joeyfullystated

Fall, Featuring Chubby Squirrel

Posted on November 4, 2013 by joey

Humans have done a lot of ugly things to the planet, but pardon me for reveling in the way yellow leaves cast their color on black asphalt. Pretty, non?

Whenever I return home, many mornings of the week, or as in today, after errands, I take great pleasure in turning onto my street. During our many pre-ownership drives to this house, I shrieked, “It’s so pretty! It’s going to be absolutely gorgeous in the Fall!”
And it is.

I’m not even gonna pretend that having 1.3 acres in the city is not my own little slice of heaven, because even when I haven’t done much with it yet, it is.

When we moved here, I had wanted to feed the birds.
Moo loves birds. It started with learning about the kookaburra in kindergarten and blossomed from there.

mini moo, posing with the kookaburra at the atlanta zoo, many moons ago

While we were at The Palace of Rules, my in-laws had feeders, where Moo learned much, much more.
Alas, I hardly see birds here — a Robin here or a Woodpecker there. Just yesterday, I found myself about a foot away from a Cardinal hanging out in the Hibiscus. I had never been so close to a Cardinal. I could see the yellow and green in his eye! I tried not to breathe and dared not move, but when he saw that I saw him, he flew away.

We do have squirrels in abundance: Gobs of squirrels running about, launching themselves from tree to tree. I can identify two of them apart from the others. One is Chubby Squirrel, because, well, he’s chubby. He’s not particularly shy about humans, and he’s certainly not shy about food! The other squirrel has dark patches on his belly, and is a bit skittish, but I haven’t called him anything yet.

A few weeks ago, Chubby Squirrel climbed up into the green apple tree, where he picked an apple and sat on a branch, just munching away on it. I swear to you, it was one of the most precious things I have ever seen!
I’ve seen them hold onto the trunk of a tree with only their hind feet, stretching to seemingly nothing. I’ve seen them cautiously bury food in the yard. I’ve seen them chasing one another, leaping onto higher and higher branches. I’ve seen them give my dog a good what for, squawking and chattering madly.
I had no idea so much entertainment could come from watching the squirrels! Now, we have squirrel entertainment ALL THE TIME!

The Mister wasn’t too thrilled when I came home with a squirrel feeder, nor was he pleased when I implored him to drive a stake into the tree…but Chubby Squirrel won him over, and now, he feels compelled to make sure they always have corn. It really is fun for the whole family.

two-thirds of our pets like watching chubby squirrel, too

And yes, we carved those pumpkins, we did!
Well, not Sassy, because she said she would only carve her pumpkin if someone else cleaned it out for her. Isn’t that sad for her?
So I carved mine with a moon and stars, and Moo asked me to draw her a scaredy cat outline, which she cut out, all by herself.
We were very pleased with the results.
We thought one of the tiny squirrels was going to climb into my pumpkin. He came close to climbing in. I think he felt anxious in front of an audience. Maybe next year.

moo won first place at the pumpkin carving contest on friday

Trick-or-Treating was delayed due to violent thunderstorms. So Friday, we took The Angel, and The Snow Queen, to an altogether different Halloween from what they’ve ever experienced — the kind where Moo was glad to have a fur-trimmed bonnet, and even the kids didn’t want candy as much as they wanted warm beverages. It was a far cry from walking the hot, palm-lined streets of our old neighborhood in Georgia. It was rather spectacular, I thought.

Despite the enduring cold, I planted 54 tulip bulbs over the weekend. While wearing my barn jacket. With a woolen cap on my head.

I’m enjoying the return to Fall almost as much as I thought I would. It’s just not complete without a hayride and a bonfire.

Posted in Personally, Random Musings | Tagged Chubby Squirrel, fall, happiness, home, Moo, Sassy, squirrels, The Mister | 12 Comments

Why Time Change is Stupid, and Other Eloquent Crap

Posted on November 3, 2013 by joey

Do you know what happens when you get caught up in life and neglect your blog?
What happens to me is that I have four unfinished drafts and a lack of focus.

