The 4th and the 24th

The Fourth of July has to be my least favorite holiday.

Crowds and explosions put me into a full blown panic.

Last night, while driving slowly through a congested neighborhood looking for a good parking spot to watch fireworks, I was reminded of how badly I handled fireworks as a child.

Every year, I would freak the fuck out.

Because of the crowded streets, I was on the verge of freaking out last night. I couldn't stop imagining all of those cars and people suddenly panicking because of a bomb, or maybe aliens or zombies and a wave of humanity and metal crashing over the hood of our car as everyone tried to flee like lemmings.

Needless to say we decided to watch the fireworks at a nice pedestrian bridge several miles away.

Fireworks as a child. Every year I was certain that this would be the one. The year I could actually sit through an entire Fireworks event.

Every year had me bolting for the nearest parking lot to hide under a car.

We would go to this fair around the Fourth. They had games and music. Then fireworks.

My parents would want to go home before, but I always insisted..promised.. that this time I wouldn't freak out.

Memories of running from explosions while a band plays a cover of "Another One Bites The Dust."

I think the music, specifically that number, came on either before or after the fireworks display, but in my memory I flee, terrified, with that song playing.

I recall one year, sitting on a causeway watching them from miles away, still terrified, crouching behind the concrete side of the bridge, barely peeping over.

 I recall another year going to see fireworks with my friends at a park just yards away from the barge where they set them off.
My friend's mother had to sit with me, cowering under a blanket in a lawn chair, talking me through the whole thing. Maybe she heard that I ran for the parking lot. Maybe my parents warned her.

I still don't like them although I can bear them. In this city, around the fourth, it sounds like a war zone. Pick a war zone, any war zone. We put the air condition in around the fourth just to drown out the sound.

You can count on me and every dog in the country freaking the fuck out on the Fourth of July.

Not to mention, people get drunk and do dumb things. Someone left a corn studded diarrhea at the top of my driveway a few years back around the fourth. No, it was not a dog, dogs don't wipe their ass and leave the paper.

And to end my hated holiday rant. Today is the 24th anniversary of Concert Ed puking in my bed.

Here is that story if you want to go back for a read:
http://nicrophorus.blogspot.com/2013/07/concert-ed.html

Ok I don't know how to wrap this up. My foot hurts, I'm getting tired and I just want to wrap this up before the Fourth Of July is officially over.

So if you get a moment, raise a glass, plastic cup or can to Concert Ed. If you can, listen to The Boxer. It was Ed's favorite and he played a mean air cymbal to that song.

If you really felt the urge, vomit in a stranger's bed, blame it on getting bad water instead of the booze and 15 aspirin! that would be really getting into the spirit!

Happy 4th!!

Holding Court

I am on vacation at the moment. The usual New Jersey trip.

This year, I wasn't really looking forward to it so much because of the broken foot.
It's slowly getting better, but I can barely put weight on it. I still need the crutches and the walking boot.

I had a dream last night that I was walking around barefoot.  It was both thrilling and frightening at the same time.

So far, I have been here 2 full days and its quite nice.
B goes out and gets me a Turkish coffee first thing every morning.
There is a patio with a lounge seat and an awning.
I can sit in the shade to read and write while everyone else goes to the beach.

My mother in law has hibiscus plants so I can watch the hummingbirds and butterflies visit and the neighbors have a bird feeder so I get to watch the happenings there as well.

Firefly season is just starting around here. Last night we went up the street after going out for ice cream (yes ice cream every night too) and watched the fireflies in the dark meadow.
To the West Venus and Jupiter were bright above the horizon, colored a wash of pinks and orange.
To the East floated the gibbous moon above the where the ocean was.

Pretty moments that are not to be missed. My favorite thing about June is visiting that meadow at twilight.

I am thankful for another June to enjoy the moment.

Life is precious, people!

It's time for a book review. Book #20 for the year so far.

The Scarlet Gospels by Clive Barker.

Very exciting for us fans of Pinhead and the whole Hellraiser franchise. Movies one and two were really good. That ended it for me as far as the movies. I never realized there were more beyond those.

I have read more than a few of Clive Barker's books over the years and have loved many of them.  Weaveworld and Imagica are on my list of security blanket books and I re-read them at least once every few years.

Scarlet Gospels. First book of the summer for me. I bring two to vacation in New Jersey every year.

I will write this without too many spoilers if I can.

Pinhead. The mighty Cenobite.

Reading Pinhead's inner dialogue and learning that he has motivations, aside from making people who open Lemarchand's box writhe in exquisite pain.

For me,  I can only describe it as (please bear with me)
It was like hearing and then walking in on your ideal person, your perfect God/Goddess, person of your dreams, that you hold in the highest regard, taking a very loud and very messy diarrhea.

You are kind of horrified. You say to yourself, "No. No. No. this doesn't work. Not at all."

They are supposed to be wonderful and amazing, not squatting over the can like everyone else.

But you don't go running out the door because they are who they are.

Your ideal.

They just have become a tiny bit more human, more real so to speak. They have their origins and inner workings and desires,  no matter how gross.

So you stick around and you are happy you did.

They are still really great. Everyone has a bad bout of diarrhea, including you. Then you move on.

In the end, you get some great perspective from some new characters that show up to save the day (not really for those in the book, but for you, the reader).

Everything gets wrapped up nice and neat. There things to ponder on that venture into possible new stories, even if they are only in your head and never written.

 Then you close the book with a contented sigh, satisfied.

Clive Barker-I am so sorry that I doubted you, even for a second.

Pause for a Brief Eulogy

There are certain people who come into your life, for however long, be they friends, lovers or family and by virtue of your relationship with that person, the choices you make because of them,
you are pushed, pulled and shaped into the person that you are today.

Everyone has at least a handful.

Jon was such a person for me.

