Season of the tick..

and the gnat, noseeum, mosquito and all the little bitey bugs that make my life miserable. But at least- at least- I don't *live* in Tick Bite (yes, folks, you guessed it...it's not a road named tick bite, it's a whole community!). They must have serious tick-issues....

and am thinking, do they have a 'tickfest'? What would their high school mascot be? (Now I'm thinking of the TICK- the old blue superhero, his sidekick was a mostly-blind moth...) Is that where they retired to?

Anyway, caught this sign on the way back from ECU yesterday, after yummy Thai food lunch with professor-boss-lady after review (gold stars for me! yay!). I was going to stop and reshoot all the photos that I lost on Data (old computer, remember?) but was tired and lazy after food- only stopped twice on the way home. First stop was Enams, which is one of the coolest places ever, and a total anomaly for rural NC...the size of a small supermarket, it is "An African-American Arts and Crafts and Spiritualist Store" in Grifton- what it *really* is is the best hoodoo shop this side of New Orleans. Shelves of candles, all different colors and shapes and intentions, oils and herbs (herbs are to expensive- they only sell by the full oz- at approximately $8.00 per oz) washes and powders, charms, books, dusts, loadstones, wolf-eyes and raccoon penis bones, cowrie shells, soaps- the front of the store is a shrine to Jesus/Orisha (I *think* Orisha? can't remember right now) with a huge (bigger than me) painting by Enam, I presume. Anyway, it's coolness incarnate. I was looking for unscented carrier oils and butters for making perfumes, and did come away with 2 pots of soybutter (it's lovely! one is for you Ms. Ball!), black salt (also for Ms. Ball...for some reason we have started collecting salt... white, black, pink, green, rock, sea, kosher, iodized) rosemary wash (to clear your head, it smells lovely and after my shower I now smell like...crock pot chicken. yum.) some Job's tears (they bring money- after yesterday's pay cut, I figure they couldn't hurt...) and some 'Turn Back Powder' so my new lawnmower won't get stolen. (like the last one! my own stupid fault for leaving it on the porch...I thought I put it in the shed, but no... darn. darn. darn.) Carrier oils were to expensive because they were out of all but the large sizes (in case you are wondering, carrier oils are used as bases to mix essential oils- the expensive scented oils- in order to create perfume oils that can then be used to make whatevers. Most essential oils are supposedly to strong to wear- not scent wise, but skin irritation wise- I wear them anyway, but that gets expensive...besides perfumery is Mel and I's new interest...) Anyway, a fun diversion of a stop, good field trip. Need any bits of magic, let me know!

Next stop was 'Some Like it Old' which is another anally for NC- it is a huge antique store (that is not so strange, they are everywhere) but this one has odd stuff- like Samurai Armor. Not one suit- no- SEVERAL suits of full Samurai Armor from different eras... and other cool things but I was fascinated by the Samurai stuff. Looking for a small oval frame with glass for Ariel at school, but no-go...

A day on the road with adventures did me good- it's like a minivacation and satisfied my travelling urge for a bit... and for all who are wondering, yep, I'm ok, just being very very me right now : )

No-mans Wife

I am no-mans wife... it's not my nature. I was love-drunk for a week there, and things may still come about, but I am in no way ready to live with someone let alone marry them. Not for at least a year-and-a-day.

This doesn't mean that I don't love him, but it does mean that I love myself, know myself and know what is real and what is illusion. Sometimes I do get tired of being independent, doing everything on my own- but if that is the price to pay for freedom, so be it. If he loves me as I am, he will stick around and we will see what happens, if this is to much then it was not meant to be and better off ending. Sad, but survivable.

2 proposals in a year though is a bit of a record for me- makes me wonder if men are all drowning and reaching for some sort of Rebekah-raft to keep them afloat. Sorry guys, I am swimming along quite nicely and never did pass the lifesaving course- I sink like a stone if someone grabs onto me, and that is no fun. You are, however, welcome to swim by my side and frolic in the waves for a bit.

Spinning

Spinning discs onto the computer- about half-way done transferring all of my music. Yay! Visions of mix cd's to play in the car dancing in my head, endless miles of happily singing along to my assortments.

I love music, all types of music- seriously, I've even learned to appreciate opera and rap (well, *some* opera and rap) and while I don't sing well, I sing with great enthusiasm. When I make mix cds I usually start with a theme- summer, road songs, days of the week, sinners and saints etc. and link songs by content.... my summer cd has music from the opera Porgy and Bess, Sublime, Aaron Copeland, The Breeders, Robert Johnson etc. Everything very different, but blending together in a multitude of voices telling the same story. Amazing.

Today I go to the ear doctor, hopefully find out *why* I can't hear, get fixed, patched up or not. I read lips fairly well, so don't have much of an issue with face-to-face conversations- but in a crowd or the classroom or on the phone it doesn't work out. I can *hear* the noise (usually) but I can't understand what is being said. Vargh. Annoying, more than anything, though I try to have fun with it: "I'm sorry, little student, but I haven't any Yak milk to pour on your head". Who can I hear on the phone? Barbie. Mel. Teresa. Who can I kinda hear? Mum. Grendel. Who do I have to struggle with hearing? Most men (don't get the wrong idea! It's not that I have men calling me 24-7, but still they *are* half of the world's population!) anything automated (I hang up) Soft talkers like Grendel's Grandma and Kyle....

Actually, it is a mixture of good and bad. Can't hear the phone ring but pick up on distant birdsong. Can hear the students whispering- but can also hear the annoying buzz of loud ipods through headphones. Can block out most distractions but get really irritable in loud crowds (cafeterias etc.)... something I can live with, have made plans for, but it is something that I would also like fixed. In the meantime, a day off school for ear testing, a trip to the city and perhaps---just perhaps--- they will have some cool anatomical ear models that I can take photos of!

Rose Red

In the fairy tale, Rose Red was the wild sister, Snow White the good one. Snow white sat by the fire, cooked and sewed and made things, created a garden and hearth and home. Rose Red would rather play, romp around the forest with the animals- while she *could* sew, and probably cook, she didn't like it much. Obviously, Snow White got the Prince.

