Garden plans

I’m not the type to garden. I used to be. I used to have a house full of plants and flowers and even small trees that I faithfully maintained, moved inside/outside to take advantage of seasons. I transplanted, re-potted, fed and watered like it was my job. I even had a vegetable garden for a few years, with experimental sunflowers and 10-foot stalks of sweet corn and rows of carrots. I invested time in the flowering bushes and plants adorning the house.

Then we moved to the farm, someone decided that we needed cats, and everything went to shit.

I’ve not had a house plant or flower since. Because cats. Even an unassuming aloe plant or tiny little succulent in a decorative jar looks like a bathroom to those bastards. Last summer was one of the first years I grew flowers in the front planter of the house…and we’ve been here for what? Ten years?

Here’s the thing: when the cats decide to use a flower pot that was home to your 100+ year old amaryllis flower as a cat box which kills the bulbs (or…the descendants of said bulbs) that your great-great grandmother transported from the Old Country, everything dies. Everything. Including the joy once found in gardening - or even the quiet satisfaction of keeping something green alive.

*****

But who is more of an optimist than a gardener (or a farmer)?

*****

I have a drawing - more of a sketch outline stuck on the fridge with a Mickey Mouse magnet - of what I’m hoping to accomplish in the yard this year. It is an ambitious plan and includes building a fire pit. And moving a tree. It is a small, stunted thing that hasn’t grown much since we’ve moved here; I’m convinced it was planted in a pot or maybe the root ball is still wrapped in burlap. Something has to be stopping that thing from growing, right?

On my list include plants that repel bugs - like lemon grass, chives, citronella grass. Also on the list include things that don’t need to be planted every year, such as lilac and raspberry bushes. And a rock garden where the crab apple tree stump collects weeds every year, despite early and often Roundup-ing. And climbing vines to cover a multitude of sins along the north and west sides of the house.

But I suppose I should consider painting said house, first.

This may be a plan to break into stages…multiple year-long stages. Too bad I only have until next May before Muffin graduates High School.

The plague hath descended

A couple of weeks ago, we drove to my brother’s place in Montana for a few days of skiing and such. Normally, we’d venture to Red Lodge or Big Sky - also in Montana, but more commercial. I’m happy to say that the accommodations were lovely (my sister-in-law is awesome and their house is huge) and the snow conditions were glorious (spring skiing is the only way to go, if you are like me and prefer not to be cold while playing outside in the winter; I know, I’m weird).

The only drawback was that Banana was coming off a hellacious spring cold, complete with sinus issues and a cough that sounded like it should have it’s own diagnosis. We were trapped in the vehicle on the way out with her, a full 12 hours, and again on the way home, another full 12 hours. Muffin and I caught whatever malady Banana brought along and we spent the next week, including Easter weekend, sniffing and coughing and generally feeling like death warmed over.

Just today, I’m starting to get my energy back. Muffin is at school. I hope she isn’t contagious anymore.

*Cough*

*****

Somehow, Chad has managed *not* to catch whatever this is. Yet. I hope and pray he doesn’t catch this as he is terrible at being sick. I hibernate. I self-medicate. I hide. I spend inordinate amounts of time in the tub with lots of hot water and a vat of Vicks VapoRub. He…doesn’t. And he is a terrible patient, demanding home-made soup and medicinal monitoring that should grant me an honorary medical degree.

I’m thinking it may be a step down from pneumonia; however, most everyone in his extended family is dealing with variations of the Alphabet Flu (H1N1, H3N2…hence, the title of this post). And since I was delirious from getting zero sleep, as coughing all night is the only way to spend three or four consecutive nights, I didn’t even consider the chills and sweats were probably fever induced.

*****

I’m sure there is cosmic justification for everything that happens or doesn’t happen, so my suffering through snot and exhaustion for the past week must have something to teach me.

Or not.

Of the sea

Ever wonder why the bulk of human population lives in coastal areas? Me neither. I do wonder - and often - why I live as far from oceans and seas as possible. Probably a combination of luck, chance, and maybe a choice or two, I guess. By the way, I live in a state that boasts the monument that marks the (approximated) Geographical Center of North America.   

I can’t get much further from the sea than that, even if I tried.

*****

The trip to The Bahamas was lovely, if ever always too short. A week is a long time to be away from home and yet not near long enough to be at the beach. The weather was warm-ish…high 70’s to low 80’s. Windy, depending on where you were and what time of day it was.

But oh, the sea. Every cell in my body soaked up the salt in the air and the gloriously warm humidity and I was euphorically happy for seven whole days. No need for a hair dryer. No need for makeup. No need for an alarm clock. No need for socks…or jackets, or mittens or anything but rum, flip-flops, a swim suit and maybe a nice dress to wear to a late dinner. 

Just the sound of crashing surf lowers my blood pressure in a way no pharmaceutical or exercise regimen ever could.

I ate way too much at every meal. Drank even more, including several-too-many rum punch drinks served in a coconut whilst lounging under an umbrella on the beach. I did no ‘on purpose’ exercise, despite access to a full gym and spa, but I walked and walked and walked like it was my damn job. My lands the place we stayed at was ENORMOUS. In fact, on the last full day there, Chad was feeling a little under-the-weather, so I left him to nap in the room and roamed around an area of the resort I hadn’t managed to find before. I put on nearly 8 miles. Eight. Miles. Walking around the resort, looking at stuff, and wandering into the Private Residence area by mistake. I just acted like I belonged there and smiled at everyone. No one kicked me out for breathing the gold and diamond encrusted air.

