Smarter Than I Look

Valentine's Day?

2011-02-13T20:24:00.000-06:00

I heard an American Robin song today. I was out in the driveway washing my car in the 70-degree weather happy as a clam when I heard it. Spring is so close already this year!

It's not quite Valentine's Day yet. I haven't even thought about what I'd like to do for Valentine's Day this year. My husband told me he had no idea what to get me. There isn't anything I really need or want right now except an end to winter and it appears I might have that already.

Of course this is Nebraska and we will get another snow storm in March for sure. We're only halfway through February so there's plenty of time for another Alberta Clipper to make its way through our neck of the woods just in time to nip the buds on the trees and freeze the most ambitious of the tulips. For some reason, it doesn't concern me much today.

Maybe it is the fact that it was 70 degrees today. There are puddles of melted snow everywhere and the drift in the front yard is fast disappearing to be replaced by muddy patches of dormant grass with a definite green tinge. That means the sun is warming the ground and, as Mr. Robin can attest, the worms will soon be plentiful. That means spring.

That's good enough for me.

sigh snow

2011-01-09T15:16:00.000-06:00

Winter is so dreary here in the Heartland. Nebraska is definitely a summertime state with all the farming activities that happen here. Everything sleeps this time of year.

I am hibernating again this year but in a new location. Our new home is much nicer and cozier than the previous home. I am content. And that's a good thing since we are about to be snowed in.

At last glance, it was still coming down and has been since early this morning. I hear we're expecting 7-8 inches by the time this is done in a couple days. I see my neighbor has his snowblower out. I've always maintained that shoveling snow is good exercise. I still believe this is true. It's great exercise for someone considerably younger than I.

Looks like I'm going to be in the market for a snowblower this year.

New Year's Eve

2010-12-31T20:55:00.005-06:00

It's New Year's Eve already. Some would find it sad, even pitiable that I am spending it in my home writing a blog. But not me.

I'm cozy and warm in my house. There is a fresh blanket of snow on the ground outside. I spent the afternoon clearing it from the walks and the driveway in the bitter cold. Now as I sit with my tea and my laptop, I'm content to be where I am.

I've been spending a lot of time crafting over the last week that I've had off from my job in Lincoln. I made some cute stuff for a friend who is having her first baby. These are the very first pair of booties I ever made. How I made it to my advanced age without ever making them before is a mystery to me. It was so much fun, I made two more pairs. That boy of hers is going to be well-stocked in booties.

The day after Christmas, I went shopping online. I had some Christmas money burning a hole in my pocket and I decided to indulge my guilty pleasure: crochet patterns.

I must have a thousand of them. I love crochet and I have ever since my grandmother taught me how to hold the hook. I found some very cute patterns for baby booties and a pattern for a fun little drawstring bag that I have already modified to suit myself. I also got my very first sock pattern. It's a challenge I've wanted to face for a long time and now I'll have my chance.

Winter is long here in Nebraska. Some years are worse than others. This one is cold and it has me hibernating in my little house. Crocheting has gotten me through many days of winter blahs. Armed with a few new patterns and a couple huge totes of assorted yarn, I think I'll be able to make it to spring. I just hope it doesn't go too awfully fast.

Happy New Year to all.

Sum-Sum-Summertime!

2010-06-06T10:00:00.003-05:00

What a difference a few weeks make! Only two months ago, I was down and out and struggling to heal from my surgery. Only two days ago, I was dancing like a heathen at our June art opening.

The resilience of the human body sometimes amazes me. As does the resilience of the human spirit.

Today I sit at my computer and I can see out the open front door of my home. The neighbor's patio is a focal point of intense activity for the neighborhood animals that roam the streets of my little town. Most of the critters are feline in nature but some belong to the canine crew. At this very moment, young kittens are romping among the daylillies that sprout from ground on the east side of the aforementioned neighbor's home.

They are cute as the dickens. If I wasn't so allergic to cats, and if my husband was so inclined, we would feed the strays ourselves. But I am and he's not. Fortunately, I have the luxury of watching the kittens from afar. I only hope my dogs are as content as I am to observe the cavorting of the kittens from afar.

Another wonder for this season is the fact that I managed to get a vegetable garden in this year. I had believed that with my potentially protracted recovery and given the amount of labor required for a vegetable garden, I would be unable to get it started in time to gather the fruits of my labor before the first killing frost. I've managed to get tomatoes, peppers and melons started this year. We shall see about the killing frost.

The garden was an enormous mess this spring. Last winter's first snow came before I had a chance to get out and clean up the season's plantings. The first snow lasted pretty much all winter long and I did not get a second chance. With the melting of the snow mass, the vines and tangles of last year's produce became evident. We tilled the whole mess under.

Which probably explains the following:

Along with the purposeful plantings, last weekend I discovered a plethora of tiny seedlings that look remarkably like squashes. My husband saw the little ones and immediately insisted that we let them "grow and realize their full potential." Since my husband is not normally that touchy-feely, I immediately realized he just likes the big leafiness of squash plants and he was curious to see what we would get, if anything, from the volunteers.

I reluctantly agreed after an extensive discussion on the merits of weeding vs. not weeding vs. who would actually do the weeding. We immediately dubbed the volunteers as 'squashkins' or 'pumpshes' since both pumpkins and other squashes were on the menu last year and we're not really sure at this point what they might actually be. There is a slight chance that some of them are melons. That might be too much to hope for.

Into Every Life, a Little Rain

2010-04-24T20:11:00.004-05:00

Yup. It's raining again. In the last few days, we've gotten over 2 inches of rain. Grandma's Fernleaf Peonies have never looked better! They're fixing to flower and it's not even May yet. Meanwhile, my grass grows taller and deeper and thicker than ever. It's a beautiful thing really.

We moved into our home with the golf course on the side almost 4 years ago. It had a lot of lawn. Very little actual grass, but a lot of lawn. We have decreased the mowing area considerably with our gardening efforts, but there is still a considerable row to mow in our little slice of heaven.

Last fall, I was fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of a HUGE patch of peonies. The poor things were smack in the way of progress! A friend is extending the fence on his back yard and a 10 foot diameter patch of peonies had to go. Naturally, he thought of us and our golf course.

We planted peonies everywhere. The front yard. The back yard. By the garden. The only place we don't have peonies is the north side. I didn't think they'd get enough light over there. I planted them thick because I figured only half of them would actually come up this year and then half again might flower in a couple years.

The verdict is still out on the flowering. It's too early to tell. But we have frickin' peonies everywhere. Every last one of them came up near as I can tell. We are practically hip deep in peonies. I figure if they all live, we'll cut our mowing area even further.

Grandma would have LOVED it.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

2010-04-20T23:02:00.003-05:00

Yep. Changes. The one true constant in this universe is constant change.

I've reached a new milestone in my life. It's called middle age. Up until a few weeks ago, I felt confident that I had not gotten that far yet. I was still a vibrant woman. Still dealing with the in's and out's of being a woman. Roller coastering through the monthly shifts, ebbs and flows. It's only natural.

What is not particularly natural is the surgery I underwent a few weeks ago. A few quick slices of the surgeon's blade and I am left empty. My creative center removed and a large hole left behind.

I am the first to admit that this is not necessarily a bad thing. For many years I have endured discomforts not bestowed upon all women. The pain was at times exquisite and intense. Other times, almost absent. But at all times, it was present.

I cannot say that I miss it particularly.

What has concerned me over the last few weeks is the loss of the physical presence of my sacral chakra: Swadhisthana. As recently as a few days ago, I grew dispondent over the loss of that part of myself where true creation begins. I wondered if it were the end of all my creative efforts. I wondered if I could possibly maintain my active, creative lifestyle.

Today I got my answer. I spent the better part of today in my craft studio. I started by just sorting through a few things and running my hands over some lovely bits and pieces I've accumulated. The next thing I knew, I was humming happily, glue gun in hand, assembling a really pretty spring wreath for my front door.

The creative block has been broken. It has been there for a longish time. I suspect that the physical congestion I was carrying around in the form of cysts and fibroids was more of a blockage than any mental issues I may have. My creative center is still present and is, in fact, probably more intense than ever. I am jubilent. I am overcome. I am grateful.

Namaste.

Something's Going On

2010-03-20T15:06:00.003-05:00

And I don't know how to write about it. A fundamental shift has happened in my life and I don't have the words to address it properly.

It's frustrating.

Doing Things the Right Way.

2010-02-25T21:09:00.007-06:00

For the last four years, my 81-year-old Father-in-law has been bedfast in his home. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's about 10 years ago and has slowly been fading away. My 78-year-old Mother-in-law has been his sole caregiver other than the nurse that comes twice a month and a bath aide who comes twice a week to help her out.

I've lived in her home part time for three and a half of the last four years. I've watched her care for her husband in the makeshift bedroom she prepared in the sun room at the back of their house. The house that has been featured in architectural magazines more than once. The home that they created from a rather small, salt box house sitting up on a practically naked hill. I've seen the pictures from the early days. FIL was quite prolific with his 35mm camera and slide film.

The house and gardens are literally a showplace most of the year.

So I've watched her care for her husband. Most of the time with love and compassion. At times, the care was given with a lot of frustration and confusion. He had a stroke about a year and a half ago that left him paralyzed on his right side and more or less eliminated his capacity to speak other than a few choice swear words which seem to always come out clear as a bell at the most inopportune moments.

Tuesday night after I left work, I made a couple stops and ran a couple errands. When I got to the house, I was met by a fretting and pacing MIL telling me that FIL has pneumonia and she didn't know what to do.

After taking one look at the old guy lying unconcious in his bed, I knew from my years of experience with the elderly and the terminally ill that he was going to die. There was literally no doubt in my mind. I had never seen anyone with that particular type of pallor live more than a day.

In the background I could hear her telling me that the doctor wanted him to go to the hospital. This man who had not left his home in six years was meant to go to the hospital somehow.

At this point I don't remember too many details. I think my instinct to protect my MIL from the mechanisms and ambivalence of the machinery that takes over when a home death occurs kicked in. I called the ambulance. They came and took him down the icy driveway to the emergency vehicles and we went to the hospital.

Upon arriving at the emergency room, I remember every moment with crystal clarity. FIL lying on the bed in the ER in his hospital gown gasping for air with the oxygen mask turned on full blast. The ER doctor telling us gently that FIL is quite ill. The nurses were fussing over him trying to find vein to start an IV and not having much luck. The gentle voice of the nurse as she explained to FIL what she was about to do even though he was unable to respond or perhaps even hear her.

I remember the doctor looking to us for an answer. He would begin the lifesaving efforts at her request. I remember him talking about the Living Will and the Do Not Resuscitate form. I remember my MIL's eyes looking into mine and her repeating, "I don't know what to do." She was pleading with her eyes for me to give her an answer and then looking back at the man with whom she had spent the last 57 years of her life.

We stepped into the hall to get some space. We paced back and forth. She fretted and wondered aloud what to do again. I asked her what he would have wanted. She said he didn't want tubes and machines. I asked her what she thought would happen if they managed to heal him of the pneumonia that now threatened his life. She only shook her head. I told her it would happen again. And even if they drove out the pneumonia this time, it wouldn't fix the Alzheimer's or the stroke or the frailty in his limbs.

She looked at me again and asked, "What should I do? What should I do?"

I told her, "Let him go. It's his time. Let him go."

Her back straighted, she nodded curtly at me and went back into the room and waved off the nurses and the doctor who were still fussing over the IV line and told them to stop it and to stop everything. We went to the waiting room to wait for the end. It didn't take long. Less than 30 minutes later, the doctor and nurse came around the corner. And that's when it hit me.

The raging guilt. The what-have-I-done? The second guessing. That knife in my heart that makes me ask, "Who the hell do I think I am? God?" Then the tears and the nice Indian pastor who sat with us and brought MIL coffee in a styrofoam cup.

Who am I? GOD?

No. I'm just a woman who loves her crotchety, pig-headed Mother-in-law. I'm someone who wanted to spare her the indignity and stress of a home death followed by a coroner followed by the trooping of multitudes of professionals and the autopsy and the endless, pointed questions.

