Xanadu your neon lights will shine!”

A-Z through April has me pretty desperate here at the XYZ of things FOR THE FOURTH YEAR.


Eventually I’ll be writin about xanthan gum. Mercy!

So, love it or hate it, Xanadu was influential in my childhood. Not necessarily the movie, cause even when I was young, I rolled my eyes at cheesy romance stuff, but the music, oh the music!

I was seven when my mother took me to see Xanadu.

I didn’t fall in love with the skater dude. No, me being me, I preferred Gene Kelly. To be fair, I’d already seen him in a lot of old time movies at Grandma’s house. When I was a kid, I believed people in the olden days simply didn’t have coloring, or if they did, it was subtle like old pictures, and due to my great grandmother’s portrait in an opera costume, I also believed they wore rags. I was very happy to live in color time, with blue jeans and white roller skates with pink stoppers, and —
I want to make it clear to you as it was made clear to me, I want you all to know —
My father didn’t have a Rubik’s cube when he was a kid, and it was not because they didn’t have color.
I really was a peculiar kid. I know.
I read The Giver without questioning the apple and Fiona’s hair, though.

Speaking of hair, the ribbons in Olivia Newton John’s hair!


Yes, I had to have the ribbons — braided into my hair or around barrettes and combs — long flowing ribbons that would stream from my head and connect me to the muses while I skated. Yes, I have always had a magical imagination, and it’s the perfect size, thank you very much.

Meanwhile, back at Xanadu. The blend of styles…

SO much ELO!

That album’s one of the ones I remember obsessing over.
So good. So, so good.
Except the ballads. I hate ballads.

Happy Friday Everyone! 

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#ThursdayDoors — Threw a Wrench or Two


A-Z Challenge — W

My original plan for W Doors was Water Doors.
I’m sure they have a name, and if my mother reads this post, she may well tell me what the proper name for them is, but because W, they’re WATER DOORS.


They’re along the banks of Fall Creek, so I presume water, although to be fair, enormous Weebles may roll out of them after dark.



So yeah, W was for Water Doors. Super cool, right?

But then…

I came across this building.


It might be an old motel, but now it’s a business with many toolboxes a la work trucks and my research indicates it’s a heating and cooling service.
I was immediately intrigued by the …


Are those wrenches?!?


Yep-yep! Awesome. How could I resist?

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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A-Z through April — V


Some of you may remember earlier this month when Little Guy Gus discovered he was the slowest kid on his little league team?

Geraint Isitt commented, “You don’t have to be fast if you hit it out of the park” …

Well, at his very first game ever, Little Guy Gus hit the ball out into left field, and as a result, he was awarded THE GAME BALL for THE BIGGEST HIT! 


I know! Total Aww and Atta Boy!

Feel free to leave Gus a comment his mother can read to him.


Posted in Random Musings | Tagged | 27 Comments

Unapologetically Married

A-Z through April — U


On Friday night, when I was catchin up with my friend, we spoke of the marriage. He and his wife have been married about seven years now, and he said to me, it’s like so many of their friends have slowly disappeared, dissolved into the background.

I have spent much time, much longer than between Friday and now, thinking about this. It happens. It’s a casualty of coupling.

There were women at my wedding I seldom speak to now, whom I still adore, but we don’t get together two or three nights a week like we did before I got married.
Some of the dissolution was almost instantaneous.
I felt, initially, like I was being shunned for taking on the role of wife, or maybe mother. It’s hard to say. I never actually asked, “Why don’t you wanna hang out with me anymore?” or “Why don’t you call?”

Truly, I was too busy being wife and mother to give much thought to it, or to call, but I was aware.

The Mister was the first to mention the absence of his friends. I won’t forget the night he said, “You are my best friend.”
Well, he wasn’t mine. For years and years, my relationships with girlfriends were much closer. I mean, men don’t even prattle on like women. It takes a long time to develop such a deep understanding of a person. We’d been friends a dozen years before we got married, but he never did prattle on about how his mother set impossible standards, or what he prefers in a handbag, or what aesthetic he was drawn to.

Besides, life experience taught me MEN LEAVE. And who would be there when he left? Women. My girls. I would need them for ice cream and martini therapy, casting aspersions, and whatever else fuckery came after.

About four years in, The Mister and I had the ‘downs’ as opposed to the ‘ups’ and that’s when I realized he’s my best friend. Because, when you are in the down together, then it’s just the two of you mannin the tiny rowboat of your life. Headin toward a waterfall, you wrap your arms around each other, squeeze your eyes tight as you can, and with every bit of your faith, you pray that at the bottom of the falls, your boat is still fully intact. You just gotta hang on. No one else knows what that means to you. No one else feels same fear or shares same relief.

Oh sure, there are plenty of people who love, care, support, pray, and cheer from the sidelines — But they’re not in your boat.

They have their own boats, and their courses are set on different currents at a different speed. They love you, but maybe they’re into booze cruises, or always heading west, or heavily invested in solo exploration, whatever.

Eventually, in your own river, you find other people who also share their boats. In attempt of a social life that comes close to resembling your single one, you try to keep pace. This is complicated.

As it turns out, couples dating is about three times worse than actual dating. So, like, if you had twelve lovers and three of them were phenomenal company, then your couples dating ratio is more like one in a dozen couples make for good company. Cause you know, she never shuts up, he’s too handsy, their kids are wild animals, she’s a lush, he never wants to end the evening, plus they suck at euchre, and we don’t think they’re gonna stay married.

We are all like this to someone, the odds are not in our favor. When it’s good, it’s very, very good and when it’s not, we remember how much we like our own fuckin boat, thank you very much. No, thank you for asking, but we would rather stay in our own boat and stare at the stars in silence.

What I said to my friend was:

Remember when you were single and your space and time belonged completely unto you? There was no compromise, no sharing, no one asking for or expecting anything from you? Remember how happy you were?
And then she came along and she was worth the compromise and the sharing and you chose her. She had to be so incredibly fabulous for you to WANT to give up your independence. You had to feel like you were gaining more than you were losing. Remember?

It’s the same thing now. 

We’re happily married. We LIKE being with one another. We’d rather be with our person than anyone else. That time is precious. So when people want us to take time away from that… it comes down to what it’s worth.

And everyone else feels the same way.




He said that was insightful, so I’m sharing it with you.

Everyone has priorities.
Work eats a pile of time, you pursue your hobbies, you squeeze in self-care, you steal away time as a couple, and you make time for those you care most about. If there are kids, depending on ages and stages, well, that’s… you know, or maybe you just suspect. No matter how much you love and care for someone, it all comes down to priority.

The truth about being happily, unapologetically married is that any time you share with anyone else is a time to reflect on how amazing that friendship is. How wonderful it is to enjoy such a delightful creature. To raise your glass and break bread with someone who’s still there after all that time. To laugh too loud or even to cry. What a blessing it is to have friends who will carve out time, to line up the calendars simply to enjoy the pleasure of your company. That’s a beautiful thing.

Those are the people who will pull you out if you end up nearly drowned at the bottom of the falls. The rest? Smile and wave — and always, always pray and cheer from the sidelines.

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Today, Share Your World — April 24, 2017


A-Z through April — T 


Wanting something to quench your thirst, what would you drink?
If I’m thirsty, I need water. Ice water with a lil apple cider vinegar is best.

Complete this sentence:  Never In My Life Have I…ridden a unicorn

If you could be given any gift what would it be?
I dunno. My friends brought me pot roses last night and those are lovely. I like things that grow, things that smell good, things that are tasty, and things that are comfy.

What do you do if you can’t sleep at night? Do you count sheep, toss and turn, or get up and try to do something productive?
Since I started sleeping with earplugs, I usually fall asleep faster and sleep without waking, but on a rare night, sleeplessness does still visit. Tossing and turning is likely. I’ll sometimes focus on my breathing and that’ll do it. If I still can’t sleep, I’ll get up and do stuff til I’m tired again. There are nights I work myself into a fit about why I’m not sleeping, and start to worry over the dread I’ll feel the next day, or wonder how sick I’ll be — ooh, panic loop — and when that happens, I’ll take a pill.

Optional Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were happy days for me. I am most grateful for my family and friends. My gratitude in living here doesn’t seem to wane.
My tulips have more or less come and gone now, and it was such a joy to have them.

The weather in the week coming up indicates fear of a freeze is over, overnight lows mostly in the 50s, and I look forward to planting perennial and annual flowers and herbs as well as setting out some of my seedlings to harden.

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

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What’s going on in your world?


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SoCS — Spell

April A-Z — S

Lemme sit a spell and write a thing.

I’m late today.

I was up half the night catchin up with a friend.

Slept pretty hard for about six hours.

Morning came early, but lusty.

I watched a documentary on trees while I drank my coffee. Moo thinks I am obsessed with trees just because I have watched that episode about ten times. I really, really love trees. I don’t think my love for trees is interfering with my ability to life. If I climb up a tree to watch the tree documentary, feel free to stage an intervention.

The Mister learned to make pimiento cheese for me while I made him an omelet. Such strong hands, shreddin that block of cheese. I put extra love in his omelet, I did. Chopped it up real fine and sprinkled it all over.