We took a taxi into Nassau and shopped the straw market. On another day, we and another couple signed up for a snorkeling excursion on a catamaran. We toured a rum distillery and rum cake factory. We played in the resort’s water park. We drank too much at Margaritaville. I tried to buy some Kush, just to see if I could. (I could have, but didn’t. Really.)

It was a Resort in every way - very much catering to American tastes, which I didn’t like much. If I wanted to eat at Johnny Rockets, I’d have stayed stateside. But it was clean, if excessively expensive. Maybe spending $300 on dinner for two is normal for some people, but I thought it was obscene.The staff were welcoming and helpful. I made friends with the doorman, Aaron. He forgot me before the airport shuttle van door closed behind me, but that’s ok.

 Muffin and Smoke nearly murdered me for being away, and despite a few cold shoulders were happy to have me home again.

Suits

In the process of purging my closet and various dressers, I learned many things. One interesting lesson was that I no longer own a decent swim suit. The black tank suit I’ve worn for the past few years is faded and, to be blunt, ugly. And it doesn’t fit anymore, regardless. 

Why am I thinking about swim wear in January in the Northland? Funny thing: we are going to the Bahamas at the end of the month for about a week, courtesy of the company from which The Farm buys chemical and seed. I’m looking forward to sand and surf and sunshine and too much food and far too many tropical drinks with little umbrellas for garnish. I foresee sunburn and sugar comas.

*****

For Christmas, Chad bought me the RTIC 30 oz tumbler. He has a Yeti. I don’t see much of a difference, besides the obvious branding. I should have asked him to wait until RTIC came out with the sliding top lid, making it spill-proof, but I’m guessing I can pick that up later.

I like it. Coffee stays hot. Mmm, coffee.

*****

Muffin and I are now workout partners. Or at least until the gym decides to tell me how much all of this is costing me. The plan is to get and keep Muffy in shape during the off season. And this will be how I die. At the gym, whilst muscle bound gym-rats gawk and point as I drown in my own sweat.

Purge, purge, purge

I read somewhere that people are choosing a “word” to describe, represent or otherwise mark (denote?) the year 2016. Weird, right?

So. A word. A word, with enough gravitas to hang on all 366 days of 2016 (Leap Year, right?). 

“Meh” comes to mind.

I’m not committing to a word, but so far the word Purge would fit.

I finally got myself motivated enough to go through my closet. It took me the better part of a day to try everything on (1) and make Keep It/Donate It decisions.(2) 

That was exhausting. So exhausting that I only managed to get through the hanging clothes. There was also a shelf that runs the full length of the closet stacked with shoes and sweaters and probably the lost treasure of the Flor do Mar, and that took another day or so to go through.

And then, of course, the Dust Dragon Wrangling commenced.

I have an obscene amount of clothing. 

HAD. 

I HAD an obscene amount of clothing. This time around, I donated five(5) storage bins and a giant bag stuffed full of clothes to a local charity. A full 90% of the items were “office” type outfits (pants, blazers, jackets, blouses, twin sets, etc.) that cost me a fortune when I bought them new (even on sale, which at one time I was pretty good at). I really do hope someone will find uses for some of that stuff.

(1)If/When I lose all the weight I need to lose, nothing in that closet will fit me, save for the bathrobe. Too big is best, when it comes to bathrobes, I say.

(2)Let it be duly noted in the record: I did not purge one shoe. Not one. I have issues, obviously.

*****

The purging continued this week as I finally dove into The Once and Future Office/Guest Room. I’m so glad I’m not the type to do Before/After pictures, because damn, how embarrassing. Not one square inch of that floor was visible, having been stacked with boxes and books and random broken printers and whatever else I didn’t have the energy to deal with for the past year (probably longer than that…I’ve been writing at the kitchen counter for quite a while, now that I think of it). It was so much easier to just push stuff in there and shut the door.

The bed was buried under CPR mannequins, for crying out loud.

And I did. Cry. Out loud.

The big stuff in there is now dealt with and done:  boxes removed, books re-shelved, mannequins re-homed, printers…well, the printers are still in there, but I can now see the floor and successfully pull a chair up to my desk. I cleaned. The spare bed has freshly laundered sheets and blankets.

If a guest (singular…not plural…it is a twin bed, after all) were to wander up to my door and require overnight shelter, I would be able to accommodate without batting an eyelash.

And now I’m just sifting through the detritus in drawers and random boxes: business cards, old newspapers and magazines, receipts… from 2008.

Maybe I’ve been writing at the kitchen counter longer than I thought?

*****

Happy New Year, 2016.

All that jazz

The last of the gifts arrived via UPS this morning. Note to self: remember to check receipts at some point in the very near future to make sure. Nearly all of the holiday shopping this year was done online. Oh, how I love thee, Sweet Internet Shopping Carts and Free Shipping Gods. Of course, there are a few gifts that I must purchase in person, but those things are few and far between. Pretty sure I can manage it before the 24^th.

*****

Just finished the holiday letter (not sure if I’m going to send it to everyone, my humor has not improved with age) and I ordered cards with the family picture on them to send. I should have the cards in time to mail between Christmas and New Years (or shortly after New Years), because anything arriving from me in the mail *before* Christmas would cause spontaneous combustion or heart palpitations or something. I’m just not that organized.