I went into his room to say good-bye. MIL couldn't bring herself to do it and I felt like someone should. As I looked down on his face peaceful in its repose, I realized that I barely knew my Father-in-law. He wasn't an easy man to get to know. He didn't have a good relationship with his sons. But I respected him because he was a strong man and a good man and he was my husband's father. I believed he had always tried to do the right thing.

I know my Mother-in-law somewhat better. I don't get along with her all the time. I often wish I could just stay away. But the fact is that I feel a duty to her not because she has helped me and my husband in the past and not because I stay in her home part time. I feel this duty because she is my husband's mother. Without her, I wouldn't have the man that love and cherish above all others. I do these things that I do for her out of respect and, yes, love.

I've never felt closer to her than I do right now.

I told FIL I was sorry that it had to be this way. I told him that he was loved and he would be remembered. I touched his face and his skin felt cool and I cried. I did not cry because he was gone. FIL had been gone for a very long time already. My tears were for the lost opportunites. They were tears of regret. They were tears of relief.

It is done. Thank goodness. And I believe it was well done after all.

Mid-winter Blahs

2010-02-06T10:37:00.003-06:00

Ok, I'll admit it. I get the mid-winter blahs every year about the end of December. I don't like to procrastinate so I just get them and get it over with.

Battling the blahs is an ongoing struggle for me. I usually find something to obsess on and focus on that to the exclusion of all else until I see the first robin and I know that spring is finally arriving.

This year I've focused on crafting stuff. I just got done making a boatload of barrettes. If you're interested, you can see them here: www.curiosityspiqued.artfire.com

I got stuck on making yo-yos and I've been yo-ing ever since. But even that started to lose its shine with the depth of the snow and coldness of the winter wind.

Then I found the fabric sale. Not just any fabric sale, but the sale of all those little pieces of sample upholstery fabric. The fabric store sells them off for about a buck apiece and they're probably over priced at that rate. BUT... To my winter weary mind, it's like a ray of sweet spring sunshine. So I bought them. Not all 150 of them, but a goodly portion. At the moment, I'm hip deep in hip scarves and loving it. I spent two evenings this week on the bed surrounded by fabric swatches and cutting bits into triangles. I wondered if the little strips I was cutting off of some of them would work on a coin bra? I was pinning things together, matching colors and patterns and humming rather tunelessly.

I was humming. I don't think I've ever hummed in the winter before. I usually reserve my humming for weeding or planting. I even hum when I mow sometimes. I like to mow.

So winter can blow and snow and carry on. I'll continue to struggle with the transportation issues and the heavy coats. But I feel my load is lightened. Hip scarves and humming. What fun.

Happy New Year

2010-01-02T19:18:00.002-06:00

Two days into the new year. So far, so good. It's been a rough day.

I'm in day 5 of my 6 day vacation. One more day to get my list of things I planned to do cleared up and get ready to face a new week and a brand new year ahead.

Never going to happen. I always make plans. I make a list. I plan how long each thing will take to do. I make sure I allow for meals and breaks. I like to plan things out carefully.

Things never really go the way I plan, however. I used to think I was really lousy at planning. I'd try again. I would make lists of every possible contingency. I would speculate about the things that might get in my way of successfully fulfilling my agenda.

There's always something that throws a monkey wrench into the plans. This time, it was frozen pipes. It's happened before, but when I got up this morning ready to take my shower and get on with my day, there was no water coming out of the faucet and it sent me down the path of destruction.

There was water in the laundry room though. So I made use of that getting as much washing done as possible. I also managed to blow the circuit breaker and wipe out about half of my husband's computers in about 3 seconds flat.

So this evening, I'm beating myself up. I don't often give in to the temptation to wallow in the agony that my own mind will conjure up if I give it half a chance. I'm pretty good at it actually.

At the moment, my heart is so achingly empty of compassion for myself. I have moments when I think I cannot continue. I wonder if I will sometimes.

Still Snowing

2009-12-23T22:02:00.005-06:00

Yeah, so far the snow hasn't been too bad. Of course I haven't had to go anywhere. I'm fine with that.

AND! The best part is my husband has been bitten by the home improvement bug. We spent yesterday and part of today installing shelves in the kitchen and the bedroom. He even spent a little time clearing out a corner in the office room that he is vacating for my sewing studio.

I got my ancestor's altar all set up except for the wall hangings. It feels good to have it finally in the right place in my home. I was unpacking the cloth and the candles and the photographs and arranging them carefully with the incense and the elephant and the Buddha holding the tea light candle. I really need some more frames that I can hang. But that comes later after I finish converting the room and decorating.

It really feels good to be home in my own house. After 3 1/2 years we are finally settling in and deciding what we want and how we want it. It's been good working with him and I must add that there has been a remarkable lack of swearing in these projects.

This evening I was taking a bag of trash out to the cans and discovered a group of kids standing around a car that was in the ditch. We got out the truck and tried to tow the car out but the slope down to the bean field the car was perched on was too steep and we broke the tow rope. Luckily the snow plow driver came along just then and he pulled the little Grand Am out of the bean field and back on to the road.

Only in a small town do you get that kind of public service. If that had been in Lincoln, that driver would have gone right on by.

Sometimes I worry about being so far out in the boonies in my little house on the tippy edge of my little town. But then someone like that snow plow driver comes along and I'm not so nervous anymore. Life is good. Even when it snows.

White Christmas

2009-12-19T21:33:00.002-06:00

Why is it that everyone is always looking for a white Christmas? What is so special about having snow on Christmas day?

Am I missing something?

Snow is annoying and bothersome. It's slippery and cold and well, boring. All that white is painful to the eyes if the sun ever comes back out. Nevermind the 'sparkle' of the freshly fallen snow. What about the snowblindness that comes from looking at it?

I hate snow. I hate the word snow. The very thought of a light flurry on a Friday afternoon sets my teeth on edge and puts my heart in my throat. Tell me there's freezing rain in the forecast and I might be found a little while later in a fetal position under my desk.

It's happened.

I'm not proud of my position on snow. I know it's just weather and it's nothing to be worried about. But there is something about snow that releases a primal scream in the back of my brain and sets my anxiety at DefCon 9.

Even as a child I didn't like snow. I never wanted to play in it. I never liked sledding. I would build the occasional snow man because I knew that the weather had to warm up so the snow would stick together and that meant it wouldn't be around for long. I considered the other kids who would lie on their backs in the snow making angels to be deranged.

That's just not right.

You might say I'm a little neurotic. I'm not surprised in the slightest.

It's Been Some Time

2009-11-26T21:28:00.004-06:00

A month or more to be exact. Blogging hasn't been on my mind lately. What with the dance festival and all the preparations for that, I've been buried in work and excitement.

The festival was a wonderful success! The classes were excellent and the performances were divine. One, my personal favorite, was divinely inspired. Joe Williams did a Dervish number at the end of the last show that was...amazing doesn't cover it.

There wasn't a dry eye in the house. All he did was get up on the stage with a longish skirt thingy on and twirl around and around for about 7 minutes straight. It was stunning. It was breath-taking. I was practically speechless. The intensity of the music he chose rose and fell as he spun along. Several times I thought it was nearing the end only to start back up and keep on going.

Around and around. When it was over, he didn't fall down. He didn't act dizzy. He didn't seem different. But I knew I was different.

My time with Joe Williams was short. I took one class from him called Meaning in the Body. I was reluctant but I allowed someone to talk me into going. The only word I can find to describe how the class was for me is 'transcendent.'

By the time the class was over, which was far too soon in my estimation, I felt a fundamental shift in the way I see dance. Joe was able to help me tap into my 'inner artist'...someone I didn't know existed until he showed me. I've been dancing for 4 years (sometimes it seems like forever). From now on, it's more than just dancing. It's expression.

This last weekend I was talking with my husband about dancing. I'm taking a break again this winter to focus on hearth and home a bit more. I need some space to learn what exactly this inner artist wants of me. I'm wondering if I can apply what I learned about myself in other areas of my life? Can I approach my daytime chemisty job as an artist? Can I learn to see what others are saying without hearing the words that they speak?

With Joe's help, I think I can.

The Ghost of Christmas...

2009-10-25T15:02:00.002-05:00

I'm struggling with this huge desire to hunker down and hibernate. The cooler weather and the rain have me thinking about hats and scarves and sweat pants and fuzzy slippers. I've caught myself looking longingly at the tea kettle many times in the last few days.

It's a struggle, but it's a good one.

The garden isn't cleaned up yet. Probably won't get it done before the snow flies. I'm busy getting things ready to vend at the festival next month. I'm also busy getting the Christmas stuff ready for sale on Artfire. I've got a few ideas and I only hope I have time to use them before the season is over. I feel like I'm getting a really late start.

I had a talk with my husband the other day while we were wandering through WallyWorld. We happened upon the Christmas tree display. The sales clerks were having trouble with the lighting in that area of the store and it was semi-dark in there. Perfect for enjoying the lighted trees on display. We looked at the trees and we both immediately fell in love with a white flocked 4 footer with multi-colored lights. Practically at the same time we turned to each other and said, "You know, I kind of miss decorating for the holidays." It was one of those 'Hallmark' moments that you can't plan for. In that moment, I knew that we were back on the same wavelength again.

It's been a rough summer for us this year. I work too much and he's left on his own a lot. The distance makes it hard to maintain a good relationship sometimes. We've talked about what we can do to fix that. Not much it seems except keep trudging on.

Back in the day, I used to have a big Halloween party every year. It was and is still my favorite holiday. We'd decide on a theme, usually it was BYOB, and a costume was usually required. Lots of music, friends, decorations and fun. I love it.

Christmas has always been a thorn in my side. I hate the commerciality of it all. I hate the TV advertisements. I hate the hokey decorations that so garish. I hate the fakey-ness of it all. I do miss the decorating though. I love a nice tree decked out in homemade ornaments. I like the wreaths and the garland. I love a nice, gentle, shimmery glow over everything. It takes me back to a much earlier time. A safer time. A time when there was no war or disease and everyone had enough of whatever it took to live.

Christmas was important to me as a child because I knew I'd be seeing people I love and didn't get to see very often. Christmas is about family and being with people that mean something to me. It's about sharing a meal and some peace.

I don't usually get the Christmas Spirit. I haven't for years. I must be making up for lost time because I got it bad right now.

:D

Bleh

2009-10-18T11:50:00.002-05:00

Sick. Stupid cold. I had almost convinced myself it was plague, but my husband insists it's just a cold and I'll probably live.

Bleh.

At this rate, I'll never get my garden cleaned up. I still have tomato plants to pull out and some potatoes to dig up. I want to clean it up before winter gets here for real. Today, I tried to go out and work a bit. I think I might have actually picked a couple things up and then just gave up and went back in the house.

I'm pretty sure I took too much cold medicine. I followed the directions on the bottle...but that can't be right since it didn't really do much. I don't expect to feel pert and perky, but a little reprieve would be nice. So I took a little more...just a snort. I now feel loopier than a Hot Wheels racetrack.

I hate being sick.

Another Day in the Hit Parade

2009-10-12T17:37:00.004-05:00

Things keep hitting me....or maybe I'm hitting them...

I hit a rabbit with my car this morning on the way to work.

I hit my knee on my desk drawer about 200 times today.

I hit a slick spot on the floor in the locker room this morning. It was almost a tragedy.

One of my co-workers hit me with a rolled-up report...I probably had it coming though.

I was finally hit with the realization this morning that I'm probably going to have to find a part time job to supplement my income for the winter.

I had thought those days were over. I used to have as many as 4 jobs at one time. I worked in a nursing home, made pizzas, waited tables and went to college all at the same time. I struggled and worked and graduated from college with a 3.95 gpa and managed to snag a really good job at a very stable company.

I thought I had it made. But then reality hit me.

With the recent economic downturn, my hubby's enterprises have also taken a downturn and money is pretty much NOT coming in anymore. My job doesn't pay enough to make ends even get close together, much less meet.

'Economic downturn.' I think if I hear that phrase one more time I'll scream.

Finding the patterns

2009-10-09T19:24:00.003-05:00

I've been feeling under the weather a lot lately. I've been telling myself it is allergies and as soon as the ragweed is exterminated by a good, hard frost, I'll feel much better.

