Goodbye Stranger

It was an early morning yesterday
I was up before the dawn
And I really have enjoyed my stay
But I must be moving on

Like a king without a castle
Like a queen without a throne
I’m an early morning lover
And I must be moving on

Now I believe in what you say
As the undisputed truth
But I have to have things my own way
To keep me in my youth

Like a ship without an anchor
Like a slave without a chain
Just the thought of those sweet ladies
Sends a shiver through my veins

And I will go on shining
Shining like brand new
I’ll never look behind me
My troubles will be few

(Goodbye stranger it’s been nice)
(Hope you find your paradise)
(Tried to see your point of view)
(Hope your dreams will all come true)
(Goodbye Mary, Goodbye Jane)
(Will we ever meet again)
(Feel no sorrow, feel no shame)
(Come tomorrow, feel no pain)

Sweet devotion,
It’s not for me
Just give me motion,
To set me free
Land in the ocean,
Far away
By my chosen
Every day

So Goodbye Mary,
Goodbye Jane
Will we ever
Meet again

Now some they do and some they don’t
And some you just can’t tell
And some they will and some they won’t
With some it’s just as well

You can laugh at my behavior
That’ll never bother me
Say the devil is my savior
But I don’t pay no heed

And I will go on shining
Shining like brand new
I’ll never look behind me
My troubles will be few

(Goodbye stranger it’s been nice)
(Hope you find your paradise)
(Tried to see your point of view)
(Hope your dreams will all come true)
(Goodbye Mary, Goodbye Jane)
(Will we ever meet again)
(Feel no sorrow, feel no shame)
(Come tomorrow, feel no pain)

Sweet devotion,
It’s not for me
Just give me motion,
To set me free
Land in the ocean,
Far away
By my chosen,
Every day

Now I’m leaving,
Got to go,
Hit the road
I’m sayin’ once again,
oh yes I’m leaving
Got to go,
Got to go.
I’m sorry another day
But Goodbye Mary,
Goodbye Jane
Will we ever
Meet again

Oh I’m leavin’
I’ve got to go

That was eleven years ago. Eleven years. Wow. That’s a long time to not be doing anything. I’d like to think I’ve made the most of it but so many of those early years were filled with getting through the day. So many of the later years were filled with getting through the night. Next year my youngest goes to middle school.

One more year. Wow. That’s not very long to decide what to do. How do you decide what to do with the rest of your life? I couldn’t figure that out when It was time for me to decide. When things were easier and uncomplicated. Now what? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I looked through my instant queue but I wasn’t in the mood for stories about strip clubs or Mississippi jukes. I was too weary from the “Ground Zero” “mosque” bullshit for more Iraq war. I couldn’t handle more, why our food supply is fucked. I didn’t care why I was going to hell. I was about to leave and go play Farmville, or something, when I saw a suggestion. ‘No Impact Man’ recommended to you because of your interest in Food, Inc. and Howard Zinn. Food and Zinn? Really? Okay. I’ll watch it.

It wasn’t one of the best. I liked it and it was interesting but the experiences of a NYC couple with one young child didn’t mean much to a mommy of teenagers in the suburbs of Virginia. Does this guy realize I’d have to drive 30+ minutes out of my way for a glass bottle of milk. Unless we’re doing a science experiment, worm and the resulting flies belong in the ground, not my kitchen. My garden could run circles around his mentor’s plot. Everything they were talking about I’d heard before, ten years ago. Poopy head, I thought. And that was that.

Until I opened my email and attempted to get through the back log that has plagued me since early July. Take the No Impact Man One Week Challenge is what it shouted out to me in big bold letters. Coincidence? Fate? Nahh. More like good marketing but I said, “Alright No Impact Man what you got?”

Pretty much more of the same. Not one suggestion that I wasn’t already doing that would make sense in my life. Nothing that sparked an interest or even made me want to click through on a link. I’m getting old and crotchety. I don’t have a desire to change the world by stomping on my clothes in the bathtub. I’m particularly fond of toilet paper. I don’t feel that there is anything I personally could do or change to make any significant difference. I’m greened out and this disturbs me.

I’m sorry No Impact Man I wanted to believe but I’m too busy right now for your challenge. I have to weed my organic garden and make a batch of castille soap. Our three recycle trash cans and one waste trash can are kinda full. My compost pile needs turning. I need to write about spending three nights sitting on the beach with my family and watching sea turtles hatch. I don’t need someone trying to sell a book telling me how to save the world. I’ve trusted the advice of people who have practiced what they preach for decades and it has done well by me. Right now I just want to be left alone and do my own thing my own way. And my way involves electricity, hot water, and air conditioning. So what? Spank me.

Last night I had that dream again. The one with You and me and also You. The river and crab pots. Pulling up pots of blue crabs. Do you remember when I had that dream before? I woke up feeling a bit unsettled and disrupted. I typed it up. Surrounding my feeling with words and corralling them into sentences. I left those sentences in the comment section of your blog. Careful not to say too much. Then I forgot about them.

Last night they came back to me. I woke up feeling lonely and lost. Knowing that I missed chances and let hurt feelings and thoughts of insignificance change my ambitions. I longed for something that wasn’t but could have been.

You had the free spirit and You had the style. I wanted both of them and I devoured your words and thoughts. I stole your emotions and reworked them until I could figure out my own. Then I worked hard to write what was. Carefully picking words and rewriting phrases until they were just right. Then I’d start all over again. Sometimes it worked out and sometimes it didn’t but I was content either way. It felt good to wake up and feel real again. But real isn’t always nice and real isn’t always pretty. Sometimes real is more than others want to hear. Real to me isn’t always the same real to others and that’s okay. My words are mine and because of You and You I’ve learned to respect them.

Thank You. And You. Really.

I woke up naked and alone in my room. I was still a little drunk but not much. The last thing I remembered before falling asleep was MyHusband stroking my cheek, speaking soft love words in my ear, and telling me how well I had done so far. Even though every inch of my body was sore I got up and got dressed and packed up. My sore blistered feet gingerly made their way down the three flights of stairs and into a gray dull morning. I secretly hoped it would stay that way all day. I secretly love gray dull days. They energize me more than they depress me. I guess that says something about me, or maybe not.

It took a few miles but my muscles loosened up and my feet went numb. I was doing pretty good and making good time. Iain joined us for a few miles. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to walk with us, he was hoping I’d take off my shirt again, or he had been assigned to us to make sure I didn’t die along the way. Either way he was a lot of fun and we had a good conversation. He seemed like a good guy. I hope I didn’t bore him too much with my stories. For some reason I told him some things you’ll never see me write about on here and the payment book for the hush money should be arriving in my mail any day now.

The day was going good until it started raining. It wasn’t bad at first. A light drizzle that made me feel rebellious and carefree. Walking through the rain, spirits high, bring it on! I can take it. What else you got? Then it got worse. And my formerly aching body became currently aching. Each step was harder than the last. This is where I perfected what MyHusband calls “The Windup”

First my hips would cramp and I would stop and stretch them out. Then I would take a few shuffling steps (Something like this), then I’d manage to slowly take larger more meaningful steps. I’d just be getting back into my pace when my hip would cramp again and I’d start all over again. In a way it was comical, in another way it wasn’t.

The windup continued as we walked across the most depressing marsh land I’d ever encountered. It was mile after mile of flat boring land and every inch was covered in shit – wet, slimy, slippery shit. It was not pleasant but it was the end so it was mostly tolerable. Thanks to the rain and shit there was nowhere to sit down so even at an the oldest fireman’s pace we were making good time and after what seemed like hours, because it was hours, we saw some people standing in front of a pub.

