No Spirit

The computer has just been returned from it's out-of-warranty service to it's regular resting place on my desk, and I've been reading through blogs I haven't been able to keep up with the past couple of weeks.

It seems, from the little I've read, that there is an abundance of Christmas Spirit out there. Mostly in Texas, I think, which is too bad for me. I need some right here, right now. Like Mame after she lost the job she had to take at Macy's because she lost all of her money in the stock market crash. I need a little Christmas.

Send some Christmas spirit to New England.

And a little snow too. Please.

Frankly, it looks like Christmas has puked all over my house. And outside the house too. Lights, trees, greenery, Santas. You name it. It's cluttering up the house. And I couldn't feel less in the Christmas spirit than I would, say, on Arbor Day. I'm just not getting it.

I have taken it upon myself to make gifts this year. Or to craft gifts. Or to attempt to make something that someone might like, because they definitely don't want it, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances. I've been avoiding shopping since anything I spend will have to be via credit card, and I'm already worried about how I will pay the minimum AND the phone bill. I'm worried, but not in despair yet. I keep thinking that something will happen.

I'm a Pisces, and also a dreamer, so my plan for the future is fraught with a lack of reality. Oh, and Mercury is retrograde right now, so I also can't find anything that I had in my hand a moment ago and put down. Especially if it's related to one of my homemade "projects". Scissors? Tape? They were right there on the table. Where the hell did they go? I think it's not so much Mercury that's screwing me up, as it is the evil Christmas elves. Santa must've had a "reduction in force" and all of the laid off elves are now living in my basement, using my washer and dryer, and wreaking havoc with my "projects".

I'm cutting it close, and I'm not nearly ready, but I'm going out for coffee with a friend tomorrow anyway.

Maybe I'll find some holiday cheer in the bottom of a fat-free Peppermint Mocha Latte.

Shit Happens

Our computer “took a morte” yesterday. That’s French for died. It’s supposed to be French. It may not be. I don’t speak French. I’m just repeating what my Dad say’s when something stops working.

It took a morte.

Having your computer die on you is like having a baby. There’s never a good time for it. It just happens. Sometimes it’s planned. Most of the time, though, it’s not.

We didn’t plan for our computer to die. And it’s really bad timing. Very inconsiderate if I do say so myself. Not to mention, inconvenient.

We’re not sure if it’s the motherboard, the battery or if we’ll have to replace the damn thing entirely. Baaaaaaad timing. On the heels of the replacement water pump. Life without a computer at home could be good. One less distraction from the multitude of things on my pre-holiday to-do list. But how am I going to be notified of things? Like party invitations for parties where they’ll serve lots of food (that I didn’t have to make), and lots of spiked hot drinks (because I don’t have to drive).

I suppose I could get on with the cookie baking. But most likely I will be loitering around the entrance of our small town library with the absurd hours, waiting for them to open, so I can snag a computer and check my email.

Please support your local libararies.

I'm going through withdrawal.  It's like a part of me died. I don’t know what to do with myself. Pacing the house wanting to boot the thing up and knowing I can't. It's torture.

So here’s some unsolicited advice from me:
Hug your computer every day.

And back it up!

Because one day it will be gone. You won’t know when it’s coming and it will be extremely inconvenient.

And you’ll be up Shit’s Creek without a DOS window or an operating system.

The Aftermath

My husband's sister and her family made the six and a half hour drive from upstate New York to join us for Thanksgiving. Other family members were also invited, but due to distance or other plans, they declined our invitation to cram around a too-small table in our tiny kitchen/dining room.

That left my family of three, my parents and my sister-in-law and family. Six adults, two teenagers away from their friends, and a nine year old who only wanted to play games on the computer or watch The Justice League.

Until Wednesday when my brother-in-law called to say that his plans had changed was it still possible for he and his partner to come to our dinner.

I wanted to say "Fuck No!" and laugh an evil, demented laugh. But my evil, demented laugh sounds a lot like my normal demented laugh so he probably wouldn't have noticed the difference.

So instead I said, "Absolutely you can still come to dinner!"

We already had nine people and are only able to seat six, so what's two more? And when shopping for turkey I was trying to go smaller but gave up the ghost when all of the turkeys on top in the freezer bin were 20 lbs and I couldn't move them to get to the turkeys on the bottom. Which were most likely also 20 lbs.

Don't judge me. I was tired and I still had a lot of shopping to do. And there were a lot of seniors blocking the aisles, chatting with their friends, and creating bottlenecks in the dairy section.

So anyway, where was I?

The in-laws from upstate arrived Wednesday afternoon. The bro-in-law is only a couple of hours away so he just came for the day. Cooking was underway, snacks were being consumed, the wine was flowing. Sort of. I didn't dare have a glass of wine until all the food was on the table. Which I not only managed ahead of schedule, but everything was hot. Num, num, num. And while I had cooked, three of the guys put their heads together and managed to come up with a table arrangement which enabled everyone to sit in the same room.

It took three or four of them to figure it out, but one has to give them credit.

My happiest moment came when the in-laws took over in the washing up department, which is usually my job. Which I had been doing all day in addition to the cooking. So I gladly relinquished the yellow latex gloves.

And all was going well, until... (duh, duh, duh)... the well went dry and the water pump seized and gasped its last.

And there we were. Eleven people in our tiny house and no running water. No more somebody else washing dishes. No more rinsing of glasses. (Do you have ANY idea how much glassware teenagers go through?) And no more flushing of toilets. *GASP*

Thankfully our neighbors were home and good for a few buckets of toilet flushing water.

Black Friday was indeed "black" for the company who fixed our pump. I would call it Red Friday for us. And the water flows freely once again.

But Thanksgiving night I learned the true meaning of thankful. I am eternally thankful for a constant supply of running water. And I am especially thankful for a family with a sense of humor.

And I'm grateful beyond belief for a hot shower.

Upgrading the Decor

 My absence is unforgivable (to me), but I'm working on a new blog site which I hope to launch soon.


Meanwhile, I'm in the throes of, not so much redecorating, as just decorating. We are hosting family for Thanksgiving who have never visited us before. The college dorm that is my house has been neglected for years and I've tired of life without curtains. So I bought some and hung them.

But first, I had to mount the curtain rods.