I'm Rose Red, at least when it comes to cooking. I can do it, sometimes do it well, but truth is- I'd rather not. I love plants, know about them, but am not a gardener- thus the yarden in all of its chaotic sprawl. I did mow it yesterday, however- and that felt grand. I know animals, love them, am good with them. My doggs are happy doggs, my yarden full of life. Yesterday I found toad-holes and toads, beautiful butterflies, the huge brown balls where the writing spiders sleep. Skinks and lizards, ladybugs, shiny black beetles hidden under the grass.

I love my home, my tumble down cottage- but it is tumbling down here and there and decidedly has it's faults. I like to clean, keep it neat- hate the mice who have apparently recovered from their fear of peppermint. If it wasn't for freaking out everyone who doesn't share my companionship with critters, I would just get a snake and let it go inside. It would get fat and happy and the mice would vanish. When the mice were gone, the snake would slither off in search of greener pastures.... what do you think? Nothing exotic, just a plain black snake would do, maybe a festive cornsnake. Something hungry.

I love my home but I also love the road. It is spring and I am restless for adventures. I want to go to the beach, put on my huge boots and tramp around in forgotten places. I want to drive forever, stop where I want to, gather strange gifts- herbs and simples, dirt from all the four corners. I want to sing in the car, focus on the horizon, and go, and go, and go. Pull over and sleep when I'm tired, eat when I'm ready to, talk to myself and practice stories out loud. Take max along so he can put his nose out the window and feel the wind in his ears.

Clarity, Illusion

Opera glasses. Beautiful machines that help you see to the illusion- this pair keeps cropping up at the auction and I am always outbid. Someday, however, someday it will be the right day and the right time and we will be together- or not.

So, as you can see (no pun intended) I am setting some boundaries. As much as he loves me, as swooned as I am, I do have my opera glasses on. I need boundaries, and time, and the relationship needs to grow and unfold at a natural pace- a seedling in the sun doesn't last long. Either I'm worth waiting for, or I'm not. I think he is worth waiting for- investing time in- slowing down and enjoying the scenery. I'm forever about the journey, not the destination.

I suppose this comes from my core of independence- yes, I want to learn how to share that, but it is going to take some time. And truth be told, I am a free beast~ a horse not ready for the barn. Pasture, maybe- but not the barn. Not yet. And that would be that.

Because I am a magical beast I believe in omens, good and bad. The good omens of the house and home, the finding of treasures. The bad omens of the bunnies (the last one went back to the nest, died alone- I buried him yesterday), the snizzling popping of electricity all night last night at the auction (I was tense, preparing for the boundary talk).... electricity goes nuts around me when I am upset- call it coincidence or magic or bizarre brain waves, but when I am anxious it happens. I once blacked out an entire Lowes hardware (Brent can testify to that- in the middle of moving, deciding on paint colors, I had the biggest meltdown...the whole superstore went black). I flicker the lights at school when I am really frustrated (have been working on not doing that- the janitor told me that I blow more lights than anyone else), cause things to malfunction and last night they could not get the microphones right. Humming and beeping and static and buzz- I felt guilty. Lights flickered. Electric signs, lamps wouldn't work when they had worked earlier. So be that as it may, I take it as a sign of my unconscious communicating stress.

Right now I have lots going on in my life. A new relationship that is wonderful, and that I want to enjoy. The whirlwind end of the semester, and the end of the school year. Start of summer school and working at the DPI. Travel plans in every direction. Grendel figuring out what to do next, taming the yarden, ear doctor on Tuesday. This and that and the other thing all jumping at the gate- I need time and space and quite and a long drive by myself to sort things out. Why does everything have to be so complicated? Because life is complicated. Because- like an opera- it is art and music and story and song, illusion and reality and without clear vision it is hard to tell which is which.

Nature's Way

Gifts of bones- a skull and a mannequin hand from under the chicken house. The skull is self-explanatory- some large cat hunting chickens and met it's doom...but the hand? go figure..

Yesterday was an off day, and after writing about the darling bunnies I came home to find them all dead but one. That one ran off and is living under an azalea bush- the others showed no sign of harm or sickness, they were plump and fat and furry but all dead in the nest. horrible. I buried them, cried over them, and we talked about all the 'what might of happened'...... but we will never know. The sudden change in temperature? An illness or genetic default? I don't know, it worries me- not so much knowing that they are dead, dead happens, but not knowing *what* happened. I hope the other one makes it.

It's funny, I hate it when an animal dies- breaks my heart a bit, even if it is just a bunny- but I love bones. I had such fun yesterday figuring out what the skull was, I looked it up (I thought it was a cat, but it is quite large- I am right, definitely feline- perhaps a very large domestic or a bob cat of some kind...I didn't think we had those around here but the bio folks at school say we do). I went upstairs and hobnobbed with Hunt- the other taxidermist type- and we ended up telling sea-turtle stories. I've found two- one at Nags Head, one at Southport...neither with a skull...he topped me by finding a whole one on Bird Island and bringing it back section by section on a surfboard. His most recent find was an owl skeleton at Huntington Beach (went camping with the wife and kids- got distracted) mine was most of a deer at the end of my road. (not counting the mystery cat skull which is AWESOME)... anyway, I've always wanted my own museum or collection place. Loved the natural history section of Carnegie Mellon more than the art section- any day! I'd get lost for hours in the horns-and-bones, the trays of study skins and butterflies, the spooky back hall with the really old mounts of endangered species. The dodo bird, a gorilla, a diorama of lions attacking a camel driver... I'd draw, and study them- just enjoy them for hours.

Is funny you know, I wonder what this man of mine thinks of me and my passion for junk and bones... I could seriously care less about store bought gifts- this is what wins my heart! And he likes black licorice, looks good in a kilt and is kindhearted....

Babies

Under the dogwood tree in the front of the yarden purple flox is planted... and in that flox there is a nest of bunnies. I found them last week when I was taking the mail out- I startled mama and she ran off, then I heard something moving. Curious as always, I went to look- and there were 6 tiny squirmy baby bunnies. They were only out for a minute, then back into the bunny hole under the flox. It is a warm and soft nest lined with fur (bunny fur? shed bear fur?)... they are doing fine, getting bigger and braver. We check them every day after work, watch them stick little bunny noses out to sniff around. Adorable.

