SoCS — H is for ha

Haven’t the first clue what I’ll write about that has a ha.

A ha.

Aha!

Ahahaha!

Have been having a rough time.

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I wrangle.
I yield.
My generosity of spirit is running low.

Be.
Give.
Do.
Help.
Patience.
Support.
Understanding.
The right thing.
My spirit’s weary.
I’m hardened and hollowed.

Hard to write that.
Writing it, the words stretch out in front of me like a string of mozzarella that burns the roof of my mouth because I am too hungry, too eager, have waited too long to be filled.

I hang on to hope.
I could use more hahas.

Have you ever needed more hahas?
Have you got any hahas to spare?

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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G is Not Rated G

One of the most delightful things about living with The Mister is his frequent use of bold and colorful language.

Take for instance, the other night in The Quiet Room. I was reading about propagating forsythia from cuttings and trying to determine whose bush I should steal from, when all of a sudden…

 

“Fuck all.”

 

june or july, four to six inches…

 

 

“Goddamn!”

 

 

and dip the bared branch into rooting hormone…

 

 

“Mother fucker.”

 

 

place the cutting in a plastic bag and press the perlite around the base of the cutting…

 

 

“What the fuck?”

 

 

harden slowly over the course of two weeks…

 

“Jesus fucking Christ! Fucking piece of shit!”

 

At this point, I asked The Mister, “Do you want to talk about your feelings?”
“No. I just want my computer to do what I tell it to.”

DON’T WE ALL?

 

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I am most annoyed by format and photos, what makes you curse at technology the most?

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#ThursdayDoors — F is for Firehouses

It’s not uncommon to see fire stations in our #ThursdayDoors posts. On those, I’ve been commenting about how I likely wouldn’t get any photos with amazing doors or architecture, which is to say, there aren’t many historical firehouses here.

We’ve got this thing about tearing things down and rebuilding, which, generally, I loath. I will likely write a rant about it sometime. But! When it comes to firehouses, surely newer and bigger is better.

We’re talking about buildings that house some of our communities’ most essential helpers and their equipment.

They not only put out fires, but they provide the bulk of our emergency services. If you’re American and you call 911 for a medical emergency, it’s the fire department EMS that arrives on the scene first. Maybe not every single time, but mostly.

I think we can all agree, we don’t want our local heroes all crammed into an old building that makes for charming and interesting photos, but may not always be the safest, most efficient structure.
While it’d be nice to have large, grand old fire stations, I guess here we used to build our fire stations pretty small — I might show you one or two of the old ones on another day.

So — here are my local-est firehouses and their all-important doors.

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firefighters are like, super glad you’re only there to take a photo of their doors

 

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this is where i vote because VOTING IS IMPORTANT!

 

#44

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i love the way all the firetrucks face forward and their doors are open. reassuring, isn’t it?

 

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i like the antique kip out front

 

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i’m not sure you can see, but they actually have a sturdy paneled wooden door here

 

#40

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Did you know that fire stations have their own webpages?!? I didn’t either, but if you click the station numbers above the pictures, it’ll take you to their pages (and professional photographs that were taken on beautiful sunny days.)

 

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

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One-Liner Wednesday — E is for Enamored

I was on the phone with The Mister when he pulled in the drive. As fast as I could, I shouted out, “Oh my God! I gotta go! My husband’s home!”
“Okay! I love you!” he shouted back hurriedly.

He brought me these fleurs.

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One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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D is for DUH Moments

Last summer, I trimmed the Boxwoods as one does. I am not the chainsaw lady, so my lectric trimmer is as close as I’ll ever get.

It does make me nervous.

At my old house, ten years ago, I used to have a Chinese privet running the entire width of my front yard, and I had some eunonymumymous, or whatever they’re called, both of which grew like mad and had to be trimmed all the time, so I was more comfortable with my lectric trimmer back then. Of course, I was also a smoker then, and all hopped-up on caffeine and sleep deprivation and well, I may as well have lived in a shoe, so you know, things are different now.

