Rated: 18+ · Book · Inspirational · #1201980
Coffee and ideas bouncing off the walls.
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Grab a cuppa Joe and fall into a seat. Here you may find the latest news, a bit of gossip, a rant, or a movie review. You'll definitely see what makes me tick.
|The Review Ghouls have been crowned and lauded, and I can rest. A lot of fun, but a lot of work, and a true learning experience.
I can't believe I fooled anyone, but it seems I did--even without a costume!
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And now, I will hibernate the remainder of the week. Keeping up the charade for four days really wore me out, especially when I'm a horrible liar!
|How about a slice of cake, courtesy of Marlena?
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Today is my birthday
I stay outside the hall
Inside sit the butterflies
For the butterfly ball
Via virtual dice corresponding to post number in:
13 –c.r.stone 25,000 gps or combination of badge/awardicon/gps
37 - ShellySunshine 15,000 gps or combination of badge or award/gps
32 - - Feywriter - 10,000 gps or meritbadge or awardicon
43 - Puditat - merit badge or 10,000 gps
8 – wiggy - merit badge or 10,000 gps
And the winner of my blog birthday raffle is:
1 - Anyea - 10k gps or merit badge or awardicon!
I'll be sending out emails shortly. Thanks to all for making Marlena smile and laugh!
|I bet by now you've guessed that "Happy Birthday to Me" was a big ruse--a cover for a message forum to make Marlena laugh.
And, when she asked about the secret, I had to tell her to go review a newbie, and I'd give raffle tickets, and enter her name in the pot. But of course, what does she do? True to her sweet nature, she asked me to give them away to someone else. And that is why we love her so much.
However, I am still giving away a few juicy prizes tomorrow. It's the least I can do for two incredible years at WDC.
Will you win?
| Tell all the Truth but tell it slant
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant---
Success in Cirrcuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightening to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind---
That is my review strategy. I try to be gentle with my criticism. I've never claimed to have all the answers, that's why they're called "suggestions" instead of "errors".
To tell the honest, no-hold bars truth, I'm getting sick of reviewing. People don't appreciate an opinion. They want you to kiss their ass.
And I'm not doing it anymore. Maybe today I was more harsh than usual, but so what? I've got the right to say whatever I want.
Sometimes, what I want to say is:
You wouldn't know how to write a poem even if you channeled Shakespeare.
Since when is a dude eating ice cream a plot?
Now I see why some people only review from forums. You don't like my review? Tell me to my face--don't make assumptions about how smart blue cases are supposed to be, or insinuate I don't know what I'm talking about. I may not be an ace at poetry, but I ain't stupid. Yes, ain't.
I know enough to have an opinion. I either like it or don't, but I don't have to justify it to anyone except the writer. I'm open to discussion. I'll even initiate it.
I can see some people would rather bitch than educate, and that's okay too.
|And I'm not telling!
Here's a hint: my site birthday is coming up. I don't want merit badges or whatever. In fact, I'm going to give stuff away! Will it be gps? Sigs? Awardicons? Email me, and if you're nice, I'll put your name in the pot.
There is a catch--there's always a catch. I promise it won't cost any gps, though!
|What a challenge! One hundred words with no repeats? Still, a lot of fun.
|The last few days have convinced me that mentors are real people. They are just more giving than the average resident of planet earth.
Went to visit my bud MaryLou , which led me to the blog of Pia Veleno , where I found a poet/teacher who makes sense and humor. I think I'm in love. I absolutely had not frittered away enough time watching videos today, ya know?
My favorite of his performance pieces is this:
I mean, there's no way I'd work at a job for 25 years and be satisfied with 60K. I couldn't handle 21 six year olds or 15 eighth graders in the first place. Where's the gratitude, people? Everything I ever learned about learning was taught to me by a teacher. They should be paid more than entertainers for giving our kids a solid foundation.
Those who can, do. Those who teach make sure you can do.
|I keep forgetting to post this. Until now.
