake pan or (in my case) mini-bundts. I usually get one regular and three minis from one batch. The minis make good individual cakes for kids or distractions for me.
About twenty minutes before the cake is done, combine the glaze ingredients in a pan and bring to a boil and stir until the sugar is melted.
Pour half the glaze on the finished cake while it's in the pan.
Cool for ten minutes, remove from the pan, and pour the rest of the glaze over the top.
I dare you to resist eating this.
~~~~~
We are celebrating Sprout's birthday tomorrow when Mum and a friend come over. I hate waiting. Think anyone will notice if there's a bite or three missing?
What's your favorite cake?
Friday, January 25, 2013
Woo-Hoo, She's Two!
The Sprout is Two today.
Two!!
Wow.
She is 35 7/8 inches tall, so if the formula holds true (take their height at Two and double it), she'll be about 5' 10", which just happens to be how tall both Someone and I are. She weighs 25 pounds, one ounce.
She's 50'th percentile for weight, 75'th for height, and 100% our little biscuit baby. Toddler. Gah!
Toddler!!!
She speaks clearly enough to be understood by non-family. What her vocabulary lacks in scope she makes up for with enthusiasm - she knows names, knows Mama and Papa and Buddy (her name for the Evil Genius), cat, water, juice, cheese, eat, sit, sauce (apple sauce), outside, shoes, want, hat, Pooh, Pingu, Shaun (as in Shaun the Sheep, a claymation show that she recently decided was delightful), moon,ball, candy (groan), blow, slide, and fish, and some more that I can't recall because I am a terrible mommy and don't write down every little thing she says or does. She has a "No!!!" and isn't afraid to use it.
If I ask her where her cup, her jacket, her shoes, Pooh, or any number of things are, she can find them and bring them to me, even if they're in another room.
She will climb anything that doesn't move out from under her.
Like her Mama, she is somewhat immune to the cold (except when she's sleeping - if she's even slightly chilled, she wakes up and tells me about it!) and playing in water. Like her Papa, she loves being out in the sun (unless it's in her eyes) and gardening. She adores her Buddy, would follow him through Hell if that's where he was going. She has figured out how to hiss at the cats and make them run, which amuses her very much, them not so much. She can put her finger to her lips and say "Shhhhhh", but she still doesn't have much grasp of the concept of an indoor voice.
She purses her lips and turns them up at us when she wants kisses, and she will wrap her little arm around my neck and pat me when we hug.
Her smile. Oh, how I love her smile. She can be so solemn, looking at the world and sorting things out...and then she grins that little girl grin, the trouble grin, the smile that expresses her whole being, her delight at the world, her joy in being, just being, and she incandesces and I melt into a puddle on the floor which she will fetch a towel to clean up because she knows that's what we do when something spills.
Two.
Strange how someone can go from small, wriggly, helpless, to larger-than-life, full-tilt-boogie, and fiercely independent in such a short time.
Strange to thing what changes we will experience in the coming year, the coming years.
For now, she is two and that is enough, more than enough.
Two!!
Wow.
She is 35 7/8 inches tall, so if the formula holds true (take their height at Two and double it), she'll be about 5' 10", which just happens to be how tall both Someone and I are. She weighs 25 pounds, one ounce.
She's 50'th percentile for weight, 75'th for height, and 100% our little biscuit baby. Toddler. Gah!
Toddler!!!
She speaks clearly enough to be understood by non-family. What her vocabulary lacks in scope she makes up for with enthusiasm - she knows names, knows Mama and Papa and Buddy (her name for the Evil Genius), cat, water, juice, cheese, eat, sit, sauce (apple sauce), outside, shoes, want, hat, Pooh, Pingu, Shaun (as in Shaun the Sheep, a claymation show that she recently decided was delightful), moon,ball, candy (groan), blow, slide, and fish, and some more that I can't recall because I am a terrible mommy and don't write down every little thing she says or does. She has a "No!!!" and isn't afraid to use it.
If I ask her where her cup, her jacket, her shoes, Pooh, or any number of things are, she can find them and bring them to me, even if they're in another room.
She will climb anything that doesn't move out from under her.
Like her Mama, she is somewhat immune to the cold (except when she's sleeping - if she's even slightly chilled, she wakes up and tells me about it!) and playing in water. Like her Papa, she loves being out in the sun (unless it's in her eyes) and gardening. She adores her Buddy, would follow him through Hell if that's where he was going. She has figured out how to hiss at the cats and make them run, which amuses her very much, them not so much. She can put her finger to her lips and say "Shhhhhh", but she still doesn't have much grasp of the concept of an indoor voice.
She purses her lips and turns them up at us when she wants kisses, and she will wrap her little arm around my neck and pat me when we hug.
Her smile. Oh, how I love her smile. She can be so solemn, looking at the world and sorting things out...and then she grins that little girl grin, the trouble grin, the smile that expresses her whole being, her delight at the world, her joy in being, just being, and she incandesces and I melt into a puddle on the floor which she will fetch a towel to clean up because she knows that's what we do when something spills.
Two.
Strange how someone can go from small, wriggly, helpless, to larger-than-life, full-tilt-boogie, and fiercely independent in such a short time.
Strange to thing what changes we will experience in the coming year, the coming years.
For now, she is two and that is enough, more than enough.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Les Mis, Hollywood Style (A Review of Sorts)
I once had the good fortune to see Les Miserables one stage at the Fox Theater in Atlanta. Beautiful theater, The Fox.Worth a visit if you ever have the chance. I have never had a bad experience or sat in a bad seat there, and I've been up in the rafters once or twice!
The production I saw was terrific - well played, well sung, incredible sets, beautifully done all around.
I have the recording done by the international cast, including a young Japanese woman who reportedly didn't speak a word of English but sang the part of Eponine flawlessly after learning it phonetically. I have played it so often, were it a record I'd have worn through the grooves by now. As it is, I can sing the play from start to finish in my sleep.