Yesterday more treasures from the chicken house! A mannequin hand with one finger missing, a skull of something (not a dog- cat shaped but large), a steel penny from 1943. Beautiful, lucky, strange, precious.

I love the oddest things...

Domestic Bliss

Domestic bliss = crockpot food. This man has me cooking, so you know it's serious... and it's not because I have to, but because I want to. It's kinda fun to dust off my long-neglected cooking talents and take them out for a spin. So far he is surviving my attempts, and everything turned out ok except for the bread- but that doesn't count cause bear stole the whole loaf. (Bad bear, bad bad bad bear).

Anyway, I love crockpots. They solve a wealth of food problems because you can just put stuff in it in the morning, come home to instant tasty-goodness after work. No-fuss, no muss.

I remember Daddy's great big avocado green crockpot- one of the originals- with the drawing of vegetables on the front. The first of many in the family... I have 3 for food at the moment: a huge one that mel gave me for Christmas, a medium size one that is great for single dinners, and the smaller one (pictured) which was good for just me, or cooking down a particular thing. (In this case homemade bbq- the pork is cooked first all night slow in the biggest crock, then taken out this morning, chopped, seasoned and packed into the smallest crock with the bbq sauce where it will cook slow all day...yummmmm.....ready for sandwiches , picnics on the porch with iced tea and porch swings.

I'm remembering how to cook, but not what to cook. Isn't that funny? I start off with the basics here- spaghetti, roast, bbq... what next? meatloaf... um... hum. Don't think he is quite ready for Haluski or Halupkies (did I spell that wrong?) maybe ease into it with peroiges and stroganoff- Sheppard's pie and the like. Actually, it's not the season yet, but I would just about kill for some fresh peach cobbler with vanilla icecream. Or real blueberry muffins (the fake ones just piss me off- those little blue rocks are in no way berries). ... but it is time for strawberry shortcake, so I might try my hand at that. Use to make a delightful one.

Bad Bear. Bad, bad, bad bear.

Doesn't she look sorry? All innocent and sorry? Not to mention slightly tired? I don't know what got into her last night/ this morning- but she was wound up tighter than a watch on Christmas.

Everyone else had a long day, was tired- worked hard, I did tons of homework, Charles brought home a bucket of cool old bottles that I just had to investigate- but it was an early night. Delusions of resting after the excitement of the past few days.... then suddenly, unexpectedly, without any warning....BAD BEAR.

scratch, scratch. I want out. scritch scratch I want in. Woof I'm hungry. Woof I'm thirsty. Now I need out again. Ok...it's raining and you forgot me so I am going to wedge my head into the bedroom window and whine. whine. whine. whine. YAY! I'm in! I'm going to jump on the bed with muddy muddy paws! (oh no your not!) uhoh, banished to the living room. (tired Max sigh. You can imagine. 'we sleep out here now, so shut up and get over it and no, you can't have the couch.) pace, pace, pace...uhoh YARD MONSTERS! ALERT! MUST GO OUT NOW!!!! woof woof woof. and on and on and on... like a restless two year old.

When I finally gave up and got up, she tried to steal my toast, did steal my rainbows (recovered unharmed) and then decided to do some early morning 'drawing' with markers. (also recovered unharmed, just soggy).... now she is outside, but still going strong- chasing Max around the yard- happy little yips. Wish I had some of that energy...it's off to school for earth-day extravaganza: 'campus clean-up' and all I want to do is nap. Maybe I'll send the kids off with their trash bags and go sleep in the back seat of my car....tempting....

Whistling Gypsy

All calmed down now. Every thing will be ok with a bit of luck and love and am just going to try it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtQcPNXc6tY
Ok. so it's by the wiggles...but it's my favorite version that is on YouTube. Barley Juice *must* cover this song....it's my theme.

Time

Time. Once upon a time, I had a dog named time, mother time. In my home there are 5 clocks, not counting the computer and the hour glass and all the broken pocket watches...but 5 clocks that supposedly work. And a calender. Yet there isn't one that has the same time, let alone the right time- they are all on their own interpretation of the world.

Time is infinite, vast, endless but I never have enough of it- life goes by quickly, then an hour can be all eternity. I'm not quite sure how it works, or how we can just decide that certain times of the year, or certain places we can time travel without problems. Shift in time from state to state, spring forward and fall back, another birthday, another anniversary, another bit of forever or gone in a flash.

The hour glass came from (where else?) the last auction- it is brass and sand and glass and has the endless twisting poles. I am caught up in time right now, feel endlessly twisted. How soon is too soon? What is there to profit by waiting? Carpe' Diem. Seize the moment, seize today- how long is forever? Doesn't it go in both directions?

I am afraid of change. For all my value on freedom and independence, for all my living life for what it is, for all the illusions that you think I am, the truth is that I am a very stubborn, set person. Being chaotic, living moment to moment is my set- time is what I make it, the here there and everywhere whenever I like. I am terrified of fences, routines, things, promises, obligations. It's like moving and school and relationships and even just saying, yes, I'll be there Tuesday.

This is new to me. Thinking about sharing my life with another person is very, very new to me. I am scared to death because it means that I will have to change. I'm afraid that I can't, I'm afraid that people won't love me because I won't be the same me as I was before, that I might (that I will) have to learn how to compromise. I'm afraid that if I don't do it now- when I want to, when I really, really want to- that I will never be brave enough to try again.

I want to be free, but I want to be loved. I want to be independent, but I want to share that. I am tired of being alone all the time but I don't know how not to be alone, but I do know that I am not just thinking about this so I won't be alone- it takes a special person to break that shell. I haven't been with a man on a daily basis for thirteen years... it's new to me. I don't know how to do it, and I can't learn it until I do it. Am I afraid that it might not work out? Of course I am. That is natural and normal and I'm sure that he is to. But he says 'positive attitudes!' it will work if we make it work. Lots of love and time and patience and wanting to make it work, working to make it work. Love isn't easy, there are no guarantees, there is only the possibilities for tomorrow, the promise of today.

swooned. smitten.

