The really fabulous thing about living out here in the country in a house various members of my family have lived in for more than 50 years is that many of the tools of the past are still around ready for use. Sometimes, they break down due to natural age, and I have to make the decision as to whether or not it is worth it to replace them.
One item I have never had a moment's qualm about keeping in repair is the old-fashioned clothes line my grandmother had situated in the back yard. She had hers originally strung through huge old fence posts and cedar trunks more than head high. Even cedar gives up eventually, and the second year I lived here, I had to figure out what to do about it.
The vocational center at school has a welding program, and my dad had them build me a new set of posts, huge steel Ts, to hold updated line. We set them in quick-setting concrete, strung them with the plastic-sheathed steel cable, and it was ready to go.
Until Katrina dropped a tree on it.
Some time later, we dug up the pole, took it back to school, got the top bar rewelded on, and reset it in the ground. Since that time, it's been standing sentry like Granny's version did for so many years.
I don't use it all the time, but when I wash all my bedding, quilts, comforter, sheets, all, I use it to sun dry all of that whenever possible. Today, I got up, stripped down the bed, took the feather mattress out and draped it over a porch stair rail, and began the process of laundering all the fabrics. Then I carried each load out to the line and hung it up.
Even though it's an old-fashioned thing, I like it for several reasons. First of all, it keeps me from having to run my dryer and heat up my house unnecessarily. Even though the laundry area is out of the way, there's no reason to make things harder on my poor old air unit than they have to be. Second, it's nice to feel like I'm somehow saving electricity. It never ceases to amuse me that so many of the things that people now embrace as "eco-friendly," my grandmother did on a daily basis because that was all there was. I suppose there really is nothing new under the sun. Finally, I love how it feels to sink down in the bed at the end of a day of cleaning and smell that freshness that only comes from something dried outdoors.
The only real drawback comes in the form of a never-ending worry that it's going to rain. It's always a sort of lottery. Today, for example, I went to Wal-Mart earlier, and I carefully checked the weather forecast before I left. Nothing but clear skies. While I was wheeling up and down the aisles, my phone chirped at me, and when I looked, a severe thunderstorm warning had showed up. At that point, there was nothing to do about it. I just sighed and moved on to the pet food, hoping I could get my shopping done and get home before the bottom fell out of it.
Well, the skies are still sunny although now and then a threatening cloud passes by. In a couple of hours, I'll go out and gather everything in, make up the bed, finish up the chore. When I do, I will feel connected to my Granny. I remember going out to the clothes line with her to gather in the towels or Grandaddy's overalls. I remember the little bag she'd made that fit on the clothesline that held wooden clothespins. It's a small thing, but they are the ones that matter.
Uh-oh. Even as I typed that, I heard thunder. Time to get the clothes off the line, I think.....
Showing posts with label Podunk living. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Podunk living. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 02, 2014
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Things I'd Rather Not Consider
Today, my mother came down to go through the storage building behind my house. There's not much space in it, so only one person can fit between the stacks of stuff at a time. She was going through to weed out things she knew were old and of no use. Later on, I'll go through and purge my own stuff.
Most of what was thrown out today goes all the way back to my grandmother and grandfather. We threw out old empty boxes, broken items, and all those other types of debris that collects in storage spaces. One of the last things I helped with was pulling down a huge box of my grandmother's clothes that had been put there when I first came to live here and cleaned out the closets.
It's been there for years. When I moved in, my mother was not able to handle going through all the stuff, so we just boxed and stored it. Today, she sorted, and although I could tell that she was remembering Granny, she was able to get through it.
Late this afternoon, she called me from home to talk about something, and the stuff in storage came up as a topic. I was talking about things I plan to move into the empty space that is slowly emerging, and she laughed. "I don't know who's going to clean all that stuff out when you're gone," she said. I made some kind of non-committal noise to which she replied, "I guess that's not really your problem at that point, though, is it?"
It's one of two things that hit me hard today. The other, stupidly enough, was a set of Star Wars onesies from ThinkGeek. Both of them revolve around the same thing. I am getting too old to have someone to clean up after me when I'm gone. I'm getting too old to find someone to grow old with. I'm just getting too old.
Yesterday, in my course readings for Turkey, I read about Evliya Chelebi, a travel writer in the late 17th century. He considered his life dedicated to wanderlust, wanting to see and record every possible thing. He deliberately chose not to pursue marriage and a family so he would have every possible opportunity to go. There are certainly significant benefits to being single and childless - I can pick up and go wherever I wish, whenever I wish, stay as long as I wish (or at least as long as I can afford) - but I'm not sure I really believe that these outweigh the drawbacks. Who is there to share it all with? Who can I leave any of it to?
Most of the time, I'm happy. Most of the time, I'm okay. (And before I start sounding too much like a Bob Dylan song, I'll quit that.) Just sometimes, just today, though, I'm not.
Most of what was thrown out today goes all the way back to my grandmother and grandfather. We threw out old empty boxes, broken items, and all those other types of debris that collects in storage spaces. One of the last things I helped with was pulling down a huge box of my grandmother's clothes that had been put there when I first came to live here and cleaned out the closets.
It's been there for years. When I moved in, my mother was not able to handle going through all the stuff, so we just boxed and stored it. Today, she sorted, and although I could tell that she was remembering Granny, she was able to get through it.
Late this afternoon, she called me from home to talk about something, and the stuff in storage came up as a topic. I was talking about things I plan to move into the empty space that is slowly emerging, and she laughed. "I don't know who's going to clean all that stuff out when you're gone," she said. I made some kind of non-committal noise to which she replied, "I guess that's not really your problem at that point, though, is it?"
It's one of two things that hit me hard today. The other, stupidly enough, was a set of Star Wars onesies from ThinkGeek. Both of them revolve around the same thing. I am getting too old to have someone to clean up after me when I'm gone. I'm getting too old to find someone to grow old with. I'm just getting too old.
Yesterday, in my course readings for Turkey, I read about Evliya Chelebi, a travel writer in the late 17th century. He considered his life dedicated to wanderlust, wanting to see and record every possible thing. He deliberately chose not to pursue marriage and a family so he would have every possible opportunity to go. There are certainly significant benefits to being single and childless - I can pick up and go wherever I wish, whenever I wish, stay as long as I wish (or at least as long as I can afford) - but I'm not sure I really believe that these outweigh the drawbacks. Who is there to share it all with? Who can I leave any of it to?
Most of the time, I'm happy. Most of the time, I'm okay. (And before I start sounding too much like a Bob Dylan song, I'll quit that.) Just sometimes, just today, though, I'm not.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Gifts from Furry Children
Yesterday, I had a migraine of the "hammer of God" variety that is always such fun. I don't really know what caused it, but I suspect it has something to do with the upcoming "supermoon" we're expecting tonight. My headaches seem tied to the phases of the moon as well as the phases of my body and the vagaries of the weather. Since there was no supermegastorm destroying the world yesterday, I am guessing it was lunar pull. Me and the ocean, I guess. The headache hit me hard and early, I took a Maxalt, and the rest of the day melted away into a hazy blur.
My cats and dogs hovered around me all day. I suppose it was their way of checking on me. I'm pretty sure they know when I'm sick. Chewie spent most of his day sprawled out next to the couch. Dillon, my little cat, stayed on me or beside me all day and on into the night. It was nice to feel loved.