I am a goddess with a cordless drill, but mounting the hardware for the rods almost bested me. I say "almost". It took me hours to mount two of the three rods and I had to quit due to an appointment. The appointment required that I be dressed in clothes acceptible to going out in public (and my standards are remarkably low), wearing shoes, hair artfully scrunched, and actually leaving the premises also known as home.

The following day, with the TV tuned to mindless morning television, I tackled the third and final curtain rod. Much to my amazement, it only took 30 minutes. I was so stoked that I went crazy drilling holes and mounting various and sundry hardware in both of my bathrooms. And I'm pleased to inform you, and any future guests, that our toilet paper is finally hanging in an easy to reach place on the wall, rather than hiding out on the back of the toilet.

Muscle memory, and middle-aged dementia, indicates that it's been years since our toilet paper was in a place that didn't require a full body twist to locate.

The cordless drill has done it's job, and now that my sewing machine is out of the shop, it's time to make bathroom curtains. And holiday gifts. And maybe repair a few sad things around the house.

Oh, and I've finally hung the artwork.

Four years after we moved in, it looks like we live here. Uh, no. Scratch that. The clutter in the house leaves no doubt that we live here. But it does look more like a home I'd like to welcome friends and family into.

And once they're here, and I've washed more dishes in two days than I usually wash in a week, I'll be ever so happy to see them leave. I'll swear off having overnight guests ever again.

Until I finally forget how much work it was.

Hug Your Mother Every Day

My sister-in-law's mother passed away on Saturday and yesterday we atteneded the funeral. It was a lovely service, but it was difficult. The woman being honored was the same age as my mother, and sitting next to my own mother, it seemed wrong that she should be gone. She was youthful, in great shape, and presumably healthy. And then she found out she had leukemia.

I've known a couple of other women in the same age bracket who died of leukemia. It's a horribly aggressive form of cancer and it takes its toll quickly, and without exception.

My heart goes out to my sister-in-law, her sister, brothers, nieces and nephews and her own children. I was standing next to her at the restaurant after the funeral and she said to me "It sucks." I agreed. Then she said "Hug your mother every day."

Words to live by.

A Case of the Frizzies

If you're on the East Coast, then most likely you are experiencing what I am at this moment. Frizzy hair. This tropical depression, dumping multiple inches of rain into our septic system, is making it necessary for me to hide out under a baseball cap. Barring that, a paper bag will have to do.

Bad hair weather sucks. Especially when I'm badly in need of a cut and a lot of color. The mousy brown is back highlighted with many non-blonde strands of silver. Or gray. Depending on my mood. I need a couple of hours in the chair, the scent of peroxide wafting over me, followed by a thorough blowout so that I'll have straight hair for a day.

The first time I ever had a blowout, about a year and a half ago, I was giddy with awe as I viewed my glamourous straight blonde hair. Why had I never done this before?

It's so short-lived that smooth-haired excitement.

I am contemplating waiting out the rain in a salon chair today. It seems the only logical thing to do. Nothing can disguise the fact that my head is a mess. Not makeup. Not jewelry. Not turtlenecks. Not even flossing my teeth seems to hide the fact that the pourous strands of protein floating around my head were once hair.

Or were they?

I'm also feeling as if an alien baby is trying to break out of my mid-section so it's possible that my judgement is impaired.

But that's what coffee is for, right?

Howling at the Moon

Tonight is the full moon. Not that we'll see it. It's been overcast since Saturday with some incredibly torrential rains on Sunday. Since then the wind has been quite blowy and noisy. So noisy that it sounds like rain.

But it's not.

I don't know if it's the influence of the moon, the lack of sun, or just the need for a large cocktail, but my alter-ego Cranky Bitch (CB) has emerged and she's not happy. If she was, she wouldn't be called Cranky Bitch. She'd be all happy rainbows and butterflies that would make CB want to hurl.

I'm not really complaining about the weather. I've been loving it and the joy of sleeping comfortably at night. With the windows open. Anticipating the arrival of Autumn.

Do bats come out on the full moon?

Just wondering.

We kind of live in the woods. It would be more like woods with fewer neighbors, but this time of year we can barely see any of them. This is a good thing. Unfortunately we can hear them yelling at their kids and they're not shy about turning up their stereos for their outdoor enjoyment.

So much for peace. You can make a peace sign from a full moon. When it looks like a complete circle. But the full moon is not making any peace (or friends) in my house tonight.

A good howl might be just what I need. And scare the hell out of the neighbors while I'm at it. Maybe they'll think I'm a feral cat.

Do cats howl?

Re-evaluating

I've been re-evaluating. Not hard when you have hours of empty time stretching ahead of you with no plan, no agenda and no air conditioning.

My evaluations have been focused on me. My home. My clutter. My life. My savings account.

What have I learned? What indeed. I have learned that I can have a good attitude, that I can focus on what's important when I'm not focused on the daily bullshit, that my son is better adjusted when I'm calm. I suppose that goes without saying.

I recently spent a prolonged weekend with some family members, my sister-the-martyr among them. You see where I'm going with this? She's one of the most negative people I've ever known. She complains about everything but is also passive-agressive so that everyone else suffers in the shadow of her suffering.

As she is my sister, it's in my contract that I must humbly admit that I was once like this. I may still be, but I am attempting to turn in my martyrdom for some peace and possitivity in my life.

And you know what? It's working!

Oh sure, there are lots of great things about being a martyr, llike watching everyone around you walk on pins and needles, and the satisfaction of constant complaining. But, at the end of the day, you're dead.

I'm so thankful to not be that person anymore. I'm grateful to the powers-that-be that have helped me grow as a person. Especially since I may be in the midst of a mid-life crisis.

How would you handle a mid-life crisis - sport car or motorcycle. Personally, I'm leaning toward the motorcycle. It might be easier to borrow.

Squirrel Feeders

As a source of visual peace, my husband put a few birdfeeders in the yard outside of the office window. We see quite a variety of local bird life. Pretty much everything you'd imagine in New England.

And a few that continue to surprise us.

One frigidly cold day in February the feeders were deserted due to a hawk hunched up in a nearby tree keeping vigil on the possibility of easy prey. None ventured into the hawk's line of sight.

This Spring I saw the most enormous woodpecker ever perched on a tree outside the kitchen window.

