tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1094607324417736302024-03-18T13:28:47.875-06:00Confessions of a Recalcitrant GoddessIn the Vixen/Xanthippe/Virago TraditionBellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.comBlogger4218125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-65979858873400918472024-03-15T19:41:00.002-06:002024-03-15T19:41:47.808-06:00Beware The Ides<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVrqukV4vTN_kyMdHAaz5EkP_YVMVngNXVz9s0MygGmGoKgkIwd8pfG_z-UtH4zTITL6_gExaEY-r7meDftsteFmDJ6qfDcVybpzxxBcLzUghkQC5Q2Inht1nUcN6toarrtWa6Qv8bp1gdiQtHJsgTMBw89fZbKmbBSs8XB4sSdZR_-0OgBexLdwzWQ_s/s960/CaesarSalad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="891" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVrqukV4vTN_kyMdHAaz5EkP_YVMVngNXVz9s0MygGmGoKgkIwd8pfG_z-UtH4zTITL6_gExaEY-r7meDftsteFmDJ6qfDcVybpzxxBcLzUghkQC5Q2Inht1nUcN6toarrtWa6Qv8bp1gdiQtHJsgTMBw89fZbKmbBSs8XB4sSdZR_-0OgBexLdwzWQ_s/w371-h400/CaesarSalad.jpg" width="371" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-29712510103211791732024-03-14T12:48:00.001-06:002024-03-14T12:48:37.482-06:00Happy Pi(e) Day!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBY3sKFltL9de8TfjMMQtE8JfWFaQi-tgAmuJL_RXi2_0X_yeVMN9Kv8i2P0dqhit75A-UMESSAgnhha3vHvXtrUt8zIrXHwxTXuw3D_fG34pzK02rV1Kg6kGzNSYF9DpBxRBxr4v9G0FDewYTFpQKbp4BBP_FHiFP4bzv2Lx5ulMy0olTJ80iJNa0l0o/s4032/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBY3sKFltL9de8TfjMMQtE8JfWFaQi-tgAmuJL_RXi2_0X_yeVMN9Kv8i2P0dqhit75A-UMESSAgnhha3vHvXtrUt8zIrXHwxTXuw3D_fG34pzK02rV1Kg6kGzNSYF9DpBxRBxr4v9G0FDewYTFpQKbp4BBP_FHiFP4bzv2Lx5ulMy0olTJ80iJNa0l0o/w300-h400/11.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">We are kicking off Pi(e) Day with a quiche. Sage sausage, Gruyere cheese, carmelized onion, and mushrooms in a luscious, savory egg and cream custard. I think it's a pizza night. Maybe a movie. <i>Mystic Pizza</i>, anyone? </span> <p></p><p><br /></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-59899651835910737222024-03-11T00:34:00.001-06:002024-03-11T00:34:20.870-06:00First Anniversary<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">One year ago this evening I arrived at my new home. It was dark. It was raining. Fortunately, my studious porings over of the map prior to getting here got me where I was going. I was thrown a bit by unexpected one-way streets that ran me around in a circle. But all in all, things worked out nicely. Once through the four locks on the front entrance I opened the garage door and parked inside. Unloading in the pouring rain is no fun at all. Bringing only the essentials into the house, I managed to put up a shower curtain so I could clean off the road dust. Turning up the thermostat to a more liveable temp was in order as was the inflating of the air bed. After spending the better part of two days in my car I was pooped and proceeded to sleep for fourteen hours. It was a good first night's sleep. I like it here. Think I'll stay awhile.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-65715919928613844062024-03-06T18:23:00.000-07:002024-03-06T18:23:28.044-07:00Edgar's Long Lost Brother<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJIJBFuTA2PwltPxBq-UDNScetB7J048ZLO2wdMCqnOlUlG7k6yR1dWImptaU6Oz-q-rrI_RVB5vBvucozVNWF3zffpV7xDzQVi7jQTbP44rrUewqJDSBHduHuQ2vSaI1cckYTkVZAn5HnaeAMpAxuWlbnwjc7aE-zbr3D4u2C6_J7jnMnEKKxRpTHfc/s1921/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1921" data-original-width="1394" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJIJBFuTA2PwltPxBq-UDNScetB7J048ZLO2wdMCqnOlUlG7k6yR1dWImptaU6Oz-q-rrI_RVB5vBvucozVNWF3zffpV7xDzQVi7jQTbP44rrUewqJDSBHduHuQ2vSaI1cckYTkVZAn5HnaeAMpAxuWlbnwjc7aE-zbr3D4u2C6_J7jnMnEKKxRpTHfc/w290-h400/10.jpg" width="290" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: verdana;">Y'all know and love Edgar. My satyr angel fella that lives out in the back garden. He's been with me for over twenty years. After falling into serious adoration with him at a garden store in the suburbs of Minneapolis in 2001, I paid the ransom and brought him home with me to South Dakota. This is his current spot guarding a corner of the garden shed here in Washington. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpZwgIIZQD3V0WBzB1GsVriczabagJtxburnnvjuwlGUo1H3bKiiKRGdtEUl3z1soSAbUJkz4FJxdrQbIoekMBsx6dWPbtKVm_1xyQ7nIWxmchXTIHh8VCYhUWbxAVTmksj79PYXszZqX2AzS_7glGuRJ4KttgFgSvDmfybt3uI35DYGlm1BPES2VXPVQ/s2048/P1060037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1171" data-original-width="2048" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpZwgIIZQD3V0WBzB1GsVriczabagJtxburnnvjuwlGUo1H3bKiiKRGdtEUl3z1soSAbUJkz4FJxdrQbIoekMBsx6dWPbtKVm_1xyQ7nIWxmchXTIHh8VCYhUWbxAVTmksj79PYXszZqX2AzS_7glGuRJ4KttgFgSvDmfybt3uI35DYGlm1BPES2VXPVQ/w400-h229/P1060037.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Here we find Edgar with a bit of snowfall in the back garden in Colorado. He looks so handsome in profile.