BUT! That doesn’t mean I can’t blog to you eloquently and extensively about a very important topic.
Like, time change.
Are you ready for my first eloquent, extensive statement about time change?

Time change is stupid.

Daylight savings time was sprung on me in my early thirties. We didn’t usta have it here in Indiana, which I like to think means we had more intelligent people living here, and they died off or moved ~~to Illinois~~ and we had to conform.

I’ve never understood it. I don’t seek to understand it. I’m very grateful that my devices are on top of it, because in previous years, I had to call my dad and ask him what to do. I think it’s just the numbers I find so intimidating. It’s too much like math. Maybe it is math.
And what the fuck does this mean? (UTC-05:00)
How the hell am I supposed to know what my number is? These are not rhetorical questions, please feel free to educate me in the comments section.

Flight tickets are also on my shit list.

I don’t even like time in general. Time seems moody and unreliable. It moves too fast when you’re having fun, and it drags on when things suck. I don’t think it’s all about perception. I’m pretty sure it gets warped during deployments and slows down considerably while I wait in the pediatrician’s office. And rate times time equals distance is just a suggestion. I’m sure it’s not real, because no one counts stop signs or runway traffic, or how hard it is to maintain speed while ~~beating the children into submission~~ trying to explain to the children how toll booths work.

Time is all about appointments, meetings, deadlines, and alarm clocks. I hate to be late, but I really wish I could do things, everything really, on my own time. It’s a deeply psychological problem, which may be genetically transmuted to me by my Seminole great-grandmother.

I channel her sometimes.
Somethin in nature calls to me in the “night,” waking me from sleep, when I don’t know what it is…We’re supposed to be diurnal, ya know.
*nods*

Like this morning, while I could have gotten another hour of sleep, I surely channeled Great-Grandmother. I woke at 4:40am, presumably to hunt gators, kill invading Spaniards, or to make myself a mug of the black drink…
But since I am now too White, too far removed from Earth’s cycles, too far from the Tamiami Trail, and not at all worried about Spanish invaders, I didn’t know what natural phenomenon woke me, and I was therefore compelled to curse my lost sleep and then just to get up, make my creamed-out coffee, and work on my NaNoWriMo.
I gained nothing.
Because this sleep I borrowed from myself will not be returned to me later.

I’m absolutely certain that my great-grandmother would not understand time change, and furthermore, she’d wonder why we’re all borrowing the future with interest. We’ll take an hour now and we’ll give it back later.
Seriously?

I think I need a nap.

Posted in Random Musings | Tagged coffee, daylight savings time, insomnia, lifestyle, sleep, time change | 11 Comments

/ˈkôrnē/

Posted on October 26, 2013 by joey

“Sweetcorn. Yes, sweetcorn.”
“Corn cob holders.”
“They’re called silks.”
“No, tassels come out the top.”

I was able to get my hands on some organic corn last week, and I was indignant at the lack of enthusiasm my children displayed. They were completely delighted about the fried chicken and the butter cake with chocolate icing, so I can only assume they’re typical.

“When will these girls transition into proper Hoosiers!?” I hollered at The Mister last night.

I’ve seen dozens of these posts about “You might be from…” lately. I tend to think they’re skewed by the writer’s perception, and many of them could be placed upon several states. Like, “Driving in winter makes the road smoother, because snow fills all the potholes,” is a sentence that could be any number of northern states.

I’ve said it a thousand times, and I’ll say it a thousand more — In Indiana, we do corn, basketball, and racin.

Here are my favorites of the “You might be from Indiana” bits, collected from handouts and emails and the interwebz. They are skewed by my perception.