But then I started thinking as I am wont to do on my way to the homestead of a Friday afternoon. I left work early today for yet another I-swear-to-god-I'm-coming-down-with-something episode. And I could swear it still if I hadn't had an epiphany on the way home from work.

I ache. Everywhere I ache. My back, my legs, my arms, my head. Dull, throbbing ache. Just like last Friday and the Friday before that and the one before that. Achy breaky Friday is how I've come to think of it. I'll spend my weekend doing stuff around the house or the yard and come Monday morning, the ache will be less noticeable and I'll be moving around better.

Then another work week goes by and by Friday, it's the Achy Breaky Whine again.

It's only taken me months to notice the pattern. It's either the "I have fibromyalgia but I don't want to admit it out loud to myself" pattern or it's the "you're getting too old to keep up this pace" pattern. I haven't truly decided yet. But my husband was helpful enough to point out that my next birthday will be 47.

After a week filled with driving back and forth, working up to 50 hours, a couple of dance rehearsals and helping the MIL around the house, I'm whupped. I'm sleep deprived, hug deprived, puppy kiss deprived and just plain relaxation deprived.

Maybe I am getting too old to keep this pace up. And maybe the pace isn't making the (potentially) fibromyalgia symptoms any better.

And maybe if I could get my doctor to actually give me a diagnosis of fibromyalgia, I could take that to my boss and say, "See? I told you it's not all in my head."

But then it could all be in my head anyway.

Falling again...

2009-10-07T19:24:00.006-05:00

I've been in hiding lately. Sort of. I've been staying away from the blogging. I don't have anything good to say these days and I really want it to be a positive experience.

But here I am anyway.

The annual fall depression is setting in and I need to nip it in the bud. I keep trying to think of things to send it packing, but it has a strong grip on me this year. Stronger than usual. Makes me angry and sad. So I'll just blog about what's going on in my life.

Work is work. We had a 'townhall' meeting on Monday at Champion's Fun Center (an arcade of all places for a business meeting). We got our quarterly dress down and report on how lousy we are followed by some rained-out go cart races and a rousing round of cosmic bowling. I recused myself from both activities. The go-carts are far too slow moving to interest me and I don't wear 'community' shoes so the bowling is out of the question. We were then treated to a gone-cold dinner of roasted chicken, boiled potatoes and cheesecake of questionable origins.

Yay. I can't tell you when I've felt so wanted.

The meeting was dry and unproductive and I personally left at the end feeling a little like I'd been smacked around with a velvet hammer.

The good news is I still have a job. Not that it makes a big difference since the bills just keep piling up. I have no money. Friday I get paid and I'm betting by Monday I won't have $10 left to show for it. Another 2 weeks down the tubes.

I have things to pay for that I want. I have a layaway that I want to pay off. I have classes to pay for in November. I want to henna my hair. I want to get my dogs their shots. I just want, one time, to walk into Hobby Lobby and buy the thing I went there for without cringing at the extravagance of it all.

Yes, winter is coming and I'm ambivalent. I have so much left to do in the yard like give it one last mowing and cleaning up the garden for good. I have things I need to put away that I also need to make room for in the garage (easier said than done in my tiny home). The things outside are complicated by the fact that I'm not actually home every day and my husband managed to serously injure his ankle riding my motorcycle around the block. So he's gimping around and doing what he can which pretty much amounts to very little. It's not the norm but it is frustrating to me to be saddled with everything.

Know anyone who wants to buy a motorcycle? I'm selling mine. Kawasaki Vulcan 750cc 1995. Low miles, excellent condition.

Another downer. Selling my bike. Makes me feel really old and pretty much a failure. After Jeff hurt himself on it, I just don't want it anymore. Makes me feel like a pussy. That bike has been my pride and joy. I love it. I often thought I'd be buried with it. Now I want it gone. I know I'll regret it for the rest of my life, but I'm not riding it enough to make the luxury justifiable.

Justifiable. That's one of those words we use at work a lot. We have to justify everything. I'm really tired of arguing my case every day over every little thing. If I wanted to argue for a living, I'd have gone to law school. Instead, I went to chemistry school. I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure the two are very different.

Yes, winter is coming. They're calling for snow this weekend although right now it's only a 30% chance my neck of the woods. I hate snow. I just do. It's genetic. My Mother also hates snow. And it's not the snow's fault. If I am tucked in nice and warm in my house with cookies in the oven and roast in the crock pot, I'm happy as a clam to let it keep on falling down. But come Monday morning when the alarm goes off you can bet I'll be swearing at all that white shit on my car.

I can't keep up anymore. I've overslept four times in the last week and twice I was late to work. My boss is very understanding. We have a long-standing tradition of extremely flexible work hours and he doesn't care if I'm late so long as I make up the time. But the thing is I care. I have to care.

You see, I'm doing a big juggling act. I have to keep all the balls in the air and tapdance while balancing a sword on my head. I can't let anything fall and I can't stop moving. I don't know what to do anymore.

Thus Begins the Migration

2009-09-26T21:07:00.012-05:00

Last weekend I was sitting on my porch in the morning watching the dew dry off the grass and contemplating the vast mowing job I had before me. It only took about 2 hours but that's not what this blog is about.

This particular entry is about butterflies in general and Monarchs in particular. You see, as I was sitting there on the concrete steps that lead to my front door enjoying my coffee and the gentle morning breeze, over the course of only a few minutes I counted no fewer than 25 Monarch butterflies wafting southward along the gravel road that is in front of my house.

It's not my first migration although this one caught me by surprise. I hadn't realized that it was that late in the year. I remember sitting on the porch at the house in Havelock and watching the Monarchs go by. In those days, there was no such thing as the internet so I packed my infant son up in the car and we went to the library. We spent an afternoon searching through the card catalog and reading about the Monarch migration.

Turns out that Monarchs are the only butterfly that migrate like birds do. What is normal for many species of bird is unique in the Monarch butterfly. They head north in the spring and south in the fall. Seems so very normal.

I learned that the Monarchs in our neck of the woods, the east side of the Rockies, migrate all the way down to Mexico and in to Central America for the winter. The butterflies on the west side of the Rockies congregate in Southern California for the winter. I found pictures of some trees that were literally blanketed with hibernating butterflies.

Cool.

I've always liked butterflies. When I was a kid, I'd follow them for blocks through our small town watching where they went and what attracted them. I had friends who collected butterflies but I could never bring myself to do that. Butterflies, it seemed to me, were beautiful not only because they had gorgeous wings scaled in brilliant colors. They are also beautiful because of what they do. They captivate. They sparkle and shine in the sun. They flutter on wings almost unbelievably beautiful and strong and yet they are so delicate that a mere touch of a finger tip will render them useless. Most of them pass through their adult lifespan in a single season.

Why in the world would you want to foreshorten that life? Why ruin it for them? They only get to be beautiful for a short time. Let them enjoy it. Let them do what they were put here to do. Brighten our lives. Produce the next generation.

It's only natural.

It cannot possibly be the middle of September!

2009-09-18T21:18:00.003-05:00

Where did my summer go????

Summer is a busy time at my place. I work full time in a town kind of far away from my home. I'm in an active bellydance troupe and they keep me on my toes during the summer months especially. I am an avid gardener and I cannot seem to keep myself indoors when the weather is fair. Most weekends you will find me in one garden or the other picking veggies or pulling weeds. I love it.

I blame my paternal grandmother for my love of gardening. She was a tough old bird who had 8 children and lived on her own until the day she died. I live in her house and I'm hopeful that some of her independent spirit will rub off on me. I think it will. There are days when her presence is almost palpable to me. I miss her quite a lot some days. Sometimes, I'll be out in my garden tending to the plants that she left behind and wonder if she would like the things I've done to her flowers or the things I've added. Sometimes I wonder if that sudden breeze that lifts my hair and cools my brow a bit is an answer from her.

Maybe.

She was a pretty cool lady. If anyone could figure out a way to stick around and mess up my hair, it would be her.

The Village Pie Maker?

2009-09-12T22:00:00.005-05:00

Well, I went and did it. I've been making noises about making an apple pie for weeks now. Up until today, it had been all talk and no pie.

Not anymore.

Every other year, my neighbor's two apple trees go gangbusters and produce a bumper crop. I have personally taken 5 bushels of apples off those trees with not only his blessing, but almost his pleading. I've made applesauce both canned and frozen. For future reference, I prefer frozen. Canning applesauce leaves a lot to be desired in my experience. For some reason, my sauce expanded so much that it oozed out of the jars and left them about 2/3 full in the end. Yeah, frozen applesauce it is.

I picked the apples myself. I peeled them and cored them and sliced them myself. I even figured out how to peel an apple and make the peelings come out in one long string. I remember a story my Grandmother told me once when I was a young girl. She said that if you can peel an apple so the whole skin comes off in one piece, you can use it to find out the initial of the first name of your true love.

Apparently, my true love's first initial is 'O' or maybe it was a 'Q'...Go figure.

I put in cinnamon and sugar and even a little nutmeg to satisfy the rebel in me. I even tried to make a nice crumbly topping that really wound up being less crumbly topping and more like caramelized sugar. Not so bad really, but not what I expected. I'm in the market for a different crumbly topping recipe if anyone has any advice.

As you can tell in the picture, the pie is a bit brown. I think my oven is a bit...off. The recipe said to bake it for 40-50 minutes. That's what it looked like after only 25 minutes. But, my stove is probably as old as I am so I'm not surprised it doesn't work perfectly...neither do I.

The pie crust is a sell out though. It was purchased frozen from WalMart this afternoon. It worked out OK, I guess.

The best part is that I managed to make enough pie filling for 5 more pies. It is currently residing in my freezer waiting the day when I decide to throw caution to the wind and try my hand at making the crust from scratch.

But I still have one more frozen crust...

And....exhale....

2009-08-30T20:02:00.008-05:00

So we survived the show at Pershing. The only hiccup that I'm aware of is that whoever was leading the last song didn't end it very well. I'm pretty sure it wasn't me. I'm actually kind of praying it wasn't me because I don't really remember.

It was a fun/rough/interesting/boring/exciting/exhilarating day yesterday. Some highlights:

My friend Lea looked just about as pretty as I've ever seen her look. I think it was the false eyelashes and the new choli. That choli is so 'her' I can't stand it. Stunning is the only word I can think of. And the hair! I'd love to have half the hair she has. I'll have to settle for some henna and a positive attitude. Plus? I can stand next to her and maybe some of her style and panache will rub off on me.

Sam came in and did some eyes and helped with hair along the way. Seeing her was a high point for me. I miss her and her stellar dancing capabilities.

Barb led us all in a lovely slow piece in the middle of our set. I love following Barb in slow, arrhythmical dance. It takes me back to my early days as a dancer and the security of knowing my teacher was there and no matter how lame or stupid I felt, she accepted me for what I was and the stage I was in. Bless her heart always.

Michele was so much fun with her flowered turban! It is a cute and cool idea I plan to steal when she's not looking.

I had to laugh out loud when we finally found Mona's butterfly 'bindi' tangled up in her goddess hair. She was so worried it was lost when it couldn't have been much closer to her the whole time.

Kerin was radiant in her blue costume. Absolutely radiant! Blue is her color that's for sure.

Sher, as usual, had brought in something fun for us all to share and wear in our hair. Some funky, stripey floral whatzit that I think almost everyone tucked into turban or hair at some point. Sher is a dear soul and I love dancing with her.

Angela is the stealth bomber of the troupe. And I LOVE her purple 'my little pony' pony tail. I hope she keeps it and hides it as long as possible from the troll she works for.

Leslie has inspired me! I love the way she wraps her hair for dancing whether it's a show or a rehearsal or a down and dirty class. I've decided that I'm going to test drive some hair wraps for daily wear and see how the boss reacts to my latest weirdness. What's the worst that can happen? I've been told on a number of occasions that I'm his problem child anyway. Might as well enjoy it. Tomorrow I have a black cotton wrap. Tuesday, I'm going turquoise. BWAHAHAHAHAAHA!

Lana as usual was totally decked out like a crazy gypsy woman. I just want to take all of the costuming she was wearing last night and weigh it to see how many pounds of stuff she had on. But seriously, her costuming taste and style is so cool and genuine. I love it and I love to see her dance in it.

I have such a fun group of friends to dance with!