We briefly dated when I was 16 and he was 19.

I won't go into details except that like many relationships when you are young, it ended very very messy.

Everyone has at least one or two of those, I am sure.

It took years to pull myself out of that experience and I shall spare you the details.

I'm sure some of you who were there are already quite familiar with them.

We had closure though, good closure. We talked one evening a few years afterwards and sorted out our business.

We parted on good terms.

I have not seen Jon for 16 years and only spoke to him occasionally on Facebook.

But when I got the news yesterday that he had died suddenly, it brought me to my knees.

Not literally. I am happy to report that I was in fact, sitting and that was a good thing.

I went to his Facebook page and wrote that I was crying and yelling "Asshole" at the sky for making me feel that way.

I wrote that I was sure that if there was an afterlife, he is there, having a laugh at us all.

I then deleted it-thinking that it's probably not a good thing to refer to the dead party as an asshole.

At least not this early in the game.

There are people in our lives that shape and pull us, leading us to make choices based on our relationships with them.

They make us into the people we are at the moment.

 Everyone has at least a handful, be they friends, lovers or family.

Jon was one of those people for me.

We dated when I was 16 and he was 19.

I say again that I will not go into details except that we were together briefly,  but the aftermath of those months took years to get through.

I last saw him perhaps 16 years ago.

I ran into him at a restaurant while out on a date with the man I ended up marrying. The man who I am still married to and still truly in love with to this day.

But one never forgets first love, no matter how it turns out in the end.

You just don't forget.

I am not entirely comfortable with my reaction when I heard and how I am feeling right now.

My experience of his death will be quite small compared to the others who are close to him, who will miss his presence. Who will feel that empty space.

My heart is heavy for them.

When I called him "asshole" on his page, I meant something else entirely.

What I really meant to say was:

I am really really sad that you are gone.

I truly hope that you were able to find whatever you were looking for.

I regret nothing.

And thank you.

I Read All 3 Fifty Shade Of Grey Books and I am Terrified of Bees- A Confession

Hello!
It has been quite a while..
Since April 1st I believe.
 I think I was writing very sporadically before that.
Ok let's see..Some housekeeping...In order to move on,

I have to satisfy my OCD and will just make a quick mention of a few things so i can be done with them.

What was, what I now refer to as..The Brown Christmas..I puked through Christmas Day and missed the whole shebang.

 I made it through Christmas Eve, managed to gorge myself on, then vomit up, all of my favorite holiday foods, starting at 3am Christmas morning.

 Now I have no idea what the hell we are having for Christmas Eve dinner next year.

Christmas cookies, fruitcake, the same fried pork chops with German macaroni and potato salad I've been having for Christmas Eve for as long as I can remember?

I can't even stand the thought...the smell..of those things now.

If there is a good side, the pressure is off. I realized that it's just a day. A very special day, but nonetheless it is simply a day and it's not the end of the world if it gets missed.

Only its better to be missed in not such a pukey fashion.

The tradition New Years day list of books I read in the past year..

Here is my book list for last year, I'll include authors if I have them-Stars are for the best ones.

1. Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children
2. Hollow City
3. The Coldest Girl In Cold Town-Holly Black
4. The Fault In Our Stars***
5. Sharp Teeth
6. The Girl Who Played with Fire
7. Holes-Louis Sachar
8. Drop Dead Healthy-AJ Jacobs
9. The Forest of Hands and Teeth
10. The Crane Wife-Patrick Ness
11. The Wind Through The Keyhole-Stephen King
12. Insomnia-Stephen King
13. Anna Dressed In Blood
14. Death Poems
15. The Rathbones**** 
16. Orphan Train
17. Dreams of Monsters
18. Daughter of Smoke and Bone
19. Odd and the Frost Giants***
20. Storm of Swords
21. I Am The Beggar Of The World**
22. Under The Wide and Starry Sky
23. The fault In Our Stars-I know..I read it again..shut up...
24. Pretty Monsters****
25. About A Boy
26. Outlander
27. 50 Shades of.....Ok-I feel the need to explain. Last summer, I got sick..It was a suspected case of Lyme Disease. For the two weeks before I got treatment, I felt like complete, utter shit and this crazy brain fog came over me. During that time I read the entire 50 Shades trilogy on my phone. This is what prompted me to seek medical attention as it was a good indication that something was truly wrong. Lyme Disease is a terrible thing. Sudden desire to read 50 Shades should be listed as a symptom.
28. 50 Shades Darker-It's really quite funny how the author uses the phrase, "AAARRRGH!" to describe a woman's sexual pleasure/orgasm. She does it ALL the time in the books.
29. 50 Shades Freed-Ok who am I to judge, just like Stephanie Meyers and the Twilight series, the author, whatshername,  has managed to cash in by pumping out crap for the masses. The people like crap. They supplied it. Good on them. By the way-Gilbert Gottfried reading 50 Shades (Look on You Tube) is magical-check it out.
30. Silver Linings Playbook
31. Islands Of Chaldea-Diana Wynne Jones-(I was heartbroken when I heard about her death-go read Howl's Moving Castle-it's her best)
32. Nice Dragons Finish Last-Rachel Aaron
33. All of the "Y-the Last Man" comic books
34. Horns-book is good but god please skip that movie
35. Monstrous Affections
36. The Bone Season-Samantha Shannon
37. Johannes Cabal, Necromancer
38. Gone Girl

Every year, in June, just before vacation in NJ, I try to rustle up 2 new books to read. Last years choices were meh-

"Under The Wide and Starry Sky" was good, but not June vacation book good. 

I made up for it this year during the February NJ vacation. New Neil Gaiman and Kelly Link short stories.  I felt a lot better.

On my dresser sits the new Clive Barker Pinhead book-"The Scarlet Gospels"
That is waiting for next week and I am waiting for a book I ordered to come in, (The Goblin Emperor-recommended by Kelly Link herself, so it will be good)

This vacation stands to be much better book-wise. 