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7R-lfvUHz9FR46p3SnTtkFxryfg9X385AenUr-U6QpHlydPh_hix8Q4rKY7E4agrQ3aATHuVHnyiRbkR2B8p0eevZQr-6CxQR0rpwtpkm7YhhJ_gwoSQubVoPhNVAAshNt-CF4zIAC44Hyrc_0-LKy4WqcI2gbskOVkuAlNQUX1MOyfQl8vyzx51TQ4/s3072/2011%20Photos%20143.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="3072" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7R-lfvUHz9FR46p3SnTtkFxryfg9X385AenUr-U6QpHlydPh_hix8Q4rKY7E4agrQ3aATHuVHnyiRbkR2B8p0eevZQr-6CxQR0rpwtpkm7YhhJ_gwoSQubVoPhNVAAshNt-CF4zIAC44Hyrc_0-LKy4WqcI2gbskOVkuAlNQUX1MOyfQl8vyzx51TQ4/w400-h300/2011%20Photos%20143.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Oops. That's Poe in the corner of the pot.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg29sxNEA9dRV5ZXrm-pOEzW9b5bQ-wi8ar1nmYxdM6-uHjymV8g-mSwRotaEXW7erBT_EM7PIkSnhUOljq3RYP6dstASr9KKbmTFoj0hhyB7at8JgPZo2mpSuPVeyEOrunq6Fu6JvEKeyAacRSut_NpXQIBM9xQSIjSE7GJqjhjhThyphenhyphenjZA9W_zwOl2k4/s3072/2011%20Photos%20125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="2304" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg29sxNEA9dRV5ZXrm-pOEzW9b5bQ-wi8ar1nmYxdM6-uHjymV8g-mSwRotaEXW7erBT_EM7PIkSnhUOljq3RYP6dstASr9KKbmTFoj0hhyB7at8JgPZo2mpSuPVeyEOrunq6Fu6JvEKeyAacRSut_NpXQIBM9xQSIjSE7GJqjhjhThyphenhyphenjZA9W_zwOl2k4/w300-h400/2011%20Photos%20125.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Ah, yes. Edgar is being a very good sport over the fact that he is sporting bunny ears. I hope he has forgiven me. This is the back garden in South Dakota.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7kF6iyHXKsHFJTzUwsT9vWYEsJXjlRDIj-wcQHyoclNWjis-BQdLornXfb8GIw4SjC0IANWRVt_N-6-ZRh0u8RQS886fd1UF2STfuxUPSgW2XfHAkpFB86J4pnmV1Y9yHmx_wlS1eixoN0pryoBc6fBEWjTTK4xV-XTGZ9MThYFMa5k-rnTkV3rXrcY/s497/EdgarBro.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="497" data-original-width="426" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7kF6iyHXKsHFJTzUwsT9vWYEsJXjlRDIj-wcQHyoclNWjis-BQdLornXfb8GIw4SjC0IANWRVt_N-6-ZRh0u8RQS886fd1UF2STfuxUPSgW2XfHAkpFB86J4pnmV1Y9yHmx_wlS1eixoN0pryoBc6fBEWjTTK4xV-XTGZ9MThYFMa5k-rnTkV3rXrcY/w343-h400/EdgarBro.jpeg" width="343" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />This is another fellow entirely. The younger son sent me this photo. Thinking I might enjoy it because this guy, who is referred to as the Cargoyle, due to his resemblance to Edgar. He isn't called the Cargoyle due to his resemblance to Edgar, but because he is riding in a car. Just thought I'd make that clear. All I know is, I'm delighted that there are others who share my taste in garden statues. It gives me hope for the world.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-78284606299762465472024-03-02T15:32:00.001-07:002024-03-02T15:32:45.164-07:00Truth Path, Anyone?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ihsu1IWVZAKkp_FUXcltHmD9_R3SPzIFogZDGX5_hB4XSUp8vhuhIPIq1T3I16q_56MICMI3agIef0EKwKHd2tjUsB76yTd8UVl-44kWKqhufZtAb54FcRn1fut2t5rbKcpfCfZl6u8AwegJQ_MuxUwV6RIu6CI2dCV2K2l2Aj-SgjTNbJUsnWNLw3M/s680/ForkInTheRoad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="680" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ihsu1IWVZAKkp_FUXcltHmD9_R3SPzIFogZDGX5_hB4XSUp8vhuhIPIq1T3I16q_56MICMI3agIef0EKwKHd2tjUsB76yTd8UVl-44kWKqhufZtAb54FcRn1fut2t5rbKcpfCfZl6u8AwegJQ_MuxUwV6RIu6CI2dCV2K2l2Aj-SgjTNbJUsnWNLw3M/w400-h366/ForkInTheRoad.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-54050212865753246902024-03-01T13:20:00.000-07:002024-03-01T13:20:12.313-07:00Attagirl!<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It is March. I have not purchased clothing for myself. Yay me on my <a href="https://bellonaofavalon.blogspot.com/2024/01/resolute.html" target="_blank">2024 resolution</a>. Sixty days and counting!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-24281440000476069772024-02-24T00:12:00.001-07:002024-02-24T00:12:57.490-07:00Tilting Toward Theocracy<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kQKVwy-y_EJ74Qg-olvgoE6lUttTKnXyTxNWwAhAFa6MsdFZ4vz6nxqE1Ps25BItRcwBnXZBeVLBf-_v9K9LnvbKGBAEfCQc7eFkuKBVOcLtNanqfQXlhRY6ppttI7Hq15F7kglGYF6MgzCqddhlK0XX5qScGKqqSaPwYY_kaEzgpbovJQIUdik9kvg/s666/AlabamaFriedChicken.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="507" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kQKVwy-y_EJ74Qg-olvgoE6lUttTKnXyTxNWwAhAFa6MsdFZ4vz6nxqE1Ps25BItRcwBnXZBeVLBf-_v9K9LnvbKGBAEfCQc7eFkuKBVOcLtNanqfQXlhRY6ppttI7Hq15F7kglGYF6MgzCqddhlK0XX5qScGKqqSaPwYY_kaEzgpbovJQIUdik9kvg/w305-h400/AlabamaFriedChicken.jpeg" width="305" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I have no words. Wait, yes I do. How the serious fuck can you become a judge without a clear understanding of the separation of church and state?!?