*****

And now that I mention organization: I am actively avoiding cleaning out my closet because, holy crap on a cracker, there isn’t much in there I’m going to keep. Having officially rid myself of 46.5# since June (I’m not done yet) and also having officially No Job Prospects in the Foreseeable Future makes keeping a closet full of suits that don’t fit and office-wear I don’t need not just silly, but a stupid waste. A lot of the pieces were expensive and of superior quality. It is just a shame such things are collecting dust, crammed in the back of a closet.

The dressers have been weeded through, however. I’m going to donate no less than 16 pairs of jeans of various repair, size, and color to my mother to do with as she pleases. I have a feeling she’ll make some kind of quilt out of them, which would be kind of cool. I’m also going to donate no less than 30 t-shirts, tank tops, sweatshirts and various what-have-you items to the Salvation Army or similar, because I just don’t want or need all that baggage. Feels good to get rid of it. And I know once I get through my closet, I’ll have similar good feelings, but it is just so damn daunting. Easier to keep the doors shut and not even look in there.

So in effort to continue avoiding my closet, this week I’ve cleaned out and rearranged two china cabinets, the spice cupboard, the cupboard that holds most of my coffee cups, travel mugs and water bottles, the bathroom closet and all of the vanity drawers. I’ve moved all the furniture and vacuumed or mopped as required. As previously mentioned, I’ve written the holiday letter and purchased holiday cards. I’ve also sat on the couch and looked at a few magazines. 

*That* is how much I’m dreading going through all that is in my closet. No small task.

*****

In an effort to find some Holiday Spirit - somewhere, anywhere - I’m currently listening to “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” The Original Soundtrack by Vince Guaraldi. Now if the weather would cooperate and get below 40 degrees F and possibly even snow again, that would help. Since I don’t have to go anywhere on a daily basis anymore, having snow and ice doesn’t bother me in the slightest. (Ok, I still don’t like winter, but if I can stay home, who cares?) Snow makes my semi-sorta-daily walk with the dog interesting, but I’d rather wear cleats and walk on snow and ice than deal with muddy, slimy gravel roads. 

So there.

And I bother because of course

The longer the list
I have a list of things I need to get done today. It is a very long list and every task is hugely time consuming and overwhelming and my stars and garters, why do I even bother?

The Internet beckons, and I will answer. ’Tis Friday, after all.


Temporary grounding
Muffin is one of those kids that I’ve never worried about much. I mean, she makes good choices and tries her best and works hard and all that, so I’m not really concerned she is going to do something silly or stupid and land in jail or launch her pickup off a bridge. You know? The stuff some parents of kids her age are dealing with…wow. I just don’t have those concerns with her.

Anyway, she decided to be a teenager last weekend. The plan was for her to go to a (local) college volleyball game - actually a tournament - and watch. After that, she wanted to go to the movies with her friends, and I was totally ok with the agenda as she explained it to me. Except she didn’t go to the volleyball games. She went to the mall instead, and then went to the movies. She didn’t tell me her plans changed, and when I asked her about the games, she lied.

Ooo, baby.

I’m ok with plans changing, but the not telling me and then lying about it? That is a line one does not cross with me, especially if you are my offspring.

Anger didn’t factor in. I was hurt and disappointed about the lying. The lying concerns me.

So she is ‘grounded.’ For her, that means she still has her phone and driving privileges, because where we live and how we operate on a daily basis - taking those things away from her would punish ME, not her. What she isn’t allowed to do is anything extra, such as attending football games, movies or anything that is beyond school, volleyball and home. And I decided that it would last about one month. When Homecoming rolls around the last week of September/first week of October, she will have served her time and she will have her “fun” back.

I am obviously The Meanest Mom On The Planet since I’m bent on ruining my child’s life.

Last night on the drive home from a volleyball game (her team won and played great - fun to watch and all that), she was almost yelling, trying to argue her point about knowing what she did was wrong and that because she learned her lesson, she should be able to go to the Corn Maze this weekend with some friends.

Um. Nope. Not gonna happen, Kid.

I had to stop the conversation before *I* started yelling. Unimpressed with my inflexibility, she plugged in her headphones and ignored me for 20 minutes.

And today she sent me a text asking to go to the football game tonight.

Um. Nope. Not gonna happen, Kid.

She is just testing me to see if she can wear down my resolve. Grounding is such a weird punishment, really. But how else would or should a parent deal with something like lying? I dunno. There have to be consequences, I think.


Moar coffee
As someone who typically takes her caffeine ice cold, carbonated and from a can, I’ve recently developed an unhealthy need for HOT COFFEE in the mornings. String together a few super early mornings and you’ll find me leaning so heavily on the MOAR COFFEE, STAT!

As in: Set That IV Caffeine Drip To Wide Open, FTLOG.

I can’t (read: won’t) drink just black coffee, and because of self-imposed diet restrictions, I’ve resorted to lacing it with Premier Protein shakes. Because, of course. All my breakfasts are pre-fab.

Oh, what I would give for a giant Dirty Chai Tea from Caribou Coffee or Starbucks. And a colossal-sized bag of Cheetos.


Playlist:
Echosmith’s Talking Dreams
Beach House’s Depression Cherry

(I know. Still. But I’m really trying to figure out if I like this stuff or if it just lives in the background. Either way…)

Cheat day

More Like Cheat Weekend:
The cousin managed to get married, despite the rain and wind and outdoor setting. Mud. Lots and lots of mud. And a very steep hill. And women in high heels (me, being one of them). And battered umbrellas. But the deed has been done, and I’m so very happy (that it is done).