Spellcheck says: I spelled arrhythmical right! I didn't even look it up! This is a good day.

The Times, They are a Changin'

2009-08-26T18:59:00.004-05:00

It's been crazy. Really crazy. The garden is exploding with tomatoes and peppers and squash (oh my!) Last weekend I canned 29 pints of salsa. My husband is ecstatic. Here's a picture of the salsa in the 16 quart stock pot I got last week.

Nice.

My neighbor's apple tree has gone gangbusters this year. He told me to take as many as I can use.

Also nice.

Work has been crazy. Changes all over the place. I have a new boss next week. I'm ambivalent about the change. I was hoping for something new and now that I have it, I'm not sure I want it anymore. Better the devil you know? You betcha. Change is hard for me.

Dance class has been crazy. More precisely, rehearsal has been crazy. We have two big performances coming up in a few days and it's all hell breaking loose in the studio. Especially over Saturday's big show at Pershing.

Yeesh. Pershing? I don't perform there, I go there and watch famous people perform. I'm not on the stage! That's CRAZY!

Just the same, three nights from now at about this time, the troupe will be squeeeeeing quietly backstage waiting for our turn under the bright lights. Ten minutes of fame? It may be all I get Mr. Warhol but I'll take it.

Phew!

2009-08-15T13:40:00.006-05:00

The last two weeks have flown by! A week preparing for a fun performance in the park with the dance troupe and another recovering from the stress and strain of a two hour show in 100 degree weather. Fortunately, Mother Nature smiled upon us with a nice, stiff breeze. Thank goodness.

My hubby came along for the performance but this time in a different sort of supportive capacity. We lugged all of his DJ equipment into the truck and hauled it into town.

I believe it was a qualified success. Being his first time out with this particular set-up, there were a few fumbles but all-in-all I think it went smashingly well. Well enough that he has been asked to run the sound for some future shows. I have only one thing to say about that:

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

It was so much fun having him there and we had a great time in spite of the heat. There was even a spontaneous outbreak of slow dancing before the show. Beats broom dancing any day of the week.

It was also a real test for me. After a six-month haitus, I have returned to dancing with tentative steps. Up until this show, I wasn't sure I'd be able to dance as well as I had danced before. I'm still having a little trouble with the feet after all and I certainly don't want to make it worse again. But, as I said, after this show, one thing is for certain: The Queen is back.

I earned that moniker after only a few performances with the troupe. My teacher bestowed it upon me after telling me that I looked 'regal'. I freely admit that I am not a pretty woman. I may have been once, but time has not been kind to me. From time to time, I will lament the fact to anyone who will listen. She said I am regal. I think I can handle that.

So the weekend was grand and we had a lot of fun. Unfortunately, the garden has suffered because of it. I fear my corn is well beyond the tasty state and perhaps because of my novice corn grower status, we don't have much to show for the effort. But what we do have is like ambrosia. And I've learned a few things about growing corn the most important of which is that perhaps it is best grown by someone who has a clue how to do it. I think I'll stick to peppers and tomatoes.

Speaking of peppers and tomatoes...

I will likely be spending tomorrow making salsa and freezing whatever I don't have canning jars to preserve. I am so excited about how well the peppers have turned out that I have expanded plans for starting seedlings next year. All the peppers and tomatoes for sure will be started indoors.

So anyway, there it is. A crazy August fortnight. Life is good.

Waiting to Go Home

2009-08-03T21:20:00.008-05:00

Talking with my husband on the phone just isn't the same.

I spend too much time away from my home, away from my life and away from my husband.

I cannot figure out how to make it better, so here I sit at the Batcave wishing my hardest that things were different and I could just go home at night like the rest of the planet.

People take their homes for granted. As someone who has lived as a homeless person, I never take a roof over my head as a given. It can be taken away at any moment by things completely out of your control which are generally tied directly to something stupid you did.

I know these things. Trust me.

I also know that I miss my husband fiercely tonight. This evening I spent some time dining at a fine, local, Chinese food establishment with my MIL, my husband's younger brother and his wife and their eldest daughter. My BIL spent the entire time making jokes about how the restaurant should serve Wild Turkey and asking the waitress for a wine menu while double-dipping his crab Rangoon in the duck sauce (or whatever that stuff is, I don't eat it.)

And yet, as we drove back to the Batcave, I found myself feeling a bit jealous of my SIL. She gets to spend every day with her husband. She obviously loves him as much as I love my own husband. Neither one of them is working right now and I'm sure it's hard on them and their home.

WTF?

I work hard. I try my best. I give it my all. I work and plan and try until I'm exhausted every night. I've got a good job (for now in this economy). I have a home that is paid for. I have a wonderful garden and a great couple of dogs. I have everything I've wanted for the last 20 years.

Why am I so damn unhappy?

Is it too much to ask that I get to see the love of my life more than twice a week? Is it too much to ask that I get to sleep in my own bed more often than not?
Is it really my lot in life to spend most of my time away from the things I love?

Is it?

I spent my weekend in a state of near bliss. We are so broke it's not funny, and yet we still had a great weekend. We cooked together. We worked in the yard together. We even shopped a little bit together. We teased the dogs. We washed the dishes and the laundry. Oftentimes, this weekend, I found myself imagining that I was a farm wife waiting for that radio call from my husband to help him move equipment or bring his lunch while I worked in the garden.

Yes, a fantasy to be sure. But I'm a grown woman and I know the difference between a daydream and a psychotic break.

I hope.

Mondays are the worst day of the week. I'm thinking of canceling all future occurrences of the day because of it. I hate Monday. And Monday hates me back.

Three Day Weekend

2009-08-02T10:40:00.011-05:00

OK, so I took a day of vacation on Friday. It was necessary. I had important, bill-paying and license plate renewing to do.

Plus, it was freaking gorgeous outside! Brilliant, beautiful last day of July in the 80's with a lovely breeze. Fantabulous! A day custom made for gardening and relaxing in the yard.

Yes, I said relaxing. Gardening is very relaxing to me when I'm not rushed through it and when I can take my time and do it the way I want it done. Such was the day on Friday. I actually weeded the garden...er, well, some of it anyway. On Saturday, I dug up half the potato patch and got a bucketful of absolutely gorgeous potatoes. Lucky had one when I wasn't looking and left bits of it all over the carpet. Apparently Catahoulas don't care for raw taters.

I got my first tomato on Thursday evening. Jeff and I shared it in the garden straight from the vine to the palate. Magnificent. That's the best way to eat a tomato. Vine ripened, still warm from the sun and juice running down your chin. I have a friend who will only eat them this way. I'm not quite as militant about it as she is, but I do admit this is the best way to eat a tomato.

That was just the beginning. I picked a few more tomatoes on Saturday. From the look of things, we are about a week away from a serious, all-out, every-man-for-himself onslaught of ripe tomatoes. I am well prepared this time with salsa mix and clean jars waiting to be filled and processed for those cold winter evenings when summer feels so far away that I wonder if I only dreamt it. On those days, I am a mere taco chip away from pure bliss.

On the middle day of my long weekend, I spent the day mowing for the most part. It's quite the operation at my house because the yard is so darn big. But a lot of the grass has gone dormant with the dryness and the hotness of our weather so it wasn't too hard. Sort of like pushing a stroller over gravel for 3 hours.

The balance of Saturday was spent admiring my handiwork and enjoying the sparkling day. I sat in my blue sling chair out by the driveway in just about the only shady spot in the yard, admired my freakish rain forest of a garden, drank my watered-down Diet Pepsi and waved at everyone as they drove or walked by.

Suddenly, I had a thought. It was like a bolt from the clear, blue sky over my head. That thought said, "I am home." Yesterday, on the first day of August, I came to regard my yard and house as home. For real. Not just a place that I hang my hat or keep my stuff. It's home. For me, that is a miraculous event. I could feel it deep down inside of me. Home. The word reverberated through my soul. It was as if a roomful of Buddhist monks were chanting the word together. All of it became real and clear and beautiful. I am home.

I've been something of a nomad in my adult life. I lived basically in the same town since graduating high school but I have lived in 15 or 20 different houses or apartments. For most of my adult life, there has been someone looking over my shoulder telling me I can't dig up that spot for a tomato plant or I can't hang a picture on that wall. There was always a disapproving landlord shaking his head at me and making me stop doing whatever it was I was trying to do.

This spring we dug up at least half of the lower lot in our little piece of paradise. We dug it up and dug it up and planted this garden. We tried every crazy, organic gardening trick we ever wanted to try.

Nobody said, "Boo," about it or anything. We got lots of questions like, "do you know anything about gardening?" or "have you considered hiring a crop duster?" We even got lots of compliments on the ambitious nature of our garden. Most folks thought it was pretty cool. This year our garden sent down roots of the literal and the metaphorical kind.

I have a drawing that I made a while back. It's sort of a layout of how I want my garden to be eventually. I shared it with my husband Friday evening.

He loves it. He can't wait to start building my little garden shed and the greenhouse that I want.

Me too.

The Spoils of War

2009-07-25T11:47:00.021-05:00

Here in Stromsburg, pretty much everyone has a vegetable garden. Mine is full of growing things and not all are planted by me nor are they all welcome visitors.

It is a battlefield of sorts. And it is hardly a level one at that. Those plants and weeds get to be there 24/7 planning and growing and plotting (hehe) against me. I'm stuck driving to work and dancing and living my life free of the encumbrances being a rooted plant requires. Sometimes, I'm not sure which of us has the better deal.

So this morning, I mowed what I thought needed mowing and then I set my sights on the rain forest we call our garden plot. I had plans to weed and pick and mulch and take photographs.

I started with the weeding. Weeding is a thankless chore that leads to still more weeding in the near future. After grasping a few handfuls of weeds and yanking them out, I stood up straight for a minute. I had suddenly recalled a recent conversation with my husband.

My husband is a computer geek. First Generation. He was there when the first personal computers were coming out and everyone was all excited about the new 386 machines. Oooo...has to be better than the 286, right?

But I digress.

My husband spends a lot of time online. He does research for all of our crazy ideas and ventures. Last weekend he was telling me about an article he had read somewhere about leaving weeds in your garden. The article put forth the idea that leaving the weeds where they choose to grow is OK and in fact preferable to pulling them out from around your plants. The weeds shade the ground between your fruit or vegetable bearing plants. The weeds will actually help to hold moisture in the soil by preventing evaporation. Furthermore, there are many varieties of 'weeds' that insects cannot bear. Some insects actually prefer to dine on the weeds. Plus, he also pointed out that nobody weeds the wild places and most plants will actually do better if they aren't raised in a monoculture environment.

As I stood there contemplating the next pigweed, I thought twice about uprooting that plant and I wondered how the potato plant next to it felt about the pigweed being there. I decided that the potato plant probably didn't really care so I left the pigweed alone. I also left the 'lettuce' plant next to it alone.

So much for the weeding! I was feeling so productive! Super Gardener! Dut dut-dut-DUH! *cue big, toothy smile and flowing cape*--self satisfied!

It was then that I spied a shockingly large yellow squash poking out from under the plant it was attached to. I picked it and promptly dropped it. So I bent down and moved the squash leaves out of the way to find the fruit I had just picked and a wondrous sight appeared before my eyes.

I have never in my life seen so many yellow squashes still on the vine. Sure, I've been to farmers' markets many times and I've seen piles of yellow squashes....truckloads even. But I've never seen anything like this. I spent the next HOUR delicately moving vines and trying not to step on anything important and picking squashes.

I also found 5 green bell peppers which will likely not last until sundown if I can get to the store for a package of ground beef. Stuffed peppers anyone?? Count me in!

By the time I was done, I had a porchful (yes, that is my little front porch...how about those marigolds!) of veggies and a pink, itchy rash all the way up to my t-shirt sleeves. I also had a mad, delighted grin pasted on my face and a camera full of snapshots of my garden. Currently, I have 5 grocery bags full of yellow squash awaiting a trip into Lincoln. Several unsuspecting friends and at least one family member will awaken to yellow squash on their porch Monday morning.

It's time for a seedling update! My seedling peppers are growing like crazy. Not-a-one has bitten the dust that I can tell. I have some mighty fine looking jalapeno pepper babies starting to form and some really great looking Hungarian Hot Wax peppers nearly ready for the table. The pics don't do them justice. Apparently, I'm a much better gardener than I am photographer.