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|In case there was any doubt of my insanity, here's more proof.
As you may know, I'm fond of cats. Dogs--not so much. For one thing, I'm allergic to them. Not Claritin allergic, but throat-closing, go to the ER for an adrenaline shot allergic. For another, they are messy, stinky, overly-affectionate creatures who lick your face after licking themselves. Individually, I like them fine. But like grandkids, it's always nice to give them back when you've had enough.
But cats--cats are tiny babies. Maybe not helpless, but they look helpless. They take care of themselves. As long as they have water and food, they do their own thang, wash themselves, and don't tear through your house, destroying everything they leap upon. (Except maybe scratching the couch. I've tried aluminum foil, special spray, everything. I can't stand there with a water gun all day, ya know.)
The first cat I accumulated, Kali, was abandoned by her mother. The vet said she wouldn't live a month--to put her down. She lived 10 years with never another respiratory infection.
My favorite kitten, Kuan Yin, got hit by a car when she was only a year old. I didn't have the heart to put her down, so for 6 years I expressed her bladder several times a day. It really wasn't that big a deal; the only time we had problems was when I had to be away for more than 6 hours. I know, I know, it's crazy. But if you'd known her, that manx would have stolen your heart too.
God has a special plan for me. I tend to accumulate special needs pets. Tiny was 17 years old, and had every disease and disorder imaginable, including only three teeth. He was on his ninth life when I liberated him from the cold stoop outside my parents' house. He lived the last three years inside, in luxury.
Susu (meaning "milk" in Indonesian) was a "Christmas present" from my neice. I didn't need any more cats, but I couldn't say no. She had one green eye and one blue eye, and allowed Doodle to pull her tail without scratching. While she had all her shots, I didn't know she had feline aids until it was too late.
When Susu died, we got a companion for Kuan Yin. Brianna lived at the pound for a year--no one wanted her. She's got a heart murmur, which isn't unusual for a calico. She's also got the calico temperament--a total bitch. But we love her anyway. It took a while, but about the time they became buddies--sleeping together and playing together--Kuan Yin died. I resolved not to get any more cats!
And then my nephew moved in. The dog had to go--she destroyed my backyard and my basement as well as being an ear-splitting nuisance. Instead we got Sugar, a white cat. Unlike Susu, this one is deaf. But he isn't dumb--you can hear his cries in the next town. It has taken some getting used to, as he's used to being outdoors. How in the world do you call a deaf cat to come home? How do you communicate?
I found out, quite by accident, that he can hear high pitches. I whistled one day, and his head whipped toward me. The trick is to teach him to come when he hears that whistle--that one note my vocal chords are capable of emitting--if he can hear it from more than two feet away, which we don't know. And I'm not crazy enough to pay big bucks to test his hearing.
So I'm trying to teach him sign language.
Is it any different than using hand signals to tell a dog to sit or lie? I think not. My first cat, Kali, followed my commands. I mean, she did what I asked because she knew there was a treat in the future. Plus, she could hear.
I know it's going to be hard, but he already goes to the door when I make the sign "out". He jumps in my lap, like all cats, when I wiggle my fingers. The poor thing is so lonely since Allen left. He tries to snuggle up to Brianna, shows his belly, sniffs her. She's not interested in a boyfriend; she's an independent woman. I just want Sugar to know that even if his own kind snub him, someone cares.
Nothing I can do about a bleeding heart but use it, or lose it. If that makes me crazy, it also makes me happy. As do the purrs of contented kitties.
|Those cheeky groves are unleaving right in my backyard! The nerve!
I force myself to be mad at Autumn--that keeps the sadness at bay. At the end of summer, meloncholy follows me everywhere I go, weighing down each step. The seasons are my friends; I know each of them intimately. Spring is my favorite--she puts the pep in my step, an eagerness to start fresh.