</span></p><p><br /></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGVJNcNRsGeDA0gkEYEq_5e_e4LRzBoAkHXpEEC7fvDFd18_UzLYp6tQ_ubPO-r0B_-tA47ayWdXSrMXCDrqgQKFaVXIbq27ckXpRP_GuXECMfrr_FFP4-yKtdoLOhylnkpb0pua4btwCwzc5gU3Wr7xn9wwGv7vyaxpeRfXelGF-6Moe2xXDFTMdsokI/s1440/AlabamaEgg1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGVJNcNRsGeDA0gkEYEq_5e_e4LRzBoAkHXpEEC7fvDFd18_UzLYp6tQ_ubPO-r0B_-tA47ayWdXSrMXCDrqgQKFaVXIbq27ckXpRP_GuXECMfrr_FFP4-yKtdoLOhylnkpb0pua4btwCwzc5gU3Wr7xn9wwGv7vyaxpeRfXelGF-6Moe2xXDFTMdsokI/w320-h320/AlabamaEgg1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: verdana;">Eligible for the carpool lane. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-7485593568502195502024-02-18T22:37:00.000-07:002024-02-18T22:37:32.481-07:00My Contemplative Month<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4YMa9nFzrCIcbDwvVVCBRtWHF5kTOMtuAYxjRtf7ylv_X12nypobTttJ65ZwnXQ7vL4Zft16PyUWKRebr8nGyiehx51tTUpuehmrDpfzvSusQiYdOl6WfkUky9Qdmj6ScihTAOWx5xoSUfRJoHCjqE5mjnVAD5H0xJF0i-uJUIk7RgdCiJEPJyt6m9Y/s564/Marriage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4YMa9nFzrCIcbDwvVVCBRtWHF5kTOMtuAYxjRtf7ylv_X12nypobTttJ65ZwnXQ7vL4Zft16PyUWKRebr8nGyiehx51tTUpuehmrDpfzvSusQiYdOl6WfkUky9Qdmj6ScihTAOWx5xoSUfRJoHCjqE5mjnVAD5H0xJF0i-uJUIk7RgdCiJEPJyt6m9Y/w200-h200/Marriage.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Thirty-eight years ago today was my wedding day. Which means I have been single again for nearly as long as I was married. Today is no longer a day that I celebrate, nor is it a day that triggers great sorrow or joy. It's a fact. February, for me, is riddled with dates that do trigger deep emotions. Obviously the 14th, Valentine's Day. And while it has been some time since I had a romantic partner in my life, it has come to be a day of gratitude for all the forms of love that do exist for me. I celebrate that. Yesterday was the birthday of my brother Cullen, whom I have written about here many times. He would have been sixty. A number of years ago I arrived at a place where his birthday triggers more love and happiness for having known him than sadness over his death. Though I still feel as though I should be able to pick up my phone and give him a call. So we could do what we used to do. Talk about everything and nothing, the ridiculous as well as the sublime. I still have some of his ashes that I plan to inter when I plant a tree for him here. February 21st is a difficult day. What happened on that day not too many years ago became a source of fear and pain, and for some time triggered panic attacks and anxiety. I have mostly worked my way through those negative reactions, I remind myself that it is also my dear friend Sara's birthday and focus on that. A Leap year is upon us which reminds me that my friend Tigh will be all of nine years old the end of the month. The twenty-ninth is also the day that my father died four years ago. I was not close to my father. At the time of his death I had not seen him since 1993, nearly twenty-seven years. I've searched his name on the internets a few times and still have not seen a death notice or obituary. This means part of my lizard brain would not be surprised should he appear at my door. My rational brain tells me that he was suffering from dementia and did not know how to Google so it's not likely at all that he would be able to find me. Eleven more days to contemplate. Let's hope for the best.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span> </p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-33053882438582490762024-02-14T19:46:00.000-07:002024-02-14T19:46:18.402-07:00Can We Talk?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5I4XF1j5UZrC931ag3X2S8CIgyTqSZW3D-OZ_658rwbZYUz5UGw8FOnR1Zsh0iV95mzsgfqQVI650gPR1SYSUz9kaKOkUmio3Wjdvvcssi_JAYh4VADbRxPBnon-S-Ur2ADXZMgXI4WvKAlgtchkXVMqNCcW-sIalh0vOCHLtdR3TSMMn9dkN2RNkVU/s251/JessicaLangeLillieMae.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="201" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5I4XF1j5UZrC931ag3X2S8CIgyTqSZW3D-OZ_658rwbZYUz5UGw8FOnR1Zsh0iV95mzsgfqQVI650gPR1SYSUz9kaKOkUmio3Wjdvvcssi_JAYh4VADbRxPBnon-S-Ur2ADXZMgXI4WvKAlgtchkXVMqNCcW-sIalh0vOCHLtdR3TSMMn9dkN2RNkVU/w320-h400/JessicaLangeLillieMae.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Here we see Jessica Lange portraying the faded, somewhat dusty Southern belle, Lillie Mae Faulk Capote in the series <i>Feud: Capote vs the Swans</i>. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdnsstUl6_yQyUI_Swd-I8iVVMeuwHfoFwHrivL3cwOYCuGl3pp_gPY8cF11xyt_FhAXf9GzLvsuw8xic2Wq9YXtFYVj5VWELucmO3hVUKxpelwuBvNNRGdgKyHQCdU0TCnMRIuuKAqyJzHIBkjV-Q7swvRXySOKg91JeD63rbTs-kxBjhRYyAHjt_pM/s332/Madame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="332" data-original-width="236" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdnsstUl6_yQyUI_Swd-I8iVVMeuwHfoFwHrivL3cwOYCuGl3pp_gPY8cF11xyt_FhAXf9GzLvsuw8xic2Wq9YXtFYVj5VWELucmO3hVUKxpelwuBvNNRGdgKyHQCdU0TCnMRIuuKAqyJzHIBkjV-Q7swvRXySOKg91JeD63rbTs-kxBjhRYyAHjt_pM/w284-h400/Madame.jpg" width="284" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Here we have Madame, the puppet created by Wayland Flowers. I see a resemblance to Miss Lillie Mae. Maybe it's the whole Southern thang. I'd enjoy seeing them together, dishing gossip with all their mellifluous charm. Sipping mint juleps. A couple of sassy magnolias.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-46888144097459746312024-02-14T19:09:00.002-07:002024-02-14T19:09:41.744-07:00The Mathematics of Love<p> </p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Asymptote