Other contributions from members of my furry family were less appreciated. I got up this morning and stumbled for the shower without turning the light on. The day after a migraine that bad my eyes tend to be fairly light sensitive. I got clean and returned to my bedroom to dress, and when I finally turned the light on, the last of the critters' kindnesses was neatly laid across the foot of my bed: a dead mouse.
It was bloodless and quite still. This undoubtedly means that in the night while I was sleeping, either Dillon or Pearl brought me a mouse. I know it wasn't Yoda; her Imperial Majesty doesn't lower herself to pursue food unless it's the canned kind. Probably it was my big grey fluffy lioncat, Pearl. She is the household huntress. I keep thinking about her thought processes. I imagine it went something like this. "Mama has been sick all day. There has been an absence of patting and love for me, even though I am furry and gorgeous. Food will make her better. I will bring her food. I will provide. She will be happy again, and patting and love will fall from the skies." And voila, mouse.
This isn't the first time this has happened. Despite all the efforts of me and my pest control guy, the occasional little brown field mouse finds its way in the house. I saw Pearl stalking one last night in the laundry area. I can always tell when she's scented something. She stares into odd nooks and crannies. She has a specific noise she makes when the is on the hunt, and her level of complete dedication to it is a little frightening. There has been at least one other time when I woke up to find a mouse-present at the foot of my bed.
My grandmother's Siamese, Sammy, used to do that all the time. He was twenty-something pounds of muscle, and when he was young, he'd go hunting in the field behind their house and bring her big field rats. He'd lay them neatly on the back door mat, and since Nana hated all forms of mice, every time she'd look out the back door and see it, she'd scream. I suppose Sammy thought she was screaming in joy. He probably thought, "Yes. I have made my human loudly happy. Success."
As for my mouse gift, I removed and disposed of it. The comforter is even now in the washer. While I would really like not to wake up to another gift of this kind, I will take it in the feline spirit in which it was given. It's nice to have something love you enough that it wishes to care for you, I suppose, even if it does come in the form of a dead rodent.
My cats and dogs hovered around me all day. I suppose it was their way of checking on me. I'm pretty sure they know when I'm sick. Chewie spent most of his day sprawled out next to the couch. Dillon, my little cat, stayed on me or beside me all day and on into the night. It was nice to feel loved.
Other contributions from members of my furry family were less appreciated. I got up this morning and stumbled for the shower without turning the light on. The day after a migraine that bad my eyes tend to be fairly light sensitive. I got clean and returned to my bedroom to dress, and when I finally turned the light on, the last of the critters' kindnesses was neatly laid across the foot of my bed: a dead mouse.
It was bloodless and quite still. This undoubtedly means that in the night while I was sleeping, either Dillon or Pearl brought me a mouse. I know it wasn't Yoda; her Imperial Majesty doesn't lower herself to pursue food unless it's the canned kind. Probably it was my big grey fluffy lioncat, Pearl. She is the household huntress. I keep thinking about her thought processes. I imagine it went something like this. "Mama has been sick all day. There has been an absence of patting and love for me, even though I am furry and gorgeous. Food will make her better. I will bring her food. I will provide. She will be happy again, and patting and love will fall from the skies." And voila, mouse.
This isn't the first time this has happened. Despite all the efforts of me and my pest control guy, the occasional little brown field mouse finds its way in the house. I saw Pearl stalking one last night in the laundry area. I can always tell when she's scented something. She stares into odd nooks and crannies. She has a specific noise she makes when the is on the hunt, and her level of complete dedication to it is a little frightening. There has been at least one other time when I woke up to find a mouse-present at the foot of my bed.
My grandmother's Siamese, Sammy, used to do that all the time. He was twenty-something pounds of muscle, and when he was young, he'd go hunting in the field behind their house and bring her big field rats. He'd lay them neatly on the back door mat, and since Nana hated all forms of mice, every time she'd look out the back door and see it, she'd scream. I suppose Sammy thought she was screaming in joy. He probably thought, "Yes. I have made my human loudly happy. Success."
As for my mouse gift, I removed and disposed of it. The comforter is even now in the washer. While I would really like not to wake up to another gift of this kind, I will take it in the feline spirit in which it was given. It's nice to have something love you enough that it wishes to care for you, I suppose, even if it does come in the form of a dead rodent.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
First Blackberrying of the Year
After walking the dogs this afternoon, I walked over to the blackberry bramble at the edge of my pasture and looked over the current crop. I picked a few, just a small handful, and came back inside. Chewie, being Chewie, watched me pick the berries and eat them, and he started nibbling them off the bushes. I laughed at him, and he stopped long enough to give me a giant toothy grin before returning to his efforts. He's a strange dog, but he's all mine.
After dinner, I kept thinking about the blackberries. I decided that I would go up to our country place tomorrow and see if the brambles there were bearing yet. Then I looked up some recipes on Pinterest. This led to combing through my Granny's recipe box looking for her cobbler recipe. I realized that I had to have more and that I didn't want to wait.
The beauty of summer is that the days linger gloriously. Even though it was fairly late, the tops of the trees were still golden. Grabbing a leash and Chewie, I headed out to our place in the country and the tons and tons of blackberries that grow there. Chewie loves it there. I had the windows down, and as soon as we came around the last curve before the gate to the property, he sniffed the air and started woofing softly. We made our way down to the brambles, and I picked until it got too dark to ensure I wasn't about to step in the middle of a snake. Chewie and I found our way back to the car in the last blue-purple light of sunset and the dim glow of a fingernail moon.
The beauty of summer is that the days linger gloriously. Even though it was fairly late, the tops of the trees were still golden. Grabbing a leash and Chewie, I headed out to our place in the country and the tons and tons of blackberries that grow there. Chewie loves it there. I had the windows down, and as soon as we came around the last curve before the gate to the property, he sniffed the air and started woofing softly. We made our way down to the brambles, and I picked until it got too dark to ensure I wasn't about to step in the middle of a snake. Chewie and I found our way back to the car in the last blue-purple light of sunset and the dim glow of a fingernail moon.
Blackberries are tricky and imperious little devils. They are not a "something for nothing" fruit. There is nothing docile or generous about them. They're primadonnas. If you go to pick what they have produced, they are going to take from you as well. Usually I get hung on one of the vines and cut my arm or hand open. I have always thought of it as the "blood sacrifice" required to complete the picking. Today, as I carefully reached around the thorns and plucked the ripe berries, I felt the waving tendrils of green grab at my shorts, tenaciously hook my tshirt, and finally one reached out and snagged a handful of my hair. It was surprisingly strong, and it required a little careful finesse to free myself. If you flail once a bramble captures you, it's kind of like that plant Devil's Snare from Harry Potter - more and more of them grab hold making the situation worse. Once I managed to extricate myself, I apparently had paid my tithe. Nothing else attacked me.
Chewie watched the whole thing from a safe distance. He ran careful circles around the reach of the brambles, caused a large wild turkey to explode upwards into the treetops with a sound like a localized hurricane, rolled rapturously in the tall grass, and wore his nose off chasing scents. Eventually, he flopped down and watched me, moving only when I went to another section of the bramble. I offered him a berry I'd picked, but he apparently had his fill earlier. He sniffed it, mouthed it, and spit it out before looking up at me with a hopeful wagging tail. Apparently, he's decided he'd rather have his bacon treats instead.
