In Other News

I recently became a grandmother. Sissy and the baby are both well, and for that I am extremely grateful. I am also delighted Sissy gave Sassy’s middle name to her son. He’s beautiful, and I’m not even biased, cause I’ll be the first to tell you that Sissy and Moo were NOT pretty babies. He’s chunky and has blonde wavy hair. The Mottern genes are strong in this one. Beyond that, I’m a bit dazed. I don’t feel particularly grandmotherly, but I guess that’s par for the course when you don’t even feel forty most of the time. I’m already sure I’m the bestest Grandma Joey on the planet, because I aim to spoil him rotten, maybe even worse than I do my nephews.

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Like many grandmothers *giggles* I encountered some panic-inducing technical difficulties with my laptop last week. I don’t really know what happened, but it seems better now. My wi-fi wouldn’t work, then I’d get the blue screen of death, then pages wouldn’t load. Tracey thinks my wireless card might be on the fritz, and I’m all like, “I have a wireless card?” I installed a malware destroyer, ran virus scans like mad, and ended up using the Ethernet cable for a few days. It was a dark time, that last Wednesday was. Whew.

Then, the following day, my vacuum cleaner died. I’ve got to take it in for repair. First time in six years, so I’d say I’ve been fortunate, what with all the kids and pets we have. In the meantime, I’ve bought what amounts to a Dustbuster on a stick, and for $20, I can say it helps considerably.

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The following day, I lost a sock to the dryer vent.
I was sweeping the muck out of the trap with a little broom, when Whoosh! Sassy’s sock fell into the open trap.
The Mister was able to reclaim the sock, and a house fire was prevented.
When I typed, “sock fell” into Google, “into lint trap” popped up immediately. Beware. Household chores are dangerous.

My apple trees didn’t produce this year. Oh, I prolly got a bowl-full, but since they weren’t pruned in I-dunno-how-long before we bought the house, I sorta expected this. Next year should be productive, with pruning and weaning. I am a bit sad, because I so enjoyed my apple pie extravaganza last fall, but then, this leaves me more time to finish painting the trim in the back hallway. (As if I will everrr…)

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The squirrel population is booming around here, which I suppose has led to Mother Nature doing her best to cut it down, sometimes via Sadie and sometimes, by using vehicles. Mother Nature is really into roadkill, right? *scowls* It’s with a heavy heart that I must report —  I have very few familiar squirrels left.

My FIL had his ears flushed. It took several trips to his primary physician and to an ENT, but he can hear again. We’re all so desperately proud of him, we’ve literally applauded him. Yesterday, I remarked that we were in the car together for over a half an hour and I never once had to repeat myself. He’s an excellent role model for my husband and I’m not even gonna pretend that this won’t encourage my loudly nagging The Mister about doing the exact same thing.

 

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When it comes to enrollment and consent forms, I’m always the parent who fills out paperwork. I have good penmanship and I remember everything. Well, almost everything. I’m actually really bad at remembering Sassy and Moo’s birth dates, because there are too many zeros. It’s too hard 10-03-02, 12-04-03 — too many zeros! The older kids are far easier. Because I am the one who filled out the religious education form, I was the one who was asked to choose what I would do to help serve the youth. Since the choices were so scary and I had to choose two, I picked the lesser of many evils, and last night I was emailed to inquire whether I would work in the nursery one or two Sundays a month. I wrote that I would cover one Sunday a month, and then lamented to The Mister about it. “Why don’t YOU go work in the nursery? You love babies.” They’re his children, too. He should hafta do stuff.

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Although, prolly not in the nursery, because babies don’t need discipline, and every time he holds one, he falls asleep…
Anyway, I think I’ll bring this ‘woman’s work issue’ up whenever anyone at church gives me the slightest opening.

So it’s been an eventful September over here — how’ve you been?

 

 

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One-Liner Wednesday — On True Love

“This yogurt is my bae.”
(And other things I say to make my children cringe.)

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One-Liner Wednesdays are brought to you by LindaGHill

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Creepy

Y’ever notice how passionate creatives seem linked to one another, despite introversion? I’ll tell you how it happened to me. I had about six writer friends, but they had about six writer friends, who also had about six writer friends and now I have nine kajillion writer friends, because I can’t math. Oh I’ve got cooks and painters, designers and quilters, musicians and photographers, but mostly, I’ve collected writers. They span the genres fairly well, but I’d say most of them love what I call “Creepy Shit.” They’re people who love all the Halloween. They love bats and black cats and creepy castles and everything Gothic. They tell ghost stories and they ask things like, “Do you have anything in a skull pattern?”

