The below is an excerpt from an eMail I sent to my mum.
I've
been reading some about the primaries and New Hampshire's
resulted with Hilary Clinton taking the Dem seat, closely followed by
Barack Obama. I wonder if they aren't gonna buddy up for the
presidency, the one choosing the other for vice-president candidacy. I
hope they do, and stitch up this next term.
It's gonna take more than
four years to get us outta these messes, but it'll be a start and maybe
they can get elected again in '12. I know, I know, let's get this one
under way first. Don't count the chickens before the eggs hatch. But
I can count the eggs, can't I?
Super Tuesday is Feb 5, with many states' primaries that day. Mississippi's
isn't til Mar 11th. Kentucky, Guam, Indiana, Montana, Nebraska,
Oregon, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Puerto Rico, South Dakota, and
West Virginia are after March (mostly in May, a few in June) for the
Dems. What I don't get is that some states have two separate days for
the primaries for the Dems and republicans. Some, like Montana, are
months apart. There is an awful lot I don't get about the process.
John
Edwards sorta looks like John Ritter. That's not important, just an
observation. McCain sorta looks like Nixon in the jowls. That's not important either.
Are Huckabee and McCain related? Huckabee's wife is Janet McCain. That may be important, but probably not.
08 January 2008
Rival Sandwich Maker
Remember last September (or was it October, c'mon you should know this, wink) when I bought a featherbed (queensized, $20; i am awesome!), a blender (a very good one for about ten bucks; i rock!), and a sandwich maker (2 bucks! i awesomely rock!)? For some reason, I've not used it for all those months. A big reason is cuz I don't buy bread; very rarely my guy will buy a loaf. When it goes bad, with mold, I give it to Shaddow (she loves moldy bread and I think it helps her doggie-immunity. cuz i need to tell myself something that makes me feel better about giving her moldy bread, her favorite).
Well, since I've been making my own bread, I have bread (funny how it works that way). Yesterday, I sliced some up (of the very last of the very last loaf) and stuck it into the Rival and then some provolone and some smoked turkey and voila! mmmmmmmm. it was so good, i made another today. Tomorrow, I may try making an egg pocket.
Cuz I'm outta bread.
Well, since I've been making my own bread, I have bread (funny how it works that way). Yesterday, I sliced some up (of the very last of the very last loaf) and stuck it into the Rival and then some provolone and some smoked turkey and voila! mmmmmmmm. it was so good, i made another today. Tomorrow, I may try making an egg pocket.
Cuz I'm outta bread.07 January 2008
Operation Oven Cleaning 2008
Well, there was no putting it off any longer. So I donned my do-rag, my gas mask, my extra tank (and really what good is just one tank?) of oxygen, and my pink panties (just seeing if you were paying attention) and armed myself with the degreasing foam and paper towels and sponges and rags and scrubbies. Too bad I forgot to use the latex gloves that I had purchased expressly for this task, but my how soft my hands are now!
And set about to cleaning the oven.
Now, I'd never cleaned an oven before (well, ya know, I clean my microwave oven on a regular ~~ some say excess ~~ basis), but I knew that it'd be a messy job. Cuz any job I do gets messy, but oven cleaning is deemed messy by all. I have a very old oven (so old that none of the dial digits are readable past 200) that might be the original appliance for this very old trailer. It is that olive green that was oh so popular during the 50s, 60s, and early 70s.
I like my oven; it's gas. I don't have lots of criteria for favored ovens. It also is wide enough to hold most regulation/standard-sized pans, sheets, and the such. Altho it only has one wire rack now (I'm certain it had at least another in years gone by), I am but a solitary being and how many racks do I need at any one time? So it suits my needs quite well.
And! it is the first oven I have ever owned (or ya know, rented, cuz I don't own the trailer; but that's just semantics) that is right about chest height (my chest, though for some it might be head height). This is awesome! Cuz it makes it so much easier to check on items, and so much better for me to get roasters out. This cuts down on severe burns and trips to the ER. Trust me, this is an ideal feature for me.
Generally, I google everything. I mean, ev.ree.thing. But it didn't even occur to me to google, "clean oven" or "oven cleaning" or any other sort of combination of phrasing that might pertain (such as "huffing degreaser", "mainlining easy-off fumes"). Shocking, I know; but it's a vital step to my development.
Since I doubt there is even a self-cleaning option on my antiquidated oven, I set about spraying foam. And wiping down. And spraying foam. And then scrubbing with an old toothbrush (cuz I can be extremely anal about details that way). And wiping down. And spraying foam. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat til squeaky clean.
I even removed the floor of the oven, and enlisted the bathroom tub as well as the kitchen sink. Then I rinsed with clear warm water (which is not an easy task without a hose that would reach to the oven. which may be a very good reason that hoses are not accessible to me). I laid out fresh aluminum foil on the floor of the oven, because this is something that has helped me to not need to clean ovens in the past. It's just that this time, well ya know, exploding marshmallow and burnt chocolate. Need I say more? I think not.
The oven is so sparkling clean that I'd crawl in there for a nap; if it weren't for the fact that now I'm too dirty and would soil the freshly scented oven. And ya know, it's not wise to stick your head into a gas oven for a prolonged period of time. I feel so dirty; I need a cold shower.
Cuz I used all the hot water.
And set about to cleaning the oven.
Now, I'd never cleaned an oven before (well, ya know, I clean my microwave oven on a regular ~~ some say excess ~~ basis), but I knew that it'd be a messy job. Cuz any job I do gets messy, but oven cleaning is deemed messy by all. I have a very old oven (so old that none of the dial digits are readable past 200) that might be the original appliance for this very old trailer. It is that olive green that was oh so popular during the 50s, 60s, and early 70s.
I like my oven; it's gas. I don't have lots of criteria for favored ovens. It also is wide enough to hold most regulation/standard-sized pans, sheets, and the such. Altho it only has one wire rack now (I'm certain it had at least another in years gone by), I am but a solitary being and how many racks do I need at any one time? So it suits my needs quite well.
And! it is the first oven I have ever owned (or ya know, rented, cuz I don't own the trailer; but that's just semantics) that is right about chest height (my chest, though for some it might be head height). This is awesome! Cuz it makes it so much easier to check on items, and so much better for me to get roasters out. This cuts down on severe burns and trips to the ER. Trust me, this is an ideal feature for me.
Generally, I google everything. I mean, ev.ree.thing. But it didn't even occur to me to google, "clean oven" or "oven cleaning" or any other sort of combination of phrasing that might pertain (such as "huffing degreaser", "mainlining easy-off fumes"). Shocking, I know; but it's a vital step to my development.
Since I doubt there is even a self-cleaning option on my antiquidated oven, I set about spraying foam. And wiping down. And spraying foam. And then scrubbing with an old toothbrush (cuz I can be extremely anal about details that way). And wiping down. And spraying foam. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat til squeaky clean.
I even removed the floor of the oven, and enlisted the bathroom tub as well as the kitchen sink. Then I rinsed with clear warm water (which is not an easy task without a hose that would reach to the oven. which may be a very good reason that hoses are not accessible to me). I laid out fresh aluminum foil on the floor of the oven, because this is something that has helped me to not need to clean ovens in the past. It's just that this time, well ya know, exploding marshmallow and burnt chocolate. Need I say more? I think not.
The oven is so sparkling clean that I'd crawl in there for a nap; if it weren't for the fact that now I'm too dirty and would soil the freshly scented oven. And ya know, it's not wise to stick your head into a gas oven for a prolonged period of time. I feel so dirty; I need a cold shower.
Cuz I used all the hot water.
Beider update
Beider is more and more docile with me, altho he is not very social with the other furrbees. He doesn't fight them (except when he is eating; so I feed him outside while the others are inside, chowing down) but he isn't overly friendly with them either.
I see him hesitate on the fringes, watching the others play their reindeer games. Sometimes, it seems he starts to join in, but then I think the mere sheer joy of their enthusiasm confuses and scares him. I feel for him.
It's like he's Emo-dog.
I see him hesitate on the fringes, watching the others play their reindeer games. Sometimes, it seems he starts to join in, but then I think the mere sheer joy of their enthusiasm confuses and scares him. I feel for him.
It's like he's Emo-dog.
Tomorrow morning I have an appointment with my gp for all the lab work that I've been avoiding. It isn't that it should be such a big deal, and in truth, it really isn't. I've just made it so.
I used to have blood draws at least once every three months. It got to the point that my blown veins would pool under my skin for a good third of my arm every time. Usually by the time I'd leave the office, both of my arms would be shot. The meds I was taking made me slow to heal, so I would just be getting over the last of the bruises when the next blood draw rolled around and it would be blackened pools on the inner aspect all over again til the next time. The folks that would see me at the gym, the library, the coffee shop, the grocery store, the pharmacy, and around would sometimes give me wide berth. My sweat and my breath was acrid and no matter how many times I brushed my teeth and showered, I could smell myself. And if I could smell me, I knew that I must reek to other folks. That combined with my bruised appearance, with multiply layers of various browns, yellows, reds, and sick tans, the concentric circles that radiated out from punctured needle marks; well, I think that I must have look like I was a druggie. In truth, I was. Of sorts. Albeit the drugs were prescribed and I took them in the manner designated.
Eventually, we got it all sorted. We switched me over to some other drugs, because those that had stabilized me for the previous three years were now causing me to suffer more so from the side-effects. So we tried a few things til we hit on the right mixture that seemed to work, keep me fairly stabilized with minimal side-effects. Yes, there were drugs that would keep me more stabilized, but had horrible consequences that actually created more problems. And yes, there were drugs that have fewer side effects, but don't provide enough stabilization.
So I am now doing better than I had been. In lots of ways. Blood draws are not such a big deal anymore, I don't think. It's just I don't want to have to go thru anymore adjustments. I don't want to find out that some level is wrong somewhere. I know that doesn't make tons of sense, cuz it would be better for me to know, than not to know. And I know that they need to monitor the condition of my liver, my kidneys, and make sure that my thyroid levels andmy blood sugar levels are within range. I know that it isn't just for me, but for minimizing liability for the gp. I totally get all that, and I agree that those things are good and make sense. All that rationality doesn't change a thing about how I dread this. Feelings aren't informed by knowledge.
I used to have blood draws at least once every three months. It got to the point that my blown veins would pool under my skin for a good third of my arm every time. Usually by the time I'd leave the office, both of my arms would be shot. The meds I was taking made me slow to heal, so I would just be getting over the last of the bruises when the next blood draw rolled around and it would be blackened pools on the inner aspect all over again til the next time. The folks that would see me at the gym, the library, the coffee shop, the grocery store, the pharmacy, and around would sometimes give me wide berth. My sweat and my breath was acrid and no matter how many times I brushed my teeth and showered, I could smell myself. And if I could smell me, I knew that I must reek to other folks. That combined with my bruised appearance, with multiply layers of various browns, yellows, reds, and sick tans, the concentric circles that radiated out from punctured needle marks; well, I think that I must have look like I was a druggie. In truth, I was. Of sorts. Albeit the drugs were prescribed and I took them in the manner designated.
Eventually, we got it all sorted. We switched me over to some other drugs, because those that had stabilized me for the previous three years were now causing me to suffer more so from the side-effects. So we tried a few things til we hit on the right mixture that seemed to work, keep me fairly stabilized with minimal side-effects. Yes, there were drugs that would keep me more stabilized, but had horrible consequences that actually created more problems. And yes, there were drugs that have fewer side effects, but don't provide enough stabilization.
So I am now doing better than I had been. In lots of ways. Blood draws are not such a big deal anymore, I don't think. It's just I don't want to have to go thru anymore adjustments. I don't want to find out that some level is wrong somewhere. I know that doesn't make tons of sense, cuz it would be better for me to know, than not to know. And I know that they need to monitor the condition of my liver, my kidneys, and make sure that my thyroid levels andmy blood sugar levels are within range. I know that it isn't just for me, but for minimizing liability for the gp. I totally get all that, and I agree that those things are good and make sense. All that rationality doesn't change a thing about how I dread this. Feelings aren't informed by knowledge.
06 January 2008
There are certain things that I don't usually write about much. There are all sorts of reasons, one main one is that I appreciate the respect that folks show by not sharing my information with others without my permission. I would like to think that I extend this same courtesy to others. If it is his story to tell, his information to share; then let him do so. That's the general idea.
But I've come to realize that seldom is a story entirely your own. Other people play roles in even the most solitary of stories. Or maybe that is the justification that I need to tell myself so that I feel less awkward about sharing something that is predominately my guy's (and not mine) to share.
It is mine too, though. Because so many things about one you love do affect you, are your concern; their stories and yours become interwoven. Just as my own complex set of idiosyncrasies and conditions affect my guy, so too do his own struggles affect me. Our relationship demands much from us both, just as we both benefit so very much from each other.
All that is a very long intro (and feels exaggerated~like I am creating a mountain from an anthill of coffee grounds; altho I know that I haven't misrepresented anything) for what I'd like to share now. More often than not, I do not know how to be supportive and loving and accepting (and all those other qualities that I just know I am capable of feeling and demonstrating) of the man I do love and want to love completely. My guy has taught me, encouraged me, supported me, loved me in the very ways of being human, a good loving person; and he's done this the very best way possible, through example.
My guy struggles every day, every moment with his own set of complex conditions that affect his self esteem, his sense of self-worth, his feelings of inadequacy, and so much more. His own depression taints his every thought, dousing doubt over everything. He also has an inattentive subtype of ADHD. Yet he is the most loving, most encouraging, most supportive partner any one could want. He is absolutely wonderful with me, for me, to me; never browbeats me, or makes me feel stupid, or berates me when I am so very less than wonderful (wink) myself. But he is the most self-loathing man I've ever known, while being the best man I've ever known.