While driving, all you see is corn.
You are proud to be called a Hoosier, even though no one knows exactly which definition is true.
You say things like cattywampus and kitty-corner.
To you, a tenderloin is not an expensive cut of beef, but a big, salty, breaded piece of pork served on a bun with pickles.
You think the state bird is Larry.
The g in words ending in -ing is silent.
You know someone who knows someone who knows John Mellencamp.
You have to drive to Ohio to buy alcohol on Sunday.
Your French is limited to pronouncing Terre Haute properly, because when it comes to The Fighting Irish, they’re from ‘Noter Dayme.’
You install security lights on your house and garage, but leave them both unlocked.
You know what “Knee-High by the Fourth of July” refers to.
You can see at least two basketball hoops from your house.
Getting caught by a train is a reasonable excuse for being late.
You know what 4-H stands for.
You end your sentences with unnecessary prepositions, like, “Where you at?” or “Lemme know if you’re goin, I’ll go with.”
You always have jumper cables in your car, and your wife knows how to use them.
You can say French Lick and Wanamaker without laughing, because there’s also a local university called Ball State.
If you want someone to hear you, you holler at ’em.
High school basketball games draw more crowds than the movie theaters on a Friday night.
You measure distance in time.
~Tell me, what’s peculiar about your own little corner of the world?

Posted in Personally | Tagged food, Hoosier, Indiana, lifestyle, sweetcorn, The Mister | 11 Comments

Warming Up for Winter

Posted on October 24, 2013 by joey

Uh. The Fall, she is fleeting a bit too fast for me.
*opens door and hollers* “Fall! Faaaaaal! Come back!”

I’m cold. I’ve been cold since

um,
um,
hm?
sometime last week?

It’s runnin 25-45 degrees from night to day, and I feel that’s more of a winter sorta temperature range, not to mention the snow, and then the sleet, that slapped itself down in my yard like it’s January.

There are always a few days in October, where Winter makes his near attendance known, but I don’t remember it lasting quite this long. My MIL likes to tell a story about how the seasons play tug of war. This annoyed me when I was younger, but now it’s become a story I take pleasure in telling myself.

Of course, I’ve been gone awhile, and my blood has thinned from all those southern winters (which are not winters.) I expect this winter will be hard on me. I fear February a little bit.
Nevermind how I usually I fear August.

I still prefer being too cold to being too hot.

Meanwhile, I make soup and bake things.

I enjoy snuggling my husband. And by snuggling, I mean, allowing him to touch me for non-sexual purposes, or sometimes, pressing my body against his, or tucking my hands under him, and even now and again crying out, “Hold me!” Apparently, I haven’t been so snuggly for about eight years.

Me in Georgia: OMFG! Get off me! You’re so hot! Stop touching me!

Me in Indiana: OMFG! You’re so warm! Ooh! Yes! Mmm.

The Mister is a hot man. So that’s nice.
*smiles*

Posted in Personally, Random Musings | Tagged happiness, MIL, snow, The Mister | 8 Comments

My Red Stapler

Posted on October 22, 2013 by joey

At least once a day, I thank God for the fact that my husband is not fighting in a foreign land. Then I thank God that he won’t be going back into combat. Sometimes I even thank my husband for leaving the military, which is difficult for me to do, considering I really thought he’d regret it, and I hate to be wrong. I suppose he could begin to regret it, but so far, so good.
Being wrong about it makes me feel better than being right would.

I fondly remember how he was being issued gear to go to Afghanistan, and how he didn’t have enough time left on his contract to go. Everyone seemed to understand this except his boss.
So, he’d be issued uniforms, vests, boots, packs, and whatnot, and he would begrudgingly inventory them and tuck them all away.
In my world, it would have been like those dreams where you’re trying to run, but you can’t move, or you’re speaking but no sound comes out…
He was more like the red stapler guy in Office Space — obviously much more handsome and verbally acute than Milton, but still…
“Well, I’ll pretend I’m following your orders, because you obviously aren’t listening to me, or can’t understand me, or read paperwork, or whatever, but I’m not actually goin down into this rabbit hole with you…”

I’m glad, unlike Milton the red stapler guy, that The Mister didn’t need to burn the place down to make his point. I’m glad that it was merely a matter of time before proper procedure caught his boss with all the bite of a wayward zipper.

He had some feelings when his comrades left. I wouldn’t venture into those feelings on his behalf, but I did detect the feelings, and they seemed bittersweet to me.