of Healing</b></span></p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bruised
and battered, broken</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Gaping
holes of longing</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Lingering
within</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Begging
to be filled with anything</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Something</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To
ease the pain of dealing</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">With
each new day that’s dawning</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mired
down</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the
persistence of living</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Without
what you named essential</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now
lost to you forever</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Acceptance,
faith and patience</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Close
and mend the wounds internal</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Approaching
</span>
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Never
reaching zero</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Healing
full yet not complete</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What
remains alive inside</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That
thinnest slice of quickness</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Is the
scar of lessons learned</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And
room though just enough</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For
seeds of love to grow replete</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>I wrote this a long time ago. At nearly twenty years post-breakup, I have to say it's accurate. I have healed, but there is a scar, the scar has faded.</i></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-12263781570885099192024-02-11T23:54:00.000-07:002024-02-11T23:54:13.550-07:00Super Bowl Sunday<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlctMvdkkScc0qOlPtcH-l8w3LJsLf7fJD-otzThk6WFgmGVYeF13A88eHczID3F3WP8FUDlTpAH-uJj_b8RmJWoMKtOEjSFXqT_q3M3HOnJDS4h-kt-Z8-66auT0obyUw8uhLmU6lFIN1EJnFLlWn3a_fK6IkIMlr-oo4738nAt6AtHaPmbaDNOMU1zw/s3072/P1070494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="2304" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlctMvdkkScc0qOlPtcH-l8w3LJsLf7fJD-otzThk6WFgmGVYeF13A88eHczID3F3WP8FUDlTpAH-uJj_b8RmJWoMKtOEjSFXqT_q3M3HOnJDS4h-kt-Z8-66auT0obyUw8uhLmU6lFIN1EJnFLlWn3a_fK6IkIMlr-oo4738nAt6AtHaPmbaDNOMU1zw/w300-h400/P1070494.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm not into football. No favorite team, no depth of knowledge on players, nothin'. But today's game, Super Bowl LVIII, was played at Allegiant Stadium in Las Vegas, Nevada. And that little bit of knowledge caused me to scroll back in my photos to November 2019. I happened to be in LV to see Santana at House of Blues, which was a most excellent concert. The next morning I snapped a few pics to capture the view outside the hotel room window. And what is that roundish thing just across the freeway? Yes! It's Allegiant Stadium under construction! It was open for business a mere eight months later. So there you have it. A rare instance of me knowing something about a football game. Pardon me while I ring up a friend in Hell to ask what the weather is like.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>PS: The Kansas City Chiefs won. Overtime. Final score 25-22. There is no joy for the 49ers tonight.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-37440475858425965392024-02-08T12:28:00.006-07:002024-02-08T12:28:58.529-07:00Mr ROY G<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS3UoJcusBkqcrz8aA7aKfsRG9A7BMNVP5fuK_cTZ-J2K4Uf_e-Kaj4E7bY7j1QERFGrESsN6ziHGDQfYxMafXPtjBQM5hUwE56ZQZ8DdcXGoUIO2SnKid0vCReZbwugXGWaQZ4ar4QHJ1XBR_ATXoZA3T2VHJgol9ttxZJHK4QaQIiNgv-mvjzso8MEw/s4032/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2477" data-original-width="4032" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS3UoJcusBkqcrz8aA7aKfsRG9A7BMNVP5fuK_cTZ-J2K4Uf_e-Kaj4E7bY7j1QERFGrESsN6ziHGDQfYxMafXPtjBQM5hUwE56ZQZ8DdcXGoUIO2SnKid0vCReZbwugXGWaQZ4ar4QHJ1XBR_ATXoZA3T2VHJgol9ttxZJHK4QaQIiNgv-mvjzso8MEw/w400-h246/6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: verdana;">Mr BIV was not in attendance.