In a fairly short time, I managed to fill a quarter of the gallon-sized ziplock bag I'd taken with me. I brought the berries home, washed them, and put them in the refrigerator. I don't know what I'll do with them. I might indulge in one of the recipes I found. I might make a mini-cobbler. Probably, though, I'll just nibble them whole and savor that special taste of summer and home and deep woods pasture land. That is probably special enough a recipe all on its own.
In a fairly short time, I managed to fill a quarter of the gallon-sized ziplock bag I'd taken with me. I brought the berries home, washed them, and put them in the refrigerator. I don't know what I'll do with them. I might indulge in one of the recipes I found. I might make a mini-cobbler. Probably, though, I'll just nibble them whole and savor that special taste of summer and home and deep woods pasture land. That is probably special enough a recipe all on its own.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
A Million Little Things
It's amazing to me how much stuff slips through the cracks during the school year. Today, I vacuumed, steam cleaned, washed all my bedding down to the mattress and sunned the feather mattress, threw out enough junk and old mail to half fill a giant trash bag (this may be the week the trash men lynch me), rearranged my living room, put slip covers back on my couches, swapped out a small bookcase for a much larger one, and renewed two magazine subscriptions that had lapsed.
The sad part is that I'm only about halfway done with all the things I need to take care of urgently. Before I can get to the things that can wait but need to be done (like my closet. oh my god. my closet....), I have to get the house to a place where I wouldn't be ashamed if somebody came into it. I probably have one more day of heavy cleaning before it will come to that point. Then I'll just be sorting through the piles I try so HARD not to make during the school year but that always seem to accumulate on the flat surfaces anyway.
At some point, I have to stop and do a lot of reading for Turkey. Hey, you know what? This is feeling a LOT like the school year, after all. (sigh) Well, I have a pile of clean sheets I need to get out of the dryer so I can reassemble my bed.
The sad part is that I'm only about halfway done with all the things I need to take care of urgently. Before I can get to the things that can wait but need to be done (like my closet. oh my god. my closet....), I have to get the house to a place where I wouldn't be ashamed if somebody came into it. I probably have one more day of heavy cleaning before it will come to that point. Then I'll just be sorting through the piles I try so HARD not to make during the school year but that always seem to accumulate on the flat surfaces anyway.
At some point, I have to stop and do a lot of reading for Turkey. Hey, you know what? This is feeling a LOT like the school year, after all. (sigh) Well, I have a pile of clean sheets I need to get out of the dryer so I can reassemble my bed.
Sunday, May 05, 2013
Lost Day
Yesterday was so beautiful. Shame I missed most of it.
I woke up, took the dogs out, settled in for a little breakfast reading on the couch. I had big plans to get much done. I had phone calls to make, jeans to wash, floors to vacuum. Not one bit of that got done.
My head started slamming me early, and I ignored it because I'm sick and tired of it. I've done nothing but hurt all week. I know it's been due to stress and weather, but I'm really, really worn out from it. I know that ignoring it was not the best response, but I could not stand the thought of taking a Maxalt. Since it was not to a level that was making me scream yet, I also thought it might back off.
You think after all this time, I would have learned....
I took a nap in an effort to shake it, intending to get up refreshed and pain-free and take care of my list. No dice. When I woke up, I was disoriented and sick. Two hours later, I *was* screaming.
I took a Maxalt, and when that didn't work, I took the phenergan. That, of course, was the game-ender. Nothing happens after phenergan takes the field. Even it, though, didn't kill the pain. Every time I woke up, my head was hurting. I would just roll over and wait for unconsciousness to slide back over me again. The only thing I had to deal with while I was asleep was the Hell of Dreams from all the things kicking up sediment in my mind. I won't even go into the details here. I am still hoping that they will fade soon so I can forget them.
I'm better today. I still can't tell if it's going to come back or not. If it does, and if it won't stop hurting me, I think I'm going to have to call my doctor. Probably this is just what I think it is, too much stress and weather shifting too fast, but I can't take much more of it.
The thing that makes me so mad about all of it is that I just lost a day. It happens so much lately. I have plans, I have things I need to do, and WHAM, suddenly I'm incapacitated. There has to be something better than this. I hate it.
I woke up, took the dogs out, settled in for a little breakfast reading on the couch. I had big plans to get much done. I had phone calls to make, jeans to wash, floors to vacuum. Not one bit of that got done.
My head started slamming me early, and I ignored it because I'm sick and tired of it. I've done nothing but hurt all week. I know it's been due to stress and weather, but I'm really, really worn out from it. I know that ignoring it was not the best response, but I could not stand the thought of taking a Maxalt. Since it was not to a level that was making me scream yet, I also thought it might back off.
You think after all this time, I would have learned....
I took a nap in an effort to shake it, intending to get up refreshed and pain-free and take care of my list. No dice. When I woke up, I was disoriented and sick. Two hours later, I *was* screaming.
I took a Maxalt, and when that didn't work, I took the phenergan. That, of course, was the game-ender. Nothing happens after phenergan takes the field. Even it, though, didn't kill the pain. Every time I woke up, my head was hurting. I would just roll over and wait for unconsciousness to slide back over me again. The only thing I had to deal with while I was asleep was the Hell of Dreams from all the things kicking up sediment in my mind. I won't even go into the details here. I am still hoping that they will fade soon so I can forget them.
I'm better today. I still can't tell if it's going to come back or not. If it does, and if it won't stop hurting me, I think I'm going to have to call my doctor. Probably this is just what I think it is, too much stress and weather shifting too fast, but I can't take much more of it.
The thing that makes me so mad about all of it is that I just lost a day. It happens so much lately. I have plans, I have things I need to do, and WHAM, suddenly I'm incapacitated. There has to be something better than this. I hate it.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Chewie Lives
Yesterday, I got mostly through a faculty meeting when a headache waylaid me. I staggered upstairs through disgustingly-glorious sunlight to my Maxalt. I took one and, per our usual routine, called to let my Mom know I'd had to take the big drugs.
She was out-of-breath, and once I managed to make my broken brain and her frantic speech connect, I understood that Chewie had gotten injured on his afternoon walk, and she was taking him to the vet. I got off the phone and managed to drag myself home. (Once again, recitations of "To Be or Not to Be" helped me focus.)
When I got home, I fell down. Then I was unconscious for three or four hours. When I woke up, Mom was sitting on the foot of my bed. She had just gotten home from the vet. Chewie hadn't just been injured. He'd been bitten by a snake.
He was just out doing his usual big fluffy white dog thing, and Mom said she saw him spring sideways in a giant leap. By the time she got him back to the house, he was dragging his front paw and moving with great difficulty. Mom never saw the snake.
The vet kept him overnight for medication and observation. Roux walked around the house with huge eyes looking for him. She kept coming over to me and hugging me as she does when she needs a little extra comfort. Even the cats (who do not like him, even a little) searched for him. When I put Roux up for the night, she seemed so sad sitting next to Chewie's empty crate. This morning when I walked her and Yelldo, they were both very droopy.
I had another migraine today, but by the time I got home, Chewie was back. He will need more medicine and more care. He's restricted as far as his level of activity. There will be no deep-woods foraging for him for a couple of weeks. He's exceptionally lucky, though. Mom told me that our vet had two dogs brought in yesterday with snakebite. The other one didn't make it.
I am looking over at him right now. He's lying in the floor being Chewie. He's had pizza crust (one of his favorite things) and as many hugs and pats as he desires. Even in my current state of semi-incapacitation, I am so happy to see him. My big furry white dog child is going to be okay. Everything else in the world can rock on however it wants to.