Upon entering the establishment we were informed there was only one more mile to the end. I guess I was supposed to be happy but for some reason I wasn’t. As much as I wanted it all to be over, there was still a part of me that didn’t want it to end. I declined an invitation to sit down and have a drink because I was afraid I would not be able to get up again. Sounds dramatic but it wasn’t too far from true. We walked the last mile with a few others and it did feel good to finish. It felt better to get to the pub at the end and sit down.

I sent a text message to my oldest, “We did it!”

She texted back, “OMG Awesome!”

It made my week.

We celebrated finishing the walk and also celebrated Ed’s 65th birthday with a delicious chocolate cake. Then a rowdy bus ride, that I’m sure horrified the locals, back to Carlise finished out the day.

Pizza in bed with MyHusband was dinner that night and I feel asleep in a comfy bed beside him and spent the night dreaming about salty waves on my favorite beach with the people I love. It was time to pack up these memories, take what I could from them, and move on to new ones.

Thank you to everyone. It was an adventure and I am happy to have had the opportunity to share it with you.  I’ll finish up with saying, “Until next time.” Where next time involves less walking and animal dung, but more beer!

We packed up, picked up our lunches and got ready to head out. Oli gave me a walky talky to keep in touch with the rest of the group. “Cleanup on aisle 6” I announced into the handset with my best supermarket announcer voice. No one answered so I figured either mine wasn’t working or my humor wasn’t appreciated. It happens. It happens a lot actually. I’m used to it.

We had a nice day for walking. The view wasn’t as spectacular as Day 3 but the path was flat and grassy. At this point I needed flat and grassy. It was nice listening to the chatter over the handset as we walked. It didn’t seem like we were all alone in the middle of nowhere. Plus Oli’s banter was quite motivating. We were doing pretty good that day until I realized I had to use the bathroom.

I really needed to use the bathroom. Unfortunately we were walking in a more active area and there wasn’t any public bathrooms to be found. We walked and watched a farmer harvest an entire field of wheat. And I still had to use the bathroom. My bladder was aching, and yes, the bathroom. In desperation I grabbed a tissue from MyHusband’s pack and ran behind a tree.

I looked behind me and and I looked in front of me. There was no one around so I dropped my pants and started taking care of business. I was mid business when I saw two women with a dog walking up a previously unnoticed path to my right. There was no grab and run. The floodgates had been released and they weren’t stopping for two women with a dog. I sat there crouched beside a tree , white ass gleaming, peeing and trying to act casual. I managed to finish up before they got close enough to identify me, I think. I scurried back to my husband with my undies in a bunch from the quick pull on and run. We sat on a bench pretending we were having an intense discussion. They walked by and I had to bite my lip hard so I wouldn’t laugh when the dog stopped by my pee tree and looked at it funny.

MyHusband and I had our first argument and only argument of the trip today. It really wasn’t much of an argument, half-assed at best. We have done better. It was almost pathetic as far as arguments go and not really worth mentioning. Moving on.

We finally arrived in Carlise and it looked like a fun town. I was too beat to really care but it looked fun. We made our way up to our room on the third floor and I took off my boots. Big mistake.

My big toe had a huge blood blister going completely around my nail and there were pieces of skin hanging off the side. The toenail was a disgusting color of purple and it was numb.

“Just look at my toe!” I whined to MyHusband. Then I started to cry. It seems crying was becoming a habit on this trip. It was what it was.

I managed to eventually get myself together enough to head back out for dinner. I felt bad that we had missed seeing the founder of the organization we were walking for but what can you do? I walked into the bar and ordered a beer. Then I drank it, quickly. About the time I was peering up through the bottom of the glass, emptying the last precious drop into my mouth I had a revelation. I would drink until everything stopped hurting. It seemed like a good plan. I was looking through the bottom of the second, or maybe third pint when I saw Rajiv taking off his shirt.

“We’re supposed to take off our shirts!” I shouted. Who knew British Pub etiquette dictated taking off your shirt before drinking? No wonder I was having problems getting to know people. I was uneducated about the local customs. When in Rome, I thought. That’s when I frightened an entire pub full of innocent people. I don’t think anyone really needed to see me pulling off my shirt but at least everyone was polite enough to act like they liked it. Some of them were kind enough to act like they really, really liked it.

We went for a great dinner at a Chinese restaurant shortly after that. It was fun night and I downed a couple more beers. By the time I fell into bed at the end of the night I was quite happy. Only 15 miles left, I sang in my head like a small child singing a nursery rhyme. 15 Miles to go. I’m going to make it.

The cornflakes did not taste like corn and the milk did not taste like milk. The bowl was nice, though. I remembered lumpy oatmeal I had eaten on a cold morning with the sun coming up over the mountains. My soul was filled to full with drunken conversations and music that made me cry happy, longing tears. Tears filled with promises and hope. Then I started crying, but these tears were different. They were lonely, homesick, angry, bitter tears and they wouldn’t stop.

“Fuck ‘em all” MyHusband whispered in my ear. “It’s just me and you.”

I put my buff on Jesse James style and begrudgingly fulfilled my obligations full of resentment and my unending stream of tears strategically hidden from view. “Fuck ‘em. I might be crying but they won’t see me cry.”

We set off and I began limping my way down the path, heading out for the next 15 miles of my journey.

The day went. There were good parts – Standing on top of a ridge arms outstretched. The wind blowing hard against me and cautiously balancing on the very tip top. Hoping not to fall. There were bad parts – Freakin’ blisters. But mostly there were just parts and I made my way through them. It was nice to see the hostel at the end of the day. Only two more days.

I was at the hostel having a nice conversation with Justin when I looked up. What I saw almost made me run. Something was making it’s way, slowly and painfully, into the room and it was a very strange color and it was frightening.

“Oh my Lord!” I thought. “That man has been attacked by a zombie!”

I quickly went through my emergency plans I have stored in my head and realized I did not have one labeled, “Zombie Attack Abroad” I decided to use my default plan. I asked Martin if I could get him some ice for his swollen severely sunburned knees. Much to my relief, after some rest and ibuprofen he seemed to be doing a little better.

Dinner that night was good – Veggie Lasagna – and once the doors in the hallway stopped banging every 30 seconds, so was sleep. It was a good night even if Ian didn’t seem to notice that Oli had short sheeted his bed.

This wasn’t an easy day. It involved a lot of climbing. A LOT of climbing and it was very tiring, but the top of every hill had a better view than the last. It was a beautiful day and the sky got bluer as we went on. The clouds were puffy and white, the grass was a perfect green, and the bright colors from wildflowers were speckled across fields. I ignored the dead animals a farmer had hanging on his gate. WTF? Anyways, besides that it was beautiful.

Part of the way into the walk we met up with Phil and we stayed with him for the rest of the day. It was nice talking with him and I enjoyed his thoughtful way of thinking about and discussing things. It felt right hearing about his kids and his thoughts about the walk so far. A little later we met up with Arjan, Jo, and Ellie. We all made our way up hills and down hills, over rocks and under trees. They were all fun and cheerful and I enjoyed every minute I walked with them. Even the minute I realized I had caused permanent harm to Arjan’s psyche by playing with his zipper then, being unable to do it right, calling MyHusband over to finish it up.  Then it happened.

Ellie twisted her ankle on a rock and my heart sunk. There was nothing I could do but hope she was alright. We tried to take her bag for her but she refused. Jo tried to give her an extra walking stick to help her walk but she refused. She rubbed some icy hot on it, got back up and started walking. She walked up very steep rocky hills and back down the other side with a sprained ankle. Jo was beside her every step of the way, cheering her on. I was so impressed with them. The world would be a better place if more of us had that much strength and character.

We took our time and made it to the pub with not much time to spare before dinner. When we walked in everyone shouted and I startled.  I took a few steps back because I thought something was about to fall on me. Then I realized it was a welcoming cheer and not a warning shout. Of course by then it was too late and everyone had gone back to what they were doing. I managed to to get a beer suggestion from Les before sitting down. It was a good beer. Thanks Les.