Check out the corn! It's very funny looking to me. I live in the middle of miles of farmland devoted to the production of corn. I hear tell that the corn crop in Nebraska and Iowa this year is better than it's ever been. Driving from one town to another, I am treated to vistas of perfectly even rows of almost identical cornstalks.

It's creepy.

My corn is obviously a mutant strain. It's stunted short and no two stalks are the same height. I planted more than one kind, so I had odd tassles here and there. I planted some 'red' corn that I dearly hope comes to something. The tassels are beautiful! I wish the picture was better.

So, I guess that's the corn report for today. I've refreshed myself with ham sammiches and Diet Pepsi so I'm going back out to rejoin the battle. Wish me luck.

Hitting Bottom

2009-07-17T20:51:00.011-05:00

So today is Friday (Fryday! as my Mom likes to call it) and I'm sitting in my newly comfortably cool living room enjoying a quiet evening with my husband and our two dogs.

But it wasn't always so.

I got home after work today and I was greeted with an overly weedy and intensely messy garden. After heaving a heavy sigh, I set to work trying to weed out enough bindweed to find my pea plants and see if there is any hope of having a handful of peas to munch on whilst I ponder my future as a gardener. I'm pretty fearless in the yard. There isn't much that frightens me except for the occasional wasp or bumblebee.

Tonight, I was poking around the pepper patch trying to encourage the birdhouse gourd plants to find a route other than the trail they were blazing through my bell peppers. I was carefully moving the rather delicate yet horribly spiny vines around and redirecting their path of travel. It's a delicate operation really if you don't want an handful of spines or a broken vine for your trouble.

This one vine that I grabbed didn't really feel much like the other vines. I pulled it up to reveal a garter snake.

I'm not sure who was more surprised. I took about three steps back before I realized I had to put him down before I could actually move away. Meanwhile, he's twisting and winding himself around trying to get loose.

I obliged him and he disappeared into the mat of bindweed next to the potatoes. He was about three feet long. I say 'he' but I can't really be sure. Who knows how to sex a snake? Not me. I also say, "Three feet long," but who stops to measure a snake at a time like that? Not me.

Recovery from a shock like that takes a few moments and I regained my composure all the while hoping no one had been driving by or, worse yet, my husband had happened to witness this unfortunate event. I am most assuredly NOT afraid of snakes. I like snakes. They eat insects and small critters that like to wreak havoc in my garden and my home. It's a fair trade if you ask me. They get dinner and in return, I also get dinner. Move along Mister Snake. Go about your business, friend.

Some of the people where I live think of snakes as the lowest forms of life. To them, snakes dwell and live in a strange and nasty underworld at the bottom of the chain of life. They also think that any snake that dares to be seen should be killed on sight. I've had some tell me that it's because of the serpent in the story of the Garden of Eden. According to them all snakes are evil and they should be scorned and persecuted for what their predecessor did to Adam and Eve.

That's a lot of hooey. Pardon my French, but it is. Original sin? Seriously? Are we still blaming anything and everything for our own stupid mistakes and misjudgements? Is that garter snake I so blithely pulled out of the garden this evening really the cause of all our ills? Is he to blame for global warming? Or the recession? Or the war in Iraq?

Or maybe it's us women. You know, the bringers of the apples. Perhaps it's the feminine form that causes all the bad stuff in the world to rain down on everyone.

This is just one of the many reasons why I have a problem with the Christian 'creed.' They're all 'love thy neighbor' one minute and the next they're down at the coffee shop complaining because that same neighbor wants a couple chickens to eat the bugs out of their garden.

About ten minutes after the snake and I parted ways, my Dad showed up to borrow some screws so he could finish his deck. He sort of sneaked up on me and startled me a little bit, "What'cha doin', Sis?"

Nothing Dad. Just making deals with the devil.

Adding insult to injury

2009-07-15T17:50:00.003-05:00

My Mom is the greatest. She does stuff for me that I never even know about. Like last winter, she ordered this great coat off QVC. It didn't fit her. She could have sent it back and got a refund, but she didn't. Instead, she put in her closet and saved it for me until I came out to visit. It is a beautiful ivory suede leather. It fit me perfectly. I loved it!

We packed up a box of stuff before I left for home and shipped it off from the post office in her town. The guy at the counter assured me that the package was wrapped securely enough to make it to my little town in Nebraska.

The package came finally on Monday. I had been fussing over it for days wondering when it would arrive so I could show my husband that lovely coat. I was also looking forward to getting the rest of the stuff in the box as well. Some much-needed summer clothes and a few craft supplies that I picked up along the way.

An ominous note was sounded when I saw the label on the box that said it had been 're-packed' in Denver on the 9th of July. Ominous indeed.

The coat is gone without a trace. In its place is one clog type shoe, a half-used bottle of hand lotion, a pair of socks and a couple of magazines. I'm also missing some of those craft supplies and I think a couple of new t-shirts but I can't be sure about that.

The coat I'm sure about.

I am distraught. I am a moron for sending it parcel post because it was $15.00 instead of $35.00 for first class with insurance and delivery confirmation. I figured I could wait a few extra days for $20. After all, I've never had any trouble with the post office before. In my whole life, I've always gotten whatever was sent to me in one piece without any major damage.

I am an idiot. A complete and utter idiot.

The guy behind the counter assured me it was wrapped sufficiently to arrive in Nebraska in one piece. Indeed. It is in one piece. Taped nine ways to Sunday like I wanted to. I had offered to buy extra tape while I was there because he wasn't happy with the tape job I had done at Mom's house. However, he said it would be OK.

My guess is he probably did it himself to see what was in there and I'm guessing his wife will be sporting a fabulous new coat this winter.

My inner child's heart is vengeful and is having a huge tantrum at the moment. She wishes that the person who has her coat would puke red Kool-aide on it the first it is worn. My optimistic motherbrain is saying, gently, to my inner child's heart, "Let it go and hope that whoever winds up with the coat really, really needs a coat. Besides, maybe it will wind up in an honest person's hands and they'll turn it in because it doesn't belong to them." My cynical, middle-aged, adult's brain is saying, "No one is trustworthy least of all those you must pay extra to perform a service they are already paid to perform."

And don't even get me started on insurance.

Hot.

2009-07-11T15:42:00.003-05:00

This hot weather business is for the birds. I hate the hot. I hate the sun. I hate the sunburn I get from trying to pull weeds from around my pepper plants in the sun. The other day, I saw some young girls lying on long, chaise lounges in the sun.

What is wrong with these people? Ever hear of tan-in-a-can? Sure, you look a little orangey, but at least you don't get skin cancer from it.

But back to the pepper plants. I really should take pictures! They look amazing if I do say so myself. All but a couple of the little peat pellets survived and I don't think I've lost a single plant since I put them in the ground. Most are at least 12 inches tall and some are more like 18 inches tall. Many have flowers. Soon, I will have peppers.

I accidentally picked a Serrano pepper today as I was weeding. They are going to be very powerful because I smelled that puppy before I noticed it was picked.

Yeah. That's what I'm talking about! I love hot peppers...well, any peppers really. I can't help it.

I just realized that it's a bit ironic that I hate the heat of summer but I like hot peppers. I'm just loaded with weird paradoxes like that these days. I made another realization a couple days ago. Since I returned from vacation, I've been feeling a little lost and very off kilter. Can't concentrate on anything. No patience. Crying at the drop of a hat. I've kept feeling like I've forgotten something. I finally figured out what I forgot.

This is so stupid.

I forgot my Mom. I left her behind in Colorado on her own and I feel dreadful about it. We had a long talk about her life and how she likes it out there and she is perfectly content with her life and where she's living. She's Happy. She swears it. I believe her....but....

I'm a strange duck. I know that comes as a surprise to you, but there it is. I have this thing where I get fiercely protective of the people and things I really care about. It's sort of a misplaced maternal instinct that tells me I must protect everyone from everything. It's a struggle.

The funny thing is that some people don't appreciate it very much. Maybe that's not the right way to put it. My Mom appreciates that I want her to be happy and comfortable but she doesn't see it as my responsibility even if I do.

It's weird and stupid and I don't understand why I am this way. But I am and I can't seem to help it.

So coming home from Colorado wasn't that great for me. I forgot something, I came home to a huge mess in a hot weather front and I was totally unprepared for just how intensely I would miss my Mom. It's a little like a knife in the gut and if I think about it for more than a few seconds, I'll be bawling my eyes out.

To top it all off, my husband(who I love dearly) is driving me quite mad. It's hot and he's uncomfortable and it's pretty much all I hear about pretty much every time I talk to him. I'm dreadfully sorry he's hot. I really am. If he weren't so hot, we might have a reasonably coherent, adult conversation. I'm hot too but my hotness isn't nearly as bad as his hotness and he just can't handle the heat as well as I can. And can't I please do something to make it better before he gets seriously ill?

Like what, control the weather?

In reality, I'm fucking miserable. The AC can't keep up and there's so much yard work to do I could cry (again). The difference is that I don't complain petulantly (and constantly) about it to him.

Maybe I'll start. Or maybe I'll just get another AC and a second job to pay the electric bill...

Finding Center

2009-07-06T19:59:00.003-05:00

A rough day today. I got a late start because of something I had to take care of early this morning before work. So I start my new workweek 3 hours in the hole.

I hate that but I managed to make up one hour by staying late today. I was far too exhausted to try for any more.

I had a lot of time to think while I was on vacation. I decided to try to re-frame my thoughts regarding my job and my disjointed life. I decided to try to stop struggling against the current and just give it a chance to flow around me.

Ouch. Who knew that rocks could float in the river?

When I got to work, I was greeted with 144 new emails. Who knew I was so popular at work??? I never would have guessed. I also had a few voicemails but thankfully they were nothing important. Mostly a couple of friends giving me a hard time about taking a vacation.

Ha. Ha.

Among the many piles of papers that magically appeared on my desk during my vacation was a much-coveted and anticipated report that I've been working on for nearly a year. All the signatures were in place. It's done. Who knew ANYTHING could happen without me being right there to make sure it got done?

In the center of my desk, under all the papers and notebooks and post-it notes (grrrr...send me an email, don't be so lazy!) that had accumulated during my absence was a small, green 3 x 5 notecard with a smiley face on it. It said, "Welcome back." The smiley face was sticking out its green tongue. The notecard wasn't signed and I can't get anyone to admit to authorship, but I think I know who it was.

She is SO getting it when she goes to Vegas next time. I wonder how she knew???

Going Home

2009-07-04T19:18:00.011-05:00

It's been two years since I last saw my Mom. She and Dad moved out to Colorado about 7 years ago. About a year later, they divorced. Dad came back to Nebraska and Mom stayed out in Colorado to be with her mother and sister.

Grandma died a few years ago. Then her sister's husband died soon after. So now it's just Mom and Joann and the kids (all five of them...lol) and their kids.

I was born in Colorado and although that was a long time ago, I still remember living there as a small child. I remember going to my great grandfather's house and playing with the big blue ball in the backyard. I remember watching him burn out the fire ant mounds with gasoline. And I remember watching him working with his model trains in the basement of the house he lived in. I was never allowed to go down there, but I could watch them through the basement windows and I remember doing that for what could have been hours or maybe minutes.

I was 5. Give me some slack.

I also remember that he had Hispanic neighbors with girls somewhat older than myself. I remember that every time it rained, they all came barreling out of the house to wash their hair under the downspout.

I remember the guy who drove around in the little golf cart thingy and sold shaved ice. I only remember actually getting some one time. I remember it was red.

My Mom lives in a different town in Colorado now. It's a tourist town and there are a lot of cool things to see and do there. We never do any of them when I go out there, but I've been to them all at one time or another in my life so it doesn't really matter. I like to take people I know with me and show them how cool Colorado is. The really cool stuff. Like the May Museum of Natural History. They have more bugs there than I can even tell you about. Plus, they have this really cool, giant rhinocerous beetle next to the highway where you turn off to get to the museum. Every kind of bug you can think of is there.

Mom lives alone out there. Sure, her sister is in town and my cousins are not too far off but she's basically alone. This was news to me as I visited her this time around. I had assumed that she spent time with her sis and the kids.