And the other day, this creature graced us with its presence at the feeders.

Clearly at a loss, it was up there for quite a while. I think there was an effort to appear not as though it was stuck there, but that it meant to climb and survey it's surroundings.

It did a lot of surveying. That was one stuck squirrel.

Eventually, I checked on it and it was gone. I'ts probably in hiding somewhere, still being taunted by it's squirrel peers.

I'm Baaaaaack....

I've been away for awhile. It was hot there, but not as hot as it was at home. So I guess that's a good thing.


We were in the fried food capital of the country. And if the food wasn't fried, it was served with abundant amounts of butter; dripping, melted butter. Smelling of the sea.

Or maybe that smell was just low tide.

We went on boat trips, kayaking, candlepin bowling, miniature golfing, swimming, to the beach, to the aquarium, and (most importantly) to the train museums. That's why we go. For our son the train freak, and to fill our lungs with the spewings of steam locomotives.

*cough, cough*

There are bits of coal rattling around in my dryer as I type this.

I probably could have posted during vacation but we didn't realize until our second to last day there that there was wireless in the building in which we were staying.

I know! We're such techno-geeks.

We had a good time. In spite of the heat. That's why we stay at a hotel with a pool. I would have been happy to spend most days at the pool. That's my idea of a vacation. Pool, cocktails, a round of mini-golf, more pool, another strawberry daiquiri. ahhhhhhhh *heavy sigh*

And now, back to the clutter and the noise in my head.

Care to join me?

Dirty Dishes

I seem to have lost track of my life. Not sure where it went. Perhaps into the void of unplanned days. School is officially out for the summer and I seem to have lost all motivation to be, well, motivated.

It's hot and humid and I choose not to exercise in hot and humid. The good news is that we are heading to Maine in a few days. It's generally cooler there and the prospect of exercising with an ocean view is too good to pass up.

Until then, though, I'm a hot, hungry mess.

I haven't started a single packing list yet. As queen of the listmakers, this is an unusual confession. Maybe if I do the dishes, I'll manage to accomplish something.

It doesn't matter that the dishes are two rooms away. The fact that they are there, piled up and dirty, taunting me with outrageous French accents is enough to cause me to run away.

The only hope for me is psychotropic medication.

If only.

I can't finish this thought. I need to wash the dishes.

School's (Almost) Out

This morning, as I was emailing a friend, I had a epiphany. And I wrote this: "I fucking hate school. Didn't like it then. Don't like it now. I like classes. The kind that are specific to one's interests. The kind you don't get graded on. The kind where you can tell the teacher to go fuck themselves if they're idiots."

And that's pretty much how I feel.

I feel this way because third grade has been a battle. In many ways a losing battle for my unfortunate kid who is caught in the middle of this tug-of-war. I didn't realize how bad it actually was until this week when homework suddenly ceased.

I had a good sense of it throughout the year, when I found myself looking forward to Fridays more than the Boy because a) there would be no homework Friday night, and b) I could sleep in on Saturday morning (yes, I'm a selfish human being). But the full impact of how homework has made impacted our lives, really hit home this week.

And the comment to my friend has made me realize how much I resent my son's teacher and the school district for turning school into a full-time job without pay. For him and me.

When I would look at some of the work coming home I would curse the teacher and truly want to tell her to go fuck herself "we're not doing this anymore." It's all busy work. And it eats into the the quality parts of a child's life.

Case in point: Thanks to kindergarten and first grade teachers who were more concerned about turning the individuals in their classes into good little student robots, and less concerned about individual attention and follow-through to be sure each child understood the concepts being introduced, my son has spent two years in reading remediation just to catch up to his peers. There seems to be a lot of that in our school, which you would think would be a red flag.

We also went the extra mile and contracted a tutor who specializes in reading remediation, and considerable expense to ourselves. Our son meets with her twice a week, and during the first part of the year it was three times a week.

This necessary intervention, along with what turned into 90 minutes of homework daily, made it impossible for any additional extra-curricular activites which might have fed the creative interests of the boy. And I pissed.

Third grade, and all lower elementary grades, should be less about homework and more about being a child and having the time to explore the world around us. My feelings for my son's third grade teacher are not very kind. I like to think I'm fairly good at reading people, and she's one for the books. As the year has progressed, I've noticed that when our paths cross I can see the inward groan before she pastes a forced smile on her face and pretends that she really cares about what I have to say or about my son.

My dream in life, right now, is to find a way that's financially feasible for me to make a living at home so that I can homeschool my kid. At least until high school when his options might open up. It would be my small contribution to telling the school district to go fuck themselves. Until then, he's just another bright, underserved kid falling through the cracks of our public education system.

Cleveland isn't Prague

A friend posted "Cleveland isn't Prague" as his Facebook status. It kind of stopped me in my tracks because it just reinforced the fact that I haven't done the world traveling I had expected to when I was younger.

And it sucks.

And just to clarify, I was referring to Prague, not Cleveland.

I have done a little traveling. And, as an actor, I've had the opportunity to live in different communities, not just work there. Most of these places are limited to the east coast of the US - Maine to Florida. But I did have the opportunity to spend a July in Alaska and it was quite the learning experience. Although, as much as I got to see in Alaska, we never stayed in one place for more than two or three days.

Outside of the US I've been to Canada, Mexico, the Carribbean, England, Paris, and Northern Germany. And none of those in recent memory.

My husband travels for work. He's been all over the world: Europe, Asia (China and India), Australia and New Zealand, Africa. While I stay here in New England, holding down the fort and washing dishes.

That part sucks too.

So I say to you would-be travelers: Go! Travel while you're young and have the time and no committments. Don't wait, because it may not happen. You may find yourself middle-aged and renewing an unstamped passport, and using a picture you really don't want to have to live with for the next 10 years.

That part sucks most of all.

Speaking of Squirrels

The squirrels around here have a death wish. Either that or they're so wired on crack that they're not even aware that they are crossing the street.

IN FRONT OF A CAR

I have an inherent disgust of killing anything that I'm not eating and wasn't already dead to begin with.

Out here in the pseudo-country there are plenty of narrow roads and foliage cover for little critters to dart out of and into traffic. Now, granted, their brains and smaller than most of the food they eat, but you would think there would have been some evolutionary growth or understanding of car = dead.