It shames me that I do not extend the same assurances and patience to him that he does to me. Please do not rush to reassure me; I know that no one is a saint, and I do not expect that of myself. What I do want of myself, is that I not snap at him impatiently when he so obviously does not deserve my caustic snipes. I wish I knew how to respond to his self-loathing. I wish I knew how to be supportive when my capacities are tried.
How do I demonstrate my love for him, when he hates himself?
But I've come to realize that seldom is a story entirely your own. Other people play roles in even the most solitary of stories. Or maybe that is the justification that I need to tell myself so that I feel less awkward about sharing something that is predominately my guy's (and not mine) to share.
It is mine too, though. Because so many things about one you love do affect you, are your concern; their stories and yours become interwoven. Just as my own complex set of idiosyncrasies and conditions affect my guy, so too do his own struggles affect me. Our relationship demands much from us both, just as we both benefit so very much from each other.
All that is a very long intro (and feels exaggerated~like I am creating a mountain from an anthill of coffee grounds; altho I know that I haven't misrepresented anything) for what I'd like to share now. More often than not, I do not know how to be supportive and loving and accepting (and all those other qualities that I just know I am capable of feeling and demonstrating) of the man I do love and want to love completely. My guy has taught me, encouraged me, supported me, loved me in the very ways of being human, a good loving person; and he's done this the very best way possible, through example.
My guy struggles every day, every moment with his own set of complex conditions that affect his self esteem, his sense of self-worth, his feelings of inadequacy, and so much more. His own depression taints his every thought, dousing doubt over everything. He also has an inattentive subtype of ADHD. Yet he is the most loving, most encouraging, most supportive partner any one could want. He is absolutely wonderful with me, for me, to me; never browbeats me, or makes me feel stupid, or berates me when I am so very less than wonderful (wink) myself. But he is the most self-loathing man I've ever known, while being the best man I've ever known.
It shames me that I do not extend the same assurances and patience to him that he does to me. Please do not rush to reassure me; I know that no one is a saint, and I do not expect that of myself. What I do want of myself, is that I not snap at him impatiently when he so obviously does not deserve my caustic snipes. I wish I knew how to respond to his self-loathing. I wish I knew how to be supportive when my capacities are tried.
How do I demonstrate my love for him, when he hates himself?
education: get it, use it
Our local FOX affiliate (I know, cringe, sorry) has been airing a call for participation in a contest they are holding. They are asking folks (students) to make their own 30 second commercial to get students to stay in school. What are they calling this contest?
"The Drop-Out of School Campaign"
That makes as much sense as the town's banner that reads:
Celebrate
CHILD ABUSE
prevention
Month
"The Drop-Out of School Campaign"
That makes as much sense as the town's banner that reads:
Celebrate
CHILD ABUSE
prevention
Month
05 January 2008
And the ads just keep on coming
The other night, just before my guy left, he drew my attention to a commercial on TV for SunSetter Awnings. He said to look at their hair styles, their clothes, and then said that he thought it was a showing of a late-70s ad. It's the John Ritter look-a-like that clinched it for me. Harry, in a polo. shudder.
And to think I too could call right now, in the next five minutes, and get my $200 discount certificate that I can apply toward the cost of a $1000 awning that I can lower in just sixty seconds!
And to think I too could call right now, in the next five minutes, and get my $200 discount certificate that I can apply toward the cost of a $1000 awning that I can lower in just sixty seconds!
oh my bleeding eyes
i want to be encouraging to everyone who expresses their creativity. really, i want to. but this? this is not the piece to that should have been selected to represent crochet, in all its "slink sophistication" &/or "funky fun" glory.Sharing more stupidity
Cuz this year has started with a BANG (I set my oven on fire, it's gas, and marshmallow burns, explodes actually, at very high temperatures; don't try this kiddies, just take my word for it); I thought I would continue to share my stupidity. I managed to slit open my thumb. Hand wounds gush blood, much like head wounds, or foot wounds. Or any of my wounds, come to think of it.
The thing about thumb wounds is that trying to clean, then bandage while applying pressure gets to be tricky (and sticky). It also means that you are reminded of just how much you use that appendage. Lest you forget that you've damaged it, it will let you know anew with a freshet of blood while sending all sorts of blaring screaming signals to your brain. Which had you been using your brain in the first place, you might have not slit your thumb in the first place. Or used your oven as an incinerator.
And by you, I mean me.
The thing about thumb wounds is that trying to clean, then bandage while applying pressure gets to be tricky (and sticky). It also means that you are reminded of just how much you use that appendage. Lest you forget that you've damaged it, it will let you know anew with a freshet of blood while sending all sorts of blaring screaming signals to your brain. Which had you been using your brain in the first place, you might have not slit your thumb in the first place. Or used your oven as an incinerator.
And by you, I mean me.
talkin bout my guy
Today was my guy's interviews in Little Rock. And rock they did! I spoke with him just a few hours ago and he said that he felt good about the place, the peeps, and the position. wahoo! In fact, he was so stoked that he drove all the way back home to Oxford tonight. Which means he gets to spend the night in his very own bed. Tomorrow he heads out to Knoxville (it's about an 8 hr drive, will use Sunday as a rest day to prep for the interview on Monday).
Way to go, babe!
Way to go, babe!
tit bits
ok, i wasn't gonna confess this, but i gotta share the stupidity. the other day when my guy was leaving, i went out to wave him off and see him on his way. beider, the newest dog, was feeling very needy and so i was scritching him while my guy was backing the truck up. i took my attention away from the damned dog and the damned dog didn't want my attention to stray, so he scrabbled at me. the doggie equivalent of waving for the stupid human's attention. so i realized what was gonna happen, as it happened. his paws have claws, the claws are not trimmed. those nails are sharp and they shredded my skin in whip-time. unfortunately, the skin shredded was located on my breast and ohmifuckingawd, did that hurt. yes, yes it did. i swear i've not felt that particular sort of sensation since i got my nipples pierced (for a scant few months in spring 2003, see a pattern here?). in fact, i checked to see if the damned dog drew blood.
my landlord honked his horn as he drove past. just add flashing him to my list of faux pas.
my landlord honked his horn as he drove past. just add flashing him to my list of faux pas.
04 January 2008
03 January 2008
is tat you?
Mary Jo (Ms. Malaguti GRrrl, wink) commented that trees are special to her. I can so get behind that. In fact, you might say that I have already and will forever more. You could even go so far as to say that it's a monkey on my back.
Well, that wouldn't be entirely true. There is no monkey on my back. But there is a tree. A huge tree that represents oh so much. It took me about five years to find the right person to plant it. But let me back up some.
At this point, I should tell you that since this is lengthy, if you want to skip to the end to read about the actual Tree Lady, then do so. What I write below is my attempt to be fairly clear and I cover lots of aspects of tattooing for the beginner. In no way is this authoritative, and in no way do I represent the be all, end all. These are based on my experiences and while I am not exhaustive of my knowledge, I do offer thoughts that may not always be as clear as I would like. So, if you do have any questions, please ask. If I can't answer, then I hope I can point in the right direction. Perhaps I can clarify something that I've said.
A portion of the back-story: having been around folks with tats all my life, I knew that eventually I'd have one. Or two. Or a huge rambling one that continues to grow as I do. I wasn't in a rush. There are some serious considerations that don't justify a rash decision. Just cuz folks can do something, doesn't mean they should. I wanted to wait til I had the right idea in mind and then knew the right artist to put it in place and get the vine to growing. I've put more thought into the work on my body than most people put into decided for what work they are training.
The first ink I got was when I was 23. I had given the gift of a tattoo to a very dear friend for her graduation present (college). She was scared and I had already visited the shop, gotten to know the artist (who drew out my idea and thus started my habit), and showed her that there's nothing to it, grin.
Since then, I've come to know quite a few artists. Have engaged in much discussion. Learned lots. And have some words to the wise. The foolish are goingto do what they want anyway, so there is no use in talking with them.
First off, this is permanent people. It deserves the consideration which reflects that it is a body modification that will become a part of you, forever. Please don't gush into your first shop and pick a pansy off the wall of flash. If you do, well, the choice of a pansy is fitting. While there is some great preexisting art, do feel free to investigate your own artistic side.
All my work is original, no preconceived/predrawn flash. If you are like me and have an idea (or two or more) that you can't draw, but that you would really like to see; then ask for an artist's rendition. A quick sketch can give you some idea if the person is able to see what you mean. A more detailed drawing can then be done. You'll be infinitely more satisfied with your very own work instead of mass produced flash. Unless that's your thing. And some folks are into very specialized movements, like traditional Japanese or Sailor Joe.
A word on Kanji, unless you know that what those uberkewl symbols mean and the artist is schooled in the written expression of which ever Asian language you think is so bad-ass this year; then please do not mess with another culture's beauty and dignity. Each stroke is meaningful and a slight mishap can completely change the meaning. Don't be a schmuck when you mean to be smart.
Women are truly the stronger sex. We tend to choose the most painful places of our bodies while men tend to go for the most showy. Whenever I see brawny football players sporting a 3/4 band on their bulging upper arm, I think wuss. Cuz it usually is more of a sign of trendy popularity, a barbed wire or tribal. Trite, trite, trite. And they chickened out of getting the complete band, circling through some of the tenderest (thus more painful) flesh.
Flesh that is exposed, constantly under assault and pressure, is likely to be more tough and the nerve endings are generally not as dense as those places that are more hidden. The skin that covers bone near the surface is a barrier which sends our brains danger signals when breeched. Ankle, hip, neck, face, skull, and ribs are more sensitive than fleshier thighs, arms, butts, and sides of the calf (shins are more painful). As a general rule, genitals have tons of densely packed nerve endings that can send lots of mixed signals. Just ask a guy who has had an overly enthusiastic blow-job (teeth, watch the damn teeth) or a woman whose lover confuses her nipples with screwheads (honestly, don't need socket wrenches dudes!).
The exception to the pressure principle is the palm of our hands and soles of our feet. Yes, they are constantly exposed and under pressure. They are also a thicker skin surface that is replenished at a higher rate then the skin on other surfaces. Because of this, you might want to reconsider these sites as potential spots for tattoos. Chances are very good that you will need frequent touch-ups. Part of my tat branches down onto the top of my left foot. It was painful (bones) but it won't need touch-up cuz there is relatively little friction which might shed skin cells rapidly, like that of the bottom of my left foot.
About pain, there is a reason our bodies have that capacity to signal when damage is being done. Pain and pleasure are often the same sensation, but experienced differently depending on context. Just ask anyone into BDSM. Or anyone who loves massage, it hurts so good.
Pain and blood don't always coincide; this is because nerves are more likely to be present in the skin's surface than in the deeper layers of flesh. At no time should the needle be driven so deep as to draw blood; and certainly not continuously. As always, there are exceptions. There are some forms of tattooing which involve a hammer and a spike and is full of ritualistic import. Those are the rare exceptions and if you are considering those then chances are very good that you know everything here and way way more.
Tattooing a clean wound, but a wound nonetheless. It requires proper after-care. You shouldn't need to disinfect it, because it is not infected. Or shouldn't be if you were smart about choosing the shop and the artist. More on that later. Proper after-care means that you should give yourself time to heal, before subjecting the area to assault. This means that sun exposure should be avoided, as well as soaking in tubs (or pools) and direct shower spray. Keep the area clean, but don't scour it!
When the tat is done, you may notice that there is clear fluid seeping (this is plasma, your body's defense and aid to healing a wound). Sometimes the artist covers the area with gauze or an absorbent pad (much like the plastic diaper-like patch on the bottom of meat packs at the grocery store). Sometimes a light smear of petro or creme is applied. There are a few debates here. My best take is that a small packet of A&D (so called because vitamins A and D are added to a petro based product) is all that's necessary for most tats. Be careful not to use Neosporin (use a triple antibiotic but use care), this is because the peroxide acts as a bleaching agent and hello! you want the color to remain the same, not bleach it out with sun exposure, chemical exposure, etc.
After the first application immediately following a tat, you should not need to reapply A&D. You won't harm it tho, if you want to use it just to be on the safe side. It actually can slow the healing process tho, because it can saturate the skin when what you want is some amount of air exposure. You do want to keep the area moisturized (non-perfume, non-alcohol, non-additive) but don't slather it on. Too little moisture means scabbing and dry flaking, not good. Too much moisture means that healing is prolonged. Think of how tender and raw a wound is when you remove a band-aid. After air gets to it, it heals faster and is not so sensitive.
Don't be a picker. Do not scratch! Never scratch! If the tat is large and itches (itching is actually a good thing, it is a sign that wounds are healing!) and you absolutely must do something for relief, smack the area around it. It will stimulate the nerve endings of the larger area and your brain will be satisfied that some attention has been provided. It sounds odd, but try it sometime. Instead of scratching that itch, smack it. You might be surprised. Unless your a masochist. In which case, you may be wondering why this isn't more common knowledge.
Since I've been very random, and very lengthy, let me now address selection of who and what and where. I'm not talking about what tat you have placed where on your body, that's been done to death and I've had my say on that (ad nauseum, you might feel). I mean that you get to decide who places your tat. You should be concerned about the shop and so shop around!