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Of course, I own nothing in a skull pattern, and I hate virtually everything about Halloween, so I just focus on how my writer friends understand my love of coffee and I say things to them like, “The twist at the end of your zombie story was extremely effective. I had to change my pants.”
I hate being scared. Good grief, I’m always scared. I don’t even watch the previews of horror movies. I watch scary things rarely, and always with a blanket up to my eyes. Truth? I haven’t read anything substantially long and scary since the early 90’s.

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Do I ever write “Creepy Shit?” Uh… Once. It’s listed in my Public Writing tab. Why did I write this scary thing? Because peer pressure.
Kinda.
Honestly, I’d just completed some ad work, and I was delighted to do something fictional and challenging, even if it meant scaring myself.

 

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I didn’t do it last year, because I was all, “I hafta paint my new dining room and wash my hair, y’all,” but 13 Stories ‘Til Halloween is back and I am participating this year. I could use a good challenge, and I’m always honored to be asked, but honestly, who would rather paint the back hallway instead of writing a story? If you delight in “Creepy Shit” you should go have a look-see at the last three years of stories and poems.

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Or, you can totally stay here with my blanket and me, and you know, keep us safe.

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Text to Talk to Introverts

My mother taught me a long time ago, when people ask you questions that are none of their business, you reply by asking, “Why do you ask?” It redirects them to their own motives.
You should know by now, there is always a motive.

The range of motives varies, and they’re all important.

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Who likes being asked, “Do you have plans Saturday afternoon?”
Not me.
Not most introverts.

Do you realize how vague that is?
Why would I confess that I don’t have plans?
My brain wants to hear you say that if I’m available on Saturday afternoon, you’d like to bring a box of kittens and puppies over for a few hours. It is much more likely that you’re going to ask me to attend a party or help you move house, so I will ask you, “Why do you ask?”
“I’m hosting a bridal shower and I could sure use some help.”
“Oh, I’m afraid I’ve developed a terrible allergy to people who don’t understand gift registries and those who make cheesy sexual innuendos that barely passed muster in 1950.”

In face-to-face conversation, this exchange would be met with shock and awe, because I’m incredibly rude. In text, this conversation would end with “Haha. So I guess you don’t wanna help me.”

Why texting is better:  Because there are times when not expressing your motive can practically destroy communication lines or allowing people to access your motive too soon can interfere with the outcome.

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I’ll give you a few of my own examples.

Sometimes I realize we’re out of butter. I see that it’s fifteen minutes beyond the time that The Mister should be home. I feel conflicted. I don’t want to text him, because he’s probably driving. So, I hafta call.
“Hello Baby.”
I don’t want him to stop and buy butter if he’s right around the corner from home.
“Hi. Where you at?”
>Pause<
“Why, what’s up?”
“We’re outta butter.”
“I’ll turn around.”
Now, I have no idea where he is. I don’t know if he was on our street, or just left work, or has just passed a store, and now I feel guilty for being out of butter, because he hasn’t disclosed his location. I must take it in stride that he’s willing to pick up the butter, regardless.
“Thank you.”

Drew is known for being late. Drew is one of those people about whom it’s said will be late to her own funeral.
Sometimes she’s coming here. She texts me, “On my way xoxoxoxo.”
I have no idea from where she’s coming. You would think it’s irrelevant, but it’s not. She could be three hours away at home, or an hour away at Beauty Queen’s, or fifteen minutes away at The Palace of Rules. So, I hafta call her, cause she’s definitely driving.
“Where you at?”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! You sound like Mom! I just got on the interstate!”
I don’t want her to feel rushed, or as if she’s unwelcome.
“Sorry. I just wondered if I should put this batter in the fridge and get in the shower, or if I should finish up and then shower. About how long til you get here? Have I got more than an hour?”
>SIGH<
“You have time to do whatever!”
“Okies, thank you. DriveSafeLoveYouBye!”

These conversations are totally different in text. And are good examples of reasons introverts prefer text.

“Can you stop and pick up some butter before you come home?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”

“On my way xoxoxoxo”
“Where you comin from? I got muffins in and I need a shower.”
“School.”
“Okies. See you later. Drive Safe and all that. Love you.”

See how that works?
For best results, text to talk to introverts.