Maybe it's our crappy school system so that, evolutionarily speaking, the squirrels are as far behind in understanding the fatality of a close encounter with a car, as my son was in reading. He's caught up thanks to an aggressive campaign on our part which had little to do with the school in question. I speak of external remediation.

I also digress.

The plain, unvarnished truth of the matter is: this is a backward town. With backward squirrels. And for that matter the chipmunks aren't doing much to help the perception of unaware rodents.

Seems to me, the only thing they're actually good at is digging holes in our yard. There are accidents waiting to happen all over the freakin' place. And we all know who it is that will end up in ER.

Maybe, when I'm headed for the ER, I just won't swerve to avoid an ill-advised romp across the road. Maybe I'll just hit it.

Of course, then I'll need a sedative for the guilt. Sedatives are not necessarily bad things.

Blessing My Nest

My horoscope yesterday told me to "bless my nest" and "dedicate a room or corner as my office". I'd been planning to do just that, and before I knew it, I was cleaning out my closet as a way of procrastinating on the hard stuff: i.e, moving furniture and cleaning away four years of whatever had been growing/living in the previously inaccessible space.

I'd even made a special trip that morning, before I read the daily prediction, and purchased a desk blotter. It's more of a protector so I can put my computer on the surface of the table in use without scratching it.

Right in the middle of my cleaning and purging efforts, the overhead light died on me. The room I was working in is one of the larger rooms in our modest home and has a high ceiling and only one window which faces north. It was also overcast today, so when the light went out I truly was in the dark. Usually when I'm in the dark it has nothing to do with the ambient light.

I am a "natural" blonde after all.

Lucky for me there are other light sources in the room and I continued until I got tired of trying to figure out what to do with all the crap.

After moving stuff around, I realized that the original layout would work the best if the table was just pulled away from the tight little corner.

Now if only my husband would move out his crap, we'd have a nice serene space that might be conducive to some creativity.

I can dream can't I?

Excavations

I'm trying to get off the gardening kick, but I found several disturbing excavations in my garden early this evening.

SOMETHING had been digging there. Perhaps attempting to burrow. Maybe looking for food. Or the mother ship.

I'm not sure if it was the Dill Aliens (see previous post), since the excavations weren't near the dill and the excavator apparently tried to do its digging close enough to the driveway to run away quickly, if need be.

There are plenty of chipmunks and squirrels and other rodential types in the neighborhood. Maybe the mulch looked like an easy in for them. The digger did not seem to make much progress once it hit dirt.

This does not a happy camper make. It's fodder for a cranky camper. Because I've invested too much sweat and pride in my attempts at landscaping beautification. I thought I did very well as a novice.

Maybe this is a test. By the local rodent garden club.

Curse their cute rabid little rodent selves.

Speaking of Gardening and Aliens...

I'm starting to see myself the way some people see a former smoker. Y'know, the type of person who smokes two packs a day for 150 years and then one day they stop, do a 180 and become banner carriers for quitting, lecturing about how bad smoking is for you and complaining about other people's second hand smoke and how it's making them sick.

That's how I am starting to perceive myself in relation to (cue bad-thing-happening music) "the garden."

I'm so proud of my efforts and the end result of my little pathetic plot of land that every time I walk by it I stop and stare. Sometimes I water it. But I take in the little blue spreading flowers, the sunflowers getting taller daily, the lavender, and the awe inspiring dill.

I planted the dill because the old lady at the garden center said it would attract butterflies. She didn't tell me I'd have to name it Audrey II and that it would overcome the surrounding spaces until it starts swallowing people whole.

If she had, I wouldn't have planted it. Especially the one, the little 3 inch dill plant, that I planted in a container and is now well over 2 feet tall.

I'm starting to fear for my life and am concerned about the communications it may have established with its home planet. No need to worry about the oil spill in the Gulf. The invasion of the Dill People is imminent.

But I digress. Again. My pride in my little garden is palpable. Even with the prospect of alien invasion. So I need to talk about it. Especially now that the hard work with that one is done. There are several other areas waiting for my attention. I know they'll look good when they're done too. So check back with me in 2012 and hopefully I'll have some good pics to post.

Until then, prepare for the dill.

Eating Greens

The vegetable garden is bearing fruit, so to speak. And tonight, because it's so hot and I'm a bad planner, we're having dinner from the garden.

Salad.

Or, more appropriately, lettuce.

Filthy, dirty lettuce. I can't believe how much I have to wash this stuff to get off the dirt and the insects looking for a free ride. I am not one of those people who finds it exotic and exciting to eat insects.

And then there's the broccoli. Yes, broccoli. Broccoli from the garden. Hard to believe. It's a little less voluptuous than the grocery store broccoli, but it's actual broccoli. I have to say I find all this fresh produce a little awe-inspiring. Just go out to the garden, cut what you need, wash off the worm poop, cook the shit out of it, and eat it.

Yum. I'm salivating.

The thing about organic gardening is that it's probably way cheaper to buy your produce in the store. This salad we're having tonight, along with the broccoli, is probably a $26 salad.

I guess I'd better throw a little goat cheese in there.

Maybe, with the goat cheese, I can charge $28. Of course, on the children's menu tonight is leftover chicken tenders.

Yum. No worm poop on those tenders.

What a good mother am I!

But while I'm on the subject of gardening (I know, you thought I was done), aside from how our Victory Garden might put us in the poorhouse, it's a wonderful thing for the boy to experience. He goes out there with the "Farmer" (I use that term loosely) and digs in the dirt, shovels the dirt, and uses the Awesome Auger (it is!) to dig holes for little animals trying to escape from larger animals. What a learning experience. Better than private school. And way better than Sponge Bob.

Sponge Bob has been banned from this house by me. But I sorta forgot to mention it to the necessary parties.

Where was I? Oh yes... farming, planting, growing, healthy food, eductional, blahblahblah, priceless.

The End.

Neanderthal Tolerances

You know when you're out in nature, becoming one with it, communing, finding your inner peace and shit like that? And then you hear buzzing. So you swat near your ear but the buzzing persists. And you swat again and this time the buzzing gets closer. Like it's in your ear. And you swat again but the buzzing doesn't stop.

And you think, "what the fuck?"