As I was sayin, I was nervously trimming my Boxwoods and I’d rotated the blade between the last of the shrubs and the house when I saw something disturbing…oooooh shiiiiiiiit that don’t look good. PANIC!

Mind you, I was hot, and hot me, 90+ degrees me, wearin my long sleeves cause pale me, and my hat cause Rosacea, and my gloves cause spiders, well I was not quite right. I don’t function too well in the heat, okay? Anxiety disorder never helps.

This thing I saw looked like nothin I’d ever seen. I decided the Boxwood was even enough and wrapped up my lectric trimmer and its 900 feet of cord. I fetched my swate tay and sat out on the porch waitin for the sweat to dry and the adrenaline to recede. Then I went to get The Mister.

“There’s somethin over there. Behind that last shrub. Right on the house. You should maybe gently use your foot to move the bush back. Be slow and careful.”

Me being me, I assumed it was a hive. It was big and brown and lumpy and replete with strange texture. It looked like the sorta thing legions of yellow jackets swarm out of to attack the faces of Joeys, who may or may not have filled their epipen scrips last year…

Y’all, The Mister said it was nothin to be worried about.

“How’s that?”
“It’s the old Army towel I wrapped around the spigot to help insulate it.”

OH.
Haha.
Hahahaha.

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The other night, I wanted to see if it was snowin, so I peeked out the window in the dining room. Once again I saw something terrifying. My brain said ooooh girl that’s a bad crack right there. only original wall in the house, mmhm. you can bet that’s gonna be a costly repair right there. prolly gonna need a whole new window, too. prolly some old leak. damn.

My fingers traced it. I walked over to my husband, and I said, “Remember last year when I was sure there was some sorta badness behind the bush and I wanted you to look at it?”
“Yes.”
“I just had a similar experience. Thought there was a crack in the wall. You know what it is? It’s the line I drew when we hung the drapes.”

 

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Before school yesterday I said to Moo, “Nice job on those red tulips, all in a row.”
“I didn’t plant those.”
“I don’t remember planting those. I think those are yours.”
“No, mine were over there.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, Mama, I’m sure!”

I coulda sworn I planted more daffodils and she planted more tulips. You know, the new daffodils I forgot I’d even planted until they bloomed? I remember we planted 35 bulbs. What, exactly, and where, well, I dunno anymore.

When we came home in the evening, I pointed down and said, “I think that’s my lily there, my red Asiatic. I think it made a baby.”
She took my hand and said, “I hope you’re right.” I could be wrong, but I think I detected a bit of pity and condescension there. I’m sure it came from a place of love.

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It’s good to have those you love surround you while you lose your mind, don’tcha think?

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C is for Cee’s Share Your World #14

If you could hire someone to help you, would it be with cleaning, cooking, or yard work?
Yard work absolutely.
This is the time of year I like to drag The Mister through the yard pointing at what I need him to pull — baby trees! Also, I need someone stronger and more stubborn than I to divide my ornamental grasses. And if anyone wants to yank out those STUPID spruces on the side of our house, holler at me. I am so tired of trimmin those STUPID spruces! STUPID!

 

What makes you laugh the most?
My husband? My kids? We laugh ALAWT.
True, Orb, Lola, Beefy — we laugh a lot too…
Twitter makes me LOL
Oh, and …

Spiders on Drugs

Dear Kitten — There are a lot of these. They only get funnier. Poise pad warning!

Eddie Izzard: Learning French — Apparently not funny to people who don’t speak any French.

Frasier: A Valentine for Niles

For book lovers, how about praying in the literal heart of Jesus? praying to the chicken coop? being jealous of a scarecrow leerin at your girl in short pants? preferring boobies to clever men who wrote dissertations? tilting at windmills? baptizing the natives in the crocodile-infested river? Agatha Christie and her pussies? The Dawnzer Lee Light? Jeeves? That time in a young girl’s life when she begins to curl her hair and long for balls?
Books are funny, too.