Most places have very good standards. There are more and more health department regulations in place over the last ten years. This means that the autoclave in a tattoo shop (and for that matter most piercers) is tested every month and is much cleaner than your dentist's office is. Frightening, eh? Tattooists are not usually piercers, altho some are and most can be found in the same shop (at least here in the States). Never allow anyone with a plastic guy to pierce you (b'bye Wal-Mart and Piercing Pagoda), this is because plastic cannot be autoclaved (it would melt) and therefore not hygienic.
Most places have very good standards, yes. But you can and should be allowed to inspect things for yourself. Watch some one getting tattooed if possible. Watch the entire process (it can be in stages, and not all at once). If there are multiple booths or artists' rooms, you can see all stages in one visit. What I mean is that the set up is very important. The clean-up is even more important than the actual tattooing process from your perspective. The set up should involve a re-sanitization of all surfaces (the entire work area should have been sanitized during clean-up of the previous session). You want to see the artist wearing gloves (not just to protect them, but to protect YOU). The ink should be in individual caps, never should the needle be dipped into the bottle. Cross-contamination, people. Lots of disposable towels should be on hand (and used). You should see a red bio-hazmat container somewhere (for needles and razors). The nozzle of spray bottles should be covered in plastic (baggies or wrap). You want to see cleanliness and no obvious dirt. Most folks will spray down chairs, counter tops, set up fresh trays with ink caps and never dip into the communal pot.
If you've questions, ask! Most artists are happy that they get to talk about their work (there are exceptions, but as a general rule, I've found that most folks love to talk about their loves). If you have doubts, move on! There are plenty of places to choose!
Ok, now as far as whom to choose. My own preferences may or may not apply to you. I am particular about who does what to my person. I've had five artists work on me and each was chosen after careful consideration. I'm gonna be spending time with this person who is leaving lasting marks on me, I wanna be sure that we are somewhat compatible. We are not engaged in a lifelong love affair, and so we don't need to be soulmates. But I do feel more comfortable with someone whom I can chat with and feels at least somewhat accepting of my quirks (like I need to pee lots and often, so can sit for hours at a time, but do need to take a few seconds to trot off to the potty, hey it happens). Now if I were only getting something small and would only be setting with them for an hour, then it isn't so important that we can converse and be amiable. But all my stuff has been more involving and complex, so it's a priority for me, that's all I'm saying. Whatever is important to you, should also be a priority for them. If you don't care to chat, they should be open to being silent. You're the customer.
As far as ability goes, common sense says dude, pick someone whose work you like. Most artists have portfolios (braggin books) of their previous work. Some will show designs, some will show freshly done tats (some elect to photo work after it has healed tho; irritated swollen flesh is awfully shiny and hard to get a good pic with so much glare), some will show before/after cover-ups.
I've met some great artists whose work I admire, but whom I would never allow to touch me. This could be because while they have the skills to tattoo, I don't care for their preferred topic (some folks can do a fairy, but they really groove on alien rip-outs). I would rather have someone wield a many needled machine who has a passion for the type of tattoo than just someone who has the technical ability. That's just my preference.
TREE LADY SIGHTING to follow!!
The artist who tattooed my back has been tattooing for over 30 yrs. And he considers my back to be the best work he has done. He refers to me as the Tree Lady.
It took me five years to find him. Plenty of people said that they could do it, but not one person provided me with a draft, a quick sketch. Most folks, I passed on within a few minutes for various reasons. One of the artists who did some work for me, I didn't want him to be the one to do my back, because he was better with smaller designs and his own work ethic began to deteriorate with time. It was increasingly difficult for him to finish work, and there is nothing quite like not having a piece finished to satisfaction.
"Hippie" was sparked with enthusiasm when he and I discussed what I had in mind. He did do an initial sketch. I approved it. He thermofaxed it and transferred it onto me the first session. After that, we did some Sharpie work (or Bic penned right on my skin to give him and me an idea of what he was doing and where he was going with it) for a few sessions. Then, we just did a sort of free-form. I would caution that you do this only if you are very very comfortable with and confident in your artist. By that point, we had been working together on this for enough sessions for me to trust that he knew what he had in mind and that it was cohesive with my own vision. In total, the back-piece (which is actually a body-web, as it wraps around my torso, and extends down into my girdle ~~ a previously done tattoo which drapes about my hips, and extends down my thighs) is over 250 hours of work. We met two or three times a week, each session about three or four hours, for over six months. As he did more work, the more attached he got and the more he was absorbed. So I knew the quality was a given, he had much invested in this and took much pride in his masterpiece.
I didn't address cost of tattoos above, so let me take a few minutes right now to say that there are many ways folks price things. Some go with per piece, per color, per hour, per body area. Some go with a mix of all those things, while others have entirely other determinants. Chances are that if someone brags that they got work done cheaply, then the work is that: cheap and slipshod. Good work can be expensive. If you look at it in terms of what it is (work that will last forever and be exactly what you want), then maybe the quality is worth it to you. Hopefully.
My own work has been judged to be worth in excess of three thousand dollars. Did I pay that much? Hell no. I did lots of trade work. The most I paid was for the very first tattoo I had done. Mostly because I had nothing to offer. I did front-girl work, tutored, assisted with research and publication, etc. My situations have not been typical. As a general rule, you get what you pay for. If you pay nothing, you probably have nothing.
Given my record with pix, I don't have any recent photos that are both complete and clear. I keep meaning to take some but I don't usually think about it when the means are available. My body is me and I am accustomed to my own skin; so I don't usually think, "oh hey, i wanna a picture of that!" We recently found the disk that enables the software to support my guy's webcam (and I can take stills with it, as well as short video clips), so if I remember to get his cam from his apartment in Oxford, then you might get a posting with a better pic.
For now, these will have to do:
(incomplete when this pic was taken in April '03)
(this is a close up of the central portion pictured above)
{{** edit Thur 13 Jan 11: just realized pix's links are not working}}
The lower limbs are barren, winter. The right hand side represents spring, then summer in the middle, moving to fall on the left. The reason I wanted the seasons to go counter clockwise in progression was because the sun's passage appears to be right to left, east to west. The woman whose body forms the trunk, whose hair and arms/fingers form the branches is the mother of all life. Her mouth is open, in expression of labor; bearing life is a taxing task, even as it provides enormous pleasure.
The branches wrap around my ribs, extending to just under my breasts. The spring limbs and fall leaves wrap around my shoulders and descend the front of me, covering my breasts. There was much work to do yet, after these pix were taken. There is the branch work that is outlined, yes. And there is a depth to the work that increased in volume from the time of the pix to the last session. The leaves have an amazing detail and shadow work that is truly painstaking. The wind is caught playing with the leaves, tossing about the spring sprigs. The piece ties into the rest of the theme of the work that already graces my body and the following work continues that theme.
Spot the cunning bear?
Thanks for bearing with me in this very long entry. Tonight was my first night alone in about a month. It was difficult but made easier with this composition. Have a wonderful week's ending for the first week of the newest year!
Well, that wouldn't be entirely true. There is no monkey on my back. But there is a tree. A huge tree that represents oh so much. It took me about five years to find the right person to plant it. But let me back up some.
At this point, I should tell you that since this is lengthy, if you want to skip to the end to read about the actual Tree Lady, then do so. What I write below is my attempt to be fairly clear and I cover lots of aspects of tattooing for the beginner. In no way is this authoritative, and in no way do I represent the be all, end all. These are based on my experiences and while I am not exhaustive of my knowledge, I do offer thoughts that may not always be as clear as I would like. So, if you do have any questions, please ask. If I can't answer, then I hope I can point in the right direction. Perhaps I can clarify something that I've said.
A portion of the back-story: having been around folks with tats all my life, I knew that eventually I'd have one. Or two. Or a huge rambling one that continues to grow as I do. I wasn't in a rush. There are some serious considerations that don't justify a rash decision. Just cuz folks can do something, doesn't mean they should. I wanted to wait til I had the right idea in mind and then knew the right artist to put it in place and get the vine to growing. I've put more thought into the work on my body than most people put into decided for what work they are training.
The first ink I got was when I was 23. I had given the gift of a tattoo to a very dear friend for her graduation present (college). She was scared and I had already visited the shop, gotten to know the artist (who drew out my idea and thus started my habit), and showed her that there's nothing to it, grin.Since then, I've come to know quite a few artists. Have engaged in much discussion. Learned lots. And have some words to the wise. The foolish are goingto do what they want anyway, so there is no use in talking with them.
First off, this is permanent people. It deserves the consideration which reflects that it is a body modification that will become a part of you, forever. Please don't gush into your first shop and pick a pansy off the wall of flash. If you do, well, the choice of a pansy is fitting. While there is some great preexisting art, do feel free to investigate your own artistic side.
All my work is original, no preconceived/predrawn flash. If you are like me and have an idea (or two or more) that you can't draw, but that you would really like to see; then ask for an artist's rendition. A quick sketch can give you some idea if the person is able to see what you mean. A more detailed drawing can then be done. You'll be infinitely more satisfied with your very own work instead of mass produced flash. Unless that's your thing. And some folks are into very specialized movements, like traditional Japanese or Sailor Joe.
A word on Kanji, unless you know that what those uberkewl symbols mean and the artist is schooled in the written expression of which ever Asian language you think is so bad-ass this year; then please do not mess with another culture's beauty and dignity. Each stroke is meaningful and a slight mishap can completely change the meaning. Don't be a schmuck when you mean to be smart.
Women are truly the stronger sex. We tend to choose the most painful places of our bodies while men tend to go for the most showy. Whenever I see brawny football players sporting a 3/4 band on their bulging upper arm, I think wuss. Cuz it usually is more of a sign of trendy popularity, a barbed wire or tribal. Trite, trite, trite. And they chickened out of getting the complete band, circling through some of the tenderest (thus more painful) flesh.
Flesh that is exposed, constantly under assault and pressure, is likely to be more tough and the nerve endings are generally not as dense as those places that are more hidden. The skin that covers bone near the surface is a barrier which sends our brains danger signals when breeched. Ankle, hip, neck, face, skull, and ribs are more sensitive than fleshier thighs, arms, butts, and sides of the calf (shins are more painful). As a general rule, genitals have tons of densely packed nerve endings that can send lots of mixed signals. Just ask a guy who has had an overly enthusiastic blow-job (teeth, watch the damn teeth) or a woman whose lover confuses her nipples with screwheads (honestly, don't need socket wrenches dudes!).
The exception to the pressure principle is the palm of our hands and soles of our feet. Yes, they are constantly exposed and under pressure. They are also a thicker skin surface that is replenished at a higher rate then the skin on other surfaces. Because of this, you might want to reconsider these sites as potential spots for tattoos. Chances are very good that you will need frequent touch-ups. Part of my tat branches down onto the top of my left foot. It was painful (bones) but it won't need touch-up cuz there is relatively little friction which might shed skin cells rapidly, like that of the bottom of my left foot.
About pain, there is a reason our bodies have that capacity to signal when damage is being done. Pain and pleasure are often the same sensation, but experienced differently depending on context. Just ask anyone into BDSM. Or anyone who loves massage, it hurts so good.
Pain and blood don't always coincide; this is because nerves are more likely to be present in the skin's surface than in the deeper layers of flesh. At no time should the needle be driven so deep as to draw blood; and certainly not continuously. As always, there are exceptions. There are some forms of tattooing which involve a hammer and a spike and is full of ritualistic import. Those are the rare exceptions and if you are considering those then chances are very good that you know everything here and way way more.
Tattooing a clean wound, but a wound nonetheless. It requires proper after-care. You shouldn't need to disinfect it, because it is not infected. Or shouldn't be if you were smart about choosing the shop and the artist. More on that later. Proper after-care means that you should give yourself time to heal, before subjecting the area to assault. This means that sun exposure should be avoided, as well as soaking in tubs (or pools) and direct shower spray. Keep the area clean, but don't scour it!
When the tat is done, you may notice that there is clear fluid seeping (this is plasma, your body's defense and aid to healing a wound). Sometimes the artist covers the area with gauze or an absorbent pad (much like the plastic diaper-like patch on the bottom of meat packs at the grocery store). Sometimes a light smear of petro or creme is applied. There are a few debates here. My best take is that a small packet of A&D (so called because vitamins A and D are added to a petro based product) is all that's necessary for most tats. Be careful not to use Neosporin (use a triple antibiotic but use care), this is because the peroxide acts as a bleaching agent and hello! you want the color to remain the same, not bleach it out with sun exposure, chemical exposure, etc.
After the first application immediately following a tat, you should not need to reapply A&D. You won't harm it tho, if you want to use it just to be on the safe side. It actually can slow the healing process tho, because it can saturate the skin when what you want is some amount of air exposure. You do want to keep the area moisturized (non-perfume, non-alcohol, non-additive) but don't slather it on. Too little moisture means scabbing and dry flaking, not good. Too much moisture means that healing is prolonged. Think of how tender and raw a wound is when you remove a band-aid. After air gets to it, it heals faster and is not so sensitive.
Don't be a picker. Do not scratch! Never scratch! If the tat is large and itches (itching is actually a good thing, it is a sign that wounds are healing!) and you absolutely must do something for relief, smack the area around it. It will stimulate the nerve endings of the larger area and your brain will be satisfied that some attention has been provided. It sounds odd, but try it sometime. Instead of scratching that itch, smack it. You might be surprised. Unless your a masochist. In which case, you may be wondering why this isn't more common knowledge.
Since I've been very random, and very lengthy, let me now address selection of who and what and where. I'm not talking about what tat you have placed where on your body, that's been done to death and I've had my say on that (ad nauseum, you might feel). I mean that you get to decide who places your tat. You should be concerned about the shop and so shop around!