I was worried about dinner – Lentil Pie – but it was unfounded. It was delicious and reminded me of a dish my mom used to make, except she used rice instead of lentils. It felt comforting and I felt warm and happy. I was proud of what I had accomplished that day. We left right after dessert with full stomaches, wonderful memories, and a head full of some of the most beautiful scenery I had ever seen.  I was ready for a shower and bed. Life was good and nothing was going to change that, or would it?

The map had a stop labeled Great Northern Lake. A good stop for breakfast? Sounded good to me and it was. The air was crisp and refreshing and I felt alive. I questioned the use of the descriptors great and lake but it was a nice pond. It even had a swan. I ate a granola bar and some jelly beans. We kept looking at each other and laughing. I started my first round of apologies and promises of restitution to MyHusband.

After a leisurely breakfast we walked some more. Eventually I took off my boots and walked barefoot. The path was soft and my feet appreciated the break. Then we ran into two men walking the other way. I explained that my feet hated shoes because my parents had raised me as a heathen. It seems English men are fond of heathens. Who knew? I hoped that heathen meant the same thing in England as it did in America.

It all gets blurry here.  I remember gates, stiles, more stiles, sheep poo and more sheep poo.  The next thing I remember I’m sitting at table outside a pub feeling very dizzy, eating a cheese and tomato sandwich and drinking a coke. It was the best sandwich I had ever had. Some members of our group caught up with us there and I got all mushy and watery inside when I found out they had brought our bagged lunches with them to give to us. I can’t for the life of me remember who they were, but thank you. That was too nice.

After a break and more food we started walking again. I was feeling better and more confident. I was ready to walk the last two four-mile walks. And we walked. And we walked. And we walked. The we walked some more. I ended up sitting in the middle of a cow pasture surrounded by piles of cow poo cursing Dan, his arithmetic teacher, and every map maker that ever existed. I looked up at MyHusband and shouted, “Apparently Dan is mathematically challenged because this is not sixteen fuckin’ miles!” I suggested we call it good for the day and sleep in a barn. Then I burst into hysterical laughter when MyHusband casually hands me a chocolate bar.

We made it to the next stop. I dragged myself up the stairs and into a hot bath where I fell asleep next to a family of bright yellow rubber duckies. MyHusband woke me up and poured me into bed where, as I fell down between them, I realized the double bed was actually two single beds that had been pushed together. “Just leave me here. I’ll be fine.” And I fell fast asleep.

It was nice to hear the laughter downstairs even if I was too beat to make it down for dinner. It sounded like happy times and tomorrow, after I slept, after the jet lag wore off, once I had plenty of protein in my body, I was planning to be a part of them as well.

We were on the right train but going in the wrong direction. It was a circle loop so we would get there, we just weren’t going to be on time. My anxiety about being late was building but held in check with light conversation and a little silliness from a fellow walker we met as we entered the train station. Oli had tired eyes with occasional and cautious sparks of mischief that made me smile even though I was exhausted from our 30+ hour pilgrimage to New Castle and short nights sleep. I was happy that I could mostly understand him in spite of his accent and was bursting with excitement by the time the train pulled into the Wallsend station. I couldn’t wait to meet everyone.

The first thing I saw was the tie dyed shirt. “Ed,” I told MyHusband. Ed was exactly how I imagined him. Warm and kind with a big smile that made me feel right at home. A little bit of the anxiety that had been building for the last few month started to ease. I hugged Phil and was surprised at his height. I had imagined him a little shorter and I was happy he didn’t have a mountain man beard.  JJDaddyo was there and seemed a little shy but I could tell he’d be a lot of fun once we got to know each other. I shook hands with Dan and realized that Yes, girls, we were right. He is a very sexy man. Also very sweaty but that kinda adds to the experience. Before I knew what was happening we were off and walking. I figured I’d get to know everyone else along the way. I was wrong.

MyHusband and I stopped to take a picture of the sign at the start of the walk and when we looked back up most of the group was gone! I looked left. I looked right. No one! “WTF?” I mouthed to MyHusband. “I don’t know,” he mouthed back. He pulled out his map and confirmed we were on the right path and we had not been abducted and replanted by aliens, then we walked on.

Throughout the day we occasionally had a walker spotting. There were a few congregating around the pay toilet. Some stopped on a hill for lunch and we joined them briefly. We were happy when we had a few people to walk with but MyHusband had to “commune with nature” and by the time he finished we were alone again.

“Hey, we’ll just walk at our own pace and enjoy ourself” MyHusband told me when he saw the disappointment on my face. He held my hand tightly and I felt strong. Then we walked on.

We eventually caught up with another couple and walked with them for awhile. They were adorable and they made us smile. They also explained kissing gates which came in handy the next day even if I didn’t bring my chapstick.

We finally got close to the end and then we walked straight uphill for about a mile, got lost, had an old man with an even older dog walk us back to the right path, then arrived exhausted, sweaty, and smelly at the bunk barn. All I could do was sit at the table with my head in my hands and question my sanity. But, as you know I am very good at denial and I thought everything would turn out well. I was sure of it. We headed out for dinner.

We had a good dinner if you’re a carnivore. MyHusband was in heaven. I ate three types of root vegetables and something purple that I was assured didn’t contain animals. I’m still not convinced. Once we finished we asked about transportation to the B&B that we had been assigned to for the night. That’s when we were told to make our own arrangements. So we did.

After a cab ride that ended up being much longer than it should have been we arrived at the B&B to be greeted by a inhospitable, sour faced man that demanded we take off our shoes. Then he gave us our room number, pointed his finger and said, “Now, up with you” Up I went! My dream of insane B&B owners was starting to play out before my eyes. I double checked the locks and put a chair in front of the door. I also checked the windows for the quickest way to escape in case of emergency. Then I took a long hot bath and snuggled up with MyHusband. I felt relaxed and good for the first time in what seemed like days. Then the noise started.

I got out of bed and went to the window. There was some type of industrial noise going on somewhere. Maybe someone was cutting the grass? Weed whacking? Insane B&B owner sharpening his chain saw? I wasn’t sure, then it became clear. Someone in the next room was snoring. And snore they did. Loud and proud, all night long!

All I could think was that the next day was even longer than the first and I would be doing it without any sleep. I sat quietly against the wall for awhile. Trying to make myself calm, trying to convince myself that everything would be fine. I mostly convinced myself. I am very good at denial. Then I laid down in bed and cried quietly into my pillow. I didn’t want MyHusband to know I was sad but somehow he figured it out. He snuggled me up safe and warm against him and we laid there awake waiting for the sun to come up so we could head out for day number two.

If this was possible I would have a video of my youngest when she was about five. She was wearing a purple velvet dress and her hair was still long and all over the place as always. She ran ahead of me and stopped in front of the automatic doors at Target. She waved her hands in circles above her head and spoke silly made up words. With a dramatic flourish she lunged forward and the door open, as if by magic, and she walked in head held high and confident.

I don’t know what was going on in her head or for how long she had been planning this. I don’t know when she figured out exactly where she needed to stand so a single large step would trigger the motion sensors. I don’t know how she ever thought up this little bit of awesomeness that I have to expect from my youngest but she did it and it was grand. Then it was over. She went about her business as if it never happened and only my mommy smile gave any indication that anything out of the ordinary had happened. I don’t think we ever even talked about it. But I decided right then and there that no matter how long I lived that was something I wanted to remember for the rest of my life. That was when I started to want eye cameras. Instead I have this and my memories. It will do for now.