I was to collect Sassy from Oaklandon and in a strange turn of events, she wanted to get out into nature, so I leashed the dog and off we went. We tried to go to the castle park, but there’s no castle park there anymore. A castle park is often a castle, but they’re basically enormous wooden playgrounds with bridges and lookouts and climb-y things. There’s a standard plastic-coated playground there now. And an empty field, replete with the sadness of bygone days.

In those bygone days, the parking lot would be so full, sometimes we’d have to park illegally for our kids to play. There’d be 40-50 kids of all ages there on cool, sunny day like today. Now? Mine was one of two cars in the parking lot and there were maybe 10 kids total, half of them teens kicking around a soccer ball. Man, I’m glad all my kids had the castle park while it was still a thing. We were lucky. Good times.

Still, we walked around town, smiling at the spring and snapping pictures.


It was a beautiful day to stop and smell the spirea.


If your dog is trained to walk to the left of you, she gets very confused when you need to be left of her to snap a shot of her shadow. But y’all, how cute is her tongue shadow?!


Totally adorable, am I right? Floofy beast!

Walked into a sale. Bought two dozen eggs for a dollar.

I’m tellin you, it’s rough, but that’s how it is when there’s no alarm and no schedule. So yeah, now that the sun’s goin down, I can sit a spell and write a thing.



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


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Reeking of Reefer



If eff bombs are considered adult content, this A-Z post includes adult content. I’m not really sure what exactly adult content is, but if you’re uncomfortable with swearing, you should not read me. Not today or like, ever.

So last month, I was doin my life, when a stranger man entered my space and gave me somethin to write about.

R is for Reek


He reeked of reefer.

Now, let me give you some relative information:

1. I am pro-legalization of the pot. It’s like jogging; a lot of people like it, it has its benefits and its drawbacks. Now, I don’t jog for fucking fun, but it’s cool if you do. I wouldn’t wanna see you behind bars because you got a runner’s high. If I could tax you for your runner’s high, I fuckin would.

2. I have the nose of a bloodhound. Everything has a smell to me. Everything. So when I can’t smell anything else, only the cloud surrounding you, you reek.

3. There are three smells that seem to stick to my nose and even in small doses, will give me a headache that may well become a migraine — geraniums, any commercial scent labeled “cotton” or “linen,” and you guessed it — marijuana smoke.



This particular stranger man claimed he doesn’t/didn’t smoke the pot.

Either he lied … His pants were not on fire, so I can’t be too sure. I suppose prior to our encounter, he could have been trapped even longer in an even smaller space with someone else who reeked of weed…

Or maybe, he is a genie who lives in a bong. I do not know.

But I got a stupid headache.

Hours and hours later I stopped at Texas Roadhouse to pick up our family’s takeout. I stood in the tiny carryout room, as it was standing-room only. Nay, it was so crowded, I put one knee up in the corner, like a flamingo.
I held the door for everyone who left while two lazy-ass grown men sat there. I don’t know if that’s sexism, but if it is, I’m sexist. Horrible. Not so much for me, I don’t mind to stand, but there were people in there who were clearly older than the seated asshats whose mamas didn’t teach them any manners.

Anyway —
Every time I opened the door for someone, the wind brought the smell of weed back to me.

Y’all, if their noses are anything like mine, everyone in that room surely thought I was stoned.
When they brought out our huge bags of takeout boxes, I thought oh great, these people probably think i’m gonna eat all this by myself!

Happy Friday Everyone!



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#ThursdayDoors — Quickly, A Drive-By

Sometimes people ask me, “What’s up with the door stuff?”
Some people like doors. I am a people who likes doors. I hunt for doors. But I also catch’em on the fly, like when The Mister drives me through our fair city and I happen to see a lil somethin.


This is A-Z through April’s Letter Q

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, shared by people who like doors — or to share your own door, click the link.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Elmo Pee



When Sissy was wee and learning the alphabet song, it was — sing it with her now — “A B C D E F G, H I J K ELMO PEE, Q R S, T U V, W X, Y and ZEE.”

We hadda get that L M N O P thing all straightened-out, but it was adorable for a good long time!

A-Z through April — P


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Oh Give Me a Home


A-Z through April — O

Oh my, we’re already to O.

Okay, so today I thought about Oh give me a home, as in “Home on the Range” twang twang … Cept where the deer and antelope are on my plate. Antelope is so juicy and tender. Also, I like clouds just fine, and my night skies are bright because city lights. So, like, not anything at all to do with the actual song, but more, you know, the spirit of Oh give me a home.

Cause home. Heart-heart.

This is one of those times of year where I delight in the splendor that is home. I’m never eager for spring, but when it comes, I embrace it. I get all twitterpated about my surroundings. Y’all, the grass, it is SO GREEN. Bright, colorful bulbs sway in the breeze. And the trees bud bits of yellow and light green against a backdrop of MORE GREEN and EVERGREEN, with pops of purples, pinks, and whites from all the blossoms and great shocks of bright yellow forsythia wave to me. Mmm.

Hell, even the ‘weeds’ are pretty.

Dark loamy earth with ferns unfurling.


The scent of lilacs and fresh rain.

Tiny bells on lily of the valley.


It’s. So. Pretty.
So mild.


(Refresher: In southeast Georgia, spring has no romance. Spring in southeast Georgia is not alluring. Spring in southeast Georgia means the azaleas open and then it’s all just brutal sun, fire ant bites, and swamp ass/puddle bra until January. Grass like hay. Ground hard red clay.)

Here, spring is an occasion!
I celebrate it with glee.
How could I not, with it being so beautiful and me so grateful to be home?

I hope this post illustrates the magnitude of my joy.

Perhaps Sadie expresses it best.

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Now, Share Your World — April 17, 2017


A-Z Challenge — N

When writing by hand do you prefer to use a pencil or pen?
Pen. I bout can’t stand pencils. Their scratchy noise annoys me.


Would you rather be an amazing dancer or an amazing singer?
I can sing and dance okay, and would rather be an amazing musician. If I were an amazing musician, I would stay home and worship myself, I swear. I’d be terrible proud. No one could stand me and my unholy self-awe.


If you were on a debate team, what subject would you relish debating?
It is perhaps our years of speech and debate that allow The Mister and I to drive each other crazy keep our minds and tongues sharp. On that note, I’ll say I can debate either side of any argument, but I am particularly talented at pointing out inconsistencies and hypocrisy in the arguments of others.
At this time, the cognitive dissonance of certain sub-sets of the religious right seems a field rich in material.


What are you a “natural” at doing?
Reading energy.


Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I’m immensely grateful I’m healing. I don’t feel rotten and I merely look like a mildly icky blistering human now, as opposed to last week when I thought my own lymph nodes would strangle me and I should’ve been hidden away from society.
I’m loving spring, its bulbs and weeds and clusters of colorful trees — grateful my apple trees and lilacs are blooming.
I’m grateful we finally got all the paperwork to file our taxes and didn’t need an extension.
Honorable mentions go to air-conditioning, fresh sheets, and banana pudding.


This week coming up has highlights aplenty for me. It may sound boring to you, but I have ZERO errands to run this week, and that makes me positively giddy.


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

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What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — Moo & Cowy


A-Z through April — M


You know Moo’s name isn’t Moo, right? We just call her that. Moo, Moomalade, Moomy, Moomers, Moo Moo.
It’s Sassy’s fault.
Like Beezus and Ramona, it’s Sassy’s fault.
Some of Moo’s friends call her Moo, too.

Moo really likes cows and milk. I’d say it’s because of her nickname, but I can’t be too sure. She really likes rocks, marshmallows, and the color orange, too.


A long, long time ago, one December when Moo had just turned two, I’d gone out to Plainfield to shop with Beauty Queen. Strolling through the toy aisle, Moo fell in love with a plush cow.
The cow was as big as she.
I pulled the cow down and let her squish it.
“Cowy,” she murmured into its fluff.
Aw. Yeah.

Later that month, when The Mister was home on leave and it was time to do the gift shopping, I mentioned we should go to Walmart, because they had this stuffed cow Moo loved.
So we went to our local Walmart, but they didn’t have the cow.
So we drove a lil farther, to another one, but they didn’t have the cow, either.
And another.
Finally, he drove us all the way back out to Plainfield in hopes the cow would still be there.  It was.
Three hours and who knows how much gas money, spent in the search of a $5 plush cow for a two-year-old. The lengths daddies will go to to —

Totally worth it.

Moo’s thirteen now, and Cowy still has prime real estate on her bed.

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

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Let’s Talk

Okay, I’ll write, you read. But we’ll both smile, and that’s what Fridays are all about.


A-Z Challenge — L

Do y’all do Talk To Text?

I do not. Siri cannot negotiate my accent.

Siri cannot negotiate The Mister’s accent, either, but he’s in denial. I dunno why. His accent is thicker n mine.
That’s the kinda thing Siri can’t negotiate.

Siri be all, “I don’t know what you mean, Jolene,”
I repeat, “Fifty-six-hundred Haverferd.”
“Sorry, I didn’t quite get that.”
“You useless bitch.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“Five Six Zero Zero Hay-ver-ford.”
“Here’s what I found.”
“Pretentious cow.”
*POKES MAP HARD* like it will hurt Siri

Ain’t nobody over here usin the language of power like, “I journeyed to the desert upon my anonymous horse.”
That’s for work.