The other day, I found him lacing up some new boots.
“Where’d you get those?” I asked.
“Military issue, Baby.”
“Ah. Cold weather gear they should have never issued you, and yet still they didn’t want back?”
“Yup.”

Those boots looked great.
In our new living room.
On his stateside feet.

I clutch my contentment like it’s a red stapler.

Posted in Personally, Random Musings | Tagged happiness, lifestyle, marriage, military, The Mister | 9 Comments

A Friday in Brown County

Posted on October 19, 2013 by joey

I must have needed some Rumpelstiltskin-like sleep last night. I woke up late enough to look at a second clock. I still drank coffee and ate shredded wheat, even though it really was time for lunch.

You see, we spent the day in Brown County yesterday.
Beautiful, beautiful Brown County.

My grandparents used to live in Brown County, in a large lake community called Cordry-Sweetwater, where I spent most of my summers growing up.
That place is one that still feeds my soul, even though my grandparents passed more than a decade ago.
Every year, about this time of year, I get the urge to go. Afterall, it’s time to wash Grandma’s windows and rake the leaves up, right?
I hadn’t been out that way for about eleven years, because babies and Georgia, and I rejoiced in driving through the winding hills just to see Grandma’s house again.
My heart was full of happy.

We drove across the Cordry-Sweetwater dam where Fall’s foliage never fails.

And since Grandma’s house is only a hop, skip and jump from Nashville, Indiana and the Brown County State Park, we did those things, too.
Walk, walk, walk, hike, hike, hike, walk, walk, walk.
All day.

But Oh! The scenery!

The Mister and I encountered a map neither of us could read — the park map. It took him awhile to find an entrance to any trail, and I can’t take any credit for his finally finding one, because after we’d both looked at the map, I said, “Any map that neither you nor I can understand is a stupid, stupid map!”
By the end of our hike, I hated bedrock steps. And all the wooden decks between them.

We only tooled around Nashville for a short while.
Much like any other place with unique boutiques and shops, it’s too crowded and overpriced to stay long.

Besides, after all the hiking, we needed real food, and not so muches with the ice cream and fudge…
We stopped at Cracker Barrel for dinner, and followed the Harvest Moon home.

It really was a full day.
Which I’m sure explains why I needed all that Rumpelstiltskin-like sleep. I’m just so glad my beard didn’t grow at all.

Posted in Personally, Random Musings | Tagged Brown County, Fall foliage, Nashville, The Mister | 2 Comments

Better than A Scaredy Cat, Not quite as Awesome as a Duck…

Posted on October 15, 2013 by joey

I’m winning at anxiety.
I’m not going to declare I’ve won. I don’t even know if that’s possible.
But I do know that I’m feeling…normal? normal-er? better? Let’s stick to better.

It’s been about three years since I was diagnosed.
I would describe the six months before diagnosis and the six months after diagnosis as an intermittent Hell. I spent my life on the verge of panic, or in panic, or the worst one, waiting for panic.

When I started trying to heal, I had ritualistic duties and obligations to myself. That was hard: I actually had to accept that I had this great life, which I deserved, and on top of it, I had to believe I was entitled to rest and relaxation.
*raises eyebrow*
No, I don’t know why I thought I didn’t deserve it, I’m just glad I believe I do now.

It started with therapy and Ativan.
I joined an online support group. I bought a book. Then I bought a workbook.

I decaffed.
I napped.
I lavender’d my entire house.
I drank chamomile tea like it was my job.
I vowed to eat protein, and did my level best.
I walked and yoga’d and swam.
I took lavender baths, covered myself in lavender lotion and went to sleep with lavender essential oil smeared across my neck.
I talked about my anxiety, and wrote about it.
I rescued a nervous dog who needed a calm leader.

I tell you, she rescued me. She’s a fierce watchdog, but she’s soft and sweet to me.

