Horrorscope

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Meanwhile...

...the Republicans turn on the Republicans.

The Fate of a Red Shirt

Explains a lot, actually.

I Love Joni Mitchell

I've been steeped in Miss Joni's music the last couple of months. There's something comforting about having her playing and singing in the background that makes me feel safe and uplifted. I like how she flows from jazzy to so personal and stripped down that you feel she's in the room with you, then back to jazzy again. Her voice soars and lilts and she laughs and phrases a lyric like no one else can. I have loved her for years. My favorite albums are Blue and Court and Spark and I'm a bit embarrassed that I have heard only about half of her deep discography. Then about a month ago a friend posted this video of a guy deconstructing the song Amelia from Joni's album Hejira. I'm not a musically trained person so I find it fascinating when someone who is can explain to me why I like what I'm hearing. Then I had to buy a copy of Hejira. Because I didn't have it and I love Joni Mitchell. And now I have a glimpse into understanding why she appeals to me so much. I'm sad that she hasn't toured since 2000 and I likely will never get to see her perform live. YouTube has lots of vintage footage of her in concert and those are fun to see so I console myself with that and the CDs in my collection. Every once in a while when I'm singing along with her I nail one of her signature trills in a particular song and experience true elation. In fact, on a recent Sunday morning I was doing the crossword and listening to Blue and occasionally joining in. My son ducked his head around the corner and saw me with my nose buried in the puzzle book. He asked whose music was playing and I responded. He shrugged and remarked casually, oh, I thought it was you singing. He had no idea he had just given me the best compliment ever.

Powerful Stuff

I love these courageous, incredibly talented women. Let's change the world for the better. March on, Natalie, Emily, and Martie! We are with you!

Oxymoronish

A few days ago I was waiting at a red light. On the beat up minivan in front of me were two conflicting symbols. To the right was a Trump/Pence sticker. To the left was one of those fish icons indicating that the people in the vehicle are of the Christian persuasion. I have come to the conclusion that any religious faith has got to be in direct conflict with the policies of this administration. I'm familiar with the Lutheran variety of Christianity so I'll use that as a starting point. Caging children, separating families, militarization of the police force, denial of health care, and tax breaks to the wealthy are just a few examples of the destructive activities they engage in. A true in their heart Christian could never support these things that leave the most vulnerable in our country in harm's way. The cognitive dissonance in the brain of the driver would have to be so fucking loud! The decibel equivalent of a jet taking off every single second. Or else they have very thick, heavily insulated walls in their brain compartments that make compartmentalization not only possible, but tolerable. The current president is a pathological liar, a serial rapist, a raging narcissist, and a misogynistic creep who is daily dismantling environmental regulations, holding hands with Putin, destroying education, weakening the checks and balances in our government, politicizing the courts, undermining the free press, and allowing a pandemic to decimate our society. Here's the thing, if you continue to support Trump, you are not a Christian. You are not living a life that is modeled after Jesus Christ. You are an enabler of the toxic man in the White House. Your moral compass is broken beyond repair. 

Your Snortlaugh for Today

There Are Four Kinds of Paint

Boring front door. Cute flower pots! Lousy contrast between the brassy house numbers and the green background color.

I've had this paint sitting around for almost three years. Today, I paint the front door!

Turns out I bought expensive shitty paint, the worst possible kind. The other three types of paint in the paint quality spectrum are, from best to worst, cheap excellent, expensive excellent, and cheap shitty. Really, there are many more possible combinations on the sliding scale of expense vs quality, but these are the basic categories. This is two coats. Meh.

Detail of the shitty paint.

More detail.

And yet even more detail. While I love the color, I can't recommend buying this brand of paint. Ever. Tomorrow I need to pick up a quart of more reasonably priced, better paint in a similar color. At least it seems to have adhered well so I won't have too much prep before I repaint later this week. 

Yard Art

I wonder when someone will complain about this yard art and report me to the Greeley yard patrol. All I know is, if it hangs around until winter, this pile of dragon parts is getting festooned with a gazillion twinkle lights for Winter Solstice.

The Taming of the Yard

Dead peach tree. Broken rotting bench.

Dead peach tree gone. Broken rotting bench gone. In their place is an old metal bench brightened up by a coat of Rustoleum Mambo Pink, in the gloss finish. The tree stump slice was a gift from the neighbors and makes a sweet seat or table for your beverage or a pot of begonias. Sturdy enough to put your feet up on after a round of yard work. Those little plant plugs are creeping thyme that will fill the spaces in between them with a lovely, fragrant, and drought resistant ground cover that tolerates some foot traffic. Not to mention the carpet of tiny pink flowers it produces. Next up, more plants to put in the front yard now that the juniper stumps have been defeated. 