It was so.
And if my mother asks any of you, I wore metallic loafers. Cause I just couldn’t suede.


Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Kincaid’s. Or Not.

April A-Z — K


I had a great plan for K. I would use Kincaid’s storefront.

One of the things people like me complain about is a lack of butcher shops, or even the lack of proper butcher departments in grocery stores — “What do you mean you have no bones?”
There are still a handful of meat markets in the city, and Kincaid’s is one.



Great storefront, agreed?
This particular shot comes with a complimentary gentleman.
On the day I arrived, the door was …


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Open doors are definitely doors, but not necessarily what one wants on Thursdays.

So here’s a neighboring door, which I find interesting. NOT a typical door for Indianapolis businesses. The facade lends a coastal vacation ambiance to our landlocked city. I was disappointed I could not hear the surf or smell the salt air, but it’s pretty.


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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Joey’s Dowwwn


A-Z through April — J
This ain’t no one-liner. I had a one-liner planned, but then, life happened.

I had too much fun over the weekend. Too much fresh air and sunshine, too many smiles, and now I have to pay for it. If you have a happy, healthy immune system you probably think that’s poppycock, but that truth will resound with many of my readers.

The Cold Sore Episodes, Take Seven. I don’t just get a fever blister, no, I run the full gamut. I gotta run fevers, get the aches and pains that go with those, have my lymph nodes swell to the size of golf balls, and of course, total lip explosion. I look deformed. That is not hyperbole. It’s super gross. Like, wake up with my lips crusted together. HashtagHellaSexy.

I feel like before I return to work, I need to text my boss a selfie, so he can mentally prepare for my hideous entrance. Again, I am not exaggerating.

Not every outbreak is this bad. At times I’ve been able to catch it and sometimes stop it beforehand, or at least lessen the intensity, but not this time. Didn’t feel it comin. *SPLODE*

Here are the benefits:

1. Lots of time in bed with my pets


I don’t know what Clara’s doin with her life…At least she visits me at nigh-nigh time.

2. Avoiding grooming
I put these pajamas on when I got home Monday. When I knew. When I knew I was in for it. Yes, I am nasty. I tell you what else, I have no plans to change them, either.

Oh, Murphy’s Law, my in-laws dropped by for the first time in months — and me in all my oozing gory glory.

Upon request, my loving husband brought ice cream home and tried to make me a milkshake. He’d never used a blender before. I did not know that.
Then he fried up bacon. I did not eat it, but he made beautiful bacon. Like, perfect bacon one could use to illustrate a cookbook.
I slurped down two milkshakes and a bowl of scrambled eggs.

Blenders aside, The Mister’s pretty good at pickin up my slack.

Having a herpetic wife does create a certain benefit for him. Wives who are freezing to death enjoy being held. This is a far cry from his ordinarily ‘cold’ wife who screams out, “Get off me!” and “I need some air!”
Of course, fevered wives, deep into delirium, who may also have anxiety disorder, may wake their husbands in the night and moan poetic nonsense about love and death, which likely erases any satisfaction derived from cuddles.
But so much of marriage is like that, if you didn’t know.

I slept seven hours during the day yesterday and only four today, plus, my neck stopped feeling like it was caught in a strangler’s grip, so I am getting better. I’ve got to stay awake one more hour to go pick Sassy up. That is absolutely all I’ve committed to. That, and well, I am leaning toward another milkshake.

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In Which The Mister Buys a Chainsaw


A-Z through April — I

If you’ve been reading me for a VERY long time, you may remember I wrote a post about how I wanted a chainsaw. The Mister didn’t think that was a good idea, on accounta how I’m small, clumsy, and weak-handed. Or so he claimed. I believed it was because of my lack of penis.


On Sunday, I was doin dishes when he came into the kitchen and said, “I’ll be back.”
“Where ya goin?”
“Wherever I want.”
“Whatcha gonna get?”
“Whatever I want.”

Moo said he was goin to Menards, and she was goin with, and she told him we need some Bartender’s Keeper.

I finished washin the dishes, and I thought, he’s gonna buy a chainsaw. Cause it’s baby tree time, and last year he never got those _other-_ucking, _ock-_ucking mulberry bushes out back, because the ones in the front put his back into spasm, plus that tornado branch on the side of the house, and the green apple tree needs a branch taken off …
It just makes good sense.

Homeowners on wooded lots should have chainsaws. Inevitably, it’ll be necessary, and we are a mostly DIY kinda people.


He did! He bought a chainsaw!

Completely unbeknownst to me, he had been thinking about a chainsaw and watching the sale prices. The shock doesn’t even stop there! He identified and cut down the mulberries. And then he mowed the grass. In early April.

It was a magical day, and one to be cherished. I shall speak of it fondly, “Remember the day you bought the chainsaw?” Ah, so romantic.

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Hello, Share Your World — April 10, 2017


A-Z Challenge — H

Have you ever participated in a distance walking, swimming, running, or biking event? Tell your story.
Several times the walk-a-thons. I don’t think I have any stories to accompany them.


Name one thing not many people know about you.
I enjoy car rides as much, if not more, than any dog.


What is your favorite flower?
Part of why I love April so much is because my tulips are in various stages and it seems there’s a new one open every day.



Things I want to have in my home (paintings, hot tubs, book cases, big screen tv etc)
I’m pretty happy with what’s in my home, I love my house. As time goes on, we’re not as pleased with the closet(s) storage. More built-ins would be good. In terms of how spaces are used, I’m a big fan of shelves.


Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I liked the part where my boss closed the office early. I’m grateful for my family. We shared a lot of good times and good food over the weekend. Glad we’ve accomplished so much in the yard, and that we had many helping hands and good weather.
This week coming up looks like it’ll be typical, with extra bunneh shopping and more chocolate than usual.

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

What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — Given

A-Z through April — G

Given the sublime weather today — Oh Sunshine, we missed you! So nice of you to bring along some sixties, too! — I didn’t get up and have coffee and stare at my trees and blog or anything of a usual sort. No, today started with Tab, goat cheese pizza, and wrangling my hair…


… for OUT & ABOUT!

What a great day to run around and do fings!

We picked up Master Boombastic. I missed Master Boombastic’s street, and hadda turn around. All I can say is that the skies were blue as blue can be, sun shinin, trees all blossomy, green grass with the smell of wild onion. I was distracted.


I had the windows down and I was singin…


OOO OOO OOO oo oo ooo OO OO, Do ya know it? No? Oh well.

I was deliriously happy, smilin, and totally mighta driven west forever had no one corrected me.

I was doin that thing where I thank God I don’t live in Georgia anymore. Bein grateful to be home with spring all asplendor. The grass is just SO GREEN.


Spring is giving its all. Everything is greening and budding and I am ready to welcome it.


Then we did the doorscursion.  Doors, doors, doors.

Remember this place?


Yeah, we hadda go in there and see what that was all about, and it’s awfully adorable. I had to buy a Posh Peanuts adult coloring book and a copy of Runny Babbit. Had to.


The teenagers enjoyed the book shop, cause it reminds them of last week when they were wee.
BUT! The best part was the rock machine. Check it:


For those of you who don’t know, Moo is a rock collector. Someday, Moo may need more storage for her rocks and her daughter may say she has too many rocks.

Then we hadda get some cupcakes at The Flying Cupcake. You remember that place, too, right?


Mmhm. We ate all the cupcakes. No photos availble.

Then we went to the grocery store so we could have gringa tacos for dinner.


Damn good day. Gratitude abounds.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘Give/Given/Giving’ is brought to you by LindaGHill and my iPhone

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Female Phrasing


A-Z through April — F


Moo sat on our bed, talkin to her daddy on my phone. I couldn’t talk.
“Can’t talk. Doin the fings!”
I was trying to hang my scarves on the nail heads, how I do.


They kept sliding off.
“Stupid nails. Now the nail is in the scarf? Oh for fuck’s sake. I need longer nails!”
I tried again.
Nope. Whatever magic held them there before was no more.
“I need more nails! More longer nails!”


Moo told The Mister, “She’s mad cause she can’t get her scarves to hang up. She has too many scarves.”


gaaaaaasssp! traitor!


Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Ease of Access


A-Z through April – E


Doors that are highly functional for ease of access.

Saving space in the city…


Ready for loading and unloading…


To enter when you’re not privy to in…


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Did You?

A-Z Challenge D



After Little League practice, the coach asked the team, “Did you learn anything new here today?”
Little Guy Gus, age 6, raised his hand and said, “Yes. I learned that I am the slowest one here.”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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A-Z Challenge C

When it comes to fashion, fashion generally laughs in my face. I despise most trends, and usually succumb to them only when they’re literally the only things available. I am practical about clothing purchases. My closet is dull. “Does it come in white?” I have dressed like someone’s mother, or like a schoolmarm, my entire adult life. Not only am I classic, read: boring and traditional, but I’m also old school. You won’t find me wearing white pants after Labor Day or wool slacks and suede shoes in April. I can’t. It’s been bred into me. That, and that underwear are meant to be worn under clothes.