Yesterday, a couple of friends and I took a day for us. We went to lunch, and then to the movies. We chose Les Miserables because I didn't know any of the other movies showing (I live under a rock, remember, with little media input), and nothing else looked interesting.
I'll be honest, I was a little dubious of Les Mis on film...until I saw that Hugh Jackman was in it. Then I was all for it. Come on...Hugh Jackman...mmmmm...
Three hours.
It was every minute of three hours from opening to end of credits.
I'm glad I got the large popcorn and the super-mega-bladderbuster drink.
In this day and age, a musical...even an epic, famous, hugely popular Broadway musical...just isn't the thing for film (Chicago being a noted exception). Also, Broadway doesn't often translate well to film, does it? There's something about live people, on a stage in front of one, something about feeling more drawn in by physical presence, that doesn't usually make it into film. A play? I'm in the room with the characters. A film? I am observing from a distance.
Some thoughts about the movie:
The actors sang their own parts. Yes. They did. I know! They did quite well, I thought. Not trained-Broadway-polished-pitch-perfect well, but well enough that my ears were not offended. Kudos to anyone with the chutzpah to take one any of those rolls without a lifetime of voice coaching! I AM a singer, classically trained, and I only sing along with the CD if no one's around. Hey, I said I could sing it, but I didn't say I could sing it well. The rough spots, the occasionally wobbling note, somehow made it more...real.
The music was not entirely the same. There were things taken out, thing added in, which threw me.
A few pieces of plot were switched about. I don't generally approve of that. It didn't help the story line and I think it took away from one important dynamic.
The casting was brilliant - Russell Crow, Hugh Jackman, Ann Hathaway, Helena Bonham Carter, Sacha Baron Cohen...
The acting was excellent.
When one knows the play, knows the music, and still gets...weepy...then one knows the film is well done, indeed.
A few seats down, some girls were sobbing at the end. Sobbing. Served 'em right for spending some thirty minutes in the middle of the film wrestling with a candy wrapper made of extra loud, Kevlar strength cellophane. And for having a cell phone on and receiving texts in a theater. Who doesn't know that's rude? Who???
I always feel a little annoyed with Fantine and Cosette, and sorry for Javert. Well written characters do that, snooker me into having feelings about them. Hugh Jackman was a delicious Valjean. Of course, he's a delicious anything.
The Thenardiers were delightfully horrid, as always.
If you haven't seen the play or movie, or at least heard the sound track, right now you are wondering what the hell I am talking about. Sorry.
I had the thought that, if nothing else, the film brings an epic, lush, compelling bit of storytelling out of the somewhat less accessible theater and onto the more easily affordable big screen, staying true enough to the original that folks can say they've seen Les Mis without quibble, and for that I think the film maker deserves lauds - thank you, Tom Hooper!
Over all, I enjoyed it enough to be worth the full priced ticket ( Holy cats, when did it get so expensive? Granted, I haven't been to a movie in a while...okay, in years...but wow!), and would go see it again. I feel confident that anyone trotting off for a film would be, at the very least, entertained by it. The only caveat? This is a full-on, no holds barred musical, and if that's not your thing you may not enjoy it as much.
Here, a gratuitous movie poster for your amusement:
What's the latest movie you've seen, and how did you like it?
The production I saw was terrific - well played, well sung, incredible sets, beautifully done all around.
I have the recording done by the international cast, including a young Japanese woman who reportedly didn't speak a word of English but sang the part of Eponine flawlessly after learning it phonetically. I have played it so often, were it a record I'd have worn through the grooves by now. As it is, I can sing the play from start to finish in my sleep.
Yesterday, a couple of friends and I took a day for us. We went to lunch, and then to the movies. We chose Les Miserables because I didn't know any of the other movies showing (I live under a rock, remember, with little media input), and nothing else looked interesting.
I'll be honest, I was a little dubious of Les Mis on film...until I saw that Hugh Jackman was in it. Then I was all for it. Come on...Hugh Jackman...mmmmm...
Three hours.
It was every minute of three hours from opening to end of credits.
I'm glad I got the large popcorn and the super-mega-bladderbuster drink.
In this day and age, a musical...even an epic, famous, hugely popular Broadway musical...just isn't the thing for film (Chicago being a noted exception). Also, Broadway doesn't often translate well to film, does it? There's something about live people, on a stage in front of one, something about feeling more drawn in by physical presence, that doesn't usually make it into film. A play? I'm in the room with the characters. A film? I am observing from a distance.
Some thoughts about the movie:
The actors sang their own parts. Yes. They did. I know! They did quite well, I thought. Not trained-Broadway-polished-pitch-perfect well, but well enough that my ears were not offended. Kudos to anyone with the chutzpah to take one any of those rolls without a lifetime of voice coaching! I AM a singer, classically trained, and I only sing along with the CD if no one's around. Hey, I said I could sing it, but I didn't say I could sing it well. The rough spots, the occasionally wobbling note, somehow made it more...real.
The music was not entirely the same. There were things taken out, thing added in, which threw me.
A few pieces of plot were switched about. I don't generally approve of that. It didn't help the story line and I think it took away from one important dynamic.
The casting was brilliant - Russell Crow, Hugh Jackman, Ann Hathaway, Helena Bonham Carter, Sacha Baron Cohen...
The acting was excellent.
When one knows the play, knows the music, and still gets...weepy...then one knows the film is well done, indeed.
A few seats down, some girls were sobbing at the end. Sobbing. Served 'em right for spending some thirty minutes in the middle of the film wrestling with a candy wrapper made of extra loud, Kevlar strength cellophane. And for having a cell phone on and receiving texts in a theater. Who doesn't know that's rude? Who???
I always feel a little annoyed with Fantine and Cosette, and sorry for Javert. Well written characters do that, snooker me into having feelings about them. Hugh Jackman was a delicious Valjean. Of course, he's a delicious anything.
The Thenardiers were delightfully horrid, as always.