Most places have very good standards. There are more and more health department regulations in place over the last ten years. This means that the autoclave in a tattoo shop (and for that matter most piercers) is tested every month and is much cleaner than your dentist's office is. Frightening, eh? Tattooists are not usually piercers, altho some are and most can be found in the same shop (at least here in the States). Never allow anyone with a plastic guy to pierce you (b'bye Wal-Mart and Piercing Pagoda), this is because plastic cannot be autoclaved (it would melt) and therefore not hygienic.
Most places have very good standards, yes. But you can and should be allowed to inspect things for yourself. Watch some one getting tattooed if possible. Watch the entire process (it can be in stages, and not all at once). If there are multiple booths or artists' rooms, you can see all stages in one visit. What I mean is that the set up is very important. The clean-up is even more important than the actual tattooing process from your perspective. The set up should involve a re-sanitization of all surfaces (the entire work area should have been sanitized during clean-up of the previous session). You want to see the artist wearing gloves (not just to protect them, but to protect YOU). The ink should be in individual caps, never should the needle be dipped into the bottle. Cross-contamination, people. Lots of disposable towels should be on hand (and used). You should see a red bio-hazmat container somewhere (for needles and razors). The nozzle of spray bottles should be covered in plastic (baggies or wrap). You want to see cleanliness and no obvious dirt. Most folks will spray down chairs, counter tops, set up fresh trays with ink caps and never dip into the communal pot.
If you've questions, ask! Most artists are happy that they get to talk about their work (there are exceptions, but as a general rule, I've found that most folks love to talk about their loves). If you have doubts, move on! There are plenty of places to choose!
Ok, now as far as whom to choose. My own preferences may or may not apply to you. I am particular about who does what to my person. I've had five artists work on me and each was chosen after careful consideration. I'm gonna be spending time with this person who is leaving lasting marks on me, I wanna be sure that we are somewhat compatible. We are not engaged in a lifelong love affair, and so we don't need to be soulmates. But I do feel more comfortable with someone whom I can chat with and feels at least somewhat accepting of my quirks (like I need to pee lots and often, so can sit for hours at a time, but do need to take a few seconds to trot off to the potty, hey it happens). Now if I were only getting something small and would only be setting with them for an hour, then it isn't so important that we can converse and be amiable. But all my stuff has been more involving and complex, so it's a priority for me, that's all I'm saying. Whatever is important to you, should also be a priority for them. If you don't care to chat, they should be open to being silent. You're the customer.
As far as ability goes, common sense says dude, pick someone whose work you like. Most artists have portfolios (braggin books) of their previous work. Some will show designs, some will show freshly done tats (some elect to photo work after it has healed tho; irritated swollen flesh is awfully shiny and hard to get a good pic with so much glare), some will show before/after cover-ups.
I've met some great artists whose work I admire, but whom I would never allow to touch me. This could be because while they have the skills to tattoo, I don't care for their preferred topic (some folks can do a fairy, but they really groove on alien rip-outs). I would rather have someone wield a many needled machine who has a passion for the type of tattoo than just someone who has the technical ability. That's just my preference.
TREE LADY SIGHTING to follow!!
The artist who tattooed my back has been tattooing for over 30 yrs. And he considers my back to be the best work he has done. He refers to me as the Tree Lady.
It took me five years to find him. Plenty of people said that they could do it, but not one person provided me with a draft, a quick sketch. Most folks, I passed on within a few minutes for various reasons. One of the artists who did some work for me, I didn't want him to be the one to do my back, because he was better with smaller designs and his own work ethic began to deteriorate with time. It was increasingly difficult for him to finish work, and there is nothing quite like not having a piece finished to satisfaction.
"Hippie" was sparked with enthusiasm when he and I discussed what I had in mind. He did do an initial sketch. I approved it. He thermofaxed it and transferred it onto me the first session. After that, we did some Sharpie work (or Bic penned right on my skin to give him and me an idea of what he was doing and where he was going with it) for a few sessions. Then, we just did a sort of free-form. I would caution that you do this only if you are very very comfortable with and confident in your artist. By that point, we had been working together on this for enough sessions for me to trust that he knew what he had in mind and that it was cohesive with my own vision. In total, the back-piece (which is actually a body-web, as it wraps around my torso, and extends down into my girdle ~~ a previously done tattoo which drapes about my hips, and extends down my thighs) is over 250 hours of work. We met two or three times a week, each session about three or four hours, for over six months. As he did more work, the more attached he got and the more he was absorbed. So I knew the quality was a given, he had much invested in this and took much pride in his masterpiece.
I didn't address cost of tattoos above, so let me take a few minutes right now to say that there are many ways folks price things. Some go with per piece, per color, per hour, per body area. Some go with a mix of all those things, while others have entirely other determinants. Chances are that if someone brags that they got work done cheaply, then the work is that: cheap and slipshod. Good work can be expensive. If you look at it in terms of what it is (work that will last forever and be exactly what you want), then maybe the quality is worth it to you. Hopefully.
My own work has been judged to be worth in excess of three thousand dollars. Did I pay that much? Hell no. I did lots of trade work. The most I paid was for the very first tattoo I had done. Mostly because I had nothing to offer. I did front-girl work, tutored, assisted with research and publication, etc. My situations have not been typical. As a general rule, you get what you pay for. If you pay nothing, you probably have nothing.
Given my record with pix, I don't have any recent photos that are both complete and clear. I keep meaning to take some but I don't usually think about it when the means are available. My body is me and I am accustomed to my own skin; so I don't usually think, "oh hey, i wanna a picture of that!" We recently found the disk that enables the software to support my guy's webcam (and I can take stills with it, as well as short video clips), so if I remember to get his cam from his apartment in Oxford, then you might get a posting with a better pic.
For now, these will have to do:
(incomplete when this pic was taken in April '03)
(this is a close up of the central portion pictured above)
{{** edit Thur 13 Jan 11: just realized pix's links are not working}}
The lower limbs are barren, winter. The right hand side represents spring, then summer in the middle, moving to fall on the left. The reason I wanted the seasons to go counter clockwise in progression was because the sun's passage appears to be right to left, east to west. The woman whose body forms the trunk, whose hair and arms/fingers form the branches is the mother of all life. Her mouth is open, in expression of labor; bearing life is a taxing task, even as it provides enormous pleasure.
The branches wrap around my ribs, extending to just under my breasts. The spring limbs and fall leaves wrap around my shoulders and descend the front of me, covering my breasts. There was much work to do yet, after these pix were taken. There is the branch work that is outlined, yes. And there is a depth to the work that increased in volume from the time of the pix to the last session. The leaves have an amazing detail and shadow work that is truly painstaking. The wind is caught playing with the leaves, tossing about the spring sprigs. The piece ties into the rest of the theme of the work that already graces my body and the following work continues that theme.
Spot the cunning bear?
Thanks for bearing with me in this very long entry. Tonight was my first night alone in about a month. It was difficult but made easier with this composition. Have a wonderful week's ending for the first week of the newest year!
02 January 2008
Bev Doolittle
Every now and then, I like to see what new work my favored artists and authors have done. Bev Doolittle is one such artist who can take my breath away and tickle my brain. Brain candy! yum. this particular print, fox haven, reminds me of some of the woman-centered creations of our very own Judi HeartSong.
And he's off!
Well, my guy left today. He is going home to Oxford, then tomorrow goes to Little Rock (Arkansas). Then, he goes to Knoxville (Tennessee). Then, Atlanta (Georgia). Then, Memphis (Tennessee). Then he gets a few days at home before heading to Biloxi (Mississippi). And then, the last interview for internship is in Togus (Maine). He is driving to all those places, but flying to Maine. The closest is Memphis, it is just over an hour from Oxford; even the just shy of three hours from here, it is still closest. Little Rock is about three hours from Memphis. Knoxville and Memphis are at opposite ends of the state; Memphis in the extreme south western corner while Knoxville is on the eastern edge, seven hours between the two. Atlanta and Knoxville are about four hours apart. Atlanta is about six hours from me, here. Biloxi is about five hours south of me, in state. It's all as clear as mud, isn't it?
feeling frigid
Here in Mississippi, in the deep south, the night air feels like fifteen degrees out here on the farm where open fields. That's cold temps no matter where you are. And tomorrow night is to be even more friggen freezen.
01 January 2008
making me tender
The other night as we drove home, my guy turned up the radio, "this song makes me think of us." As I listened, I caught his fingers in mine. He has a way with expressing his heartfelt thoughts in the music he hears and then plays for me, in the poems he reads then quotes for me, in the lyrics of the songs he draws my attention to. I love you, my guy, so very much. Thank you for sharing yourself this way.
Trouble...
Trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble
Trouble been doggin' my soul since the day I was born
Worry...
Worry, worry, worry, worry
Worry just will not seem to leave my mind alone
We'll I've been...
Saved by a woman
I've been...
Saved by a woman
I've been...
Saved by a woman
She won't let me go
She won't let me go now
She won't let me go
She won't let me go now
Trouble...
Oh, trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble
Feels like every time I get back on my feet
She come around and knock me down again
Worry...
Oh, worry, worry, worry, worry
Sometimes I swear it feels like this worry is my only friend
We'll I've been saved...
By a woman
I've been saved...
By a woman
I've been saved...
By a woman
She won't let me go
She won't let me go now
She won't let me go
She won't let me go now
Oh..., Ahhhh....
Ohhhh
She good to me now
She gave me love and affection
She good tell me now
She gave me love and affection
I Said I love her
Yes I love her
I said I love her
I said I love...
She good to me now
She's good to me
She's good to me
Trouble...
Trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble
Trouble been doggin' my soul since the day I was born
Worry...
Worry, worry, worry, worry
Worry just will not seem to leave my mind alone
We'll I've been...
Saved by a woman
I've been...
Saved by a woman
I've been...
Saved by a woman
She won't let me go
She won't let me go now
She won't let me go
She won't let me go now
Trouble...
Oh, trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble
Feels like every time I get back on my feet
She come around and knock me down again
Worry...
Oh, worry, worry, worry, worry
Sometimes I swear it feels like this worry is my only friend
We'll I've been saved...
By a woman
I've been saved...
By a woman
I've been saved...
By a woman
She won't let me go
She won't let me go now
She won't let me go
She won't let me go now
Oh..., Ahhhh....
Ohhhh
She good to me now
She gave me love and affection
She good tell me now
She gave me love and affection
I Said I love her
Yes I love her
I said I love her
I said I love...
She good to me now
She's good to me
She's good to me
2008, leap year
Russ, the doodling dude who's got inner and outer demons, starts his newest year off sharing warm well-wishes for everyone. May all your trouble leap from your shoulders, lightening your load. May Bush leap from office, leaving the smallest ripples possible. May joy and peace leap into your life, splashing laughter everywhere!
habe ich geschwiegen (i remained silent)
Anne, Saturday's Child, starts off the newest year sharing a few of her favorite quotes and some of her answers to her favorite questions. A flurry of my own favored quotes flew through my mind, the various voices gabbling at me, vying for my attention. The one that stayed as the others' squabbling died down was one that I had used to accompany an entry in my first journal; you can find that post here.
There have been many variations of the quote; the gist staying the same, even as it is adapted to fit whatever the situation may be. The general idea to me is that when we remain silent while others' rights are being violated, then no one is left to speak out when ours are trampled. Desecration somehow only applies to what we view as sacred, our own principles. Pastor Martin Niemoeller said it best, when he addressed political apathy and inactivity in this way:
In Germany, they came first for the Communist; and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist. And then they came for the trade unionists; and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist. And then they came for the Jews; and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew. And then...they came for me...and by that time, there was no one left to speak up.
There have been many variations of the quote; the gist staying the same, even as it is adapted to fit whatever the situation may be. The general idea to me is that when we remain silent while others' rights are being violated, then no one is left to speak out when ours are trampled. Desecration somehow only applies to what we view as sacred, our own principles. Pastor Martin Niemoeller said it best, when he addressed political apathy and inactivity in this way:
In Germany, they came first for the Communist; and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist. And then they came for the trade unionists; and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist. And then they came for the Jews; and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew. And then...they came for me...and by that time, there was no one left to speak up.
Happy Newest Year
My guy and I greeted the new year but I don't think it has really set in that it is indeed 2008. It doesn't seem right. I was looking at my face the other day and realized that in addition to the silver strands of head hair, I've also begun to sport little brackets creasing around my mouth. Aches and pains are more frequently felt and injuries heal at a slower rate. Weight is slower to lose and easier to gain and makes me feel portly, pudgy, plump, and downright porcine.
I'm thinking I want to skip the ham roll dinner with the 'in-laws'. ugh.
the good thing is that i'm here. yea!
and so is he.
I'm thinking I want to skip the ham roll dinner with the 'in-laws'. ugh.
the good thing is that i'm here. yea!
and so is he.
31 December 2007
happiest of newest years to everyone
well, i and my guy are staying in tonight. yes! and i'm ready to quickly shower and then take some fresh from the oven bread to my landlords. and i hope to spend a quite evening with my guy who will be soon running hither and thither so we want to eek every minute we can. be safe, dudes, be safe.
30 December 2007
29 December 2007
lukitchu!!
Sometimes commercials provide more comic fodder than they intend. My guy and I both latched on to an exclamation made by one of the weight-loss women. "...the fat was just melting off and my husband says, 'look at you!!'" she screeches with ecstasy that is so commonly feigned by most manically smiling actors extolling the wonders of cleaning products, feminine products, laundry products, and other scented products.