I need lots of good books to bring with me considering I can't go to the beach because I broke my fucking foot. I plan on eating a lot of ice cream and crutching around the block all week.

But it's ok. I'm out of work, spending a lot of time alone, which has done wonders for my mental health.

I got to watch the Daredevil series and I am having the time to work on editing the book I wrote.

Yeah, I did that too. I'll save it for another time. But the first draft is complete and I am editing and then I shall find an editor and then we will see what happens.

Then, in the meantime I'll find something else to write while I wait to see what happens with that. If you see me staring off into space, oftentimes I'm making up a story or adding to another that I thought of.

I do that often while B is watching sports. He has commented on my interest in watching. I just nod and say, "Uh-huh." while I burn cities in my head and stare blankly at the TV.

So lets talk real quick about bees. 

and wasps. 

There is this thing I have a problem with. It has trickled down to the kids as well, especially G, she was there for that bee incident I'll get to in a moment. 

Imagine two scenarios if you will.

Scenario 1

Kids in the living room watching TV, one calls out to me (I'll be the one in the kitchen, rattling dishes)

"Moooom! There's a wasp in the house!"

"Ok!" I calmly call out. I fetch a wad of paper towels or the jar, I keep a jar handy for these things. 

I calmly locate the insect, trap it and bring it outside to release. 

The kids return to watch TV, I go back to rattle some more dishes. 

Scenario 2

Kids in the living room watching TV, one screams out to me (I'll be the one in the kitchen, rattling dishes)

"THERE'S A FUCKING BEE IN THE HOUSE!!!"

Me: "AARRRGGHHHH! (yeah just like Anastasia Steele in 50 Shades..see what I did there!) 

I burst in with a newspaper, chair or the cat, waving it frantically until I strike the bee down with whatever weapon I grabbed and beat on it, double, triple, tap, to make sure that it is dead dead dead.

Messed up right?
Wasps trapped in the house are so much more likely to sting than a bee.

And I'm a fucking beekeeper.

Right?

So any of you who have read my blog for the past how ever many years remember the time that my hive was vandalized and my attempts at putting it back together ended with me getting stung a number of times on my feet (I still find the hot cankle thing really funny), some girl who worked in the offices next to my hive getting stung on the eyelid, my daughter getting traumatized and me having to move my hives out to the woods.

Before the incident-I was really comfortable around bees. I would go into a hive gloveless no problem, putter around the outside of it without a veil or a thought. 

After the incident, my hives were moved really far away. A half hour drive at best.

I only went out there to work the hives, and when I did, I had the veil, suit, the whole nine yards. It was tough too, whenever I went to open a hive up, my heart would race, I'd start to sweat. Once I was in and doing stuff I was fine, but the anticipation killed me. My hive was pretty defensive too-always pissed off-I forgot that there was such a thing as gentle bees.
It has gotten better over time. I don't flake out as much when I am suited up and working.

But, aside from actually working a beehive, I did not regularly spend time around beehives.
So I never again  got used to the regular day to day being around bees aside from cracking open a hive which is always bound to piss somebody in there off.

There is a bit of a difference.

But I have stuck with it as most of you know-I still have bees,
I am not giving up beekeeping-there is no argument, don't even bring it up. Not happening.

I love them. I even take care of bees for someone as a side job.

But something about the buzzing of a bee in my ear. Or even the sound of an agitated bee nearby.

It sets me off, it's an actual PTSD trigger for me-
fucked up, right?

Stick a wasp around my face and I will casually swat it away.

A bee?

Forget it, my reaction is kind of comical.  Especially considering I'm a beekeeper.

My heart starts thumping, I get short of breath, the sweat machine kicks in.

Full blown flight mode.

This past winter was a bad winter for all of us. It was really bad for the bees. I had 3 good hives going into the Winter.

Two hives died and I was left with one I thought was queenless.

I gave it to some beekeeper friends to combine with a weak hive with a queen. They have helped me so much in the past and present so that basically, my bees are their bees.

 I convinced B that we should try to keep some bees at the house. To minimize driving time and because the one thing I missed the most about having bees nearby is to be able to just sit and watch them. 

It has been years since I was around beehives without a suit on and a can full of smoke.

 I have had 2 beehives here since the end of May. One is mine and the other belongs to the woman I work for, that one will move to her place in the Fall. 

It has been an adjustment for all of us- 

The bees have settled in, as bees do. So far they haven't given anyone problems. 

The kids have adjusted-they walk right past the hives with no problems or if the bees are really bustling (around 3 pm every day) they have the option of using another door.

B is good-once he gets used to a change-he is fine-although that first weekend he was a ball of stress. 

Me?-I was/am a wreck in some ways-that first weekend with Brian and the kids being nervous about 2 hives of bees outside our front door was hell.

All of that I already mentioned and the fear my plan to have a beehive at my house would fail. 

I feed off others moods all the time.
(Hence this alone time with the broken foot has been great.)

The buzzing still gets me, but, if a bee dive-bombs or buzzes at my face, I stand still or walk away slowly, that works. 

I make myself go around the hive and water plants and putter-it's difficult right now with the foot, but once I am better I will do it more. 

It's this head thing where I get even more anxious if I don't have a means to escape and with my foot..

Hobbling on crutches away from angry bees...nah...I think being injured makes you more wary anyways.

If my walking boot is off and the dog gets too close to it-I get antsy.

So That's it-for the bees. I have them here now..it makes me anxious but extraordinarily happy at the same time. 

There is a basement window that looks out to the hive entrances and I could stand there all day watching them. 