If you haven't seen the play or movie, or at least heard the sound track, right now you are wondering what the hell I am talking about. Sorry.
I had the thought that, if nothing else, the film brings an epic, lush, compelling bit of storytelling out of the somewhat less accessible theater and onto the more easily affordable big screen, staying true enough to the original that folks can say they've seen Les Mis without quibble, and for that I think the film maker deserves lauds - thank you, Tom Hooper!
Over all, I enjoyed it enough to be worth the full priced ticket ( Holy cats, when did it get so expensive? Granted, I haven't been to a movie in a while...okay, in years...but wow!), and would go see it again. I feel confident that anyone trotting off for a film would be, at the very least, entertained by it. The only caveat? This is a full-on, no holds barred musical, and if that's not your thing you may not enjoy it as much.
Here, a gratuitous movie poster for your amusement:
What's the latest movie you've seen, and how did you like it?
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Mombies*
It's happening all over the world as I type. Dark circled eyes staring emptily out at nothing. Groans emanating from deep within at every motion. Hands hanging slack, or outstretched and clawing for...something... Heavy breathing, slurred speech.
All over the world, I tell you, and now at Casa de Crazy as well.
The Mombies have arisen.
We were up and down all night to rock, fetch water, frighten away bad dreams, grab a bucket to catch vomit, change sheets, whatever it was that the younger residents of our collective homes needed that couldn't wait until a more reasonable hour...say...maybe after ten?
We spend our days doing laundry, making meals, fetching groceries, taking out the trash, emptying the compost, cleaning rooms, and endlessly sweeping, mopping, or vacuuming floors that never seem to be clean.
What intelligence we once possessed is gone the way of the Dodo, and we have no idea what you are talking about, but we will happily smile, nod, and try to steal your coffee when you aren't looking, maybe deposit a child or two in your lap and run for the hills.
Our battle cry isn't "braaaaiiiiins", it's "draaaaaaiiiiiiinnnnnsss", as we hunt for the Liquid Drain Cleaner o' Doom to deal with whatever is stuck down the kids' tub drain before it gains sentience and demands a seat at the UN.
No, we can't carry on a coherent conversation, thank you. We can't hear half of what you said, and can't make sense of the rest of it.
Date? What's that? It's a fruit, right?
Dinner out? Not yet, it hasn't finished baking in the oven yet.
Movie? Isn't that something cows do?
Free time? Wait, when did we start having to pay for it?
Uninterrupted sleep? You made that up just now.
You have something on your face right there, let me spit on a napkin and get it off for you.
Did I have a point? I can't remember...
~~~~~
The Evil Genius asked me why parents are weird. I told him it's because we have kids - right up until then, we were perfectly normal.
~~~~~
This post brought to you by Sprout's nagging cough that woke her up every twenty to thirty minutes all. night. long.
*I totally thought of my post title before I found the picture. Yuh huh, did too!
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Umm...Okay...But Why Is It My Business?
Casa de Crazy doesn't have regular television. No cable, no satellite, we rely on T's Netflix account for entertainment, so when things happen out there in the world I usually learn about it via Facebook or word of mouth.
Apparently one of my favorite actresses, Jodie Foster, received an award last weekend. While making her acceptance speech, it seems she may have mentioned something about being...gay?
I must pause here to mention that I have not looked at one single moment of the many videos of her speech, nor have I read any transcripts from or full articles about it. I have merely seen some headlines and some people's reactions to it.
So what I am wondering is twofold.
First, was there anyone who didn't know that she paddled on that side of the canoe, or at least rowed on both sides of the boat?
Second, umm, this matters why?
What business is it of mine with whom she sleeps or who she loves or takes up housekeepery with? Providing she isn't doing anyone any harm, I don't honestly care. I don't mean that in a angry, hurtful, mean kind of way - I wish her, as I do any being, a life of happiness and fulfillment. My estimation of another person is not linked to their sex life. Again, as long as no one is being hurt, I don't much care what kind of kink, vanilla, celibate or slutty lifestyle a body is living.
While I laud Mizz Foster for being herself, unabashedly, I just don't think it's my business. Sexual activity is personal. It is between the consenting participants. It has nothing to do with whether I will watch a movie or read a book or listen to a song - THAT had everything to do with talent or lack thereof, and that I DO care deeply about.
Why have we become a culture that demands more than simply living one's life with honesty? Why have we become a culture that demands that people, especially celebrities, announce publicly something so private? Why does it matter?
Apparently one of my favorite actresses, Jodie Foster, received an award last weekend. While making her acceptance speech, it seems she may have mentioned something about being...gay?
I must pause here to mention that I have not looked at one single moment of the many videos of her speech, nor have I read any transcripts from or full articles about it. I have merely seen some headlines and some people's reactions to it.
So what I am wondering is twofold.
First, was there anyone who didn't know that she paddled on that side of the canoe, or at least rowed on both sides of the boat?
Second, umm, this matters why?
What business is it of mine with whom she sleeps or who she loves or takes up housekeepery with? Providing she isn't doing anyone any harm, I don't honestly care. I don't mean that in a angry, hurtful, mean kind of way - I wish her, as I do any being, a life of happiness and fulfillment. My estimation of another person is not linked to their sex life. Again, as long as no one is being hurt, I don't much care what kind of kink, vanilla, celibate or slutty lifestyle a body is living.
While I laud Mizz Foster for being herself, unabashedly, I just don't think it's my business. Sexual activity is personal. It is between the consenting participants. It has nothing to do with whether I will watch a movie or read a book or listen to a song - THAT had everything to do with talent or lack thereof, and that I DO care deeply about.
Why have we become a culture that demands more than simply living one's life with honesty? Why have we become a culture that demands that people, especially celebrities, announce publicly something so private? Why does it matter?
Monday, January 14, 2013
Ouch
This is a Nintendo 3DS:
The 3DS is, in case you were wondering, worth more than the blue book value of my van. I cannot replace it. His father will not replace it. The Evil Genius? Is heartbroken. Tears. Many, many tears. Copious, even.
