Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Kerfluffle. (and poop)

Today will mark the fourth plumber to visit our humble domicile.  FOURTH.  and this does not include the man who came to pump out the septic system yesterday.  I am lucky to have friends who count as the first group, because probably i'd have gone to four digits already in the quest for 'no poop in the sink' which i find to be an almost universally upsetting quest, which most people are well ignorant of...
my mother-in-law had a seizure on sunday.  we, here in the phone-call-receiving household thought that she was dying. She was not. glory be.  and we have been awakened.

it is school vacation week, yesterday rain, today glory. yesterdays destroyed trampoline has been fixed and i've made them clean the disastrous room in which they did their rainyday mayhem... so we start with some rooms in which there probably isn't any poop.  so theres that. i'm in a hurry for my radishes to pop, and for some fritillaria meleagris to show itself in my very own yard.  its probably the only latin name that i know, for anything, and its a cutie pie that i have never seen but for pictures... and it will presently be in my very OWN YARD.
i would much rather yell at that then poop in the sink. wouldn't you?
we have an entire area in the yard which is being consumed by grape hyanciths and my seven year old has declared it a grape city, and it has battles with another patch elsewhere in the yard. someday a photo, because its a calming battle, believe it or not.
i think thats pretty cool..
and i looked at my last blog post and there are all these doubly underlined words with ads attached to them.  what the heck is that? does that happen every time? doesn't someone need to ask my permission to do that? maybe it'll resolve on its own? a glitch in someone's kerfluff?

i await the plumber, in chain-smoking resentment and grossness...

Thursday, April 9, 2015

I have low blood pressure. (thrills yet? )

anyhow, i do. i have low blood pressure.  laughably low. rest assured, i am a living thing, i do have blood moving around in here, but it is leisurely... in no hurry to travel the whole shebang at anyone's whim.  and what this means to me is little, but weighty.  my extreme appendages tend to get cold.  aaaah, fingers and toes baby.  i try to keep them swathed in woolens but honestly, now that the winter has been crushed beneath the unfrozen damp, woolens are a chore.  and today is the most perfectly damp spring day, and i am in great sufferance with my chilly digits.  i feel in good wutheringheights-like company... british damp having the most literary presence ever. . .

i kid about the great suffering. i've got a barely sick toddler watching doodlebops, i've turned all the heat in the house down to a no-central-heating temperature, and i'm downright sexual with the coffee mug. i don't kid anyone that this is suffering. but, oye, my digits.

i'm making a real effort to write because i do like this aspect of my personality to have an outlet.  but it is hard.  things are hard here, and i'm weary.  my hubsJ has been gifted my dad's leather coat and while it is on him, its all good.  when it is hanging on the back of the chair, or on the coat hooks, the absence and loss are all that i can see. the small details like the snaps at the cuffs, the way the collar folds, how it would look all zipped up... the hanging of it suggests all its emptiness and i am all forlorn again.

 hubsJ says Yeats has something to say about that too, that only age can make one understand. . . but i can't find it, and yeats is sometimes too beautiful to peruse.

my mom is going to have to have more procedures. all is not clear.

the anticipation this spring is almost like an adrenalin-crash, if that crescendo/fall be possible. i'm waiting so hard it hurts. 

and i have the deepseeded belief in hope. and i'm heavy-lidded with cynicism.  and thats a hard mix. and one for which we must need weep. '

ah. i think i need to go peruse.  

best to you, 


Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Candy, arch-nemesis or sweet little bob of joy?

I had a complete melt-down yesterday while trying to re-glue, clamp and completely repair the top drawer of my kids' bureau, a necessary bit of work as all his underwear and pajama matter is currently spread flat all over the everything.
My dad used to fix things, just like me.... with lots of glue and swearing.  I got glue all over my sweater while i was carrying the drawer around looking for something to clamp it with... rope in the trunk, as it turned out.  glue glue, wherever you may be... for i am the lord of the blue, said he...
I spent a whole lot of my sobbing power on that drawer, got really really mad at my dad for being unavailable... its the first real time, i think, that i've been so damn mad about it, and was very glad that the little was asleep and the boys were still at school.  was able to chill out and wash face before they got off the bus- there just ain't no calming boys who think you're upset for mysterious reasons.  i try to limit the times i CAUSE their inner turmoils.  i do.
man, it was a rough go.  and yes, i fix things.  and like my dad,  they are bound to break sooner rather than later, again.   although he did tend to go WAY over the line and use lots of hardware on top of it all... assuring solidity through stainless steel.  he fixed the boys bunkbed with something like six different nut/bolt combinations, it was solid man.
but our biggest problem in the fix-it realm is chairs.  i have kids who act like kids and lean back in chairs, stand on supporting pieces, flip them for use in forts, etc.  and so they break.  and they get glued and hit with hammers and so on.  and so on... and so on... and all that my dad has fixed, has broken again and i work with more glue than can possibly be healthy.
so i decided after my breakdown, that i needed to have candy stashed all over the house, so that i could sneak and binge and feel like a very questionable personality while keeping it all from the kids and salving my emotional upheavals.
and what i wanted was a real live candy shop to go to.. not bags of branded candies at the grocery store or fancy expensive chocolates but  jars upon jars of choice, so i could make up a delicious medley of corn syrups and cane syrups and chocolates and dried fruited bits slathered in all of the aboves...
not that easy to find.  had to settle for a target binge today, but tomorrow i am skipping the gym in order to find my way to billy boy candies. i've got to find its website, but if i am giving in to my slavering desires, than i might as well go whole hog.  aha!