Scenario one has taken over scenario two and now if there is a bee in the house I go into "wasp in the house mode" instead of the former, more violent "bee in the house mode"

Last night, the power went out and there was a thunderstorm rolling in.  I sat on my front steps and watched all of the bees come in from foraging. Circling down from thirty feet up to fly right into an entrance barely a 1/2 inch high. It really is something to see. 

I could totally get used to that.

I will get used to that. 

A few years back I wrote a piece about a hive that I installed, I got stung a few times and for a few days I was pissed off at all bees.

I'm putting it here-edited a bit to reflect my current situation:


Yesterday I wanted to punch one of those bees in the Goddamn face.

Today I am better

Tomorrow or some day in the near future I go outside, throw my arms open (standing at a safe distance) and proclaim that they have been forgiven and I am over myself.

Not that they care of course.

I guess love is kind of like that.

April Fool

I took the different path this year. I decided to be ridiculous this day of days (in addition to the other 364).

The kids came home from school and I told them:

I was pregnant

We won the lottery

I was leaving their father for Scott Baio

We were getting a puppy

They weren't having it. 

They called out "April Fool's!" And shook their heads at my silliness.

As they did their homework together, at the big table in the dining room, I popped in every few seconds and tried again:

"We're moving to Indiana to open a fundamentalist Christian bakery!!"

"G-I'm buying you a new laptop right now!"

"We just won a new car!"

"A new dishwasher!"

Nope, nope, nope and nope.

"Your father is leaving me for your best friend's mom?"

"No Mom, go away, we're doing homework."

"All right. You're adopted. All of you. Dad and I are having another baby so we can actually have a biological child."

Von got upset at that and informed me that I had offended him. 

I apologized profusely and said it was just me, going too far again.
I assured him he was my own biological son forever and always. 

I tried to show him my c section scar to prove it, but he ran from the room screaming.

G watched the interaction with a bemused expression on her face. 

I turned to her and said, " You just came out of my vagina."

Unmoved as usual, she turned back to her homework. 

"I know Mom," she said with a sigh, 

"You tell me that all the time."

April 1

I normally despise April Fool's Day.

I had a bit of a loss 11 years ago today, so April 1st always looms drearily on my calendar.

The entire month of April does, in fact.

It really never gets easier, but it does ease over time. Does that make sense?

But it's OK.

I will slog through today and do what needs doing, because the world does not stop and time marches on, with or without you.

So on this crappiest of crappy days, I just wanted to take a moment to say thanks guys.

I am so very happy we are all still here.

Snow Czar

I meant to write this yesterday but I got caught up with packing for a trip, cooking and shoveling 

oh my God the shoveling. We have so much area to shovel and yet no snow blower. 

But there is no place to put one. 

If one would invent a snowblower that folded neatly to shovel size, that would do the trick.

 Sadly, nobody has gotten around to inventing it. 

Snow removal is an obsession for B.

He has a precise, sometimes, exhausting, system for how to do it, where to put it and how much should be removed, in order to minimize the development of ice.

It can be equally argued as the work of a genius or a madman.

Usually it's just around this time of year though that he throws in the shovel and says, "Fuck it." because  there is too much snow and nowhere to put it anymore.

Despite this, I still think there's no better candidate. Somebody really needs to appoint that man to be the Snow Removal Czar of  Southern New England.

Consider this my public nomination.

Here is a funny thing. 

We are in NJ on vacation. 4-6 inches are expected tomorrow.

And so it goes on and on. 

Last Cookie

My friend posts a note everyday with something new that he wrote. He has invited me to do the same. I hope you like this one-it was the January prompt for my writer's group.

The Last Cookie in The Yellow Room

I am standing at the counter

in the yellow room 

that is mykitchen.

I am eating the very last cookie 

in the last box of the

Peanut Butter 

Girl Scout Cookies that come

but once a year.

I was not thinking of getting any

though this is the season for such,

when I happened upon 

the colorful boxes

and the cheerful girls 

in their beanies,

outside of the store.

I bought the cookies home 

And placed them

in a cupboard with out saying so.

Curious as to how long 

it would take 

for them to be found.

I came the very next day, 

today,

to find the boxes 

opened, ransacked.

One lonely cookie was left

uneaten, last in line

nestled safely 

in its plastic tray.

I bit into the cookie

savoring 

the salty sweet taste 

of peanut butter and chocolate.

It tasted sweeter 

because it was the last cookie,

in the last box, 

for the year.

It tasted even sweeter to me

because, 

although for everyone else,

it was the last cookie,

I knew of another box.

Tucked away

 unopened.

Where is it?

I’ll never tell.

(Obviously I can't show this to my family until I have gone through that last box of cookies.)

Wager-A Short Story

A few years back, out with B and some friends, I got caught in the middle of a conversation about basketball teams.
The topic was Secular vs. Catholic school teams (for lack of a better phrase) focusing on how the Catholic teams always seem to be much better.

I mentioned that it would be pretty funny if the losing teams began to renounce God en mass, after losing to a big Catholic school team.

We went with it for a bit and it was very entertaining.

I have been fascinated with really short stories that contain larger stories, in just a few sentences or small paragraphs.

I was reminded of that conversation today while listening to the priest at church talk about the story of Job.

Here is what I came up with today-Hope it works.

I also have to credit a certain Guy Benoit for coming up with the team name and finding the idea funny-it was definitely a collaboration.

A new wager was made, straight out of the book of Job. 
Sadly, the previous winner is foiled this time when Bucci's Auto Body unanimously renounces God, in favor of his Adversary, after losing in a landslide to the St. Pius basketball team on Thursday.

Riddle

Hello!
I have a riddle for you:

What has two thumbs and no braces?

THIS GAL RIGHT HERE!

My mouth feels naked and slippery and wonderful.

All gone!

I no longer have to worrying about the Apocalypse happening before I get my braces off.