And then you think you should probably stop breathing through your mouth, or something will fly in and stay for cocktails.

You know when that happens?

That's what I was thinking about as the buzzing thing tried to move into my ear. And I started to wonder about neanderthals and if they had this problem as they walked across the plains or through the woods or wherever the hell they walked. Did they think about the insects buzzing in their ears? Did they swat at the annoying buzzing?

Or did they welcome the buzzer and allow it into their ears to nest and make a hive. Perhaps build a honeycomb?

One thing leading to another the Neanderthal develop a hive mind and cannot think for themselves. There's the queen Neanderthal ordering around all the drones and workers and killing her mates because she blames them for the pain of childbirth.

And then I think "Maybe the Neanderthals were not indiginous to earth. Maybe they were an attempt by the Borg to colonize pre-industrial earth."

Oh, yes. I know who the Borg are.
And Neanderthals disappeared.

But the bugs are still here. Buzzing around our heads to annoy us. OR maybe they're trying to tell us something.

Resistance is futile.

Days of Yore

That's a big pickle.

One of the advantages to being a little further off the beaten path, but still within spitting distance of civilization, is the abundance of open space (i.e. "fairgrounds") that make it possible for things like a local Renaissance Faire to crop up within easy driving distance.

I'm talking 20 minutes from home.

Same with the local agricultural fairs. They're all within 10 to 40 minutes from our house. "All" being the ones we are inclined to go to. There are more. But we don't have to go to them because we have some closer to home.

With the exception of the New York State Fair in Syracuse. Sometimes we go to that one too, on the pretext of visiting family. But I digress.

This weekend we attended the geographically close Ren Faire. We still needed the Garmin, but when we got there we were so surprised. The fairgrounds were in the middle of a middle-class suburban neighborhood. Seriously, smack-dab in the middle.

My son, who loves the whole concept of dressing like a knight (pronounced K-Ni-Git), complete with "armor," sword, belt, helmet, gauntlets, etc, couldn't wait to get there. If you get there when the faire opens for the day, as we did, entering the grounds is a bit like running the gauntlet. All of the actors are lined up on either side to greet and welcome.

The boy, as he was dressed as knight, almost immediately found himself surrounded by the king, the prince and their knights.

Freaked him out and he couldn't face them. They let us pass without further molestation, as it were.

As we have discovered in previous visits to Ren Faires, the fun is in the games. We practiced throwing axe heads (I was pretty freakin' good!), knives and axes, and shooting crossbows and longbows. But the boy's favorite part was taunting a knight. The game is called "Smite the Knight" and is pretty much what it sounds like.

You try to hit a knight with a bopper sword while he tries to hit you.

The knight's rules: no hitting in the face or the "pouch". He wore a pouch as a codpiece. My guy got him in the pouch at least once. I had no problem with that. This particular knight was a bit of "too much cocky" as it was.

We watched some horsemen practice their skills with a lance. We watched players do terrible things to Shakespeare (for fun), we listened to musicians play the dulcimer and the celtic harp, and heard strains of bagpipes. We stood in line for far too long waiting for a freakin' hot dog. We made some purchases and got too much sun.

When it was time to leave, it took only 20 minutes to get home. And we got there before dinnertime.

In the fall, we'll have to drive farther for our Ren Faire fix. And we'll have to stop for dinner on the way home. But that's part of the fun too.

And in the fall, I will go in costume, because I realized that my fears about being seen in costume yesterday by people I might know and don't like were unfounded. Those people would probably never be caught dead at a Ren Faire. I guess it is good for me that they are so narrow minded. Also, in the fall, chances of running into anyone I know are even slimmer than they were yesterday.

Local Fauna

I was surfing Google Maps for a coffee shop near where I have to drop my son for a birthday party today when a goldfinch came to visit.

I was about to open the window and heard some scrabbling at the glass, turned around and saw Mr. Curious Goldfinch hanging out with me.

He sat there for minutes. Long enough for me to call in my son and my husband to see. Long enough for me to get up, get my camera and take some pictures. Long enough to endure a bit of movement at close range. Until I got a little too close to the window with my camera. Off he flew.

I opened the window and a few short minutes later, he was back. Cocking his head at me, looking cute and trying to get me to read his mind. I don't read bird minds, but maybe I'll take it up as a hobby.

He's hanging out with me still.

I do think he's trying to tell me something. Like "I want to use your hair for a nest", or "You look fat in that shirt", or "Get off your ass and go do something".

Geez. Everyone's a critic.

I Hate To Shop

When I have to.

I'm not much of a shopper, but it's okay when I'm just browsing and don't actually need to buy anything. I'm an impulse shopper. I buy what I like when I see it, but I wasn't necessarily looking for it. Not that I buy everything I see that I like. I have learned to appraise an object with deliberate consideration and try to determine if it's really necessary to my life.

Usually the answer is no.

But a few days ago I wandered into a consignment shop with my Mom just for the hell of it. We had just eaten too much for lunch and needed to walk some of it off. So we waddled ourselves all the way next door to browse. Y'know, for fun.

We saw some lovely things. I collect cobalt glass and my Mom wanted to buy a set of glasses for me, but since I have no room for them, I declined (see? aren't I good?)

And then I took a little detour and saw this:

I loved it and decided that this mirror I had to have.

So I took some pictures of it to show my husband so he couldn't complain about it if I just brought it home without a consultation.

He liked it! He rarely likes anything I like. So I called the shop and asked them to hold it for me.

It is now hanging in my entryway. And it looks cool, but I have to get used to it because a non-reflective picture was there before and now I have to look at myself everytime I walk by and I'm wondering if this was really such a good idea. Kind of like how I felt after I saw the blue paint on the walls in the bathroom.

OY.

The decisions we have to live with.

That'll teach me to carefully consider my impulse buys.

Pollen Green Day

I can't get over how green it is outside. Most of the trees have sprung their leaves and they're all the bright green of new leaf life. Add to that the vibrant blue of the sky and it's blinding out there in its brightness.

I am eternally grateful to the gods of nasal passages that I do not have allergies related to nature's coming out party. Although I suppose the requisite drugs might make it enjoyable, I don't think it's worth it.