She was out-of-breath, and once I managed to make my broken brain and her frantic speech connect, I understood that Chewie had gotten injured on his afternoon walk, and she was taking him to the vet. I got off the phone and managed to drag myself home. (Once again, recitations of "To Be or Not to Be" helped me focus.)
When I got home, I fell down. Then I was unconscious for three or four hours. When I woke up, Mom was sitting on the foot of my bed. She had just gotten home from the vet. Chewie hadn't just been injured. He'd been bitten by a snake.
He was just out doing his usual big fluffy white dog thing, and Mom said she saw him spring sideways in a giant leap. By the time she got him back to the house, he was dragging his front paw and moving with great difficulty. Mom never saw the snake.
The vet kept him overnight for medication and observation. Roux walked around the house with huge eyes looking for him. She kept coming over to me and hugging me as she does when she needs a little extra comfort. Even the cats (who do not like him, even a little) searched for him. When I put Roux up for the night, she seemed so sad sitting next to Chewie's empty crate. This morning when I walked her and Yelldo, they were both very droopy.
I had another migraine today, but by the time I got home, Chewie was back. He will need more medicine and more care. He's restricted as far as his level of activity. There will be no deep-woods foraging for him for a couple of weeks. He's exceptionally lucky, though. Mom told me that our vet had two dogs brought in yesterday with snakebite. The other one didn't make it.
I am looking over at him right now. He's lying in the floor being Chewie. He's had pizza crust (one of his favorite things) and as many hugs and pats as he desires. Even in my current state of semi-incapacitation, I am so happy to see him. My big furry white dog child is going to be okay. Everything else in the world can rock on however it wants to.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
The Weekend in Review
It's almost time to end this weekend, but I'm clinging tenaciously to the last few minutes before I'll be forced to let it go. These days slip away so quickly. I swear time moves differently on Saturday and Sunday.
I've been outside a good deal the past two days, not really doing anything but enjoying the rare bright cool weather we've been having. The temperature was delicious. Lying in my hammock or sitting in my chair and staring up into the shifting light of the tulip poplar canopy seemed to be the right way to spend time. I have done a lot of reading lately; I'm on a Harry Potter kick and reread three of them this weekend.
Today, I was the sole form of music for the morning service since everybody else was gone here or there, and after that, I didn't feel like doing anything else complicated. So I didn't. I did a little light laundry, a lot of reading. I refilled bird feeders, petted dogs. I studiously ignored the wreck and ruin around me. After the hell that was last week and the dread of the one to come, I needed time with no one making demands on me, no job to be done, nobody to support, just me. Sooner or later, it will all catch up to me, and I'll have to spend a lot of time putting everything to rights, but today, I just couldn't face it.
So maybe it's no real wonder I'm resisting the inevitable. I wish there were a job somewhere that involved reading and sitting in the sun for fantastic amounts of money. If dogs could be thrown in, then I think I'd take it. As it stands, though, I've finally overcome inertia and forced myself to take care of the last bit of procrastinated work that had to be done tonight, and I guess it's time to brush my teeth and turn out the lights....
I've been outside a good deal the past two days, not really doing anything but enjoying the rare bright cool weather we've been having. The temperature was delicious. Lying in my hammock or sitting in my chair and staring up into the shifting light of the tulip poplar canopy seemed to be the right way to spend time. I have done a lot of reading lately; I'm on a Harry Potter kick and reread three of them this weekend.
Today, I was the sole form of music for the morning service since everybody else was gone here or there, and after that, I didn't feel like doing anything else complicated. So I didn't. I did a little light laundry, a lot of reading. I refilled bird feeders, petted dogs. I studiously ignored the wreck and ruin around me. After the hell that was last week and the dread of the one to come, I needed time with no one making demands on me, no job to be done, nobody to support, just me. Sooner or later, it will all catch up to me, and I'll have to spend a lot of time putting everything to rights, but today, I just couldn't face it.
So maybe it's no real wonder I'm resisting the inevitable. I wish there were a job somewhere that involved reading and sitting in the sun for fantastic amounts of money. If dogs could be thrown in, then I think I'd take it. As it stands, though, I've finally overcome inertia and forced myself to take care of the last bit of procrastinated work that had to be done tonight, and I guess it's time to brush my teeth and turn out the lights....
Saturday, April 06, 2013
House and Garden
I slept late for me (8:00), and then I just sort of stayed in my pajamas for awhile, something I rarely do. I watched Real Genius, one of my favorite oddball 80s movies, and then I read.
I had decided when I woke up, though, that today was going to be useful. There was something at Moundville I sort of wanted to see, but I knew if I went that I would spend money I don't really have right now. Therefore, instead of road trip Saturday, this was going to be do something about my crappy house Saturday.
I started with the yard. There is never a non-mowing season in Mississippi. Well, maybe about a week in December and the first two weeks of January. Aside from this the growing things are a problem all the time. My yard isn't green yet, but it was scruffy with spring weeds, seedpods from blooming things, and drifts of live oak leaves. The tufty stuff had gotten high enough to hide snakes, which like the yard are always a problem here, so it had to go. I walk dogs out near the woods in total darkness, so clear ground is a necessity.
I got my mower running after getting air in the tires, etc., and spent the next three hours zipping around and avoiding boggy spots on the zero-turn. It's amazing how much junk there was now that I've seen everything cleaned up.
Chewie, Yelldo, and even Roux were outside with me. Roux was on her new run that Dad crafted with some industrial-weight cable and huge eye-bolts. It lets her run around some outside between two large trees in the backyard but removes the risk that she'll take off. She can finally have some sun with everybody else without having to be held on a leash.
After I finished with the yards, I got out my hammock and strung it up. Roux immediately came and laid under it, poked her head through it, demanded I pet her over it. I took a picture of her when she figured out she could stick her muzzle insistently through the loose weave of the hammock. She's a mess.
While I was in the hammock, I saw the first hummingbird of the season. He came up to the feeder in the backyard, stuck a beak in, backed up, and flew off twittering in irritation. I guess tomorrow I need to clean up the feeders and refill them before the little sugar-hungry devils start roughing up me on my way to the car.
About 6:30, I came in and got ready for Doctor Who. The new episodes are on now, and although I know Moffatt is building character background, I still feel a little underwhelmed by this season. Maybe next episode is "the magic episode" I'll need to kickstart my enthusiasm.
After Doctor Who, I turned off the TV and turned my attention to the rest of the house. I cranked up the stereo and started in. I cleaned up the kitchen and reloaded the dishwasher. I moved laundry from point a to point b and started that process over again. I vacuumed, the task I hate the most in the whole housekeeping rigmarole. I made a fresh pitcher of tea. As loads of laundry finished, I dumped them on my bed since what I've been washing for most of the day is bed linens and my comforter, etc.
Now I'm waiting for Chewie to decide he is ready to come in for the night and for the last load of bed-related stuff to finish. When those two things happen, I can take a hot shower, make up my bed, and get some sleep. I'm by no means finished with my house cleaning, but what I've done will help me not to feel so bad every time I come home and see my junky house and yard.
I had decided when I woke up, though, that today was going to be useful. There was something at Moundville I sort of wanted to see, but I knew if I went that I would spend money I don't really have right now. Therefore, instead of road trip Saturday, this was going to be do something about my crappy house Saturday.