The "look at you!!" cry is also common at holiday gatherings, luncheons, and other chance meetings we'd rather not engage in but have no choice but to acknowledge the other party's presence. That falsely exuberant greeting grates on my ears, making me cringe even when it isn't intended for me. The muscles in my face freeze and begin to ache and my jaw locks, and my ears bleed whenever I hear it. Although, I admit, it is fun to crow:
looooooookkkkkitchuuuuuuuuuu!!
The "look at you!!" cry is also common at holiday gatherings, luncheons, and other chance meetings we'd rather not engage in but have no choice but to acknowledge the other party's presence. That falsely exuberant greeting grates on my ears, making me cringe even when it isn't intended for me. The muscles in my face freeze and begin to ache and my jaw locks, and my ears bleed whenever I hear it. Although, I admit, it is fun to crow:
looooooookkkkkitchuuuuuuuuuu!!
27 December 2007
last week
tis the last week of the year, only a few days til the newest one dawns in greys and dreary rain. i spent the last few days with my guy's family, altho it feels ages since i've been home. i missed my comfy queen sized bed with its feather bed and quilt and pillows that are just so, meant for me and my head and my body.
the best part of the last few days was watching the delight of the kids as they unwrapped their gifts. the clear joy radiated and i couldn't help but smile in return. the littlest boy, 2, was bewildered with all the clutter and the urging of his parents to tear paper and toss it about when earlier in the evening they scolded him for doing just that very thing to his grandmother's magazine.
everyone loved their hats and scarves and blankets and oooohed and aaaaahhed. it was good and i am glad it is all but over. i'm exhausted. we're going back up to get my guy's bed liner sprayed in tomorrow and i need to drop off a few last minute things; a coffee bean grinder for his sister that i gave a pound of whole beans to, she didn't ask for a grinder but i know she would appreciate one...they have bought christmas for 4 boys of their own and i think are a tad strapped for cash at the moment. this way they won't have scald their mouths while gulping boiling water to wash down the chewed coffee beans.
my guy is off hunting today. he doesn't take much time off and so i am hoping this is a good day for him. he will be busy as can be within a day or two again and then he will be off and going here and there for interviews (tennessee, arkansas, maine, georgia). makes me tired just thinking of it all.
i hope everyone's holidays have been wonderful and that all the best will come in the newest year!
the best part of the last few days was watching the delight of the kids as they unwrapped their gifts. the clear joy radiated and i couldn't help but smile in return. the littlest boy, 2, was bewildered with all the clutter and the urging of his parents to tear paper and toss it about when earlier in the evening they scolded him for doing just that very thing to his grandmother's magazine.
everyone loved their hats and scarves and blankets and oooohed and aaaaahhed. it was good and i am glad it is all but over. i'm exhausted. we're going back up to get my guy's bed liner sprayed in tomorrow and i need to drop off a few last minute things; a coffee bean grinder for his sister that i gave a pound of whole beans to, she didn't ask for a grinder but i know she would appreciate one...they have bought christmas for 4 boys of their own and i think are a tad strapped for cash at the moment. this way they won't have scald their mouths while gulping boiling water to wash down the chewed coffee beans.
my guy is off hunting today. he doesn't take much time off and so i am hoping this is a good day for him. he will be busy as can be within a day or two again and then he will be off and going here and there for interviews (tennessee, arkansas, maine, georgia). makes me tired just thinking of it all.
i hope everyone's holidays have been wonderful and that all the best will come in the newest year!
21 December 2007
don't be a drunken wrapper
When I was a teenager, my mother's closest brother, Larry, and his wife, Kay, would have us come to their house for Christmas. It was awful and I hated going, because the couple was usually drunk. Kay was a bit of a ditz (ok that was being generous, she was a huge complex set of pieces of work) and Larry was a huge condescending snob who needed to put others down in order to secure his pompous place of piousness. But my mother loved her brother and so she would ignore most of his oafishness; I'm sure there is a lesson there I am to apply to my own brotherly situation. But not this year, maybe next; but not this.
However, Kay and Larry would provide for tons of comic relief, even if it was unintentional. But I usually was not in a loving accepting benefice mood on Christmas afternoons, imagine that. And it wasn't cuz they were drunken morons, it was cuz they were morons. And I was a teenager, so even less tolerant of morons than usual. Having been around drunks for many years, as I worked at the local VFW; I know that as a general rule mean people make mean drunks, happy people make happy drunks, smart people make drunken idiots, and stupid people make drunk stupidity.
Larry had an interesting method behind his present wrapping. He'd go down to his basement bar and fix himself a drink. Drink it and clear off a section of the bar for the presents, and keep his drink freshened (often meaning that he would finish the one and mix another, cuz really, ya can never get the portions of various alcohols just right when trying to freshen a drink; like the waitress that tops of your coffee which you have just now gotten the right ratio of coffee, sugar, and cream right before she adds a dollop of coffee, thus throwing off your ratios and undoing your carefully achieved balance). Larry would then clear a section for wrapping paper, tape, scissors, and gift tags. He'd drink some more and then decide he needed more wrapping paper cuz there is an awful lot of presents. Once he added more paper to the pile, he'd drink a few more drinks just to get festive, doncha know. He may decide to find a radio station of Christmas music, or attempt to do so only to settle on a station which blares rap (which Larry mistakes for very contemporary Christmas music); please keep in mind this was in the mid to late 80s, when rap was a different breed than what we have now.
Larry then lays out some wrapping paper from one side of him, and chooses a present from the other side. He proceeds to wrap and dance in place and screech along with misconceived lyrics, while merrily throwing the drinks back, which are now mostly alcohol and less mix cuz it is too much trouble to worry about additives like ice, oj, or soda. Within a very short time, Larry has run out of presents to wrap and yet has tons of wrapping paper left. So he begins to wrap items which are easily at hand, just to use up the paper, cuz he couldn't have made a mistake and mismanaged his paper/present ratio, now could he? Half emptied bottles of creme de menthe, rock and rye, and wild turkey sport gaily sledding santa's and snowmen and elves.
Now Larry is no longer using a glass, but is swilling straight from the bottle. Now he is no longer even attempting to sing with the lyrics, but is muttering along with an internal monologue. Now he has run out of paper, so is rummaging through the dirty clothes of the neighboring laundry room (this is the basement after all) and using the soiled shirts to wrap his willy-nilly items he has continued to grab from around the basement, a hastily emptied ashtry, an empty bottle of bleach, and oh look! there is the trash pile waiting to go out to the drive to await pick up. There is bound to be some good stuff in there!
Larry has now discovered that he had forgotten to appropriately tag the gifts. So, he sloppily scrawls names and tapes them haphazardously amongst the strewn odd assortment of presents. There are a few items which receive a few tags, for folks that may or may not be in the same country, let alone the same household. He has had a blast, but now, oh his aching head, now, his body is completely wrecked and he heads to bed.
Christmas afternoon finds him hustling around the kitchen and then look! it's his baby sister and her family! He ushers us downstairs, and flicks on the lights, only to have the evening before come rushing back with the sight of sickly strewn gifts and even the handle for the beer tap has been wrapped in a sock with duct tape. He covers his dismay with extra bluster, as tho he intended to do exactly this all along. He waves us all over to the heaped with trash bar, and settles us in with offers of beer, drinks, and then discovers that he cannot find the bourbon, whiskey, vodka, tequila, or any other relevant bottle.
So Judi asks for the funniest gift we have ever given or received. I can't really say, but I'm sure that it is one that has been wrapped by Larry. It may have been the dead dog's half gnawed bone.
However, Kay and Larry would provide for tons of comic relief, even if it was unintentional. But I usually was not in a loving accepting benefice mood on Christmas afternoons, imagine that. And it wasn't cuz they were drunken morons, it was cuz they were morons. And I was a teenager, so even less tolerant of morons than usual. Having been around drunks for many years, as I worked at the local VFW; I know that as a general rule mean people make mean drunks, happy people make happy drunks, smart people make drunken idiots, and stupid people make drunk stupidity.
Larry had an interesting method behind his present wrapping. He'd go down to his basement bar and fix himself a drink. Drink it and clear off a section of the bar for the presents, and keep his drink freshened (often meaning that he would finish the one and mix another, cuz really, ya can never get the portions of various alcohols just right when trying to freshen a drink; like the waitress that tops of your coffee which you have just now gotten the right ratio of coffee, sugar, and cream right before she adds a dollop of coffee, thus throwing off your ratios and undoing your carefully achieved balance). Larry would then clear a section for wrapping paper, tape, scissors, and gift tags. He'd drink some more and then decide he needed more wrapping paper cuz there is an awful lot of presents. Once he added more paper to the pile, he'd drink a few more drinks just to get festive, doncha know. He may decide to find a radio station of Christmas music, or attempt to do so only to settle on a station which blares rap (which Larry mistakes for very contemporary Christmas music); please keep in mind this was in the mid to late 80s, when rap was a different breed than what we have now.
Larry then lays out some wrapping paper from one side of him, and chooses a present from the other side. He proceeds to wrap and dance in place and screech along with misconceived lyrics, while merrily throwing the drinks back, which are now mostly alcohol and less mix cuz it is too much trouble to worry about additives like ice, oj, or soda. Within a very short time, Larry has run out of presents to wrap and yet has tons of wrapping paper left. So he begins to wrap items which are easily at hand, just to use up the paper, cuz he couldn't have made a mistake and mismanaged his paper/present ratio, now could he? Half emptied bottles of creme de menthe, rock and rye, and wild turkey sport gaily sledding santa's and snowmen and elves.
Now Larry is no longer using a glass, but is swilling straight from the bottle. Now he is no longer even attempting to sing with the lyrics, but is muttering along with an internal monologue. Now he has run out of paper, so is rummaging through the dirty clothes of the neighboring laundry room (this is the basement after all) and using the soiled shirts to wrap his willy-nilly items he has continued to grab from around the basement, a hastily emptied ashtry, an empty bottle of bleach, and oh look! there is the trash pile waiting to go out to the drive to await pick up. There is bound to be some good stuff in there!
Larry has now discovered that he had forgotten to appropriately tag the gifts. So, he sloppily scrawls names and tapes them haphazardously amongst the strewn odd assortment of presents. There are a few items which receive a few tags, for folks that may or may not be in the same country, let alone the same household. He has had a blast, but now, oh his aching head, now, his body is completely wrecked and he heads to bed.
Christmas afternoon finds him hustling around the kitchen and then look! it's his baby sister and her family! He ushers us downstairs, and flicks on the lights, only to have the evening before come rushing back with the sight of sickly strewn gifts and even the handle for the beer tap has been wrapped in a sock with duct tape. He covers his dismay with extra bluster, as tho he intended to do exactly this all along. He waves us all over to the heaped with trash bar, and settles us in with offers of beer, drinks, and then discovers that he cannot find the bourbon, whiskey, vodka, tequila, or any other relevant bottle.
So Judi asks for the funniest gift we have ever given or received. I can't really say, but I'm sure that it is one that has been wrapped by Larry. It may have been the dead dog's half gnawed bone.
20 December 2007
December's Artsy Essay
Judi HeartSong's call for December's Artsy Essay is here. Please go see and then go write, and then go link, and then go share. Share, folks, share!
This month's theme is:
The Funniest Gift I Have Ever Given or Received
There is no explanation needed... let's light up the holidays with some laughter here and make sure you spell-check, use colorful and descriptive language, and tell your tale in an engaging way!
You have until the very last minute of the last hour of the last day of this holiday month to spin a yarn to share.
Go write, snicker, chortle, and chuckle!!
This month's theme is:
The Funniest Gift I Have Ever Given or Received
There is no explanation needed... let's light up the holidays with some laughter here and make sure you spell-check, use colorful and descriptive language, and tell your tale in an engaging way!
You have until the very last minute of the last hour of the last day of this holiday month to spin a yarn to share.
Go write, snicker, chortle, and chuckle!!
one last hat
I've packed the presents to take to my guy's family. I've been knitting, crocheting, and looming for about a month now. The baby's blanket; a preemie hat for her lil head and just in case her head isn't quite that lil, then a dolly can wear it and she can wear another hat that I made a size larger, along with a mini-baby scarf; hats for the older five children (ages 2, 5, 7, 8, and 8); four one pound bags of flavored whole-bean coffee (hazelnut, butter rum, pecan, aztec) for each of the households (my guy has two sisters (who are married, with children) and his mother, and lately his father has been attending family gatherings); and a bag with a note to remind myself to retrieve the bread (the pumpkin with raisins yeasted dough) from the freezer for everyone (two elongated loaves, a larger round loaf, and eight smaller round loaves). I'm ready for the gatherings to begin!
Once I get this one last hat done.
Once I get this one last hat done.
19 December 2007
baking bread, again
Well,
I gave several loaves of the Christmas Bread away, one to Leona of coffee shop fame, and another to my counselor, and one to my gp. They are all close to me and important to the continuation of my mental health.
So today, I decided to make bread with pumpkin and raisins. It is in the second rise now and looks and smells and feels good! I've been having lots of fun. It's a large batch, so I will do the three loaves and a glass bowl and maybe try making some smaller pats, on cookie sheets. Then maybe I'll freeze some so that I can take stuff with me to Christmas dinner and other festivities with my guy's clan.
I just made the loaves and punched the other dough down (it's in the smaller metal bowl). It's looking good! It's a orangey color with raisins studding it nicely. It feels good, nice and elastic and firm without being too gunky. I used some of the wheat gluten, cuz I used the rest of the 50/50 and some regular flour. The main reason I used the gluten tho is because of the amount of pumpkin I used and there is no risibility in pumpkin. I can tell that it will be scrumptious when I dive into the test loaf!