And music. “Call Tyrone,” she said.

And blogs. “Bok-Bok motherfucker.”

I love to laugh.

 

What was your favorite food when you were a child?
I don’t know.
One of my favorite meals was smoked sausage, mac n’ cheese, and peas. My mother even sent me a photo of some the other day.

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Now, don’t tell my mother, but I also really like smoked sausage, fried potatoes, and peas, but that’s at my father’s house and if your parents aren’t divorced, then you have no idea what a BFD this is.
My parents are foodies, the lot of em, and I remember growing up, I just wanted to eat normal food. Can you even imagine?!? I can.
“I’ve looked at life, from both sides now…” she sings softly and ironically.

 

List at least five favorite flowers or plants.
OMG FIVE!?! Oh, phew, Cee said at least five. Right, so —

White tulips
Pink tulips
Red tulips
Dark purple tulips
Yellow tulips
Orange tulips
TULIPS ARE MY FAVE!
TULIP TREE!

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taken this morning, in the mad wind

LAVENDER!
LILAC!
ROSEMARY!
Peony
Green Mums
Zinnias
Helebore
Green Dianthus
Sweet Peas
Ferns
Ivies
Thistle (I don’t care)
Hyacinth

Crocus
crocus

Daffodils

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had to hold it steady!

Pink Roses
White Roses
Cottage Pinks
Hollyhocks
Hydrangea
Goat’s Beard
Speedwell
White Echinacea
White Petunias
Sweet Autumn Clematis
Wisteria
Lilies, oh the smell of Easter Lilies…
Bleeding Heart
Shasta Daisy
White Aster
Honeysuckle
Allium
Phlox
Caladium
Coral Bells

I love flora. It’s right up there with fauna and food.

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 fantastic. Alarm clocks were shunned. Friends were enjoyed. Good news continued to pour in. And Friday? Friday was like, my favorite day of 2016. Fabulous day. Ahh, whatta day! Great work, Friday!
This week comin up is a skosh busy. I’m lookin forward to seared cod with rice pilaf and a nice Riesling, meeting a fellow blogger, the arrival of my range hood, the return of Outlander, and hosting dinner with friends.

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

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What’s going on in your world?

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B is for Be for SoCS

Be kind.
Mostly.

I practice random acts of kindness all the time. (We do.) We’re those people who pick up litter in our path, hold doors, overtip a great server, let the pregnant pee first, pay for a coffee or a meal, let people with fewer items go first, pick up stuff people drop, offer to help the lady find her car…We’re helpery like that.

We’ve fallen into such a disturbing loss of civility in our society that people are offended by others mentioning their acts of kindness instead of thinking they should do more of that themselves. I’ve seen people accused of being shallow, trendy, and even exploitative for helping others. I do not buy into this. I’m too deep and too square to buy into that. My soul has determined that humans are a great force of love. We can all do STUFF to make the world a better place. What we call kindness now, I’m fairly certain used to be called COMMON COURTESY.
If you think I’m bragging, you should be ashamed. There, I said it.

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Now, The Mister and I were raised this way, so it may perhaps come more easily for us, but there is no reason why anyone, even those raised by greedy selfish meanies, can’t start being kind and helpful to people.

I realize there’s a month when it’s actual Random Act of Kindness time, but for the love of puppies, you can do it all the time. It’s not like how you can only eat the McRib for a limited time, or how taxes are due on a certain day — You can actually be kind any ol time you like, and if you don’t understand that, I’ll assume you only love Jesus on Easter and Christmas. Oh wait, what? Yes, I said that too.

Now I caution you as to where the mostly comes in.

It’s a risk. Being kind and helpful doesn’t always result in smiles and thank yous and someone else being inspired to pay it forward.

You cannot expect anything, not even good behavior, in return. There is no reward for kindness.