I suppose some people are happy with mediocrity. We all do what we need to do to get through the day and I’m no exception. If everyone is alive and not hungry by bedtime I consider myself a success. If I have manged to make a plate of home baked cookies, then all the better. There are a few things I excel at but not many. Some days, though, I find myself excelling without even trying. Today was one of those days.

I was fully aligned with my mediocrity as I dropped my daughter off at art class and started to walk at a medium pace around the the mediocre city I call home. I’d planned on an average length walk then back to pick up my daughter. I was working the second-rate day and it was working out great for me. I was almost done with my walk when it happened.

I know you think I fell and made a fool of myself but you are wrong. I have fallen and made a fool of myself many, many times but this was not one of them. I wouldn’t waste your time with that, again. I made a fool of myself in a completely different way.

The fool making involved a very large dog. He was running towards me at a great rate of speed and jumped up on the fence. He barked right in my ear and I though he was going to take my head off. Panicked, I screamed and ran a safe distance past the dog and stopped in the middle of the street. Cars had to stop because I was standing in the middle of the road. MyHusband was looking at me rather peculiarly. The owner of the dog was standing there just looking at me. He wasn’t trying to keep the dog from killing me! He wasn’t trying to control the hell-hound. Luckily the dog stopped before he ate me. Feeling that I was now out of danger I decided to tell the man what I though of him and his attack dog. It started with F and ended with U. I also spiced it up with something that rhymes with passphole.

Many of you may be unaware that I am only a potty mouth when I type. I guess I have potty fingers. In my whole entire life I have used the F word maybe 4 or 5 times. It’s just not how I interact with the world. It’s how I think about the world but not how I interact. I was raised better than that. So this was quite a momentous occasion for me. I not only used the F word, I shouted it from the middle of the road while stopping traffic, while being attacked by a dog, at a man I have never met in my life. That is exceptional! I exceeded my wildest dreams. And the fact that the attack dog was a chocolate lab wearing a bandanna and standing up on a white picket fence with his tongue hanging out and looking at me like he was waiting for me to throw him a ball doesn’t change that on little bit. No, It doesn’t.

I was a little bit shocked when it first happened. Maybe it was denial. I stopped in my tracks, cocked my head to the side and wondered why the cat bit me then jumped up and smashed his lower body into my calf muscle. Was he playing a game? Did he accidentally run too fast and couldn’t stop? Maybe my unbrushed hair looked like a small animal trying to attack my head and he was coming to save me? I’m so good at denial.

I continued down the hall and proceeded to medicate myself with my morning drug of choice, caffeine. About half way through my beverage the cold hard truth starts to sink in. Noticing the look on my face MyHusband asks me what is wrong. That was when I had to explain to him what I thought our cat may have done.

He didn’t believe me at first. He though I was making some kind of joke that wasn’t really funny. He thought maybe there was more than caffeine in my morning drink. I gave him the details and he had to admit that I might be right. I really wasn’t ready to accept the facts. I wanted to believe that it was something different. I had almost convinced myself I was loosing my mind and our sweet kitty would never do something like that when I cautiously walked into the living room to check on the cat. That’s when I saw him sprawled out on his back sound asleep.

Yep! Typical male. I was sexually assaulted by a cat and there is nothing you can say to make me feel any better. I feel so dirty.

In fourth grade we also learned about the Commonwealth of Virginia. It was typical state studies but I somehow managed to pay attention long enough to learn a few things. One of those was the state seal. I was impressed with that. Up until that point I had assumed the person standing on top of the man with the words “Sic Semper Tyrannis’ was a male. It had never occurred to me that it was, or even could be any different. I was fascinated with the possibilities. While the teacher taught us about the 10 most common products manufactured in Virginia I drew pictures of Virtus slaying tyrants. The teacher taught about the major roads of transportation and I daydreamed about finding a Latin page in the dictionary so I could Sic Semper other things. “Sic Semper Meatloaf” my life would have been perfect.

So when our Attorney General Cooch decided to give out lapel pins that depicted a different state seal than the official one that had spurred many childhood adventures I was a bit offended. Here’s why:

1.Where does he get the authority to change the official state emblem? Who the hell does he think he is? A tyrant?

2.What the hell does he have against breasts? Specifically the left one?

3.Why can’t it be obvious that a woman is the one slaying tyrants? Breasts are a symbol of womanhood and by covering her with armor you remove the last bit of femininity and make it even less obvious that she is a woman.

4.Does he have a problem with strong women standing up to unjust men? Does he think she should be barefoot in the kitchen fixing her man a sandwich, leaving all the tyrant slaying to the big strong men?

5.Why would a breast depicted in a work of art be inappropriate? Is he going to shut down the art museums next? Maybe get a sharpie and go through the art books in the library and cover all the breasts with black bars?

Then, I found out something even more interesting than the I have breasts hear me roar angle. I found out that the seal he chose was used for a state flag during the civil war. Not only does he hate breasts, apparently he hates the fact that we lost the civil war and wants to bring back the seal that represented our state during one of the most horrific and destructive times of our state history. WTF?

Sic Semper Asshats! That’s all I have to say.

The only problem with all this walking is all the time to think. Because let’s face it, walking the same streets every day can get boring. We all know that weird things happen when I think, especially if I have had too much caffeine. And when I’m bored I get angry. So I am out there thinking, bored, and angry. Also, my right foot hurt.

My left foot could win the iron man marathon, my right foot is a wuss. It’s like that whiny kid that’s always complaining about something. The one that cries because a he got a scratch walking by a brier patch, or the one that that goes all drama queen because he got mud on his shoes. You just want to smack it in the head and tell it to shut up but you can’t because you don’t believe in violence.

Anyway, back to the story. I’m thinking about stuff while feeling angry and bored and I see the most perfect lawn I’ve ever seen in my life. The grass was so green and so lush. I stopped in my tracks and started to drool. I imagined taking off my shoes and running through it. Hell, taking off my clothes and rolling in it. I was sure it felt nicer than the nicest of nice carpets. It was greener than the greenest of greens. I was falling in love with a square patch of turf. It was a pure and true love. Then things went haywire.

I saw the man spreading fertilizer on his lawn. Then I imagined that fertilizer washing down the storm drain and into the river. Then I saw the algae bloom turning the river red and the dead fish floating on the surface. I’ve seen this before and it is not pretty. I saw all the chemicals polluting the water my new baby niece would drinking and the cancer that far to many people I know have had and do have. It pissed me off. It really fucking pissed me off. So I sneered at the man when he wasn’t looking and kept on walking. I’m not much into confrontation.  I walked until I was just bored, thinking and angry instead of pissed off and then I got pissed off again.

This time I’m pissed off at the environmentalists and grass. I hate grass and I hate environmentalists. I hate them because, even if I never use one ounce of fertilizer, even if I use no chemicals on my garden, if I recycle, and if I conserve water and energy, and never go to the store without a reusable bag, it doesn’t matter. I can spend the rest of my life being environmentally conscious and I would not make one little bit of difference. There is nothing I can do in my entire lifetime that won’t be undone by one single hour, probably one single minute of all the car traffic, coal plants, commercial agriculture, chemical plants, and factories that are running at this very moment.

In the hour that I walked around my neighborhood wanting to smack my right foot, everything I have done for the environment and everything I will ever do was made null and void. And that sucks.

Fuck you, environmentalists. Fuck you, grass.

Then she practiced writing in cursive. There were no tears, no do I have to, and no fooling around. She did it because she wants to learn to write pretty. She likes how I use fancy letters to address letters and packages. It’s important to her.

Then we did some math. Previously we were working on multiplication but it was starting to stress her out so we switched to Geometry. I asked her to try multiplication again because it was important and she agreed once I gave her a small printed multiplication chart to find the answers. Maybe some would disagree, but this is how she learned her addition tables. After awhile it becomes easier to just memorize them then always look them up. There is no time limit on learning in this house and I don’t do tears when it come to Math. Math is fun. Math happens when it’s supposed to and not a moment earlier.