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-13491873237923682112024-02-07T20:40:00.000-07:002024-02-07T20:40:17.353-07:00Avoiding Filing My Income Tax<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I just ran across this scribbled note while cleaning my desk and organizing for filing my taxes. Which I have so far avoided doing. Because I run across interesting things like this scribbled note. I wish I could give credit to the author but I have a bad habit of scribbling things down when listening to a podcast or watching a video and then losing the scrap of paper on my mess of a desk. Sometimes for weeks. Months, perhaps. Which brings us full circle. I would like to share what is written here and hope the person whose mind it sprung from will see this and take credit. I think it's brilliant. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Infidelity has always existed, since marriage was invented. It's very complex and we can't reduce these multi-layered human experiences to good and bad, victim and perpetrator, and black and white. In relationships we need to bring back complexity, nuance, and less judgement and more reflection.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">This brings to mind a conversation in a grocery store aisle I had with an acquaintance shortly after I had become single again. It seems she had seen my divorce in the court news in the local newspaper. She blurted out a pretty rude question. She was curious as to whether I had been the slut or had my husband been the slut. As if infidelity could be the only possible reason for ending a marriage. I was astonished. I responded that I had not seen her in months, and if she was interested in why my marriage failed perhaps we should get a coffee or a beer and I would tell her all about it. But that never happened. So there was no sharing of beverages over which we could have had a real dialogue. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">She wanted a neat and easy answer that doesn't exist. She'll never know the</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> pain and agony over ending it, the months of therapy, the loss of intimacy, the anger, the passive-aggressive behavior, the concern for our two sons, the financial worries.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> All she wanted to know was if either of us had bumped uglies outside the sacred bonds of our marriage. I guess that makes for better gossip. And less contemplation.</span></p><p><br /></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-87555819352714906392024-02-07T18:10:00.000-07:002024-02-07T18:10:06.486-07:00Thank You, HBC<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWcHadh9BAnAHxDqKJI9v0hTEU_r6X6xndIw5AOccjPiuDveGK_tVcXHbaEo5ZcpURfYPnFvqw4UuwlhV9gIg_SB_G4QGtqFLxfDnMqmKgoIoxKxT_rsv_324p3kMBkfzevJfBaIXv93t0j9T0ZD2Obp_uYbCo1un02NKVS7J522TAyfrvjod7KRh5yso/s330/HBC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="330" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWcHadh9BAnAHxDqKJI9v0hTEU_r6X6xndIw5AOccjPiuDveGK_tVcXHbaEo5ZcpURfYPnFvqw4UuwlhV9gIg_SB_G4QGtqFLxfDnMqmKgoIoxKxT_rsv_324p3kMBkfzevJfBaIXv93t0j9T0ZD2Obp_uYbCo1un02NKVS7J522TAyfrvjod7KRh5yso/w400-h400/HBC.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Some days I wake up in the morning with my hair doing a second rate homage to Helena Bonham Carter. And I think to myself, this is going to be a magickal day.</span><p></p><p> </p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-2110009184012638182024-02-01T13:17:00.000-07:002024-02-01T13:17:07.648-07:00Mother Earth Awakens<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaBfjCxq628pcFfj_Htux0GSyvTioLUtjYrzo3CLEH87YJ0avv7mqOiQwSOWL2v5g1zMmIGkI2WVXjGrShNBcZql23Jq4z5qaLPawXiLQay_qPQIswOQ3kIBAJvY5k918eIlom2mmoYOsBe7BhZcVAsyZWP20zbYy_NYueJ_P7110kBqHsK6sDOD_UeQk/s1200/Imbolc3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="834" data-original-width="1200" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaBfjCxq628pcFfj_Htux0GSyvTioLUtjYrzo3CLEH87YJ0avv7mqOiQwSOWL2v5g1zMmIGkI2WVXjGrShNBcZql23Jq4z5qaLPawXiLQay_qPQIswOQ3kIBAJvY5k918eIlom2mmoYOsBe7BhZcVAsyZWP20zbYy_NYueJ_P7110kBqHsK6sDOD_UeQk/w400-h278/Imbolc3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-31522758872126803302024-01-31T14:02:00.000-07:002024-01-31T14:02:17.521-07:00Seventeen<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeaEXjUgszgNHwQproRm6QSiFmWn1P0ZoxVRFJL13N6c3hcQi7nhP2M4rKtFhFUifjxUe7laD9vmwtbfqJrbQJCm6MkPdr5DrrHftvB7J-7AP6uEjEsWS6RxOjeeHPG41UOaoCLB0OLdxwROMgtEBkWCOTjlplVV2ynmVDA5vjgbq54oCWXhCJ3boC6U/s500/SeventeenCandles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeaEXjUgszgNHwQproRm6QSiFmWn1P0ZoxVRFJL13N6c3hcQi7nhP2M4rKtFhFUifjxUe7laD9vmwtbfqJrbQJCm6MkPdr5DrrHftvB7J-7AP6uEjEsWS6RxOjeeHPG41UOaoCLB0OLdxwROMgtEBkWCOTjlplVV2ynmVDA5vjgbq54oCWXhCJ3boC6U/w400-h200/SeventeenCandles.