Case in point, last night my son had his first evening of "track camp". He was outside after an early dinner, running the 100, throwing the discus, and tackling the long jump. This revelry lasted about an hour and a half. Later, after a snack, shower, and some reading, while trying to sleep, he started coughing this awful, barking, full body cough that sounded as though all of his insides were being expelled.

Needless to say (or is it?) that none of us got any sleep last night. He couldn't get comfortable in his bed so he slept in ours for awhile. Then back to his. Then back to ours. The night dragged on and the cough kept us all awake.

It was so bad that he stayed home from school today and is currently napping. Something I should be doing as well. But alas, I have forgotten laundry that needs attention. As well as general cleaning because I have company coming tomorrow.

I have to make an effort to clean out all of the spiders who have moved in to the various corners and window sills of the house. They're everywhere, dropping on you without a word of warning.

I think it's too green for them outside too. Unless they just feel like they're less of target for all of the hungry birds out there. We have a veritable food chain around here.

What's for dinner, Mom?

Rotisseri chimpmunk. YUM!

(Oh, please. You don't think I skewer tiny rodents and cook them on a rotisseri, do you?)

Yes, I know this is a cardinal and not a chipmunk. I may be blonde, but I'm not an idiot.

Most of the time.

On Hold

It's dark and damp today, so I opted against touching-up the bathroom in favor of running some errands. The lighting in the bathroom is really bad. Touching up would an exercize in futility.

Lately I find the prospect of errand-running extremely distasteful. I just don't wanna hafta do it. But I did want to pick up a curtain rod for the bathroom, which I did. I was going to get one in white, but it looked to "country" for what I was going for, so I chose silver instead. I went with my gut. I like it, so no regrets there. Yet.

I also wandered into Pier 1, for which I have a gift card. I've had the gift card for years, forgotten for a while, and lately burning a hole in my pocket. And today, during my browse I found an item I never expected to find. A basket - no TWO baskets narrow and tall enough for the little cubbies to the left of the sink vanity.

Oh joy is mine!

Especially when I got them home and tried them for size. They fit! Miracle of miracles. And, thanks to the gift card, they didn't cost me anything. I LOVE that!

I'm big into repurposing these days. With my unemployed condition dragging on, I'm making every effort to use what I have rather than buy something new. With all the crap we have cluttering up the basement, I really shouldn't ever need to buy anything again (she said, not realizing how that declaration could come back to bite her in the ass).

It's really empowering.

For example, when we moved in, I bought a shower curtain tension rod for the upstairs shower. But the tension thing doesn't work. I kept thinking I needed to buy a new one so the shower curtain won't roll away while someone is in there. Then I remembered I have regular curtain tension rods the right size for that shower cubicle and decided that one of those would work just as well. I used something I had and decreased a little(tiny tiny) bit of clutter.

There's also the shelf I'm going to repaint, and a shower curtain I had made for our last place that will both find new homes in the bathroom. Now I just need to go through my stuff and find enough fabric to remake into curtains.

The starfish hook, I bought. I'm not sure if I like it.

It's very exciting to rediscover a space and new uses for things that are already on hand.

Oh jeez...
blahblahblahrainbowsandbutterflies.

I need to go sniff some of that low VOC paint. Clear my head.

Painted. Sort Of.

When I opened the can of light blue ... ooops sorry ... Mystical Blue paint, it looked white and I thought I had gone too light. But it's not.

The lighting in my bathroom is crap, and I have transitional eyesight now, which makes bad lighting worse. That translates into I can't see anything within three feet when I'm wearing my contacts for distance because I'm old and decrepit now. You think I'm joking. Just ask my nine year old. He'll tell you I'm old. Especially if I choose to confess to an age other than my own. Lately I prefer being 32.

Uhm... where was I?

Yes. The bathroom is blue. The molding is still dirty white. But that's tomorrow. My back hurts.

I also did some cleaning today. And laundry. And searching for artwork through unpacked moving boxes in the basement.

Have I mentioned we've lived here for four years? And I'm only now getting around to painting the bathroom. And rummaging through boxes.

I'm on a mission to reclaim my basement and turn the rabbit warren into usable space. (I will not show a picture of my basement to you. You can thank me now.) I don't know if it can be done because the biggest obsticle is my husband. Once he found his computer stuff (four years ago) he stopped emptying boxes. I'm at the point where a dumpster is sounding pretty good.

Any advice on getting a spouse to unpack and get rid of crap he no longer needs or knows he has would be appreciated.

*knock-knock-knock*

Anybody there? Is this thing on?

Not To Paint

 

 The hardware store finally got the base for the paint I wanted for the bathroom and I picked it up yesterday afternoon. Along with some screws. Can't leave the hardware store without some sort of hardware.

But by the time I got home it was too late to start. So this morning I was all "gung ho" about starting as soon as I put the offspring on the bus. But first I had to eat, and then I had to check email, and then I had to set up. I prepped the space with newspaper over stuff I didn't want to splatter with "mystic blue" paint. And stuff kept falling, and I kept tripping and slipping and swearing and cursing (not the same), and because I spend a lot of time alone I heard a small voice in my head saying "this is a bad idea."

Always listen to the voice in your head.

Unless it tells you to do something illegal.

The voice in my head seemed to be on to something, so I listened. I stopped what I was doing, got some clean clothes, and headed to the shower.

Nothing like a hot shower to clear your mind.

So now, instead of frantically painting, trying to finish before I have to go to school to hear my son's third grade class's recorder recital, I am showered, caffeinated, have time for errands and several run-on sentences, and maybe even time for a quick cocktail before the recital. You may think that's unkind, but honestly, I've never heard my son practice. I fear for my hearing. And this performance is expected to run-on for 30 minutes.

It'll be done just in time for lunch.

I haven't cracked open that bottle of Bitch Bubbly. Maybe THAT's what's for lunch.

Except that I was planning on doing the painting after the recital. My planning may be flawed.

The Danger of Power Tools

Put a cordless drill in my hands and what happens? Holes in the wall. THAT's what happens. Several holes in the wall.

Despite the destructive pleasure it provides, I'm not sure I should be trusted with a cordless drill or anything else that cuts, slices or sands. Seriously. It's bad enough with a painbrush. And now I'm sorely tempted, as I wait for some spackle to dry, to wander aimlessly around the house and leave a trail of holes in the walls. Just because I can. And because the battery for the drill is charged.