Can you keep a secret?
I'm heartbroken, too.
I hate that he has to learn this lesson this way. He loved that thing. Loved. He actually took it out of his pocket and put it on the bumper so he wouldn't break it while playing with his friend. He didn't. Want. To Break. It.
Hello, irony?
Yeah.
So...ouch.
So how did you learn the lesson to be careful with your precious things? Or did you?
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Gifted
My Mum is my staunchest supporter, literally and figuratively.
She is my cheerleader, my sympathetic ear, and more often than either of us would like, she's my wallet and erstwhile loan officer.
She keeps her mouth shut when she'd like to speak because she honors my alleged adulthood and my right to screw up my life however I choose. She speaks when she'd rather stay silent because she'd rather lance the boil than let it fester, even when letting it fester would be less painful in the short run.
She will not let my children do without anything, even when it means she has to do without something herself.
She also understands that some things, while not essential to life, go a long way towards making life more bearable and even downright enjoyable.
That's why she gave me a new camera for Yule - can't be a photographer without a working camera, can I?
That's why she decided to give me an early birthday present.
Mum's laptop went kerflooey. That is too a word. It went kerflooey, leaving Mum with the need for a laptop. She decided that I need a laptop, too, since Bob the Wonder Computer is long past retirement and has been largely unusable for the last year, leaving Casa de Crazy with the desktop and three computer-hungry people to use it.
Last week, we went on an outing and I came home with a new laptop. It is a Gateway Somethingorother, with whiz-bangs, zoomers, and fooferaw to spare. I have a deep and abiding affection for the keyboard, which is almost full sized and only needs soft contact to type. It fits my hands beautifully. With it, I can once again blog at will. I named it Albino Bob, because it is white and the name appeals to me.
It is not the original Bob, and will never replace him in my affections, but it is a mighty fine gizmo and has already become part of my morning routine. I look forward toscrewing up learning the ins and outs of Albino Bob's programming.
Welcome to the Casa, Albino Bob.
And thank you, Mum, for so much more...
She is my cheerleader, my sympathetic ear, and more often than either of us would like, she's my wallet and erstwhile loan officer.
She keeps her mouth shut when she'd like to speak because she honors my alleged adulthood and my right to screw up my life however I choose. She speaks when she'd rather stay silent because she'd rather lance the boil than let it fester, even when letting it fester would be less painful in the short run.
She will not let my children do without anything, even when it means she has to do without something herself.
She also understands that some things, while not essential to life, go a long way towards making life more bearable and even downright enjoyable.
That's why she gave me a new camera for Yule - can't be a photographer without a working camera, can I?
That's why she decided to give me an early birthday present.
Mum's laptop went kerflooey. That is too a word. It went kerflooey, leaving Mum with the need for a laptop. She decided that I need a laptop, too, since Bob the Wonder Computer is long past retirement and has been largely unusable for the last year, leaving Casa de Crazy with the desktop and three computer-hungry people to use it.
Last week, we went on an outing and I came home with a new laptop. It is a Gateway Somethingorother, with whiz-bangs, zoomers, and fooferaw to spare. I have a deep and abiding affection for the keyboard, which is almost full sized and only needs soft contact to type. It fits my hands beautifully. With it, I can once again blog at will. I named it Albino Bob, because it is white and the name appeals to me.
It is not the original Bob, and will never replace him in my affections, but it is a mighty fine gizmo and has already become part of my morning routine. I look forward to
Welcome to the Casa, Albino Bob.
And thank you, Mum, for so much more...
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Unclean
A friend of mine was recently disturbed to find that her children had lice.
They've been itchy for a while, but there was no sign of infestation until a few nights ago when her husband found proof of the critters in their daughter's hair. The family was something less than thrilled.
My friend had the happy chore of calling everyone who had been to their house or had played with their kids to let them know. I can understand the feelings that engendered, a little - no lice, here, but measles as a result of a reaction to immunizations, of course at a public event with lots of other kids. It never happens when no one else is effected, does it?
So my poor friend has been having to treat her kids for lice, and the experience put me in mind of my childhood and lice.
To my recollection, I never had lice, but I remember louse checks at school, when the nurse would come into the classroom and use those disposable wooden chopstick tings to look through our hair for tell-tale signs of noggin-noshers.
Children with lice were removed from the classroom, banished until they were proven free of unwanted cranial crawlers.
To have lice meant one was unclean, untouchable, poor, somehow less than the other kids. It was shameful and proof that one wasn't quite right. It meant ostracism, hair combing, medicinal shampoos, lots of laundry, and unhappy days away from school. Social groupings could change overnight.
We were sternly admonished to never share pillows, hats, coats, or scarves because one never knew when a louse might feel migratory.
Because of lice, we have "lousy", which used to mean crawling with lice but now means no good. We also have "nit picking", which means detail oriented these days but was once an actual profession, wherein people would sit and comb through hair picking out lice and nits (the only way to delouse a person). They had to be meticulous, and it was a lowly profession.
These days, we know that lice have nothing to do with one's social station or cleanliness - my friend's kids are quite clean - and there's less (if any) stigma involved. They're just a fact of life in school - kids play, share clothing, and occasionally pass germs, rashes, and pesky parasites around the classroom. Pragmatism reigns in dealing with all, happily replacing the hysteria of the past.
Sometimes, I like our social evolution.
What's your experience with louses, leeses, lice?
They've been itchy for a while, but there was no sign of infestation until a few nights ago when her husband found proof of the critters in their daughter's hair. The family was something less than thrilled.
My friend had the happy chore of calling everyone who had been to their house or had played with their kids to let them know. I can understand the feelings that engendered, a little - no lice, here, but measles as a result of a reaction to immunizations, of course at a public event with lots of other kids. It never happens when no one else is effected, does it?
So my poor friend has been having to treat her kids for lice, and the experience put me in mind of my childhood and lice.