A very noisy blue jay interrupted what was to be a really cool science lesson. She ran around the yard and found his nest. Then she looked through a bird book and found the page on blue jays. She spent quite awhile watching him and studying him. She know knows more about blue jays than most college graduates. She can even imitate his song.

Then we did Science (again). Mark Hauser – Learning about animal minds. She balked at first but once I managed to draw her in she was all for it. She is observing and conducting safe experiments with her cat. She is sure the cat understands quantity and it’s possible that red is his favorite color. I expect a full write up of the results will be posted on the fridge soon. But that is totally up to her.

Then she read a story about Pandas and made a list of endangered animals in her “Book of Notes”. There are many interesting things in there. She added her panda book to the stack of books in her room. She is trying to read enough books so that the stack reached the ceiling. She’s reached about three feet so far.

All of this happened in just under two hours. All of this happened because she was ready and willing to learn. She enjoys a challenge and will work towards something that is important to her. She hasn’t even turned on the TV today and neither have I. That’s true with most mornings. That’s why we never got the chance to laugh at that Good Morning America segment about Unschooling. They just don’t understand. All children are not meant to be be corporate slaves and bean counters. Some of us can think and do for ourselves.

I assured him it was true and real, and I wasn’t smoking crack. I told him I needed a backpack and new boots.

He explained that it was a long, long way across the country.

I explained we weren’t walking across this country, we were walking across England and he seemed a bit relieved. Then I explained why we were doing this.

The thing is, sometimes bad things happen. You can sit around on your butt and talk about them, or you can pretend they didn’t happen, or you can go do something to help. But they do happen even if we don’t want to think about them.

In 2008 Dan got off his fat butt and did something about it. He also managed to reduce the size of his butt in the process. This year he is taking 60 of us with him. It should be quite an adventure. I hope my butt survives because,

In a few months I will be off to walk 8 thousand (give or take 7916 miles) across England. MyHusband and I will be staying in flea infested hostels, moldy tent, and a B&B that may or may not be run by a lunatic. Only time will tell.

MyHusband will be eating Teriyaki Beef Jerky and Gummy Bears and I will be eating whatever they give me, or maybe whatever I can forage. Dan has yet to tell me how he plans to feed us. I’m a little worried. No one believes me but, I will be bringing my alligator. As participants we are looking forward to the trip and meeting new friends we have gotten to know through blogging. As parents we are honored to help raise money for The Joseph Salmon Trust, a small charity set up by Neil and Rachael Salmon to honor their son Joseph who they lost to pneumonia at the age of three.

The charity assists parents who have lost a child irregardless of the age of their child. They help with funeral costs or pay some basic household expenses which allows the self employed a break from work while they come to terms with their loss. They fill a gap that is often overlooked. I think the sentence, “Nothing we can do will make their situation better, but we can help stop it getting worse” sums things up perfectly.

The trustees of the Joseph Salmon Trust are volunteers and the minimal overhead costs are covered by corporate sponsors, so 100% of every dollar/pound given will go to assist parents that have lost a child.

So, how about it. Will you help me with a donation to the Joseph Salmon Trust? Right now I have raised exactly $0. That’s a bit embarrassing. So if you can, please help me out.

I’ll keep you updated on the walk and let you know if I survived.

The good news is my oldest is slowly emerging from the self absorbed, moody, overly dramatic, bullshit know as adolescence. I am once again starting to enjoy her company for more than a 5 minute pre-paid blocks of time. I’m looking forward to cashing in my unused minutes free of hormonal outbursts and persecution theories. At least that is what I am telling myself because,

The bad news is my youngest is bringing it, big time. She has had the benefit of learning from her older sister and the next couple of years are going to be quite interesting. I can just feel it. Oh yes, I can feel it. Fuck Me.

What was I thinking? I’ll tell you what I was thinking. Ohh, lets have a baby. Babies are fun! Babies are cute! Goo Goo Gahh Gahh. Tiny toes. Little shirts. Itty bitty socks. All snuggly and warm. Someone to love! A new person to bring joy into the world. Preciousness.

Then, Hey! This this wasn’t what we expected but it isn’t so bad. Lets do it again! Why wait? Go for it! A family. We’ll have a family. A big happy family.

Now, things worked out fine for awhile. I was meant to be a mom of pre-schoolers. I had the crafts. I had the little food cut into shapes and I freakin’ love play dough, Jello, and sand boxes. Bring on the mud and the finger paint. Sing Raffi songs with me! I’ll teach you your ABC’s and how to add. No Problems. YeeHaa! I was off to a roaring start.

Then…ChAoS. Full freakin’ chaos.

I’m thinking I have served my purpose. It might be time for me to move on. MyHusband can take it from here. He’s had much more experience dealing with moody women. He has two sisters. He’s lived with me all these years. I have though about it and I need to change direction in my life. I’m running off with a bass player or somethin’. Later! :)

I crawled into bed and the sheets felt cool and they were familiar. The warmth of MyHusbands body was close to me and it felt good to press myself against him. I was tired but my mind turned to other thoughts. He was more tired and almost asleep and I thought for a minute about waking him up but I knew I’d probably end up with hurt feelings. He was very tired. It had been a very long drive.

I lay there on my side with my back to MyHusband and I let my mind wander. My breath became a little faster as I imagined his hand on my shoulder and it moving slowly down my side sliding into the soft spot at my waist and moving back up to my hip. His hands squeezing and pulling me against him. I imagined his breath against the back of my neck and him kissing me over and over until I moaned and turned my head to face him. Our bodies pressed against each other and my mouth finding his shoulder and neck. His hands brushing my hair from my face and gathering it gently, slowly, deliberately, into a bunch at the nape of my neck. Him pulling my head back so he could kiss my neck, under my chin, my breasts and stomach. Over and over until my back arched and my feet pressed hard against the bed and I pull him roughly onto me.

He fills my ears with inappropriate words that are somehow quite appropriate and I move my hands from his shoulder, down his arms, and underneath his hands. Our fingertips touch and I lightly trace his fingers and palm, feeling the roughness of the callouses. He closes his fingers around my hands and they are lost inside of his. His big calloused manly hands. He pull my hands to his lips and kisses each of my fingers and I place his hand on my mouth and kiss his palms as his fingers trace my cheek. I make sure he looking into my eyes and I grin at him. I press my hands against him and push, pretending I wanted him to go away. He grabs them and pins them over my head as I giggle.

I imagine how my breasts bounce and the sound of the bed as it makes that rhythmic sound that anyone who knows would know. Him grabbing my waist and slipping his hands under me. Pulling me hard against him. Demanding and rough making my body do things that we both know it’s wants to do.

Then through my half closed eyes I saw a bright flash outside. It startled me back into myself. Then a few seconds later a loud explosive sound followed by loud rumbly sounds. Then silence. For a second I though the world had come to an end. Then another flash. And the thunder. Then I counted and listened and waited for the storm to pass. A thunder storm in March. I rolled over and snuggled against MyHusband. He thought my heart was racing and my breathing was heavy because I was frightened by the sudden storm. I didn’t have to worry, he would keep me safe. Sometimes, men are so gullible.

Sit in church and bow your head, shake hands firmly and criticize whoever was out of favor at the moment. Next week we might praise the same name but not this week. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. We are one big happy family. And so it goes. Around and around. Year after year.

He hurt you because you hurt her and you sat on the porch and cried. I watched from a distance. I watched it all from a distance. The world crumbled and was rebuilt. Over and over and over. And we would pretend the cracks were not there. But I saw them and I remembered them and I enjoyed the looks of fear when I’d hint at deeds you all thought were long forgotten. Yes, I remember. No I won’t tell. I just want you all to know I could. I saw you all fall from grace. I saw you all pretend you hadn’t. I took notes.