But Autumn is my second favorite, even though she makes me cry. As a child I eagerly awaited the start of school for some mental stimulation. But then, standing at the bus stop, the crows cawed my name (K.A.W.) to catch my attention. Then the leaves scuttled over my feet to remind me of impermance. Finally, wind tousled my hair in a gesture of goodbye. They were polite, understanding, but they weren't sad at all. Nature is true to itself, turning and swirling to it's own rhythm. It is prepared to turn the wheel, accepting of its fate.
Humans, however, take it entirely too personally. We fight it, begging Summer to stay so we can squeeze in one more swim, one more picnic, one more crop of tomatoes. But really, he's just doing his job. Changes make us nervous, especially me. My connection with the elements is a blessing and a curse.
And when Autumn comes, I step inside a giant metaphor for the end of my own existence. Facing it each year is hard, but one day perhaps I'll accept it and embrace it. Until then, all I can do is let out my emotions and honor the circles of life with the only thing that turns chaos to order--writing.
Are you grieving? Or are you excited about Halloween, Thanksgiving, and apple picking? Either way, every day, WRITE.
|I asked Doodle how her first day of kindergarten went. She remembered an art project, two recesses, and lunch. She couldn't remember what they learned.
But more importantly, she found a "best friend", whose name she could also not remember.
Day two she remembers his name--Tony. Tony was upgraded to Boyfriend 1.0. They sit together, even at lunch; play together; and, I learned, kiss and hug.
Um, yeah. Talk about starting young! Immediately my mind was flooded with images of a teen screaming in labor. I knew we'd have to lock her in her room at 13, but maybe for her 6th birthday she'll get the chastity belt.
I told her maybe they should date other people. I mean, keep your options open, right? She rolled her eyes and said, "MOM! You're outta control. We love each other and we're getting married."
I'M out of control??? I hope she heard that from the teacher and not "Tickle Me Tony" but I have my doubts.
So WHAT that at the end of seventh grade, when the teacher was handing out gag gifts to the class, I got a notebook to keep track of my boyfriends. It's not like I lost my virginity early or anything. It's not like a good looking man makes my heart flutter and wish I were 20 years younger.
But not my kid. I'm taking away Cinderella, The Little Mermaid, and any other cartoon featuring weddings. And I'll give them back when she gets her PhD--still single.
Three more gray hairs today. I'll be slinging silver locks before she hits first grade. Ain't kids a joy?
|I woke up with crusty eyes and an aching body this morning. My limbs are heavy, like I'm underwater. I forgot how much like work work is. I'm getting too old for manual labor, especially since the heaviest thing I lift as a housewife is a vaccuum cleaner.
I hope A finds an employee soon--he's been talking to a few dudes but hasn't found the right person. I wouldn't mind the work, although my house is a disaster area, it's just that Doodle gets bored playing by herself. And it's hard to keep an eye on her when I'm hefting boards and sawing them.
She's such a good kid--she barely whined at all yesterday. She even handed us pickets for almost an hour, which is a decent attention span for a little one. I got paid in trade--he's customizing Doodle's closet. She got paid in happy meals and milkshakes. Plus, the homeowner had a go-cart with pedals going unused, and she gave it to Doodle. Talk about a kid who thinks she's all that now!
As a reward I'm taking her to Toys R Us and letting her pick out whatever she wants (under fifty bucks!)
It's humbling to realize how much time I waste each day when I'm at home. I got back last night around 9, noted the unswept porch and dirty dishes, and promptly sat on the patio and erased them from my mind. It's been eight years since I had to work and then come home and work some more. Then, it wasn't a big deal--although my job was classified "physically challenging", the biggest workout I got was lifting a trunk lid--typing an estimate on a computer is gravy.
A says he'll hire me if I want the job, but why would I work for 8 dollars an hour when I could make three times that for a tenth of the work? I'm only doing him a favor; not interested in becoming a carpenter, although I have a renewed respect for contractors and their scheduling difficulties.