The chair. Big, old, comfy, worn- found it at the auction for $10.00 over a year ago. I acquired it so there would be two chairs in the studio instead of one- my leather chair that was forever being hijacked by boys. Or they would happily drag one of the living room chairs in, disrupting the whole house hold. When Mel is here it is her chair, when no one is here it is Max's...but lately someone has been here.

Iron, bread. Old chairs and long weekends doing nothing but talking- and talking and talking and thinking and questions and talking some more. and singing, we mustn't forget the singing. more talking. hamburgers and dishes done and talking on the phone with Mother. More talking.

What happens when someone who is independent and stubborn like me (ya think?) suddenly doesn't want to be quite so independent any more? What happens when for the last two years I bought into someone else's dream and was being gradually pried away from my life- freedom because I wasn't there often and he was never here, but it was a slowly closing trap that I sprung away from? What happens when suddenly there is someone else who is long and tall and unapoligetically himself sitting in my old chair singing at the end of a long day? Someone who works hard for who he chooses, comes home dirty and happy and tells me that yes, he is smitten. Totally. Who pays close attention to what I like, what I need and does it- gifts of iron and bread, shed cleaned out, things fixed that I didn't even notice were in need of fixing. Someone where everywhere we go everyone knows him, likes him and is pleased to meet me- tells me that he is a good man and that I am lucky- the little old ladies in Hardees, the farmers at the store, the nice black lady that owns the dress shop and who hugged me in Piggly Wiggly, told me he was 'like my own son' and god-blessed me up and down. The tinker-men at the stockyard. The folks at the auction. Smitten.

And I am swooned. Because this is comfortable, because he likes my friends, my doggs, my house, my ways. Because he tells me it is ok that I work hard. Because I cried 3 times yesterday (and I never cry- unless it is a dead-animal movie) but I did. (once because of the ending of Big Fish, once because I was happy, once because I was talking about Christmas and how hard it always was to take Grendel to his dad's house). talking, talking, talking. secrets and tears and what-went-right and what-went-wrong conversations. We are not perfect. We have been around the bend and back, we are not kids. We are opposites in many ways- meat and tofu, country and whatever-I-am, routine and variable. I drink more, swear more but he smokes cigarettes. We both love coffee and desserts, he loves bears and I love old stuff. He lets me drive when I want to. He likes Cici's pizza, shopping with me at Walmart (I take forever) and sings to the doggs as well as me. They adore him, listen to him, steal his socks. What am I doing here? Does first sight count if he waited two years to ask me out? Yes, because he is a gentleman. Because he made sure I was free, and recovered. Because it was finally the right time. Smitten. Swooned.

This is a long post, after a long dry spell, but this is important. Unexpected and important and a whole like jumping into a swimming pool- you think the water is going to be cold but it turns out to be just fine.

Tangle

Tangle of roses all over the cottage, baby bunnies in a nest in the garden, spring is all together in full force and it is Sunday morning. I am writing (finally! new computer yay!) Charles is watching the Johnny Cash movie and singing along (yes, he can sing) and all is right with the world today.

Sometimes I think of one thing and another and am not quite sure what is happening here but it is rather nice altogether.

In the meantime it is sunny and lovely and there are odd teenagers riding bikes up and down the road. I suppose they must of moved in a bit ago- one fellow has long hair like Grendle and for a moment I thought it was him- but the hair isn't bright red but blond...but almost as long. I miss the boy.

Update on life- all is well, working hard at school and work and the chaos of papers, prom, graduation and a million projects and clouds of glitter. At home I find myself staying up late, getting up earlier, ready for summer. In the evenings we are in the habit of sitting on the porch after work, talking and watching the day run down. It's comfortable and quiet and just right for right now.

Sometimes I wish I could predict my own future, more often I am glad that I can't. It is much nicer to enjoy the journey than to know when you are going to arrive and where exactly that is. I'm rather fond of traveling, and right now I wonder if I'm traveling to fast- life is rushing by moment to moment, and I can't quite catch my breath. In a good way.

Ketchup.

I have missed two whole days of writing and I need to make up for it...but my new computer is finally here and installing... have to put on the programs for editing pictures... but thing is, I'm back on line and just have to play a bit of ketchup.

Squink

I got squinked today- ended up looking like I was on the wrong end of the giant squid.

Actually, it is yet another chapter in my computer woes, this time dealing with the printer at work. I love my printer. It is an old deskjet that has been around since pender, and I love it because it prints heavy with ink... you can do all sorts of cool things with inkjet prints that you can't do with lasers- like make transfers and transparencies, move the ink around etc. fun stuff.

well, the printer has been acting up lately and today was no exception...but with patience and forbearance I printed a page at a time and endured. Then there was a horribly horrible noise, a sharp crack and *WHAM* a bit of plastic flew out and hit me in the neck (no damage) and ink squirted everywhere at full force. Seriously. All over the computer, all over the desk, the floor (lake-o-ink that was tracked everywhere) all over the side of my face, my tshirt and skirt (luckily, black was the color of the day) and into my shoes. Computer was first priority to be cleaned...then the other things...I was the last.

By the time I made it to the rest room, the ink had wicked into everything. It was between my toes, seeped into my bra, through my skirt and all over my legs. Of course, it was all over my neck, the side of my face, in my hair.... and I still had 2 classes to go. awesome.

of course, this added serious credibility when I went to see Dr. Sullivan to explain about my sudden need for a new printer... and one of my benefits of ink-jet ink is that it is fair tough...so I will have 'interesting' marks for a few days...rather like a badly tattooed sailor. Popeye ain't got nothin' on me! I is what I is and I is messy.

Lucky Tiger

This is a lucky tiger! Another pirated picture (sorry folks) this time from an auction site in Alabama. Ive been thinking about Alabama lately and T- I can't wait to visit her this summer. Maybe there will be an auction nearby or yardsaleing- we always have such fun!

I love Teresa (but I can never remember if it is Theresa or Teresa or how to spell it... but that's ok because I can spell 'T'). She makes the coolest things, always making something, always has interesting stuff around. and gutchies. and Teresa chicken, which is wonderful stuff. Seriously one of the best cooks ever, even makes gobs from scratch (mmmmmgobsmmmmm)... but even more so she is just happy and fun and has a heart as big as the world.