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Seventeen years ago today I created my first blog post under this banner. Although in those times I was the "perimenopausal goddess". After attaining fully menopausal status a few years later I became the "recalcitrant goddess". I remain recalcitrant to this day. As of this moment I have 826,359 views and this will be my 4203rd post. I still have stuff to say and photos to share, although at this point I do wonder if I am repeating myself. I'm not holding my breath about perhaps getting a book deal. I have blogged and blathered at you from three states I call home and numerous temporary travel locations. Many of the friends and aquaintances who were blogging around the time that I started have long ago stopped posting. I guess I'm in it for the long haul. If anyone is looking for me, I'll be out in the garage finishing up the assemblage of a storage cabinet. Which is what it will contain when it is finished. Thanks for stopping by.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-16733458187365514212024-01-18T13:41:00.000-07:002024-01-18T13:41:26.259-07:00Neighborhood Cat<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfHZ470-JtuP2wMAHA9fNFBkqDmGU0x64mOPq4rR_4G4NhOYMGDsu6XMOsuQtV7wAFhXrAsm0DpUaEtjc0-OF-RslFToO_8FHNJfGwiNr3e34UzJ14DOoF0nAW0OlwMJ8hD8kqFMqlUk1Yu_sf2cpu-5HrHIFeyWS8KiL0yyl3RkVnB5o79jhq5quvXA/s3186/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2150" data-original-width="3186" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfHZ470-JtuP2wMAHA9fNFBkqDmGU0x64mOPq4rR_4G4NhOYMGDsu6XMOsuQtV7wAFhXrAsm0DpUaEtjc0-OF-RslFToO_8FHNJfGwiNr3e34UzJ14DOoF0nAW0OlwMJ8hD8kqFMqlUk1Yu_sf2cpu-5HrHIFeyWS8KiL0yyl3RkVnB5o79jhq5quvXA/w400-h270/4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">A Kliban cat lives a block or so away. Look at that attitude! The girth! I really thought he would speak as we walked past! Or pull a tiny guitar out of hammer space and sing the ditty about how he loves to eat mousies. I love this guy!</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-31945180764996117922024-01-16T19:40:00.000-07:002024-01-16T19:40:45.357-07:00A Long Time Ago in a Trailer House Far Away<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-OtBjdAnbbhc5p94kCYGcy4g3f10Ub3lmoxXtLmQz-zD1a2rNdwA3nCafAty83KcRzab-W5NdprjkMXM9LdCM4bMs9RTV1jkFIcY0v6QNQcv6Qzu7VFb8YOiL_tUAP_EmvNE04KMedatpMNC5O2VzYX0z8o0xpHbABXEekVPZZYexxpUeEdlRSth-2W8/s391/Norwegian%20sweater.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="391" data-original-width="332" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-OtBjdAnbbhc5p94kCYGcy4g3f10Ub3lmoxXtLmQz-zD1a2rNdwA3nCafAty83KcRzab-W5NdprjkMXM9LdCM4bMs9RTV1jkFIcY0v6QNQcv6Qzu7VFb8YOiL_tUAP_EmvNE04KMedatpMNC5O2VzYX0z8o0xpHbABXEekVPZZYexxpUeEdlRSth-2W8/w340-h400/Norwegian%20sweater.png" width="340" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">That's me, circa 1984. Short hair phase. I'm wearing the wool sweater that my Norwegian grandparents brought home for me after their first (second?) trip to the homeland. I loved that sweater but I had to wear a long sleeved tee or turtleneck under it to avoid the itchies. Which means that this is during the long and brutal South Dakota winter, making such layering comfortable. I have no recollection as to why my hands are tucked under my thigh in that fashion. These were the early days of the budding romance between me and the man I would eventually marry. So I'm smiling. For a time I think this snapshot was up on his cubicle wall at work. Now I'm in possession of it. It's a picture of myself that I actually like. Probably because I feel comfortable being me at the moment. Plus I'm beginning to realize that I'm in love. That should put a smile on anyone's face.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-52881219478339468462024-01-16T18:46:00.000-07:002024-01-16T18:46:25.604-07:00Burnt Toast<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIM4DJGVjcziKGK0GZmcWDKe6vEhbrJVIZYkRtO8_t7e-zKMQQh_lxR91MsznQ6enEWwC8-Aq65bVjCDMilcxSbI3pwzt3ovkqIu2RprPn3hoaSTEM-VRR1sExUpRQ0Qd_vkzasq4g1HDraBHci7x1hkqkRzQR2Pn04l88YTqb_eBRBkafh63c8DGruKI/s1600/BurntToast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIM4DJGVjcziKGK0GZmcWDKe6vEhbrJVIZYkRtO8_t7e-zKMQQh_lxR91MsznQ6enEWwC8-Aq65bVjCDMilcxSbI3pwzt3ovkqIu2RprPn3hoaSTEM-VRR1sExUpRQ0Qd_vkzasq4g1HDraBHci7x1hkqkRzQR2Pn04l88YTqb_eBRBkafh63c8DGruKI/w400-h225/BurntToast.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">This morning I prepared my breakfast as usual. Mostly. The tea was lovely. Somehow I was distracted when I lowered the lever on the toaster. Because I had already done that five or so minutes earlier. Resulting in toasting the toast twice. Rendering it charred. The smoke alarm went off. I disposed of the burnt offering which immediatly made me feel guilty. I started another round of toast which was toasted to perfection. I did eat the second round of toast. Since I like to do new stupid things rather than repeat a stupid thing from the past, toasting the toast twice was a novel thing to do. I hope to never do it again. If I do, perhaps I am embarking down the road to senility. Let's not go there. For a very long time. All I know is, it still smells like burnt toast in the hall. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-54322844729025857162024-01-12T19:58:00.003-07:002024-01-12T19:58:47.663-07:00It Snowed a Tiny Bit<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXeIqqyIBuyy7kZGq71Cp2zTFolDBvvVzmRkwSXR0OAXWZKd9JpbsHb-NgqP9OJGe9j3D9IVLeaS3GwnV5wDUyzesLuPl4FNEJqfLvERnAKbC8uQ2ZtF5lISD81qifsoVU1M8MMVAK-dUahDbriXxE_R6rvEabDIzG2eLSCp0YJPr_MZUn2cne5ckLvks/s4032/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXeIqqyIBuyy7kZGq71Cp2zTFolDBvvVzmRkwSXR0OAXWZKd9JpbsHb-NgqP9OJGe9j3D9IVLeaS3GwnV5wDUyzesLuPl4FNEJqfLvERnAKbC8uQ2ZtF5lISD81qifsoVU1M8MMVAK-dUahDbriXxE_R6rvEabDIzG2eLSCp0YJPr_MZUn2cne5ckLvks/w300-h400/1.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0oN_c73I93VGICHHGJs14DJkiCvCsBVrn4DYhTBYuV5j-_eXdx6MmNO4kf4wY9rDMr9taB0bISk0-9SnnhHCgtOd57rGuyw6mJBpz0EaBmuM-u-NNZOTqYKcEDU8RztAHEICz7e-zn8lmGQCRqI4PUP8JMYGLyTJaFL9EkBkuG6DFc4JHwtW-rhcQo9U/s4032/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0oN_c73I93VGICHHGJs14DJkiCvCsBVrn4DYhTBYuV5j-_eXdx6MmNO4kf4wY9rDMr9taB0bISk0-9SnnhHCgtOd57rGuyw6mJBpz0EaBmuM-u-NNZOTqYKcEDU8RztAHEICz7e-zn8lmGQCRqI4PUP8JMYGLyTJaFL9EkBkuG6DFc4JHwtW-rhcQo9U/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-15471578145828498062024-01-09T13:55:00.000-07:002024-01-09T13:55:32.617-07:00Elvis Would Have Been 89 Yesterday<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Christmas is all packed away. Snow is predicted for tomorrow. I have prepared for this stormy weather by stocking up on groceries. Despite the fact that I am an experienced winter weather driver, I will not be leaving the house. Due to the likelihood that I am in the minority here where that particular skill is concerned. I learned my winter driving skills in North Dakota in a rear-wheel-drive vehicle. I know how that shit works. In other news, my quest to return my piece of crap refrigerator may finally be resolved today. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">All I know is, I will never again purchase another LG appliance. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Stay tuned. To my great surprise, the little succulent plant that I thought was plastic is not. It is a live thing. It came attached to a stick in a Trader Joe's bouquet of flowers a couple of months ago. So after packing it away with other decor items to make way for holiday things, I found it had dropped some leaves and was growing little hairy roots looking for water! Now I'm trying to not kill it. And finally, nine days into the new year I have not purchased any clothing. Though in Marshall's yesterday I did covet a sweater while shopping for containers to organize my garage. I bought some baskets, not a sweater, and they will work nicely inside the metal cabinet that is waiting to be assembled. I long to have the space to park my lawnmower in the garage. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-30228010002996131082024-01-02T17:49:00.002-07:002024-01-02T17:49:59.110-07:00Resolute #2<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm certain everyone is interested in knowing that I have been successful in the second day of my 2024 resolution. I have purchased absolutely no clothing. Pardon me while I wrench my shoulder patting myself on the back.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span> </p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-58129474490663314052024-01-01T18:11:00.000-07:002024-01-01T18:11:00.857-07:00Resolute!<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I rarely make a New Year's resolution. But this idea has been percolating through my brain since I moved last year. For months now I have been sorting through things and organizing this house. And despite the fact that I got rid of sooooo much stuff before the move, I am finding that I am donating or selling even more items after moving. Much of this stuff is clothing. So. My resolution is to buy no clothing in 2024. Not a scrap of clothing for myself! None! Zero! Nary a sock or pair of panties or even a hat! While I am resolute to succeed in this mission a mere seventeen hours into this first day, I crumbled just a bit when I saw that $10 in Kohl's cash had arrived in my email. I reminded myself that practical things for the home can be found at Kohl's, not just cute casual wear and comfy sweats and jammies. I will let you know if I should break down and buy something. I know this is an uphill battle. Only 9% of people are able to keep their resolution for the full year. One day down, 365 to go! After all, it is a leap year.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-1235152587739180542023-12-31T19:03:00.000-07:002023-12-31T19:03:10.650-07:00In Review<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt5OvVz9gqpmRIk8m0uy6mg7LKFjpFqdUBiWXcdxk0fgs8wt1FHF-CPr9sxuURIOGXI8MGFoYve31SK1rAdAYPyueDNhj5TAJ0q2NZ5GUdpCwRd8kOC6hbZdqd4G7SYLNQbMHU0TmguRe5v1H7Z5LyCskBz7oPvdXjDtjbuwpEYwQYK_WMR-ZJ_rgUpGM/s225/Welcome2024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt5OvVz9gqpmRIk8m0uy6mg7LKFjpFqdUBiWXcdxk0fgs8wt1FHF-CPr9sxuURIOGXI8MGFoYve31SK1rAdAYPyueDNhj5TAJ0q2NZ5GUdpCwRd8kOC6hbZdqd4G7SYLNQbMHU0TmguRe5v1H7Z5LyCskBz7oPvdXjDtjbuwpEYwQYK_WMR-ZJ_rgUpGM/w200-h200/Welcome2024.