To my recollection, I never had lice, but I remember louse checks at school, when the nurse would come into the classroom and use those disposable wooden chopstick tings to look through our hair for tell-tale signs of noggin-noshers.
Children with lice were removed from the classroom, banished until they were proven free of unwanted cranial crawlers.
To have lice meant one was unclean, untouchable, poor, somehow less than the other kids. It was shameful and proof that one wasn't quite right. It meant ostracism, hair combing, medicinal shampoos, lots of laundry, and unhappy days away from school. Social groupings could change overnight.
We were sternly admonished to never share pillows, hats, coats, or scarves because one never knew when a louse might feel migratory.
Because of lice, we have "lousy", which used to mean crawling with lice but now means no good. We also have "nit picking", which means detail oriented these days but was once an actual profession, wherein people would sit and comb through hair picking out lice and nits (the only way to delouse a person). They had to be meticulous, and it was a lowly profession.
These days, we know that lice have nothing to do with one's social station or cleanliness - my friend's kids are quite clean - and there's less (if any) stigma involved. They're just a fact of life in school - kids play, share clothing, and occasionally pass germs, rashes, and pesky parasites around the classroom. Pragmatism reigns in dealing with all, happily replacing the hysteria of the past.
Sometimes, I like our social evolution.
What's your experience with louses, leeses, lice?
Monday, January 7, 2013
Birthday
So the Evil Genius is now ten. We had a party for he and a friend yesterday at an indoor play-place/containment area, and then a friend's house for cake and nibblies. I think everyone had a good time.
The Evil Genius didn't know I was shooting his picture, so I actually got him looking like himself rather than wearing his big, goofy, you're-shooting-my-picture grin. I love my new camera with the great big zoom! I love my boy, who is growing up fast.
Sprout, taking a much-needed juice break - those bounce houses are exhausting!
The Evil Genius wanted an Oreo cake. I had to press him to find out what that meant. Lucky for me, in this case it meant cake/frosting with crushed Oreos in 'em, which made it easy on me. I was afraid he wanted a cake that looked like an Oreo, which wasn't going to happen!
You can sort of see how the candles burned with colored flames. They are a nifty idea, but I have to say they didn't impress me much. The Evil Genius didn't much care - he just enjoyed blowing them out.
The friend with whom we shared the party turned four recently. He had vanilla cupcakes with strawberry icing - his mother made them in silicon baking cups, so I got to see how those work out. Turns out, they work just fine.
We had a nice number of kids of varying ages to play, some yummy snacks - K2 made what I dubbed Flying Spaghetti Monsters (cocktail wienies with spaghetti running through them like noodle-y legs) - and congenial adult company...and my boy is now a Tween. A Tween!! Ack!!!
Now I just have to survive Sprout turning two in a few weeks...holy wow...
How was your weekend?
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Perfect Love, Perfect Trust
Repost. Sorry. Feeling low.
~~~~~
If you're pagan, especially one of the flavours of Wiccan, you hear this a lot: "In perfect love and perfect trust."
Several things have made "perfect love, perfect trust" run through my head lately.
My son...he brings to mind a mundane version of perfect love. He's a child and loves as a child does, without quantifying, without questioning, absolutely. All that matters to him is that he loves me and I love him, and that's just fine.
My ex-husband has not been very trusting. He wasn't while we were married, and he's still struggling with it now that we're not. I never gave him cause to distrust me, and had no idea the level to which the distrust went until we began the divorce and he was angry and saying things from a place of anger and uncertainty. He's trying very hard to let go of his distrust...and it's not easy. I am trying very hard not to take it personally and to be gentle with him in his process...and it's not easy.
I had a friend, some years back, whom I loved dearly. If not for him, I would not have met K, the sister of my heart, or any number of other folks who mean much to me and figure largely in my life...including the people I'm in the band with. We had a falling out. I had to take a stand on an issue, and he didn't like my position (neither did I, come to think of it, but it was necessary, if unpleasant)...so he chose to remove himself from my life. I still love him...but from a distance, because I must respect his feelings.
My friend Gypsy is a fairly recent addition to my life. She's beautiful, dynamic, and brilliant. I met Kit through Gypsy. Kit's another creative, bright, amazing woman. Gypsy and Kit have kids of varying ages, and between us we've got the whole range from infant to school-aged. I trust them with my child, would leave him with either of them (and have) without thought, without worry, absolutely certain that they'll look after him and do right by him.
I've asked many pagans to define perfect love and perfect trust for me. I usually wind up with an idealized definition, one that (to me) seems deeply flawed. In general, it seems, people actually think perfect love means perfect like, too - that the people with whom we share circle all get along and are nice and sweet and...er...gag... Perfect trust? Means no one makes mistakes and everyone behaves perfectly and...umm...barf...
Not that I think it's impossible to be perfect. But the few "perfect" people I've met in my life? Have been rotten at the core. They have a veneer of civility, or trustworthiness, that fools us all...until that one little slip.
I don't trust that kind of perfection.
Here's what I think (yep, I made you read through all that horse-puckey up there just for this - ain't I a stinker??): I love you for who you are and despite who you are. I love you with your flaws gloriously on display and your strengths there for me to wonder at. And I love you absolutely...even when I have to do it from a distance because that's the safest, healthiest place to be. I trust you to be yourself, utterly and honestly, without fear or shame or o'erweening pride. I trust you not to hide you fear and anger, your sorrow or hurt. I trust you not to hide your laughter and silliness, your whimsy and imagination. I trust you to be consistently who you are...even when that means you lie, cheat, and steal, because that's your nature. The person isn't the one who is perfect - the love, the trust are.
How about you? How do you define "perfect love and perfect trust"?
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Challenge
I don't do resolutions, so here's a challenge: for the next thirty days, go stand in front of a mirror twice a day. Look yourself in the eye and sy "I accept myself unconditionally right now."
I'll let you know how it goes. You do the same for me, m'kay?
I'll let you know how it goes. You do the same for me, m'kay?