It's been a frustrating couple of days. So many projects; so little time. And the gods of home improvement are toying with me. Just when I think I've measured and leveled and have it all perfect, the drill bit slides a little south and I'm faced with a hole just a hair too far from the other. The plastic anchors don't open, and on the other side... what's this? A stud???? WTF?

I might have known a stud was there if I could find the stud finder. I wonder if there is a finder for the stud finder. Be that as it may, I can't find the stud finder, because the last person who used it (not me) put it away in some illogical place. It won't be seen again until another one is purchased and it turns up when I'm looking for something else.

I finally committed to a paint color for the upstairs bathroom, but the hardware store was out of the base needed to mix the color for the texture I want. My plan was to pick it up yesterday and start painting as soon as the boy was on the bus to school this morning. Had that been the case, the room would be painted by now.

Alas! What games these gods do play.

Or maybe it's my toil that brings trouble. I need a new cauldron.

I now need to return to the hardware store, get my paint (gods willing) and get some longer screws for the holes that lead to studs. The screws I had were for the plastic anchors.

I've considered throwing in the towel and spending the rest of the day watching HGTV and finishing off a bottle of sparkling wine. It's
called Bitch Bubbly.

That bottle has my name on it.

Lu gave it to me. She's a good friend.

You Can't Stop Me

I'm on a roll. Beginning to think I'm possessed by an alien being. There is no other way to explain the productivity.

Not just more gardening. Especially since the hard, painful part is done (at least in one plot - the sad, pathetic one above. Trust me it looks better in person), I'm having fun with planting. Too bad I have no plan or concept or even any idea of where I planted the sunflower seeds. In addition to the gardening, there are also lovely, colorful potted plants to great visitors coming to our front door. If we got visitors. We don't. My parents don't even drop by anymore but that's another story for another blog site.

Today, after a rough start and a cup of coffee (which I was wishing was a mimosa), I managed to get the entire upstairs primed. It's a small bathroom and I knew I would be able to cover all surfaces in a single shot. But it's "L" shaped and there are many little surfaces and several large surfaces, two doors and a window to get around. So now that it's primed I have to commit to a color. Or rather a shade. The color will be blue. Probably a pale, icy blue but I couldn't really get a sense of what a color would look like in there with all of the dark lavendar and yellowing plaster.

The shadows make it look a little off (bad lighting), but it's white primer.

Even with the primer the room looks completely different. My son was mightily impressed. I'm impressed too.

Painted today, gardened yesterday (it was just too nice out to stay in), Thursday I sewed a new curtain for the downstairs bathroom.

The New Curtain (bad lighting everywhere)

Who AM I, and what have I done with me?

Wherever I went, I'm happy with the newly possessed alien me. For now. I have an appointment with my doctor tomorrow. We'll confirm the presence of aliens then. In the meantime, I'm going to go look at my bathroom.

I Did It Again

I spent two hours or so out in the "garden" yesterday, attempting to finally finish what I started a couple of weeks ago. I was obligated since, in a fit of garden fantasy, I foolishly committed myself to many pots of purchased garden things, which required holes in the ground, to plant.

I don't know what a hidden camera of my wrestling with the earth might reveal, but in my mind the entire event was punctuated with muttering and cursing, bug avoidance and the constant unearthing of bulbs I was trying to leave in peace.

Toward the end it got particularly bad. I was dressed for cool, overcast. Then the sun came out and all bets were off. In a haze of delerium and a cloud of gnats around my sweaty head, I wondered what it would tack to track down Ahmed and his yard crashing crew and get them to follow me home.

Ahmed! Where are you? I NEED you.

Problem is the nearest "home improvement" center is many miles away and Ahmed ain't coming to my neighborhood anytime soon.

Curses.

I can use "ain't" because I'm crazy. Like my mother, only younger.

I need someone with a vision, who will make my yard a beautiful place, cover all the costs, and give the neighbors yet another reason to call Town Hall and complain about the fact that we're working in the yard. (Yes, they have done that - when we hired someone to clean out an overgrown portion of our yard. They've also complained about the motion sensor lights we put up so we could see at night when we came home. "this is the country; it's supposed to be dark.") (OMFG I could go off on a rant. But I won't. Today.

So, my garden. It's hardly a garden. Really, in actual fact, it's just an area under the kitchen window that no longer has grass growing in it.

As for all of the other projects I anticipated for this year, they can wait until next year. Or maybe 2012. It'll take me that long to recover.

Somebody Stop Me, I'm Gardening

Seriously, I don't do the "garden" thing. I do the cooking thing. Or the reading thing. Or lots of other things. But gardening does not fall under the heading of "things" I do.
It's a thing I don't.

But lately, the weeds, the wild plants, the dead stuff, it's all speaking to me. In a very nasty way.

"Get off your ass and take care of us"

Who said that?

Oh, Jiminy Cricket I'm talking to myself again.

Let's face it. I'm embarrassed about taking my turn with the book club because they all have nicer homes than me. And yes, they are nice people, but this is small-town judgemental New England and I can't face the embarrassement. I also don't have enough chairs.

But maybe, just maybe, if I can overcome the abject hate of standing out in the sun and pulling weeds and crap, and get the "garden" to a state of "not bad", "looks like she tried", then maybe (just maybe) I can make my way indoors and make some positive changes there.

I'm always thinking about it. I just need to act on it.

There is the chance, however, that I've been watching too much HGTV and DIY Network and I'm just deluding myself with regard to what I really can accomplish. But I honestly think, that most of it is just the need to commit myself and jump into the cold water without hesitating.

I'll get the gardening done, paint the bathroom and then I'll have a tag sale and get rid of all the extra crap.

Won't that feel good? And by the time the tag sale rolls around, the garden should look pretty good.

Maybe.

The Sky Is Falling

Here in the Northeast it's raining. Again.

Still.

Apparently continuously.

All of the local waterways, be they streams, rivers, ponds, or puddles, are well past their saturation points. I have never seen so much high water since we moved here. And tonight is a full moon. Does the full moon affect ponds and puddles, or just the oceans and other tidal bodies of water?