Friday was the rehearsal dinner, and the weather was quite lovely for that, of course. But the meal was served buffet/picnic style, which means lots and lots of Things I No Longer Eat were taunting me. I stayed away from the chocolate cake frosted with buttercream and Heath candy bar crumbles and stood instead next to the deep fat fryer where perch and walleye fillets were being cooked to a tasty crisp.

Saturday, the diet officially flew out he window. Pulled pork with BBQ sauce. Potato salad. Baked beans. Wedding cake. Vodka Sours. I would have been fine, really, with what little I ate of The Bad For Me Stuff. The drinking part? Wow. I don’t remember the last time I drank that much vodka and remained coherent and conscious. And vertical.

And then we went to the lake on Sunday and Monday for Labor Day, and there was much too much food consumption going on.

All told, I gained back three pounds. Not bad, really. Chad gained back seven.

Gravity:
Did you know that Diamond Dallas Page of professional wrestling fame sells Yoga DVD’s? Did you know that I own several of them? Did you know that I’ve never cussed a blue streak while attempting yoga moves, except when I use those DVD’s? Insane, I know, and it is really a good thing no one is home to see me sweat and hear me curse - and fall down - while trying to be graceful. (Ha!)

Falling down is hugely humbling. I tell myself it is a good thing, get back up, and cuss and swear and sweat some more. Some mornings I wonder if there is a dial for gravity and someone has spun that thing to 11.

New Music:
I recently purchased Depression Cherry by Beach House and Talking Dreams by Echosmith. Not sure how I feel about either, yet, but they are on constant rotation during the day.

Take a walk on your hands

Lists
The bills are paid. The house is (relatively) clean. The laundry is done. Random chores are complete. Phone calls returned. Questions answered. Supper is defrosting in the sink. I’ve blazed through my list and now - at the bottom of that list - the word “write” sits there waiting to be crossed off.

I’ve joined I don’t know how many writing groups, self-help email/motivational list-serves. None of that does any good. Instead of putting “write” at the bottom of my list, I just need to put it at the top. Maybe that will fix me.

Or is that too simple?

Sleep
For the past few nights I’ve been having trouble sleeping, and I’m not sure why. Usually, I can chalk up a fitful night to a brain that won’t shut off or external stressors that must be obsessed over at 3am. But this time my arms hurt. Or ache. Or something. And it is keeping me awake at night.

Is there such a thing as “Restless Arm Syndrome”? Like Restless Leg Syndrome, where your legs feel like they need to move and kind of ache in a really uncomfortable - not-in-the-muscle-more-like-in-the-bones - kind of way…but in your arms? I’ve tried sleeping in different positions. I’ve tried all kinds of different over the counter sleep medicines (with the exception of the Trazadone I still have from a previous round with insomnia/anxiety). I’ve even cut back on the caffeine, thinking that after all these years, I’ve finally developed a sensitivity to it.

No such luck.

Fall
This time of year is weird in The Northland. Cold one day and hot the next. Jeans and a sweatshirt complete with socks and real shoes, then shorts and a tank top with (maybe) flip-flops. Sometimes Cold and Hot in the same day.

It all just foreshadows Winter.

And I’m not into Winter. Not at all.

Until it happens to you

Mashable

The end of August/start of September means back to school, yes, but also doctor appointments and random yearly “stuff” that must be crossed off a list somewhere so as to maintain my family’s membership in the club of humanity. Apparently.

And now that I’m “of a certain age” I get to have additional appointments that require the squishing and squashing of body parts that should never be squished or squashed so severely. Ow.

In fact, I was so discombobulated after that appointment that I didn’t notice until I was getting undressed for bed much, much later in the day, that I’d forgotten to remove the little pasties the technician applies. I’m sure they serve a purpose - a medical purpose - and are not just something to point to and laugh.

Getting old is fun!

More weather observations

Today is hot. And sticky. This morning was 72 degrees at 7am with humidity hovering around 95%.

That kind of sticky weather requires all the insides of windows be wiped down or risk warping the wooden sashes. That kind of sticky weather also requires the full-time use of no less than two dehumidifiers or risk the health and life of the AC unit.

Heat and humidity do not bother me in the least. As long as I do not have to don panty-hose or wear makeup, I could not care less about hot and humid weather.

But.

And there is always a BUT.

This weekend, one of Chad’s many cousins is getting married, and that requires dress clothes (no panty-hose, however) and makeup and probably even clean hair. The wedding is an outdoor affair - and therefore it follows that the forecast calls for rain, thunderstorms, wind, and probably a plague of locusts or maybe just a tornado or two.

Cornbread muffins on the easy

On dieting:

I hate it. I hate it - oh for the love of all things holy - I so very much hate dieting with the white-hot heat of a million suns. I hate counting calories. I hate figuring out how many carbs (and therefore how many teaspoons of sugar) is in the food I want to eat. I hate reading labels and obsessing about what is in a recipe that I’ve used for 30 years.

But what I hate even more than all that is not feeling comfortable in my own skin. Feeling fat. Feeling unhealthy. Feeling…not like myself.