Alabama is one of my favorite places, it is about the *greenest* place on the planet. We get all dusty olive in the summer here, and Texas turns kinda brown, but Alabama has this deep dark jungly green that creeps up on you. There are secrets in the trees, in the tumble down houses hidden way out in places like Opp. In dark towns like Reston, where schools and stores crumble to dust. (I hope I can get my photos off Data... I have great pictures of Reston, abandoned schools and stores and houses. An almost-ghost town)

I like almost ghosts, and ghosts. Heavy spring rain and trees full of vines, soggy snoring doggs and company in the evening. It's kinda quite, and cosy, and nice. I like nice.

Witchy Woman

It's Monday night. I'm at school, having just emailed off my 17+ page paper on digital gaming and HOTS (higher order thinking skills). The paper I have been stressing out over all week, the paper I wrote around boys visiting, during my planning and ap classes, during my lunch and afterschool. It's done.

So I go to upload it and there is a notice on blackboard: "Someone needed extra time, so to be fair I am extending the deadline a week for everyone"

VARGH

tis ok. over and done, and I got a 100 on her midterm, so am feeling ok...except I think I'm going to eat my shoe now I am so freakin hungry.

Easter

Easter is springtime, and I always think about family, I think more so at this time than other holidays, which is a bit odd perhaps. When I was little Easter was wearing white tights and going to Church with Auntie Lou and PopPop, banks of white lilies and purple hyacinths. I love the way they smell, sweet and clean and like sunshine. Pretty dresses. Big baskets on the tables with plastic eggs full of jellybeans, peeps, chocolate bunnies (I especially love white chocolate bunnies), Easter pigs from O'Sheas (best ever- dark chocolate with creamy coconut), Russel Stovers filled eggs (mmmm....maple) and the little wrapped chocolates that looked like footballs (but were eggs). Mother would always decorate the baskets up with ribbons and grass, little pipecleaner chicks, crocheted bunny egg covers- one was pink with fuzzy white ears, one- for some reason- was black/red/purple. The bunny band would march along the iron chandelier, we would have dyed eggs set out. Easter dinner was clove-scented ham, potato salad, little fresh rolls, sharp mustard...

Later on, when I was older, we would go to visit Barbie in Charleston~ I would always want it to be warmer than what it was... but the flowers would be out, we would go to the plantations and the battery, I'd beg to go to the beach. One memorable Easter Mom Mom passed away- we spent Easter Sunday driving home in the car, eating soybeans (Mum had bought them at the GNC or something) cause nothing was open... that night we ate at Long John Silver's in Windber (I remember looking longingly out the window at Dunkin Donuts next door, but I knew better than to ask...)

When Grendel and I lived on the Island, we would go to sunrise service on the beach. He was baptised in the sea- it was beautiful and slightly pagan (ok, it was *very* pagan)... the service would begin with Chuck Davis playing the drums in the dark, telling the story of the creation of the world in his melodic voice... they always timed it right so the 'let there be light' part was at daybreak, where a piper would play 'morning has broken'. Indescribably beautiful. The church service would begin- Joe used the high Episcopal service- for the baptismal the liturgical dancers- dressed in white with crowns of living green vines and flowers- would gather water from the sea in clay jars. There was a low round clay basin, and the children where baptised in this while the dancers circled them and the priest spoke in a mixture of English and Latin. At the end R.C. West - the retired priest, an ancient black man with one of those low rumbly voices that
God must have- sang 'Go Tell it on the Mountain'. It was beautiful and magical and part of the world and everything in it.

Later, Barbie and I would go home to Pennsylvania to cook dinner for and celebrate Easter with Mum and Daddy. We'd make all the old favorites in the basement kitchen, Grendel would make many trips up to O'Sheas for candy. Daddy would hide eggs- some had jelly beans or candy, some half dollars, one a slip of paper 'HA HA Try Again'. We still have that slip of paper- it is framed and hangs by the kitchen sink, a reminder of humor and love and is excellent advice.

This morning I am having coffee in my studio while I write on evie. The sun is shining, the doors to the house are open, the flowers are overflowing the yarden. Grendel is at his grandma's, family is far and wide, and the dogs are happily chasing about. I am sitting in the sun, listening to the birds and the dogs, watching the beautiful shadows cast by the leaves. It is Spring time, a new year, and all is right with the world.

Hostage Bunnies!

I just don't know what is wrong with people round here- they have no blown-up bunnies tied to trees like they do back in good old J-town. Years ago- another Easter trip with Barbie and the monster- bunnies were held hostage all over J-town!!! They were tied to trees- with the eggs hung just out of reach- tied to porches- where they could see *in* the windows at all the treats, but no treats for bunnies!- they were tied to mailboxes, flagpoles, lampposts and even a car or two.

There is no where that decorates quite like Johnstown does. Around here you *might* get an occasional egg tree, or banner thing (and the polka dotted mailboxes are EVERYWHERE! is that a trend or just local? enterprising minds need to know...) anyway, Johnstown had yards full of bunnies, egg trees, Jesus crosses with the purple cloth thing (I know what it means, do you know what it means??) etc. etc. At Halloween everyone went full force with yard shows, Christmas was lit up extravaganzas... during the rest of the year most yards could be counted on to have, at the very least, an American Flag, a religious statue (if Catholic) or bird bath (not so Catholic), assorted bird houses and all the hedges muscled into fluffy green balls.

At Christmas here, there was an attempt by a few to do the giant-blow-up-snowmen things, but in a community of Rednecks, that just equals irresistible target for Jr's new gun. yep, yep. heh.

I don't have an egg tree or any Easter things in my yarden- just tons of flowers- but the yarden is more decorative than most, despite it's lack of grooming. I have a beautiful bottle tree, prisms hanging on the porch and....um... a broken lamp post.... (the smitten one is to take it down hopefully. It sparked at me when I tried, but he can do stuff like that. Or I'll turn it into a weird scarecrow thing...would be the perfect place to tie a bunny, now that I think of it...)