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Swamp Walking
An ache here.
A sigh there.
Lassitude.
Mental haze.
A person is moving along through life, unaware of what's happening, until they are up to their ass in murky swamp with no exit on the horizon. Everywhere they turn, more swamp.
It's all mosquitoes and mist alligators and chiggers and lonely-voiced frogs calling out their melancholy messages.
Some people can lift themselves out of the swamp and find the sunlight again, either on their own or with medication.
Some people sink up to their necks, then disappear entirely, lost to car exhaust or pills or sharp edges.
Some people pick a direction and start slogging until they are no longer hip deep in the muck. I am one of these. Day after day I pick up my basket of stones and wade through the slime, hoping to find firmer ground, a place to put down my load and rest a while.
Lately I have the feeling that there's not any solid ground out there - just occasional hummocks on which I pause before the swamp swallows them.
I'm tired to the bone of making the effort.
I keep going, but sometimes...sometimes I wonder why I bother.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
It Do Go Fast
I received a bit of money as a gift from family. As often happens, I thought about what to do with it and made a little mental list of things I'd like to get. Kind of like I do when I fantasize about winning the lottery.
What I wanted to buy:
A second battery for the new camera so I won't run our of power when I shoot a bazillion photos.
A passport drive to store pictures on.
A new memory card for Someone's camera.
A sushi dinner date for Someone and I.
A few more pieces of winter clothing for Sprout.
What I did use the money for:
Filling The Black Hole (my poor bank account has been in the negative for months)
Feeding someone else's addiction.
Taking Sprout to play with Buddy (the Evil Genius) for half a day at Catch Air.
Takeout dinner from the noodle shop for Someone.
Cat food, cat litter, and other items from the grocery store that we ran out of all at once.
Groceries.
And I managed to keep some aside for the Evil Genius's birthday party.
I have a dollar left.
A whole dollar just for me.
Sigh.
What I wanted to buy:
A second battery for the new camera so I won't run our of power when I shoot a bazillion photos.
A passport drive to store pictures on.
A new memory card for Someone's camera.
A sushi dinner date for Someone and I.
A few more pieces of winter clothing for Sprout.
What I did use the money for:
Filling The Black Hole (my poor bank account has been in the negative for months)
Feeding someone else's addiction.
Taking Sprout to play with Buddy (the Evil Genius) for half a day at Catch Air.
Takeout dinner from the noodle shop for Someone.
Cat food, cat litter, and other items from the grocery store that we ran out of all at once.
Groceries.
And I managed to keep some aside for the Evil Genius's birthday party.
I have a dollar left.
A whole dollar just for me.
Sigh.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Done!
I mentioned in a previous post that I was working on something for K2, a quilted something. I was being deliberately vague on the off chance that the person for whom the quilt was destined might actually read my blog - a long shot, for sure, but why take chances?
Quilt finished and gifted, I can now post pictures - pictures that I shot with my shiny new camera, no less!
Here's the finished, slightly larger than crib sized quilt, held up by my lovely assistant...er...friend, K2:
Another detail shot, this time of the batiks bought to compliment the three panels:
I plan to use the scraps to make a coordinating car seat blankie, too, but K2 really wanted to gift the quilt for Christmas, so I put a rush on it.
Whadaya think?
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Thoughtfetti
The new camera is tremendous. Boy, do I have some learning to do!
~~~~~
Living with an addict is exhausting. It is painful. It is unpleasant, especially when the addiction is not being met. It shapes one, often in ways one does not like. It is depressing, and difficult and isolating. It is lonely.
~~~~~
Wine fermenting causes a bubbler to rise and fall, which, when it is steady on and in full ferment, sounds a lot like a clock ticking in the silence. Tick. Tick. Tick.
~~~~~
Wine sending outgasses through the bubbles smells very much like the fruit bowl one left full of fruits and on the table before one went on a 30 day vacation. It is...unfortunate...but oddly pleasant. Or perhaps I am simply weird.
~~~~~
Our friend A made Sprout a DVD of 135 Pingu episodes. Oh...dear...umm...thank you? Sprout adores Pingu (a gibberish speaking penguin).
~~~~~
It was a penguin rich holiday for Sprout. She got a 30" high papa penguin with its baby which are the cuddliest things ever, the Pingu DVD, and a baby penguin that came with a bottle and cheeps when it's hungry, makes a smacking sound when it has the bottle, and has garnered Sprout's love and devotion entirely. Happy Sprout.
~~~~~
The Evil Genius is spending some time with his dad. Casa de Crazy is oddly still and quiet.
~~~~~
I need a counselor who is willing to work for baked goods. Anyone know one within reasonable driving distance of Redneck Central?
~~~~~
How much is enough?
~~~~~
Living with an addict is exhausting. It is painful. It is unpleasant, especially when the addiction is not being met. It shapes one, often in ways one does not like. It is depressing, and difficult and isolating. It is lonely.
~~~~~
Wine fermenting causes a bubbler to rise and fall, which, when it is steady on and in full ferment, sounds a lot like a clock ticking in the silence. Tick. Tick. Tick.
~~~~~
Wine sending outgasses through the bubbles smells very much like the fruit bowl one left full of fruits and on the table before one went on a 30 day vacation. It is...unfortunate...but oddly pleasant. Or perhaps I am simply weird.
~~~~~
Our friend A made Sprout a DVD of 135 Pingu episodes. Oh...dear...umm...thank you? Sprout adores Pingu (a gibberish speaking penguin).
~~~~~
It was a penguin rich holiday for Sprout. She got a 30" high papa penguin with its baby which are the cuddliest things ever, the Pingu DVD, and a baby penguin that came with a bottle and cheeps when it's hungry, makes a smacking sound when it has the bottle, and has garnered Sprout's love and devotion entirely. Happy Sprout.
~~~~~
The Evil Genius is spending some time with his dad. Casa de Crazy is oddly still and quiet.
