Thanks

Well, it's been over a week since my last post. Contrary to popular belief, I did not fall off the face of the Earth... only my brain did.

Thanksgiving was a trial, but one that I have survived yet again. I live and breathe to serve out turkey and potatoes another day (hopefully before the turkey turns to rubber, or grows strong enough to leave the refrigerator under its own volition). At the beginning of Thanksgiving week, I had intended to create a long list of all the things I was thankful for, the kind of list that included running water, mouse traps, heat, working lawnmowers, and the like, but as the big day approached, my thoughts pulled farther and farther away from gratitude and my sanity became slicker than a salted slug. --but let's not go there. The past is past, trampled and hashed and still stinking... let it die.

On the same note, considering that tomorrow brings a new month, and the ushering in of the Christmas season (which actually started around the middle of October, according to the retail establishments I frequent), I will also try not to worry too much on the future and the inevitable stress that awaits--disguised as festive goodies wrapped in paper and bows. Perhaps I'll just hide the scale until after Valentine's Day. My tree is up, and that is truly saying something, because I have learned how to make someone else do the work! Someone else is shopping, too, though I don't think old St. Nick will be delivering that heavy-duty-all-purpose-babysitter/cook/housekeeper/disaster management specialist that I've secretly been wishing for. Oh well.

Writing and prayers have buoyed me up once more. Lots of both, and I'm rather pleased with the amount of progress my novel has made in a week's time. I will continue to work on my list, even if it never makes it out on paper. In the meantime, I can definitely say that on this, glorious Monday, with the bulk of my little blessings back in school, I am very much thankful for today.

Still Loading

There once was an old saying about work that went, "You load sixteen tons and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt."

Some of you young'ns might be thinking 'What in the hay is that supposed to mean?' Well, I'll tell you... it's all about laundry. Yes, laundry, where the loads might as well be measured in tons according to my joints. It is the never-ending chore that, regardless of how many loads you wash today, there will still be as much to dry and fold and then put away tomorrow or the next day for as long as you are willing to drag it out. And by the time you reach that supposed ending point, when the last pair of socks is matched up and tucked away, but before the latch catches on the laundry room door, you can turn around to find that all the hampers are full and the underwear drawers are empty.

Get to it! Wash, dry, fold, repeat. Depending on the size of a family and each person's individual fondness for clothing (girls), neurotic bathing habits (no one in my house), and gender (I've heard of neat boys, but never met one), you might do anywhere from four (do you live in those?) to ten (average) and well on close to sixteen or more (Mount Saint Smellin) loads a week.

It's all well and good, a necessary evil to satisfy one's sense of cleanliness, godliness, or just plain don't-want-to-stink-ness, but beyond the eternal nature of laundry, the really sad part is that no appreciation comes out of accomplishing this task. Thank yous fall like a drop of dew on a shriveled vine; payment comes in the form of forgotten coins out of unemptied pockets, along with pens, important (and now useless) papers, and EW! what was that?

Those seeking more substantial gratitude or a Christmas bonus must first determine if they are qualified. Have you been married for over twenty years? Have all your children grown up and left home to fend for themselves in the world? Have you died and gone to heaven? Participants must answer yes to all questions in order to qualify. Whether you have or have not trained each member of your troop (including the one close to your age) how to deposit their soiled articles into a bio hazard recycling receptacle has no bearing on the matter--stick to training dogs; it's easier, they remember longer, and it looks better on a resume. Whether you have other duties besides mountain climbing and divining lights from darks has no bearing, the ability to juggle only impresses clowns and elementary-aged children.

No matter how many urine-soaked sheets you strip off of the same beds, in the same week... no matter how many socks you can miraculously change from mud-brown to white and match again to similarly ill-treated footwear, the only words you will hear concerning this labor is when you have neglected it and the clean supplies of clothing, towels, and sheets run dry (or wet, as the case may be).

But don't be discouraged, and don't presume to cease washing, wiping, cooking, vacuuming, or working in general, lest the world as we know it come to a screeching halt. If you want a pat on the back, stretch, bend, and work that elbow. It's good exercise and you've put in another fine day of work.