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Can you relate?

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Bookshelf Tag

I was tagged for this post by Fondly Elizabeth at Breaking the Cycle.  I call her Fondly Elizabeth because the comments she leaves me are these darling miniature letters which begin with Dear Jolene: and end with Fondly, Elizabeth.

I’m supposed to tag people, but I don’t suppose I will. Instead, I hope anyone who wants to will share their answers as well. Inspiration and all that.

1- Is there a book that you really want to read but haven’t because you know that it’ll make you cry?

No, but I must say, after watching Sassy bawl her eyes out after John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars, I did move it farther from the top, to be read when I was in a good frame of mind. I bawled anyway, and it was worth it.

2- Pick one book that helped introduce you to a new genre.

I was at Viv’s one weekend and I picked up The Witching Hour by Anne Rice. I had previously been uninterested in Anne Rice and her vampires. Supernatural shit is not for me. Or rather, it wasn’t. Despite the fact that The Mister is a big Anne Rice fan, I could never get into Lestat and the earlier books, but I did become a fan of Queen of the Damned, Pandora, and The Blood Canticle. To me, none of her works top The Witching Hour series because witchcraft is more believable than vampires, right?

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3- Find a book that you want to reread.

A book? A? As in one? I look forward to rereading The Brightest Star in the Sky by Marian Keyes, Amy Tan’s Saving Fish from Drowning, Mary Karr’s The Liar’s Club and The Year of Pleasures by Elizabeth Berg, but any book on the shelf is a likely target for rereading when the mood to do so strikes.

 4- Is there a book series you’ve read but wish that you hadn’t?

No. I’m not going to reread Anne of Green Gables, Ramona,  Narnia or Laura Ingalls Wilder, but I can’t think of a series I wish I hadn’t read.

5- If your house was burning down and all of your family and pets were safe, which book would you go back inside to save?

My fear of being burned to death far exceeds my love of books. Books can be replaced. I cannot.
(I’m neurotic, what the hell did you think I would say?)
I was recently asked to name my top ten books on Facebook, and it almost killed me.

6- Is there one book on your bookshelf that brings back fond memories?

Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver always reminds me of Beauty Queen, because we read it at the same time, and we laughed and laughed over prayin to the chicken coop and worryin about scarecrows that leer. The book is a beautifully woven tale, which comes with some unexpected laughs. It’s a book I don’t loan out, because what if I need to read it and it’s not there?!?

7- Find a book that has inspired you the most.

I know I should say Hanh’s books or some incredible spiritual piece of literature, but no, it’s Truman Capote’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s. (The movie is not the book you know.) I moved a lot as a child, and could relate to the idea of not having a home, or running away from home, but never being able to escape home while at the same time being unable to find a home. I could relate to breaking norms and defying labels, to the belief in borrowing of others instead of belonging to them, to the idea of people not just as artists, but people as art, and art making people who they are…If you’ve never read it, you should.

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8- Do you have any autographed books? 

Yes, my mother has gifted many of them with love and my name is written in almost all of them.
I don’t really understand book signing. I get it from a value sense, but the only books I want inscribed are those written by my friends, because, well, love.

10- Is there a book by an author that you never imagined you would read or enjoy?

The very-popular-suddenly-in-a-phase, almost to the point of redundancy romance book The Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller. Having been told I just HAD to read it, and knowing it would only take an hour or so, I did it. And it’s a good book. I’m not an overall fan of romances to begin with, so it didn’t make me swoon or gush, but it was a good story. I just prefer my romances are more like Lolita or Atonement. Something incredibly heart-breaking that leaves you sobbing and choking, unable to carry on. Being in love is devastating, and not the same as having a brief affair with Clint Eastwood.

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Have you read any, some, all, or most of these books? Are you inspired to answer the questions? Have I made your to-read list longer?
I’m sorry. Kinda.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Endearing Dedication

“Mommy’s got to go! go! go! cause if I’m late! late! late! people will die! die! die!”

— Single mommy nurse neighbor, as she and her kids ran to the car one morning

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One-Liner Wednesdays are brought to you by LindaGHill

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One-Liner Wednesday — While Tryin on Moccasins

“You can know how a person feels, but you can never know how it feels to be that person feeling those feelings.”

 

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One-Liner Wednesdays are brought to you by LindaGHill

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When I Was a Child

Remember when you were a child, your parents gave you pennies for the fountain?
Remember the secrets you kept when you blew out the candles on your birthday cake?
Remember the lost eyelashes you swept from your mother’s finger?