I started with the yard. There is never a non-mowing season in Mississippi. Well, maybe about a week in December and the first two weeks of January. Aside from this the growing things are a problem all the time. My yard isn't green yet, but it was scruffy with spring weeds, seedpods from blooming things, and drifts of live oak leaves. The tufty stuff had gotten high enough to hide snakes, which like the yard are always a problem here, so it had to go. I walk dogs out near the woods in total darkness, so clear ground is a necessity.
I got my mower running after getting air in the tires, etc., and spent the next three hours zipping around and avoiding boggy spots on the zero-turn. It's amazing how much junk there was now that I've seen everything cleaned up.
Chewie, Yelldo, and even Roux were outside with me. Roux was on her new run that Dad crafted with some industrial-weight cable and huge eye-bolts. It lets her run around some outside between two large trees in the backyard but removes the risk that she'll take off. She can finally have some sun with everybody else without having to be held on a leash.
After I finished with the yards, I got out my hammock and strung it up. Roux immediately came and laid under it, poked her head through it, demanded I pet her over it. I took a picture of her when she figured out she could stick her muzzle insistently through the loose weave of the hammock. She's a mess.
While I was in the hammock, I saw the first hummingbird of the season. He came up to the feeder in the backyard, stuck a beak in, backed up, and flew off twittering in irritation. I guess tomorrow I need to clean up the feeders and refill them before the little sugar-hungry devils start roughing up me on my way to the car.
About 6:30, I came in and got ready for Doctor Who. The new episodes are on now, and although I know Moffatt is building character background, I still feel a little underwhelmed by this season. Maybe next episode is "the magic episode" I'll need to kickstart my enthusiasm.
After Doctor Who, I turned off the TV and turned my attention to the rest of the house. I cranked up the stereo and started in. I cleaned up the kitchen and reloaded the dishwasher. I moved laundry from point a to point b and started that process over again. I vacuumed, the task I hate the most in the whole housekeeping rigmarole. I made a fresh pitcher of tea. As loads of laundry finished, I dumped them on my bed since what I've been washing for most of the day is bed linens and my comforter, etc.
Now I'm waiting for Chewie to decide he is ready to come in for the night and for the last load of bed-related stuff to finish. When those two things happen, I can take a hot shower, make up my bed, and get some sleep. I'm by no means finished with my house cleaning, but what I've done will help me not to feel so bad every time I come home and see my junky house and yard.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Wonderful Things
(a list)
- Watching my Pyrenees run, frolic, and splash wildly in the creek.
- Having said Pyrenees warm and dry and leaning on me as we drive down dirt roads.
- Driving down red dirt roads.
- Having just enough coffee left to make a pot.
- Watching a new coffee maker produce said coffee.
- Drinking that coffee from a new Fiestaware jumbo cup.
- Sitting in sunlight streaming through the window.
- Knowing that if I want to, I can go take a nap.
- Knowing that if I do go take a nap, four-hundred-and-eighty-seven cats and dogs will pile up in the bed to nap, too.
- Listening to the rumbling purr of a small, plump, striped cat.
- Having a vehicle that stops when the brakes are pressed. (Mine currently does not do this.)
- Driving a big, brown, battered farm truck with enough pulling power to move a small moon.
- Hearing the quiet chiming of agate windchimes and thinking of Brazil.
I think I hear a nap calling me. It's been peaceful today. I hope yours has been as well.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Snow Day
Yesterday before we left school, all the talk was of the incoming winter storm. Preparations were made in case we needed to start school late. Phone chains were checked. Reminders were given to keep everything in the building safe.
I have to admit I didn't really expect any snow. Every year, snow is predicted, and every year, the hearts of local children are crushed when we get four flakes or none at all. Their bright little eyes glimmer with the thoughts of waist-high drifts which prevent the school buses from running, but the reality of living this far South is that if we get enough to cover the ground fully, we've had a heck of a storm.
I woke up about 4:30 as usual, my never-ending fear of oversleeping my alarm kicking in, and I wondered if it were snowing, but not enough to get up from my warm cocoon, dislodge cats, and go see. Thirty minutes later, the alarm sounded, and I dragged myself out of bed and started the wait for notification.
District told us they'd notify us by 5:30 if we were going to try a late-start day. At about 5:15, my phone started chiming. The person above me on my phone tree, a person in my department I depend upon to get news, the actual email and call from the CO all told me I could go back to bed. Late start was a reality. I rolled over with great happiness.
About thirty minutes later, everything went off again. School was officially called off for today. Snow day protocol was in place. I got up, looked out the window, and even in the dim light, I could see white everywhere. Against all probability, we had snow. I have to admit, I was glad to have been wrong.
I slept late, got up, took the dogs out, and got wet from the thick clumpy snow still falling. Roux went out and came in quickly. Chewie absolutely frolicked. He loved the snow. He ran in huge circles, kicking up mud and snow everywhere. He dove face-first into the tiny drifts. I laughed and laughed, and I realized as I did it that it was the first time I had really laughed in days.
I took some pictures, came in to get what I needed to fill all the birdfeeders. When I went back out carrying the twenty-pound sack of birdseed, Roux slipped out with me, and she and Chewie took off before I could navigate the slick steps and get her collar. Memories of the last time she ran off played back almost immediately. Those 22 hours where I was waiting for Chewie and her to come home were some of the longest of my life.
I waited for several hours to see if they'd come back on their own before I grabbed leashes, bundled myself into forty layers and a purple hat, and headed after them. I walked through the woods road to the far pasture calling their names. I'm sure if the hunters who hang out across the road were there today, they got very tired of it. As a teacher, I can be exceptionally loud when I need to be. I made it all the way to the line of trees at the edge of that pasture and still, no dogs.
I stood and I called over and over, and just when I was thinking that I would have to give up and just go home, I saw a flicker of movement in the trees and heard the distant and longed-for jingling of collar tags. Roux appeared and disappeared behind the trunks of the pines. Then Chewie burst out of the woods in a blur of dirty wet white. I captured him and put him on the leash, and we chased Roux down, leashed her, and we all went home.
I took the time to make breakfast, fought my ridiculous, useless coffee pot and managed to eke out a cup with it, got on Amazon and bought a new coffee pot so I can have the exquisite pleasure of destroying the one I have with a hammer, did some online research and browsing, and was as useless as possible. I decided to watch Friends, and it has turned into a marathon. It's been fabulous.
Roux has been sleeping all afternoon. Chewie is mostly wiped out, too. As I look at them, all I can think of is how grateful I am that they came when called. If the weather hadn't been as nasty as it was, I'm not sure if that would have been the case. Maybe we all got a chance to do some things today we don't normally do, and we all got it out of our various systems. Tomorrow will be a return to what passes for normality around here. I guess all good things, even the unexpected ones, must come to an end.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
A Little Helpful Advice
(a read-between-the-lines-tongue-in-cheek-list-story)
- When trying to shoot an object, it's often good to take many shots of it from various angles. Try close-up shots as well as framing more of the subject. You can always crop down, but you can't add stuff around the edges.
- Late afternoon light is highly appealing for shooting. It makes interesting shadows and has that dreamlike golden quality to it.
- Places of unexpected beauty are tucked away even in the most ruthlessly functional locations. Always wear good shoes when shooting just in case you need to do a little walking on uneven ground to get in to where the shot is.
- It is not easy to walk fast on crossties.
- If and when that little instinctive voice whispers in your head that it's time to get off the train tracks and out of the woods, then it is indeed time to get off the train tracks and out of the woods.