Apparently not. In fact, she told me that her phone very rarely ever rings. I know how that feels. No one ever calls me, at least not anyone I want to talk to.

I felt horrible leaving her there alone with her dogs in that house. She has assured me that she's fine and does ok without a lot of people around. I've made a promise to myself to call her at least once a week if only to say 'Hi' and 'How are you?' It will ease my conscience even if I have nothing to feel guilty about.

Coming home was a disaster. After a week of doing pretty much NOTHING at Mom's, I came home to 10" grass and weeds in the garden. My husband (who I love dearly) did absolutely nothing in the way of housework so the place is in total disarray. To most who visit, they probably wouldn't notice the disarray, but I did.

Like the garden picture below, I have felt disheveled ever since I got off the train and met Jeff at the station. My mind is disjointed and I've felt sad and overwhelmed much like my front yard garden is being overwhelmed by a wild grapevine. Smothered. Gagging. Strangling. Tearful at times even. I had hoped my vacation would recharge me and make me feel stronger and more capable. Instead, I have come home to the feeling of fear and longing. Longing for things that cannot be or maybe never were. I've lost my center somehow and I desperately need to get it back to function. I spent the entire day in the yard mowing. I planted some new bushes. A couple of new miniature roses too. I can't even think about weeding the garden. It may just have to be weedy. Even now, I've come to think of the 'weeds' as 'volunteer plants.' Makes them seem less annoying somehow.

So, I don't know where this post is going I guess. Just that I'm feeling out of kilter and in no way ready to return to the reality of life and work and everything else. I'm wondering when I really get to go home. But, the good news is, I came home to these lovely roses flowering in my front yard. I hope I can remember how to blossom. Right now, I feel totally wilted.

T minus 15 and counting....

2009-05-30T21:15:00.006-05:00

Wow, I missed some weeks, huh?

Summer seems to be nearly in full swing at the homestead. There is a ton of yardwork and plans for outdoor activities seem to crowd my weekend calendar.

Still. I had this blog thing that I thought might be useful for chronicling things in my life I find notable.

The seedlings, for instance. They're much as they were the last time I posted only a little bigger. Tomorrow, hopefully, they will find their place in the garden spaces I have for them and begin their season-long trek to fruitfulness. We've already planned for the bountious bumper crop that we are certain will come. Keeping fingers crossed that I get enough to can some hot pepper rings for the winter.

But, in the back of my mind, I was hoping that I could use this space to be accountable. If not to myself and my Loyal Followers, then at least to whatever gods find the internet homelike. I've been following a diet plan for a couple of months now. It's not much of a diet really, just portion control and watch the sugar intake ifyouplease. Less fat and more veggies.

Makes sense.

I was NOT optimistic that this would work. I set my first goal at 5 pounds and actually hit it a couple weeks later. I was amazed. I set my second goal at 15 pounds and told myself sternly that if I could lose 15 pounds, I could lose 50 if I really wanted to.

Today I stepped on my ally/nemesis, my trusty if not trustworthy bathroom scale. I was astonished to discover that I had made my 15 pound goal. Through teary eyes, I weighed and reweighed myself 4 times. I moved the scale around in the bathroom to make sure it was level. I calibrated and re-calibrated. I really didn't think I could do this.

Seriously.

I've tried every diet known to man. South Beach, Atkins (NOT good for me), grapefruit, vegetarian, etc. You name it, I've done it...except Weight Watchers which for some reason freaks me out a little.

But I have a new bible now. It's called ChangeOne and it's been a lifesaver for me. I've written about it before, so I won't bore you now except to say this: I'm not even following it that closely. I made it to week four and I've pretty much been there ever since. I got a handle on breakfast and lunch. I tamed the snack monster and I've been getting in whatever exercise my poor feet will let me do....mostly a LOT of yard work.

It's working. I don't fucking believe it but it's working. My pants are looser and I have one pair of jeans I can't keep on anymore. This afternoon it dawned on me that if it's working this well without really trying that hard, how would it be if I gave it some actual effort? Can I really lose 50 pounds?

Let's find out shall we?

Seedlings!

2009-05-03T14:00:00.004-05:00

So there they are. Sitting in their little black plastic tray in my kitchen window. Delicately balanced between the green and white gingham curtains that I made myself two years ago and the five-inch-long piece of 2x4 that holds the sash up and just barely fits in the opening.

Look! You can see my only living houseplant in the upper right hand corner! A philodendron. I'm told you can't kill them. Give me a chance, I say.

The one thing I hadn't considered when I started this project was the 'sunny location' that the package mentions you'll be needing when the seedlings sprout up. I was so wrapped up in the idea of starting my own bedding plants and giddy at the prospect of actually having some nice Hungarian Wax peppers that I didn't read that far ahead.

But I think the window will work. I need hardy, tough, 'survivor' type plants and if they can survive a couple weeks in my kitchen window, they'll be the biggest and baddest bedding plants in the garden.

My garden. It's huge. Here's a couple pictures of my husband, Jeff, when he started tilling up the 'south forty.'

It's actually about 40 feet by 32 feet, but we're calling it good.

We had great gardening weather this weekend. I spent about seven hours out in the sun and wind digging, weeding, mowing, planting, mulching and fencing the beginnings of my garden.

So far I have a long row of peas which is one of my personal faves that never actually makes it to the dinner table for some reason ;), a long row of red onions, four tomato plants and a 8' x 10' plot of white Kennebec potatoes. I know potatoes are cheap, but there is nothing like digging up your own baby potatoes and having them for dinner with your summer barbeque. I still have plenty of room for the 21 pepper plants that I have brewing in my kitchen window.

So this time, it was my turn to forget the sunscreen. I, too, will be sporting a bitchin' farmer's tan before you know it.

The Great Experiment

2009-04-25T18:29:00.007-05:00

Every spring I plan my garden. I till the soil. I make the rows. I haul compost and mulch. I plant the seeds for my peas and beans and such.

Then I go to the garden center and I buy my tomato and pepper plants. I spend a lot of time looking for the varieties that I prefer. Some years, I don't find them at all. I'm rather particular about that and I suppose other varieties of tomato and pepper are just as good.

But I'm picky. It's my garden dammit.

So this year I'm trying something brand new for me. I'm starting my own pepper plants from seed. Granted I'm getting a late start as I just hydrated the Jiffy pellets and sowed my seeds on wednesday. I had no idea you were supposed to do it 8 weeks before the last expected frost.

So I'm a few weeks late. I did it anyway.

So I have my beloved jalapenos and hungarian hot yellow wax peppers incubating in the little plastic greenhouse that came with the Jiffy pellets.

(As an aside, I highly recommend the Jiffy pellets to anyone who has bored children. I had a marvelous time seeing just exactly how much water those things will hold. I can tell you that I had 24 pellets and I used just over 6 cups of water to get them all totally swelled up and wet.)

For better or worse, I think I'll chronicle this as I go along. I am really anxious to see if I actually get any jalapenos out of the deal.

Of course, there's always the Farmer's Market if it doesn't work out. The best part about this whole project, today anyway, is that I finally figured out how to add pictures to my blog. I'm techno-challenged I guess.

I'm a HUNDREDAIRE!!!

2009-04-19T18:06:00.004-05:00

Or so my husband tells me...lol.

I have this little crafty website thing that I use to sell the crafty things that I like to make. This week I sold enough items to put me over the $100 mark since the beginning of, well, time I guess. So all weekend I've been hearing about how I'm a hundredaire and how I'm going to live the good life now.

So I guess it takes money to live the good life. Huh. Who'dathunkit?

I thought I was living a pretty good life. It's scattered and crazy and not all of my stuff is in one place, but it's ok. I have a reasonable facsimile of a roof over my head and a more than adequate larder to keep me from starving to death. I even have some of the finer things in life like a dog or two and a motorcycle.

What's so bad about that?

I make the crafts because I like to sew and make stuff. I sell the stuff I make because many of the people in my life harassed me until I finally relented and set up an Etsy shop.

But I have to admit I kinda like the part where I get money for the stuff I made so I can MAKE MORE STUFF!!!

Life is good.

One Change

2009-04-12T18:22:00.003-05:00

That's what the book promised me. If I made one change, I'd be healthier, happier and I'd lose weight.

One Change.

One.

Well, sort of. You actually have to make one change every week. Plus, the changes are cumulative so in reality, you're changing everything. Just not all at once.

I've made it through three weeks. I changed my breakfasts. I changed my lunches...that one took a couple weeks to get right. But I think I have it now. Next, I change my snacks. I'm not as optimistic about that one. I like my snacks. The book says I have to limit them to no more than two a day about 100 calories each.

Right.

I'm game to try it. So far I've managed to lose five pounds in three weeks. Today, I wore a pair of jeans I haven't been able to wear in a year. Funny thing how those five pounds were in just the wrong spot to button these jeans.

My husband, ever the pessimist, has been a pleasantly surprised with my success. Don't get me wrong, he's very supportive and as helpful as he can be. But he's also a realist and I don't think he had much confidence in this silly idea that I got from a book on the bargain rack at Barnes & Noble for $5.

I, personally, am in an ecstatic state. I have been trying for a couple years (OK, decades) to lose some weight and be healthier and happier. This actually worked. It worked.

So now I'm exploring the world of 100 calorie snacks. I'm not optimistic but I'm going to try.

Wish me luck.

Rats

2009-04-03T20:46:00.002-05:00

I missed a week. My goal in blogging was to come here once a week and record whatever the heck was on my mind that week and where I felt I was going.

The fact that I missed a week almost insinuates that I had nothing on my mind. I don't think that anything could be farther from the truth.

It's springtime in Nebraska. That means the weather is alternately warm and cold, rainy and freezing, etc. The bulbs are up and some are flowering just in time for a predicted cold snap with 5-8 inches of snow in the forecast.

But the bulbs are the least of my worries tonight.

I'm supposed to be at a drum circle tonight. I've been looking forward to it for a couple weeks now. I love drumming and I love the freedom a drum circle offers. The creativity and the free-flow of ideas is inspiring as well as awe-inspiring. Plus, I usually get to play with some pretty cool drums that others bring along.

I'm missing the drum circle because of my car. Have I ever mentioned that I have a marked distaste for cars? I really don't care for them. In a perfect world, I'd be able to walk or ride my bike or motorcycle anywhere I really needed to go. But I think we all know this isn't a perfect world...

My car needs brakes. Bad timing for me. I had the money for the parts but no money to pay anyone to fix them. So now I'm practically begging my husband to do it for me. I would do it myself, but I'm so NOT mechanically inclined. Sometimes it really stinks to be a woman with no upper body strength.

To top it off, the aforementioned snow storm is looming on the horizon with a preceding rain storm tomorrow. So not going to be fun to fix brakes in the rain tomorrow. That's why I'm posting my blog today, in case something dreadful happens tomorrow and someone winds up in the hospital or the morgue. I won't hazard a guess as to which is more likely.

Working with a man I'm related to is hard for me. I could never work with my Dad with any kind of confidence in myself. My ex made it a miserable task. My current (and LAST) spouse is a good guy. He means well, but he's, well, he's a man and you know how they are. I can't read his mind and apparently I'm supposed to do that. He always tells me to pay attention and think ahead to what he might need next.

o.O

Yeah.

Think ahead.

Know what he'll need next.

Fat chance.

I don't even know what I need next.

The Farming Life For Me

2009-03-22T09:49:00.006-05:00

Pretty much since day one of our relationship, my husband and I have talked and planned for the day when we would be able to have our own little utopia. We wanted a big yard with a big garden and a smallish house with room for a couple dogs and some fruit trees. We wanted to be as self-sufficent as possible. We planned and we scrimped and saved and worked and sweated and swore for almost 18 years before we had the opportunity to finally, maybe, get what we had wanted all this time.

This week has been all sideways for me.

Last weekend we found an old truck that Jeff immediately fell in love with. It's a 1990 Dodge Ram 4x4 with a toolbox in the back. He's in heaven with this thing. The bank was more than happy to loan us the few thousand it took to get the truck home, insured, licensed and registered. He's still in heaven and I couldn't be happier about it. Especially since we wound up with a few hundred 'extra' dollars since we way over-estimated the cost of the plates and etc.