Do I even want to go back to work? If I do, the book will never get finished. I know it in my heart. I can't write in 15 minutes spurts; I need several hours. Of course it all comes down to how bad I want it--and it isn't finished yet so--not bad enough.
The weekend sure is a beautiful thing, isn't it? Enjoy!
Is there anyone who
Ever remembers changing their mind from
The paint on a sign?
Is there anyone who really recalls
Ever breaking rank at all
For something someone yelled real loud one time
In how they think it ought to be
And they're not going easily
Belief is a beautiful armor
But makes for the heaviest sword
Like punching under water
You never can hit who you're trying for
Some need the exhibition
And some have to know they tried
It's the chemical weapon
For the war that's raging on inside
From emptiness to everything
And no ones going quietly
We're never gonna win the world
We're never gonna stop the war
We're never gonna beat this
If belief is what we're fighting for
What puts a hundred thousand children in the sand
What puts the folded flag inside his mother's hand
Even when you feel like dog poop, you get bored. I finally finished the last Harry Potter book. The plot was wonderfully complex and interesting. I'm not a fan of her writing--too many colons where periods would suffice; too many "that"s and "ands" for clean prose in my book. (Haha) Still, it entertained me for an entire day. I wish I had a quarter of her incredible imagination.
I also listened to a lot of music and watched the leaves dance on the trees while I felt sorry for myself for being sick again. I got this one stuck in my head, and three days later I still can't shake it loose. That means I'm not completely well, or my brain wouldn't be gellid and impressionable, so no reviewing yet.
Here's a video if you'd like to see an incredibly gifted young lyrical genius working a guitar riff like there's no tomorrow:
I bought his live album for my Ipod--lots of bluesy stuff and covers--he does both Tom Petty and Stevie Ray Vaughan better than they do themselves. I don't want to blow his supersecret alter ego cover, but I think Mr. Mayer is actually a mockingbird.
|I have a T-shirt from New Mexico that says "My life's in ruins."
It fits perfectly at the moment.
I need to get a million things straight and I can't do any of them sitting behind a computer screen. Few weeks, few months, who knows when I'll be back to reviewing? I'm thinking of my friends here but I just don't have the energy at the moment to do anything except tell you that.
|Been thinking a lot about my past lately. Inspired by Scarlett and Nada, I'm going to write about my experiences as a young adult. The difference is, the stories will be hidden in fiction.
Why? For one, all the people are still alive. I don't want to accidentally out anyone's lax morals. For another, my college days aren't quite exciting enough to be a story without a certain amount of embellishment. There's a kernel of truth there; it's just the particulars that are boring. I'll fill in the gaps with old fashioned lies.
That should keep the ex off my back. I think Damion would be a fitting name for the SOB.
Have a lovely Sunday and a productive week!
|If fear is the mind killer, humidity must run a close second.
Not that hot this afternoon, but it almost hurts to breathe these days. We got back from the lake on one of the worst days of the year, and the contrast with the lake weather was humbling. I had almost forgotten the humidity and mosquitoes we left behind, but they ran up to embrace me as I exited the van.
Today is a lazy day. We got into the frosty-fruity summer beverages two nights in a row, and my body does not love me for it. The aches that left last night for a few hours are doing double duty to make up their pain quota.
And what the hell was I thinking, getting on a roller coaster? We sat down to have a break from the sun at King's Dominion and I read the fine print (also known as COMMON SENSE!) that said "do not ride if you have glaucoma, blah blah, disorders of the bones or joints..."
Gee...maybe I shouldn't have ridden the one that snaps your neck sideways, eh?
Dumbass. Two days later I'm pissed at my local dealer at CVS for being out of those chemical heat wraps. And wishing I was married to a chiropractor.
And then the Green Goddess intervened. No, not the Green Fairy you drink, but Tara. My friend, SkinnyG, is a devotee. For no reason, he sent me, get this--a portable TENS unit! That's right--now I can shock the shit out of myself without driving to the chiropractor's office! I used it last night, and thank God/dess for the timer. I was snoozing on the couch and drooling nicely when it shut off, waking me up.