People told me secrets. I stored them in my heart and filed them in memory. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in those memories. Other times I feel like they leaven me and help me fly. Because I did fly. Away from there. Away from the chaos and craziness. Away from the facade. Just like you knew I would. I was never one of you but sometimes I am like you. I have to remember so I can forget. I forget so I can go on. I’m doing alright. Yes, I’m doing alright. Thanks for asking. Now go away.

Only this time the cat pulled the table cloth off the table. Kinda like a magician’s trick except everything came off with the cloth instead of staying put. Also the aquatic frogs got bumped and now they are mad too. Thankfully, they are underwater so I can’t hear them bitching. It took 15 minutes this time to restore order but I managed. And yes, it did happen again. I don’t want to talk about it.

Instead I am going to take advantage of the finally clear roads in my neighborhood and drive to the craft store. This is part of my “organize your life plan” that I just now decided to make up. There is decoupaging involved in this plan. I feel like decoupaging some old shoe boxes and using them for storage. Maybe for a cat, I’m not sure. In case you were wondering, I’ve never been much of a decoupager but desperate times calls for drastic measures. Bring on the paste.

I sometimes wonder what my future son-in-laws will be like. Will the types of people they choose to hang out with now predict their future friends, lovers, and spouses? Will my oldest settle down with intelligent man with a gentle heart and curious mind? Will my youngest be traveling the globe with a grinning bad boy who has a heart of gold? I’m not sure it matters but I like to think about these things sometimes.

My first boyfriend was a bad boy. Leather jacket, wild hair, fist ready to fly at the slightest provocation, bad boy. But he, and just about every boyfriend after him, treated me like I was the most wonderful thing that ever walked the earth. I never thought I deserved their adoration but that didn’t stop them from giving it to me. If I hadn’t had so much fun with them I might feel bad about all the worry and grief I caused my parents with my choices in boyfriends. I’ll never forget the look on my Dad’s face the day one of them called me from the juvenile detention center!

When it was all said and done, I ended up marrying a smart guy with a bad boy grin. He has a gentle loving heart and a great sense of adventure. When I think about it, he’s just like the boys I used to play with on the playground. I guess my girls will find the person that’s right for them. I don’t have any worries that they’ll find the right person and live a happy life together. I just worry about the steps they’ll take before they get there. I have a slight anxious feeling when I realize the time for finding out if I predicted correctly is just a few short years away. And if the bad boys showing off on their skateboards for my oldest are any indication, the next few years are going to be quite interesting.

Hope you are doing well. I had a small problem with a bunion, but it’s getting better now. I won’t bore you with the details even though you are a good person to ask. Today I am going to tell you about singing.

Singing is a good thing. Most people feel better when they express themselves with a song. I like to sing in the shower. It sounds good in there. I can’t fault anyone for singing when they are feeling like singing. I think it’s probably healthy. What I can fault you for is singing when you know durn well you can’t sing worth a damn. Well, I won’t even fault you for that unless you are doing it where other people can hear you.

I want you to know that no one in their right mind wants to hear you howling out Silent Night at the top of your lungs if you sound like a dog in heat. It’s what they call noise pollution and that is a serious problem in this world. I am asking you people to please stop doing it and make the world a better place.

I understand that some people don’t know they sing badly. Here are a few tips so that you can figure it out:

If dogs start howling when you sing you need to stop. Dog howl for reason and one of them is when they hear bad singing.

If you are singing and parents grab their kids and start moving slowly away from you, you’re a bad singer. They don’t want you infecting their kids with bad taste. I can’t say I blame them.

If everyone in the congregation except for Milly, the mostly deaf girl, puts their hymn books in front of their face and starts shaking when you sing, it isn’t because they were moved by the spirit. They are trying not to laugh in church. That’s bad manners.

When no one makes eye contact while you are singing, you are bad. Just face the facts. No one wants to look at something like that.

If I run out of my house and give you a cup of cocoa before you’ve finished your carol, it isn’t because I didn’t want you to get cold. Even though I told you that, it was really because I couldn’t take anymore of your singing. Jesus Pete, get the hint already!

So, now you know. If any of these things apply to you, please stop polluting the world with noise and try to enjoy the season. I hope that was helpful to you. I wouldn’t be anything if I wasn’t helpful. Have a great day and don’t forget to help with the fight against noise pollution. It gets really bad this time of year with all the drinking. We all need to do our part. I’ll be back next week to tell you about gluttony. That is when you eat too much.

Sincerely,
Miss Brandie

I came to the train tracks, then a tunnel entrance covered with years worth of weeds. Honey suckle, poison ivy, and morning glories. Many years ago we decided it might be a metaphor for life. God, we were trashed that day! The vines were dormant and leafless for the winter but I knew they would be back in a few months and I knew I wouldn’t have the courage to cross them when they blossomed. I stood there until I felt I would loose my nerve, then I made myself continue on.

I pushed through brush, ducked under branches and crawled over fallen trees. My walk was coming to an end and each step was just a little slower than the last. Just past the sharp turn. I just had to make it past there.

I closed my eyes and stepped into the clearing. When I opened them it was like I remembered – but different. It wasn’t quite the same. I scanned the large gaping holes where men had gouged the gravel and sand from the earth. When they had taken everything they wanted they left it unattended, ugly and broken, alone to fend for itself. We loved that ugly place. We loved it because it was ours. No one else ever went there.

All these years later and the wounds were starting to heal. Grass and trees have grown. Sharp edges were softer. The water a little less stagnant. The light was filtered by the trees and the harshness was giving way to a aged softness. I wondered for a minute if it was a metaphor for life and I wasn’t even trashed.

No one but you and me would know why I went there. Most days I think we are the only ones that would even understand. Maybe the only people that would even care. I stayed for a long time but the time I spent didn’t make up for the time I had been away. When it was time for me to go I left behind my tears, markings from a paint stick, and a mostly full bottle of strawberry wine.

The walk back was shorter than I’d though it would be.

I stopped a few videos at the smile. You know the one. The wild eyed, excited, I never did that before and I am so proud of myself now smile. It’s the perfect picture. There is nothing else on this earth that even comes close to filling me with more joy. That smile makes everything worthwhile.

Last night at the basketball game Oldest got a rebound and made an awesome basket. The most awesome basket of her short basketball career. I clapped and cheered and waited for the smile. I watches as she turned her head, not to look and make sure I was watching, but to see the cheers of her coach and teammates. Then she ran back down the court and continued to play. She never even looked my way.

I suppose that’s okay. She’s growing up and doesn’t need Mommy to validate her accomplishments. There’s a whole world of people out there that will support her and cheer for her, and that is a good thing. But damn it, I wanted that smile. That smile was there because of all the previous smiles I had helped her achieve. From her first steps, to the first game of catch, to helping her find just the right pair of court shoes. That smile was mine and I felt cheated even though I tried not to feel that way. I did my best to hide it.

After the game was done I walked over to give her shoes and sweatpants. I smiled extra big when I told her that she had played a good game. She told me with all the confidence (arrogance) of a 12yo that it was in fact an excellent game. She talked excitedly about some of the key plays of the game. She mentioned her awesome shot and I gave her a big hug. She smiled really big when I told her she was getting good and looking a lot more confident on the court. Then we went home.

After she got a quick shower, I went to tell her goodnight. She had come down from her post game high and was all sleepy eyed and ready to dream. I kissed her on the forehead and when I was walking out she asked me, “Did you see that basket, Mom? Did you see how I did that?”

I nodded an told her of course I did. She giggled and told me of course I had. She said it like it was completely and totally expected that I was rooting for her. There was no doubt in her mind. Then she rolled over and went to sleep and I went back out to watch some more old movies.