This means when you let the priest pull out in front of you and he doesn’t even give you so much as a fucking courtesy wave, you do not get to ram into him and crush his car into oblivion, religious bumper stickers and all. You can only fantasize about that. You can, however, scream sarcastically at your steering wheel about the AMAZING GRATITUDE AND HUMILITY of your local clergy. You can hope you see his face in the dunk tank at the festival… WHAT? It’s for a good cause!

When you hold the door for a lady with a baby carrier, she may well huff and puff in your face like it took you too long to help her. If you slam the next door in her face you may or may not end up on the 5 o’clock news, but if you can smile broadly as you hold the next door while also telling her “Have a great day!” then you have been truly kind. If you just can’t stop yourself, you can tell her to have a blessed day, but I’m yet to become so enlightened myself.

You can always pray for these people. That’s kind.
But remember — Shouting “I’ll pray for you!” at their backs is not kind.

I enjoy being kind. It feels good.
Mostly.

Sometimes being kind backfires in a way that leaves you feeling like the air has been sucked from your chest and your heart is a stone.

asshole

I told you, it’s a risk.

And sometimes, well, sometimes it’s just too damned hard to be kind.
Like, I ain’t helpin nobody move. And my babysittin anyone in a diaper days are over. And there is absolutely no way I am going to offer you my last soda. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.
But you know, Have a nice day.

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Be is for LindaGHill’s SoCS and B is for A-Z

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A is for All Aboard

Or Ahoy. Or Allons. Or After you. Or get your ass in the car. Whatever.

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We’re embarking on the journey of A-Z.

I am good with the letters, but not with the numbers. It’s like how I’m good with directions but not with street names.

I am a landmark person.
I take a lot of back roads, and I’ve done it so long, I don’t think about the names. Make a left just past the bent stop sign in the cornfield. Turn right after the leaning tree.

Oh I know what order the big streets on my side of town go and I try to teach them to my kids — Meridian, College, Keystone, Allisonville, Sherman, Emerson, Arlington, Shadeland, Franklin, Post, Mitthoeffer, German Church, Cumberland — if you go east of that, you’re on County Road 800 which is to say, Toto, we’re not in Indy anymore.

I do alright on the southeast side, too, because they have some of the same streets…

But I’m sorta infamous for not bein able to drive west.
The Mister can drive west. Drew can drive west. Beauty Queen can drive west. I can get on 70 and drive to Plainfield. Anything farther, any deviation from I70 and I swear there’s a Bermuda triangle or aliens or laughing Greek gods. Somethin happens to me.

Don’t you think all interstate loops should include signage that indicates YOU ARE HERE? Somethin about 465W turns me into Alice of Wonderland. And there has GOT to be an easier way to get to 74 without driving through the spaghetti bowl. What kinda madman puts an exit every 10 feet where people are drivin 900 mph? Does it even make sense that to go west on one road, you must first go west on another? That seems silly to me.

And don’t you hate it when you’re at the four-story mall with too many wings and too many escalators and you know you parked on yellow bunny floor 2 without even lookin at your ticket, but you’ve been through hours of stimulation overload and no longer know which way’s which? Without those YOU ARE HERE maps, I’d end up out on the street, tryin to make out where the sun is hangin in the sky.

But that’s probably what I’ll do to you if you follow me through April’s A-Z. Hell, that might be what I do to you on the regular. I am not frequently accused of makin sense.

*passes out 3-D glasses*

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Let’s Shall, Shall We?

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#ThursdayDoors — This Gate

You may recall this door/ house from last week?

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Check out its side-street gate.

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Y’all, I think this is the prettiest off-the-cuff photo I’ve ever snapped. I was walkin by and I thought, oh that’s pretty! *snap* I swear it’s prettier in the picture than it was in person. Amazing iPhone fairies must have gotten involved. Love, love, love this gate!

Whatcha think?

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

Posted in Random Musings | Tagged | 42 Comments

One-Liner Wednesday — A Dog Can Dream

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“You know how when people know it’s their dog’s last day on earth, they’ll let the dog eat a buncha cheeseburgers and stuff?
On Sadie’s last day, I might let her out to maul the mailman.”

One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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