Thursday, October 30, 2014

pinch me




I love coming home. There was a time when the drive home felt like a dark cloud was following me and it got darker the closer to home I got. One day, I drove away from that cloud and never went back. This is my drive now and it's right. This morning the fog was thick and deep and still, and it enveloped me. I love it. Drove through it to be greeted by parted pines. 

I used to think this kind of drive would be possible, Only in my wildest dreams... 
Somebody pinch me. 

-Angie

exit at your own risk

There was an apocalypse going on over here a couple of days ago. It got really warm and thawed everybody out that thought it was hibernation time. Sucka's! We didn't go outside much that day, not close to the house anyway. None of us felt too good with our own stomach bugs. There were bugs everywhere. Exit at your own risk. 

It starts out with just one ladybug. So cute. So sweet. So aww. Then they're in your hair and in your clothes. They hang out and then they gently fly away. And then their friends the wasps come out. And they aren't cute. They were all bedded down in the same spot so I couldn't do anything about the wasps... yet. I'll get them when the ladybugs fly off next Spring. 

Ladybugs are red and some of them aren't even ladies, and they aren't pissed off trying to kill everyone. Why so angry, red wasp? Seriously, what in the actual hell?

I didn't get the photo where is looks like the air is moving with all of these things. But just trust me, it was Hitchcock-ville up in here.





Ladybugs on the screens.

Red Wasp -aka- Whopping Hammer of StingAss



-Angie

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

mess or no mess



Just a little while before this picture was taken, you couldn't see the tops of the counters, the stove, the island, the top of that lamp in the corner, or even the top of my head. 

Dishes and stuff covered everything. Mountaintops awaiting avalanches. Some of the mess was the dishes that needed to be washed after being packed up, some came out of the cleaned out fridge, leftovers, you know. And others were just regular ole dirty dishes that were beginning to impose an airborne health hazard. My kitchen, one big science lab of a petri dish, and I the healthy host. It was the truth, man. Whatever. It was well beyond normal mess. I'm telling you, it was out of hand. 

You didn't think I was going to take a picture of that, did you? I mean, I'll tell the truth, but I'm not going to show you that truth. You're liable to run screaming, gouging your eyeballs out with the food crusted forks you'd just witnessed, out your door to throw yourself into the oncoming traffic.

Some may look at this picture and be all, Gawd, what a shit pile of a mess!  
I'm cooking here, what do you want from me? 

We've all seen somebody somewhere take a picture like this and be all... This is my terrible mess and this is my truth. Because I'm all about keeping it real. 

Yeah. OK. I would love for their camera angle to pan just East or West a little. I don't know, I'm seriously doubting that a lot of that is real. And I wish they would quit doing that, because they're making people me feel some kind of way. Like their shit doesn't stink. Well, get over it, mine does, and probably not as wretched as those that may be pretending to have all things perfect. I mean, I know a few people that really freak over an unwashed glass, or a speck of dust. And if that's really who they are and they can deal then that's great. And if on the other hand there are people like me and they can deal with the mess, then that's equally great. It's who they are, and it's who we are. 

Like, this is a picture of a very clean kitchen as far as I'm concerned. Dude, I will never keep a clean house 24/7. I'm not organized, or a germaphobe, or a clean freak, and this isn't a bad thing. Somewhere down the line I got the impression that not being these are bad. As if I'm in a lower standard or beneath another kind of person. But it's not bad. 

I'm chill. I'm happy. I'm a single mom. I'm busy. One day those two kids of mine will be grown and flown from the coop, and maybe then everything will be so clean. And it will be boring. I don't even want to think about it. 

I'm going to have friends over soon. Something I never did at my other house and I'm still not sure why I never did. I think I had some kind of stupid fear that it would not be as perfect as what I had built up in my mind, and now I'm over it. 

But, I'll clean up the whole place before they come and I'll hope that a ragweed of dog hair doesn't roll out across the floor. I'll hope that I remember to wipe off the dust that now reads WASH ME on the base of the television (that I'm now wondering if the cable guy inscribed there), but it will all be alright. Even if the dog took a crap in the floor and I don't' see it in time for the company - it will all be alright. 