Yesterday, after much fussing over and figuring of numbers and budgetary concerns, we made the weekly trek, in the truck, to WallyWorld and loaded up a really nice, rear-tined roto-tiller. We took it home. We cussed over the instructions. We took it apart and put it back together properly. We got it up and running. We identified a likely looking area of the yard. Jeff commenced tilling.

As I sat on the edge of a raised bed we built last year and watched him muscle the tiller around the yard, I was struck with the oddity of it all. I have been pretty much in denial about the fact that it's actually happening. We are actually realizing the dream that we have shared practically forever. I'm a little in awe of the fact that he's not only putting up with my crazy farming ideas, but he's actually helping me.

I got a little misty-eyed over the whole deal. I bet I'm the only person who ever cried over a rear-tined roto-tiller. But I did.

Getting the truck and then the tiller has opened the floodgates of our shared memories and all those plans we had all those years ago. We have not only planned for compost bins, garden fences and a garden shed, but we've actually gotten some of the materials we need to start building them. Those plans led into some other ideas we had and the whole thing just kind of came together in our heads all at once.

We're farmers. We are farmers! We have a truck. We have a (lawn) tractor and dump trailer. We have a plow (the tiller). We have a horse (Okay, she's a dog but she's as big as a horse). We're planning for livestock (um...a couple rabbits and maybe a few chickens but that counts). The only thing missing is the overalls and the seed caps. Jeff even managed to get himself a sunburn that should become a bitchin' farmer's tan in a few days.

Last evening, after we returned from the Double Nickle Bar & Grille fresh from our celebratory beer and burger fest, we stood in the waning daylight and admired the accomplishments of the day.

We're farmers! YEEEEE-HAAAWWWW!

Here Comes The Sun

2009-03-15T19:37:00.006-05:00

It's been a beautiful weekend at the homestead. The sun was shining and the birds were actually singing. We spent the better part of the afternoon outside with the dogs. It was wonderful. I think Lucky set a new land-speed record for the Catahoula Leopard Dog. He managed at least three laps of the house between the time I called, "Lucky! House!" by the time I made it to the front door with Sadie.

I had big plans for the weekend. I was going to start the spring cleaning that I didn't do last year and I had planned to get a lot of it done. A lot.

Nothing doing this weekend though. I blame the sun. If it hadn't been out and so shiny, I might have gotten something done in the house.

Earlier this evening, we opened up the windows and doors and let in the practically balmy breezes and watched the cobwebs billow in the corners. It was almost captivating. Then we got out the guitars and forgot all about cobwebs and dusty shelves and the mess in the bottom of the fridge. We talked about barre chords and 12-bar progressions. I played scales and tried to follow him as he played a little lead.

I think I may actually be able to play guitar one day. I've only had a few lessons from my amazing husband who is a more than passable blues man. My fingers are so sore I can hardly type but I don't even care. I got better. I'm almost stunned.

I figured that it was too late for me to learn anything like this. My fingers aren't as mobile as they once were and I know I can never match Eddie Van Halen's speed. But how much fun would it be to sit with my husband in the summer (or winter for that matter) evenings and play blues guitar together? Me on rhythm and him taking the lead. How much fun would it be to have his brother up from Texas join us on the harmonica? Skip is an amazing harmonica player. I can hardly wait for that.

But between now and then is a lot of practicing. A lot. And a lot of finger pain. Jeff says that gets better with time and that I'll get calloused fingers and my hands will get stronger. I sure hope he's right.

In between the running with dogs and learning of scales, we talked. A lot. It was good talk about things we want to do to the house and stuff we want to try in the garden. We also talked about work and school and what we see happening for us in the next few years. I was finally able to talk to Jeff about my doubts and fears about school.

I'm just not sure about school anymore. I'm not sure a business degree is what I really want. I wanted a nursing degree but that isn't in the cards for me now. But after one class, I can pretty much state with impunity that business school is not for me. I've decided to keep going for another term and see what happens. Maybe I'll change my mind.

Maybe I'll become a rich and famous guitar player and I won't need a business degree.

Wow

2009-03-07T21:20:00.006-06:00

That's the only word that came to mind this morning as I was cruising down the highway to my local WallyWorld. It's an expedition that I make pretty much every Saturday morning, but this morning was different.

Along the highway there are corn fields and wheat fields and bean fields pretty much as far as the eye can see. I live in the bread basket of our nation and I don't think I'd be very comfortable anywhere else. I've become accustomed to seeing all manner of beast in the fields at one point or another during the seasons of the year. The last few months I've been enjoying the sight of the Angus cattle that one of my neighbors raises browsing along the side of the highway in the corn stubble.

I love to see the cows on the corn. They look happy and content nibbling on stubble. It makes me feel good. It make me feel like there is something good and right in the world. Whenever I drive down the highway in the late fall and winter, I always scan the fields for happy cows.

Don't get me started on the feed lots.

Imagine my surprise this morning as I crested the last hill before the two lane blacktop becomes a four lane nightmare and saw a field literally painted white with Snow Geese. There must have been thousands of them. At first I thought they might be gulls taking a rest from scavenging in the nearby landfill but there were way too many of them. Some of them were a little separate from the throng in ones or pairs or a dozen. Some of them were wheeling through the misty morning air brushing dark strokes in the sky with their black wing tips. Here and there a lesser Canadian provided a darker counterpoint to all that brilliant white.

It was stunning. It was amazing. It was shocking that I managed to get the car back on the highway when I drove onto the shoulder at sixty miles an hour.

In spite of the near disaster, I weaved my way back on the road with a huge, cheek-cramping grin on my face. Snow geese = spring in my book. In fact, a Snow goose sighting ranks right up there with seeing the first robin.

Almost three years ago, when my husband and I moved from eastern Nebraska to central Nebraska, I neglected to notice the fact that we had moved right smack in the middle of the central flyway of the United States. Most of the migrating birds east of the Rockies come through central Nebraska every spring on their way to the waterfowl breeding grounds in Canada. Every spring I keep a weather eye out for the strings of migrating cranes that flow across the skies in ribbons so long you can't see the end. Either end.

Sometimes when I'm in the yard with my dogs, I can hear the geese honking at each other from the safety of their high altitude. I'm told they do it to help keep track of the flock and to reassure each other that they're not alone. It makes me smile. It makes me feel safe. It's like there are some things in the world that a bad economy or a micro-managing boss or a nosy mother-in-law can't affect. Funny how a honking goose who is really just trying to stay with his gang and make it to the nesting area can make me feel secure. Secure and connected to the natural world. I wonder if our prehistoric ancestors took any pleasure and solace in such things?

Just lately I've been questioning our decision to move so far away from civilization. It's 20 minutes to the nearest small town department store. It's an hour and a half to a decent sized city. But it's only about 30 seconds to what really matters.

I think we did the right thing after all.

Feeling My Age

2009-02-28T23:31:00.002-06:00

I went to a birthday party tonight with a bunch of friends. Several of us are celebrating recent or shortly upcoming birthdays. It was good times. We all watched a video together of us doing the things we do together and a grand time was had by all. There was too much food (guacamole to kill for!) and even a little wine.

As I was driving home with my husband's ongoing monologue in the background (I love him to death, I really do. But that man can talk more than any woman I know!), I was replaying the evening's events in my head. One of us hit 50 today. If I didn't know it, I never would have guessed she was that old.

Lately, I've been 'feeling my age.' I'll be 46 at the end of March. My feet are hurting, my knees and my back, too. Getting out of bed in the morning is kind of an adventure some days. Will she tweak her knee? Will she be able to straighten up before she gets to the bathroom? Who knows??? It's crazy. It's all happening so fast, too.

You see, in my head, I'm not 46. Nowhere near it! In my head, I don't think I feel any older than I did in high school or in my 20's. I still like the same things. I still think I can do the things I did then. But the thing is, I don't feel like I'm 46 or what I think 46 should feel like in my head at least. But then I try to chase the dog around the yard or I sit on the floor for a while (Indian Style like we called it in Kindergarden) and I suddenly realize my body and my mind are NOT on the same page.

When did that happen?

I'm trying to figure out how I want to approach this aging thing. I know I don't really have a choice as the alternative is pretty unattractive right now. There's no reasoning my way through it regardless of what Dr. Phil or Oprah might say. I've heard it said that aging is a state of mind. I'll have to remind my knees of that fact the next time I sit in meditation too long or I try to waddle around on my knees onstage in a goofy parady of a bellydancer.

I'm thinking there may be more than one way to 'feel' your age. Sure I can grumble and grouse about bad feet and an aching back. I can get frustrated over the grey hair and the crepey eyelids. I can feel the implied rejection of being 'invisible' to the opposite sex. And I can fret over the fact that gravity is only my friend in the sense that it keeps me from floating off into space.

Alternatively, I can feel the freedom of movement that wearing granny panties and sensible shoes has to offer. No more stumbling around in heels with my bikini panties in a bunch for me! I can explore the many moods that Miss Clairol has to offer as I carefully select the next shade of red that I will sport on my hair. I can experiment with different colors of eyeshadow to attain that just-right balance between movie star and circus clown. I can giggle at the teenage angst that seems so long ago and far away and completely pointless to me. And I can finally roll my eyes right back at a teenager as they stomp off in disgust.

Nope. I wouldn't trade 46 for 16 any day. I worked hard to get here and I'm going to feel my way through every moment of it.

Just Desserts--It WAS an adventure.

2009-02-22T15:40:00.006-06:00

Yesterday finally came and went. We all worked so very hard for so very long on a program that was so very different from what we are used to doing.

It was BRILLIANT. In fact, I don't think it could have gone much better than it did. There were moments of doubt and pain like when the tombstone fell off the chair it was taped to and landed on Leslie. But it got a laugh and the audience just went with it.

Granted the audience was composed of our friends and neighbors. It was filled with people that we've danced with, lived with and known for a long time. But the cause was just and we all put our hearts and souls into it.

Items that must be noted immediately:

1. My young friend Sam had her first solo piece. She was breathtakingly beautiful. She was also scared to death. That combination lit a fire in her performance and she pulled it off in stunning fashion.

2. My friend Lea also had her first solo piece in this show. Every bit of her shone with an amazing lighted quality that I can't quite describe. And I'm willing to bet she gets tons of orders for that awesome corset belt she made.

3. The witches were wonderful! Lana, Sher and Kerin worked together so beautifully and artfully to the perfect piece of music. They even recruited Doug to play Igor and tote their cauldron on and off stage. The jury is still out as to whether the proper pronounciation is EEE-gor or EYE-gor.

4. Kudos to our Zombie sisters! They were appropriately creepy and entertaining. We had representatives from every possible type of 'dead': Sam was the Happy dead. Too pretty to be very creepy but fun to watch. Traci was the embodiment of Zombie. I don't think anyone could move in quite that way but her. Leslie had the creep factor sewn up (I still get chills when I think about her scootching slowly across the floor, inexorably moving closer and closer...eep!)

5. My friend Jade played the part of the voodoo queen. The energy in her dance was palpable and she was totally crrreeepy. I loved it!

There are so many other things to say about this show. I did't get to see much more than that as I was busy playing stage manager (NOT director thankyouverymuchDonna). My own parts in this program were small and I had a blast doing them.

Thank you Michele for all your hard work. Without you, none of this could have happend. We could never had a nearly sold out show for our cause. It all came together so beautifully.

I hear we have a theme for the next benefit already...I'm almost afraid to ask. Almost.

Mastering the Art of Levitation

2009-02-15T17:33:00.005-06:00

Some days I feel like my feet never hit the ground. I feel that if I have time to sit and relax, there must be something that I've forgotten to do. That something will likely come back and bite me in the butt sooner rather than later.

I spend a lot of time on the road. I don't work for a company that requires me to travel. I travel 75 miles one way to get to work. I go to school twice a week in the hopes of earning an accounting degree. I go to the dance studio a couple times a week in the hopes of actually being graceful and poised at least one time before I die.

I work, I go to school, I go to dance class, I go to the batcave, I go pay a bill, I go shopping, I go for groceries, I go for food, I go, I go, I go.

ARGH!