So when spring comes, I have to shop. I hate shopping.


I order as much as I can online.

I cyber-shopped two new dresses — retail $180, purchased by me for $45. Got two new blouses from $54 to $18. I hate the hunting and scrolling, but it pays off.

I ordered a cheap spring and summer bag last week. It was $20 and I was pleased that I found it on the 4th page instead of the 40th. I read the reviews. Other reviewers commented on how cheaply made it is, how the interior is nylon, how the straps aren’t real leather. I’m not sure what people think the cost of leather is, but I assume any brand new handbag for $20 is cheap, and therefore, cheaply made, and if any actual leather is used, it’s from a super ugly cow.
I like my cheap bag. It’ll see me through the summer. Summer is very throw-it-in-a-bag-and-go. Winter finds me wanting genuine leather and structure, you know how textural winter can be…


But shoes and pants… Ugh. They must be tried on, WHY DO THEY RANGE SO MUCH IN SIZE AND FIT?!? That means I have to go out and get them.

Shoes are an ongoing thing. Now that all of us are in the adult sizes, we really make out on the coupon deals. Still, my idea of a good time is not ninety minutes in the shoe store. And FYI, it takes The Mister MUCH LONGER to shop for shoes in comparison to us girls.

I like to thrift for clothes. Most of my costly, well-made clothes are secondhand, or at the very least, bought off-season at a fraction of the cost. For me to pay full price for a clothes, I have to love it in a most endearing way. I think a lot of what’s out there has a mighty high opinion of itself. If I’m going to spend $68 on a shirt, I expect it to last five years, buttons and all.

I found some cheap pants — $40 to $12.99 — XS, S, M, L, XL — Oh my favorite! Reviewers would tell you the knees bag at the end of the day and that the backside is totally unflattering. But I will tell you they were marked down to $12.99, they’re super soft, wash and dry like a dream, I don’t think anyone looks at my knees, and I have long blouses to hide that hideous pocket placement. I am sad only one color was available.

Really, I’m sad I have to wear clothes of a fashionable sort. Do I NOT look spectacular in sweat pants and holey sweaters?!?

Socks are way more comfy than shoes.


sock photo for E

I have expensive taste. Show me a magazine glossy of ten fashion pieces, and I will prefer the most expensive ones before looking at the prices. But I won’t pay for it, not because I can’t afford to, but because I’m cheap.

I go into every purchase with my own expectations of cost. The regret of not buying something pales in comparison to purchase remorse.

How bout you? Do you set your own price guidelines, or do you pay retail? Are you a thrifter? A clotheshorse?

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Because I’m Blank


Because there is no Share Your World today, I dunno what to blog. I so rarely have to think up things to blog on a Monday. How spoiled I am, hm?

I’m blank.

For A-Z through April, my B will have to be… blank?

Plan B?

There were some blossoms captured over the weekend. I’d driven by several times and would’ve sworn they were on a tree at the church. I even thought it was strange I’d never noticed it before. But I discovered, when I went to photograph it, the tree in question belongs to the house next door to the church.

I felt conflicted about trespassing, but ultimately, I did trespass a little, but not more than 20 feet into the drive, “Oh is this not a street?” where I STOLE its picture from my car. Oh the shame.


Being a nervous person, this blurry capture is my punishment. Part of me is glad to have such a conscience, but part of me wishes I could trespass with confidence, because I bet that house has great doors, too.

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Annual Descent Into Madness

Any descent into madness begins with the letter A.


A-Z Challenge begins with pinging back to John Holton, and well, a list.


I am a pantser and SoCSer overall. I just sit down and write.

I hoard drafts and doors and eventually, mostly, I drag them to the surface and share them. Some have been sittin there for years. I could run out of material or feel a surge of courage, so I keep all of them just in cases. I also keep notebooks and comp books and journals and index cards and bookmarks and dogeared pages and slivers of paper — cause, writer.

But I’m not a good word planner.
I never considered the planning of words until my third unfinished novel, which I think explains their unfinished quality. For A-Z, because I struggle with numbers and time and since I still sing The Alphabet Song when I file, I do make a list. I’ll not veer from my One-Liner Wednesday and #ThursdayDoors, so I need to make sure I have material lined up for those days. And I do.

Fortunately LindaGHill will supply my Saturday prompts for Stream of Consciousness Saturday. What would this blog even be without Linda?

Anyway, this is my fourth year of A-Z-ing through April. I know now that I’ve built up a tolerance and I can take the madness. Can you, Dear Reader, take the madness? in small daily doses? for twenty-six days? Let’s find out.


Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘any’ is, of course, brought to you by LindaGHill

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Bring Your A-Game

This is some commentary I wrote elsewhere, Marches ago. It is my interpretation of how awful it must be for athletes who talk to the press after a big loss.
I can’t speak for all of you, but not since childhood has anyone subjected me to the sorta inquisition and criticism athletes face after games.

How utterly humbling. I always feel a wave of compassion and heartache for them, even the ones who are paid millions.

Oh sure, my husband’s always there to call me Grace and Moo’s always available to point out the majesty of my morning hair…and I’m all for personal responsibility, but…
Imagine if the press documented all your shortcomings.
Oh the grand capacity of hindsight!
Aren’t you glad that you don’t hafta give a press conference every time you fail some shit?

Me at press conference, apron in hand:

“Joey, I know you had four pots on the stove and that roast in the oven, but did you really not know the eye for the rice was still on?”

“You know, I just went out into the kitchen and did all that I could. I could blame the archaic hanging microwave for my oversight. My feet were playin up because standin on that tile is tough. But you know, when it comes down to it, I just didn’t cook as well as I could have. I let my family down. I let my dog down. But I can’t go back and undo it.”

“How do you think this will affect your plans for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Well I’m just gonna put that burnt rice incident behind me. You know, most of the rice was still edible. I realize I’m not perfect, but we still ate some damn good rice. So tomorrow, Imma get up and cook those grits and fry that ham, and hopefully nothing will be wasted and nothing will set the smoke detector off. Imma bring my A-game. Imma cook hard.”

Happy Friday Everyone!


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#ThursdayDoors — Face Value




There’s something not quite right about this place.
It’s in good shape, not neglected, but there are no signs of life.
Not so much as a door handle to welcome us.


It is not what it appears to be.
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It’s a utility shed at the park in Algonquin, Illinois.

It marks the spot where the old carriage house was.

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In retrospect, it’s quite sad that I did not take a good picture of this placard. The Google search led me nowhere.

So let’s all take this building at face value.


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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One-Liner Wednesday — STEM Prep

Moo made her daddy a sammich last week. She did it with love and care. She told him, “I even deleted the seeds from your tomatoes.”



One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Five or Six Weekends

I pulled into the drive last night and found my first tulip had opened. I took a photo, but it’s blurry.


I think you can tell, from what’s goin on around that tulip, what I need to do with my weekend. What WE need to do.

It’s time for spring cleaning in the yard. Pickin up sticks, pullin up blankets of leaves, yankin baby trees out, lil raking, lil sweeping, cleaning off siding. That’s all for now.  Too early to plant, too early to sow. Snow and ice may well come again.


This weekend’s weather looks promising so far. It’ll be 50-65 and no rain. I don’t put a lot of faith in the weather predictions staying accurate, but I bet either Saturday or Sunday will be a good day to start.

The list for spring is a little overwhelming, but there are five or six weekends in which to accomplish them.


I’m in charge. (The bossy person who not only does most of it, but tells other people what to do.) Apparently everyone else here would gladly live in a house slick with moss, vines and debris covering the drive, maple trees growing in the gutters, leftover tornado BRANCHES SITTING ON THE SIDE OF THE HOUSE for all of eternity.


After almost a year, The Mister unloaded the tiller from the back of the van and put it in the garage. You know, cause both doors were already open. We’re very proud of him.
While I’m sure he’d like that to be his one garden-related activity for the entire year, this is not the case.

Moo is usually helpful with garden tasks, right up to the point where she tells her sister what to do. For several years, Sassy was excused from some of the nature tasks, bartering her way into bein the house bitch. “Mama, I will dust everything and clean all the floors while y’all work outside. I’ll even do the bathrooms! The ceiling fan! I’ll start dinner!”
I don’t know if she’s come to appreciate nature, if she felt left out, or if she tired of her little sister knowing more than she herself does, but last year, she didn’t give me any grief and humbly admitted, in that teenager-y way, “I sorta like this part,” (planting) “and trimming shrubs isn’t too bad.”


Of course, kids still have to fight while they do outdoor chores. Accidentally on purpose striking one another with large limbs or one closing the gate on the other. They’ll fuss over who goes to the creepy shed or into the garage of spiders. They’ll actually compete for jobs, though, and try to one-up one another with the force of their brooms.
“No, Sassy, not like that, LIKE THIS!”

It is The Mister’s job to close. Once we peons have accomplished a great deal, he will be dragged from the sofa come out and pull up all the baby trees I can’t. He will act like this kills him. There will be certain trees he has to take a shovel or a saw to, and we must all watch him with reverence. After that, he has to rub his back and make some scrunched faces indicative of his pain and suffering. All the while, he can point-out any undone labor on the part of the children, who by then, hate us both and one another.

Then we’ll sit outside with a beverage, make nice, and watch the grass grow.

Ah, yes, spring. Five or six weekends of that. Depending on the weather.

What’s your spring look like?

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Share Your World — March 27, 2017

Does your first or middle name have any significance (or were you named after another family member)?
I was supposed to be Michael Jolene, but not everyone in the family was as progressive as my parents, so it was inverted. I’m told I was named after the mother on The Waltons and the mother of The Gabor Sisters.

Music or silence while working?
Music for working round the house, silence for everything else. Of course, this is not usually possible in my house, but a woman can dream.

If you had a special place for your three most special possessions (not including photos, electronics, people or animals), what would they be?
My favorite painting sits on a ledge in the dining room, which is also where my beloved dining room table is. I struggle to choose a third most special possession, but regardless, most of the possibilities are on the dresser in our bedroom.

The Never List: What are things you know you never will do?
I’m not much on the never of things.

It is my plan never to set foot in Georgia again.

There are a host of things I think I’m done with: really high heels, Mamas’ Boys, liquor on an empty stomach, climbing rocks, caving, tops of lighthouses, slips, attending standing room only events, reading horror, potty training anything, piercing things… It is highly unlikely that I will move to a warm and sunny clime, develop a deep tan, and take up golf.

Optional 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 spent recovering from the week before. I know, y’all think that was done in the 36 hours after I stopped moving, but um, no. It was wonderful to move at standard speed and to enjoy my leisure time at a leisurely pace!
Also, my husband is ever so dreamy, and he looked fantastic on the other side of date night’s bread pudding.

I am grateful he took my car in for maintenance, too.

This week coming up, I get to sleep late for six more days! This is also the week I will take inventory of my seeds and plan the garden.

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

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What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — March

March. Bleh.
March has never been my favorite.
The boy one gets older every March. My he’s big now. Now he looks like The Mister only taller and broader. He is magical, what with his mathing and his technologing and thoughts of things to think. I love him to pieces.
He used to be like this:



This metamorphosis occurred right before my very eyes. Sometimes I see his five-year-old smile, and my happiness lives there a moment before returning to his man-face.

Otherwise I have only one other important birthday in the month of March, and I forgot it this year, because I am a bad friend, although he’ll probably forgive me because he’s a Pisces and we have been friends since… 1993? Holy crap. I should call him.

It’s very long, isn’t it? March?

In like a lion, out like a lamb, they say. Some of us prefer the lion. March winds, I do like those. Like all that cold wind. I don’t like to fly kites.
Yesterday it was hot already, stupid 78 degrees. I had to open my car windows and let the wind take my hair.
Got to work and the space heater was on. Apparently I work with those who prefer the lamb’s end of March. I’ll be buyin a lot of summer sweaters this year, so I can wear them all year. This is kinda funny if you know me offline, because since I left Georgia, I have bitched and bitched and bitched about my lack of heavy warm sweaters, and now I finally have almost enough (cause never enough) heavy warm sweaters to wear and I don’t get to wear them all that often.

There’s basketball in March. I live in Indiana, so this is like a religion. I’m not religious, what with being a Unitarian Universalist and all, but oh how we dabble, so I do dabble in the brackets from time to time, although I have escaped Hoosier Hysteria. You should probably be aware that I didn’t make that up. I know it’s hard to tell when I make up so many words and phrases, but I’m totally serious, you can Google Hoosier Hysteria. People have painted it on their big red barn. Now we have to cheer for Kentucky, because the enemy of our enemy is our friend.

I think that sums up all I have to say about March. I’d never be a good marchand for March, but I can sell you on April. Love me some Aprils.


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

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Subtly Subpar Sub

I used to substitute teach quite a bit.
I don’t now, as my own children have ruined me for all other children I have grown cynical and generally intolerant of other people’s children. I’m sure your children are exceptional, but the other people, the ones who aren’t readin this post, their kids need to be given some chores, a good talkin to, and prolly they needa go huntin switches because their behavior is downright appalling.


Subbing in elementary school, not too bad. Subbing for adolescents, hahaha. Subbing in unstructured classrooms — art, gym, music — harder at any age. I tell my kids to take pity on subs, cause well, C’mon, y’all had subs, you know.

But sometimes my kids tell me the damnedest sub stories. Like last week, with Sassy.

Sassy is the teacher’s assistant for a younger orchestra classroom. She assists her teacher and the students of that class. In our township, this is done in lieu of study hall. Long ago, I was TA in French and The Mister was TA in band.

On the day Sassy had a sub, she wrote down the names of the students who played their pieces in one column, and those who did not, or those who gave the sub a hard time, in another column.
The sub said to her, “So you’re the tattle-teller.”
Sassy said, “No, I’m the TA. The teacher’s assistant.”
“The what?”
“This isn’t my class. I work in this class. I help the teacher.”
“Do you get paid for that?”
“Girl, no, they got you workin for free like a slave. If your mama’s anything like me, and she finds out they’ve got you workin for free, she gonna be up here in a rage.”

“I make copies. Help people tune their instruments.”
“You’re a smart girl, with a good-lookin ponytail. Shouldn’t be workin for free.”



Rumor has it that sub didn’t make it through the day.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — She’s Not The Girl Next Door

I spotted a lil somethin alluring.

In an alley, back, back, back.

This ivy-skirted vignette whispered my name.



You just know when you see somethin like that, there are gonna be doors of interest.



Brick, lookin all kindsa sexy.





Ooh, y’all, it’s gettin so good.




Uh. Okay. Not what I’d had in mind.




Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.



Number 19 is Not the Girl Next Door.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link



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One-Liner Wednesday — Zoo

“How can you not want to go to South Africa? The pictures are incredible! It’s so beautiful! They have giraffes and penguins in the same place!”
So do we,” The Mister retorted.


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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My Secret Shame

I was readin vanbytheriver last night, which was a fun little read about birds and love. It struck me as funny-odd that she didn’t know the birds in question were mourning doves, but then I had to mention in a family of birders, I never had the opportunity to not know which birds were which.

My parents are bird people. It’s true. When I was young, particularly in my teens, they’d drive me to eye-rolling craziness with all their talk of birds. It’s one of those things that always made me feel like I didn’t belong. Who the fuck cares about birds? They’d sit there with their bird books and talk about birds for hours. They’d argue over identification. They’d theorize about migration patterns. I’d sit there and think omg if my life is ever so boring that i need to look to birds for entertainment, just take me out and shoot me.

It was alright that my grandmother watched birds, because she lived on a lake and spent all her time staring out the window, but she was like 80 or somethin, and there wasn’t a lot for her to do…
I’d have better things to do before 80, but then maybe I’d get so bored, I’d watch birds, too. To have my parents doing it, well, it was intolerable.

The sheer amount of excitement my mother displayed over a hummingbird come to feed, I mean really, Get a Life!


My mother woke me once, definitely before noon, to go out and see the whoojiwhatsit spotted-winged blarg outside. I mean, really, was it not bad enough to drag me out to the woods, away from MTV and telephones?!?
“Oh my God, MOM, no one cares!”

I mastered the basics when it comes to birds — you know, robins, cardinals, doves, that sorta thing — but I had no desire to classify them by types or learn about rarer ones.

Me reading about Darwin’s birds:


dude, get out of the islands, you’re losin yer mind



One time, at our old Indianapolis home, circa The Baby Daze, hundreds of birds swooped in and took over our back yard as if Hitchcock had directed them to do so. At first it was neat. But the next day they were still there. It got weird and messy. It felt ominous. I couldn’t let the kids out. I called my mother to explain the horrors of nature come to roost in my metropolitan backyard.
You know what she asked me, right?
“What kinda birds?”

That moment you wish you’d paid attention.


Don’t you know Sissy had the same boring bird chats with my mother? Sissy didn’t think birds were boring at all, and so my mother had given her bird books. Sissy looked the birds up in her books and informed me they were tree swallows.

Moo’s the same. You ask me what kinda bird is in the tree, and I’m like, “Some sorta spotty finch-type thing,” and Moo’s all, “It’s the white-breasted nuthatch.”
(In truth, I know the white-breasted nuthatch, but I’m just sayin, she knows more than I do.)



Flash to me in Georgia, upset cause there were almost no birds around.
“Somethin wrong with this place. Ain’t no birds, nothin grows. God didn’t intend for people to live here, I tell ya!”
Then, gettin super excited when I saw birds I recognized! Mockingbirds and robins, mostly. But sometimes, somethin special in Savannah…
“Omaword! Look at all the wrens!” Y’all, I emptied a sleeve of crackers in the parking lot just to watch’em eat. It’s good for the children to have natural encounters, right?


Flash to me back home, watching MIL’s birds at the feeders, listening to learn as much as I could from her. But like, low-key interested…no big deal.
I totally didn’t care about the birds nesting in the wreath on the porch. I was not beside myself with glee, possessing nearly the awe of a child. I didn’t get giddy when I saw the babies had been born. Nah, not me. I have a life.