The bread turned out very tasty and very pretty! The little round loaves are about the size of small dinner plates or large saucers. They will make nice Christmas gifts with bags of coffee (I had bought some backs of various sorts of coffee from Leona last week, I'll repackage the coffee into smaller bags and make gift bags for the adults). I'll freeze the bread and keep it til closer to the time.
I also mixed up some softened butter with clover honey. Very tasty on the test loaf, mmmmmmmmmm. yummy.
So today, I decided to make bread with pumpkin and raisins. It is in the second rise now and looks and smells and feels good! I've been having lots of fun. It's a large batch, so I will do the three loaves and a glass bowl and maybe try making some smaller pats, on cookie sheets. Then maybe I'll freeze some so that I can take stuff with me to Christmas dinner and other festivities with my guy's clan.
I just made the loaves and punched the other dough down (it's in the smaller metal bowl). It's looking good! It's a orangey color with raisins studding it nicely. It feels good, nice and elastic and firm without being too gunky. I used some of the wheat gluten, cuz I used the rest of the 50/50 and some regular flour. The main reason I used the gluten tho is because of the amount of pumpkin I used and there is no risibility in pumpkin. I can tell that it will be scrumptious when I dive into the test loaf!
The bread turned out very tasty and very pretty! The little round loaves are about the size of small dinner plates or large saucers. They will make nice Christmas gifts with bags of coffee (I had bought some backs of various sorts of coffee from Leona last week, I'll repackage the coffee into smaller bags and make gift bags for the adults). I'll freeze the bread and keep it til closer to the time.
I also mixed up some softened butter with clover honey. Very tasty on the test loaf, mmmmmmmmmm. yummy.
b'bye LJ's Coffee and Bakery; HELLO BookMart!!
LJ's is closing tomorrow BUT BookMart downtown asked her to come open and manage a coffee shop in their store. He already has plans for Leona to then open and manage and train folks for the BookMart on campus and also longer range plans for Leona to open/manage/train the coffee shop in their BookMart in Oxford. Leona is lots happier cuz the hours are more reasonable, no more 16 hour days. And altho there is still lots to worry about as a manager, slightly less than an owner with less stress. Leona is really looking forward to that! He (BookMart) bought all the equipment from LJ's and so she doesn't have to worry about finding a home or storing that stuff and Leona already has the contacts made with the vendors for the supplies and such, so she is ahead with all that. The opening date for the BookMart coffee shop is slated for mid-January. So, I'll still have a place to hang out for a few hours and I'll know folks and it will feel familiar in some ways.
18 December 2007
skirts
Remember last month's excitement regarding pattern making and skirt sewing? Today and Thursday we are finishing up what we started back then. Or that's the idea, tho I think some of us will need more time yet, or at least we want more time. Actually, most of us were done and only a few of us showed up today. The others have had experience with sewing, and everyone but me had brought their own machines. I used one that they had there. That was cool.
Last month, I was also involved in a purse-making class. The class was cool, but for the woman who was determined to be a bitchy whiner; Joyce was her name and she was not amused. Altho she had said that she would bring her own machine, she decided not to and then got very angry that they didn't have an extra for her. She then got very pissy because I was not moving as fast as she'd like.
Well, today I cringed (oh, horrors!) when I saw her come in to the room, carrying a huge piece of fabric that was folded up. I thought it was a blanket, but no, it was the fabric that she wanted to make her skirt from. Now the amusing thing was that the class today was billed as being a continuation of the skirt making class from last month. Joyce was irate because it was pointed out that she was not in the class last month and so missed the actual pattern making classes.
Joyce got loud, then louder, and finally loudest. This did not endear her at all with the instructor who told her that no, the instructor couldn't just whip up a pattern for Joyce and that no, no one else could do so either. And no, complaining to the supervisor would not help (altho she was welcome to try). Finally, Joyce stomped off, and I swear the tension didn't ebb from the room; it fled in proportion to Joyce's retreat.
Last month, I was also involved in a purse-making class. The class was cool, but for the woman who was determined to be a bitchy whiner; Joyce was her name and she was not amused. Altho she had said that she would bring her own machine, she decided not to and then got very angry that they didn't have an extra for her. She then got very pissy because I was not moving as fast as she'd like.
Well, today I cringed (oh, horrors!) when I saw her come in to the room, carrying a huge piece of fabric that was folded up. I thought it was a blanket, but no, it was the fabric that she wanted to make her skirt from. Now the amusing thing was that the class today was billed as being a continuation of the skirt making class from last month. Joyce was irate because it was pointed out that she was not in the class last month and so missed the actual pattern making classes.
Joyce got loud, then louder, and finally loudest. This did not endear her at all with the instructor who told her that no, the instructor couldn't just whip up a pattern for Joyce and that no, no one else could do so either. And no, complaining to the supervisor would not help (altho she was welcome to try). Finally, Joyce stomped off, and I swear the tension didn't ebb from the room; it fled in proportion to Joyce's retreat.
17 December 2007
Baking Bread, the verdict
This time, I used 50/50 flour (whole wheat/regular white) and I added raisins, dates, and candied fruit mix. The bread is more like a Christmas loaf. It is sweet, but not like a cake. It has a great texture, due to the whole wheat grains. It smelled great while baking.
The three loaves are cooling and the two round loaves in the glass bowls are in the oven now. I've tried one of the small loaves with some butter (testing it, doncha know) and I think it's alright to give a few loaves away. So the finally verdict is in. Very good.
The three loaves are cooling and the two round loaves in the glass bowls are in the oven now. I've tried one of the small loaves with some butter (testing it, doncha know) and I think it's alright to give a few loaves away. So the finally verdict is in. Very good.
baking bread update
The bread feels good, the dough is nice and elastic, while firm and spongy. It looks good, too. My oven holds four loaves, but I only have three pans, so that works well. I still have about half the dough left. So when this batch comes out, I may put in two round loaves placed in glass bowls.
Next up, how does it taste?
Next up, how does it taste?
Baking Bread
Today is the first time I've used the bread bowl and the bread board my mom had given me when she was here visiting last month. It's finally been cool enough to bake during the day, and bread is too much of an involving process to start at night. I'm trying something new this time, and I think it will turn out just fine.
I've already punched it down from the first rising, and it feels good, so maybe I'll give a couple loaves away along with a few Christmas cards. I'm hoping it tastes just as good as it looks right now. I'll let ya know!!
I've already punched it down from the first rising, and it feels good, so maybe I'll give a couple loaves away along with a few Christmas cards. I'm hoping it tastes just as good as it looks right now. I'll let ya know!!
16 December 2007
Inner Snowy
Last year, I was visiting my friend Greta just before Christmas. We always have so much fun, in huge part because she has such a quirky sense of wit that suits me just fine. It's such a delight to be embraced and to be able to embrace.
Greta knows I drink tea so she had a stunning variety that she had acquired just so that I would have a choice. She's wonderful like that. So I was standing in her kitchen, getting a contact high from the myriad of tea blends that were wafting from newly opened boxes, when I saw a very curious oddity.
There, sitting on the sugar canister, was a stuffed snowman, a beanie baby named "Snowy", holding a note and looking for all the world as tho he were reading it. He had a slightly bemused expression, as tho the sticky with Greta's writing brought him as much laughter as she did me. I recognized her pen slashings, yet couldn't read it from my angle, because the note was situated for Snowy's little black shiny button eyes only.
Feeling like the snoop I was, I quickly peeked at the message. "Keep an eye on the house" was Snowy's missive from Greta. A clearing of the throat startled me, and I guiltily backed away from the counter, muttering that the stuffed snowman was sharing his orders with me, honest, he was.
Later that night, I entered my room to get ready for sleep. Perched on my pillow was Snowy, with a new note. This one said, "Watch over Debra". I slept quite soundly under his vigilant eye.
The next morning, as I climbed into my car to leave, Greta handed me my present, saying, "we all need our inner Snowy." It was my very own snowman (a beaning baby named Freezie) sitting inside a Santa mug, both wearing encouraging gleeful grins. Only Greta would give me such an appropriately touching gift.
Freezie oversees my sessions here on the computer, sitting on the bookshelf just to my right. I feel so safe, knowing that he approves, encourages, and applauds my every effort even when no one else does. And he never melts away.
Greta knows I drink tea so she had a stunning variety that she had acquired just so that I would have a choice. She's wonderful like that. So I was standing in her kitchen, getting a contact high from the myriad of tea blends that were wafting from newly opened boxes, when I saw a very curious oddity.
There, sitting on the sugar canister, was a stuffed snowman, a beanie baby named "Snowy", holding a note and looking for all the world as tho he were reading it. He had a slightly bemused expression, as tho the sticky with Greta's writing brought him as much laughter as she did me. I recognized her pen slashings, yet couldn't read it from my angle, because the note was situated for Snowy's little black shiny button eyes only.
Feeling like the snoop I was, I quickly peeked at the message. "Keep an eye on the house" was Snowy's missive from Greta. A clearing of the throat startled me, and I guiltily backed away from the counter, muttering that the stuffed snowman was sharing his orders with me, honest, he was.
Later that night, I entered my room to get ready for sleep. Perched on my pillow was Snowy, with a new note. This one said, "Watch over Debra". I slept quite soundly under his vigilant eye.
The next morning, as I climbed into my car to leave, Greta handed me my present, saying, "we all need our inner Snowy." It was my very own snowman (a beaning baby named Freezie) sitting inside a Santa mug, both wearing encouraging gleeful grins. Only Greta would give me such an appropriately touching gift.
Freezie oversees my sessions here on the computer, sitting on the bookshelf just to my right. I feel so safe, knowing that he approves, encourages, and applauds my every effort even when no one else does. And he never melts away.
15 December 2007
Beider
For the past week, Stray Biter has been increasingly friendly with me (although not with my guy) especially when my Shaddow and Ziggee are indoors. In fact the other day, I went to see my neighbors to take them their Christmas card and also to give Millie (Perry's, my landlord's, mother) an update. She was ecstatic and rushed to give me some wormer meds cuz she thinks that may be why the Stray Biter is so skinny (in spite of everyone feeding him for over six months). She also gave me three months supply of bio-spot (flea/tick treatment and prevention). Then she asked what name I gave him. I said the first thing that came to mind.
Beider.
Besides sounding like "biter" (given the german pronunciation of d's with a harder more definitive sound, like a T), he seems to have been biding his time to get closer to someone. It's a bit of an honor that he chose me, but I think he was apologizing for his very bad biting behavior. Poor form, doncha know.
Millie and I agreed that he most likely is a mix of Australian Shepherd (Aussies originated here, in the US, and not Australia) and black lab. He is actually a smaller framed dog, maybe 40 pounds, with a neat head (wide in the jaw/cheeks, with a shorter snout), mostly a longer black hair coat with a white/dappled chest and socks. Eventually, I may take him to the vet, to be neutered. But I'm not in a real big rush. Imagine trying to get this guy into the car, and then to the vets. shudder.
That'd put a real kink into the tentative friendship we have.
Beider.
Besides sounding like "biter" (given the german pronunciation of d's with a harder more definitive sound, like a T), he seems to have been biding his time to get closer to someone. It's a bit of an honor that he chose me, but I think he was apologizing for his very bad biting behavior. Poor form, doncha know.
Millie and I agreed that he most likely is a mix of Australian Shepherd (Aussies originated here, in the US, and not Australia) and black lab. He is actually a smaller framed dog, maybe 40 pounds, with a neat head (wide in the jaw/cheeks, with a shorter snout), mostly a longer black hair coat with a white/dappled chest and socks. Eventually, I may take him to the vet, to be neutered. But I'm not in a real big rush. Imagine trying to get this guy into the car, and then to the vets. shudder.
That'd put a real kink into the tentative friendship we have.
Happy Birthday, Dad
So after I saw my guy trundle down the road, then I called my dad. Today he finishes his 61st year and starts his 62nd. Seems just last month, he was 45. But since I'm 37, I know that's not possible, now, is it?
Dad told me about his latest activities and next week's appointments at the VA in Fort Smith (Arkansas). He talked about going to get another cord of wood for the upcoming cooler weather and how he was glad that they didn't get nailed with the ice to the north or the sleet to the west, but have only had the rain-slicked roads and muddy yards to mess with. He told me about the special dinner that mom was making for his birthday.
He told me he loves me.
Dad told me about his latest activities and next week's appointments at the VA in Fort Smith (Arkansas). He talked about going to get another cord of wood for the upcoming cooler weather and how he was glad that they didn't get nailed with the ice to the north or the sleet to the west, but have only had the rain-slicked roads and muddy yards to mess with. He told me about the special dinner that mom was making for his birthday.
He told me he loves me.
Goings and Comings
My guy sighed, "guess I can't put it off any longer." So we kissed and hugged and wished each other well, completing our farewell til next I see you rituals. I watched his white truck ramble down the dirt road thru the wet dreary grey day, white exhaust trailing as he turned and dwindled out of sight. Finally, I closed the door and set to rights those lil things that restore order, that's my ritual when he leaves. Tidying up the bathroom, picking up any stray socks or damp towels, gathering shoes to dump by the door, and hanging up the forgotten shirt and khakis that he decided not to wear, instead choosing jeans and a Reed's for the long drive to Augusta, Georgia.
Last week was his first of interviews for internships to start next summer and end the following. Monday is Augusta, then Little Rock, Memphis, Knoxville, Charlotte, and even a site in Maine. There are still five places to hear from yet. The interviews stretch through til the end of January, with Match-Day in February.