- Kansas City Southern trains have rather intimidating black locomotives. Sometimes four or five of them.
- Despite what you may believe to be true, by the time you can actually see a train coming around the bend and hear its whistle, your proverbial goose is cooked. They move incredibly fast.
- The amount of wind created by a passing KCS train is enough to move an adult woman back a step or so.
- And finally.....
- Apparently, I need a FULL-TIME KEEPER whose only job is to keep me alive when I go out taking pictures. Any takers?
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Suspended Animation
Today disappeared almost before I knew it was really here.
I woke a million times last night listening to rain pound the house, or, more eerily, to wind singing through the still-leafy limbs of the great live oak outside my bedroom window near dawn. I could hear the whole house shudder, hunkering down under ridiculously strong straight-line gusts. I kept hearing pops and snaps, and I just knew that when I got up this morning, I was going to have a yard full of tree pieces.
When I finally got up and going, I was amazed by the fact that the tops were still in all the trees around the place. Lots of limbs, some of them largish, were plentiful, but the trees were all still there. Fear, dark, and metal roofing magnify sounds, apparently. I squished through the yard to take the dogs out, made it back to the couch, and was happily reading in my pjs when the pest control guy called to arrange a service appointment.
A shower and some company-acceptable clothing later, I was back on the couch reading. I put on a playlist of music, and the hours just disappeared. I am rereading the Harry Dresden books, and I finished one, got to the midpoint of one of the others. I'm now on book five, I think. Only eight more left.... Yeah. This is a bit more ambitious than a quick Harry Potter tour.
And so, I'm sort of in suspended animation here. I toil not, neither do I spin. I can only do probably about one more day of this, and then I'll have to get out of the house. Restlessness will close over me like a big fist. Maybe a camera adventure is in order if this weather will quit trying to blow me away.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Christmas Eve
I took lots of time today, though, for things that weren't required. I read a book and a half. I am rereading the Harry Dresden books, trying to clarify some things in my mind that are fuzzy after reading book 13. (heh. imagine that. thirteen books over ten years and some things are "fuzzy.")
I took my hammock outside. Except for the cursed gnats, it was beautiful weather. The birds were coming to my freshly-filled feeders. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. The sun was that perfect winter light.
I'm here now on the couch with all the lights off except the tree. That's the rather abstract iPhone-camera version of it above. It won't be long now before it is time to take it down for another year, so I'm spending a little time just doing nothing but enjoying it.
The tired and a headache that has been hovering all day, probably due to the incoming storms predicted for us tomorrow, are catching up to me. I am going to stay here a little longer, and then I'll call it a night. Tomorrow, after all, is Christmas Day, and I'll be cooking and cleaning quite a bit.
I can't help remembering all those Christmas Eves when I was little and so excited to see what Santa had brought. Now that I'm older, it has brought a different type of anticipation, calmer, less focused on "stuff." I look forward to tomorrow because my family will be together. Because I'll get to see if Mom and Dad like what I got them. It's not the same as it used to be, but somehow it's just as good.
Off to enjoy my tree. I hope wherever you are, you're enjoying yours, too.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Eggnog and Dog Toys
Today, I felt less than wonderful. I don't know why. I think perhaps the tiredness from the end of school has finally caught up with me. Well, to be more precise, I think my body has finally decided it's safe to acknowledge the tiredness. I have that "teacher constitution" which allows my body to pull off mighty feats of self-deception until it knows I don't have to get up and go. Then it falls into a heap.
I read part of the morning, half-dozing the whole time, and around lunch, I finally decided to give up and take a nap. The bed could not have been more inviting if I'd planned it. The sun was streaming in the windows and making it a perfect paradise. Roux came and snuggled in next to me, and I was unconscious just like that.
When I got up, I knew Wal-Mart was in my immediate future. A lack of dog food, me food, and staples like toilet tissue made it necessary. I girded myself mentally and drove over to Newton in my MSU sweats, setting a new all-time low for my Wal-Marting. Unless I at some point go in my pajamas (like about half the other people I saw today...and not just kids, either...WTF?), I was as "casual" as I've ever been. I felt bad about it, too, until I noticed all the other sweats and pjs. Tis the season, I guess. As long as I didn't make "People of WalMart," I'm okay.
I picked up all the stuff on my iPhone list (oh, how I love that simple little app), and other things also caught me attention, too. As I was getting ingredients for Christmas brunch, I grabbed a jug of eggnog from the dairy case. I love eggnog even though I know it isn't particularly healthy. It's like a smoothie or a milkshake, thick and cold and wonderful. It's an integral part of the holidays for me.
I also stopped to look at dog toys when I was getting the 487 types of dog supplies required to keep the pit and the Pyr running. I found one they can both hold and use to sling each other around the living room, and I put it in the cart, too. It's their "Chrimma" present. Yes. I am one of THOSE people. I buy Christmas toys for my dogs. Sue me.
It must also be said that I assembled a set of pajamas for myself from some blue and white flannel pj pants and a Captain America shirt. It's sad how eager I am to go put on my Captain America pjs. Ah, well. The little things, right?
I came home, went through the hated solitary unpacking of the car, and came in to make dinner. I cooked the steak and baked potato I'd bought during the trip of joy earlier and sat down to watch a movie. I'm going to finish it off with more reading. It's just a simple day-in-the-life, neither good nor bad.
I read part of the morning, half-dozing the whole time, and around lunch, I finally decided to give up and take a nap. The bed could not have been more inviting if I'd planned it. The sun was streaming in the windows and making it a perfect paradise. Roux came and snuggled in next to me, and I was unconscious just like that.
When I got up, I knew Wal-Mart was in my immediate future. A lack of dog food, me food, and staples like toilet tissue made it necessary. I girded myself mentally and drove over to Newton in my MSU sweats, setting a new all-time low for my Wal-Marting. Unless I at some point go in my pajamas (like about half the other people I saw today...and not just kids, either...WTF?), I was as "casual" as I've ever been. I felt bad about it, too, until I noticed all the other sweats and pjs. Tis the season, I guess. As long as I didn't make "People of WalMart," I'm okay.
I picked up all the stuff on my iPhone list (oh, how I love that simple little app), and other things also caught me attention, too. As I was getting ingredients for Christmas brunch, I grabbed a jug of eggnog from the dairy case. I love eggnog even though I know it isn't particularly healthy. It's like a smoothie or a milkshake, thick and cold and wonderful. It's an integral part of the holidays for me.
I also stopped to look at dog toys when I was getting the 487 types of dog supplies required to keep the pit and the Pyr running. I found one they can both hold and use to sling each other around the living room, and I put it in the cart, too. It's their "Chrimma" present. Yes. I am one of THOSE people. I buy Christmas toys for my dogs. Sue me.
It must also be said that I assembled a set of pajamas for myself from some blue and white flannel pj pants and a Captain America shirt. It's sad how eager I am to go put on my Captain America pjs. Ah, well. The little things, right?
I came home, went through the hated solitary unpacking of the car, and came in to make dinner. I cooked the steak and baked potato I'd bought during the trip of joy earlier and sat down to watch a movie. I'm going to finish it off with more reading. It's just a simple day-in-the-life, neither good nor bad.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
A Good Weekend
Of course there were other things I was supposed to be doing. Duh. When is there ever not?
I took the weekend for myself. I had to. After the headsplitter of last Thursday and the unexpected fallout from that on Friday, I needed something that was totally mine.