You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Just another thing in a long list of things taken for granted. Birds.


Now, at my own house, even though I’m not 80, I have squealed so loudly at a visiting hummingbird, I scared him off! I almost peed myself — he probably did, too.

I spend a great deal of time staring out my window.



Now and again, I grab the binoculars.
I feed the birds.
I try to get pictures of our cardinals.


I stand feet from them, hoping they’ll let me look at them a little bit longer.
I listen to the songbirds.
Try to figure out which bird sings which song.
Noticing cardinals sound like R2D2…
Listen to warbler songs on YouTube.


I am only forty-three, and I enjoy the birds.

I say things to Sassy like, “Do you hear that? That’s a pileated woodpecker. Come see.”

I should be taken out and shot.

This is my secret shame.
My mother, she must be so proud.



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Share Your World — March 20, 2017

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?
I dunno, anywhere between five and infinity, depending? I don’t look my age, and I don’t often feel it. I am, at times, aware of limitations. I feel like an old soul, albeit an energetic one. I have trouble remembering how old I am, and how old other people are. Age is kinda weird. I think it’s because of the numbers.


So, you’re on your way out and it’s raining. Do you know where your umbrella is or do you frantically search for it all over your apartment/house?
My umbrella’s in my car. The girls took their umbrellas, so if it was raining hard, I’d put on a hat to get my umbrella. I seldom use my umbrella. I am not an umbrella person.


Do you recharge your energy by going out with friends for a good time or by spending with quiet time alone?
I recharge at home mostly, seldom in physical solitude. Green spaces can recharge me some, too.


Name three things you and your spouse, partner or best friend  to have in common.
Love of music, love of outdoors, love of travel.


Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Much as I hated the pace of my busy week, I ran the full gamut of emotions, not the least of which was weeping with joy on several occasions. I am grateful The Mister didn’t have school and was available to daddy. I am grateful my kids have the opportunities they do. I am even more grateful Sassy gave witness to those opportunities. I am grateful I live in the city.

Now that it’s over, I am grateful I made it through. I am grateful I had most of the weekend to recuperate. I’d like to take the day off and spend it here on the sofa. Time will not stop for me.


This week coming up shows a SPLENDIDLY BARREN CALENDAR! That should be enough to look forward to.

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

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What’s going on in your world?



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SoCS — This Woman is Done

Managed to get through the week.

Thought we’d never get to #ThursdayDoors and Thursday Kittens — thank you for the extras, eschudel. Thought we’d never get home last night.

Chose side effects over pain this week.
Manic pace. Dizzying. Demanding. So walk, how peoples, many schedule, too much drive. Overdose of stimulation.
I prefer logging into the outernet daily, briefly, as is my accustomed manner.



Otherwise, I just like knowing there is there. You know, for my convenience.




I grog. My eyes burn, my hands are shot. My feet still move faster than the rest of my family’s, on the basis of my marching mind. Must. Keep. Going. I was in command of my legs, at least, “Look at me walkin all fast!” I said when I saw myself in the door reflections today. My tired, my secret, no one can tell. I look human, I only feel like trash. I waited for the place to clear out before exiting. Couldn’t maneuver through the crowd.

When we were leavin home this mornin, Sassy suggested, “You lika take cookie?” and I said, “No, is too heavy.” I’d already spent my energy on brushing my teeth and my mangled mane, and it would be hours before I could lift a fork of mandatory eggs to my lips. A cookie would not do. Can’t take the crash. Only savory food can keep Joeys goin.

I’d say this is a middle-age introvert problem, but my lil extrovert is plumb tuckered out, too.
When it came time to order her chicken and dumplins today, the waitress asked her what two sides — Moo’s brain went blank.
“She would like green beans and baked apples,” I said. Moo’s face lit up briefly, but then her eyelids slid down as she plopped her weary head onto her sister’s shoulder. She’s snuggled up with The Mister in my throw, “Oh look, it fell on me,” she said.

Sassy felt stuffed with pancakes and had taken to her bed, or, as she would say — gone to her cave to snuggle herself. She was so sick from exhaustion on Thursday, I couldn’t send her to school. That day off must have helped significantly, because, if you can imagine, she’s playing her cello right now.

The Mister is also tired, which he will tell you is because he is an old man. The Mister has been an old man for as long as I can remember. He’s older than me, so I will never, ever be old like him. He says his brain is cloudy and his body feels numb. I know he’s tired because he drank two whole cups of coffee and suggested I buy two tiny, overpriced jars of Dickenson’s preserves today, in flavors he doesn’t even eat.
And he informed me, “The Fuel Fairy filled your car up.” How romantic! I may let that gentleman manhandle me. But not now.

We’re dormant now. We cannot be moved. We’re goin nowhere and the only person allowed to visit is Mr. Sandman.

Sadie is so happy her people are home. All week it was, “Puppy not go” and those big brown eyes.

You know you’ve had a big week when you think man it’s gonna be great when i can stay home and do laundry saturday night!


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



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Funny Phone Fings

We all tease The Mister because he’s one of those people who types forever to say very little.
Are you familiar with THE BUBBLES?

For a hundred years I stare at my phone, watchin the little bubbles dance. boy he must have a lot to say…

Okay? OKAY?!?

Y’all know these people, yeah?


My husband is those people.


I, too, like to forget to press Send and then wonder why the hell no one responds.





Mentor gave me her cell phone to answer while she was on an office line, but I don’t know how to press the right buttons on strange, alien, non-iPhone phones so I accidentally disconnected the call. I did figure out how to call back, but it was terrifying, and hysterical.

I. I was hysterical.



You have to read the FIRST name on your phone, because you can’t just say sexy things to any ol Mottern.


I locked up the office while on my phone. Then I stopped and did that thing where I panicked because my phone wasn’t in my purse, and wasn’t on my desk BECAUSE IT WAS IN MY HAND!


In the same vein, I did some calculations on my cell phone and then used my house phone to call and report the total, because I wasn’t sure where my cell phone was, since at that time, IT WAS OBVIOUSLY A CALCULATOR!




Best of all was I called home to tell Sassy to put the lasagna in the oven… I did say, “I love you,” but also, “If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to call.”

But OMFG, Press Send!

Happy Friday Everyone!


Posted in Random Musings | 69 Comments

#ThursdayDoors — A Night at the Symphony

Sassy was one of twelve students asked to play before the symphony’s performance last night. Those students played as people walked in. They provided intro music.
This particular night at the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra featured Student Side-By-Side. The best of the best high school students in Indy sat next to and played along with the pros. It was delightful!

But first, we had to get Sassy there.
We both had to leave work early.
Here I am, leaving work.


I didn’t take the photo for y’all. The Mister asked me if I was okay. I didn’t IMMEDIATELY respond to his text, because four minutes late and getting into car.

Rush, rush, rush!

Home to collect the people.

I drove, because downtown. The Mister hates driving downtown.
Sassy said her teacher told them to enter via a back door. We could not find a back door. There was an alley. I could not imagine her teacher wanted them to walk down an alley, so I dropped The Mister off with her in case she really did need to go in through the alley. She did not.

This left Moo and me in the car, me searching for parking. Well, Pffft! free parking to walk to Monument Circle is basically NO PARKING ANYWHERE YOU EVER WANTED TO PARK, EVER. I pulled into a parking garage and a great panic came upon me, because I bout never park in parking garages, and to be honest, I am not comfortable with the whole process.
This anxiety didn’t leave any time too soon, either.

But I had Moo, and a goal, so we kept moving. First the elevator, then a vestibule, then through a courtyard, then into a lobby.


That’s a lot of stuff. By this time, I was sure I was turned around and would never find the way back, but then, outside there was a street like a light at the end of the tunnel.



I paused there a while, waiting for vertigo to subside, channeling moxie.


Moo had worn the vintage Kenneth Coles she picked up at Goodwill. She’d been dying to wear them and finally had opportunity.
Cept… right about there is when we figured out why we’d found them in pristine condition. They aren’t actually meant to be worn. The toes had dug in, and red rings appeared across the top of Moo’s feet.

Once we were outside, I looked back to the building we exited from. 151 N Delaware. We braced one another against the cold wind and walked to the circle. Moo was sure that down Pennsylvania would be faster. I knew it wouldn’t be any faster, but that it would cut down on some of the wind.

I stopped for two doors. Dunno where. Was cold, anxious, worried about Moo’s feet.


We met The Mister and went to Starbucks on the circle while Sassy rehearsed. Sat at a bar along the window, watched the peoples, drank the coffees, ate the cookies.

Here’s a map of downtown Indy made of wire.


Here are the doors to the Hilbert Circle Theatre.


Inside, I mostly whirred with anxiety, because it was crowded and loud and pretty much any time I wasn’t in my seat, I was looking for, or waiting for, Sassy.


Finally it was time for the music!
Of course, the symphony prohibits photos and videos of their performances, but I snapped this shot during intermission, and I think it provides the general gist of it.


As I said — It was delightful!

After, we stood around talking and of course, waiting on Sassy.
Once we hit the street, Moo asked to take her shoes off.
So Family Tradition. My Moo — heart, heart.