HAPPY EASTER!

sugar, sugar!

I should like very much to have some sugar, please, before I Watusi with the gang.

(real post later folks, this just made me laugh... ah...sugar... the cure for all ills!)

Brain-dead

This is me. It's 8pm, I'm at school, it's *supposed* to be spring break and I just finished a 21 page paper not counting the 3 pages of bibliographical sources and the pages of illustrations I have yet to do. I have to reshoot all the photos tomorrow- they were on Data (of course) and are lost. bleah.

But the paper is done- I just have to research and write the one on games before Sunday night... then it's on to the immigration paper. And it's so-called spring break.

I know I procrastinate, but I really *don't* procrastinate. Everything needs done, I'm just not very good at prioritizing or estimating how long it is going to take to do it...or predicting that computers will suddenly fail (bad word, bad word, bad word).

But anyway, the paper's done and my brain can be somewhat free of anatomical thoughts (though it's one of my favorite things to think on- I really should of stayed in science...) ok. need to go home, let doggs in. Sorry for being so very whiny this week, but vacations never turn out like you plan!!

Missing Thursday

I missed yesterday- first day ever! I didn't go into school, and while I did grade papers and go to the doctor I ended up taking the rest of the day off. Charles came over around lunch time, and we ended up just hanging out, going to walmart, riding around and the like... I really needed the break but now I have to play 'ketchup' and focus, focus today.

sigh. All I really want to do is clean the house and work in the yarden...of course, I realise that if I had to do that, all I would want to do is write papers. But I am determined- what needs done must be done and no good fairy is going to come along and do it for me.

What I need is a Heloise. I've been reading one of her books that I acquired at yardsale or auction, I used to love reading her newspaper column. She is always so positive and perky-odd, solves every problem with a combination of mesh net and turkey leftovers. A page or two and I am inspired to pour baking soda down the sink, make a casserole with soup, do odd things with vacuum bags. (of course, my vacuum doesn't need bags, but still). Sometimes I wouldn't mind travelling back to the time of Heloise-land, where I could have bridge and cocktails, feed the family with Velvetta and Vienna sausages (which were apparently suitable for appetizers for fancy parties... Sister Sue just had a wine-cheese party, bet the guests would of croaked if served Vienna sausages with Velveeta fondue and saltines)

Actually- that would be a wonderful April Fools! Invite people over for a 'nice' dinner or party and then pull out the scary retro foods. Hawaiian Spam kebabs. Tuna Balls. Jello molds bigger than your head- remember to add food color for extra vibrancy!

The sun is shining

the azaleas are blooming, the yarden a glory of color. I have got to mow...if I can ever get away from the computer. Seriously, not to complain, but I haven't worked this hard since I did boards over spring break ten years ago.

Writing. Grading. Driving between home (comfy) and school (printer/big computer). Eating raspberry danish (mum thinks he is 'smitten' since he brought me danish! yay!)

Mind is like a rubber band- focus focus on medieval anatomical illustrations (they thought the oddest things...and wrote all the medical books in verse) focus focus on grading the freshmen papers from the TA class (ECU rehired me as a TA for next year AND I got into the virtual reality class! YAY!) then the nagging back mind focus on gee...the gaming paper is due Monday (not as long though) the Hispanic paper due Friday week, plus have 2 diversity essays and 3 transcriptions of discussions to do... 72 discussion board posts to grade... flowerpots to paint (by Friday), doctors appointment (tomorrow- so she will refill my prescriptions so I shan't be cranky or tired), need to/want to clean the carpet, work in the yarden, auction on Saturday (I don't *have* to go...but I want to, and I want to see if I can bribe Doc into reading my anatomical paper or letting me take photos of his collection... he's a mighty crumudegon though...) Charles is coming over tonight (YAY!) and I've been neglecting the poor, poor doggs. Though Max is happy because he is sleeping in a cloud of pink flowers that bloomed just for him. Happy Max!!!!

Ok. All that venting made me feel better. Actually, I accomplished quite a bit so far today- laundry, mopped and vacuumed up muddy muddy paw prints, knocked out a good 5 pages of the anatomical paper (the APA style is slowing me down. Change one thing and you have to reformat the whole bloody page). Read and graded 25 papers, downloaded and printed 50 more. Avoided bad snacks. Took pictures of flowers in the yarden, washed my hair (it's getting long again- finally!) and am ready to leave school, go home... paint some flower pots. Put together the lawn mower. (I know- Charles *could* do it but I *like* to do things myself. It's a boundary).

and the sun is shining, tomorrow is supposed to be warmer again... may just get up uber early so I can stay and work in the yarden after I go to the doctor's... I need some fresh air and sunshine, pink flowers and a time-out.

Evie

I *promise* this is the last tech blog for a bit...honest. Well, maybe. I have tried and tried but Data just isn't going to make it... I ordered a new computer this morning, should be here at the end of the month. I was able to get Data back up enough to transfer pictures, so that day is saved.

Grendel, beloved monster that he is, did as promised and mailed me Evie- she came this morning, bright and early. I put the pretty cigar-girl sticker on her to make her happy... I like to decorate my computers though at work I am not supposed to (so...it's limited to one- just one- eye sticker on the monitor)

Anyway, the deal with naming things. We have always named our cars- Big Red, Q etc. My car is Traveller, car before was Nomad. I started naming the computers because early computers all looked alike- towering boxes of beige. With a name, the computer had a personality and once personified with a spirit, it ran better. (call it silly, but it seriously works!) All those annoying conversations were avoided: "Which computer should I use?" "Use the tan one." "Which tan one? The tannish tan one or the kinda tan one?"

So at school right now I have Lucy (the LCD projector) and Hero (the cpu that Lucy is attached to), Lola (the hard-drive. She is candy-apple red and 'gets around'. Imhotep (eye) my big office computer, Destiny (the petite white netbook from the library- actually, the netbook drive is called 'destiny' ...) Data (the big black dell at home, that is sick. Sad because it's like an old faithful horse that trudged along forever) Clover (Grendel's alienware. Named after the film 'Cloverfield'... nice pastoral name for one huge scary machine) and Evie (my little black netbook that is being decorated).