It isn't the actual interviews that he is reluctant face, it's the long drive, the travels, the turn-right around and make the next appointment; for his life continues to be crammed with all the other activities. He still counsels clients, writes book chapters, directs the other counselors for the campus counseling center. It isn't even any one thing that is wearing him down, it's all of it piled on and no relief in sight. This semester has been very intense and he hasn't been able to relax, to breathe, for more than the occasional afternoon here, with me. I hate to see him this stressed, this worn out; but we both know that he is at a crucial stage of his career, education, and life in general. And it could be oh so much worse. He could not have any of those things and he could not be so busy. He actually has it pretty good.
And we both know it.
Last week was his first of interviews for internships to start next summer and end the following. Monday is Augusta, then Little Rock, Memphis, Knoxville, Charlotte, and even a site in Maine. There are still five places to hear from yet. The interviews stretch through til the end of January, with Match-Day in February.
It isn't the actual interviews that he is reluctant face, it's the long drive, the travels, the turn-right around and make the next appointment; for his life continues to be crammed with all the other activities. He still counsels clients, writes book chapters, directs the other counselors for the campus counseling center. It isn't even any one thing that is wearing him down, it's all of it piled on and no relief in sight. This semester has been very intense and he hasn't been able to relax, to breathe, for more than the occasional afternoon here, with me. I hate to see him this stressed, this worn out; but we both know that he is at a crucial stage of his career, education, and life in general. And it could be oh so much worse. He could not have any of those things and he could not be so busy. He actually has it pretty good.
And we both know it.
13 December 2007
My Reservation at the Nutcracker Suite
Hello! Welcome to my version of the nutcracker suite, were we are all nuts and crack up whenever possible. C'min 'n' setta spell. You know me, and I love to laugh, especially when it isn't at anyone's expense, not even my own. Cuz my gov'ment check doesn't stretch all that far anyway, rent here is cheap, but not that cheap. And ya know, there's the utilities and the upkeep, like toilet paper and other essentials.
To the right, I have a link to Dooce, a blog I read regularly. Hell, sometimes I browse thru the archives; think of it like that extra dose of fiber that is needed to keep it all flowing smoothly here in the Suite. She often has very cool stuffs and delivers it with a sharp wit, just like I like it.
Today, she wrote of something we all can identify with, either ourselves or someone we know and most often care about. I'd like to send you all there on a field-trip of sorts, so thru the magic of the internet...POOF! here we are! Couldn'ta said it better myself.
But if you are too tired to travel, just plop down on the lovely fold-out-into-an-extra-bed-good-if-you-have-children-and-are-traveling-as-a-family here in my Suite, enjoy the popcorn I've made in the handy-dandy microwave, crack open a root-beer from the mini-fridge or have a cuppa pipin' hot tea I made in their coffepot and take a look-see at an excerpt from Dooce's entry of the day.
"I think many people are afraid that if they take medication or even agree to see a therapist that they are in some way admitting failure or defeat. Or they have been told by their boyfriend or their mother or their best friend that they should buck up and get over it, and that asking for help is a sign of weakness. Well then, let me be weak. Let me be a failure. Because being over here on this side, where I see and think clearly, where I'm happy to greet my child in the morning, where I can logically maneuver my way over tiny obstacles that would have previously been the end of the world, over here being a failure is a hell of a lot more enjoyable than the constant misery of suffering alone."
To the right, I have a link to Dooce, a blog I read regularly. Hell, sometimes I browse thru the archives; think of it like that extra dose of fiber that is needed to keep it all flowing smoothly here in the Suite. She often has very cool stuffs and delivers it with a sharp wit, just like I like it.
Today, she wrote of something we all can identify with, either ourselves or someone we know and most often care about. I'd like to send you all there on a field-trip of sorts, so thru the magic of the internet...POOF! here we are! Couldn'ta said it better myself.
But if you are too tired to travel, just plop down on the lovely fold-out-into-an-extra-bed-good-if-you-have-children-and-are-traveling-as-a-family here in my Suite, enjoy the popcorn I've made in the handy-dandy microwave, crack open a root-beer from the mini-fridge or have a cuppa pipin' hot tea I made in their coffepot and take a look-see at an excerpt from Dooce's entry of the day.
"I think many people are afraid that if they take medication or even agree to see a therapist that they are in some way admitting failure or defeat. Or they have been told by their boyfriend or their mother or their best friend that they should buck up and get over it, and that asking for help is a sign of weakness. Well then, let me be weak. Let me be a failure. Because being over here on this side, where I see and think clearly, where I'm happy to greet my child in the morning, where I can logically maneuver my way over tiny obstacles that would have previously been the end of the world, over here being a failure is a hell of a lot more enjoyable than the constant misery of suffering alone."
12 December 2007
Kenya hear me NOW?
I've been listening to Audio Books lately, while I am crafting away. It's hard to read and knit at the same time. I'm sure you can relate.
Some books are good, some not so. And some readers are awesome, some suck. The ones that I don't care for are overly dramatic and tend to stress the wrong words. Ya know, they put the wrong emPHASis on the wrong sylLABle (as Mike Meyer says). Everything comes out sounding like Jim Carrey impersonating Wm Shatner.
But the right book with the right reader is so worth the listening. Almost makes me forget that I'm regretting not reading it. Almost.
Some books are good, some not so. And some readers are awesome, some suck. The ones that I don't care for are overly dramatic and tend to stress the wrong words. Ya know, they put the wrong emPHASis on the wrong sylLABle (as Mike Meyer says). Everything comes out sounding like Jim Carrey impersonating Wm Shatner.
But the right book with the right reader is so worth the listening. Almost makes me forget that I'm regretting not reading it. Almost.
11 December 2007
knit wit
right now, in mississippi, we are having some very unseasonable hot and humid weather. for this last week, for this next week, the daily temps are about 80 degrees and the nightly temps are not much cooler. the far off forecast shows cooler temps in about ten days. not only is it to cool off, it is to be downright cold. ach, such extremes. not good. jawohl, what can you do?
so just in time for christmas, all those hats and scarves i've been making will be appreciated.
so just in time for christmas, all those hats and scarves i've been making will be appreciated.
well, i'll be...
Friday, a stray dog that has been hanging around the farm for at least six months, if not longer, bit me. I was pissed and hit him over the head with the same hand he had just bit. Damn dog.
I called the animal shelter, but since I live in the county, they couldn't send the dog-catcher by. If I called the sheriff, they'd come out and shoot him dead. DeLisa (who IS the animal shelter and the humane society along with her husband Glenn) suggested I call down to my landlord's parents (Millie his mom did the books for the animal shelter for years) as they are huge animal (esp dogs) saviors. So I called Millie to see if she had any advice. She said that they were trying to catch the dog to give him flea/tick treatment and maybe get him fixed. She suggested I keep him penned in my yard and then call my landlord (her son) when he got home from work. So I take myself to the gp, get my tetanus shot. I also am up on the info on rabies and know that it is very rare for a dog to carry it (even if it is a stray, even if it is out here on the farm and not an indoor dog). And since I've been acquainted with Stray Biter for many months, and he is not exhibiting the signs of rabies, I wasn't worried about neurological damage from his bite (besides, what's a tad bit of neurological damage added to the resident nut anyway?).
When I got back, I go see my landlord. He's already heard that I've been bitten and has a bug up his ass before I even open my mouth. Then he really doesn't like what I have to say, which is that if he wants to catch the dog, he is in my yard. If not, fine, I'll put him down (shoot him). Perry assumes his best condescending lord of all he surveys and proceeds to ream me out, including a line of how it isn't fair to the dog.
That may be so, however, I've always heard that once a dog goes bad and bites unprovoked, then it needs to go down cuz he's not predictable within reason. And ya know what folks? I do ask my landlords to help me with things, but I think that nothing I have asked has ever been unreasonable (indeed some are landlord duties like replacing a bathroom floor before I step out of the shower and fall thru it) and some has been outlandish, but Lisa has always had the option of saying, "no" and not only hasn't she done so, but she has also reassured me several times when I think that perhaps I am asking too much (like feeding the dogs for me while I go out of town).
So Perry goes off on me, yells at his son who ventures outside to see what the yelling is about to go back inside (this doesn't concern you), and I think (I don't KNOW this for a fact cuz I wasn't there to witness it) that he also instructs his wife to not have anything to do with me (to do me any favors). I let him have his say, and tell him I will do as he wished (which was to let the dog go about his business...my guy had to chase him out of my yard, cuz he wouldn't leave just cuz the gate was open). Later that evening, I had something I wanted to remind Lisa that Leona is closing LJ's and to let her mother know (Lisa's mom is the co-queen for a local chapter of the red hat society that meets at LJ's monthly) cuz we are friends and speak of other things besides renter/rentee things. So when Lisa came to the phone, I said that I was leaving town for a few days, can she take care of the dogs? Then I quickly assured her that I was kidding, esp when she hesitated (usually she says oh sure, no problem). We chatted and it was pleasant.
Then tonight, because I have been showing Lisa stuff about crochet, I stopped down to demonstrate the knitting loom (since I knew that she was going to be working on making palm trees for a christmas show). We chatted while she scrunched up bags and hot glued them to the trunks and the kids made costumes and I loomed, explaining the general steps and why I did what I was doing when I did it. People always understand better when they know the why-fers behind it. Lisa also appreciates hands-on thru the stages, and really, what person doesn't?
I did make a comment for her to remind me to tell Perry that he needs to repair a window pane cuz I tossed a project out the window when I got frustrated with it. She drew her breath in sharply and I reassured her that I was kidding. I wouldn't waste yarn that way.
Because sometimes I know I can let my paranoia stray too far from the healthy range into where the bitter grass grows, I almost convinced myself that Perry was over his snit-fit. Uhm, no. When he and his son got back from scouts, he stormed in the living room and glared at me and then stormed into his bedroom and changed. Then he stormed back and glared at Lisa. I had greeted him when he first came in, and was laughing along with Lisa and the kids when I did so. I looked at Lisa when he was glaring at her and she seemed fine, relaxed, laughing, and he just kept on glaring at her. Then he stomped off and that was that, for then.
Ok, that's a lot of he saids and she saids then I said and then we did and then he did and what I meant was and I thought this that and the other. And I think I went around the moon to explain the cheese. I wanted to give you an idea of why I was and am thinking what I am and did. Make sense to you? Makes sense to me (but then it would cuz I'm writing it and telling it my way and I'm biased).
When I left, Lisa thanked me muchly and sincerely and I didn't feel that we were strained at all. I drove home and Shaddow bolted out the gate when I came into the yard. I usually am not wild about her roaming, but don't usually worry about it. But with Perry in the mood he has been in, I really don't need another tick on my score card (Shaddow's being loose was bitched about, altho all the dogs out here roam and the only ones that are sometimes contained are mine). So after a few hours, I went out to see if Shaddow was around yet.
Here's the thing, the whole reason for this incredibly long and rambling entry: the Stray Biter dude? He came up to me, tail between legs, head down, and then nudged me gently. Then he licked the hand that he bit. Then he sat on my foot and leaned on me, looking up with those big ol brown puppy-dog eyes and lifted his paw just a tad. So I sat on my steps and let him come up and scratched him and petted him and talked to him and picked off the ticks and he let me do all that and didn't tense up not once, even with the tick-pulling stuff. And no one, but no one, out here on the farm has been able to touch him, let alone give him a pet-down.
huh, i'll be.
I called the animal shelter, but since I live in the county, they couldn't send the dog-catcher by. If I called the sheriff, they'd come out and shoot him dead. DeLisa (who IS the animal shelter and the humane society along with her husband Glenn) suggested I call down to my landlord's parents (Millie his mom did the books for the animal shelter for years) as they are huge animal (esp dogs) saviors. So I called Millie to see if she had any advice. She said that they were trying to catch the dog to give him flea/tick treatment and maybe get him fixed. She suggested I keep him penned in my yard and then call my landlord (her son) when he got home from work. So I take myself to the gp, get my tetanus shot. I also am up on the info on rabies and know that it is very rare for a dog to carry it (even if it is a stray, even if it is out here on the farm and not an indoor dog). And since I've been acquainted with Stray Biter for many months, and he is not exhibiting the signs of rabies, I wasn't worried about neurological damage from his bite (besides, what's a tad bit of neurological damage added to the resident nut anyway?).
When I got back, I go see my landlord. He's already heard that I've been bitten and has a bug up his ass before I even open my mouth. Then he really doesn't like what I have to say, which is that if he wants to catch the dog, he is in my yard. If not, fine, I'll put him down (shoot him). Perry assumes his best condescending lord of all he surveys and proceeds to ream me out, including a line of how it isn't fair to the dog.
That may be so, however, I've always heard that once a dog goes bad and bites unprovoked, then it needs to go down cuz he's not predictable within reason. And ya know what folks? I do ask my landlords to help me with things, but I think that nothing I have asked has ever been unreasonable (indeed some are landlord duties like replacing a bathroom floor before I step out of the shower and fall thru it) and some has been outlandish, but Lisa has always had the option of saying, "no" and not only hasn't she done so, but she has also reassured me several times when I think that perhaps I am asking too much (like feeding the dogs for me while I go out of town).