Solstice 2020

A basket of greens that decorated the Winter Solstice is patiently waiting in the garage. All we need is a still evening for the Solstice fire. Let's cast off the worries of the past and contemplate how far we've come, what we have accomplished. As the daylight shrinks a tiny slice each day until December, my greatest hope is that no one fears the darkness. May we all be safe and loved in the care of the Goddess. Happy Solstice!

Firstborn

Happy birthday, my beamish boy!

Probably the cutest little guy on the planet.

His first set of wheels.

Towheaded part Dutch boy with tulips.

Juneteenth

Validation

I thought maybe I was losing my mind. Thinking back to happier, simpler times. The early '70s. When my three siblings and I could eat at McDonald's for about five bucks. Well, here's validation! I might otherwise be losing it, but the five dollar bill Mom handed me so all four of us could get lunch on our excursion to Grand Forks was a real thing. Not that parting with that amount of money was easy for her. Yesterday my son and I got through the McDonald's drive-thru for just under fifteen bucks. Someday, I expect, I will remember that fondly.  

One Down, Three to Go

In the epic battle of man vs tree stump, man has prevailed.

One for the trophy wall. If we had a trophy wall.

Behold two baby lilacs. Much more attractive than a stump.

Do What You Can

Unhappy Customer

So. I've been trying to order this poster since May 5. From a company called Teehitra. When it didn't arrive after nearly a month, I emailed an inquiry to them. They agreed to send me another one free of charge. When that poster arrived last week the packaging was damaged. Crushed in the middle and one end was split open. The poster inside was rippled and dented. I was not happy. I sent photos of the damaged poster and they automatically ordered me another one, which I cancelled. I made it clear in my email that for over $25 the poster was printed on inferior paper stock and I did not wish to have it replaced, I wanted a refund. I sent another email to make it perfectly clear for the second time that I no longer want the damn poster, I want a refund. So now I wait to see what their customer service people will do. After a quick internet search, I now know that this poster is available from a number of etail outlets. And for a lower price to boot. Teehitra, you suck. If you refund my money you might suck a bit less. I await your response 

Taking a Stand

I have no memory of the 1968 Olympics. Nor do I have clear memories of the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr and Bobby Kennedy that year. The subsequent riots and political unrest existed in a location far away from the desolation of the western plains where I found myself at that time. I think as a child who turned eleven that summer I had more immediate difficulties to deal with. My family, sans father, had moved back to North Dakota after two years in Colorado and one year in Nevada. It was depressing and weird. The four of us kids and our mother were staying with her parents and it was crowded and tense until mom found work and we found a house to rent. The recent peaceful protests and riots in the aftermath of George Floyd's murder by a self-righteous policeman have caused stories from previous tumultuous times to surface, taking me back to a time of less awareness of the world. I ran across this inspiring story a couple of days ago and believe it deserves the widest audience possible. I dare you to read it without tearing up. Peter Norman was a hero, just as his companions on the medal dais John Carlos and Tommie Smith were. To take a stand on an issue during your moment in the limelight takes tremendous courage. I applaud them.

Rant

I don't feel as if I occupy the moral high ground, nor do I believe I am superior to those who have different opinions than I hold. But I do believe some things are flat out wrong, and that anyone who thinks slavery, racism, misogyny, sexual assault, xenophobia, etc, are just fine, I have one thing to say. Fuck you, you are wrong, wrong, wrong. Thinking such things are okay is an indication that your moral compass is seriously bent or perhaps completely broken. An interesting effect of my father's passing just over three months ago is that I have become friends on Facebook with three of my Southern cousins. One of them, a woman about ten years my senior, spews such anger and outright lies in her posts that I found it necessary to unfollow her. One of them is quite a bit younger than me, more educated, and seems to have more moderate views. She doesn't post political stuff all that often, mostly she posts about her pets and other cute or benign subjects. The third is in her mid-thirties and posts about her kids and takes a lot of quizzes to reveal her whatever or is asking for prayers for a person or about food with the occasional clearly racist meme about her flag, her heritage, her right to own guns. All three claim to be Christians which to me makes their political/social beliefs completely incompatible with their religious belief.  I recently came across a quote from the secession document from the state of Mississippi outlining their primary reason for leaving the union. 

"The Declaration of Secession of the State of Mississippi, paragraph 3.

A Declaration of the Immediate Causes which Induce and Justify the Secession of the State of Mississippi from the Federal Union.

In the momentous step which our State has taken of dissolving its connection with the government of which we so long formed a part, it is but just that we should declare the prominent reasons which have induced our course.

Our position is thoroughly identified with the institution of slavery-- the greatest material interest of the world. Its labor supplies the product which constitutes by far the largest and most important portions of commerce of the earth. These products are peculiar to the climate verging on the tropical regions, and by an imperious law of nature, none but the black race can bear exposure to the tropical sun. These products have become necessities of the world, and a blow at slavery is a blow at commerce and civilization. That blow has been long aimed at the institution, and was at the point of reaching its consummation. There was no choice left us but submission to the mandates of abolition, or a dissolution of the Union, whose principles had been subverted to work out our ruin."