So, I read. A lot. I read two whole books this weekend, including the new Harry Dresden, Cold Days, by Jim Butcher. Oh, it was wonderful. I have about a hundred highlights in it. Butcher is so freaking funny. I would love to know him personally. I think we might get along.
I also soaked myself in Nina Simone this weekend. She will probably get a whole post unto herself soon. I have liked the little bits of her that I have had forever. I have had an album of hers in my download list for almost as long, but for some reason I kept putting off buying it. Dumb, dumb, dumb. She is fan-damn-tastic. Her voice joins Ella Fitzgerald's and Billie Holiday's in the realm of my favorites. She can make you feel just by her intonation. Add to that her classically-trained piano, and her music is beautiful. Lethal. Addictive. Perfect.
I made the ornament wreath I've had planned for awhile. I'm mostly satisfied with how it came out. It felt good just to do it, whether it was perfect or not. It feels good to have things completed instead of forever sitting around in piles waiting and making me feel guilty.
Right now, I'm going to finish the weekend out with a movie. Since I'm wanting to go see The Hobbit (argh. if only it weren't in 3-D. I dread that.), I will probably watch one of the LotR movies. I haven't seen the first one in a long time, and only bits and pieces of any of them on TBS/TNT in a while. It will be good to watch them again.
Tomorrow will be a plunge back into the madhouse, but it's the last plunge for awhile if I can just make it through. Surely I've had enough good to fortify me. (here's hoping, anyway....)
I took the weekend for myself. I had to. After the headsplitter of last Thursday and the unexpected fallout from that on Friday, I needed something that was totally mine.
So, I read. A lot. I read two whole books this weekend, including the new Harry Dresden, Cold Days, by Jim Butcher. Oh, it was wonderful. I have about a hundred highlights in it. Butcher is so freaking funny. I would love to know him personally. I think we might get along.
I also soaked myself in Nina Simone this weekend. She will probably get a whole post unto herself soon. I have liked the little bits of her that I have had forever. I have had an album of hers in my download list for almost as long, but for some reason I kept putting off buying it. Dumb, dumb, dumb. She is fan-damn-tastic. Her voice joins Ella Fitzgerald's and Billie Holiday's in the realm of my favorites. She can make you feel just by her intonation. Add to that her classically-trained piano, and her music is beautiful. Lethal. Addictive. Perfect.
I made the ornament wreath I've had planned for awhile. I'm mostly satisfied with how it came out. It felt good just to do it, whether it was perfect or not. It feels good to have things completed instead of forever sitting around in piles waiting and making me feel guilty.
Right now, I'm going to finish the weekend out with a movie. Since I'm wanting to go see The Hobbit (argh. if only it weren't in 3-D. I dread that.), I will probably watch one of the LotR movies. I haven't seen the first one in a long time, and only bits and pieces of any of them on TBS/TNT in a while. It will be good to watch them again.
Tomorrow will be a plunge back into the madhouse, but it's the last plunge for awhile if I can just make it through. Surely I've had enough good to fortify me. (here's hoping, anyway....)
Quiet Time
I'm sitting here in my darkened living room. The only light comes from my netbook screen and the Christmas tree. The dogs have stopped their random barking, and just now, I'm not listening to any music. It's quiet and peaceful.
The tree makes me happy. It's simple this year, lots of big, brightly-colored lights and my collection of vintage Shiny Brite mercury glass ornaments most of its adornment. The only thing not glass on the tree is the red oval with one of Walter Anderson's angels carved in it that is at the top of the tree. Around the ugly but necessary green plastic stand I have wrapped a red sparkly tree skirt I found at Big Lots. The whole effect is very me, the new (LED bulbs) with the old (Shiny Brites at least as old as I, in many cases older), the sparkle and sheen.
It rests me just to look at it. I haven't done a lot of "Christmasing" here at home this year. I have kept it to the tree, which only got its ornaments today, a wreath of Christmas ornaments I made to see if I could and which I just found out is too large to put on my door behind the storm door, and the creche my grandfather made with its three little fragile Japanese ceramic figures. I have huge collections of old world Santas and nativities that I have been adding to for years, but this year, I just can't stand the thought of taking them all out and then having to pack them all back up again in a few days. The simplicity of the few pieces I have now is nice.
It's late, and I really should be trying to get in bed. I can't want to, though. Going to bed early on a weekend night seems like a kind of defeat somehow, like precious time thrown away. When I should be trying to recharge, I'm watching one more episode, browsing one more page, reading one more chapter, writing one more entry, sitting just five more minutes in the multicolored glow of the tree....
Maybe, though, there's a kind of rest in this as well. Oh, in just a few moments, the weariness will overrun me, and I'll give up, go push a cat or two off my side of the bed, and call it a night. In the meantime, however, I'm going to enjoy this quiet time. It's a rare thing.
The tree makes me happy. It's simple this year, lots of big, brightly-colored lights and my collection of vintage Shiny Brite mercury glass ornaments most of its adornment. The only thing not glass on the tree is the red oval with one of Walter Anderson's angels carved in it that is at the top of the tree. Around the ugly but necessary green plastic stand I have wrapped a red sparkly tree skirt I found at Big Lots. The whole effect is very me, the new (LED bulbs) with the old (Shiny Brites at least as old as I, in many cases older), the sparkle and sheen.
It rests me just to look at it. I haven't done a lot of "Christmasing" here at home this year. I have kept it to the tree, which only got its ornaments today, a wreath of Christmas ornaments I made to see if I could and which I just found out is too large to put on my door behind the storm door, and the creche my grandfather made with its three little fragile Japanese ceramic figures. I have huge collections of old world Santas and nativities that I have been adding to for years, but this year, I just can't stand the thought of taking them all out and then having to pack them all back up again in a few days. The simplicity of the few pieces I have now is nice.
It's late, and I really should be trying to get in bed. I can't want to, though. Going to bed early on a weekend night seems like a kind of defeat somehow, like precious time thrown away. When I should be trying to recharge, I'm watching one more episode, browsing one more page, reading one more chapter, writing one more entry, sitting just five more minutes in the multicolored glow of the tree....
Maybe, though, there's a kind of rest in this as well. Oh, in just a few moments, the weariness will overrun me, and I'll give up, go push a cat or two off my side of the bed, and call it a night. In the meantime, however, I'm going to enjoy this quiet time. It's a rare thing.
Saturday, December 08, 2012
CrazyTown
I don't know what's going on lately in the town I work in, but I wish someone would find a way to put an end to it. Random people are getting shot and injured or killed; robberies for nothing are happening. People are getting more and more afraid. Sales of police-strength mace and weapons are going up. I fear that soon, many, many people are going to be very, very dead, and it may not be any of the people who started the problem in the first place.
Every day, it seems, brings a new horror in the newspaper. The town I'm talking about is no major metropolitan area. There are fewer than 100,000 people in it. It should not be possible that suddenly, everyone walks in fear once the sun goes down, that everyone looks at every person they see in the parking lot as a potential assailant. A hint of panic has begun to taint the air at a time when people should be gathering with friends, exchanging gifts, thinking with love for all mankind.