I still get bouts of anxiety. I still get them every day. But now, I recognize them as anxiety instead of panicking about what it might be. I just say, “Oh, hmm, I’m having anxiety.” I do not ask why. I do not seek to understand what’s happening. I continue.
I get hungry, I get tired, I get anxiety.
It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t experience it, but pretty much anything can be an anxiety symptom. Once you’re checked out by a doctor (or two) and find you’ve got no heart problems, no blood sugar issues, and no brain tumors, you can safely assume your doctors are not conspiring against you, and you really do have the Anxiety Disorder they say you do.

Stabbing pain in my neck, shooting down my arm? Anxiety.
Zapping brain sensations? Anxiety.
Sore shoulders? Anxiety.
Heavy stomach? Anxiety.
Rapid heart rate? Anxiety.

The list. It is long.

I went more than a month, maybe closer to two, without taking so much as one Ativan. I consider that a success, but at the same time, I no longer consider taking one as a failure. Sometimes I need a Tylenol or a Zyrtec, and I don’t consider myself weak for having a headache or an itchy throat, either.

I recently took the girls to a skating party at the roller rink. The roller rink plays loud music. Hundreds of children can drown out that music with their own level of happy noise. Roller rinks have flashing lights and strobe lights. I began to feel unwell as soon as we entered, and within ten minutes, I reasoned that if I wanted to enjoy the experience, I would need to take a pill. I was shaking, unable to focus, and feeling like my throat would close up. I took a half of an Ativan, and I was fine within minutes.
That’s it. That’s the worst episode I can report since cooking in “not my kitchen” last Spring.
I don’t know if I will finish my bottle of Ativan before it expires.
— This is a much kinder experience than hoping my prescription lasts through a long holiday weekend.

A few weeks ago, I gave my anxiety bible to a friend.
I don’t need it anymore.
I didn’t open it for six months, so I must not need it.

Dr. Claire Weekes, although she’s passed, still helps thousands of people cope with anxiety every day.
I have Dr. Weekes on audio, which I haven’t listened to in more than a year, but I feel less anxious knowing she’s there for me if I need her.

I have come to view my anxiety like any recovery process: One day at a time. There is no cure. Some days are better than others.
My hope is that I have so many better days, one night, I may go to bed with the realization that I didn’t have a single anxious moment all day.

Posted in Personally | Tagged anxiety, anxiety disorder, anxiety symptoms, happiness, health, lifestyle, mental-health, panic attack, sleep, yoga | 4 Comments

Rebel Bread

Posted on October 14, 2013 by joey

“Instant vanilla pudding mix? What the fuck?! You cannot be serious!”
These are the words that I yelled to no one in particular while I was making Amish Friendship Bread last night.

Since when does it call for vanilla pudding mix?
Am I supposed to believe the Amish use instant pudding? Really?!?
I’ve made more than a dozen rounds of this bread, since I was about fifteen, and I don’t recall it needing fucking instant pudding mix.

Traditionally, Amish Friendship Bread is supposed to be stored in non-metal bowls, and stirred by hand with wooden spoons. Mine came in a plastic bag, and the directions just include “do not use a metal bowl.” I reckon this bread’s gone Mennonite or is on Rumspringa. Maybe this is New-Fangled Friendship Bread?

My temper grew and my mind reeled while I dumped the ingredients. I mixed the bread, (sans pudding mix, for fuck’s sake!) Since clearly this bread is part of some religious rebellion, I used my electric mixer with metal beaters.
I am a total badass.

Mind you, I had spent ten hours working on The Dining Room Project, and another hour cleaning up that space. I had gone into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich, wherein I was forced to deal with bread deadlines. I was, perhaps, not in the best of moods.

By the time I sat down with my sandwich, and some swate tay, I found the smell of baking bread quite pleasant.

This morning, it was wonderful to wake up to that Amish Friendship Bread. Friendship Bread and coffee make for a delightfully sweet breakfast. It turned out fiiine! Take that, Pudding Mix! Hmph! *waves metal beaters at bread*

It’s still freakin delicious! It’s moist and sweet and I DON’T WANT TO SHARE! even though it makes two loaves.