No one was there to photograph us, but I’ll set the scene: It’s almost 30 degrees, the wind is rippin. A family of three walks briskly through the city streets. The mother and father are well-dressed. Father looks menacing, but carries a cello. Mother has a handbag looped over her arm so she can tote the shoes of her child and still hold her hand. The child is clad in a wool dress coat, and is naked from the knee down. (Remember, Moo doesn’t look 13, she looks 8.)
A surly teenager wearing jeans and Converse sneakers follows the family. She carries a bouquet of flowers and a backpack the size of Texas.

We were a sight.

People saw us. I saw them seeing us.


I parked off Delaware. 151 N Delaware. That’s two streets east of Meridian and then north a bit. But I didn’t remember a crucial element — Moo hadn’t wanted to walk a straight line, and so we did not walk back the same way we went. Darn that intrepid Moo. Nothing looked familiar. Of course, the sun had set, and everything looks different in the dark. We paused outside 200 N Delaware as I began to freakthefuckout about where the fuck the fucking parking garage was! I was definitely in a blind panic.

I pulled out my parking garage ticket and gave The Mister the name of the building. He searched. Siri said it was 283 miles away. Uh…
I said we should turn around, we’d somehow missed it.

It was then I became adamant about the 151-ness of Delaware, and enormous buildings do not disappear in an evening.
Oh The Irony of Me, who is always hounding the children about how NUMBERS IN ADDRESSES MEAN STUFF!
For instance, if you’re in front of 200 N Delaware, then 151 will be on THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREET. Or, in my case, laughing in the shadows behind my back.

Sometimes you  I need to calm down and think!

We got there. Oh yes indeed, we got there straight away.

It was 10 to 10 when we left the parking garage.
Not a lot of places open for the cold, hungry, tired Motterns to eat. Sassy suggested IHOP.


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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Still Thankful, Every Day

On this day four years ago, I arrived back home again, in Indiaaaaana!

Video for those of you who don’t get the reference…

It was a long journey, and a long-awaited one. You can read about it here.


If you’ve been with me since Georgia, thank you.

I believe in quotes like, “Bloom where you’re planted” and “No matter where you go, there you are” but I also believe for me, climate and landscape are crucial to my well-being. I don’t want to say I need four seasons, but it’s a feeling similar to need, and when I didn’t have it, I pined for it.
The crunch of snow underfoot, the damp richness of dark soil under green grass, a cool breeze carrying cottonwood, FALL FUCKING FOLIAGE.

I reckon there are a number of people who can live anywhere and thrive. I am not one of those people. Even as a youngster, I could only imagine being happy in a place like home. You do this, yeah? You travel, and you say, “It’s nice for a while, but I wouldn’t wanna live here,” right?
But what if you looked at a place and said, “Ick!” and had to stay there for seven years? Would it render you desolate? Would it break you? Would it make you stronger?

If there’s anything I pine for more than my native landscape, it’s The Mister. And so I stayed.

I still thank God I’m home, every single day, often multiple times a day. I’m sure people are sick of my goin on about it —  but remember that — when people tell you somethin over and over, it’s because it’s important to them.

I still shed tears of gratitude. I will never forget how I felt as I crossed into Kentucky and smelled the wet grass and the wild onion. Home. Oh, Home. I cried so many times that day. My place, my people, my relief, my happiness. Cry tears of joy with me now? It’s a beautiful thing.

It’s good to be home.


I am never homesick now.


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It’s Tuesday, and I’m a Slacker

Tuesdays are for complaining, yeah?

I feel like Share Your World highlights gratitude on Monday. Sometimes I write those posts through my teeth, because I really do wanna complain. Monday, bleh, blah, argle blargle, huff.

Gratitude is crucial when you want to live well. But venting is so much easier.

So Tuesdays I must feel free to complain. About petty shit.
Like, Photo a Day. There’s a lovely woman in the interwebz who hosts my Photo A Day Challenge dooji, which has connected me to some amazing Instagrammers, which has in turn, provided me with much entertainment and taught me a lot. But sometimes, I’m like…

“Uh. Nowa.”

Okay, yesterday was 13. horizon. “where the sky meets the land,” it read.
In my head, I was like, “Bitch, I live in the city. Ain’t drivin out to nowhere to capture the horizon.” I don’t even know how far I’d have to drive before the sky met the land and not trees? I wasn’t gonna try. Cause you know, Monday, bleh.
I considered pulling over at the side of the interstate to snap “where the sky meets the asphalt” but that seemed dangerous. I’m sure the Photo A Day community would tolerate a photo of a horizon hidden by structures, but could I give myself an A for that?

Oh, I see, the problem is mine.

The problem is also mine when I don’t want to leave the house to get a snap.

Not too long ago, the prompt was 8. fave part of my day. When I realized what the fave part of my day is, I decided the internet was NOT going to see that. If I tried to make it photo worthy, it would not be the fave part of my day. We’d need to wear shirts and turn on the lights, and I’d have to contort myself muchly to get the iPhone to see The Mister scratching my back as I lie across his hips. Other possible fave parts of my day are specifically not photographic. They’re the fave parts of my day because they’re feelings, not images.

insert photo of feelings here

Sometimes it’s a seasonal issue.
My particular Photo a Day is run from the other hemisphere. Do you know how hard it is to get photos like 22. leafy, 3. flower, 21. grow, and 25. grass in Indiana in the middle of January?


Winter has me showin off my houseplants…Every. Year.


Also, it seems my host is a morning person.
There are always prompts for morning things, and most of them are on weekends, and to that I say “Nowa” again. Actually, sometimes I laugh, because the prompt is “8am Sunday” and even when I drag my ass to church, I don’t rise at 8am on Sunday. I can’t think of anything that would be worth wakin at 8am on Sunday.
Last time she asked for 5. morning sky on a Saturday, she got Friday morning sky. Shh, don’t tell.


Anyway, those are my petty complaints about photo challenges. I’ve done them for about three years and now I’ve begun skipping the ones that ARE an actual challenge for me. I’m a slacker now. A real whiner, too.

Feel free to vent. It is Tuesday after all

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Share Your World — March 13, 2017

Do you push the elevator button more than once?  Do you really believe it makes the elevator faster?
No. But in college, I pushed the button again if the light on the panel went dim. My dorm elevator was wonky. It had a bad memory. I don’t know if it helped the elevator remember, but it helped me.


Do you plan out things usually or do you do them more spontaneous (for example if you are visiting a big city you don’t know?)
If I’m visiting a new city, I plan so that I have a place to sleep. I AM a planner, but I don’t like itineraries for play. Planned fun isn’t.


Describe yourself in at least four uplifting words.
insightful, hopeful, playful, creative


If you had a choice which would be your preference salt water beaches, fresh water lakes, ocean cruise, hot tub, ski resort or desert?
If I can have the salt water beach on a cool, cloudy day, I’ll take that. Otherwise, skiing sounds good.

Optional 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 lots of downtime over the weekend, as well as a visit from some of my favorite people ever, and of course, carrot cake.

I’ve got a busy, busy week ahead, virtually non-stop til Sunday. I’m looking forward to more time with The Mister, Moo’s choral competition, and the part when Sassy will perform before the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra — There will be Rachmaninoff, and we will dine out after.

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

What’s going on in your world?


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SoCS — Short & Sweet

I spent the week shopping. Please remember I hate shopping. Shopping on weekends is the worst. There are so many people out there. So I did it on the weekdays. Cause I was livin like Old Mother Hubbard.
I made lists, one for the big store Tuesday, one for the shop Wednesday, one for the small store Thursday, and one for online store yesterday. I did this because I love myself and I have an extraordinarily full schedule next week, and if I had to shop on top of all that, I might would DIE.

Then, because I want to enjoy this weekend in a very my-sofa-needs me, my-husband-is-on-break, let’s-bake-another-carrot-cake kinda way, we went shoe shopping last night to cross it off the agenda. We bought all the new shoes. I love my new shoeses, but I am in no hurry to wear them.

Came home, cooked breakfast for dinner. Oh yes. Scrambled eggs, ham, blueberries, pineapple and toasts — and would you believe, after all that shopping, we are almost out of strawberry preserves?!? Well, I laid claim to the rest of that jar!


HEAR YE, HEAR YE, the rest of the strawberry preserves are belong to me!


This weekend is short on strawberry preserves and long on time.
And I am short.
And short-tempered.
And I don’t wear shorts.
Anyway, I gotta go.

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


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The Sound of Headphones

I freakin hate when kids get to that stage where they live in headphones. I do. I know it’s the norm and that they have to have their music and their video chats. I know that it saves me from all kindsa ‘Kill Your Parents’ music, jacksepticeye, and the sound of teenage girls squealing en masse, but sometimes I would just like to speak at standard volume and say things like, “I can hear your kettle boiling,” because when I scream, “KETTLE’S BOILING!” it sounds like I’m mad about it and makes me feel like I, too, should partake in tea time.

The girls got some big headphones with their holiday cash. When they wear those in my presence, I can at least see they’re wearing them and speak louder.
Or, The Mister and I can speak softly and say naughty things UNTIL THE CHILD TURNS TO US IN DISGUST AND SAYS, “EW!”