Anyway, blogs will be up late for awhile- have to post them at school (have to *go* to school during spring break in order to do grad work....bleah) because Evie hasn't editing software installed yet... but I'm glad she's home!

WAHHHHH!!!!!

Sorry for the crappy picture. I am using destiny (the school's netbook) and it hasn't an editing program other than paint...which hasn't changed since, oh, computers were invented? cranky. cranky. cranky.

The picture is of Data, my big dell computer. Data has been with us since 2002, has had serious modifications courtesy of the monster, and is an awesome computer all together. BUT Data is sick. sick. sick. I'm thinking the configure worm- even though I downloaded every up grade, ran every program, *never* open attachments...except the papers that I had to grade for my TA class...the papers and the images. The worm could of piggybacked on one of these but I DID EVERYTHING I WAS SUPPOSED TO!!!!! including writing my paper- which is on data somewhere. And yes, I backed it up, but the worm can also transfer via jump drive, so... scratch the backup, toss the jumpdrive (which I just bought!) say all the bad words and bring me a beer.

I worked on Data for four hours before work this morning- I finally got him to the point that he would load windows again... he wouldn't recognize the spybot programs, the ad aware programs, started running the virus check found two bundles then froze. After work I had to get it back to the safe mode, trying system restore from there, won't do that either. Is blocking me from the shells, irritating the mess out of me. At least Dan @ work is letting me keep destiny this week- Grendel has ev at SCAD. Of course I have 3 PAPERS due and all my research/notes is on data- along with my 20 kazillion pictures I've taken....sigh. I can recreate the papers, go into school to type (if the powers back...yeah, we had 'wind problems' today...) or knock them out with destiny if need be. (I'm getting the hang of a tiny keypad). ... I just really want the image files off Data's hard drive- they are irreplaceable and (of course) I don't have backups. And I can't take them again- my art is sold, Grendel is grown up, the dogs are gone and most of the buildings have been torn down... (and now I'm sad).... sigh. and I haven't budgeted for a computer but I need one for school. These little netbooks are great, but they haven't the muscle for the digital imaging programs or the virtual reality course that I am going to take this fall. I need to be able to multitask, run adobe without it freezing up, and program. whine whine whine.

What Pope did I kill in a past life?

Peeptastic!

Peeeps! Peeps! Peeps! They look so innocent and cute in all of their yellow sugary marshmellowy goodness... of course, this set is long gone- devoured before the camera was unloaded. Somethings you can't resist.

The proper peep must be yellow and peep-shaped. While the bunny is acceptable, and pink is permissible, other colors and shapes just don't have quite the same miasma as the yellow chick ones do. They have been around forever, set the industry standard, are a timeless classic of Easter goodness. I am a child who was raised on their yearly dose of peeps.

How do *you* like your peeps? Fresh out of the box- totally soft, or slightly stale- the effect of overnight in the basket so the outside is a little hard and the sugar is crunchy? I like the slightly stale effect, but it is soooo hard to wait for-- nuclear peeps or peepsomemores are unethical but tasty- a properly nuked peep doubles in size and becomes molten on the inside, chewy on the out. Peepsomemores happen in the oven- except I don't use graham crackers (to healthy) but the round Maria cookies (look in the Hispanic section)- cookie, chocolate square, peep. Multiethnic magnificence!

And of course, there are other uses for a peep- they are well adapted to car travel. While back Barbie and I (and Grendel, of course) would always go home for Easter to see Mum and Dad, make the dinner, celebrate the Spring. Not a short trip, but worth it. Ride home was fueled by Easter candy (filched from Grendel)- Grendel is a champion car-sleeper, and the poor kid was always smooshed under Pennsylvania-booty (Barbie had a habit of buying large household items on sale at Bosco's. Rugs, floor lamps...plus all the stuff Mum/Dad would give us...) and not only was he smooshed and sleeping, but we 'borrowed' his Easter basket! (He doesn't like black jellybeans...we looooove black jellybeans... I think hunting for the black ones was the original excuse...)

Anyway, on this trip we were right at the NC/Virgina line- think it's I-77, when traffic slowed to a crawl due to construction. Hours (I exaggerate not!) of barely moving, bumper to bumper creeping along. Occasionally one of our companion cars would make a wild break for it and drive down the median or shoulder- one of the memorable ones was a Garbage Truck towing something- a boat? Oscar the grouch on vacation.

Well...long, long, wait in traffic....Grendel wakes up.... sugar, sugar, sugar.... break out the peeps. Delightfully crunchy yet sun-warm mmmmmmm..... I blame the following peep-abuse on the sugar.

Out of boredom and silliness, we impaled a peep on the car antenna. It waved proudly in the wind as we creeped round the mountain...but as the speed increased it started swaying back and forth. Reasonable at first, but as we approached speed limit it was wildly whipping about- of course, directly behind us was a convertible- I was envisioning peep-related fatalities. Peep finally launched itself and flew into the distance- don't know what happened to it as I sped up and left the scene of the crime....

Beloved Nonsense

Silly. Just plain silly- the kids got me back. My intern Robbie (the tall mannequin) told me before class that DeShields (our secretary) needed to see me right away. I headed in that direction and she was standing- arms crossed and very serious looking- in the hall with Dr. Sullivan- I was certain that I did something horrible and was going to get fussed at. Not that I had actually done anything horrible (maybe colored outside the lines a little, so to speak, but not horrible) but still, authority figures make me nervous.

So I politely asked what they needed me for, to be met with blank looks and a 'we didn't summon you' statement...then serious wondering about what was going on.... my theory is that I was spotted with the FFA donuts I promised the class and they were busily acquiring them before I returned... but...

When I got back to the room, no kids. Instead I had an unusually quiet class of MANNEQUINS with the faces of my kids! What evil magic was this????? and yet...hum...maniquins can't eat donuts so there is an upside....