I have no idea if Amish Friendship Bread is authentic, or how it got mainstreamed. I tried to look it up, but all I found were people who use pistachio pudding, lemon pudding, add chocolate chips…and people who said they couldn’t take starters because they didn’t know who all had handled the starters to begin with. If you can’t trust your friends not to give you poisonous food, you need new friends.
There were also people like me, who wondered why anyone would add processed crap to homemade food…

There is no reason to adulterate this recipe. Okay, I’m a bit of a purist, but there’s still no reason.

If you’re feelin adventurous, and you want a bread that breaks all the rules, you may come get some of my non-denominational sweet bread previously handled by whoknowswho — I’ve got starters! IN PLASTIC BAGS!

Posted in Personally | Tagged Amish Friendship Bread, diet, food, rant | 13 Comments

The Dining Room Project

Posted on October 12, 2013 by joey

I can’t write.
Y’all love it when I blog about my inability to blog, right?

I have begun The Dining Room Project.
DUH-DUH-DUHHH!

It’s just cosmetic stuff.

Paint.
Paintable wallpaper.
Trim.
Built-ins.
Ceilings.

Ceilings is plural, because one of the arched doorways leads down a hallway, where I must extend the above.

My paint is called Flemish sky. Kinda wanna go to Flanders now…Kinda wanna paint the whole house this color!

The dining room is a small room, maybe 10×12. I’m glad it’s not a big formal room, or I might would just lie down and die!

As it is, it has given me fits.

The swag hanger wouldn’t stay put.

I scraped every bit of paint from the pail.

Did you even know, sometimes mouldings are just hangin there magically? That nails, or even adhesive, are apparently not required, but merely a suggestion to some?
Seriously, some of the moulding just was. Just..there..without..I dunno.

My knuckles are swollen, because my arthritis does not agree with my artistic inclinations.

I’ve got paint on my — everything.
It’s in my hair.
It has speckled my face.

Also, I’m pretty sure that smell is me…

But when it’s done, maybe Tuesday, I will sit in that beautiful room, and I will smile as I admire all my hard work, while I ~~work crossword puzzles~~ write.

Posted in Personally | Tagged happiness, home, home repairs | 9 Comments

I Must Confess, This post Might make you Hungry

Posted on October 6, 2013 by joey

I must confess, it rained and stormed all day yesterday, and still it rains. Oh, that’s not my confession. My confession is that I didn’t get a single thing done in the yard, unless you count picking apples…and it’s not likely I’ll get anything done out there today, either!

I baked. I baked all day. Apple and pear pies and a crisp.
I must confess I don’t much care for apple pies. I know it’s terribly unAmerican of me, but I don’t care much for hot dogs, either, and my patriotism seems to die off from the loathsome sport of baseball.

I must confess, I adore pears so much more — fresh, baked, caramelized, even canned!

I must confess, I prefer apple crisps to apple pies. It’s the crisp part, isn’t it?
I prefer to eat only the edges of brownies as well.
While my family prefers the tender carrots and potatoes from the center of a roast, I must confess, I would rather scrape the caramelized dregs from the sides of the pan for myself.

I will bake two more apple-only pies today, because after those two, I must confess, I will be out of pie pans.
Sadly, I won’t be out of apples.
I may make some applesauce…
If only I knew how to can, I would try my hand at apple butter, because The Mister’s aunt makes the best apple butter in the world, which, I must confess, I stopped to eat yesterday, along with biscuits I made Friday.

I’d like to bake some Challah, but I must confess, I’ve only got about eight cups of flour left, so that will hafta wait.

Next weekend, I thought I’d try my hand at a cushaw/kershaw pie, since this enormous lovely squash was given to me.

I saw a recipe for a galette, using squash, caramelized onions and Feta, which I must confess, made my mouth water while I read it.

Yesterday, some friends came by to drop off a starter for Amish Friendship Bread, which I must confess, is one of my all-time favorite things to eat! Only six more days til the baking part!

Soon, those pumpkins on my front porch will be hollowed-out for carving, and I’m hoping there’s enough meat to make a few pies, because I must confess, I live for punkin pie!