which leads to…
this:
I don’t know about you, but I can’t listen to (or watch) this one without a big dopey grin on my face.
I’ll stop now.
bugging out
I’ve lived in this house for nine years now. That’s the longest anywhere in my lifetime. And, as a house will after nine years, it’s starting to get dirty. There are a few parts of it I’ve never cleaned. Some that get cleaned every three or four years. Or not. Lots that I just don’t see anymore. Everything but the wood paneling and one bathroom needs painting. The kitchen floor is crumbling as I type. The cabinets need some restoration, and two rooms still need wood laminate floor. The front foundation planters are full of leaves and dying shrubs. We could use a home facelift and some curb appeal.
So I think I’ll leave.
Not forever. I’m going to Tucson to put some wear and tear on Mom and Dad’s place instead. When I get back, who knows. Maybe I’ll be spared all that effort. As good Texas boingboing readers know, if the swine flu doesn’t get us, the crazy Raspberry ants probably will.
pointy kitty
A couple of days ago I noticed that we were going through rather a lot of chicken feed out there in the coop during the dark hours when I know the ladies are getting their beauty roost. It’s the old chicken tractor, but I removed the bottom at one point to put better wheels on, so it’s not critter-proof. And so far so good; the only real predator at hand is our own dog. But we were certainly feeding something uninvited. So I picked up the feeder last night before dark.
Took it back out there this morning and all was well, until Milo the PITA dog came outside and promptly went ape shit. Barking snarling digging slavering biting at the deck–and from underneath, hissing and gaping mouth and teeth, which I had to quick make sure wasn’t a rattler. Between the decking I couldn’t see much, but finally I got a look at fur that didn’t seem to be dog, and then a snout. And then an eyeball, followed closely by resumed teeth and hissing.
I saw a baby possum once on my back porch and it was cute, but there is nothing cute about this grownup one lurking under my deck, actually fighting back at my fighting dog. There’s a malevolent look about the masked eye, the pointy snout. And you know there’s a ratty tail hanging there somewhere. I hope the dog has convinced it that this is not a comfortable neighborhood. The free night-time buffet is definitely closed for the foreseeable future.
All of which is to say, I’ve promised to get some writing done this summer–it’s close enough to summer already, here–and this is the writing hour, and I hate like hell to pull up a blank page and get back to work on Annie. Blogging seems a fair warm-up.
creation is messy–and expensive
The most wonderful money pit yet…and the studio is alive with new possibility. Elphaba, Dirty Martini, Leaky Pen, periwinkle, eggplant, along with white, black, various other greens and violets, comprise my new palette. So my advanced beginner beads will begin to emerge in purples and greens. And I still need a wonderful pink, but I’m not sure I can afford one.
You need gold to achieve pink glass, I hear. I’m not clear on what you you need for CIM Heffalump or Dirty Martini or Kryptonite, but I sure love the color names.
I took a class this past weekend and came home with a bulk tank adapter for my hothead, too. Endless gas — no, really, it’s a good thing!
no intention
What I was getting at in that last post, though I never arrived because I’ve been having trouble applying myself lately, is that I’ve been having trouble applying myself lately. I’m in a foul mood. Very unwilling to concentrate, to delve, to work. Very much wanting distraction. This mood comes around again and again and is the reason I can’t have alcohol in the house–drinking soothes this anxious beast for an evening, evening after evening, day after day after week, monthly, yearly until ten years later there’s still nothing done.
The only thing I’ve wanted to do in the past six weeks is go out and get some new baby chicks. Last weekend I mucked out the whole chicken yard to remind myself that this is not a good plan. What am I going to do this weekend?
paying attention
Last year I bought a jar of dried oregano. This despite having a half-barrel of the stuff growing out in the backyard. Oregano is one of those herbs I like best to use in dried form, and when I’m cooking, that means I want to reach out and grab the jar a few feet from the stovetop…not slog outside fighting off mosquitos, chickens and sunburn and for what? A handful of soggy leaves I still have to wash and chop and meanwhile the garlic has burned and…thus the inferior product in the jar.
Needless to say I never thought far enough ahead last year to gather and dry all that herby goodness before I needed it. You have to pay attention to things, to harvest herbs. You want the first flush of growth. You want to wait until just after a good rain, when everything is clean. You want a dry sunny day. You want to snip and tie stems, hang the bundles up securely, protect from dust and worse things. You want to judge moisture content, carefully strip the leaves from the stems, crumble into usable form. It’s tedious, if you’re wanting to be doing something else. It’s altogether satisfying, if you’re wanting to harvest your oregano.
Maybe if I really love you, you’ll get some of my stash this year.