I love the results that come from all that miserable dieting. As of this morning, I’m down 31.5 pounds. And while it is kind of fun to brag about losing that much, I truly find it mortifying that I had it to loose to begin with. I’m not done. I have a long way to go before I can say I accomplished my goals - and really, with dieting, is one ever really done? There is always a Peanut Buster Parfait lurking around the corner just waiting to smack me into a (much welcomed) sugar coma.

The thing about dieting, though, is that, no, you are never done. It isn’t like many other behaviors that attach the word ‘addiction’ to it. For example, you wouldn’t tell a drug addict to shoot up three times a day (with a snort in the afternoon and another in the evening to hold you over ‘till morning). Well, maybe you would. But a recovering drug addict, trying to get and stay clean? I’m guessing no. But that is what we do with people like me with - essentially - an addiction to food.

So I diet. I cut out (or severely limit) sugar. No beer. No chocolate. No Cheetos. (My lands, I miss Cheetos.) I drink water like a crazy person. But I have to eat.

Not a fun party-goer, am I.

Back in a jiffy
 
Jiffy makes a cornbread muffin mix that is so simple and so good: milk, egg, muffin mix, and 15-20 minutes at 400 degrees. And now my house smells positively delicious.

I think I may be getting a sugar high just from the aroma.

Excuse me - I may have to step outside until I have regained control.

Slum-Lords-R-Us
 
The rental property we own in town is currently rented to three college students. That is a very misleading, overly simplified statement. To get that rental property ready for those students to move in to was a Herculean Effort. I have earned my place at the side of Zeus, let me tell you. Washing walls. Painting every flat surface I could throw a paint brush at. Scrubbing floors. Taking apart light fixtures so as to remove 4+years of neglect. Moving appliances. Cleaning carpets. Fixing garage door openers.

Oy.

After I had everything back together, fully functioning, and clean, I wanted to move in there myself because I could only imagine how desperately my own house - you know, the one I actually live in - needs to be overhauled.

Misplaced anger

Club volleyball season is upon us and thus goes the weekends in the spring. Muffin has practice a couple of times during the week, and man-o-live, I really appreciate how much easier my life is now that she has a license to drive and a vehicle with which to do so. Of course, I now get to worry about her eating at Budget Burger before practice instead of going over to her sister’s house or her grandparents house for something to eat that does NOT come from a greasy spoon.

But the weekends. Oy. Driving hither and yon. Spending an entire Sunday watching volleyball match after volleyball match - from 7:30 am to whenever they finish tournament play (after what is probably hours and hours of pool play) - gets long. And exhausting - and I’m not the one playing.

For whatever reason the scheduling gods have graced our team with a weekend off this weekend. I plan to spend Sunday with my feet planted firmly on the kick-out footrest on my recliner.

*****

I finally had it with all the plastic containers clogging up my cupboards and random lids for said containers stuffed into various drawers and cabinets in my kitchen. Muffin and I went through them all, pitched the ones that were cracked or missing lids or were just random Cool Whip containers (Why? Why do I keep such things? AH AXE YE?), sorted all of the containers and lids purloined from my mother-in-law (and gave them all back to her). Then I ordered Pyrex storage containers complete with matching lids.

No. More. Random. Plastic.

 It felt awesome to do that - to purge and then to replace with something of value and function. I like finding containers for leftovers now. Unbelievable, I know.

Next is the spice cabinet. Maybe tomorrow or Friday.

Hey - I never claimed to be an overachiever. At least, not that I recall.

*****

The oldest child is going to walk the stage for college graduation in May. Granted, she officially finished her degree in December of ’14, but you gotta know that walking the stage is the only way to commemorate such an accomplishment. That and a party. So we sat down with some fancy-ish stationery and invited a few family members and some friends over to her house in town to celebrate.

My mom is ordering cake. I’ll throw some hors d’oeuvres together and call it a win.

I’m looking forward to it. Very little fuss. Even less muss. The best kind of party to throw.

Funny to think that she will have graduated twice before Muffin manages it once. Such is the sitch when siblings are spaced that far apart.

*****

This morning, I tried on a bunch of clothes in my closet. Specifically, dresses and skirts that have not seen the light of day for about six or seven years. Some fit. Some didn’t. Some really didn’t. In fact, I gave myself that claustrophobic my-god-I’m-going-to-have-to-rip-this-off-my-body panic feeling more than once, trying to pull a wow-that-is-way-too-tight-sheath dress back over my head.

I have more work to do. Not that one can tell I’ve done any work at all. So I walk. And I yoga. And I drink water (and occasionally sneak in a Diet Coke, because come on). And I grill instead of fry. Bake instead of … I dunno.

I’m not seeing or even feeling any improvement at all. Unless you consider my achy, tired, and crabby self an improvement over my previously uncomfortable, exhausted, and ornery self.

*****

Playlist: paused

Lists on lists

Analysis paralysis

A cat is sitting on my “book of all things” so I will not access my to do list until he moves. This could take a while.

*****

The heck?

My “book of all things” is a black and white graph composition book. I saw a “Bullet Journal” tutorial and liked the concept. I’ve been using the system for about a year and a half. I find it very comforting to know everything is in one place. Things like recipes, crochet patterns, to do lists, passwords, shopping lists, scraps of writing or ideas for writing, doodles, meeting notes, events for every month, checklists for motivation, quotes I like, lists of books I should read - - anything and everything can be written/taped/attached/tucked into the pages and then easily referenced in an index set aside in the beginning of the book. I’ve even started color coding and tabbing the thing with sticky notes to make flipping through the pages easier.