Thursday, March 26, 2015

what caged birds? what?

i'm exhausted. deep bone weary. rainy day chill. so, let that be the baseline for today.

not chirping.

wracking cough, keeps me up all night. back up bitch. back it right up. i even took a hot shower in the middle of the night, when i am so loathing of the shower, i can't even tell you.  call me bath girl. someone, please. its just a little weird.

'woke' up, left before the boys got on the bus, got my in-laws settled and took my mother, who wrecked her ankle yesterday, for a procedure which will tell her if she has cancer again. it was so superfast, i was still choking down my luxurious eggs-at-a-restaurant-alone when they called to say the procedure was finished.  i nearly ran down the waitress in my dash. nearly, but she would have coldcocked me if i had, so we're all good that i didn't.

i keep wanting to say 'supahflyyyyy'.  i'm too tired to fight the impulse.  my kids are going to be PSYCHED when they get off the bus- and when the wee gets up.  i'm hoping my mom wakes in a patient and kind mood, because i don't have any of those. i feel sort of stoned, but without the giggles.

the procedure was really routine, but the ankle busting? not routine, and somehow heightened my inner world (and, i think, my mom's) to a nearly paralyzing emotional seizure.  we say, feel, hear... 'well, if your dad was here.... i don't want to be a burden... if your dad was here...i really resent this ' and we have mother and daughter adjustments on a grand scale, a first 'caretaking', a first allowing 'caretaking'.. . and a whole truckload of fear, resignation riding side saddle, if trucks can have sidesaddle riders.  i'm too tired.

 It was the ankle, way more than the possible cancer scenario, way more than the invasion of the speculum... it was the goddamned ankle, the littlest inconvenience, the straw that broke us.
and spring is not yet enough of a force to stop this spin .


Saturday, March 21, 2015

GAH. you want to hack something?

you wanna hack something?  hack a piece of wood into splinters using an ax that really, in all truth, is too heavy for you.  and while you are basically dropping this incredibly dangerous thing into a stack of wood?  dodge the fucking chickens. -because they are back to living on the porch because it has snown.  ( i assume this is not a word, but it should be. snown.)

big digression:
there aren't any life 'hacks'. just life and we only get through it, some better than others, but we all end up in the same place no matter how hard we work.  better enjoy some of it.

back to the point:
but in my heart of hearts, i know that winter's back has been broken, and so this snown feeling is allright. i know spring is around the corner because i ordered plants to arrive in the mail, and i accept the responsibility of digging holes no-matter- what- is- happening, on the day they arrive.  it'll be good to have a drive, a hole to dig, repercussions to follow.
percussions, drums...
wild jungle calls...
my hubsJ.
my husband wants more from me: more variety in the food i make, more enjoyment of life in general, more gratitude for what i have.

i don't think of myself as a complainer really, so some of this takes me aback.(because i believe he must have heard me complaining, thus, i must be complaining. either that, or he's developed a freaky case of mind-reading which means we are totally doomed. ?)  plus, i hate to cook [its even more complicated than 'hate' and its so lame that i don't really understand my deeply rooted antipathy towards this necessary part of my daily life ]   and cannot easily imagine adding more dishes to my repertoire, unless they come from the freezer section, which would really probably make me feel bad to serve my family. blagh.  i don't really know what the whole deal is with my cooking and the stress i feel about it.   i spend an awful lot of time dealing with food, shopping it, getting it ready, having it lying about for the hungry urchins, prepping meals, setting tables, timing things, and all that.  there's a whole canned goods section in my house, for goodlordsake.
in my house!

there are people in my life who are wonderful cooks, namely most of the people in hubsJ's family, and hubsJ himself.  they seem to love it, get off on the glory of big production meals, feel connections between food and love and sustenance and all that.  they use vegetables and things like beans casually, and to good result.

this is not me.  hubsJ even suggested i take a class.  i wish we were in therapy, because i would so make this worth an episode. ;)

i'm thinking about looking at a cookbook.  this may be the end of the world.