You know, all the beginning teacher books warn of doom and gloom if you become friendly with your students, dress unprofessionally, play. I am not a beginning teacher anymore, but I once was- and I dressed 'professional' was distant and strict, all business. It was horrible. I felt like a fake, the kids picked up on that- while they *obeyed* me they didn't *respect* me (two very different things) or like me. And I was afraid to like them, because that would of been 'unprofessional'... misery in heels. Then my very wise friend Mr. Dixon took me aside one day and said "Relax. Be yourself- you are trying to hard and it is obvious you are uncomfortable. Don't complain unless you are willing to fix the problem, do your work everyday as cheerfully as possible and to the best of your ability. (became my mantra). Teaching is like masonry (he was a masonry teacher) if you have a firm foundation, the building will be strong. But if the foundation is false, the building will crumble." Tough advice but it transformed me- not just as a teacher, but life-wise as well... I try hard not to complain (occasionally I still do, but I try to work to change things), stopped being someone else and started being myself. I literally went home and threw out the heels (so liberating!) and haven't worn them since. (exception is weddings and funerals, or if I really want to intimidate someone. Nothing like a tall large redhead to intimidate people...exception being Tommy Podlucky. He is a force of nature when it comes to returning bad merchandise or getting a bargain... but I digress)

So, who am I as a teacher? I love my job. I have had times of serious burnout, but that is true in any job, and was mostly school + life dissatisfaction + economic worry. I love my kids. They are kids- they can be horrible and frustrating and rude beyond belief, but they are also funny and smart and curious and delightful. We try to listen to each other, I try hard to teach them the things they need to know (which is not quite the same as the lessons... the lesson might be on drawing, or a craft, but student x might be learning to follow directions independently). Some of my kids are my friends, and that is absolutely ok. A surprising number of them have gotten back in touch with me after graduation- I love hearing bits of the rest of their life stories- some of them have kept in touch and are friends as adults. It does make a difference- and ya know something? Not a one has ever referred to 'oh, you always dressed so professionally! acted so professionally! you were *Such* a role model!" and that- that makes me smile.

Lavender Green

l love lavender- and days of unexpected surprises. The lavender came from a friend at school- see every year the teachers play this 'secret pal' game. You have a pal and every month you are supposed to surprise them with a gift. At the start everyone fills out this form saying what they like, when their birthdays are etc. It *sounds* like a good idea, *sometimes* it works out well, then sometimes you get things that are just not meant to be yours.

The lavender. It's beautiful, the good kind, highly scented... but the person who received it had a massive sneezing attack and tossed it in my direction. Received, appreciated!

Then King's Christmas continued- a random grandma donated masking tape, spray paint, pencils, sharpies. Someone at school gave me an old bottle- I haven't figured out what it was used for yet, but there are measurements on the side so I'm thinking medicine. Charles stopped by after work with another treasure- an ancient bottle of Castor oil, with a raised glass inscription. The way to King's heart is through junk! such a gypsy.

Thing is, I love the old things, the unwanted- I am happier with discarded bottles and rusty keys, dried lavender and side-of-the-road than I am with bright sparkly store bought things. (tho I do like some of those occasionally!) but the older things have more of a soul, and because they were found and freely given, it is as they were blessed by the universe, meant to be. They have already had a long life of their own before they come into mine- I like that idea of shared history, collective soul.

Iron and Bread

Charles stopped by after work on Tuesday with gifts of Iron and Bread. I was outside painting a suitcase, online monitoring testing- paint and light spring rain and pollen on the wind. He had been working all day tearing down a chicken house (no quaint little chicken house... it's a commercial chicken-farm that ceased use years ago and the landsman wants it gone...)

In the process of tearing down the chicken house, Charles found these keys buried in the dirt. They are old, iron, fused together- huge and mysterious- a foot in length from ring to end. A treasure, a find, a gift to delight. I like that he knows that I would be pleased by such things, that he noticed my keys hanging in the studio, that he thought to bring them to me. Iron.

The bread - every Monday he and his father drive into Castle Hayne and collect bread for the church to give to people who need it. He chose some for me- a boxfull! English muffins and bagels- both large and tiny, a soft white loaf, grainy brown bread that is sturdy and strong. I took the bagels to school with me yesterday- clever King hid them in a pizza box, played a successful Fool's on the kids- but they were happy with the bagels. I will take the white loaf today for peanut butter sandwiches- I still have packs of muffins and the brown bread in the freezer. More than enough. I like that he is a good man, sharing bread with others- that he knows the magic of giving and shared enough with me so that I could share as well.

Iron and bread. It's a simple alchemy of opposites- the old, the hard, the new, the soft. Freely found, freely given, passed on- a strong sustaining flow of simple things.

Feast of Fools!

The day of all-fools. Fools rush in where wise man fear to tread, foolhardy, leap of faith...

The fool. The card has a flash image on it, but I like it because it adds to the radiance...the card of course is The Fool from the Rider-Waite deck. The Fool is the first and last of the trump cards, it's number is zero, the number that runs around to come back to itself.

Fool is not stupid. Fool is innocent, trusting, curious- the belief of the fool in their own luck protects them. In the image the fool is moving towards the cliff- will he step off, or turn, or pause, or fly or just continue on his way... it doesn't matter, for the fool knows that things work out for the best.

Fools are new growth, new journeys, new luck. They are blessed- as for the dog what does it mean? It is small and white and faithful, is it playing or warning or a fool itself? Is it faithfulness, fidelity, animal innocence, care, companionship...the fool is not alone in the world.

This is one of my favorite cards, a happy card, a good omen. I love my cards themselves- they are old and soft with wear, handed down, I am not sure of the date of mine- they are of early printings: the colors are bright, the images clean and crisp. Later versions have muted, faded colors- they don't sing with the brilliance of the early decks. The deck itself was created in the early 1900's, with printing dating from 1909. The production company was Rider, the artist was Smith, the scholar Waite. Waite was influenced by Elphinas Levi (a 19th century magician) and each specific thing in each image has symbolic meaning. Love them.

I learned to read them as a child- I read for any who will ask, if the time is right. I believe in them as intuitive tools- the symbols and meanings serve to unlock what we know spiritually, intuitively. I read for insight, not for prediction- rather like a psychological perspective. I used to read for money, but I don't enjoy doing that~ I think that it should be a gift freely given, and if anything is returned that is an unexpected pleasure.