Innocent people, as always, are the ones who are being pulled in and made to pay for the actions of others committed in arrogance and hate: a mother and her babe-in-arms, a couple who stopped because they thought someone needed help, a man who spent his life trying to make sure there was equality for all. The last is an irony so poignant that it tears at the soul. He put his life on the line to make sure life could be better, and he's shot by thugs in hoodies for....nothing. Because somebody refused to cower before them. Because they think life is cheap, not understanding that life is all the more precious because it can be so easily ended. Because they happened to have a weapon in their hands, and they've come to believe that this somehow makes them strong and right. They're throwing away their own lives and trying to throw away his with both hands as fast as they can.
It makes me grieve because I have the sick feeling that at least some of the shooters will wind up being familiar faces or names. It's happened in the past. It's an aspect of teaching in an urban setting that probably isn't covered in education classes. It also makes me extremely angry. What right have these to make everyone walk in fear? What right have they to believe it is okay to spread their violence wholesale and make what should be a season of peace and hope into an active war zone?
Somebody needs to do something about this. Someone with right, power, and authority. It's time for those who can and should put an end to it to stop waiting, fiddling around, turning a semi-blind eye. It's not a "community problem." It's an all-of-us problem. If someone with legal right and power doesn't find a way to end it soon, it doesn't take a genius to see that individuals are going to try to do it instead. If that happens, well, I think Shakespeare had a quote for that in Julius Caesar, "Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war...." We all know how those Shakespearean tragedies end, don't we? With a pile of corpses and shattered potential.
Every day, it seems, brings a new horror in the newspaper. The town I'm talking about is no major metropolitan area. There are fewer than 100,000 people in it. It should not be possible that suddenly, everyone walks in fear once the sun goes down, that everyone looks at every person they see in the parking lot as a potential assailant. A hint of panic has begun to taint the air at a time when people should be gathering with friends, exchanging gifts, thinking with love for all mankind.
Innocent people, as always, are the ones who are being pulled in and made to pay for the actions of others committed in arrogance and hate: a mother and her babe-in-arms, a couple who stopped because they thought someone needed help, a man who spent his life trying to make sure there was equality for all. The last is an irony so poignant that it tears at the soul. He put his life on the line to make sure life could be better, and he's shot by thugs in hoodies for....nothing. Because somebody refused to cower before them. Because they think life is cheap, not understanding that life is all the more precious because it can be so easily ended. Because they happened to have a weapon in their hands, and they've come to believe that this somehow makes them strong and right. They're throwing away their own lives and trying to throw away his with both hands as fast as they can.
It makes me grieve because I have the sick feeling that at least some of the shooters will wind up being familiar faces or names. It's happened in the past. It's an aspect of teaching in an urban setting that probably isn't covered in education classes. It also makes me extremely angry. What right have these to make everyone walk in fear? What right have they to believe it is okay to spread their violence wholesale and make what should be a season of peace and hope into an active war zone?
Somebody needs to do something about this. Someone with right, power, and authority. It's time for those who can and should put an end to it to stop waiting, fiddling around, turning a semi-blind eye. It's not a "community problem." It's an all-of-us problem. If someone with legal right and power doesn't find a way to end it soon, it doesn't take a genius to see that individuals are going to try to do it instead. If that happens, well, I think Shakespeare had a quote for that in Julius Caesar, "Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war...." We all know how those Shakespearean tragedies end, don't we? With a pile of corpses and shattered potential.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
A Feeling of Accomplishment
I can look out my doors and see the soft glow of Christmas lights. This is the first time in three years that I can say that. I know it's so much of nothing to everybody else, but the fact that I felt like putting up my lights, carried through with it, did all the other stuff I did today (rebuilt the step to one of my porches, fixed this and that with stuff from Lowe's, spray painted and rehung my little tulip chair squirrel feeder), it matters to me.
They're not just Christmas lights. They are a victory. Just like the Christmas cacti lined up in the window of my sunroom, they are a sign that I'm coming back to myself. It's a very, very good feeling, indeed.
Tomorrow, I will get my tree and put out my Santas and nativities. I know that the last twenty-something days until Christmas break at school will be insane, but at least I will have something nice to come home to.
They're not just Christmas lights. They are a victory. Just like the Christmas cacti lined up in the window of my sunroom, they are a sign that I'm coming back to myself. It's a very, very good feeling, indeed.
Tomorrow, I will get my tree and put out my Santas and nativities. I know that the last twenty-something days until Christmas break at school will be insane, but at least I will have something nice to come home to.
The Midnight Four-Wheeler Invasion
I guess it was really more like 12:30, but that's not half as interesting as far as a title goes.
I was still up reading, enjoying the precious nights when I can indulge as much as I want to in the written word without having to worry about waking up at some ridiculous hour the next morning. It was so late that even the fairly busy road I live on was quiet. Then, as has happened several times lately, I heard the unmistakable sound of a four-wheeler engine.
I've stopped reacting to this. Somebody, several somebodies, actually, has been running up and down the road on them late at night lately. It could be idiot children who are not being supervised, too young for cars, maybe. I've seen a herd of them in Podunk "circling the wagons" in the church parking lot before heading out again. I know that once, I went out and drove down the road to make sure they weren't cutting up through my pasture, and a whole flock of teenagers in trucks drove away quickly from where they were trespassing on somebody else. It's just a joy. The kind that makes you want to put out roofing tacks and spike strips.
Anyway.
Last night's edition of the stupidity involved hearing the engines come up the road and then stop. As I said, it's become so common that I mostly don't even pay attention any more. Then, breaking the quiet, I heard....music. MUSIC. That was profoundly unnerving. For them to be so close to the house that I could hear the words of the song was distressing. And yet, neither Chewie nor Roux was barking, so I had to assume nobody was standing in my backyard. I lay still, listening, trying to decide whether or not I needed to go outside or go to my window or what, and as I was debating it, I heard the engines again.
It was disconcerting. I stayed up awhile trying to settle jumpy nerves, and I finally got to sleep. While I like where I live for sentimental reasons, I have often wished I actually lived at our property farther back in the country. Maybe if I did, I wouldn't have to deal with these midnight riders.
I was still up reading, enjoying the precious nights when I can indulge as much as I want to in the written word without having to worry about waking up at some ridiculous hour the next morning. It was so late that even the fairly busy road I live on was quiet. Then, as has happened several times lately, I heard the unmistakable sound of a four-wheeler engine.
I've stopped reacting to this. Somebody, several somebodies, actually, has been running up and down the road on them late at night lately. It could be idiot children who are not being supervised, too young for cars, maybe. I've seen a herd of them in Podunk "circling the wagons" in the church parking lot before heading out again. I know that once, I went out and drove down the road to make sure they weren't cutting up through my pasture, and a whole flock of teenagers in trucks drove away quickly from where they were trespassing on somebody else. It's just a joy. The kind that makes you want to put out roofing tacks and spike strips.
Anyway.
Last night's edition of the stupidity involved hearing the engines come up the road and then stop. As I said, it's become so common that I mostly don't even pay attention any more. Then, breaking the quiet, I heard....music. MUSIC. That was profoundly unnerving. For them to be so close to the house that I could hear the words of the song was distressing. And yet, neither Chewie nor Roux was barking, so I had to assume nobody was standing in my backyard. I lay still, listening, trying to decide whether or not I needed to go outside or go to my window or what, and as I was debating it, I heard the engines again.
It was disconcerting. I stayed up awhile trying to settle jumpy nerves, and I finally got to sleep. While I like where I live for sentimental reasons, I have often wished I actually lived at our property farther back in the country. Maybe if I did, I wouldn't have to deal with these midnight riders.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)