I no longer have to decide between being some crazy metal mouthed lunatic tearing out people throats with my braces like that guy from "Moonraker" or the love slave of one of the last remaining orthodontists left in the world.

I tell you though, when they were painstakingly taking off each bracket, I listened closely.

 I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if I heard the cloppity clop of hooves as the Four Horsemen of The Apocalypse raced past the orthodontists office and through the streets of Cranston.

Of course, then everyone would have thrown down their orthodontic torture devices and run for the hills.

Leaving me screwed. With a half mouthful of braces.

But happy day, they are out! One more week and I get my second retainer and then-

come on End of Days! I'm all set! (Just kidding, really)

Even if it came tomorrow, I think having a retainer would be the least of my worries.

And nobody can blame me because it happened AFTER the braces came off, so there.

And now I'm assuming you want pictures. I have never liked pictures of my smile before braces, during braces and now after braces. I was going to show a series of pictures of me showing my teeth while bored, scared, vaguely annoyed and confused, but no. The kids will be home soon and I'd like to sit and read for a bit. And besides, the lighting in this room is all wrong and I didn't put on make up today.

So you will have to do with this:

I feel party.

Some Randomness

I don't really have a story for you today, just a list of random thoughts and things. I should be getting ready for work but I'm not.

Or perhaps I am getting ready for work right now, in the best way possible. Sure, my hair is a greasy mess and I probably smell like BO, but I'll feel really good for today because if all else falls through, I at least conquered part of a blank page today.

You would be surprised (or maybe not) at how far that will get me.

• My daughter started calling me "Mother Thing". I don't know where or why she has come up with this, but my response now when she refers to me as such is to say, "Yes walking talking creature who came out of my vagina, what do you want." She has stopped. Also, it occurred to me last night, when G was having a bit of a freak out, if you have a death wish, try singing "Don't Cry Out Loud" by Melissa Manchester at the top of your lungs to a extremely distraught and hormonal pre-teen girl. No I didn't do it. I love life. No death wishes here.
• My children are the type to purposefully annoy me when we are stuck in traffic and are bored. They will start to make screeching noises and ask "Are we there yet?" repeatedly. I have started what I call the "Xanadu" treatment in which I put that song on top volume and dance to it while sitting in traffic. They stopped and got the point. 
• Audiobooks are the best thing for those times that you are stuck in traffic with them. Not so much if they have a friend in the car, but if it's just you and them, it's great. We just finished  "Anansi Boys" and have started on "Four Years, Five Seasons" by Peter S. Beagle. I have 'The Last Unicorn" and "Howl's Moving Castle" ready to go as well. My ridiculously expensive Audible subscription is finally paying off.
• Have you ever heard of Peter S. Beagle? He is amazing. He wrote the book "The Last Unicorn" (everyone has seen the movie I'm sure). He is one of the best writers out there and you should check him out if at all possible. The guy saved my ass last week. I was sitting in front of my computer, feeling horribly uninspired. I was wasting time on the internet and remembered once reading about how he had trouble writing his own stories. I decided to see if he had anything worth reading to get me started. (Yeah I know, more excuses). Lo and behold, I found a pod cast called Writing Excuses. Lo and behold, there was a podcast with Peter S Beagle speaking about how to get into the writer's mindset. It really helped. (Here is the secret-you just sit down and do it. Ha!). The link to the podcast and the site is here.
• The bees are fine. No honey for me from them this year. I got a tiny bit from Anne's hive. Anne is a lovely woman in Providence who hired me to take care of her beehive. So although I have no honey, through Anne's and my friends Scott and Emily's generosity of bee donations, I have 3 healthy hives with first year queens going into the winter. Keep you finger's crossed folks! I'm going to bust my ass this winter making sure the ladies make it through.
• Last of all, my faith in humanity, always shaky best, was restored the day before yesterday as I was stopped at a stop sign, about to go down a hill. Two men were pushing a broken down minivan up the hill. It was being steered by an older woman. As I watched, a car pulled over and a third man got out and helped push it up the hill and to the side of he road. It was great to see and in the rain too. I try to hold onto those moments when I get my car keyed, or someone gets stabbed right in front of my house. I say to myself, "It's not so bad, Mr Roger's said, "Look for the helpers".

Ok off to work.

Jesus Would Have Left Me To Die

I love the Autumn portion of daylight savings.

All summer long, I have struggled to wake up before 7am so I could have my time to fart around and possibly write, before everyone else wakes up.
For some reason, I could not get out of bed before 7am, even if I went to bed at 10.

But lo and behold, I hopped right out of bed by 6:30 this morning.

Of course, I squandered the time I had and it is already a quarter past 7 and I only have about 30-40 minutes before I have to start doing things, but at the moment I consider myself to be back in training to write again.

I have barely written a blog post or a story, including any additions to my really long stories that I can't seem to finish yet. Please don't get me started on the newsletter. Joanna and I have been crazy slacking on that.

Some wonderful, little things have happened and now here I am typing at 7am. I am also in the process of creating future plans/schedules so that I can get my time in every day. I'm thinking of it a "cross-fit" for my writing muscle, which has grown very flabby.

I had a spectacular fall, in both ways.

My Fall has been a mix of extreme stress and extreme fun. I don't talk about my work here, One,  because I never want to give Human Resources a reason and Two, the nature of my work makes me want to keep it very separate from what I do outside of work.

But I will say that work had some tough moments that made me realize things..and that is all about that.

Despite work stress, I managed to do all of my favorite Fall activities so far. I picked the apples, I made the apple butter. I went to Salem with my beloved Jessica and her daughter. I somehow managed to accumulate pumpkins and the items needed to make 4 Halloween costumes just in time for the big day, as well as come up with a decent short story (well, half of one) before midnight on that day for my writer's group.

Hooray for me.

I also had a big spectacular fall last Sunday.