Then, finally, I get home and get settled in for the weekend. I get a good look at the pile of dishes that I didn't dirty and the laundry that is leftover from the last weekend and the dog hair dustbunnies along the edge of the living room walls.

It's enough to make a grown woman cry.

This yoga teacher I had once taught me to find that part of me that is light and buoyant and remember what that feeling is like when the weight of the world is on my shoulders. He told me that there is something inside me that keeps me going no matter what. There is something in there that singles me out as a human being and identifies me as a sentient, caring, useful, purposeful being. It's a thing that insulates me from the calamities in the world while still allowing me to feel and react in a caring way. It stills my monkey-mind and soothes my racing heart. Call it a soul or a slice of the divine or whatever you want.

So, when I'm feeling down and out, I float...or at least I try to.

I float at work. I float in class. I float at dance class. I float my way home. I float to the batcave. I once even floated at the DMV. Finding that part of me is challenging some days. And some days, I don't find it at all. But the reward is not just in the finding, it's also in the pursuit...the journey.

That's what I have to remind myself of day after day. This is my life for better or worse and it's my job to live it the best I can. I remind myself that I've done this before and I can do it again and the next time I do it, I can do it better and with greater ease and serenity.

Until then, I float.

A Little Traveling Music, Please

2009-02-08T21:28:00.010-06:00

It's not every day you come home from a road trip. It's probably a good thing this is so. There is not much in this world that is sweeter to me than seeing the faces of the ones you love waiting for you at the front door as you pull into the driveway bone-weary from a six hour drive.

The weekend was good. I joined my friends at a bellydance workshop out of town. I had a fabulous time for the most part. I had my very first live performance as a novice drummer. I had not planned on performing or I would have practiced more.

A LOT MORE.

The performance was a surprise for me from my dance troupe directors and my drum teacher. I had planned on just going to the workshops and drumming there and enjoying the performances afterward and having a fabulous meal at a rather infamous Greek restaurant later in the evening. The meal did not materialize for me. I understand it was a pretty crazy evening.

I spent most of the evening by myself at my hosts' home playing with their cats and enjoying the silence that only sitting in a strange place by yourself can bring. I talked with my husband on the phone for an hour and a half. This evening, once I was back in my own home, I finally figured out why I had felt so shitty.

I bailed on the restaurant because I was completely and utterly stressed out. I stayed up too late on Friday night, drank a bit too much homemade mead and got too little sleep to be of good company in a rowdy restaurant. Top it off with the maiden voyage of my drumming 'career' and I think I might have gone a little bat shit. When my drum teacher walked up and told me that I was going to join them in the performance I felt my heart drop way down into my stomach to replace the butterflies that had flown up into my throat.

It was the freakiest 15 minutes of my life.

I can't wait to do it again.

Pseudo-Blog

2009-01-31T21:03:00.002-06:00

It's Saturday. That means it's blog day for me.

I have been wracking my brain all day looking for the perfect topic this week. Not too obvious, something classy with a witty ending.

I got NOTHING.

So, in an effort to be at least consistent, I decided that I'd just write about my week in no particular order of significance. Hopefully, something interesting will come out of it.

It's been a challenging week for me. I spent part of it dealing with frozen pipes in the house we affectionately call The Homestead. The Homestead is a house in a small town that I acquired when my grandmother died at the ripe old age of 91. I remember the last time I saw her before she died. It was at Christmastime and she was having trouble getting out of her chair so Dad could take her home. I stood to help her and she looked up at me (she was a slight woman and even slighter in her old age) and said with that familiar smile and glint in her eye, "Just you wait until you get to be my age."

I decided that I didn't want to be her age unless I could be as spry as she was. She lived on her own up until the day she died in her own house. Well, she didn't actually die in the house. She died in the hospital after the doctor told my Dad that she was not coming out the coma she went into after falling and hitting her head.

My Grandmother was an interesting person. Her first name was Clemantine to her eternal chagrin. She went by her middle name, Viola. Grandma Vi is what I always called her much to my Dad's eternal chagrin. Grandma Vi had firey red hair and the typical redhead temperament. She smoked a lot and she did it for 76 years without apology or overt illness. If she had been born 50 years later, I'm guessing she'd have died an early death from lung cancer. But, since she didn't know about lung cancer from the get-go, it never bothered her much.

Grandma Vi left home at age 15. She told me she went to Kansas and got a job breaking horses on a farm. I was NOT surprised to learn that. She lived on a farm almost all her life, married a farmer (who was also a carpenter and contractor) and bore him 8 healthy children and 3 that did not live to take a single breath. She worked as a retail clerk, and most recently as a nurse's aide. She inspired a love of medicine and the elderly in me at an early age. My first job was as a nurse's aid.

She loved irises, peonies and dogs. She always had a dog for as long as I can remember. Sometimes, she had our dog when Dad just couldn't handle it anymore. Dad doesn't have a lot of patience for some things and a hardheaded dog is one of those things. Grandma Vi wound up with several of ours over the years and she totally spoiled and 'ruint' them as quickly as possible. I'm told there are at least 3 of her dogs buried somewhere in my yard.

The house is old. Older than Grandma Vi even. It's crooked, drafty and dusty. The windows either don't open or don't close all the way. The plumbing is dodgy. The wiring is dodgy. It needs a new roof. It needs to be painted pretty much on every paintable surface.

I love every splinter of it.

This old house, our Homestead, is special to me because it was my Grandma Vi's home. I like to think she'd be happy that I'm here. Of course, if she sees what I've done with her irises, she won't be happy.

Falling...falling...falling...

2009-01-24T20:18:00.006-06:00

It's funny sometimes how things happen. You're cruising along in life and then somebody says something that throws you down on the ground and pins you there with such force that it knocks the wind right out of your sails.

Not all of my blogs are about falling. But for this week, once again, I'm falling. But it's a metaphorical fall thank goodness. My life is so strange.

Recently, I spent most of an evening with a friend catching up and just hanging out. We haven't been friends for a long time, but I like to think we're close. My friend happens to be a lesbian. She has many skills and interests, but for this blog, the lesbian part is the important part.

Our last visit was the first time we ever addressed her sexual preference and mine (hetero) in the same conversation. She was talking about how when she was younger and still in the closet, that people would ask her if her husband was a good man, she'd just say, "No" and leave it at that. Leaving them guessing rather than lying or having to explain her whole personal life to them was preferable to her. I'm not any good at lying either, but that's not the story.

Somehow, we got on the subject of liking ourselves. Actually, that's not that strange of a topic for us. As women, it's hard for us to accept ourselves as we are. I'm kinda getting used to it but I don't think my friend is. She pointed something out to me that I don't think I've ever thought about before.

She said, "Yes, but you like being a girl...."

Strangely enough, I didn't think it had never occurred to me to think one way or the other about my gender. Until today anyway.

So fast forward to today. I'm with another group of my friends and we're having a fantastic time being girls and playing with make-up and clothes. It was sort of a dress-up party. I admit, I got a bit carried away with my make-up as I was going for a strange, gothy kind of look which is totally out of character for me. At one point, I turned around and one of my friends asked, "What are you?"

Before I had a chance to answer, another friend said, "Oh, she's not anything...she's just playing."

Just an offhand comment.

You know on TV or in the movies how sometimes when someone makes a sudden mental connection like a bolt from the blue and their senses shut down and they get tunnel vision. What little they can see becomes distorted and distant? Yeah. That's what happened.

That's when I fell. Again. Today I fell again only it was a metaphorical slide back to about age 6. My little brother was just learning to walk and, being the older, jealous sibling I was prancing about the house vying for attention. One of my uncles happened to be there at the time and I remember running into him by accident. He stopped me and asked, "And what are you young lady?" I remember the big smile he had on his face.

Before I had a chance to answer and tell him that I was a fox, my father said rather tersely, "Oh, she's not anything...she's just playing." He immediately turned his attention to my brother and I don't remember much more other than being absolutely mortified that I was, in fact, nothing and that he had actually told my uncle this fact.

That's a big word for a 6-year old. Nothing is a lot of empty. Nothing is what you have when the ice cream is gone. Nothing leaves a big hole where Something might have been, but isn't.

After the initial shock of being 6 again wore off, I realized that I had to get out of there. All the pain and anguish of that little girl was flooding into my mind and my heart was practically bursting out of my chest. I cleaned my face as quickly as I could, changed my clothes and made a hasty escape not quite making it to the car before the tears came. With the tears came a flood of memories of people I looked up to telling me exactly the same thing in a myriad of ways over the subsequent years.

You might be wondering just exactly what the funny part of this whole story is. Well, the funny part isn't really in the story but it's about the story. And it's not really funny so much as it is peculiar or maybe interesting.

Our brains work in strange ways. We are able from a young age to physically map information in several places in our brain so we can always find it again. As we get older, that ability diminishes. The funny thing for me is this:

I totally forgot about that day with my father and uncle. I totally forgot about my brother learning to walk. I totally forgot about wondering if I could ever be Something or if I would always be Nothing. It's like I buried it in my mind in a safe place under a pile of old books right next to where I keep my metaphorical Rottweilers and then forgot I did it.

That offhand comment let the dogs out. Freaked me right the hell out.

When I was young I knew that being Nothing was directly related to the fact that I was a girl and not a boy. I figured that out when my brother was born and I disappeared. I know now that it was more about him being a baby and me NOT being a baby anymore than the fact that he was born a boy. But at age 6, such distinctions are not easily seen.

Now that I'm much older, no longer under my father's roof and quite capable of taking care of myself and my husband, I see things a little differently. Putting myself through chemistry school isn't Nothing. Living through a year of hell being homeless and coming out not addicted to anything isn't Nothing. Pulling myself out of that homeless state isn't Nothing. Being able to see past my own desires and knowing that the decisions I am making are for the greater good isn't Nothing. Coming home to frozen pipes and melting the snow that froze them in the first place so I can flush the toilet isn't Nothing. Being a girl isn't Nothing. Being a woman isn't Nothing. It's not even Something.

For me, it's Everything.

On Thin Ice

2009-01-17T22:13:00.006-06:00

I live in a small town. It's much like most other small towns in that we have many ordinances that are pretty much ignored at our own peril.

Take for instance that pesky ordinance that says we all have to clear the snow from our walks by 9 am the day after the snow storm. Annoying as it is, most cities and towns have this ordinance if they ever even think about getting snow.

You may have guessed by now that I didn't clear my walk after the last storm. It was less than an inch! No reason to clear the walk! The sun came out today and it was a balmy 45 degrees this afternoon. The sun cleared the walk for me!

Almost.

My husband smokes cigarettes. I'm not happy about it. Periodically, his planning is less than perfect and he winds up in a delicate situation (fresh out of the shower in this case) and out of cigarettes. Being the good little wife that I am, and not wanting to listen to him storm around the house, I volunteered to go get him some stupid cigarettes all the while silently pleading with him to forgodsake quit already.

So I head out to the car. Our front walk has a small hill next to our driveway that really should be a couple of steps. But it's not. After the sunshiny day we had, it also should be clear of snow and totally dry.

But it's not.

I have in the past been the victim of some vicious falls. I once had my Rottweiler literally pull me off my feet in the pursuit of a couple of Boxers who were hanging around on the corner looking either cute or tasty. I never had a chance to find out. I also once managed to ride my mountain bike backwards down a hill. Ok, I really only rode it part way down. But I digress. The fall I experienced this evening was exquisite. I somehow managed to land flat on my back while simultaneously road-rashing (sidewalk-rashing?) my palms, both elbows, the outside of my left knee (?), my backside and the back of my head. Thank goodness I was wearing my heavy coat and hat. My Mom was right. If it's winter, you wear your hat and coat outside no matter what.

I wonder how many times she fell flat on her back on a stupid icy sidewalk that by rights should have been completely clear of ice and snow?

Oh, and in case you're wondering, yes, my husband got his cigarettes and a good deal more when I got back in the house. After all, isn't scooping the walk part of the husband's territory along with the outdoor cooking? He didn't even have the common courtesy or good sense to at least appear sorry.

Yeah, it's a small town with small town rules. The next rule is that, of course, half the town saw me fall and I'm sure I'll be the topic of conversation at the local watering hole for days or until someone else does something equally ridiculous in full view of the citizenry.

Maybe I could send my husband out for some emergency chocolate....