~~~~~
I need a counselor who is willing to work for baked goods. Anyone know one within reasonable driving distance of Redneck Central?
~~~~~
How much is enough?
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Click, Click, Whir
I still feel kinda crappy this morning, but I haven't wet my pants, yet, so things are looking up!
Meanwhile, life rolls on, and however I may be feeling there are things to do, places to go, people to inflict mucous on. Wait, strike that last one - I think I have some Kleenex in the van.
I finished the baby quilt I was working on for K2. Well, not for K@, but on her behalf so she could give it to someone else. I will be delivering it today, and will shoot some photos of it in her magnificent house (oh, yeah, I still have house envy more than a year later).
Shoot photos, did I say? Why yes, yes I did. My beloved Kodak Easy Share Camera of Amazing Photo Taking is finally cranky beyond my means to shake, smack, poke, blow, or bang on the pavement to make it behave. It has decided that the whole world should be pink, possibly in an effort to make me get some rose colored glasses and join it in a delusional haze. Or maybe the haze is from schmutz on the lens. It also has trouble focusing, much like my son.
Also, on occasion, it does something very odd and sort of shoots in the negative, but in non-negative colors, giving the photo a sort of Warholian effect that has been interesting to behold, but not the desired result when trying to immortalize a precious moment in one's child's life.
You may imagine that such malfunctions as those would curtail picture-taking. You would imagine correctly. I have been doing my best to make it work, because I am still a would-be art photographer and do some shooting for K2's Etsy shop on the side, and using a phone camera just doesn't cut it. Shooting several hundred photos to get a few good ones is something of a pain, but one muddles through.
Being aware of my plaint, Mum gave me a new camera for Yule. I should mention that the Easy Share was a Yule gift some many years ago, and it did yeoman's duty. Anyway, new camera. Sixteen megathingies, an LCD view screen that is bigger than a postage stamp, and lots of features I may never use but that look nifty. It has been broken in with a few shots of family and fire, and even shot some video. The zoom feature is terrific - I shot embers on a log from across Mum's living room! It feels nice in my hands, and? No pink where there oughtn't be!
It's not a Kodak, but I don't hold that against it. It's a Canon, which National Geographic advertises and supposedly uses, so I have high hopes. It has a nice, safe, well padded case to ride about in, so it may not wind up like the poor abused Kodak Easy Share which was dropped so often it should have had frequent flier miles. With a lovely padded neck strap, the Canon should have a somewhat safer tenure as my shooter of choice.
I'll be photographing the quilt with the new camera, and if all goes well will post a picture on here sometime in the next century.
I'd better get moving. Hey, what's your camera of choice?
Meanwhile, life rolls on, and however I may be feeling there are things to do, places to go, people to inflict mucous on. Wait, strike that last one - I think I have some Kleenex in the van.
I finished the baby quilt I was working on for K2. Well, not for K@, but on her behalf so she could give it to someone else. I will be delivering it today, and will shoot some photos of it in her magnificent house (oh, yeah, I still have house envy more than a year later).
Shoot photos, did I say? Why yes, yes I did. My beloved Kodak Easy Share Camera of Amazing Photo Taking is finally cranky beyond my means to shake, smack, poke, blow, or bang on the pavement to make it behave. It has decided that the whole world should be pink, possibly in an effort to make me get some rose colored glasses and join it in a delusional haze. Or maybe the haze is from schmutz on the lens. It also has trouble focusing, much like my son.
Also, on occasion, it does something very odd and sort of shoots in the negative, but in non-negative colors, giving the photo a sort of Warholian effect that has been interesting to behold, but not the desired result when trying to immortalize a precious moment in one's child's life.
You may imagine that such malfunctions as those would curtail picture-taking. You would imagine correctly. I have been doing my best to make it work, because I am still a would-be art photographer and do some shooting for K2's Etsy shop on the side, and using a phone camera just doesn't cut it. Shooting several hundred photos to get a few good ones is something of a pain, but one muddles through.
Being aware of my plaint, Mum gave me a new camera for Yule. I should mention that the Easy Share was a Yule gift some many years ago, and it did yeoman's duty. Anyway, new camera. Sixteen megathingies, an LCD view screen that is bigger than a postage stamp, and lots of features I may never use but that look nifty. It has been broken in with a few shots of family and fire, and even shot some video. The zoom feature is terrific - I shot embers on a log from across Mum's living room! It feels nice in my hands, and? No pink where there oughtn't be!
It's not a Kodak, but I don't hold that against it. It's a Canon, which National Geographic advertises and supposedly uses, so I have high hopes. It has a nice, safe, well padded case to ride about in, so it may not wind up like the poor abused Kodak Easy Share which was dropped so often it should have had frequent flier miles. With a lovely padded neck strap, the Canon should have a somewhat safer tenure as my shooter of choice.
I'll be photographing the quilt with the new camera, and if all goes well will post a picture on here sometime in the next century.
I'd better get moving. Hey, what's your camera of choice?
Saturday, December 22, 2012
But the Days Are Getting Brighter
I am in a dark mood, right now.
I'm tired of anger and blame and fault-finding and feeling like all I can do is wrong, wrong, wrong.
I am tired of being held responsible for the well being of others, any others, adults, children, cats, plants...and that I am failing at it entirely.
While I'm whining, I would like not to feel like my sinuses are about to explode, making my molars ache, my head hurt, my eyes throb. It would be lovely to blow my nose without experiencing deafness, earache, and dizziness. I would like to be able to breathe freely, without fear that I am going to burst into paroxysms of violent coughing that leave me weak, dizzy, and useless. Also, sometimes (and I hate to admit this), sometimes a little damper than I'd like because apparently there's some new cosmic rule that I have to pee a little when I cough, now.
What I would like is to be just sick enough to need to be put away somewhere restful, but not so plague-ridden that I can't come home again in a little while, after maybe a few days of sleep and perhaps some pancakes that I didn't have to make and clean up after. And, when I did come home, I would like to feel whole and well, not tired and worn.