I was tired, it was an off day. I spent the night before having dreams of being in bed with something scary looming in the room. I kept waking myself up in dream to end the dream and tell B I had a nightmare, only I was still in the dream. I also think I did actually wake up a few times interspersed throughout, so I had terrible sleep.

I dropped the kids off at CCD. Going into the gymnasium, I stumbled over the threshold but kept my balance.

Picking the kids up an hour later,  I thought of my previous stumble and congratulated myself on being more careful as I crossed the threshold.

I tripped again, stumbled forward several feet, my torso parallel to the ground before I fell outright on my side. I want to say that I slid forward a few feet too. Even if I didn't, let's just pretend I did because it makes a better mental picture.

I got up laughing and walked over to my daughter's best friend and her mother who were laughing at me. My daughter had run off in embarrassment because she actually thought I had fallen in a room full of people on purpose. Just to embarrass her. She even punched me in the arm when she stalked back.

You have no idea how awesome it feels to know that I have gotten into her head that much. It should make the teenage years easier.

Here is the big problem I had with the whole scenario despite my laughter and the hilarity of it.

Nobody in the room even asked if I was Ok.  Nobody.

Not even the nun!

The people in the room are a bunch of Catholics. Who are in the room to set a good example for a bunch of kids that they are attempting to teach to be good Catholics.

Nobody helped, nobody even asked it I was ok.

Except for V of course. I'm telling you, that kids lives rent free with me for as long as he wants, when he grows up..

So this is a room full of people who aspire to be like Jesus Christ.

What would Jesus do?

Judging by the reaction of the people in the room, Jesus would have pretended that he didn't see me fall and would have left me to die.

Thanks Catholic people. Thanks Jesus, your folk are doing a bang up job.

I know I'm being a bit harsh, but still. I could have been really hurt. C'mon. They are supposed to be better than that. I was a little shocked.

Later in the day, I went to Salem with Jessica as I mentioned.

Here is our annual Port A John shot.

A woman fell in front of us as we walked down the sidewalk. She was laughing by the time we got there and her husband was helping her to her feet. 

I asked her if she was ok and she said she was. I told her that I fallen earlier today and nobody had asked me if I was ok. She was clearly embarrassed and it may have been better pretend not see so as to spare her the embarrassment. 

But I think that the "helping muscle" is like the "writing muscle" it needs a work out. 

It needs practice or it gets flabby. Then you do things like walk past and pretend not to see when someone falls or needs help in some way. 

The time is now 8am and there are things to do, so I have to cut this short, but as a public service announcement, if you see somebody fall today or in the near future. Just take a second and ask if they are ok. It means a lot. 

Minstrel Threat Level

When I was 17 or 18, I used to play Dungeons and Dragons a few times a week with a group of friends.

No, I had my own apartment at the time, so there was no dwelling in my parent's basement. They had a dank cellar anyways.

During one of the more memorable sessions, my friend Mike had enough gold pieces to acquire a minstrel. The purchasing of said minstrel, inspired many minstrel-related jokes. My favorite being that we needed to get the minstrel a bike. It would be a choice between aluminum or iron framed one.

A light or heavy minstrel cycle-get it?

Sadly, the minstrel was killed shortly after purchase by a tribe of Xenophobic elves that our party came across.

It was fun while it lasted, Sir Minstrel.

I was reminded of this today by my choice in tights. I had put on a pair of light grey ones as opposed to my usual black tights.
I never could figure out why light colored tights paired with black boots made me slightly uncomfortable, but it hit me as I was walking into a restaurant to meet Jessica.

"Tell me honestly," I asked, standing very straight. "Do these tights make me look like a minstrel?"

To which she replied, "Well, you do look like you could use a lute."

"I knew it!"

There were several discussions revolving around how I should mince about the restaurant as I made my way to the restroom, singing a ballad and I even had Jess take a picture of me playing air lute.

After Jessica and I parted ways, as I drove along, I remembered Mike's ill fated minstrel. Inspiration hit me.

Ok, I'm going off subject just a bit, but bear with me.

I am under the influence of a special kind of muse, (perhaps it's the 13th muse) the one that governs creative ways in which to poke fun at and embarrass your offspring.

I have a talent for it. It may sound mean, but think of it. You carry them, give birth to them, you nurse them both with your own body and then with your hands when they are sick. You spend all of your hard earned cash on plastic things and an exorbitant amount of extra food.

And for what? For them to be completely and utterly embarrassed by you, just as they start to become a little bit independent.

In addition, they tend to be very vocal about how embarrassing you are.  My kids act so embarrassed if I even open my mouth near them in public, you would think that I had crapped myself, based on their reactions.

But, instead of being hurt a bit or feeling rejected, I go with it.  For the most part, I try to use my special creativity for blackmailing purposes.

I do not threaten to take away toys or privileges. I do not hit my children. I do not put them in time out or ground them.

I tell them that I will chaperone their school dance, bring their father, and slow dance with him to every love song.

I threaten to yell "I love you, be brave!" as they walk into school. (I have followed through with this one)

I threaten to fart loudly while in public with them. (Tried that one didn't work out.)

They are good kids, fairly polite, somewhat responsible and they are good students. Must be working..

This is the one though.
I'm thinking that this is one of the last Halloween's where I can enforce the rule that they have to be accompanied by a family member.
B has to stay home to hand out candy with Lyd, so there is nobody to reign me in this year.

I'm thinking that I have to go as a minstrel. Floppy hat with the feather, big puffy sleeves and the light  colored tight and big boot combo.
I'm going to attempt to get a lute, but even a cardboard one will do.

The songs and ballad's I can sing about my lovely children as we meander down the sidewalks passing every classmate and neighbor.

I could just threaten them with this. I could give them fair warning. Each broken rule, each moment of being disrespectful could be another song about the infraction for the neighborhood's enjoyment.