The outlets may not have covers, and some of the outlets themselves may still not have been replaced, or the handles to the cabinets, and there will probably be a pile of clothes somewhere. But the paint is dry and the curtains are hung, and there is food and light and music. And for the first time in over nine years I will have my girls over for a hangout. And they won't care if there are spots on the mirrors. And they will love my dogs.  Mess or no mess - living and enjoying life is taking place here. 

-Angie



Tuesday, October 28, 2014

still bloomin'


Fall likes to baby us and coddle us with her colors and temps, practically making promises that it will all be green again before she hands it all off to Old Man Winter. He's a real cranky ass, ain't he? He'll have me huddled over myself with a rigid back, and my hands in any pocket I can find for warmth, while he blows arctic air in my face. Rude.



I don't love Winter like I used to. We spent eight years in a drafty old house, that could never hold enough heat. But then there was last year when we were at Gammy's, and her house was toasty. With that in mind, the memory of a cozy house, I'm trying to remain optimistic about it all. 



Nah, that's pretty much a lie. I straight up dread it. 



I'm a little nervous to see how we fare out here in our new shack for the cold months ahead. I'm guessing pretty well, though, because this house is air tight. So far, so good. 



I started to clear off this mound of dead flowers, but every time I even think about it they must sense it and another one blooms and I just can't. They just keep doing stuff! I can't snuff that out. Soon enough I reckon I will. Soon enough, everything will be laid bare. We'll have cranky ass to thank for that. Alright, fine. We can also thank him for no more ticks in the woods. That's huge. I appreciate it.



If he paints it all in a wintry wonderland, I won't hold any grudges. At least that's a beautiful site, but spare me a lot of the cold, wet, cloudy, gray days. Please. Oh, please, oh please, ohpleaseohpleaseohplease. 





Stay warm, homies. Smell the blooms while you can.

-Angie

back to earth

The weather got really cool for a few nights a week or so ago and then it got really warm again. This is good for two reasons. One, I don't like cold weather, and two, this shack doesn't have any heat yet.

And the weather will be cooling off again - that shit is going to be cold starting tomorrow night, I think. Maybe in a week or so a gas truck will bring the heat. 

Until then, and probably for the duration of the coming winter, it's wool socks, sweat pants and shirts, and down blankets, and gloves and hats and layers and the fur from roadkill for bedtime and daytime and... I loathe this. 



Jolie and I driving back from the lake:

Jolie: Do you think that when a tree falls the other trees are sad and cry like they've lost their family member?

Me: I think that if they do know and realize it, they would just think that it would go back into the earth and then later become something new again. But the squirrels, birds and raccoon would be all Nooooo!! 


My sweet girl. The trees lean into her to hear what she may say. 
We were driving into town for school the other morning when I got tickled. I asked the kids if they had noticed the looks on some of the guys faces that we were meeting on the road. Driving their trucks with their fishing boats in tow they all had the same look. "They look like little boys on Christmas morning. Happy." I told them. And they did look happy. They were on their way to the lake and it probably wouldn't matter if they didn't catch any fish at all, just as long as they were on that water. Three or four trucks with different faces in each, but still the same. Happy. 



We haven't had any television hooked up here since we moved in. That is, until today. We've had Netflix for a bit, and the kids watch some of that. I hadn't missed having any television but I did get hooked and caught up on Orange Is the New Black and The Walking Dead. At night I would put in a Big Bang Theory DVD to lull me to sleep. But regular television? This satellite we've got hooked up now? Not impressed. I know the kids missed tv and that's cool that we've got it for them to watch. I have no problems with that. But I did like the old black and white movies, and apparently we don't get that channel, or, that channel dropped the old movies... or something. I found a music station on television. Whatever. Back to earth.






-Angie




Monday, October 27, 2014

somewhere in there


They say it gets darker just before the light. They say sick people and animals do better just before they die. They say it gets colder just before the sun breaks the horizon. Calm before the storm.