I would like to be taken care of.
What can I say, I am weak.
Although my common sense and experience tell me no one's stepping up to make me soup or do whatever it is people do when they look after someone who wants/needs it, my dreaming self, the wistful part of me, kinda wishes...
I made my own soup and tried not to let Sprout do too much damage while I felt wretched on the lounge this afternoon. Since no one seems to have noticed, I guess I did okay.
And yes, I am feeling sorry for myself. I don't really care that there's someone who has it worse. For today, at least, I'M the someone who has it worse. Someone else can have the honor tomorrow.
I'm tired of anger and blame and fault-finding and feeling like all I can do is wrong, wrong, wrong.
I am tired of being held responsible for the well being of others, any others, adults, children, cats, plants...and that I am failing at it entirely.
While I'm whining, I would like not to feel like my sinuses are about to explode, making my molars ache, my head hurt, my eyes throb. It would be lovely to blow my nose without experiencing deafness, earache, and dizziness. I would like to be able to breathe freely, without fear that I am going to burst into paroxysms of violent coughing that leave me weak, dizzy, and useless. Also, sometimes (and I hate to admit this), sometimes a little damper than I'd like because apparently there's some new cosmic rule that I have to pee a little when I cough, now.
What I would like is to be just sick enough to need to be put away somewhere restful, but not so plague-ridden that I can't come home again in a little while, after maybe a few days of sleep and perhaps some pancakes that I didn't have to make and clean up after. And, when I did come home, I would like to feel whole and well, not tired and worn.
I would like to be taken care of.
What can I say, I am weak.
Although my common sense and experience tell me no one's stepping up to make me soup or do whatever it is people do when they look after someone who wants/needs it, my dreaming self, the wistful part of me, kinda wishes...
I made my own soup and tried not to let Sprout do too much damage while I felt wretched on the lounge this afternoon. Since no one seems to have noticed, I guess I did okay.
And yes, I am feeling sorry for myself. I don't really care that there's someone who has it worse. For today, at least, I'M the someone who has it worse. Someone else can have the honor tomorrow.
Friday, December 21, 2012
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 supposedly 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 has 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 18, 2012
End, Schmend
In three days the world is coming to an end, if some people are to be believed.
Me? I don't buy it. I figure if the world's going to end, we won't know until we've gotten to the other side of the ending.
Maybe the Mayans figured a few thousand years was far enough to chip a calendar into stone. Maybe they figured if they were still around when it ran out, they'd make a new one. Maybe they were playing a huge, far-reaching joke.
We've been teasing a little, here at Casa de Crazy, about all the frantic shopping that will happen on the 22'nd. I think clever retailers should capitalize on that, have a "We Made It!!!" sale. I feel sorry for the people who deeply believe that the 21'st is it, baby, and have spent up their money and their credit and will wake up one day later than they expected with a mountain of debt and no end of the world in sight.
Meanwhile, also in three days is Yule, Winter Solstice, the pagan holiday that inspired Christmas (because even biblical scholars are saying that Christ would have been born sometime in March).
I am not ready. It sort of snuck up on me. I don't know where the time has gone, but it sure went. I am nowhere near beginning making some gifts, let alone finished. Eek! Today I'm going over to K2's place, sans children, to try and remedy that. I also need her to help me pin a quilt so I can finish it for her before...something.
Thanks to Mum, gifts for the kids are ready to place under the tree at her place. I have one gift started, another ready to put together, several more to start, and perhaps a day to get them finished and wrapped. Nothing like working under pressure!
Of course, if I hadn't gotten partway through a project and decided I didn't like it and wasn't going to finish it, I might have been better prepared. Hindsight.
It's all good. We put more focus on time spent together than gifts. All of us adults are aware that sometimes children, pets, and life in general nibble away at the hours until there's not enough left to finish what we started in the craft room. And I'll stay up late and gitter done, by gum, because I really like watching people unwrap presents. Warms my cockles, it does.
Meanwhile, we'll have good food, good company, a big fire (rain or shine, we do the burn), and a very good time.
The world will just have to end without us. We're busy that day.
Me? I don't buy it. I figure if the world's going to end, we won't know until we've gotten to the other side of the ending.
Maybe the Mayans figured a few thousand years was far enough to chip a calendar into stone. Maybe they figured if they were still around when it ran out, they'd make a new one. Maybe they were playing a huge, far-reaching joke.
We've been teasing a little, here at Casa de Crazy, about all the frantic shopping that will happen on the 22'nd. I think clever retailers should capitalize on that, have a "We Made It!!!" sale. I feel sorry for the people who deeply believe that the 21'st is it, baby, and have spent up their money and their credit and will wake up one day later than they expected with a mountain of debt and no end of the world in sight.
Meanwhile, also in three days is Yule, Winter Solstice, the pagan holiday that inspired Christmas (because even biblical scholars are saying that Christ would have been born sometime in March).
I am not ready. It sort of snuck up on me. I don't know where the time has gone, but it sure went. I am nowhere near beginning making some gifts, let alone finished. Eek! Today I'm going over to K2's place, sans children, to try and remedy that. I also need her to help me pin a quilt so I can finish it for her before...something.
Thanks to Mum, gifts for the kids are ready to place under the tree at her place. I have one gift started, another ready to put together, several more to start, and perhaps a day to get them finished and wrapped. Nothing like working under pressure!
Of course, if I hadn't gotten partway through a project and decided I didn't like it and wasn't going to finish it, I might have been better prepared. Hindsight.
It's all good. We put more focus on time spent together than gifts. All of us adults are aware that sometimes children, pets, and life in general nibble away at the hours until there's not enough left to finish what we started in the craft room. And I'll stay up late and gitter done, by gum, because I really like watching people unwrap presents. Warms my cockles, it does.
Meanwhile, we'll have good food, good company, a big fire (rain or shine, we do the burn), and a very good time.
The world will just have to end without us. We're busy that day.
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