What did you wish for?

When I was a child, I wanted my parents to be married to one another.
As an adult, I can’t even imagine why they got married.

When I was a child, I wanted a mother who’d be there when I got home.
As an adult, I value the education my mother paid for.

When I was a child, I wanted a pony and a pool and a big sister.
As an adult, all I see there is potential injury and drama.

When I was a child, I wanted to stay up late.
As an adult, I have frequent insomnia.

When I was a child, I wanted my parents to love me even though I was nothing like them.
As an adult, I am grateful I’m so much like them.

When I was a child, I wanted to keep every homeless cat or dog I saw.
I still do.

So on days where I wake up from a nap, surrounded by five animals — Cletus under my chin, Como on my back, Sadie to my side, Clara between my feet, and Catticus perched at the end of the bed, I realize that was one thing worth wishing for.
Child Me is delighted.

i don't have a camera on my ceiling. sorry not sorry!

 

 

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Sissy is Muffin, Sassy is Button, Moo is Punkin — Today’s One-Liner Wednesday

While showing my in-laws where I would grow pumpkins, a toddling two-year-old Sassy pulled out her pacifier and shouted “NO! NO MORE PUNKINS!”

button holding punkin

button holding punkin

One-Liner Wednesdays are brought to you by LindaGHill

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The Inevitability of Us

Today The Mister and I celebrate our fifteenth year of marriage. Fifteen glorious years of love and happiness…or somethin like that!

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The Mister and I have known one another for twenty-seven years, so sometimes it feels like we have been married forever, but it’s an extraordinary feeling, unlike any other.

Not every moment of this marriage has been a pleasant one. There have, in fact, been many rough patches. Trying times for us have been typically stressful ones, like  “These children will be the death of us,” or “Remember when we used to spend time together?” and “Omalord, do we have enough money?” as well as, “Oh, please don’t die from this!”

deployments and unemployments were most terrible, and i no longer care for the word ploy

The defining moments of our marriage seem to be based on enduring. It’s as though suffering is necessary to remind us that we have one another, and often, it feels like we only have one another, and that there is no one else who could possibly understand, and no one else we’d rather have on our side, in what seems to be another batch of IT’S YOU AND ME AGAINST THE WORLD!

“Thanks, Stress, we’re like, super duper good at bein married now.”

The happiness is harder to convey. It’s a bit sickening, I admit, but it is my anniversary, so…
It’s subtle, but completely obvious at the same time. We sorta radiate an aura of ease and intimacy. It’s obvious The Mister and I are still into each other — chemistry, sexual tension, whatever you wanna call it. There’s an honest verve, a no-holds-barred tangibility to our marriage, which I would say is rare.

That vibe between us has been there for as long as I can remember, even when we were kids. We fought then, much more than we do now. But at night, we’d take comfort in the sleeplessness of one another. Most of our relationship was based on nights spent alternating between silently stroking and deep discussions in the dark. Then years of separation, followed by reunion, then years of letters, always followed by those nights, until eventually he was my person and I was his. It took him more than ten years to kiss me. It took a few months after that kiss for me to process the ramifications of said kiss. The Inevitability of Us was clear to others long before it was clear to us.

We didn’t go on a date until our wedding night. Dating is for people who need to get to know one another. We’d been friends for over a decade. This was not love at first sight, this was an evolution.

The Mister and I are both passionate, demonstrative people. We’re both black and white — for us, there is no gray. Our values are shared. We hold integrity and equality high. We both demand freedoms of every kind. We share a love for learning, for personal development, for spiritual growth. The Mister and I don’t actually share many common interests…films, outdoors, travel…
He’s a man of action and I’m a woman of words, so you know, some challenges are built right in!

If you ask me what makes it work, I’ll say “Constant communication. A running dialogue.” If you ask him, he’ll say, “We’re not afraid to work out our fucking problems.” That’s kinda the same thing.
We’re not afraid to work out our fucking problems in front of you, either. We realize it scares some people. We don’t care. We don’t go to bed angry, and would much rather get it over and done with. He who is the most passionate about it wins. Period. Yes, of course someone wins. Neither of us believe in participation trophies.

But after fifteen years, we will gladly accept any and all congratulations, well wishes, etc.

We’re not into crystal, so let’s skip the gifts this year, okay?

 

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