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This has been quite a year. I sold a house and bought a house. I lost my kitty Newton. I moved to a new state! I'm still learning how directions work here. Because I swear this is a black hole where compasses go to die. I no longer have to adjust recipes for baked goods since I'm back at sea level. The son and I are having pizza tonight. We have agreed on the pizza but not on a movie to watch while eating it. I still marvel at going outside in a fleecy or light jacket in December since I'm used to this being the darkest, coldest time of year. I feel happiness creeping in and hiding in the corners, waiting for me to notice its presence and embrace it. I look forward to the stripped-down decorating that will emerge as I pack away the Christmas decorations. A bottle of champagne is calling to me. I must heed it! The best way to ring in a new year is with bubbles. Have a good one. Don't party too hard and make January first a painful beginning to 2024. Last of all, I am enjoying that today's date is 123123.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span> </p>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109460732441773630.post-60060150093457699092023-12-25T00:36:00.000-07:002023-12-25T00:36:33.280-07:00Merry Christmas, Mom<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic9uuVME_REwcWtWMMSFg6d2W3bzaCf_6QGnVVyY2GwYzyXJcvwhSzZmvrHX45EqHgBR2eLJXRpgOc0DXBPCemCJYjL_frcTB9O33ap9h820ltRI-66BNm1ubkApzyAOrBPzgeqQe4U4CL8h8Hb28s75B4J38ot9JlKNVtB3fBuXKK-3AW8F-najTfmPQ/s1195/momandme.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="1195" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic9uuVME_REwcWtWMMSFg6d2W3bzaCf_6QGnVVyY2GwYzyXJcvwhSzZmvrHX45EqHgBR2eLJXRpgOc0DXBPCemCJYjL_frcTB9O33ap9h820ltRI-66BNm1ubkApzyAOrBPzgeqQe4U4CL8h8Hb28s75B4J38ot9JlKNVtB3fBuXKK-3AW8F-najTfmPQ/w400-h275/momandme.png" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">One of those happy times.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div>It's Christmas Eve. I'm remembering how much my mom loved Christmas and how December 24, 2009 was the beginning of the end for her. Climbing the stairs to my sister's apartment she didn't feel quite right. She had a difficult time with the stairs and sat down as soon as she got inside. She couldn't get comfortable and she looked very pale, she couldn't catch her breath. It turns out her hip was broken. Even though she was in remission from the multiple myeloma she had been diagnosed with three years earlier, one of the medications that made the remission happen also caused bone loss. Which probably contributed to the hip fracture. So my sis and her son spent hours of Christmas Eve into Christmas morning at the hospital while Mom was in surgery. They did a hip replacement which is standard treatment for this type of fracture and she received full anesthesia for the operation. The elderly don't do so well with anesthesia, the meds are potent and take longer to clear from their systems. I swear Mom was never quite the same after waking up. She was often angry and confused and didn't remember why she was in the hospital. Later, when she was in a nursing home it was the same. She refused to do the physical therapy so she could walk again. Four months later, when Mom took a turn for the worst and ended up in the hospital, I flew down to support my sister and because we thought it might be the end. But she rallied and was placed in another nursing home and went into hospice care. If she didn't want to do physical therapy, she didn't have to. She could have whatever she wanted to eat. I returned home to South Dakota. My sister visited Mom often and took care of things like her laundry. I am so grateful for her attentiveness and care for Mom while I could only check in from a distance. Mom died the end of May, just six weeks after I last saw her. I regret not being able to be there. I regret not having the resources to pay for a better place for her to live out her final days. I regret not having the best long-distance relationship with Mom. I can't change any of those things. I live with them as best I can and try to remember happy times with my mother. There were so many. Now that I'm only ten years younger than Mom when she died, I'm thinking I should get moving on setting down my final wishes and sharing them with my sons. Make it easier for those that I love when I leave them behind. And make the most of the time I have with them now. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></div>Bellona of Avalonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10776849332711206094noreply@blogger.com0