I find having everything in once place is a bit disconcerting, too, however; after leaving my previous book on a counter overnight, a cat peed on it.

Yes, the cats are assholes.

And Yes, the Cleaning Of All The Things is a never ending activity in my house.

*****

I got nothing.

The oldest child came out to spend part of the day with the family on Sunday. We also had the lovely task of getting everything arranged for her student loan payments, starting in April. I don’t remember things being so damn complicated (multiple usernames, passwords, security questions, security pictures, and on and on and on, and for the love of anything holy yes it really is an authorized person on this end of the fucking website).

The day a bank starts using facial recognition software to authorize access to an account is the day I will back away slowly from the internet and begin my life off the grid.

Maybe. I like me some internets.

*****

(Random bits of detritus from recent days gone by:)

Sorta.

I have lists upon lists in my head of things I need to do including various projects that involve cleaning out closets full of clothing I’ve not worn since before my second child was born, planning a graduation celebration, paying bills, applying for various jobs in the area, and maybe running a vacuum cleaner around the baseboards. But it is raining or snowing or something uncomfortably cold outside, and that just makes me want to start a fire (by clicking the remote - heh) and spend the rest of the day cozied up in my chair working on something with yarn.

But I didn’t do any of that.

Instead, I made pork chops and rice in the slow cooker, and in another slow cooker is bread pudding with Dulce de Leche. (Winter still has a vice grip on my recipe book *and* the Northland, it would appear.)

*****

Crafty

I poked my head into the broom closet for whatever reason the other day and noticed a huge stash of plastic grocery bags stuffed into the back corner.

And thus a project was born.

I found directions for making Plarn (plastic yarn). File that under “Internet wormhole” because wow. Plarn construction involves a whole damn bunch of folding and cutting plastic grocery bags from Stuff-Mart. I have broken blisters on my fingers from cutting plastic bags into strips.

You gotta know that I take crochet a little too seriously when my hands bleed for the craft.

Once I have everything cut, then I loop the strips together to form a long rope and roll it up like yarn. It isn’t difficult, but it is tedious. And is taking far longer than I expected.

My plan is to make “beach bags” or **GASP** “grocery bags” that can be used over and over. The great thing about Plarn is that the beach/grocery bag can be thrown in the washer (with something like towels) and hung to dry. Recycle the recycling.

Anyway. That is my most recent crochet project.

*****

Playlist: It is a compilation kind of day

A Hundred Miles or More: A Collection (Alison Krauss and various artists)

Anchored in Love: A Tribute to June Carter Cash (various artists)

And still

I am still a flurry of crumpled Puffs Plus Lotion and ChapStick and Lycall and borrowed (XXL) sweaters and oversized slippers and heating pads and hand sanitizer and decontaminating/washing All The Things.

Gawdamn. I hate the tail end of colds. You know, the kind of Just Sorta Sick that hangs around after Officially Sick exits stage left? Just Sorta Sick makes you sneeze for no apparent reason. Cough unexpectedly while trying to have a phone conversation. Hovers around the top of your head, threatening headache but then dumps a metric shit-ton of snot into just your left sinus. Then walks away.

Just Sorta Sick is an asshole.

It has been a week. A week. And I’m still not 100%.

*****

Smoke has officially forgiven me for the trip to the vet the other day. My bank account, on the other hand, is all kinds of pissed off. It wasn’t terribly expensive. In fact, I was expecting much worse. I just wasn’t prepared to deal with an additional expense right now. Which begs improvement of my financial planning skills, such as they are.

*****

I need a job. Or a hobby that makes money.

*****

Playlist: Classical Chill station on iTunes

Not gonna happen

On Sunday night, I was happily sitting in my chair, working through a particularly difficult spot in a crochet pattern, when the oldest of the five cats currently on the homestead horked up his supper on the dog’s bed, looked at me as if to say What? and sauntered away. Groaning, I set aside my work knowing I’d have to start over since I’d lost my place in the pattern, and went in search of paper towels. Damn cats.

I was thinking about how I’d have to get the foam sponge out of the liner on the dog’s bed so I could wash it and what a pain in the ass all of that is when I crouched down, paper towels in hand and got eye to eye, as it were, with the mess. And. It. Fucking. Moved.

I had to get Chad to clean it up because Christ on a Crutch there was no way I was getting within 20 feet of that…that…worm? It was long, white, flat, wriggling and about 10 steps beyond a line I’ve drawn regarding Disgusting Animal Scenarios I will not cross including things like blood-swollen woodticks attached to dog necks and half eaten headless birds brought as offering to my back porch door.

We’ve had cats on the farm since we moved out here and I do very little to maintain them except offer food and occasional shelter when the temperature threatens life and limb. I like when LT sleeps on my feet at night and I like how Olive occasionally attacks my boots while I try to write while sitting at the kitchen counter. I like cats, occasionally. Much the same, I’m sure, as how they feel about me. Except I do not barf up alien creatures and then casually walk away expecting the cats to clean it up.

So that incident prompted the adventure Smoke and I had yesterday.

After consulting Dr. Google first thing in the morning, I confirmed my research with our Veterinarian: worms. Probably tape. Medicine required - probably for all.

Ok. Fine.

And since I had her on the phone (and had to make a trip to town to pick up the meds anyway), I managed to snatch up a 4:20 (heh) appointment to get Smoke’s vaccinations updated. How efficient I can be! Smoke likes going places with me and when he sees his leash he’ll be all kinds of excited to go to town.