'Cause if it does we're up a flooded river without a paddle. Lucky for us we're on high ground. Our driveway is sinking, but the runoff is going to the neighbors. Possibly nobody deserves the runoff more than our neighbors. (Who said that?) Unfortunately for us, if this continues, it's the neighbors who have a boat in their driveway. Not us.

We have a hot tub. Does that count?

Three nights ago, the temps dropped into the low 20's. It was freakin' freezing. And the boy has a chest cough.

The good news is the daffodils don't seem to mind and they are withstanding the deluge beautifully so far. The robins seem happy as they pluck whatever it is they pluck from the ground. And the squirrels are as squirrely as you would expect a squirrel to be, so I guess this is all just spring stuff to them.

But it's so wet. So very wet. Sinkhole wet.

But at least it's not hot and humid and wet.

That would really suck. And that's what June is for.

Of Frogs, Ducks and Spring

It's been in the 60's here the past few days. And on my walk through the local nature center the other day I heard lots of ducks quacking. Only I couldn't see them.

"Odd," I thought, and kept walking.

I came to a larger body of water and the quacking cacophony was unbelievable.

Only, no ducks.

Being blessed with a brilliant mind, I deduced that the "quacking" was coming from the frogs.

It was like happy hour at the pond. "Hey, Baby," they were all saying. "Wanna date?"

I took the boy back there yesterday. It was, after all, the first day of Spring, and it was about 73 degrees out, thus making it an undesireable day to stay indoors, so I said "Hey, let's go for a walk and listen to the frogs." And we did.

I guess most of the froggies found themselves dates, because the noise wasn't as boisterous as it had been just a couple of days earlier. But you could still hear the bizzare quacking coming out of the pond.
We met up with another mom and with two girls and they showed us the motherload of egg sacks. There was a point in the pond where it narrowed and a tree branch was laying across the water and resting on the top. And there, under the branch, were countless numbers of greenish looking egg sacks. You could see all the tadpoles (tadpoles?) inside. Thousands of them. Waiting. They looked like alien egg pods waiting to hatch and overrun the human populations.

When finally the others left, we moved on to a hike in the woods and by the Vernal Pool, looking for the egg sacks of salamanders as well as more frogs. But we didn't find any.

The trip home was uphill and we were hot and sweaty by the time we got home.

Nature's pretty cool when you don't have to touch it.
 
Happy Spring

Hairbrained Ideas

Some days I feel like Lucy; cooking up another hairbrained scheme to get me into Ricky's show.

Ironically, I'm not usually a hairbrained kinda girl. A little too practical and a little too concerned about getting in trouble.

That "fear of authority" kind of thing.

But today, in one of those free-associating moments I had while waiting for some pasta in the microwave, I had a flash of genius. A great idea. It's so good that it makes absolutely no sense. I'm still trying to puzzle it out. My Puzzler is getting sore.

The nine year old in my life is helping me overcome my fear of hairbrained ideas. He's one of those kids who's brain never stops coming up with the next great idea. Even if it's something that he has no idea has already been invented. When he finds out it has been, he tweaks it and makes it his own. No fear. No trepidation. No follow-through.

Lucy had follow-through. I have to give her a lot of credit for that.

Of course, she is a cartoon.

My boy just has so many ideas. He never lets logic get in the way. And he never stops coming up with the next great thing.

That's why, when I had my hairbrained idea today, I sent an email to a friend and shared it with her.

She may never speak to me again.

Happy Belated Birthday to Me!

A couple of days ago I had a birthday. It was an adequate birthday. Nothing terrible happened. Nothing wonderful happened. It was just one of those days when there was too much other shit going on to be able to really make it about me.

My Dad got a cake for me. It was the only cake I got. It was all chocolatey and yummy and gooey.

I don't really like cake. I'm an ice cream kinda girl. But I love that my Dad got the cake for me. He does things like that.

Tomorrow will be about me. A facial early in the day, sushi for dinner. Mmmmm. Can't wait. I'm having a Homer moment just thinking about it.

Next year's birthday will be a milestone birthday. I want a party, dammit. A big, honkin' blowout. The squirrels are invited. We'll sit around, drink margaritas and eat nachos. Squirrels like nachos. I think.

Today, though, I have to clean up the water in the basement. We had an "incident" with a 2.5 gallon bottle of water.

But I'm thinkin' I'll just let it evaporate. I'm sick of trying to clean and maneuver around all of the damn boxes down there. Hopefully, that shit that got wet isn't mine. I've been getting smart and putting my stuff in plastic boxes. I've also been getting rid of a lot of it. Unlike that pack rat I live with. I can feel my blood pressure rising just thinking about it. Good thing I have plenty of coffee.

Evaporation is the way to go. Now if only the laundry would evaporate.

Long Day's Journey

This weekend required a long road trip. Long because we had to drive nearly five hours for lunch. Long because it was too long to go there and back in one day. Long because we had to stay at a hotel so we could turn around and drive home again in the morning. Long because the 10 hours on the road and the five hours spent with the in-laws did not feel like a productive way to spend the weekend.

Long because the weather sucked.

Long.

Long because when I got out of the car for a break, I could barely unbend my crippled body. (Thank you middle-age. And stress. And being out of shape. And... Oh, shut up!)

Thankfully there were several rest stops with a Starbucks on the premises. And thankfully, our local library maintains a great selection of books on tape that are age appropriate to a nearly-nine year old.

We've been listening to many books on tape in the past few months. It started with an attempt to get my non-reader interested in the stories, and then the books, by default. And it started with a road trip about five months ago. Since there, whenever there is the possibility of an hour's drive in any direction, I try to have a book on tape at the ready. It's been especially great because the fruit of my loins is so into them now, he does not request the DVD player in the car. And, it's nice for us adults in the front, not having to listen to some movie we can't see, or to some short movie multiple times in one trip.

It does help pass the time on the drive. Way better than listening to the same four songs on one CD over and over and over and over... yes, I do know all the words, dammit.

But this trip this weekend, was long by any standards. And frankly, as far as I'm concerned, unnecessary.

Why do families do this to each other? Plan something, without consulting others, and then get all bent out of shape if you can't fit it into your life regardless of the cost, inconvenience, and risk associated with driving in snow, sleet, and rain on icy roads.

Why?

I'm just so over it.

I'm still waiting for them to get into their damn cars and come visit us.

I think Hell may freeze over first.