I smiled at the baby smiles on the screen and found contentment in knowing that they know I’m always rooting for them, even when they are too busy living their own lives to acknowledge it. I hope they live the rest of their lives knowing I’m their biggest fan even when they’re sprawled out at half court because they just tripped over their own feet. But I also hope I get more of those smiles, just for me. I’m selfish like that and that is just the way it is.

Hello. It’s nice to see you back. I’m sure you noticed the purple in my hair has faded a bit. Mike, the hair stylist, says no need to worry. I used the temporary hair color and it will wash out in a few days. BINGO turned out fine. Apparently quite a few people decided to try the hair color by the cabbage and we had a good laugh about it. I even made a new purple-haired friend. It’s good to have something in common. That helps promote a friendship. Too bad it had to be a hair color tragedy. But never mind that. Today I am going to tell you about lying.

Lying is bad. We all know you shouldn’t lie to your Mom. Someone needs to tell that to my no good son, the one that lies to his mother. I mean, if you can’t just tell your mom your going to be too busy with that new tart of yours to spend some time with your family on Christmas, what good are you? Making up lies about being busy and needing to make money to pay your child support is stupid. Everyone knows you got plenty of money for your child support. It’s all those alimony payments each month that are killing you.

For awhile, I thought that boy was turning Mormon. Every time I turned around he was getting married. They call that serial monogamy. What it really should be called is he don’t how to keep a woman. He thinks I don’t know that he is going skiing at one of those resorts. Well, I know. I hope he doesn’t break a leg.

So, lying is bad. Just don’t do it. When you lie too much everyone thinks you are morally corrupted. And they would be right. I’m not talking about lying about Martha’s bean salad being good. Everyone knows you’re just being nice about that. Just try not to tell any big lies. Don’t lie to your wife about where you’re going because she will find out. Don’t lie to your kids about what happened to the dog. That’s just wrong. Also, don’t lie to yourself. You know what is right and wrong. Trust the voice inside and be honest with yourself. Things usually work out better that way. That’s a simple fact.

I know that sometimes you have to lie. It’s just how it is. You don’t get to be married as long as I have without a few well placed lies. I told Mr. Brandie a lie last night. I told him he was the sexiest man I know. It was a little lie because I don’t actually KNOW Keith Urban. I sure do like watching him sing on the Country Music Channel though. That Nicole Kidman got herself a good deal in that man! It’s also OK to tell your wife that she looks great even when she doesn’t. It’s called being kind. Being kind is what makes this world a little easier to live in. Life is hard. You should always try and make things better for the people you love. It will give you a great deal of personal satisfaction. Just don’t lie about anything big and you’ll be fine. Big lies lead to big trouble. Remember that.

Thank you for stopping by. I am always thrilled to have you here. It’s good of you to keep an old lady company. Don’t forget to shut the door on the way out. It’s raining and I ain’t in no mood to be mopping up the floor today. Come see me again next Wednesday. I’ll be telling you about something.

Sincerely,
Miss Brandie

I’ve been working on plans for something really cool that I’m doing in July. I’ll have a post about that in the next few days. The post involves Dan and his fat ass. At least the draft does. We’ll see how the final turns out.

I decided to re-do my youngest’s entire school plan. We’ve kept the same Math (Calvert) and Spelling (Sequential Spelling) because she enjoys both of those but I’ve ditched the reading, science, and history. She’s okay with them but she’s more of a hands-on project type of learner and what I was using was becoming more of a chore than a fun learning experience. So instead of breaking everything up into subjects I’m working on projects that incorporate all the subjects into fun hands on projects. We’ll see how they go and I’ll post some if they turn out as awesome as I think they will. If you’re curious, I’ll tell you that the first project includes making a guitar out of a K’nex box. But that’s all I’m saying until I see how everything turns out!

Our family has five birthdays in three weeks. It’s a busy birthday month. Happy Birthday everyone. Bring on the cake.

I organized my office. Not the whole office, just the messiest parts. I made notebooks for all my favorite projects. They’re complete with label and everything. MyHusband bought a new shelf and left it sitting in the hall so I took it, put it together, and it is now my shelf in my office. Snooze you loose. It looks all fancy in there now. I still have to move the cat box to work at my desk but it works for me.

I’ve been learning about Type 1 diabetes. My neighbors daughter, my daughters’ good friend was diagnosed in October and since I love her and she’s over here a lot I thought I should know more about it. She spent the night here a few weeks ago and it was so hard to help her with her insulin and try to stay calm and upbeat especially when I saw all the bruises on her legs from the injections. I managed even though I sat on the couch and cried after they went to bed. Since then I have been trying recipes for low-carb after school snacks and sugar free/low sugar baking. It’s a little harder since she’s a vegetarian and a growing/constantly hungry kid but I’m getting a few good recipes together.

And that is what I’ve been up to so far in 2010. What about you?

Well I was supposed to see you next Wednesday but something happened that I think I should tell you about while it’s still fresh in my mind. I went and turned my hair purple. No, not on purpose. It was a mistake.

My hairdresser, Mike, the gay guy, usually does my hair on Fridays. He’s a good boy. I feel bad for his mom on account of him not giving her any grandkids but he’s a real good boy and takes care of his momma. She can’t complain about that. Not one bit.

So I was saying, every Friday I go and get my hair done. Once a month I go and get it colored as well. It costs me $40 for the cut-n-color special. That’s what they call it. You get your hair cut and colored. They throw in a fee styling as well. My problem was, I spent too much money on fancy pancake syrup and didn’t have enough for the color part. Mike offered to do it anyway. He said I could pay him next time. I told him no. If I can’t afford to pay you then I can’t afford to get it done. Plain and simple. I don’t like to put myself in debt. It isn’t wise when you’re my age. I could kick the bucket tomorrow and poor Mike would never get his money. He wouldn’t ask Mr. Brandie for it because he’s such a polite young man. He wouldn’t want to interrupt the mourning process with business.

I decided I’d do it myself. They had discount hair coloring at the Bottom Dollar for just 3 bucks. I had three bucks so I decided what the heck, I’ll do it. I read most of the direction and started to color my hair. Oh boy, that stuff did smell bad, but it was in a bin beside the cabbage in the store. I figured that was the problem. They call that cross contamination. It can happen. They should have put some baking soda in between the bins. So I wasn’t too worried. I got it all in my hair and set the timer on the stove to 15 minutes, like it told me to do.

I was so excited dancing around the house in my underwear and a towel singing that old hair color commercial. You know the one; ‘I washed that gray right out of my hair’. That was a good commercial and they should bring it back. I was having so much fun. Then the timer went off and I washed the gray out. The only problem was I washed the gray into purple. It’s not one of those purple tints like the artsy people talk about. It was purple. Just plain purple. So now I got to go to BINGO looking like a floozy. I just don’t know what to do. It’s really not a good thing.

I sure do appreciate you stopping by to hear my story. You are good people to listen to my problems. Remember to take care of yourself and don’t use the hair color by the cabbage at Bottom Dollar. Unless you want to be looking like a purple haired floozy. Then you can go right ahead and do it. I’ll be back Wednesday to tell you about something else. I don’t know what because my head is itching me like the devil and I can’t think straight.

Sincerely,
Miss Brandie

It doesn’t matter if I want the label, and stereotypes, and judgments, or not. I am a homeschooler. I was a homeschooler before I even knew the word homeschooler and I can’t imaging myself in any other role. I truly believe that knowledge and education is not the responsibility of the local school board. It is your responsibility to educate yourself, as you see fit, by whatever means you have available. It is a parents responsibility to ensure their children have the skills to seek out and effectively utilize those means, for their own self-chosen goals. So, I’m putting my homeschool category back on my site and I will be adding to it when and if I have something to post. If you have a problem with that, I’ll find a nice place for you in between the mail order brides and the Viagra ads in my spam queue. Have a nice day.