I don't understand how anyone could remain proud of their heritage when that heritage includes the enslavement of human beings. Maybe it's cowardly of me to remain friends on social media with people, particularly family that I have never met or seen only once in my life. Since the 2016 election there have been a number of people who have unfriended me based on my liberal/progressive political views. Their minds were closed and any association with me perhaps reminded them of that, even if they did not realize it. At this point I am simply not ready to abandon connections when there is a possibility I could move them toward a more reasonable and fair way of thinking. I know that's not likely, but I do have some hope. Merely witnessing a change of heart and mind would be enough, even if I have nothing to do with bringing that about. For now, I'm not ready to sever those ties. 

Good Advice

I spied this gem of a personalized plate while I was waiting for my appropriately socially distanced seat in the salon. I could argue with the fact that you can't pee before you go, because if you're peeing you are going. It's a simultaneous activity. But it was a beautiful day to wait outdoors on a bench in the shade. And Bonnie did a quite remarkable job on my curly, unruly locks so that I can go au naturale for the summer. Wash, gel, shake out, go. A low maintenance summer 'do makes me very happy. So I'll let my minor quibble with the clever license plate go. 

It's Done, Part II

Look at those cute, sparkly beads! And how I used the platform plaque facing down so everyone could see how fancy it is!

And, yes, children, that is a McCoy pot. It's at least fifty years old but I have no idea if it's valuable dollarwise. It has great sentimental value to me because my Grandma Esther gave it to me with a plant in it, I think when I was confirmed. My brown thumb promptly killed the plant but I have managed to hang onto the pot since I was fourteen. The hoya that it now contains is a cutting from a plant I have had since I was eighteen. You do the math. I have plants to water.

It's Done!

I'm mostly pleased with how my macrame plant hanger turned out. My hoya fits in it just right and I think it is relieved to be off of that hot windowsill.

From this angle you can see a bit more of the platform and how the ends are finished with knots and the rest of the beads. It's always a feeling of accomplishment when a project is done. Mostly I'll be happy to not have to move the pile of craft supplies around anymore when I dust. Not that I dust that often. But you get it. Still no blooms on the hoya mother plant in the sunroom. The season is young.

Best. Sign. Ever.

Ladies in Hats

Facebook reminded me that six years ago today I was hanging out at a RenFair. Andrea looks so cute in this very fancy hat.

I look kinda dorky but I do wish I had bought this hat. Come to think of it, there are at least three times that I regret not buying a hat because it seemed frivolous at the time. Note to self, buy the damn hat.

Courtney and Andrea wearing tiny cute hats. Tiny cute hats are always in fashion.

Short Read

For your Saturday morning amusement, please enjoy this brief list of why the current president is so great.

Bye-Bye Junipers

The juniper jungle must go.

It is a more dead than alive thicket.

It obscures the view of half of my cute little house.

They have been moved from here...

...to here. Sometime today a couple of sturdy fellows with a pickup will come and take them away.

A mere four years ago I thought they were cute. Sort of like Dr Seuss trees. But they went rogue and blocked the breeze and light from the dining room and my bedroom. Coming soon to replace them, a couple of dwarf Korean lilacs and perennial groundcovers I'll transplant from other areas of the yard. 

Tuna Cake Day

There he is, my Newton. Named for famed physicist Sir Isaac Newton. He is fourteen today which makes him seventy-two in human years. He is my favorite little fur ball. Even when he wakes me up because his water dish is empty. Or his food dish. Or because he heard some freaky noise. Whatever. I am happy he allows me to continue to serve him. Happy birthday, Newt. I do love this miserable yet adorable little felid.

Season 3, Episode 6, The Statement

This episode of Madame Secretary opened with a car nearly identical to mine pulling into a parking space. The driver, a bearded, pensive looking man, was next shown in line in a coffee shop. Seconds after being asked by a young woman if the empty chair at his table was free, he opened his jacket revealing the explosives attached to his chest. Then he detonated the bomb, killing twenty-one people and injuring others. Because this incident occurred in the hometown of one of the Secretary of State's staff members, who also happens to be half Pakistani and a non-practicing Muslim, the crap generally hits the fan for him. By the end of the episode, where George Clooney is mentioned more than once but never seen, the staff member has been exonerated and all is well. I hope to live to see the day in this country where people are not judged by their religion. I'm just glad all blue Subaru Outback owners weren't taken to task over driving the same car as the bomber. Because then I'd be in trouble. Profiling sucks.  

Enlightening Words for These Dark Days

Thank You, James Russell Lowell

And what is so rare as a day in June? 
Then, if ever, come perfect days; 
Then Heaven tries Earth if it be in tune, 
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether we look or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten.