SoCS — Sowing Seconds

Last night Skipah and I were chattin about our Hoosierland gardens, although commiseratin might be a better verb choice.

The spring was too wet, too cold, and too late for gardening standards. If you read me in the spring, then you know that I got sick of the rain, which is no small thing.
Seeds got washed out, displaced, stifled, drowned…
Couldn’t till new beds…
Onions all molded…

It occurred to me that I could quite possibly sow some things now and have a crop, or in some cases, another crop, come fall. If this summer’s heat is a hint, we may well have an Indian summer — I say this casually, vernacularly.

This here summer is one of the summeriest summers I can recall. Right now, we’re in the midst of the dog days of summer, evidenced by the sound of dog day cicadas round the clock. I’ve always thought of them as a warning system, myself.  They’re much more honest about it than the meteorologists, who smile while they talk about 91 degrees and sunny like anyone ever wanted to hear that.

How hot is it?

It’s Georgia hot.
I can’t breathe my breath.
Oh My God, Imma spontaneously combust.
I need a hat.
Well this is just downright unnecessary.
Is my face on fire? My face is on fire, isn’t it?

101 felt like 109, they said. Whatever day that was, my straightening iron laughed at me. Maybe I wanted to look like a muppet until the rain came, you don’t know.

“Much better today,” they say, “Only gonna get to 91 today,” they say, with that same sadistic fucking smile.

So while I think about planting another section of basil, taking a third swing at the lavender, second sowing pickle cukes for a late crop…while I think about tilling and planting echinacea and coneflowers midsummer, hoping they’ll flower and re-seed this fall…y’all know I ain’t gonna work out there when it’s like this. I can barely stand to sit on the porch at dusk. Too hot to do anything but sit in the shade and think about what you would do if it wasn’t ungodly hot. I sit so still, it’s a wonder the vines don’t grow right over me. Maybe they don’t like deet.

Hand to God, that medication label told me to avoid sunlight, so I can’t weed right now.

I heard tell it’s supposed to be coolish and wettish next weekend. We’ll see.
What’s the weather like there? Can you hear cicadas? Are there vines growin up yer porch?



SoCS ‘second’ is brought to you by the always cool LindaGHill

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In the first few days of my job, I made a mistake on a hard copy and asked Mentor if she wanted me to white it out. She sure did. She handed me a pink contraption I had never seen before. I held the foreign object in my hand and stared at her blankly.


She laughed. She said, “I’m sorry, but your face.”

She told me how to. It’s like a tape dispenser. I squeezed and pressed per her instructions and I managed. I began to blow on it and she laughed again.
“It’s dry,” she said.
By golly, it was dry! Right away!
Wite-Out you don’t even have to blow on! Such witchcraft! What a great time to be alive!

Not a week passed, and I made another mistake, so I went looking for Wite-Out, and as it turns out, we’ve got piles of these magical contraptions. I opened one, a nice yellow one, you know how I do.

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Well, that was a disaster. I had a mess of white stuff and clear tape stuff all in my hands.
FLAKY STICKY TANGLE PANIC flashback to mangled cassette tapes ACK!
Classic Joey.
I took that one to her and told her I’d keep the pink one since I knew how to work it.

I really can’t afford to make mistakes, because at some point, it’s going to run out.

I’ll do some off-the-clock training on how to open a new Wite-Out dispenser. I’m sure with some gloves, goggles, a helmet, close supervision, and a YouTube tutorial, I can figure it out.

Mentor asked me if there were any office supplies she could order me, and I said I’d like some scissors. “Maybe some antique German shears.” She thought that unlikely, so I didn’t request a sleek copper envelope opener. Probably for the best, since I don’t know what my insurance covers in terms of glass eyes. Truly, I should have asked for the child-safe versions of office supplies.

I don’t mean to brag, but I can work the stapler AND the paper clips like a pro.

Then I needed tape. Tape is also abundant, but I was hesitant after the Wite-Out incident. I imagined those new tapes where as you start to peel it, it splits and tears off into triangular slivers and those get all stuck to your fingers and your nails. Heaven forbid. I simply couldn’t handle two dispenser failures in one day.

I took Mentor a new tape and told her, “In the same spirit as the Wite-Out, I am taking your old tape and giving you this new one. Behold!”
“You want my old tape?”
“Yes, it’s very special. We taped our first envelope together with this one!”

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — I Once Was Lost

Okay, I wasn’t lost at all. I was roaming around without direction, how I do when I’m on a doorscursion. I do not remember where this church was exactly, and therefore I cannot tell you anything about it.
Aw, I know, some of us really enjoy the history.

I know the area I was walking in, and this ‘church’ is not included in the map, which leads me to believe it’s not a church anymore. Leave it to me to find another not a church, eh?

Also? Churches are usually shiny clean places that encourage trespassing…
But look how pretty!

Lamps, ooh!



And here’s the finale.


I can’t pretend I don’t want to furiously wash those windows, but they’re still gorgeous doors, and that stained glass really outdid itself, don’tcha think?

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view more interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Regional Cooking

When I lived in Georgia, I went to the commissary lookin for Milnot so I could make one of my gramma’s recipes. I couldn’t find it. Like any wise woman would do, I approached a gray-haired woman to steal her greater wisdom.

She said, “Y’ain’t gonna find no Milnot in Georgia or Alabama cause this region here don’t take Milnot and where your people from?”

075300001002_CF___JPEG_3                1linerwedsbadgewes

If you live in a region that takes Milnot, or one where you can order some from Amazon, then here’s Milnot’s recipe. It’s not my gramma’s, but it’s close. If you thought I was gonna give you my gramma’s recipe, well, I’d have to ask you where your people from.

One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Canine Mystery

A while back, Sadie started actin weird. I assumed she was stressed from the change in her schedule, with my return to work. She’s my dog. She might be The Mister’s good puppy, but she’s my dog.

First, it was reported that she lay by the door all day, not in joy of bird and squirrel watching, but in that pathetic way dogs do when their mamas aren’t home. Lots of pitiful whining and sighing.

Then there was an increase in paw-tending. This dog is a chewer. Now, I know, you think all dogs chew on stuff, but Dog People understand. This dog is a nervous chewer. When we rescued her, she had chewed bare many spots on herself. Other dogs might enjoy a squeak toy or a rawhide, but Sadie can kill a giant-size Nylabone in under an hour. (Which is very bad for any dog and why we only did that once.) Sadie gets marrow bones, antlers, hooves — all raw, per the vet. I bought some new hooves and threw in some pig’s ears.

Still, more chewing and licking herself. I’d see her licking that left paw and I’d call her up on the sofa for a love fest.

She did not want to play ball or toys or rope. She didn’t want to chase the kitten.

Then her potty habits changed.
As Dog People know, this is a red flag. She made in the house twice that week. In the middle of the floor, unabashedly, like, “HELLO HUMAN, I HAVE POOPED HERE FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE. DO YOU SENSE MY DISTRESS?”
She did this right after she’d been taken outside.

She stopped running her perimeter and went right to the edge of the patio to pee and then immediately waited at the gate.
That is not good.
We’ve had this dog five years. She is a perimeter pooper, an excellent guard dog, protective of her land and her people, as all good bitches should be.

I took her out for a walk. I walked her all over our neighborhood. She remained leery of grass. Sadie, the scent tracker, leery of grass.
I walked her through the fallow field. She was skittish. She’d turn back to me as if I was torturing her.
We walked home.
We walked all over her yard.
We walked through her back yard.
She finally made, and I praised her like it was week one all over again.

She looked up at me and I swear she was grateful.

Although our dogs do not speak to us in our own language, she told me what happened.


Have you figured it out, Dog People?
Do you know what happened to her that she didn’t want to be in the grass?

I think Sadie stepped on a bee in the grass, got stung, and she carefully, silently tended that wound in her foot.

I kid you not, immediately after that walk, she returned to her former self. Much chasing kitten and playing toys going potty at the perimeter. I think she needed to know the grass wouldn’t bite her.

Have your pets ever told you such a sad story?

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Share Your World #29

What is the perfect pizza?
I’m still mildly obsessed with the spinach and goat cheese pizzas. Have y’all still not tried this?



What is your favorite time of day?
I like the quiet darkness of the pre-dawn hours. And then I like to go back to bed.


Show us two of your favorite photographs?  The photos can be from anytime in your life span.  Explain why they are your favorite.
I dunno about favorites. I am pleased with these two because they’re pretty. 

IMG_8089 (1)



Complete this sentence:  I’m looking forward to….a weekend getaway.


Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I’ve had some lovely ‘coincidences’ and quite a bit of serendipity and synchronicity this last week, which always makes me feel good. My husband is marvelous and my friends are grand. Modern medicine is amazing. I still like our new-ish insurance. I’m diggin on my new sparkly red nail polish.
The week coming up I’m just hoping it’ll be a well-balanced week, and I’m wishing the same for all of you.

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Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — Why We’re Not Having Coffee

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you why I never do those If We Were Having Coffee posts. I’d tell you I love reading those of others, but I never write them myself. If YOU were having coffee, by the time I came to call I would have already had my morning coffee at home, reading, writing, and staring at my trees.

I’m not in favor of having company in the morning. Really. If I invite you to coffee, it will be for dessert.
I’m a nocturnal introvert.


If we have the kind of relationship where you’ve spent the night and it’s inevitable I see you when I rise, then yes, by all means, have some coffee. Make it yourself because I am barely able. I wake up with stiff hands and frozen fingers. In the morning, and I mean, my morning, I am pleasant, but incapable of faking nice long enough to pretend to care how you take your coffee. If you like to eat in the morning like some sort of wild animal, please feel free to hunt my kitchen. I am only as hospitable as my deranged hair and sloppy mismatched houseclothes make me seem. So yeah, have some coffee and eat whatever. And then find something to do.

If you’re a morning person, I suggest you leave my house early, catch all your worms and then maybe when you’re done and you’ve returned, I’ll be a version of myself that can deal with morning-people, people-people-y-type people.


When am I ready to receive company? Dinner. If we were having dinner, I’d brew a pot of coffee at midnight so we could chat til dawn. That’s when.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday SoCS ‘if/then’ is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Not Why We Call Her Moo

I’ve had two underweight children. I promise I fed them more than adequately.
I may have slathered extra butter on their bread and pushed the milk, too.

That milk thing, it seems to stick.

For the longest time, keeping the boy in milk was a grocery goal.
“Can ya stop and pick up a coupla cows on your way home?”


Bubba hasn’t been underweight in over ten years. He’s taller than his father and I suppose otherwise, he’s maybe slim, but certainly not scrawny. I think his jeans are like 34W and 72L or somethin. Seems the milk went directly to his legs. He’s more into other drinks now, but still, when he comes to visit, I consider his milk consumption.

have to consider his milk consumption because Moo is highly dairy dependent.

As I put two half gallons of milk into the cart, Moo informed me, “It says limit two gallons. Technically, those two are only one gallon, so you can still buy two more.”
“Thank you Moo, but I think this one gallon of milk will see us through the weekend.”

“This milk is light. We should get more milk. Call Daddy and ask him to bring home more milk.”
“There’s another milk in there!”
“You drank it all up, didn’t you?”
“You see, what happened was…”


“We’re gettin low on milk!”
“What? How much is left?”
“Only one gallon!”

One day, The Mister brought home two gallons of milk and as he walked up to the door, Moo dragged her sister to the door and shouted, “Look! Look at all the milk!”

Last week, I bought three gallons of milk.
Moo performed a celebratory song and dance in the dairy aisle.


Happy Friday Everyone!
May you all have a drink that makes you dance!


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#ThursdayDoors — It’s Not a Church and You’re Not a Downtown Driver

Every time I drive downtown, I see these twin domed steeples. The last few times, I thought ooh i bet that church has great doors! Of course, I had no idea where it was, street-wise.

An adventure! I had eager companions in Bubba, Sassy, and Moo, because they were all twitterpated about Pokemon Go. Sadie went because “Bye-Byes!?!”

I took the exit past the church and made my way toward it. At some point, I caught sight of familiar railroad tracks and after a brief brain index search, I asked, “Are we in Brightwood?” No one had any idea what I was asking, so they shrugged out “I dunno.” Well, we were. I had to turn several times, because the street didn’t go through, and then there was the awkward BUMP over the tracks, more turning, a three-point turn, and finally, the church!

Not great doors.
Former church is now a performing arts center.



Gorgeous building though, hm?



I decided we’d go downtown. I could have taken these people to Timbuktu, they wouldn’t have cared.
Pokemon! Pokemon everywhere!
“More walking? Awesome! My eggs will hatch!”
I can’t make this stuff up.

I was headed west on Michigan Street when I spotted this gorgeous set of doors, but one-way street, so I had to go around and come back, how you do when things are one-way.
I have no idea what this is now. It’s not a church anymore. But aren’t those doors spectacular?
And check out the walkway.



By then, Bubba was sick as a dog from all the turning and obsessing over the Pokemon in his phone.
He asked if he could drive.
drive me? downtown? psh, no. i don’t even like your father to drive me downtown! I didn’t say that. I said something that sounded like, “Uh, Nowa.”

We had a great doorcursion, my door arsenal is stocked.
I guess the people got a bunch of Pokemon and balls and eggs, I don’t know. I know we all had a good time and we walked about 4 miles.


We went home in time for me to make dinner. The boy complained of his carsickness, told his father he’d wanted to drive. The Mister laughed.
“Dude, she doesn’t even like it when I drive her downtown.”

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Jarhead Gibe

“When your brother was born, I was at Parris Island Marine Corps Recruit Depot. It’s like Fort Knox, but for real men,” The Mister explained.



One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill


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You Can’t Outgrow My Love, My Love

I put my bag of new shoes in the trunk and Sassy (then 12) and I got into the car to head home. Sassy had never been to the shoe warehouse. I have no idea how many shoes are in there, but ALAWT seems accurate. She’d been awed. She said she wanted so many new shoes. I said, “When your feet stop growing, you can start investing in shoes. While your feet are growing you just need the basics. When you settle into a size, we’ll buy you more. Terrible thing about being an adult, you sometimes don’t consider you should buy new things, since all your old things still fit you.”

She was quiet for a bit and then she asked, “Is that why you don’t buy me clothes all the time anymore?”
“You used to buy me clothes all the time. You hardly ever buy me clothes anymore. You’ll say I need jeans or warmies or whatever and we’ll go get them, but you used to buy me new clothes all the time. Like, all the time.”


“You used to grow so fast, I could barely keep you clothed! I HAD to shop all the time!”
“I feel so much better! I thought you didn’t love me as much anymore.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I thought…Oh, I just thought…”


Can you imagine the heartbreak and devastation of this conversation? I realize it’s also horrible funny, but Oh My God, my child thought I didn’t love her as much anymore!



When we had Irish twins, people said how great it was that we could pass Sassy’s clothes to Moo. No one could have predicted Sassy would be a giantesse and Moo would be tiny. It takes many years for this gap to close on the clothes.
For most of their childhood, people would ask me how far apart they were and when I answered 14 months, people would be shocked, and I have gotten over being asked if I am sure

For years, Sassy the Giantesse outgrew everything in a matter of months. One day she wore the blue 6-9 month onesie and then the next day, it was too small. That was the beginning. From that point on, she was in the 90th percentile or off the chart. She was in 3T by one year, in a 7/8 by kindergarten, in the women’s department by fourth grade. She passed her older sister a long time ago. Shopping for her was a constant necessity.
For almost two years, I couldn’t keep her in pants, so I’d buy her oversized dresses to wear with tights, and when those crept up on her, she could wear them with leggins and bike shorts.
Sassy would grow out of clothes in a matter of months, but it would be years before Moo could fit into them.


7 & 6


In contrast, Moo didn’t outgrow her training panties until she was 9. She wore a 6x until fourth grade. Moo could ride in the baby basket of the grocery cart until she was 8. Moo was in a car booster seat until she was 10. For most of her life, nurses nagged me about Moo’s weight, until one day, she finally hit the low end of the normal range. I’ve hardly had to buy Moo any clothes. She always had tubs of clothes to grow into. She still has two right now.



When you’ve got another kid to wear all the clothes, you don’t mind to purchase nice quality items, but when you’ve got one who grows so fast, you also gladly accept hand-me-downs, order a lot from eBay, and shop at thrift stores. It was a lot of shopping, constantly, all her life, okay?



Not too long after we moved here, Sassy’s growth rate slowed down considerably. We didn’t take her shopping all the time, we didn’t buy her new shoes every few months, we didn’t order a box lot of clothes from eBay and take her to the thrift shop almost every weekend. We didn’t need to, since she had stuff that fit.

If you’re a child whose whole life has always involved getting lots of things, whether new or new-to-you, when it stops, you don’t see it as a pleasant end to constant shopping, you think maybe you’re not as loved as you had been. Terrible stuff.

This post was inspired by Sassy’s latest growth spurt. She passed my height this summer. Moo is presumed to be seven, even though she’s twelve. She can fit in your average suitcase.


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Share Your World #28

What is your earliest memory?
I don’t know. I seem to remember a great deal from our house on 43rd Street, and we left there when I was four. How old was I when I fell off my tricycle and the shock of blood spilled from my knee? I remember that like it was yesterday. That may be it.

Now and again I drive by the old house, and I’m always surprised by how big it seemed, especially the yard. When you’re little, yards seem nearly infinite don’t they?
Oh how I played myself silly in that yard!

It was by a dairy, so Elsie the Cow was a landmark.
My yellow Tupperware sippy cup; I was always thirsty, and always taking medicine, and boy did I love that yellow cup in the fridge.
I learned left and right while my father tied his tie, and I learned to spell new big words by picking one from the newspaper every day.
One of our neighbors let me ride her Great Dane.
The den had a fold-out couch and I got to sleep there, right in front of the tv, after my tonsils were out. People brought me toys and my mother let me eat ice cream and Popsicles for days.
Turtles washed up when Fall Creek flooded, and my mother saved them in a box in her bedroom til the water went down and we had to keep the door shut, because we couldn’t let the dogs in there, just in case. Those turtles were awesome.
I had a big spidery nightlight. (It might have been tiny, too.) I think it had a red bulb. I loved it.
Visiting our neighbor Mrs. Greg was like having a third gramma. She made me tapioca pudding, she let me sit on the tall table while she folded laundry. Over there, I played with plastic farm animals and fencing. I liked to take naps there because she had some print with a farm on it, some very Americana-type painting with high green hills and women in white bonnets. Lots of cows.


What was the last photo you took with your phone?IMG_0521


Have you ever danced in the rain?


What is the longest you have gone without sleep?
Not quite two days, forty-some-odd hours. Rotavirus doesn’t care which of your babies are asleep and which ones are awake. It doesn’t care when the big kids have to go places, or how you didn’t want vomit in your hair, or how your back broke from constantly bathing toddlers, or how The Mister worked 90 hours that week, or how your MIL was out of town, or that Cousin Kim had to take loads of soiled linens to her house because you couldn’t wash them fast enough with one washer. Dark times, y’all.



Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I had a great week last week, certainly the weekend was a good one. We had an impromptu visit and seafood dinner out on Friday, I stayed in my jammies and made poutine and Texas sheet cake Saturday, and yesterday, Bubba, Sassy, Moo, Sadie, and myself took a big ol doorscursion. It’s too hot outside, I still hate summer, and so I’m thankful for my air conditioning. (And suddenly, I’m grateful no one has the rotavirus!)
This week coming up, I’m looking forward to a haircut and a pedicure.

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Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

What’s going on in your world?


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SoCS — Not Now

“Not now.”

“Can’t. Makin gravy.”

“Can’t. Typin.”

“Can’t. Foldin laundry.”

“Can’t. Paint all over me.”

“Can’t. Gotta pee.”

“Not now.”

Things I say to my children while they follow me around for hugs.

Despite what my family says about me bein an ice queen or whatever, I am actually an affectionate person. I always give hugs and kisses morning and night and hello and goodbye. To EVERYONE, I promise. I’m an excellent hugger. I give real hugs. I don’t side hug or air hug or polite hug, when I hug people, they feel the love. Why, just the other day, I ran into an old classmate, and he commented that I hug like all the women in Italy. So lemme tell ya, I’m plenty affectionate, despite what they say.

I still hold my kids pretty much every single night. Yes, it does feel like they’re going to crack my femur and no, I can’t do it too long.


Still, while we watch tv, they cuddle up to us, and they get snuggles and petting. I sometimes think the boy comes over for a back scratch.

I pet them while we wait. I pet them at other people’s homes. I swear, my people are well affectionated.

But they’re their father’s children when it comes to hugs. Good gawd, these people with their hugs. I swear to you, I must hug them every time we pass in the house. If I can’t, because doin stuff, they DO get butt-hurt about it and pout. They will stand around until I’m done with whatever, and wait for the hugs.

They’ll move a cat or dog to get at me. They’ll remove the laptop, a book, the phone, a cup of coffee. These people are persistent!

The Mister thinks a good hug can fix any problem. Well, my problems. It’s not that the hugs hurt, but sometimes, while he hugs angry me, I fantasize about being a big green Hulk version of myself throwing him through the window. I think, I CAN’T FIX THE PROBLEM WHILE WE’RE HUGGING. YOU’RE WASTIN MY TIME! but I just say, “I love you too.”

Like most mothers, especially mothers of many, I have been through a time when I felt like people touched me too much. Hold the people, rock the people, snuggle the people, carry the people, grow more people inside me, hold the people, nurse the people, cuddle the people, rock the people, people climbin all over me, all fuckin day and night. And toddlers are like pets about the bathroom. Yes, you have to hold them while you go, or they will cry in the hallway. I recall a day Sissy cried because I wanted to take a shower and not talk to her during. Got to a point where at the end of the night, I’d be like, “We can have the sex, but just the sex. Don’t touch me, I swear to God, my skin burns from touching.”

There is so too much of a good thing.

It’s difficult to concentrate on a task with people holding onto your hand, or your leg, or whatever, and it’s just not safe to nuzzle your wife’s neck while she uses a chop knife. Oh sure, once a Marine always a Marine and nothin bad will happen to you, but your wife may well lose a finger!

“Can’t. Fryin eggs. HOT GREASE!”

While I’ve been typing this, Moo has been trying to hold my left hand off and on the entire time. She says I can type with one hand.


Stream of Consciousness Saturday SoCS ‘concentration’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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To be a proper imaginary cowgirl, you steal your mother’s hat, your sister’s belt, throw on yer wellies, and ride your horsey to the living room. This flash in the pan was six summers ago.

Happy Friday Everyone!

Posted in Random Musings | Tagged | 13 Comments

#ThursdayDoors — Joy of All Who Sorrow


That’s the actual name of this church. Such pretty-pretty…I feel better already, don’t you?

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | 20 Comments

One-Liner Wednesday — Mighty Steamed

They say it’s all in how you look at it, so after swearing quite a bit, I shouted, “My God, that’s the best steam burn I’ve had in years! I simply cannot think of when I last had such a good steam burn! Just absolutely fantastic!”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill 


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Whatter Company

Back in 2013, when we bought our house, I called and set up our utilities. The water company was not whatever it was I paid in Indy before we left, because our city within the city has its own. Whole new bill for us. The lady said it would be a while before we got a bill. This is what I wrote in my notes:

water/sewer/trash – start service 8/16 – $30.00 start-up fee – billed later

In the fall, when really, we’d forgotten we even had a water/sewer/trash bill, it finally arrived. I don’t remember the exact amount, but it was more than $200, and of course, due before Christmas.

No, no, it’s fine, really, I’ll just brine our turkey in this bucket of tears…

It was the very first bill we ever got from them, but because of the amount, it came in the red warning ink with a disconnect notice.

We are the kind of people who enjoy having water, and so we decided we should pay that immediately, in person, and get a receipt. Except, we had NO IDEA where to go.
If you think the letterhead should show the address, you’re silly like me.

FIL said he knew it was someplace on the fort.
I looked it up, and got the address of the water tower. I drive by the water tower (all the time) and there are no admin buildings.
I drove over where the post office, police station, and courts are, but it wasn’t there.

Of all things, I found the address on Facebook.
We drove over to the office, paid the bill, and even got a recycling schedule.

But we noticed, every time we paid the bill, it took forever for the check to clear. We started paying it with online bill pay — still took forever. It became obvious that their favorite thing to do was to process our payment right as they mailed the new bill, so our bills always came red and disconnect-like.


It’s not a flat fee, so even if you think it’d be clever to double your most recent bill and add some cushion to get ahead of this madness, they still mail a statement for a month you’ve paid.

They do not offer an online bill pay option.

In the words of my mother talking about things that make no sense, I tell you, IT ARE INSANE.



In December of 2014, Sassy told me this sad story about, “My friend Polly was supposed to go to Chicago to see her family, but I guess they got a really big water bill or something and now they can’t go.” YA DON’T SAY?!? 


In November of 2015, we received a letter instead of a bill. The letter was about how it was impossible for them to bill us for December, but to make sure we’d be prepared to give them all our January monies. I asked The Mister, “Whaddya suppose that means?” He said, “I don’t fuckin know.”

It meant in December our bill came, two months’ worth, in red, due the first week of January.


We often go in person to pay this bill. With cash. We just feel better about it that way.



But we didn’t last month, because we are stupid or whatever. We paid it online, on the 20th of June. So, this month, The Mister handed me a bill from the water company, with $159 somethin due before July 15, 2016. All in red, with a disconnect notice.
Not twenty minutes later, he found a discrepancy in our checking account. For the exact amount of the water bill.

I’m so glad I have clean water and a working sewer and that someone collects our trash, and I’m glad we can pay for it, but OMG CASH THE FUCKING CHECK! 

It’s like the water company can’t find the bank. I feel like there’s a job there.
Wanted: Deposit specialist. Must know where the bank is.


Do y’all have any weird bills? Are there certain bills you prefer to pay in person?

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Gumbo & Pie on Fourth of July



My apologies, Luanne, my red gingham is in the wash.

Whatch’all eatin today?

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SoCS — But is it Long Enough?

This is a long weekend for many of us. Really, it’s a long weekend for people who work in places that aren’t open on Fourth of July, notably businesses that depend significantly on mail and/or banks.

I hadn’t thought about the long weekend properly.

First came the realization that because I was unable to get ahold of anyone at the water company Friday, I’d need to call back on Monday. When I text this to The Mister, he corrected me, “Tuesday.”
Oh yeah.

I knew it was coming, but when I went to the market yesterday, I bought food for the weekend.
Then I told The Mister I bought the stuff, and he said, “That’s great, Baby, but what will we eat on Monday? On the big day?”

oooohhhh fuuuuuuck. “I dunno.”

I also had it in my head that since we’re going to visit friends Sunday, then today I could really be lazy, wear my sweats, or not, as I sit here in my nightshirt, but I’d thought today would definitely be a day that didn’t involve a bra or make up or shoes.
I really just wanna lie on my husband and finish the last two parts of Roots, maybe crack my Jeeves book.

Uh, no.

Yes, we will see The Girls on Sunday. We call them The Girls, Dee and Vee, just as we call Mr Hill et al The Boys. It’s funny we do that. Anyway, I’m bringing dessert. Specifically, I am taking a cherry pie. You know what we don’t have? Enough cherries to bake pies.

SO I’ve got to put on a bra and pants and shoes and go get s’more frickin cherries. Some people might would get up early Sunday and do it all then. I am not those people. And before I go, I should decide what we’re gonna eat on the big day. Typically we have grilled things, first barbecued chicken and then late at night hot dogs, which is sorta funny, because it’s always hot on Fourth of July. I don’t really care, because I don’t often eat meat and I just had an honest-to-goodness steak on Thursday, after frying chicken on Wednesday. I’m all meated-up. We’d been talking about Brats, and then The Girls invited us over for Brats, which was serendipitous.

Then The Mister said stuff about rain, so I guess I should check the weather, because don’t nobody wanna tend the grill in the rain. Benson posted a picture of some gumbo yesterday, and I think gumbo sounds wonderful, if atypical for Fourth of July. I could technically start it Sunday, and it’s not weather-contingent.

Speaking of weather, it’s cool here. For July. We anticipate keeping the windows open for several days. Isn’t that nice?

IF the Fourth of July parade and subsequent fireworks are both rained out, I could sit my happy ass on the sofa with a bowl of gumbo and a book and say, “Aw, that’s too bad.” But I’d be sad. Fourth of July is my favorite. Y’all know I love me some drum lines and fireworks.

Maybe next Saturday… Nope, that’s the day to drive out to the farm for five pounds of blueberries. Maybe next Sunday. Maybe.

One day, the weekend will be long enough.


Stream of Consciousness Saturday SoCS ‘long’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Door Whore Woes

Do y’all #thursdaydoors fans ever feel like you’re part of an obscure little cult?

There are books, posters, magazines, blogs, Pinterest boards, and Instagram hashtags — all dedicated to the appreciation of doors…


…but people don’t get it.

Every Thursday, I upload my #thursdaydoors photo on Instagram and share it to Facebook. Some time ago, I explained #thursdaydoors on Facebook, hoping to get my known door lovers to participate, but that didn’t happen. I guess not all door enthusiasts are ready to come out of the closet.


Some of my friends reliably like my #thursdaydoors shares. Others are noticeable door snobs. You can hear me bitchin about them on Thursday nights, “Buncha fuckin door snobs!” People don’t care about history, journey, story, or craftsmanship, they just want you to show them pretty things.


Some of my friends are so supportive, they send me photos of doors and tell me where they saw great doors. Those people are the best, because they’re like, “We don’t really know what you’re doing, or why you’re doing it, but we love and support you. You little weirdo.”

My own family barely understands #thursdaydoors. Now and then The Mister will point and say, “Look at that one, Baby,” but when I ask him to stop so I can photograph it, he acts like I’ve asked him for a fifth child. Sometimes Moo will get excited about a long walk for doors, but then sometimes she’ll say we have enough doors. Sassy doesn’t like doors; doors are found outside in nature, ew.
The very mention of the word doorscursion makes them groan.

#thursdaydoors gets me out of bed early. It’s true. I hate mornings, but I’ll get up extra early on Thursday. Thursdays have always been my fave, but now, there’s door porn, all day long.



Yesterday, this happened:



Isn’t that fantastic? I smiled so broadly, for so long, my cheeks began to ache.

Happy Friday Everyone!


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#ThursdayDoors — Apartment Buildings

Here’s an apartment building that was not only for sale, but also had units for rent. Sassy thought it was adorable, so she called, and they were asking $750 for a one bedroom, which happens to be about a dollar per square foot. She asked if that was a good price, and I laughed, because I don’t even know how people make rent these days.


Here are two other apartment buildings — specs unknown. I think these two are all about building materials.





Kind of a lot goin on here, but the lamps are fantastic and I like that funky sorta pointy, sorta zig-zag brick there at the top.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Wording Goodly

About a particular wannabe politician, Moo said, “Wow. His words are so bad, he makes my wording look good.”


(In case you don’t know, because you never read this blog, Moo is rather infamous for not wording well. While at times Sassy can translate, there are instances when Moo’s wording remains mysterious. Now and again, she simply cannot word the words.)


bubba has this on a shirt

One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill


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In Which Joey Goes to Work

I’m just jumping in and we’ll see where I land. I understand y’all may not want to read a lengthy post about jobs, yet here I am. I don’t blog for you.

Okay, so when I was young and single, it was not uncommon for me to work two or even three jobs at a time. Work all day at school or office, and when available, cold call for insurance guy in the evening. Then on weekends, deliver pizza.

When I was job-oriented, it was a different time. I went to places with signs reading NOW HIRING APPLY WITHIN, filled out an application for employment (this was on paper, we used our hands to write then) and a manager would speak to me, sometimes to schedule an interview, but mostly, people simply hired me on the spot.
I was not special. This happened to most of my friends in the olden days.
On Sunday, you could get your dad to save the classified section from the newspaper (A newspaper is a folded paper catalog of current events, articles, entertainment, and photos created by people called journalists.) I don’t have time to discuss the evolution of journalism, so let’s focus on those classifieds. Want ads, we called them.
“Drivers Wanted Call XXX-XXXX and ask for Jack.”
More professional ads might include licenses or typing requirements with “Send Resume to XXX Business Park Drive Suite XXX, ATTN: Sue Worker-Bee.”


For an actual job interview, women were expected to appear in a skirt, hosiery, and closed-toed shoes. This was all-important to modesty and professionalism. You wouldn’t dream of wearing anything sleeveless, low-cut, above the knee, or flashy. You might not get the job if you wore perfume, too much make-up, or bow clips on your shoes. No, you pulled your hair away from your face, put on your pearl earrings, and well, basically, you dressed like someone had died, but smiled like you were happy about it. I was always good at this, because even at 19, I looked like everyone’s school marm.
Men wore suits and ties to interviews.
It was a very long time ago. We almost never saw anyone’s underwear in those days.

It was a serious time then, when your resume was black on white or black on cream and printed to fit one page. Having pages plural in your resume implied that you were extremely well-educated and had decades of experience, which could land you in the overqualified pile. If you used colored ink on your resume then, people would think you were some sorta special idiot who obviously didn’t take herself seriously enough to get a job.

These days, if there’s a NOW HIRING sign that means you go online to apply. You can literally walk into a place, say you’re looking for a job, tell a manager you have ten years of experience, and he’ll send you to a computer to apply.


These days, most jobs are advertised online. You fill out an online application, you email your resume, take a series of personality tests, answer surveys about your skills and experience, and some computer’s algorithm has a look-see and emails you congratulations for being considered or rejects you in such a brutal way that you almost miss that guy who dumped you on your birthday. Mostly, you don’t get anything.

In the days when people used landlines and 3.5″ disks, it was rare anyone needed a second interview and regardless, the interviewer usually said something like, “We’ll let you know by Friday.” This meant that if no one called you by Friday at 6, you didn’t get the job. Now, you might have six interviews over the course of six months. You can’t get excited about it until they ask for your urine or tell you they’ve sent for your background check.


I discovered all this when my husband returned to civilian life. I’ve seen it replayed over and over with other friends and family as well.
Unless you know an actual person at the job, or match the computer’s algorithm bullet point by bullet point, you probably won’t get the job.


For some time I had the luxury of looking at jobs. I’m a good skimmer, I could get a job skimming job ads and linking them to people who might be qualified. I didn’t see any ads for that.


Single, childless me lingered over jobs that married mother me shook her head at.


Large businesses seem to use their want ad as free advertisement. Many of them are like bad state schools that won’t accept your transfer credits. Oh, you have experience with fire, but not our fire. Our fire is hotter and brighter and it will burn people like you.


Most jobs involve a lot of acronyms. Those are not jobs for me. I don’t even know what RAM stands for. (Something Memory. Probably not Radium.)


Some jobs are just downright hysterical. They may as well read Abandon all hope of being treated like a person, get divorced, surrender your children, and move into the office because you will live here, and for this, we will pay you slightly less than you made at your lemonade stand in 1983.

Some of these jobs, I can’t even tell what they do. They ensure the blargle on the doohickey and oversee the hrmnr of the lala while maintaining the thingamabobs with an emphasis on the whatchits. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I know the words, I simply can’t understand the work.  I presume pay is commensurate to one’s experience with unicorns and magic mushrooms.


A lot of them, and I do mean a lot of them, have been there every time I’ve looked in the past three years.
There’s a certain doctor’s office that can’t seem to keep a receptionist to save its life. I’d be lying if I said I don’t kinda wanna feign a need to find out what the hell is goin on over there.



But then, see, I was planning to start looking for a job come August. The girls are going back to school in August you know. To the same school, at the same time. August would be a mighty good time to start looking for a job.
But I don’t have to look, because I got a job.

I got a job the same way I always have, it fell into my lap. I wasn’t looking for it. It wasn’t in the want ads. I happened into it the way I happened into so many other circumstances.


I really believe that. Yes, this was a bit earlier than expected, not the ideal time, but it is an ideal job.
Okay, so I’d rather have Anthony Bourdain’s job, or maybe earn a dollar for every point I make in Scrabble, but in reality, this job is ideal.

You probably wanna know what my job is but I won’t be blogging about it.

I am willing to share my personal happiness about some of it, during This Most Auspicious Time.
I can take the girls to school in the morning.
It’s a quiet, professional environment.
My boss is a democrat.
I am paid more than I made at my lemonade stand in 1983.
I wear jeans on Casual Friday.
I do not have to wear a name tag and have people sing “Jolene” at me.

So nice for Joeys.

It’s quite the novelty after 10 years of being at home. The other day, I put gas in my own car, like some real woman of the world.

Tell me your about your job hunting experiences? 

Posted in Personally | Tagged , , | 88 Comments

Share Your World #26

What’s your most memorable (good or bad) airplane flight?
I remember flying first class to Dallas where I sat next to a most polite gentleman with such a kindly manner. When we landed, he asked me, Miss, to hold his cowboy hat while he retrieved our carry-ons. Then he stepped out into the aisle to block it, letting me out in front of him. He carried my bag until we exited the plane.


How many bones, if any, have you broken?
I’ve only broken twinkle toes.


If you had your own talk show, who would your first three guests be? (guest can be dead, alive, famous or someone you just know)
Toni Morrison, Fran Lebowitz, Gertrude Stein

I must admit, my first thought was a panel of deities, because that could help sort some shit out for people, but older women, and of course, dead women, know more than most.


Make a Currently List: What are you reading, watching, listening to, eating, needing, wanting, and missing right now?
It’s quiet in The Quiet Room, so I can hear the ticking of the clock and the air whooshing through the vents.

I am watching my trees.

In a bit, I’m going to make myself a roasted red pepper sammich on sourdough.

Later, I may watch the third part of Roots.

I haven’t cracked a book since my alumni magazine arrived.

I don’t need anything, at least not urgently.

I want a pedicure, someone else to go to the store, and some new shoes.

I am missing my bed already, and the man who left it before I woke.



Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up? For last week I am most grateful for my loving, supportive husband, air-conditioning, Bing cherries, and for our new insurance(s). Insurance is the devil, but these devils aren’t as evil as most we’ve had.

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Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — Taste the 80s

I am a serious soda junkie. I limit myself, but it is SO HARD. If there were no consequences I would drink soda all damn day and night. I can’t. I have to be careful about the caffeine, and I’m too old to dismiss empty calories.

You maybe don’t think soda’s a proper addiction, but I assure you it is. If you give me a Coca-Cola, my eyes will shine like diamonds. You can literally see the rush after I take the first drink. Surge of high fructose corn syrup, caffeine high, oh yeah, it’s an addiction.

For this reason, I no longer keep Coca-Cola in my house.

I keep various types of soda and seltzer in a cabinet. I don’t mean I keep some in the fridge and store the remainder in a cabinet. I don’t. I keep my soda in a cabinet. At room temperature. And that’s how I drink it.
For some reason, this freaks people out.

When Benson took me to the barbecue joint I was so excited that they had Peach Faygo. I realize Faygo is a regional soda, so many of you have no idea what I’m talking about, but Faygo is the soda of my youth. I was am? hypoglycemic and my mother would allow me diet Faygo on the weekends. It comes in a pile of flavors and colors, and peach is my fave.

I ordered mac and cheese and greens and fried okra and a Peach Faygo.
The barbecue lady came back to the window and she said there was no Peach Faygo. I said, “Aw, that’s so sad. I was lookin forward to that.” She said, “Well we have some, but it’s not cold.”
“You sure?”
“Yes! Yes I’m sure. Peach Faygo, mmhm!”

I had two.
They were delicious.

Recently, I rediscovered Tab. Y’all remember Tab?
It is made with saccharine, just like diet Faygo usta be.
My body can handle saccharine. No headaches. The other fake sweeteners give me migraines. I’m on a sincere Tab kick. It tastes like the 80s.


I’m waiting for them to bring back New York Seltzer. Black Cherry. Mmm. You can’t get it here, you can only order it online. When we get some New York Seltzer, Imma wear my Converse and put my hair in a side ponytail. Too bad I got rid of my plastic charm necklace, huh?


SoCS ‘drink’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

Posted in Personally | Tagged | 45 Comments

The Happiness Tag

Judy from Edwina’s Episodes tagged me for this listing game and that makes it even happier. If you don’t read Judy, you’re missing out. She’s got such a sunny disposition.

Here are the rules:


5 Things that make you happy

5 Songs that make you happy

5 Bloggers that make you happy… (Let them know that you have nominated them).



Five things that make me happy:

music that moves me

delicious food

rainy days

sleeping in

this sorta thing



Five songs that make me happy:


Five bloggers that make me happy:

Our Rumbling Ocean — Seriously amazing photos. Majestic flora and fauna.

Jewels — Love and Light, beauty galore.

LindaGHill — I love her wit. I do whatever she tells me. I’d even share the crusty edges of my casseroles with her.

Manja — Gorgeous photos, brilliant mind, sweet soul.

Cee — Great photos, I learn so much there! Plus, every post ends with Qi.



Happy Friday Everyone!


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#ThursdayDoors — Indianapolis Central Library

You may remember, I showed you my library, the one I use all the time. Indianapolis has 23 branches, and this is the big downtown library — Central Branch. We go there, too, but not as often. We got the girls their very first library cards there, which was exciting, because Central Branch is quite fancy with its limestone and marble and chandeliers and shelves way over your head. It’s all very Belle enters Beast’s library. Also, it’s enormous. I wanna say it has six stories. You could easily lose your Moo there.

veteran's park

In my daytime photo, you can’t really see the addition to the Central Library, but you can in the night photo. That lit up section behind it is the library’s addition.


My photos are not good, but we can thank for this gem —


Thank you professional photographer. Back to my photos now, me, sans flight capability…


I apologize, I am not democratic or unbiased about art. I only photographed the art I like.


Here you see Thinman. On the same panel to the right of the entrance, there is what appears to be a large donut. Truly, I don’t know what it is. It’s called Little Bird, but it looks like a donut. Or a cervix. I won’t say it’s not art, I’ll just say it doesn’t make me feel anything.
That bison though…


Love the lamps!


Only the center door has the iron gates and since we were there well after the library had closed, I’m going to assume they don’t shut them. I love historical details like these. I’m glad they’ve kept them on, even if they’re merely ornamental.


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

Today’s Daily Post also focuses on doors.


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One-Liner Wednesday — Kinder-Friendly

Sometimes strangers apologize for their children acting like children and I’ll say, “Are you kidding? He’s five. We should be glad he’s wearin clothes and speakin English!”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill



Posted in Random Musings | 28 Comments

When in doubt…

We had storms of the best sort last night. First the sky fell out for about an hour. Then it slowed some and that gave us a moment to stand on the porch and breathe in the smell. Ooh the smell. So good.

As the rain poured down, we ate some yummy dinner and watched our shows and then we went to bed early. The sky was all cymbals and kettledrums. The Mister gave me such a good back rub, I fell asleep.
Don’tcha love a good storm?


Love to sleep to the sound of rain. Mmhm.

But then, I woke up this morning AT FIVE AM and —

*breaks down a bit*

and there was no wifi.


I know!

It was so sad.
For like, twenty minutes, I stared out my window.

Then I remembered I can fiddle with the box dooji, so I did that, but it didn’t work.

I was so sad and life was so weird, I didn’t know what else to do. Like, if the internet’s out, do you still make coffee? Do you turn on the tv? I think you’re supposed to cry yourself to sleep nap a bit. I napped a bit.

Later, I text The Mister about my sadness. He suggested I fiddle with it. I fiddled again. That’s when I realized my first fiddling had um, loosened the plug from the outlet. Oh, haha.
So yeah, the storm knocked it out, then I unplugged it when I reset it.

Always make the coffee. Always. Come rain or come shine, interwebz or not.




I got a lot done. I missed y’all though.

When in doubt, always make the coffee and check that the malfunctioning equipment is plugged in.

How was your Tuesday?

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Share Your World #25

How many languages do you you speak?
I speak two languages and I fumble and mumble through two others like people do when they don’t think in those languages. Don’t make me tell you how I cook a lot and I need a bigger pig. I know what I mean.

What are some words that just make you smile?
lollipop, parapluie, ice cream, moon, Ma’am, rum, and a lot of our family’s shared language

If you were the original architect of one existing building, which building would you select?
I dare not. There are none that fit my ideal. If I were to design a building, it would be made of earth and stone, with narrow wooden doors, and everything would be just a bit crooked. It’d be covered in vines and birds would visit more than people.
I did once build a very nice yellow house, because Lego.

Would you rather have telepathy or telekinesis?
Telepathy on top of feeling other people’s emotions sounds like a good way to go mad. People would just lie about what they’re thinking like they lie about how they feel. I’d take telekinesis. Imagine how long I could sit on my sofa while the drinks literally come to me? Can I get you anything?



Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Last week was wonderful. I am most grateful my mother was here. Several times I just patted her and squealed, “MY MOMMY!” My heart was bursting! Watchin Deadpool with my mommy, eatin sammiches with my mommy, talkin plants with my mommy, lookin through pictures with my mommy! My mommy, y’all! I don’t call her mommy a lot. Mostly I call her Maman, but some days, she’s MY MOMMY.
This week I am excited about re-learning old things and also, brace yourselves, finishing the back hallway! Can you imagine?

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Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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How I Failed Childbirth Class

I like to pride myself in being a good student, but I failed childbirth class.

As many obstetricians do, my doctor recommended a childbirth class and I attended. We attended. It’s my understanding that during childbirth, the partner is supposed to be strong, supportive, and inspiring while the pregnant person performs a miracle. I’m like, really good at being strong, supportive, and inspiring, and would have preferred my husband perform the miracle.

I am a woman, no one cares what I want.

I expected to perform my miracle naturally. All the women in my family had natural childbirths, how hard could it be?
In retrospect, I can say women in my family have basically had natural childbirths because they have had very short labors and deliveries.
“Oh, you wanted an epidural? Sorry, too late. Can we offer you a shot of Demerol instead? Oops! Here comes the baby!”

My baby decided she liked sitting upright inside me.


Like this, but with her foot by her ear. She’s an overachiever.

I suppose it could have been all my yoga that inspired her, but personally, I blame her sister for having been breech, which ultimately means my husband’s DNA is responsible.

So I crawled around on the floor, literally, on my hands and knees, for two weeks, because that’s what the Chinese do to make the baby turn, and they have the lowest rate of breech births. Incidentally, the crawling did help with the intense back labor pains, since I couldn’t take the drugs.
“I’m going to prescribe you a muscle relaxer for the day and a narcotic for the night.”
“I’m very sensitive to medication. I have other children. I’ll need to be awake and alert and capable of driving.”
“No worries. I’m prescribing low doses.”

>Flash to me, unconscious for 8 hours after 5ml of Flexril<
I never took the narcotic.

The crawling didn’t inspire my baby to move, so the doctor told me he’d turn the baby.

I know y’all think I’m a ridiculous person and you never believe anything I say, but if you take away only one thing from me, this is it:

This is the kind of unsolicited advice I give to strangers.

It hurts. When the doctor says you may feel some discomfort, that means it will hurt. For about an hour, my doctor manipulated my baby manually, through my abdomen, while I writhed and groaned in agony discomfort. A stream of tears flowed from my eyeballs in a way I only otherwise experience during waxing.
They do not offer analgesics for this turning procedure, but had I known what it would be like, I might have tried that narcotic.
I left with bruises all over my middle, but the baby had been turned, and my back pain was gone.

For a few hours.

Until the baby turned back.

signs your child may be strong-willed may include…


Into the tub I went.
Oh dang. OW.

Per the instructions of my OB, I called the doctor on-call to tell her the baby moved back and that I was experiencing pain.
She told me to go to the hospital.
I didn’t want to go to the hospital.
She said it could be labor.
I said I had had this pain before. It’s not labor. Labor must surely hurt more than this.
To the hospital, she ordered.
Monitors and all that.
The nurses rolled their eyes at me, “It’s not labor.”

For three more weeks, I crawled around on my hands and knees to relieve the pressure on my back. Then I went to have my baby the new-fangled, unnatural way.
It was delightful.
I had my spinal block and lay on a table feeling that sorta feeling that you get when you’ve been in the bath long enough to prune and you’re relaxed and downright dozy. I couldn’t feel anything below my waist. Numb is so much better than pain.

So yeah, I failed childbirth class.

While I was recovering, I heard women in labor. It didn’t sound like an easy A.


SoCS ‘class’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

Posted in Personally | Tagged | 57 Comments

The Illustrated Joey

Moo has been crafting a delightful series of illustrations this week. She’s the creator of “The Adventures of Creepy Guy and Raccoon-Eyed Girl” which is loosely based on a true story.
I was honored to be drawn this morning.



I don’t know if I play a prominent role in the story, but I’m delighted to have been depicted as a part giraffe.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — The Big Blue House

I’ve mentioned The Big Blue House a few times, because it’s a house associated with gobs of pleasant memories for me. Even more for The Mister and Drew, since before they lived there, their grandparents lived there.

Over the last decade, we’ve watched the steady decline of the exterior of The Big Blue House. Sadly, The Big Blue House had been lost to her owner and then neglected entirely. This is not, I repeat NOT how the house looked when my in-laws lived there. She used to be a stand-out gem.



Fortunately, someone is fixing up The Big Blue House now.
Last month, she got all new windows. She used to have a big bay window and casement windows.
Last week, she got a new door.




It’s a good door, hm? I like it.
Really, I like the idea that someone is putting some love into her again. I’m sure I will one day return to you with an after photo, but for now, I’m pleased there’s progress.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Movie Critic

“Technically, I don’t know what he’s watching, but it should be called The Longest it Took Anyone to Die, Ever.”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill


Posted in Random Musings | Tagged | 19 Comments

She’ll Be Bastin Big Fat Turkey When She Comes

You’re probably reading this while my parents are here. I said they could come over at a reasonable hour, like 9am. I don’t think they classify 9am as morning, but I do. *yawns*

I’ve been clever, and prepared 98% of the food in advance. You are so proud of me.

I’ll make some scrambled eggs, ham, and toast around 11, which will be our lunch, and maybe they’ll eat too. You never can tell with these people. They’re too polite to tell you they’re hungry.
Telling them I cook every day, often twice a day, doesn’t convince them that I don’t mind cooking. I mastered cooking for six to eight a long time ago, and did it for so long, it took me almost a year to stop pulling too many plates out every night and even longer to stop buying two pounds of beef for chili. No matter how much your family loves chili, they will get sick of it. Eventually.

Anyway, after that I plan to starve my children until their daddy gets home for dinner. Then I’m going to fry up some green maters. But in the fridge, I have deli meats, cheeses, pickles, olives, Israeli salad, cottage cheese, grapes, cantaloupe, blueberries, and pineapple. I shall lay out a loaf of bread and a veritable smorgasbord of noms.

I even bought the paper plates my dad likes, because when he comes, he always gasps at the amount of dishes and asks why we don’t use paper plates, and I suppose I have given up explaining that it’s not fiscally or environmentally responsible to use so many paper plates. It just makes me sound like such a tree-hugging, bleeding heart liberal, doesn’t it?
We’re still going to use cloth napkins, though, and that’s that.

For dessert, there’s angel food cake, sugared strawberries, and vanilla ice cream. I even have a bit of whipping cream in there, but I don’t know that I should go to all the trouble to put the cream in the mixer and slide the lever.

I suppose I’m as predictable to them as they are to me…

So I thought maybe I’d have a little fun this year. A little fun with the predictability.

Virtually every time I post a food pic, my mother goes on about it. But then, when I get the woman on the phone and ask her what she’d like to eat while she’s with me, she says, “Somethin simple, please.”
*rolls eyes*
If you come to my house, be prepared to demand food, okay? Sitting around thinking about food to cook is a bee in my bonnet. My family endures the request for menu ideas weekly. Inevitably, it has long been like this:
The Mister: Food.
Bubba: Meatloaf! Ribs! Curry!
Sissy: Fried chicken.
Sassy: Spaghetti. Mmm, spaghetti.
Moo: Moo Stew! No, that stuff with the things and the corn, like potato soup? Oh, potato soup! Those things with the avocado and the green stuff. Not the cilantro, that other green stuff. I like those. And those wraps with the red things in the jar. Chickyaki! Curry! I’ll make naan! Challah! Challah French toast! How about Pancakes? Ooh, how about the quinoa chicken things with baby carrots? Do we have baby carrots? Are there any butter beans? Biscuits and gravy! We should have melon night like we have cheese night! BLTs! Israeli salad! Tortellini soup! Tuna pasta! Potato salad! Tacos! Peanut butter pie!

Have something in mind. Be more Moo and less The Mister, k?

So…some fun…


My friend Shay said yes, do this, and screenshot the results.


My mother, she is so gracious, non?
The Southern is strong in her. Willing to cook all day on her vacation. Bless her heart.

I almost feel badly about sharing this naughtiness with you. I may actually leave the coasters out instead of watching them panic over where to set their drinks.

What quirky unspoken family traditions do you have?

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Share Your World #24

What is the most fun thing you did in school?
Heh. Well let’s stick to elementary school, keep it rated G, hm? I loved playing Four Square at recess. Like, I lived for it.

What is your favorite type of dog?  (can be anything from a specific breed, a stuffed animal or character in a movie)
I love my dog. I have loved and still do love many dogs. I’m partial to fluffy dogs with floppy ears…but…Kipper. Kipper the dog. The dog with a slipper…
Most precious children’s programming ever.


You are invited to a party that will be attended by many fascinating people you never met.  Would you attend this party if you were to go by yourself?
Probably not. Maybe if my hair looks good and there’s an open bar.


Complete this sentence:  Never In My Life Have I… gotten a tattoo. 


Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I’m grateful for my health this week, and for mojitos, and for air-conditioning. My husband is a swell guy and he took me back to the Turkish place, so I’m grateful for him and for dolmades — Yes Again! Also, this time, we took three of our kids. We had the best time. Plus, we had tiramisu and Turkish coffee. This was not some individual-fancy-pants tiramisu with pretty structure and no oomph, either — This was someone-made-it-right-in-a-big-ol-pan tiramisu!


This week my parents are coming!!!

Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — Embodiment

The Circle City Pride Parade was this morning. It was a bright, hot morning — 91F/33C with 44% humidity and fortunately, a nice breeze now and again. I wore my staple fear-of-summer uniform — long-sleeve white gauzy shirt, lightweight jeans, big straw hat.
When you’re so white you have to dress like a missionary at the Pride Parade…

Seven of us in a little crowd and who do the evangelists bring a pamphlet to? Me.
No thank you, my mother-in-law has given me enough Jesus, I’m full, thanks…

I know most people think Indiana is corn and racin and basketball, and we are. But that’s a narrow view of a thriving metropolis.

We are a primarily blue city, surrounded primarily by red rural areas. Our governor is so bass-ackward he gets booed at while throwing the first pitch at Victory Field, signs reading PENCE MUST GO dot the neighborhoods, and there’s even a Facebook Page called Periods for Pence, because he hasn’t got a basic understanding of women’s biology — and between you and me, I strongly suspect he thinks being transgender means that Ken is wearing Barbie’s clothes.

Events like Pride are essential. They serve as a reminder that not all Hoosiers are bigots. Plenty of Hoosiers understand that Hoosier Hospitality extends to all people.


Pride is the embodiment of love. Love for everyone. Love for the people who make up the businesses and churches and groups that not only support equality and diversity of our community, but truly embrace it. Love for all the people who support one another and the evolution of human rights. Maybe most importantly it celebrates love for all the people who’ve lived too long without love, without acceptance.

When the people waved, they waved with love, so I waved back with a pile of my own.

I love you Glitter Girl, Leather Man, Pantless Chaps Dude, Drag Queen, POW, Unicorn, Pegasus, Guy whose tee shirt suggests we all try the sausages, Grandpa Biker with a confetti shooter, Men in cock socks and cowboy hats — I love you all unabashedly. Thank you for sharing yourselves with LOVE & PRIDE. Y’all make me proud to be a Hoosier today.


SoCS ‘mb’ is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Join Us for Shushis

I’ve encapsulated our linner chat for you.


“My bowl is special.”
“I see that. Your bowl is orange just for you. My bowl is blue and white for me.”
“Their bowls are blue too.”
“Mine is prettier.”


“Moo, you are way ahead of us.”
“Right? Haven’t even ordered drinks and she’s got the sticks out!”
“When the food arrives Moo will be pluckin it up with sticks and tossin it all in.”


“Take a photo of your happy wife about to eat sushi.”
“Gah! Do you even look at your subject when you take pictures?”
“I was trying to get the food.”
“Yeah, so pretty.”
*contorts lips to mock photo*


“Do you want to share gyoza?”
“Yes, but I want soup.”
“I’m not sayin I won’t eat some gyoza, but I want soup. Get the gyoza.”


“Ooh, this soup good. Moo, your soup so good?”
“Moo can’t talk right now, she’s sucking her soup down.”
“Can’t even see Moo. Soup cup all up on her face.”
“It’s very good. The good chef is here today.”
“But our favorite waiter isn’t here.”
“No he’s not.”
“I like him.”
“Me too.”
“He’s better than those young girls.”
“He’s professional.”
“Some of those things they wear. I guess I can see how it works with certain groups of men.”
“The clingy clothes, the low-cut tops.”
“Oh that’s part of the job, Dude. Tips. If him wearin that stuff got him bigger tips, you bet he would.”
“But he doesn’t have to, cause he’s a man.”
“That’s not fair.”




“What’s gyoza?”
“What’s in them?”
“Mmm, kinda meat?”
“I like pork.”
*cuts gyoza in half*
“Spicy sauce good.”
“These are so much better than Sushi House.”
“They’re put together better, for one.”


“I still miss shrimp sauce.”
“Oh my God! Shrimp sauce! I miss shrimp sauce!”


“I want chicken fried rice. I know it’s a five-dollar bowl of rice, but I want it. If you want I’ll eat the three-dollar bowl of regular fried rice, but I promise to eat it this time.”
“You know that like, a ten-pound bag of rice is only about twelve dollars, right?”
“Yes, but I love fried rice!”
“Yet you don’t eat fried rice at Chinois. Hmm. Racist much?”
“Order the chicken fried rice. Live your dreams.”


“So we want mistake rolls, yeah?”
[Whole table clamors.]
“And volcano rolls?”
“And spicy tuna? I like spicy tuna. Moo likes spicy tuna.”
“I want California rolls!”


“You forgot to order her rice. I’ll do it.”


“This is a band called the Police. You may know the front man.”
“If a bee is mad at you…”
“I know Sting.”
“You know of Sting from Friends. Do you actually know Sting?”
“We don’t know him personally, no.”
“They know some of the music, they just don’t know it’s him.”
“What do you know of Sting?”
Fields of Gold and None of Us are Free.”
“They surely know Roxanne. That gets played a lot.”
“It’s no use, she sees him…”
“Everybody now!”
[The old people rock out a bit.]
“That book by Nabokov…”
“The Police.”
“Uh, okay.”


“I like the regular red soy sauce. God only knows what they put in or take out to reduce the sodium in the other.”
“Like the milk fat.”
“Yes, just like the milk fat. Let’s take out the good-for-you fats and give you extra sugar! Then we’ll tell you whole milk causes obesity!”
“And make you drink white water.”
“I can’t even.”


“Why is there always ginger?!? Who eats this shit?”
“I guess some people like ginger.”
“Ginger ale.”
“I like ginger ale.”


“It’s not as sticky as it should be.”
“Shame-shame. Sassy likes it when we talk about the shame-shame.”


“You all hold your chopsticks differently.”
“Just do what feels natural.”
“I’m not good at it.”
“I’ve been using them since I was ten. You’ll get good at it.”
“It took Daddy a long time too.”
“I…I cannot.”
“Use your fork.”
“But then I look like a dork. Remember when they gave us the kind that were tied together?”
“Yes, but you were little then. Now you’re big.”
*chopstick calamity*
“Use your fork. When the choice is make a big mess or use a fork, go with the fork.”
“Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.”


“Nope, I do not like that.”
“Don’t eat it.”
“No one’s forcing you to eat it.”


“Don’t count. Eat.”


“What’s in the volcano roll?”
“I dunno. Stuff.”
“Yeah, like what?”
“I dunno. Good stuff.”
“Is it like spicy tuna?”
“I. don’t. know.”
“Well you always know stuff.”


“Stop it! That one is little! That one is mine!”


“I have a drinking problem. You can bring me two more, and I will drink them. You don’t have to keep coming back. I will always be out of drink.”


“Do you want that last one?”
“Go ahead Moo.”
“Okay, cause I don’t like that other one. These are cooling. Are they cooling, Mama?”
“I told you they’re cooling.”


“Be careful with that, you have to put the whole thing in all at once or it will fall apart. It’s held together with magic and seaweed.”


“I want this one, but it’s too big.”
“Is it? Is it too big?”
“I have faith in you Baby, you can fit it in. I’ve seen you take in bigger.”
“Go on Baby, I’m watchin. Yeah, Baby.”
“Now you just hafta swallow!”
“Oh my God, no, my virgin ears!”
“Shh, you guys, Moo’s gonna choke.”
“Moo is choking on laughter and her teeth are orange!”
“Those you spicy orange teeth? That you favorite color?”
“Shh, no really, we need to let her chew.”
“I looked up and Moo’s teeth were all orange and gross!”
“Orange you happy your teeth are orange?”
“Her mouth is small. The sushi is big. The struggle is real!”
“Quick! Eat all the sushi while she’s laughing!”


“Remember that other sushi place? Bubba was with us.”
“That was here. In another room.”


“I hate when I gag on the sushi.”
“We all do.”
“But it’s so good.”
“I don’t know why it has to be so big.”


“What’re those lil round things we used to eat at Sushi House?”
“Dumplings. I don’t remember what they’re called. Lemme think.”


“More ginger?!? Really?!?”
“Tell us how you really feel about the ginger.”
“Oh look! More wasabi!”


“Did you forget your sushi is in there? Is it swimmin?”
“Yes. I like to let it soak.”


“Shumai. They’re called shumai. S-H-U-M-A-I.”
“See? You always know stuffs and fings.”


“Never was a cloudy day…”
[Three people dance in their seats.]
“Who’s this?”
“Earth Wind and Fire.”
“Elements. Heh.”


“Would you care for dessert?”
“Oh Lord no.”

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Union Station

You know, there are a lot of things I take for granted here in the city. Kinda sad, huh? Like I am all about how we have the world’s largest children’s museum, and I’m always pointing out to people that the LOVE sculpture is made by Robert Indiana who is from guess where?


But until Dan posted his own Union Station post, I hadn’t thought about our Indianapolis Union Station in … uh, well, I don’t recall.
Regardless, I found myself telling Dan how the Indianapolis Union Station was the first in the world. Crossroads of America and all that.
Then I realized, hey, it’s still there, I should go see it. Dan said he hoped that it wasn’t in an area where The Mister wouldn’t want me going alone. I said I’d take the dog. Well, I didn’t take the dog. We had dinner on East Street, and there was Union Station, so The Mister dropped me off. (Then he parked, and called to tell me where he parked, within viewing distance, because he’s just so damn thoughtful and protective. Isn’t he ever so dreamy?)

*stares off into space*


Anyway, here it is, the first Union Station in the world.


It opened in 1853.



I have to tell you, while I stood there taking the photo, I realized the entire foundation, including the walkway, is granite.



Also, check out the so deco lighting, obviously added later.


You can see the progression of dusk in my photos.



Sometime, I’ll go inside. I remember tiled walls.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — 8 Lines


Sassy looks sweet, don’t she?
When The Mister was deployed, when she was 7.


Sassy: How did you hear me all the way down here?

Me: I’ve got eyes in the back of my head and the hearing of a bat. Also, I’m your mother, which means I know what you think before it even comes outta your mouth.

Sassy: That’s kinda creepy. Can Daddy do that, too?

Me: No, he can’t.

Sassy: I miss Daddy.


One-Liner Wednesdays are brought to you by LindaGHill

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On Shitstorms

It’s easy to see that life is long and hard. That’s a matter of perspective everyone can relate to, especially when one is deep and heavy into a shitstorm. Even those people for whom things are going well can see the shitstorms of others and remember their own.

Remember when that shit happened to you, and it was super shitty and you thought you’d never get through that shit?
The pain, the betrayal, the injustice, the loss?
Yeah, me too.

Can you believe we made it through that?!

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We can’t see the end of the shitstorms. We can’t tell how bad they’re going to get, or how long they’re going to last. Never, ever, never ever ever ask what else can go wrong, because you will be shown.

I have begun to realize there are signs of the shitstorm’s impending doom. I’m not sure about y’all, but I do better in the actual shitstorm than I do waiting for it. This is why, like all expert level anxiety sufferers, I constantly wait for shitstorms, and other things that do not make sense.

What I want to do is run for the hills, close-up shop, and wait for them to pass. Running is my first instinct.
This is extremely ineffective, by the way. I was four when I learned that hiding away wouldn’t make it go any faster. I studied the legs of the dining table, a dark laminate, very Mid-Century, with brass feet. Had it been twice as big and made of solid wood, it would not have been able to prevent my parents’ divorce or to keep me from hearing their argument.

For most of my life, I’ve tried pretending shitstorms weren’t there. Denial is a happy place. It’s one of my favorite places. Denial can be aided greatly by distance. Distance also being one of my favorites. There’s nothing like not answering the phone or moving 800 miles away and then not answering the phone.
For that matter, even if you do pick up the phone, most people don’t even want to talk about the shitstorms. They like to pretend, too. Sometimes they like the distance, too, even when they pretend they don’t.
Oh how exhausting. So exhausting to play nice-nice…


‘They’ say people like me have a door-slam tendency, but I’ve always thought of it like a faucet. If you run too hot or too cold, I’ll shut you off like a faucet. I’ll get my distance, dammit.

For some time in my younger years, I developed a nasty aggressive disposition for facing the shitstorms head-on. I can still do that, as needed. I don’t like to do it. It’s forced and unnatural, but if I have to confront shit, I can do it with ferocity and most importantly, without tact.
And not a single feeling was spared that day…

For about a decade in adulthood, I developed a deep understanding of muddling through shitstorms. Muddling through is also exhausting, but there is a certain power in maintaining momentum. There is this sorta idea that if you’re a tornado, and never stop moving, then the shitstorms can’t touch you. I muddled through one thing after another until my brain got plumb tuckered out.

So, what other choices are there?

The clichés.

“Let go and let God.”
“Be in the now.”
“Worry won’t change the outcome.”
“Dawn will come.”
“This too shall pass.”
“You can’t see it now, but it’s for the best.”
“It’s God’s will.”

Mind you, all those clichés offer the path of least resistance. Shitstorms can’t wear you out, because you’re passive in the matter.
What gems.
Sounds too simple, doesn’t it? And don’t you have some personal responsibility in the shitstorms of your life? Surely riding it out makes you a coward…

Desiderata and Serenity Prayer-ish stuff do help, but I feel like I need more.

There’s certainly truth in bad things being the best, but usually we don’t see that for a long time after.
I like the little fortune teller on Animal Crossing…


This one’s really good. I love this one.


And then one day some wisdom came to me. Someone wrote it, someone said it, somehow it got into my brain and my brain was changed forever.

As soon as this information hit my brain, I recognized its truth.


I am the motherfucking sky.
Be the sky.

What’s your truth and wisdom on shitstorms?


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Share Your World #23

What was one of your first moneymaking jobs (other than babysitting or newspaper delivery)?
You know those places in the mall with the giant decorated cookies? There. But my boss was a lech so I quit after about 6 months. Took a lovely job in the card and gift store. No lechery. Quite a raise. Much responsibility. Great job.

What is your favorite month of the year?
October. It’s a long month, but it always seems to go by too quickly. I really like the cool, mosquito-free days without sweating and sunburn. I love the smell of leaves in the fall. Mmm, fall.

What three things in nature do you find most beautiful?
trees, grass, flowers

List at least five of your favorite spices? (excluding salt and pepper)
parsley, basil, rosemary, cilantro, mint

Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I had a good week. Dinner and porch sitting with friends, visits from family, date with The Mister, and I should probably say those things putting people above food, but I am an introverted foodie, so um…Dolmades. Oh how I wish I had a plate of them right now! Oh dear God, the dolmades! Turkish vegetarian dolmades, FTW!


This week is the Pride parade, and I am looking forward to that, but hand to God, I’m most glad I don’t have to go to the grocery store all week. When I do go back, the Bing cherries will be perfect! Oh, and it’s lily time around here!

Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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I Do Not Cry Wolf!

No matter what’s going on in a scene, I always identify with the character no one believes.

Like when Rachel’s date kept yelling at Ross?

Poor Ross. No one listens to Ross.
No one listens to their Joey, either.

These things happen to me all the time. All, all, all the time. My lot in life is to be dismissed. It’s unfortunate, but you know, better than being the village idiot.

Let me just say, I trust my instincts, screw what the people have to say. I know what I know. I can’t always explain what I know, or how I know, but I have been known to know some shit. I have never cried wolf.

I’ll stay away from the hippie-dippy-trippy stuff and give you some rational examples.

When our neighbor whipped out his gun and started talkin crazy, I called the cops. The Mister thought I was overreacting. As we carried Bubba and Sissy down the stairs past the SWAT team, I do believe he understood my concern was valid. I know that when we returned the following day to see the kids’ bedroom wall had bullet holes in it, the story turned into how “we” called the cops.

For the five years I had my last laptop, I complained about the uber sensitive TouchPad. I carried on about it.
“F5! F5!”
People thought I was loony.
I even wrote a post about it, in case youever why like this. sometimesIcommented on blogs your
Well, now Sassy uses that laptop and now she types bizarre messages to her friends, and boy does she carry on about it!
“I’ll mom.myask” and fun stuff like that.

When I say enormous moths land on my window, people think I’m exaggerating, and I’m not.
Thank tacos for smart phones.


It has a fucking face. It could have its own camera, you don’t know!

I could go on and on and on ad nauseam, but I’ll spare you and just get to the point already.

I am the one no one ever believes.

When I came across this lil LOL online, I wanted to hug the person who wrote it. I wanted to affectionate them muchly, to hold them close and whisper, “You get me, you really get me.”


It’s worth noting, for regular readers, The Mister is ESTJ, Sassy is INFP, and Moo is ENFJ.

OMG, we had the BEST LOLZ!

The person who wrote this is keen to my troubles and I love him/her.

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This Friday is TMI

Stephellaneous did this thing last night, and I liked it, so I’m doin it too. Please note that Too Much Information is right there in the title and consider yourselves warned. Here’s a pretty picture of a peony. It is completely unrelated to the content of this post.


1 – Boxer shorts or budgy smugglers?
Are these the only choices? Am I wearing them? I’ll take the boxers. On a man, boxers are fine, boxer briefs even better. The tight, smooth, silky–

2 – What color of underwear are you currently wearing?
I wore underwear maybe Wednesday. Whatever night I was summoned to kill the spider, I was definitely wearing underwear then. They were white.

3 – How long have you been wearing them for?
I should think my mother first put me in underwear around age two. I’ve been told I potty-trained early, so I’m not sure. There are many pictures of me outdoors in underwear around age three. If you’d like, I could call my mother and check.

4 – Do you ever use binoculars to watch people?
No. Birds and squirrels now and again, but not people.

5 – Have you ever kicked someone in the groin?
I don’t think so. I’m more of a hitter.

6 – Would you pull a trigger?
I have pulled a trigger. I don’t like it. Recoil very boom.

7 – If you met your favorite celebrity, and they wanted to make out with you, would you?
Oh my. No. So married.

8 – Have you ever slept in the same bed with someone you were not in a relationship with (not talking about sex and one-night-stands)?
Yes. Many times, many people.

9 – Have you had one-night-stands?

10 – Does sex have the same importance to you now compared to when you were younger?
Are you kidding? Sex is way more important now. You know we’re all dying, right?

11 – Have you ever eaten a worm?
Yes I have. Tequila. Mmhm.

12 – What’s the grossest thing you’ve ever eaten?
Maybe that worm, maybe calf brains, maybe fish eye balls, maybe roasted grasshoppers, I don’t know, you choose. I like to try stuff.

13 – How long do you spend sitting on the toilet?
A few minutes, if that.

14 – What do you do when you sit there (besides the obvious)?
Entertain my pets. Pets love to visit us in the bathroom, don’t they? If I’m struggling to relax, I may read magazine or scroll my Instagram. I know it’s very popular to Twitter-Poo, but I don’t. Instagram only.

15 – Have you ever been peed at?
Yes. I think. I don’t know if I understand the question. I have children. I have handled puppies. No one has come at me with their urine stream like a water pistol.

16 – What’s the grossest thing you have ever swallowed?
See #12.

17 – What’s the constantly dirtiest place in your home?
The ceiling fan in the master bedroom.

18 – Why don’t you clean it?
Because I am short. Because I have short arms. Because it’s very icky. Because I have allergies and it makes me sneeze, makes my eyes itch and water. Because I have to lay a sheet down to catch the ew that doesn’t go in the pillowcase. So gnarly.

19 – Do you eat your boogers?
No. I am quite snotty and dislike being more than a foot from tissues.

20 – Can you describe the one smell that makes you gag?
My Felicity kitty had a kind of carcinoma where the tumor reeked of necrotic tissue. It churned my stomach somethin awful in the last few days of her life.

21 – Have you ever had head lice?
No. But I have had plenty of imaginary head lice and a dire lack of trust which caused me to treat myself for head lice every time my kids got it.

22 – Have you ever been utterly disappointed in someone?
That’s like asking me if I breathe. Yes. Yes I have.

23 – Have you ever been scared of someone?
Yes. Some people are creepy as fuck.

24 – What do you do when you’re drunk that you wouldn’t want anyone to know about?
Nothing. I have no shame about drunken me. She’s fun like whoa. She’s friendly and happy and enthusiastic…

25 – Have you tried pole dancing?

26 – Have you been in a strip club?

27 – Have you ever run over an animal?
Yes. It’s very disturbing. I don’t recommend getting out to look, but you have to get out and look.

28 – Have you ever peed in snow?
Yes, but I was unable to write my name in it.

29 – Have you ever made fun of someone and then regretted it?
I can’t think of a single time, but surely I have. I don’t often make fun of people, but when I do, I like to do it in such a way that they’re not sure I’m making fun of them and I never regret it. I like to replay it later and laugh quietly to myself.

30 – What’s your favorite kind of question on Cards for Humanity (if you know the game)?
I have never played this game and I am sad.

31 – If the father of your best friend hit on you, what would you say to him?
I would shock-punch him in the face. Do I have to use my words for that? No. No, I don’t think so.

32 – Would you go out on a date with someone half your age or double your age?
No. Married, but even still, no.

33 – Do you clean the sink after brushing your teeth?
Yes. God yes. This is very important to me.

34 – Have you ever spat in someone’s food or drink?

35 – Have you ever kissed someone only to be grossed out afterwards?
Yes. Terrible. Just everything on the date goin fine and then OH Hell NO.

36 – What is your number one goal in life, and are you living it?
One goal? Above all else? Er, no. I don’t have a number one goal. I have a long list of goals and I am makin progress.

37 – Do you spy on your neighbor(s)? If yes, why?
Kinda. I’m mindful. I know who belongs here and who doesn’t. I believe it’s an important element to reducing crime as well as preventing dead women from being eaten by their cats.

38 – Have you ever danced and/or cried in the rain?
Yes and yes, but my cry in the rain was a happy one.

39 – Have you ever ditched work to just chill out on your own (with or without Netflix)?
Not when employed, no, but as a housewife, I’ll ditch laundry or garden or whatever to read or binge watch. My boss is such a nag though. She’s impossible to work with.

40 – And this one is from Steph: What do you wish you were doing right now (uncensored)?
My mind immediately goes to sex, but that’s only a few hours away. I’m still really hung up on why I’m not day drinking with my friends while someone rubs my feet.

Happy Friday Everyone!

Posted in Personally | 35 Comments

#ThursdayDoors — Standard Glass

You don’t get great doors today. Today, you get standard glass. I went to the library and you’re going too. You don’t have to pay my embarrassingly large fine, though, so that’s nice, right?

This is my library.


I can use all the libraries in Marion County, but this is our local library, and the one I have used since I was 12. Now and again we go to the big central library downtown, and rarely to the one farther east, but this is the one I like best.
Rumor has it that they’re building a new branch on the fort, so that one will be closer, but this is my library, and I will probably still use this one.

I enjoy the winding, hilly drive through the trees. We all do.

This is the library that provided the bulk of my reading and the one in which I know where everything is.

I’ll tell you though, I mostly love this library because of the way it smells. Yes, yes, it has that moldy old book smell, but mixed with other smells I can’t quite define. Somethin plastic, somethin inky, and some of that cumin/sharpened pencil/body odor smell. I love the smell of my library, and the smell is strongest in the air-lock between the doors.


After living in Hell Georgia for so many years, I was pleased when I returned to the library and it smelled exactly the same. I actually got a lil teary about it. I’d like to tell you it was just relief that I lived to smell my library again, or that I was feeling sentimental about taking my kids back there, but no, it was the smell. I am moved emotionally every time I go. I know, get a grip, Joey, Jeez.


Anyway, since the doors are a bust, look how adorable the children’s area is. Notice the beautiful archway and the random, but cheerful window placement. Heh.


Do you not want to climb in and dial a story? I totally do.

So, not my most beautiful doors post, but one dear to my heart.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Wet Dog



Moo asked Sadie, “Did you take a bath?”
Sadie didn’t answer, she just smiled.

One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Anxiety — The Summer Reveal

I don’t remember what I was going to write about today, which is a fairly frequent writer-y problem. My idea may well have been hijacked by Anxiety.

My parents are coming to visit. You might think this is normal, because other people’s parents come to visit, but I assure you, my parents coming to visit is extraordinary. Two summers ago when they came, my mother rambled on about how it was the Farewell Tour. Stuff like that gives me anxiety. wtf? why farewell? who says this? are you dying? She’s not very old. She’s certainly too young to declare Farewell Tours about anywhere. He’s ten years her senior, but still. I can only imagine us going to Florida and me bein like, “This is the last time we’re coming here. Ever.” I can imagine my mother’s face all twisted and a nice big, “Well chuck you, Farley.” I really hate Florida and I think I should get extra credit for going.

This is how long I’ve been haulin my family to Florida:


Gawd, I hate Florida…

So it’s really great they’re comin here. Here will be hot, but they won’t know it. They’ll think it’s splendid.

I have terrible anxiety about it. Remember when you were a kid and you couldn’t wait for your birthday or whatever? How you’d just get beside yourself with excitement and anticipation? Yes, I feel like that. They will never get here! It will never be the day! Oh I cannot wait!!!

But also, they are coming to my house for the first time in two years and it is not anything enough. Rational Brain knows this is malarkey, but she sighs and takes a backseat to Anxiety while Inner Critic makes a list. Inner Critic wants Anxiety to know that despite seemingly constant divisions, the flowerbeds are still overgrown, there are brushstrokes of different colors painted here and there on the walls, the ceiling fan is icky, no one has cleaned the top of the fridge since spring break, and the kitchen faucet is still wonky.

My parents do not care. Rational Brain, Inner Critic, and Anxiety all know my parents don’t care. If my mother reads this post, I may well get a text that starts out with “Dear One please do not stress about-” and ends with hearts and flowers. Which complement my feelings, since the flowers are crowded and I have chest pain, but that’s a horse of a different color.

It’s not all my parents’ visit that does this, either. They’re merely added to the weight of summer. The 60-ish days until school starts. Instead of a watch, Anxiety wears a ticking time bomb with the countdown to alarm clock days.

I wait ten months for these two months, and then I struggle to enjoy them. I am aware of the implicit irony of the situation.

I have an agenda. There’s work and there’s fun, and no, there isn’t a difference in how they bring anxiety symptoms.

There are awful things going on in my life, privately, just like everyone else, but I am a special sort, so I deal with those while I deal with the horrors of impending happiness.

If I’m not careful about getting an appropriate amount completed each day, then I can’t relax. If I can’t relax, I won’t be able to sleep. If I can’t sleep, I’ll get sick. I am still knocking wood over the fact that I haven’t been sick yet this spring. If I do too much, I’ll wear myself out and get sick.

This is why Rational Brain is always going on about balance. She reminds us that we have taken our time and great care in pacing ourselves, and one day, it will all be done, and there will be other things to do, and there is no point in freaking out about any of it. My brain will not shrivel up and rot if I don’t get to the zoo this month. If going to the zoo means the bathroom doesn’t get painted, then I can’t mark myself as a failure. Rational Brain spends its time pushing for gratitude and telling us “Look at how much you’ve done!” But Anxiety doesn’t care. It’s already thinking about chopping up tomatoes five hours from now.


Chances are, you can’t relate to any of this. You might sneer at me, or dismiss me, or ask me to be more like you. You might like to say, “Snap out of it! It’s all in your head! You’re doing this to yourself!” and I would say, “Mmhm,” and add your judgments to my tall stack of ways I fail other people. Then I’d ask you if you have anything new or anything of true value to add to the conversation.

That’s my truth today. I am this way. This is how I’m wired or how I’m broken, and all I can do is aim to stay present. And maybe take a pill.

How’s your anxiety today? Got anything wonderful to anticipate?


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Share Your World #22

Every country in the world has lost men and women in some kind of Armed Forces. When does your country celebrate or mourn their deaths? (Optional)
Memorial Day is today, the last Monday in May. This is the day we remember our fallen heroes. It’s a bit touchy for me. I’m one of those people who cringes every time someone wishes me a “Happy Memorial Day!” To me, this is like saying, “Enjoy your uncle’s funeral!” or something. They mean well, no doubt. I’m not suggesting we all watch war movies and visit cemeteries, by all means, enjoy the day off work and eat your barbecue, plant your flowers, make your patriotic fruit dessert, but Happy just makes me cringe.

What is your favorite holiday or holidays?
Fourth of July

How do you celebrate that holiday?
This varies. Typically, we go to the parade in the morning, I cook a lot in the afternoon, we eat, and then we go downtown for the fireworks show at night. I. love. fireworks.


Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I am full of gratitude from last week. Moo basically won the 6th grade, we had date night, news of the best kind came along, I got a lot done, the weather was balanced — it was a great week!
This week I’m looking forward to Taco Tuesday with our friends and I’m sure I will get more done around the house and in the yard.

gardenbabies   041514-sywbanner (1)

Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to play along.

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SoCS — Pressure Reduction

The end of the school year was like a boil on my nerves.

I’m relieved it’s over now. Specifically, I’m relieved that I no longer have a child in elementary school. No more dealing with that bus crap. You may have no idea what bus crap I’m talking about, but the third year, this last year, turned out to be the worst of it. It was crappy enough that I drove that kid to school pretty much the entire second semester. This involved daily repetition of the shortest, most perilous journey I’ve ever made. It is only by the grace of God that I have lived to write this. Surely angels hover at the end of the interstate ramp.

Also, two full months without an alarm clock started today. I wake up to my tree and my pets — and absolutely no imposed schedule. That is the dream. For two months, I live the dream. I will be well-rested and in turn, happier, healthier, and more productive.

For two months, there will be no inundation of papers asking for permission, volunteers, money, or supplies.

No book bags, lunch boxes, posterboard, or goody bags.

For two months, I will not receive automated phone calls. Not about the bus, not about running, not about art, not about book club, not about dance, not about orchestra, and none of those slowly-spoken eight-point bulletins that make me want to throw my phone across the room.


I feel very sunshine, rainbow, unicorn sparkles right now.




SoCs ‘press’ is brought to you by LindaGHill



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Change is Hard

Surely by now you’ve encountered a cashier who can’t make change? You know how it goes. Your bill is $17.55 and you hand over a twenty and a nickel and the cashier tries to give you back the nickel. You say you’d rather have two quarters and the cashier looks at you like you’re an idiot. When you suggest typing the amount tendered as $20.05, the cashier does this, “Ooookay” sorta thing and gives you $2.50 — and if the cashier is young enough, he may chortle out a “Haha!” as though you have performed magic.

Don’t even think about giving them coins once the machine says they need to give you change. They will freak out. What’re you, some kinda quick change artist?!? They’ll turn on their red blinking light! Alert! Alert!

It’s bizarre.
People can’t make change anymore. They can only do what the machine tells them.
I have been told there are many young adults who cannot count change at all. They tender paper money and trust they will be given correct change. They take their change to Coinstar and pay a machine to exchange it for something they find more useful.
Maybe this will be fine later. Like when those of us who can make change die off and there’s no one forcing them to cope with those perplexing shiny discs.

Since they can’t make change, they can’t count back change, either. No one counts back money anymore. “And seventy-five makes eighteen, nineteen, twenty.” If you don’t know what I’m talking about, why are you reading my blog? I can’t even with you.

I once worked at a bank. By the time I worked at the bank, I had six years of retail and cash handling experience. No one had to tell me to face the money all the same way. Honestly, I believe a parent taught me that before I ever started working. I think it was part of the Show Respect to Your Belongings Lecture Series.

Everywhere I ever worked kept the status quo of right-facing money.
Now? They may as well wad it up and throw it at me.

Apparently the new bill counters don’t need the money to be properly faced. But I do.

Many years ago, my husband and I were running a Girl Scout Cookie booth with our girls. Along came a lady customer, and it was then, only then, with over a decade of marriage behind us, I realized The Mister couldn’t count back money. So I said, “No, not like that, like this,” and started to show him. I mean, I’d taught all the girls…

Well that lady, that lady, ARGH! She said, “Huh uh, don’t do that. No. He’s a man.” She started QUOTING FUCKING SCRIPTURE (First Timothy) at me about a woman not having authority over a man.
I almost blacked-out with rage.
This is the kinda shit that happens to your heathen ass when you live in Georgia. While you stand seven inches from the sun.
I whatted the fuck outta that woman, while my husband stepped in front of me and tried to make nice and quick so the lady wouldn’t realize I was yelling “WHAT!!? WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?!? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!” I didn’t care that she was my elder, I was ready to beat the Jesus outta her.

Maybe my husband likes it when I tie his naked ass to a tree and teach him how to count back money, you don’t know!


Change is hard.
Tolerance is harder.

Do you still properly face your money?

Posted in Random Musings | Tagged , , , | 53 Comments