So here I am, taking a vacation from my vacation. Hubby goes back to work Monday, and to be honest, it won't be that hateful to not have to sweep the floor once an hour. But I'm thankful he's getting into cars again--I hope in 3 years I'll be tooling around in a classic MG. That's how long he has to put it back together after Allen builds the workshop.
Hope your weekend is smashingly lazy!
|We're off to ride the Dominator at King's Dominion. Well, I am. No one else is interested in having their guts sloshed around except moi. Doodle is excited about the water park. Last time I went, back in the 80's, there was no water park that I remember.
End of the week is rafting down the Shenandoah in Harper's Ferry.
Because we're serious about our vacation, dang it! I'll be back in full force next week with the details.
Have a great day, and keep cool!
|I don't need a hairdryer, but I do need the massager. Don't need the coffeepot, but do need the coffee--my blood is sweet and light, with the intoxicating scent of Blue Mountain. We drink a lot of coffee on vacation--mostly me and the other Lady who will be with us. Why, I don't know. It isn't like we need loads of energy to sit around and scrapbook or lounge on the dock all day. It's a comfort food for me--since I don't drink. And I won't drink. Please, Goddess, do not entice me with that sweet rose mead we made back in May at Beltane. Although it doesn't leave a hangover like that cheap orange-flavored wine I drank a few weeks back.
I need my notebooks, books, and Ipod, but I'll most likely take the makeup and never use it.
Vacation - n. a period of time for relaxation when one loads five times as much junk in the car as needed for a week of doing nothing.
Got to go pick up Loretta, drive to Woodstick (sic), and take Dad to his doctor's appointment, then meet with the social services lady. Oh. Joy.
Have a great weekend--I won't be thinking of you as I jump in the lake!
|I am an obsessive list-maker. I have grocery lists, lists of items in storage, and to-do lists for each room, person, and season.
And I still forget shit. All the time.
I'll have to blame most of it on aging. Once upon a time, I could remember the entire order of a 12-top table without a notepad. Now, I'm lucky to remember where my Visa is, much less the actual number embossed on it. The only reason I remember my daughter's birthday is that it was the most challenging 24 hours of my life. I got married on my birthday so my husband would never forget an anniversary, but realize I'm the one who needs the prompting. I forgot it this year.
So today, I've got it in my head that I need a Master List for something on WDC. And, true to form I broke out Microsoft Word and started cutting and pasting to keep track of where the heck I am, and getting nowhere with all the dang formatting. It's just easier to grab a pen and paper and jot things down. So I can lose them later.
I'm full of restless energy these days, but I can't get my brain to straighten up and fly right. Or really, fly at all. So if you don't see me on the Public Review Page, banging out opinion and misinformation-- you'll know I'm just hanging around the house, listing.
|I've barely been online in the last two weeks, and I apologize. It's been insane 'round the homestead lately, as we've had guests for three weeks--my nephew and his wife.
It is certainly an adjustment, as Hubby and I are both private people. Doodle, of course, is having a blast with two new playthings, three if you count the dog, Rusty.
But we're all learning a lot. About carpentry, masonry, building a business, human nature, generosity, and tolerance. It's nice having "kin" at the dinner table. No leftovers, and there's always someone to gossip with while loading the dishwasher.
Despite working outside most of the time working harder than I have in ten years, life feels a lot like a vacation these days, what with the new patio and pergola and such. It's not just an outdoor room, but a custom facelift for an odd house, a place to jaw with the neighbors and relax--In the morning, with a book and coffee, and in the evening with a glass of wine, watching the fireflies. It's also a physical symbol of what we can do with little money, much determination and hard labor, and a pinch of found and repurposed objects. Working together, as an extended family.
I'll try to russle up a picture here shortly.
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