All of these things are true. I've seen them all. My breath is put on hold waiting for the worst before the better or the better before the worst. It can be a bit paralyzing. 



But there's always an exhalation somewhere in there. Somewhere in there, there is always the light. People and animals are good. There is warmth. I have to breathe in and out and remember that sometimes. Soak up all the light, the good, the warmth, the calm. It's there. If it's not on the left then I will look to the right. If it's not in front of me then I will look over my shoulder. If it's not at my feet then I will look up. I will keep looking. 



It's OK to say it's been a bad week. It's OK to say I'm tired. It's OK to know that my stuff matters. It's all relevant. My stuff could be worse than other's, and my stuff could always be worse than it is, but it's my stuff and it's OK. And it's OK and it's important to and we have to soak in all the good stuff when it's good, and laugh. 



-Angie





Wednesday, October 22, 2014

share it. don't.



Tomorrow, Mamalode is publishing one of my writing pieces. If it gets a bazillion views I get a small check. Every small check I get helps me and my kids. Maybe it puts the gas hand above a quarter of a tank, maybe it buys a new school binder, maybe it affords a treat, something like that. It helps. It helps drive traffic to my blog, which also brings in, as of now, a few cents, but it helps it all grow. 

The traffic now seems to be banged up, rusted out Pinto's with engines that smoke and backfire. I love the old Pinto's, but from that rear view mirror, I'm looking for Cadillac's or Lamborghini's. Hell, a convoy of moped's. I'll share it tomorrow and I hope you'll read it and share it with your friends. I would really appreciate it. 

I have to say, I'm feeling like Morgan Freeman when he played Ellis Boyd "Red" Redding in Shawshank Redemption at his last parole board, because that's kind of where my mentality is right now. "Because to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit." A little beat down. A lot beat down. Life does that, eh? You try. You do your best. Something always catches up and you just don't pretend anymore. 

Either way, I'm going to keep on making the best of things I can. Nobody holds my hand when I write my thoughts or take my photos. And maybe this isn't the best way to approach asking for shares or help with making an audience for my writing grow - to say that I don't give a shit. Selling yourself, for me, is a hard thing to do. It's hard to ask for help. It's a business, and I get that. But today, I just don't give a shit. Share it, don't, I'll still be doing me. I say real stuff sometimes whether it's right or wrong. To the ones who do support this writing gig of mine, I am bewildered by it. I am so thankful. To the ones that... well I don't even know the right word here. The ones that appear to be haters of sorts, well, I don't get that. And that combined with the every day living can wear me down. 

So I'm going to say on the one side I'm going to do what I'm supposed to do and say that I could use the shares, the following, the readership! All wrapped up with a big smiley face and a pumpkin spiced coffee. On the other side I'm going to say that my insides are twisted cold steel for today and the couple of days before, because of the things I've seen and heard and witnessed. Things that I don't know that I'll ever write about. 

Most days are good, but then a certain yesterday comes in your face today and you give in to it, and you really don't care. Except for you know you still do. Good things happen. Bad things happen. There's no way to control it or change it. You just roll with it. 

Today... I don't give a shit. Hopefully tomorrow I will again. Share it. Don't. I'm going to keep on keeping on, on my own. It would be easier and better for me if I had some help along the way, but ain't nobody here begging for it. 

-Angie

Monday, October 20, 2014

fly girl





I nearly stepped on this guy the other day when I was walking around the yard. It was just a stroll of a walk as I was looking at all the details around this shack. The first time I walked down and up the hill the kittens were with me. Lucky for this traveling homesteader they passed on the second trip around, which is when I saw him. And just look how teeny he is. My big toe alone could have smashed him. Also lucky for him that I used to try to breakdance when I was a kid. Just as my step was about to come directly down on him, my left foot paused in mid air, I was instantly thrown back into being a Fly Girl, and I went flawlessly into... something. All I'm going to say is no bones or shells were broken, so, success. 

Fly Girl

-Angie
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