So Perry goes off on me, yells at his son who ventures outside to see what the yelling is about to go back inside (this doesn't concern you), and I think (I don't KNOW this for a fact cuz I wasn't there to witness it) that he also instructs his wife to not have anything to do with me (to do me any favors). I let him have his say, and tell him I will do as he wished (which was to let the dog go about his business...my guy had to chase him out of my yard, cuz he wouldn't leave just cuz the gate was open). Later that evening, I had something I wanted to remind Lisa that Leona is closing LJ's and to let her mother know (Lisa's mom is the co-queen for a local chapter of the red hat society that meets at LJ's monthly) cuz we are friends and speak of other things besides renter/rentee things. So when Lisa came to the phone, I said that I was leaving town for a few days, can she take care of the dogs? Then I quickly assured her that I was kidding, esp when she hesitated (usually she says oh sure, no problem). We chatted and it was pleasant.
Then tonight, because I have been showing Lisa stuff about crochet, I stopped down to demonstrate the knitting loom (since I knew that she was going to be working on making palm trees for a christmas show). We chatted while she scrunched up bags and hot glued them to the trunks and the kids made costumes and I loomed, explaining the general steps and why I did what I was doing when I did it. People always understand better when they know the why-fers behind it. Lisa also appreciates hands-on thru the stages, and really, what person doesn't?
I did make a comment for her to remind me to tell Perry that he needs to repair a window pane cuz I tossed a project out the window when I got frustrated with it. She drew her breath in sharply and I reassured her that I was kidding. I wouldn't waste yarn that way.
Because sometimes I know I can let my paranoia stray too far from the healthy range into where the bitter grass grows, I almost convinced myself that Perry was over his snit-fit. Uhm, no. When he and his son got back from scouts, he stormed in the living room and glared at me and then stormed into his bedroom and changed. Then he stormed back and glared at Lisa. I had greeted him when he first came in, and was laughing along with Lisa and the kids when I did so. I looked at Lisa when he was glaring at her and she seemed fine, relaxed, laughing, and he just kept on glaring at her. Then he stomped off and that was that, for then.
Ok, that's a lot of he saids and she saids then I said and then we did and then he did and what I meant was and I thought this that and the other. And I think I went around the moon to explain the cheese. I wanted to give you an idea of why I was and am thinking what I am and did. Make sense to you? Makes sense to me (but then it would cuz I'm writing it and telling it my way and I'm biased).
When I left, Lisa thanked me muchly and sincerely and I didn't feel that we were strained at all. I drove home and Shaddow bolted out the gate when I came into the yard. I usually am not wild about her roaming, but don't usually worry about it. But with Perry in the mood he has been in, I really don't need another tick on my score card (Shaddow's being loose was bitched about, altho all the dogs out here roam and the only ones that are sometimes contained are mine). So after a few hours, I went out to see if Shaddow was around yet.
Here's the thing, the whole reason for this incredibly long and rambling entry: the Stray Biter dude? He came up to me, tail between legs, head down, and then nudged me gently. Then he licked the hand that he bit. Then he sat on my foot and leaned on me, looking up with those big ol brown puppy-dog eyes and lifted his paw just a tad. So I sat on my steps and let him come up and scratched him and petted him and talked to him and picked off the ticks and he let me do all that and didn't tense up not once, even with the tick-pulling stuff. And no one, but no one, out here on the farm has been able to touch him, let alone give him a pet-down.
huh, i'll be.
09 December 2007
The Way the Cookie Crumbles
Oh, horrors! It was bound to happen sometime, and frankly, I am surprised it hasn't happened sooner. But it is still such a disappointment. A cringing erk moment which has now become intense scrutiny of replayed actions and what did i do wrong and how do i fix it. Worrisome, it is, downright worrisome.
I've been baking cookies for over thirty years, and yesterday was the first time that a batch was horrible and didn't improve. The first sheet I retrieved from the oven brought tears to my eyes. All the cookies were melted into one big burnt edges with raw center mess. I adjust the temperature of the oven and made sure that i had mixed the dough thoroughly. Then, I tried again. The second sheet was slightly better, at least they baked evenly, no burnt edges and raw centers. But the sheet looked like a topographical map with lumps and bumps and deep ravines and bare spots and clumps dotting the landscape. So, I checked the dough again. And the third sheet was an improvement, but not much of one. The cookies crumbled and were very dry and didn't taste right at all.
So I covered the rest of the dough, stuck it in the fridge, shut down the oven and the kitchen, and called it a night. I may attempt it again tonight. I probably need to add flour and an egg. I've never ever had problems with an entire batch of cookies.
First time for everything.
I've been baking cookies for over thirty years, and yesterday was the first time that a batch was horrible and didn't improve. The first sheet I retrieved from the oven brought tears to my eyes. All the cookies were melted into one big burnt edges with raw center mess. I adjust the temperature of the oven and made sure that i had mixed the dough thoroughly. Then, I tried again. The second sheet was slightly better, at least they baked evenly, no burnt edges and raw centers. But the sheet looked like a topographical map with lumps and bumps and deep ravines and bare spots and clumps dotting the landscape. So, I checked the dough again. And the third sheet was an improvement, but not much of one. The cookies crumbled and were very dry and didn't taste right at all.
So I covered the rest of the dough, stuck it in the fridge, shut down the oven and the kitchen, and called it a night. I may attempt it again tonight. I probably need to add flour and an egg. I've never ever had problems with an entire batch of cookies.
First time for everything.
08 December 2007
Lillian's Last Project
You may remember that I had written about Mr. Charlie a few months ago. Earlier this week, I entered LJ's Coffee and Bakery to find Mr. Charlie already seated waiting for me. Leona is closing LJ's in less than two weeks, and we are all sorry to see the end of the business but we all have made lasting friendships and have been talking about where we can still meet up. Mr. Charlie often drives to town specifically so that he can come to LJ's and chat with all the regulars.
So the other day, Mr. Charlie waves me over and asks me if I do needlepoint. He was searching for a postage stamp last week and opened the center drawer on his wife's desk. The last project she was working on when she had died was tucked away there, needlepoint canvas from Portugal featuring two lovely ladies in all their finery. Mr. Charlie said that he thought of me straight off and I was so deeply touched that he would do so.
This afternoon, Mr. Charlie brought me a small bag and wiped his eyes quickly as he handed the needlepoint canvas with Lillian's needle pinned into place as though she set the work down only a few minutes ago while she fixed dinner for her husband. I thanked him so much so that he grew rosy and pleased. Theirs was truly a fascinating relationship that I am slowly uncovering, as Mr. Charlie feels fit to share, at his own pace, in his own way.
The cold medicine has kicked in and now is not the time to tell their tale. But one day, I will. Hopefully, it will be sooner rather than later.
So the other day, Mr. Charlie waves me over and asks me if I do needlepoint. He was searching for a postage stamp last week and opened the center drawer on his wife's desk. The last project she was working on when she had died was tucked away there, needlepoint canvas from Portugal featuring two lovely ladies in all their finery. Mr. Charlie said that he thought of me straight off and I was so deeply touched that he would do so.
This afternoon, Mr. Charlie brought me a small bag and wiped his eyes quickly as he handed the needlepoint canvas with Lillian's needle pinned into place as though she set the work down only a few minutes ago while she fixed dinner for her husband. I thanked him so much so that he grew rosy and pleased. Theirs was truly a fascinating relationship that I am slowly uncovering, as Mr. Charlie feels fit to share, at his own pace, in his own way.
The cold medicine has kicked in and now is not the time to tell their tale. But one day, I will. Hopefully, it will be sooner rather than later.
'snot fun (pout)
a few nights ago, i started to experience an increase in post-nasal drainage, which irritates my throat and ears something awful. i also had the chills and a fever (sounds fluish, but i had the flu shot). fortunately, i didn't have the body aches and since i was in the gp's office yesterday to get the tetanus shot, i asked about the ear/nose/throat stuffs. she thinks that something is triggering my allergies more so than my antihistamine can handle and not to worry. last night, i drank jasmine tea til my molars floated and my throat felt much better, while i was drinking that is. this morning, nothing is draining as it should so i have these big ole tears accumulating in my eyes (cuz the tear duct is clogged).
snot fun, no it's not.
snot fun, no it's not.
07 December 2007
Labors of Love
If any of you have been wondering what in the world I've been doing cuz I've certainly not been posting much original material, drawings, sketches, good solid witty entries; then let me show you an example of my latest endeavors:
Behold! The knit hat! It fits an apple quite well. Or the head of my guy's six pound niece. She is tiny. Not premature, but lil. Course then she comes from a family of lil people. On her mom's side at least.
This hat is so cute that I almost left the drawstring dangling from the top and made it into a Christmas tree ornament. And if she wants, when she gets bigger, she can put it on her dolly. If she has a dolly, cuz some lil girls don't do the dolly thing.
And that's okey.
(on a totally different line of thought: i got bit by a stray dog today (so went to get a tetanus shot, no biggie). the thing is that this dog has been around the farm for over six months and has not been an overly friendly dog but has never given me problems, til it bit the hand that feeds. My daddy always said (ala roseanne roseanna danna) that once a dog goes bad, ya gots to put it down. but for some loftily principled reason ("it isn't fair to the dog, debra"), my landlord spoke for it, and that's just fine. til it bites one of his kids. cuz it's all fun and games til someone important gets hurt.)
Behold! The knit hat! It fits an apple quite well. Or the head of my guy's six pound niece. She is tiny. Not premature, but lil. Course then she comes from a family of lil people. On her mom's side at least.
This hat is so cute that I almost left the drawstring dangling from the top and made it into a Christmas tree ornament. And if she wants, when she gets bigger, she can put it on her dolly. If she has a dolly, cuz some lil girls don't do the dolly thing.
And that's okey.
(on a totally different line of thought: i got bit by a stray dog today (so went to get a tetanus shot, no biggie). the thing is that this dog has been around the farm for over six months and has not been an overly friendly dog but has never given me problems, til it bit the hand that feeds. My daddy always said (ala roseanne roseanna danna) that once a dog goes bad, ya gots to put it down. but for some loftily principled reason ("it isn't fair to the dog, debra"), my landlord spoke for it, and that's just fine. til it bites one of his kids. cuz it's all fun and games til someone important gets hurt.)
05 December 2007
Gorey Dogs
Earlier this evening, I went into the closet to retrieve the God's Eyes that I had made several years ago so that I can use them for gift tags for this Christmas when I found the boxes of yuletide holiday greetings that I purchased in January on clearance at Barnes & Nobles. So I have 54 of these:
which would normally cost $42, but which I purchased for $3.00 (cuz I thrift and nifty like that). I love the elegant simplicity of the winter pirouette by Doug Garrabrants with the all encompassing message of "wishing you a happy holiday season".
I also added a box of Edward Gorey's Yule Dogs to my acquisitions for a buck. There are four different choices, as pictured below. Guess which is my fav! I adore Gorey's work as seen at this site. Check it!
which would normally cost $42, but which I purchased for $3.00 (cuz I thrift and nifty like that). I love the elegant simplicity of the winter pirouette by Doug Garrabrants with the all encompassing message of "wishing you a happy holiday season".I also added a box of Edward Gorey's Yule Dogs to my acquisitions for a buck. There are four different choices, as pictured below. Guess which is my fav! I adore Gorey's work as seen at this site. Check it!
04 December 2007
Personal Lubricant
Since I was so frank a few entries back, I thought I'd share my frustrations some more and also solicit advice (feel free to advise, suggest, comment, lament, observe, critique, moan, groan, whine, bitch, or sniff snottily). For a very long time, I had lots of sinus problems and as a consequence had no idea what chicken tasted like (turns out it tastes suspiciously like chicken) til I was 16. It also meant that I didn't have a sense of smell (Siella's or my own) for quite some time. Now, however, I am very sensitive about scents and like some but find others extremely disturbing, nauseating, and repulsive. Unfortunately, KY Jelly (and the generic house-brand equate personal lubricant) has a strongly off-putting smell that defeats the purpose of using the squishy slick slimy stuff in the first place. Baby Oil (and other mineral by-products of that ilk) when used in high friction situations acts as an exfoliant of sorts with little weird curds that also seem to defeat the purpose of using the stuff in the first place. It's hard to feel uninhibited when experiencing distasteful detractions like offal odors and pasty residue. Decidedly unsexy. AstroGlide is wonderful stuff, but it too has a lingering odor that I not only detect, but detest.
So, I'm open to input regarding suitably sensual personal lubricant. Let the shock and awe commence.
So, I'm open to input regarding suitably sensual personal lubricant. Let the shock and awe commence.
cho's
the dishes are washed, dried, and put up. the laundry is swishing around in the washer. the knitting looms are full. cho's are coming along quite well.
i've cleared the table and set up my colored pencils and pads and am almost ready to draw a few things. winks.
i've cleared the table and set up my colored pencils and pads and am almost ready to draw a few things. winks.
03 December 2007
( )<--me drawing a blank
I hate when I draw blanks ( ) <----me, drawing a blank. But I seem to be doing lots of that lately. As Russ would advise, time to draw an octopus.
02 December 2007
Interviews
My guy has several interviews lined up over the next few weeks. He has been fitted for a new suit and is having a blazer altered. He also bought new dress shoes and a very nice tie. New slacks have also been added to the wardrobe. He has always been a sharply dressed man with good taste and sense of colors and styles. He always looks better than I do, and I think that that is just fine. Particularly since he is the professional and I am not. When we do want to step out, we do make a striking couple.
There is an interview in Little Rock, Arkansas in several weeks. This week, there is an interview here in Mississippi. Next week, there is an interview in Augusta, Georgia. I am certain there will be more scheduled over the next month. I wish him all the warm wishes in the world.
There is an interview in Little Rock, Arkansas in several weeks. This week, there is an interview here in Mississippi. Next week, there is an interview in Augusta, Georgia. I am certain there will be more scheduled over the next month. I wish him all the warm wishes in the world.
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