Usually, they wear the earbuds, and then I can’t tell. I don’t know. And they do it in their rooms sometimes, which I don’t understand, because we don’t care if they listen to stuff in their rooms, but I do know that we’re sick of WHY NOBODY COMES WHEN WE CALL?!?


I shout from the living room, “Mooooooo! Phoooone!”

The Mister barks, “Moo Mae Mottern!”

“Sassy, yell to her.”
Sassy hollers into the register, “Moooo! Phoooone!”
Moo runs to the living room, “Did you call for me?”
“Sorry, I had my headphones on.”
of course you did


Walk into the kitchen like, “Moo, did the cats get dinner?”
Seems Moo is entranced by dishwashing. It can be zen like that…
omg invasion of the body snatchers
*taps child on shoulder*
Moo jumps, clutches sponge to chest, pulls out an earbud “Oh my God, Mama, you scared me!”
me? i thought she’d turn around with glossy black eyes


Sassy’s not much better.
I sometimes talka Sassy for a long time before I realize she can’t hear me.

“I guess we need to go feed Casey. I didn’t know Mamaw and Papaw were even gone. Daddy said he’ll pick us up and we can get coffee on the way. I’ll take the dog out. Get dressed and tell your sister.”

*looks at me and smiles*
*pushes pause*

“Get dressed. Tell Moo to dress.”
“Okies. Why?”
“We gotta go feed Casey.”
“I didn’t know Mamaw and Papaw were gone.”

…Ten Minutes Later…

“Are we goin?”
“When Daddy gets home.”
“Ooh! Maybe we can get coffee!”

This week Sassy told me that one of her teachers yanked her earbud out. Sassy said, I quote, “Yeah, it’d be rude to listen to music while she teaches, but we were testing. It’s not like Lady Gaga is singin out answers.”



Sometimes I warn them about situational awareness. Okay, they would say I nag them a lot about situational awareness. If they don’t even know I’m in the room and they can’t hear me talking to them, how can they claim they’re aware of danger?



You should know what’s goin on around you.
You don’t have to know what’s goin on in other rooms, but the smoke alarm shouldn’t be what informs you the soup is hot, which happens when you put on headphones and forget about the soup.
I tend my soups, thank you very much.

Bubba be all, “Does anyone have food?!? I’m dying!”
I yell out, “I’m cookin!”
He yells back, “Thank you!”
bout goddamn time someone thank me. fuck.
“You’re welcome!”

Y’all, he not talka me. He talka invisible game people in his headset.


Then Moo runs in, “Did you call for me?”

Happy Friday Everyone!


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#ThursdayDoors — Apartment Rehab



I researched my building for today’s #ThursdayDoors and discovered it was not always the tidy, stately gem it is today.

First I found it’s an apartment building, largely inhabited by seniors. It’s a Section 8 place. Leasing requires its inhabitants earn no more than $28,000 a year and they cannot be full-time students. For $640 a month, renters can have a small open living space with one bedroom, one bath. The amenities aren’t fancy, but it’s a perfectly functional space for one or two who prefer to live unencumbered.
According to listings, the lobby is marbled and there is a lovely green space round the back.

It’s been an apartment building since at least the 1946 census. The built date is not available.

The building was updated in 2013, when it sold for $266,000. At that time…


photo credit here

As far as I can tell, we #ThursdayDoors people are fans of rehabilitation, and I thought you’d enjoy knowing all that.

I am so glad they didn’t put some standard glass doors on this frontage.




Quite nice.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Mixin Up Kisses

When I drop the kids off at school, I say, “Kiss my face!”

When The Mister drops the kids off at school, he says, “Pay the toll!”
Or, what one morning, Moo referred to as, “Kiss the Troll!”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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I’ll Share Anyway

You know how people do go on about summer and get all excited because it’s hot and sunny and stuff? I’m in no hurry for that. Apart from the garden, I could skip summers. This is my kinda warm weather right now. The In-Betweens with their fifties, plenty of rain and hella wind. I love these days the way other people love their precious summers.

Wearin sweaters and canvas shoes, the wind whippin my hair crazy — Ooh! What’s better than sunshine on your face and wind in your hair?

Comin home to crash?


To eat tacos ravenously and sleep hard? These things are good!


There are my furboys, soakin up the sunshine.

Here are my furgirls, snuggled up beside me.


Back and forth, back and forth…
Winter’s not done here. Yes, I’m sure. But there are messengers tellin me it’s time to take inventory on seeds.
Soon I will peel back decayed leaves to reveal the rich dark smell of fertile loam.


These things never happened in Georgia. Next week will be four years since I moved back to Indiana. This is the weather that welcomed me home — damp and green and full of promise. And then, of course, it snowed just for me!

I still thank God I’m home EVERY SINGLE DAY.


(There’s no Share Your World right now. Please think good thoughts for Cee and her family as they deal with loss.)

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SoCS — Project

Y’all know I need to finish the back hallway.


But that’s a whole thing now. Who would I be if my hallway was finished? We’ll find out when I finish it. There are a few bits I need The Mister to do for me, and one day he will graduate and he will do them. But that time, no matter how close, seems like a dream. It’s been a long time since we had a life where evenings belonged to us. Ah, I remember it well. He’d fall asleep on the couch, I’d cook dinner, we’d all eat at the table together, we’d read or watch something, take a walk, sit on the porch, play a game. We’d enjoy our kids and pets, take to our bed at a more reasonable hour, night after night. If we wanted to have guests for dinner, we could. If we were invited out, we could go. If the kids had performances or games, we’d both be there. And, we had the option of one parent here and another there.

Sometimes when a class is canceled, he’ll remark about all the time he’ll one day have to enjoy his hammock, or read for pleasure.

Right now, it’s more like he comes home when we are all in our pajamas and Moo is sometimes already asleep. His dinner is in the oven. He has to read, study, write.

“Hey. I need you to listen a minute.”
“Hold on.”

… … …
“What’s up?”
“I am going to buy some plant hangers and I need you to put the bolts in the ceiling.”
“This week.”
“I need you to commit ten minutes one night this week.”

Baby steps.
The man has no time.
We all admire his dedication and his success, but we miss the time.

Projects around the house appear to be what I relinquished when I took my job. I don’t go to school and I occupation about a third as much as he does, and I can honestly say the projects I set for myself have changed priority and are finished at a slower pace.  If it doesn’t get done in the morning, it doesn’t get done. Even mini-projects like gardening and baking aren’t done with as much frequency.

It’s how things go, these chapters in our lives that get us to the next. They’re markers. I have many of them: when I was single, when we were neighbors, when I worked full-time, when my parents still lived close, when I worked part-time, life before babies, deployments, times where we lived elsewhere — and I’ve found time marches on and all the projects eventually get done.

I’ve discovered I can live just fine with sample colors painted on my walls for years, that I can endure crooked doors, and that seeds still grow when you plant them a year later than intended.
Life is the project.


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

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All Hail the Lawnmower

As I have told you countless times, before I had babies I knew virtually nothing about babies.

(I know a lot about babies now. They’re the needy, wriggly, emotionally unstable people I had always suspected, but also they must be burped every single time you feed them and they use more receiving blankets than any childless person would find logical.)

I did not suffer learning infant care alone in an on-the-job training crash course. No, my husband, he had already had babies, so he knew all the things. Or so I thought.

When Sassy was tiny, she was an open-minded eater. Bottle, breast, fingertip of sweet potatoes or ice cream, it didn’t matter, she’d gladly eat it up. This allowed her father and her siblings to bond with her during feedings, while I got to do things like put my arms down and pay attention to the other children.
When Sassy was done nursing in the night, I’d wake The Mister to burp her and he’d put her back to sleep.
She did not scream her fool head off without reason. Within a few weeks, we were able to decipher the crying and appease her. She loved her pacifier and her swing.

Moo was nothing like Sassy.
Moo refused to take a bottle.
Moo had colic.
Moo wanted only her mama, and wanted her mama all to herself.
Moo hated the swing and refused to take a pacifier.


The Mister, having been repeatedly scorned and rejected by Moo, stopped trying to help. At one point, in a fury of helplessness, he actually yelled, “Don’t ask me to hold her again!”
I know, I know, you can’t imagine. Neither can I, now.
Indignant and full of wrath, I fer damn sure wouldn’t stop asking him to hold her.



One day, I had plenty enough to do, and I decided as easily as I could wear her indoors, The Mister could wear baby Moo while he mowed the grass.
“Mower’s so loud, you won’t even hear her screaming.”
Well, he turned that mower on, and she fell right to sleep. Her little head bobbed along as he mowed. It was more effective than rocking, sitting on the dryer, blaring Beethoven, or even a car ride! This became a thing.
“You should mow the grass around 11. She’ll be ready for a nap by then.”

Eventually, after about six months in the world, Moo stopped screaming her fool head off and got cute.

By eight months, I had her drinking from a sippy cup and eating baby cereal like a champ.
By nine months, the entire family was wrapped around her tiny pink finger, most especially her daddy.




All hail the lawnmower, for it is the true Baby Whisperer.


Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Fine Vines


This gate goes with one of last week’s downs




As well as this door —


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.


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