"Clean your room or it's gonna be another ballad while Trick or Treating!"

Or I could just surprise them on the big night.

I'm going as a minstrel, no doubt. If I have songs or whether I sing them will depend on them.

Next year I'm going as a mime.

The Apocalypse Cometh

I am in the parking lot of my orthodontist's office after my appointment. I had my final extra heavy duty wire installed. He also added 3 more months to my sentence. 

After this wiring job I am truly thankful I went with the scrambled eggs/breakfast with dinner option for tonight. The pain should start just as I get out of work. No reprieve for the wicked and whatnot.

It's ok though. I'm used to these things after 2 years. What's 3-4 more months? 

Three to four more months. Judging by this time line, in partner with my fatalistic view on life and my overactive imagination, I am estimating that the Apolcalypse should begin sometime either just before or after Christmas. I am fairly positive that right before I am due to have these damn things removed, a world wide catastrophe of epic proportions will occur, preventing me from ever having these things taken off in a proper manner, so I may have bridges installed and then be able to chew like a normal person once again. 

Perhaps in the zombie infested, post apocalyptic desert of New England, these wires in my mouth could become some sort of weapon, placing me at the top of the food chain. I could be some sort of a warlord in my own right. 

Probably not. That's ok, in the meantime, be sure stock up on canned goods, Poland Spring and axes, because it's coming. I'm loading up on supplies then locating my orthodontist's home. When the end comes, I'm gonna guard that man, and I guess my kids, with my life. 

Orthodontists and children first!

The Fireflies Listened

My New Jersey vacation ends tomorrow, but I am content. My phone, which usually rings off the hook with work calls, has been silent. I managed to find a book that V is really enjoying (Odd and The Frost Giants, by Neil Gaiman), I still have 4 days off when I get home tomorrow AND the fireflies came out. 

I was worried. Everything is running late this year. My first night here I was sad not to see them at twilight near my in-laws house. I was sure I was going to miss them but last night at a friends house they began flickering at dusk. 

We went to the field down the street from my in laws after sunset and although there weren't as many as there are at the height of the firefly orgy, there was still enough to satisfy. We also surprised a small herd of deer, which was a bonus. Especially because they were nowhere near my own meager garden.

I took a few crappy videos that didn't come close to showing how wonderful it was. I would share it here only I'm writing from my phone and I haven't figured out how to upload video. Besides, most of you see me over on Facebook and the videos are up over there.

The June fireflies are now officially categorized under holiday magic days along with Christmas and Halloween.

So that's it for now here in the Garden State, Good Night and behave yourselves.

It's been a long time!

Hello!

It has been forever since I have been on here.

I do not blame myself and my complete lack of motivation, of course.

I blame my new job, it has been a tough transition. More hours and more responsibility, but I think I have the hang of it now.

And of course I blame the children.

What has happened with the television has happened with the computer as well. In a household of 5, there is only 1 television. 

Since I'm content to read, I simply gave up the fight and let the rest have their Mythbusters, Star Wars and sporting events. 

So now the fight has been brought to the only laptop that we have. 

As soon as I turn the thing on, a small head will pop up in front of the screen and ask, "What are you doing? Can I use it when you're done? When will you be done?"

So I gave up. 

I'm currently saving for my own computer, each week in a honey jar. 

However, that is a poor excuse for not writing. I should be doing it every day in some way. 

 I finally downloaded a Blogger app on my phone, which the hellions can't claim from me. I need it for work. 

So in between work, managing bees who aren't doing what I want them to do, fighting squirrels in defense of my new tiny garden and keeping up with the kids, you may hear from me a bit more. 

In the meantime, I am on the Jersey Shore for our traditional start of the summer vacation.

 I'm really disappointed because the late spring, with all the plants and creatures running late, means that the fireflies, who are out in the millions at my in-laws at this time, have not yet made an appearance.

If you need me, I'll be standing in my in-laws backyard, silently willing a couple of million insects to wake up already and start having sex for my entertainment. 

Noro Through the Ages

It's funny. The annual Holt family stomach bug outbreak always seems to coincide with the annual trip to the Providence Performing Art Center.

Every year for Christmas, I get tickets for Lyd and I to see a show.

Every year, right before we go, someone gets struck down with the stomach bug.

I stress and worry because I would hate to have Lyd miss out on the show and I know she would be pissed if someone else took her.

We made it to see Wicked last night.  I breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the show was over. (The assholes who came out in force to join us at the show may be a post for another day)

Bring it on Noro-virus!

It was especially hairy the year that we had a show to go to, after which, I had to drop Lyd off to her Dad's because she was flying to Hawaii the next day.

And V and G had already had the bug.

I dropped Lyd off and nearly collapsed with relief that time.

Then I went home and got sick. Lyd made it through, happily.

It used to be that I feared the stomach flu.

Anyone with really young children can relate.

The kids get sick first, you change their diapers and clean the vomit that they spew all over indiscriminately.

By the time they are feeling better, you are on the floor feeling like you are going to die, unable to move.

The kids take the opportunity to destroy the house.

I had a friend who drove down to Virginia (or somewhere else that was a really long drive) with her family, to stay with a friend's family.

Within a half hour of arrival, the friend's daughter came down with the stomach flu. My friend said, "We gotta go!" packed up her three young daughters and drove back home.

I would have done the same thing.

If you have a child under the age of 7, the stomach bug is the worst thing. To the point where anyone that has it going through their house is considered a pariah. To be avoided at all cost.

I remember a night, during that crazy snowstorm filled winter a few years back.  I spent the evening chipping away at a huge swath of ice in the driveway of the house I worked at, in preparation for a storm that was coming. I made my way home from work in the storm, an hour late because my relief came late, only to have to shovel more in order to get into my driveway.