I also serve dinner every night at 6:30, give or take 10 minutes. I’m not sure why I feel the need to serve dinner at that time every night, but I do. I don’t even think my family knows that dinner is at 6:30. They just show up in the dining room when I yell, Dinner! But I go to great lengths to make sure everything is scheduled to be done precisely at 6:30. Go figure.

You’d think I have some weird time obsession but I don’t. If no one is expecting me and it isn’t dinner time, time is irrelevant to me. I don’t own a watch and I haven’t owned one in about 20 years. I don’t have an alarm clock on my bedside table. I get up when the kids wake me up. I use my cell phone if I feel the need to know the time, but I only feel the need to know the time when I need to be somewhere. Otherwise I don’t care.

I’ve always been like this to some extent. In my past life (my life before kids) I worked as a system administrator for a very large computer lab. Every once in awhile I’d sit down in front of a computer first thing in the morning and start working. After what seemed like an hour to me, I’d look up and realize everyone else was leaving for the day. I may be timeatically challenged.

People sometimes laugh at me when I ask them what day it is. They’ll tell me the date and I’ll say, No, is it Wednesday or Friday? I’m not a scatterbrain. I just divide my days into weekdays and weekends. A weekend is any day that MyHusband is home. It works for me most of the time.

I’ve tried planners books and complex calendar systems. I’ve tried to organized my days into neat little blocks of time. I’ve tried to keep track of things in a linear fashion but I end up spending more time planning on doing things than actually doing things. It doesn’t work out for me.

I guess I’m okay. I get a lot done. I am rarely late for an appointment. I just don’t understand time. I don’t understand schedules.  If I had to go grocery shopping every Monday at 11 am I’d go insane.  I don’t like living my life in blocks of time pre-planned in a date book. Sometimes I wish I did. Life would be easier, I think. I’m just not linear and sometimes I run around in circles. I’m okay with that. Most of the time.

How about you?

December 6, 2006
Telling you about The Christmas Spirit

Dear Reader,

It’s nice to have you back. I know I said I was going to talk about profanity today, but I’m not. It’s my blog and I can talk about whatever I want, so stop complaining. It’s getting close to Christmas and I’ve decided a little bit about Jesus would be good. Now don’t stop reading now. It’s for your own good. I wouldn’t have to be doing this if you had a little common sense.

Last year we were in church on Christmas Eve, like we were supposed to be, and it was a good service. We had a new preacher and he was trying his best to impress us. If you have a bad Christmas service it can ruin your whole reputation. That’s the only time most people actually get to see your service. You don’t get to try again until Easter. I was happy for the preacher. He was doing good. It got to be time for Holy Communion and he was fixing up the wine. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he sneezed. Right into the silver goblet. I sit up front and I believe I might have heard a small splash. My hearing isn’t what it use to be though.

Now, since it was Christmas, the church was packed and he had made a lot of wine into Christs blood. He wanted to make sure everyone could have a some. Thats his job! I think you can understand why not too many people went up there for a drink. I can’t say I blame them. The problem was, there was a lot left over that no one drank. Now you know damn well you can’t just pour that stuff out. It’s sacred for god’s sake!

The preacher did his best to get it down. You could tell that stuff was extra holy because he started turning all red and smiling. He handed the goblet off to the altar boy and the same thing started to happen to him. They were passing the goblet around the altar and I was thinking, “Why don’t they just give it to Deacon Joe?” We all know he’s a drunk. He could get rid of that stuff in no time flat. He would appreciate it too. But that didn’t happen. They finally managed to finish it off.

Anyways, that new preacher finished up the service and I tell you, he was filled with the spirit of Christmas. Christ himself would have been proud. I’ve never seen such a spirit filled preacher in my life. Unless I mention the time I went to get Mr. Brandie out of the bar and ran into Father Mike. But, of course, I’m not going to mention that. All I got to say is it was a good service. A real good service. I hope you understand a little more about the Christmas Spirit now. God Bless you.

Thanks for stopping by and I’ll be back next week. I don’t know what I’m going to be telling you about but it might be about profanity.

Sincerely,
Miss Brandie

I need to breathe. Deeply and slowly.

I thought I was done with Christmas shopping. I bought stuff on-line and I made the rounds to all the local shops for other gifts. I had everyone taken care of. I had a list. I checked it twice. I was organized and prepared. What was I thinking? Organized and prepared never works out for me.

Breathe. This is not the end of the world and there are a few more days until Christmas.

I was heartened when the UPS truck cruised through our neighborhood yesterday. Well until they drove right by my house without stopping.

I was sure The Post Office would deliver the other package yesterday. I mean people were out and about and the mail always gets through, right? Nope. Not a single mail truck sighting. Freakin’ wimps. You don’t get a snow day right before Christmas!

My Father-in-law will be here tomorrow. Luckily I bought his gift in November. Just need to wrap it.

I still need to get groceries. I need to finish baking. I need to wrap what I do have. I need to finish knitting a scarf and hat. I need to make another list. I need a shower. I need a beer. I need to get more beer ’cause we’re out and it’s way to early to start on the hard liquor. I need to finish cleaning the house. I need to hang the stockings by the chimney with care. I need a lot but no one is gonna give it to me so I better just get off my ass and get to work.

If you don’t hear from me I’m either frantically scrubbing toilets, washing towels, and wrapping presents or I’m passed out under the Christmas tree with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head. Either way it’s all good. Have a great holiday!

P.S. Could someone please air drop me some Hershey kisses and diet coke? I’d be grateful.

A little know fact about me is that I was once one of Santa’s reindeer. I know you find this hard to believe, but it could be true, if it were true. And not only was I once a reindeer, I also had a very shiny nose. If you had see me back then you might have even thought it glowed. This an important part of the story so remember that. Nose glowed. Okay, now there is more to the story but it isn’t fit for children so be good for goodness sakes and don’t read this out loud to them on Christmas Eve.

Because of my nose and a few other obvious differences I was made fun of. Things like that happen but that didn’t make it any less hurtful. They didn’t even let me play in their reindeer games. Like Monopoly. I was left out, ostracized by the very deer that I hoped to make my friends. There was nowhere to turn. I had never felt more alone in my life. But things were about to change.

It was a foggy Christmas eve and I heard Santa calling me.

“Rudolph” he called.

My name isn’t Rudolph but I was okay with that. I mean, it hurts that Santa can’t remember my name, but I was alright with it. For the most part. Well, I learned to deal with it. I put on my happy face.

“Rudolph with your nose so bright” He continued, “Won’t you guide my sleigh tonight!”

I jumped to attention.

“Ohh yess, Santa, Yes. I will guide your sleigh tonight. I will guide your sleigh like it’s never been guided before. Give me that sleigh, Santa. Give it to me”

I stood there and waited as the jolly old elf, well, Lets just say, the chimney, he rose. Then he decided to speak.

“Damn girl. I wasn’t talkin ’bout all that now.”

The truth about Santa is that he is not a fat old white guy. He’s really a short skinny gangsta. Possibly from Atlanta but he doesn’t talk much about his old ‘hood. It was traumatic for him.

Now, a lot happened that foggy night and I am legally bound by my reindeer contract not to tell the whole story. They have their version of events and it’s a good version. So, lets just say that by the time I was finished, all the reindeer loved me. I mean, they really loved me. And I loved them too because I love peppermint. I really, really love peppermint. I ate peppermint sticks all night while they shouted out with glee.

Now, as fate would have it, I have gone down in history. But I don’t get any credit for it because Santa doesn’t even remember my name. It’s a sad life I live, but I’ll be fine. Just keep that peppermint coming.