Just remember, after you've loaded your sixteen tons, aged a day and earned no pay, it is now time to fulfill the other end of the adage and go shopping. Alone.

The Homeland Adventure Channel

This week's episode:

Gourmet Cooking for the Destitute

Welcome all you hungry adventurers. We're going to have a great show. Today's menu has been determined by the ingredients already available in the house and by whatever culinary whims have possessed the chef. Nutritional values have been taken into account as well as the caloric needs of each household member to produce a perfectly tailored balance of protein, carbs and fat that will keep those energy levels exactly where they need to be.

Breakfast: oatmeal, toast and juice

Lunch: garden salad, homemade tomato soup

Snack: carrot sticks & dip, cheddar slices & whole wheat crackers

Dinner: cheesy chicken enchilada, beans and rice

Dessert: fresh baked cookies

Keep in mind that every menu must be flexible, allowing for last minute changes and/or substitutions in case of unforeseeable disasters. But first things first-- we must ready our equipment. This adventure will require the largest pot and pan available in your kitchen, matching lids, a two-quart pitcher, several long-handled spoons, cutting board, knives (preferably sharp), first aid kit and easy access to a fire extinguisher (just in case), an empty sink, plenty of dish washing detergent, at least two square feet of cleared counter space, enough plates, bowls, cups and other eating utensils to satisfy your crowd, a large rectangular baking dish, aprons (optional), towels and washcloths, and an operable kitchen.

Be sure that all your appliances are in good repair, ie. reasonably clean with no exposed wires, jagged edges, or broken hinges. Also, for obvious health reasons make sure that all dishes and utensils are clean before use. We wouldn't want the escaped hamster's leavings to spoil any appetites, would we?

Our next step before beginning is to choose a helper and make assignments for crowd control. We all know what happens when there are too many cooks in the kitchen. After the lottery, or straws, or whatever method decides your helper, wash hands and secure aprons.

Every day should begin with a healthy breakfast, and ours is easy. Have your helper retrieve a tube of frozen juice from the freezer. Remove the lid and place in microwave for one minute. Then, assist your helper in figuring out how much oatmeal and salted water is needed to feed everyone. Mix and cook according to directions on package. Empty thawed O.J. into pitcher and add water. Mix. Depending on the age of your helper, they will either want to do everything with reckless abandon, or need to be directed in every move under heavy threat (and do it as sloppily as the enthused) so keep towels handy. If old enough, have your helper make toast while you stir oatmeal. Wow... it's a good thing we used the big pot... it appears to be growing.

Hmm... according to the directions, it cooks in ten minutes. But it seems a bit on the stiff side, so we'll add a tad more water. A little more. More... there, that's better. I wonder if it needs more salt? Anyway, we have five minutes--plenty of time to cut up those carrot sticks for later.

All right, our carrot sticks are ready, but what is that smell? Gah! A great gooey blob is crawling out of the pot! Quick, stab it with a spoon and turn off the stove. Never fear, it did not burn and appears to be edible, though extremely elastic. After cutting out equal portions for each of our guinea pigs... ahhhh, I mean children (none for me thanks, I'm on a new, low slime diet) there appears to be enough left over to last the rest of the week. No matter, I believe oatmeal keeps well in the refrigerator.

With breakfast laid out, we can retrieve chicken from the freezer to thaw for dinner and then get started on the soup--an easy recipe using onions, tomato paste, and milk. Hey, where'd the kids go? That was fast. All the toast is gone, juice too, but... it seems they were too much in a hurry to finish their oatmeal. Not hungry? So they say. No matter. This is where the flexible menu comes into play. Just cross off soup and replace with oatmeal.

Lunch is over. The salad was a huge success, though our helper has resigned. Strangely, the oatmeal supply does not seem to have diminished even though I've left some on the floor for the dog. Hmmm... haven't seen that dog since. It would seem the menu needs to be as flexible as the oatmeal, else we will never again see the bottom of that pot, or the dog.

After trying to push oatmeal off as a dip for carrots and a spread for crackers, the troops are ready to mutiny. The chicken is already cut and the bread is mysteriously vanishing out of the bag. We are running out of time. In the name of all that is nutritious, the oatmeal must be eaten! But remember, the successful miser is a flexible miser! Time to pull out the big guns: brown sugar and butter. With a little flour and some eggs, we can still salvage the situation.

When the diners march in with grumbling bellies and wrinkled noses, suspicion all over their faces, we happily announce that if they eat their chicken and rice, they can have cookies. {ahem... oatmeal cookies, that is}

I win.

Trade-in

I was just looking at that very cute little MG convertable over there... yes, the red one. It's how much? Well, I do have a trade in. Yeah, that teal mini-van. Yes, the one with the faded paint and multiple scratches. Careful with the luggage rack, we lost one of the screws. (An incident involving plywood and bungee cords. You do not want to know.) The year? Oh, it's a '98... no, a '97... I forget. Sorry.

What's wrong with it? Nothing, really. It just keeps going and going. I get the oil changed religiously and take very good care of it. Well, yes, I do have children. No, those are just finger marks, maybe some lip marks, too-- but they wipe right off. And the stickers... any old window scraper will take care of them. That dent is from a rock, it only chipped a little, and the rust is minimal. The dent in the back? Well the trailer came unhitched once, and slammed into the back of the car when we slowed down. Yeah, that's where the gash in the bumper came from. That little groove along the side is from a bike that didn't have any rubber grips left on the handlebars.

This side door sometimes gets stuck. The interior panel is loose since that time my son threw up all over the door. We had to take the whole door apart to clean it out. Never did go back together right. Oh, and the child lock is stuck on. I don't know what happened there. Maybe your mechanics can figure it out. The upholstery is still in good condition. The middle seats come out easily and there are lots of cup holders--except that one. Yeah, it broke off. Paint? No that's... oh, yes. I remember, now. That's the blue nail polish my daughter spilled about seven years ago. You might be able to get it up. I couldn't. And that spot? Um... that was there when I bought the car. I have no idea. Of course I didn't buy it new. Do I look like the type of person who could afford a new car?

Sure, start it right up. --I'm no mechanic, but if you just let the car warm up a bit, it stops doing that. That squealing is only a loose belt, it always does that. A little spray lubricant will stop it. Check engine light? Oh, it's nothing. The sensors are just getting the wrong readings because of the holes in the gas tank. Didn't I? Sorry, it slipped my mind. But they're at the top of the tank. That's not nearly so bad as if they were at the bottom. If you just wait for the gas light to come on, you can refuel with 17.5 gallons (any more than that and it spills out, so be sure to watch the meter).

The windshield wipers are a little old, I guess. Minor maintenance. The wiper fluid sprayer doesn't work on the driver's side... probably just clogged, or disconnected. No big deal. Yes, the cruise control does work. Oh, the visor? Yes, the driver's side visor broke off last year. It shouldn't be hard to get a hold of a replacement. Yeah, the side mirror is cracked, but it won't fall off. It's been like that for nine years. That doohickey is a security device installed by the last dealer. If that little key piece comes out, the car won't start. Yeah, it's happened to me, called a tow truck and everything. THAT was embarrassing.

That's the wiring for a six-disk CD changer we had installed when we bought the car, but it stopped working years ago. It's at home somewhere. You don't want it? Oh. But the radio works. Most of the speakers are good-- enough.

Ah, the rear windows won't open... I think the motors wore out, and the rear blower only works on occasions (but it's not the motor--there's a short in the wiring somewhere between the front control panel and the rear one). Oh, and the driver's side window needs some work as well. Yeah, that's why the panel was removed. We're just waiting for the right time to get that fixed. No, it won't close... I park in the garage. Well, halfway in the garage, on account of the all the junk in my garage. I had to shove it all back to make room. No, it's a really big two-car garage.

That hole in the rear window is where the little window thingy went. You know, that thing that holds open the rear window when you lift it up? Yeah, that. Well, I think my son was swinging from it and it just popped right out. No, I don't have it any more. Sure, there's a spare tire. I only used it once... drove it thirty-five, forty miles... maybe less? It should still be good for a while, don't you think? Oh, and before I forget, that back door doesn't always close up tight. You have to shut it just right, or the door light will come on-- makes me crazy, flicking off and on while I'm driving down the road.

What else? No, there's nothing. Like I said, it's a good car. Oh, the door won't open? Hit the unlock. Try again. There! No, once more. OK, get out, quick! Well, I didn't want to mention that. The locks are possessed. So it's good that the window won't shut. At least the lock ghost can't catch you without your keys (that's happened to me). Why once, I was just finishing loading in the groceries and shut the door, and that darned ghost locked the car up with my keys and groceries and baby all trapped on the inside. What a mess that was! I had to leave my baby out in the parking lot on his own while I fetched security, and they called the fire department (who only came because there was a child involved) and they took their sweet time getting there, too.

No, I'm only looking for a prettier car. You won't take it? Really? Why not?

The Demon

As promised, I've prepared this little poem for my demon. Yes, ANOTHER poem. So I like poetry; it keeps my brain limber. Some people like opera. Whatever.

As I pick up my notes and assemble my thoughts for novel #3, I will try to keep my beloved blog afloat with amusing nonsense and whatever leftovers I can't squeeze into saleable literature. This space is something of a reader's meatloaf. Just add ketchup and we're good.


From the edge of the road, I watched as he passed.
A specter, too dark to be real.
The daylight slipped quickly into something else
and empty was all I could feel
His image burned blackness straight into my heart,
through eyes that reflected like glass.
The folded up wings harbored terror and dreams,
heartache and panic so brash.

The demon is watching. He is out there.
I must hide or he's going to see.
The demon is moving, gets closer.
He is here. He is coming for me.
An angel of darkness consumes me
with a hunger I cannot evade;
a gnawing, tight clawing that eats up
what shelter of peace I have made.

So hide, run away
move faster, do not stay.
Flee, step aside,
hasten, you must fly
for the demon is coming,
is coming,
the demon inside.

The pavement beat hot on my footsteps across;
escape on atonements of wax.
A candle is lit, but Hell's gates opened wide
as I ran and I fell, far and fast.
He was lurking and leaning and hungering for me,
poison-strung words he did spew.
Needles of teeth sought a vein he could steal,
in a place where he killed what was true.

Destruction he brings on each wingtip
spreading wide as they crowd out the sky.
Fight. I must win against blackness
a battle from which I can't hide.
Rage feeds the evil that dooms me,
quietly turning my heart.
Stone is the cold I'm becoming
when the stillness in nothing departs.

So stand, make him pay
he can't win in the day
If you fight and decide
that the demon is a lie.
When the demon is living,
is living,
the demon inside.

Unchanged Melody

I've been reluctant to post anything lately. Perhaps because I am uninspired, or because nothing new and exciting has occurred. Maybe I am suffering from pre-holiday stress (it only gets worse). Anyway, I have the same old rejections showing up in my mail, the same old car breaking down in my driveway, the same old bills (steadily increasing in amounts as the months roll by). Oh, sigh. It's enough to make one want to go shopping.

Then there's the demon. Ever skirting my periphery and at the edge of my thoughts, he keeps coming by to haunt me. The sacrificial poem for the demon isn't ready yet. Another thing to work on. Until then, keep running, says I. Demons are slow---Wow, that reminds me of the tortoise and the hare. Except that would make me the hare, and we all know what happened to the hare... Never mind. I will rewrite THAT story as well. Just put it on my to-do list. Right under 'pull weeds and clean out flowerbeds.'

But, Halloween is over, the queen is gone, and I promised that I'd get back to writing. The voices are ever chanting in my head of what needs to be portrayed. The vision is bright; the plot is twisted, but clear. All I need to do is put the pen to the page and write.... right after I finish reading the latest Vampire Academy.