I walked into the house, tired and glad it was all over. G was standing at the door. She informed me that she had puked "a little" in the bathroom.

It looked like a vomit bomb went off in the bathroom. B and I spent the next hour alternating between cleaning and holding the big green bowl under G's chin.

I spent the rest of the evening on bowl duty. It was definitely one of those dark nights of the soul. You cat nap on the foot of the sick child's bed. You don't want to actually share the bed because, gross. You lay listening for that first sound of retching, praying to God that you get the bowl under their chin before you have to change the fucking sheets again.

It's gotten much better. I knew things were looking up last Mother's Day. You can read about that vomiting incident here.

So far, V had it last week. The lovely boy waited until morning to start, so I got a full nights rest. He made it into the bowl every time. Because he is old enough to stick the bowl under his chin himself (I spasmed with joy as  wrote that last part. It's the little things, ya know?).

G said she felt sick last night. I suspected a school avoidance, but left the big green bowl up on her bed just in case. G sleeps high up in a loft bed. The thought of the splatter range should she puke off the side of that bed was simply terrifying, so I took that precaution.

I jumped out of bed at 3am to the sounds of her retching. Thankfully, in the toilet. I don't know if you can truly understand my happiness and feeling of triumph at this, but it certainly was a wonderful moment.

So here I am, tired from sleeping on the couch, while Gretel lay on the other end with the big green bowl. I am working on tying up any loose ends because I am assuredly the next person to take my place on the couch, with the big green bowl by my head.

Only I am a big girl, so I generally make it to the bathroom.

 I suppose I should apologize. No blog since Christmas and the one I get around to writing speaks only of my family's vomit.

But this is where I am right now, in a holding pattern, waiting to see where the virus strikes next.

Two down, three to go!

Merry Christmas!

I managed to get up early again this year.

I am sitting by the Christmas tree, which is the only light on in the house.

Dawn is just peeping up in the East, I can see it out the window if I turn my head.

I love this time of day, especially on Christmas. The kids are still young enough to believe in Santa and magic.

I am stationed here waiting for the sound from upstairs of feet hitting the floor and running down the stairs.

That for me, is the magical moment, now that I know who Santa really is.

It is very fleeting and I am thankful for it while it lasts.

I hope you all have a Merry Christmas.

If you are a person who loves this day, I hope it is a long wonderful day filled with joy and fun.

If you are a person who hates this day, I hope it is over in a flash for you and that things will be better once it is finished.

Off to buy a hive of bees from Heifer International while I wait for the pitter pat of little feet.

Merry Christmas and as always, thank you for reading my crap

Bechdel Briefs

I logged onto Facebook first thing this morning and saw a post from my friend Heather.

She said that she will no longer be able to watch a movie without checking to see if it passes the Bechdel test.

The Bechdel test, for those of you who don't know, was first introduced in a comic strip by Alison Bechdel called "Dikes to Watch Out For".

A female character said in a strip that she only watches movies if it passes 3 requirements.

1. It has 2 women in it
2. Who talk to each other
3. About something other than men.

Look it up, and my apologies if my explanation seems vague. It is 7am. I have a deadline in 10 minutes at which time, I have to wake B up and begin my very last leg of the X-mas rush.

I am so ahead of the game this year. I finished shopping on Friday.  I wrapped almost everything and I am all finished with baking.

Go Cindy.

So back to this Bechdel test.

It is very interesting. The article I read from Wikipedia also mentioned that one could also apply these rule to one's life/relationships to see if you yourself, as a woman, pass this test.

I am married with oodles of kids. I rarely talk about the opposite sex. Maybe to bitch about B, but not often.
He does Ok most of the time.

I was at a party the other night and the main topics of conversation were "Merkins" and "Vajazzle".

Looks like that party passed the Bechdel test.

You know what I talk about with other women a lot?

Whether or not our children change their underwear.

This is a perfect segway into my idea that I have been thinking about.

My magnum opus as far as embarrassing my children, which, if you read my blog, you know I love to do.

 My friend, who will remain unnamed, has a daughter who does not change her underwear.

I thought it would be so great if I went out and bought said daughter a package of "days of the week" undies for Christmas.

When she opened the package, I would explain to her, that her mother tells me that she never changes her underwear and I thought this would be a perfect gift.

Even better if V gave it to her.

But what would be best?

Arrange a "Secret Santa" party with the neighborhood parents. (most of whom have children who do not change their underwear. It is an epidemic this side of the Parkway, so I hear)

Parents will tell the kids that they will grab the gift for them.

At the party, which would be a group of 8-11 year olds of both genders. (This is VERY important as kids this age are very self conscious about certain things when the other sex is involved.)

The children would open the gifts. All which would be underwear.

All the parents would exclaim in joy and make comments in front of the kids such as, "Oh how wonderful! You never change your underwear and these are so nice! Maybe this will motivate you!"

Your children will hate you. They will probably stick you in the crappiest nursing home when it's time.

But think of those glorious seconds, watching them squirm in sheer embarrassment after the underwear goes round.

And probably totally worth it as children can be so rotten right before X-mas zero hour, that they most likely deserve whatever you can dish out.

Mine do.

It's worth it.

And there is still time...

Crappy Post

I've got to quit sugar.

Not until after Christmas of course.

Probably never. I love that shit.

It does make me horrifically silly and I say things sometimes that I find funny, but other people do not.

G got mad at me last night. Enraged is more like it.

I blame cupcake #4.

When G gets really mad, she giggles as she tries to kick your ass.

I told her last night that sometimes, when a woman gives birth, they poop a little as they push the baby out.

I told her that I had a full breakfast and a chicken salad sandwich for lunch while I was in labor with her.

So odds are, I probably crapped on her head as she came out.

Only the nurses will ever know and I'm sure they are not telling.

Yeah, G didn't take that well at all.

I blame the cupcakes.