And he was.

Until I opened the door of the Vet Clinic. He got one whiff and put the brakes on. Hard.

If you’ve ever tried to wrangle a dog who is 100-plus-pounds of muscle and claw, it isn’t a simple task even when he is happy to comply. So make it even more complicated by scaring him out of his mind, adding some ice and snow to the parking lot and sidewalk, and trying to get him to go to the same location where he left his testicles.

It took three of us. One to hold open the door. One to pull on the leash. And me. I had the lovely job of hunching over him, lifting up his back legs, and pushing him into the Clinic, Smoke’s front legs still in full lock down, braking for all he was worth. It was a 10 minute battle of desperation and anguish. And I’m sure Smoke wasn’t happy either. Of course, this is on one of the busier streets in town.

Good times.

I think it took longer to get him into the Clinic than it did for the Vet to get him his shots and back to the rig. No need for any more trauma than had already been.

I drove home, each of us suffering our own versions of PTSD in silence.

Smoke finally acknowledged my existence again when I started making noises about going for a walk this morning.

That deworming medicine had better effing work.

Playlist: paused.

Found it

Last night I was bouncing around putting groceries away, getting laundry going again, putting animals in or out based on current demands, and figuring out supper when a brick fell out of the sky and landed on my face.



That is the best way I can describe it. I was fine. Totally fine. Busy and engaged, fully functional and coherent. Then suddenly not. My eyes started to water. My sinuses filled up with goo. My throat felt like I’d run it through a paper shredder. My ears crackled and snapped every time I tried just to swallow my own spit….(which isn’t much of anything considering the Sudden Onset Mouth Breathing required in order to maintain minimal brain/organ function, such as it is.)



I sat down, put my feet up and didn’t move from that spot until I dragged my sorry ass up to bed. Groceries be damned. Laundry can wait. Animals? I’m not the only person living in this domicile. And supper? That, my dear friends, is why I keep a freezer fully stocked with frozen pizzas. Co-habitants had to fend for themselves. I was informed that no one starved.



Despite the fact that I did take the dog out for a walk this morning - a much abbreviated walk because of the brick currently lodged in my face and because it is bloody effing cold outside - I’ve not managed to do more than throw supper in the slow cooker and stare at my laptop screen.



I’m on Alka-Seltzer Cold and Puffs Plus Lotion. I’m also currently in search of my ChapStick and heating pad. I doubt I’ll find either, since they are not located within arm’s reach of this chair.



~~~~~



Playlist: Paused

Simple

I finished the second of two ‘crib sized’ crochet baby blankets last night. I think they turned out ok.



I don’t remember the names of the stitches. I modified the finished sizes from some notes I scribbled on a random scrap of paper stuffed in an oversized envelope where I keep most of the patterns and descriptions of crochet projects. I’ve considered selling crochet blankets, hats, mittens, various baby things on Etsy or whatever, but I’m not good at “on demand” production and god forbid someone actually ordered things from me. I’d have no idea what to charge or how to go about it. So, I reserve such things for special gifts and projects that challenge me. Usually, I just go to the craft section of stores and buy yarn based on what I like, how the yarn feels in my hands, the colors, etc., and then wing it. Modern manufacturing practices, standard sizes, mass production, or consistency of any kind never apply.

Next on the crochet list of projects include boot cuffs and fingerless gloves. I made a crochet hat that I wear when I take the dog walking.



I like it and since I have no intention of selling the thing or even giving it away, I guess that is all that really matters.

~~~~~

Yesterday, I went with Chad to town so as to do some phone swapping. We spent most of the day in town and the better part of three hours at the AT&T store. Good thing I like the kid who manages our account. He is funny, smart, honest, sarcastic, self-depreciating, a golf fanatic, and also engaged to marry his long time girlfriend this summer. Never a dull moment.

I am now getting my “new to me” phone set up. I usually take Chad’s hand-me-downs. Funny how I always manage to forget what a hassle all the set up is. Passwords. Linking apps. Ringtones. Notifications. Alarm settings. Pairing with my Fitbit. And my vehicle. And on and on and on. Good grief. Electronics are demanding.

~~~~~

Today is cold, windy and snowing. I’m ok with the cold part. (Still January in the Northland, so meh.) And even the snowing part. (The fields could use some cover. A fresh coat of white can be lovely at a distance.) But the windy part? No thanks. Smoke and I stayed in this morning.

He isn’t happy with me and shows his disappointment by pacing, sitting by the front door, and sighing a lot.

He has passive-aggressive down to an art.

~~~~~

Playlist:

Sons of Anarchy: North Country - EP
This Life (Theme from “Sons of Anarchy”) - Curtis Stigers & The Forest Rangers
Slip Kid - Anvil & Franky Perez
John the Revelator - Curtis Stigers & The Forest Rangers
Forever Young - Audra Mae & The Forest Rangers
Girl from the North Country - Lions


Sons of Anarchy: Shelter - EP
Ruby Tuesday - Katey Sagal
Fortunate Son - Lyle Workman & The Forest Rangers
Someday Never Comes - Billy Valentine & The Forest Rangers
Burn This Town - Battleme
Gimme Shelter - Paul Brady & The Forest Rangers


Sons of Anarchy: The King is Gone - EP
No Milk Today - Joshua James & The Forest Rangers
Bird On A Wire - Katey Sagal & The Forest Rangers
Traveling’ Band - Curtis Stigers & The Forest Rangers
Miles Away (feat. Battleme & Slash) - The Forest Rangers
Hey Hey, My My - Battleme
This Life (Celtic Remix) - Curtis Stigers & The Emerald Forest Rangers

Ten feet away

This morning as I was walking down the gravel road, watching the dog run zig-zags following his nose around the dead cornstalks, I realized I don’t take an iPod or some other gadget with me for music or news or noise. One could justifiably guess I’m looking for peace, quiet, and solitude in the outdoors. I’ve considered, on more than one occasion, loud electronic entertainment to drown out my own thoughts, my achy cold muscles, my daily walking distance goal (and how bloody long it is taking me to get there), and whatever else is going on internally. And I do have several choices of portable devices I could shove in my ears to provide diversion and distraction.

But the quiet of the outdoors can be deafening.

I may sometimes feel as though I’m a million miles from civilization, but not so in reality. I can hear the fans on the grain bins behind the tree claim kick on and off in what seems a futile attempt to keep its contents viable. The passing train blares a warning horn and chugs by on the cold, stiff iron rails. The random vehicle crunches the ice, snow and gravel under its tires on a parallel road.

If civilization wasn’t noisy enough, the wind crashes around pushing the icy, brittle tree branches into each other. If I listen carefully, sometimes I can hear what I believe to be the Momma deer and her twins who live in the trees behind my house and along the road taking timid steps, sniffing the air, twitching their big ears. Usually, tho, they hide deep in the tree claim hoping Smoke doesn’t catch their scent. Of course, he is more afraid of them than they are of him, but if he manages to kick them up and out of their hiding spot, he gives chase for maybe 100 yards before he barks at their flagging white tails disappearing across the empty field, turns, and trots back, victorious, to me.

There is nothing peaceful or quiet or alone in the outdoor “solitude” surrounding my daily walking adventures.


~~~~~

Playlist:

“A Tribute Album To Keith Whitley”

Don’t Close Your Eyes - Alan Jackson

Ten Feet Away - Diamond Rio

I’m Gonna Hurt Her On The Radio - Keith Whitley

I’m Over You - Tracy Lawrence

When You Say Nothing At All - Alison Krauss & Unions Station

Charlotte’s In North Carolina - Keith Whitley

I Just Want You - Keith Whitley & Lorrie Morgan

Little Boy Lost - Daron Norwood

All I Ever Loved Was You - Ricky Skaggs With Shenandoah

I’m No Stranger To The Rain - Joe Diffie

I Never Go Around Mirrors - Mark Chestnutt

The Comeback Kid - Keith Whitley

A Voice Still Rings True - Joe Diffie, Ricky Skaggs, Sawer Brown, & More

Old and new

I managed to get the crockpot lasagna going in time that we may be able to eat before 8pm tonight. I’m going to consider that my major accomplishment for the day, despite my doing laundry, dishes, and also paying bills and taking a walk with the dog. Whew. It just ticked over 1pm and all that is behind me.

~~~~~

Sunny and (relatively speaking - it is still January, after all) warm but windy, again, today. I could easily be spoiled by such conditions. With the impending winter storm Juno heading for the northeast, I’m sending warm thoughts that direction.

~~~~~

On Saturday, my business partner and I traveled to Mandan so that we could clear out our training center and haul everything back to our respective homes. It was hard work, up and down a huge flight of stairs countless times with heavy, cumbersome furniture, totes full of books and supplies, and random detritus one tends to collect over five years of running a business. A sad and sadly necessary task, when shuttering a business.

My legs hurt from the stairs. My heart hurts from the ending of things. However, when one chapter ends, I suppose the logical thing to do is turn the page so as to start the next. My brain would feel better knowing what that next chapter is or how to start it.

~~~~~
Playlist:

Enya: A Day Without Rain
A Day Without Rain
Wild Child
Only Time
Tempus Vernum
Deora Ar Mo Chroi
Flora’s Secret
Fallen Embers
Silver Inches
Pilgrim
One By One
Lazy Days

January

I’m sure I’ve said it before here, but January is a tough one for me. So many things I can do, even more I should do, but so few I want to do.

~~~~~

January, in the Northland, brings cold and grey, with the constant threat of snow. Or worse, snow and wind. The air smells cold, crackling cold, if that is possible, like sticking your head in the deep freeze on a hot July afternoon. Jarring. Relentless. No quarter offered or given. Standing outside, even when sheltered from the wind and dangerous wind chills, exposed skin starts to freeze in just a few minutes, causing the uncomfortable tingle-sting of beginning frostbite on the cheeks and fingertips.

Unless it is today. Today the sun is shining, the sky is the color of a fragile Robin’s egg, and the temperature is flirting with 40F. Today is the exception to January’s frozen-fisted tyrannical rule. The ever contrary Northland weather makes me feel sorry for the weather man.

But if you don’t like the weather today, hang around for it will change - as if in just a few hours you traveled to another continent - or to another planet.

~~~~~

Playlist:
A Hundred Miles Or More: A Compilation
(Alison Krauss)

You’re Just A Country Boy
Simple Love
Jacob’s Dream
Away Down The River
Sawing On The Strings
Down To The River To Pray
Baby Mine
Molly Ban
How’s The World Treating you
The Scarlet Tide
Whiskey Lullaby
You Will Be My Ain True Love
I Give You To His Heart
Get Me Through December
Missing You
Lay Down Beside Me