Happy Solstice!

 

Kitties

Now that Freya and Luna have moved in, please be prepared for regular pics of these adorable girls. Having feline companions once again makes everything feel right. Please ignore the fact that I need to vacuum. Thank you.

 

At My Local Fred Meyer

Hello, Kroger management! This is a baguette I used to buy on occasion. As recently as a couple of months ago, it was priced at $2.49. Frequently it was on sale at 2 for $4.00, or $2.00 for just one. They don't make you buy two to get the sale price, so it's a mystery to me why they don't just put it on sale for two bucks. 

The most recent time I wanted to purchase this bread, I put it back on the shelf after I noticed the price had gone up. A whole dollar! Wtf Kroger! For an item that has less than fifty cents worth of ingredients in it, wasn't two bucks enough of a profit for you? A dollar-fifty when it was on sale? This is corporate greed at its finest. Shame on you.

They Followed Me Home!

Allow me to introduce Freya. She has come to live with us and make life more interesting. She is the best combination of cuddly and rambunctious.

This adorable little nugget is Luna. She is very talkative. Naturally she is already demonstrating highly advanced feline skills.

Couch-posing cats. Have you been mesmerized by their collective cuteness? All I know is, we certainly were the moment we spied them sharing a kennel at the local shelter. 

It Could Save Your Sanity

 

To: Kamala Harris

Re: Recounts in Michigan, Nevada, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin.

Our democracy, our world standing, the civil rights of marginalized Americans, and the sanctity of our Constitution are at stake. 

Interesting Idea

It's like someone was listening to me! Except Canada doesn't want our shitshow. Who can blame them. Colorado can be the central mainstay of democracy. A safe space. We all need a safe space.

  

We Are NOT Going Back

 

Aftermath

Let's be clear. Kamala Harris did nothing wrong. She hit the ground running with an excellent VP choice in Minnesota governor Tim Walz and only 106 days to campaign. None of us could have predicted the hate and vitriol in the hearts of tRump supporters. Maybe they aren't convicted felons, rapists, misogynists, xenophobes, treasonists, homophobes, or fathers who lust after their daughters. But none of those things were dealbreakers for them. They chose hate over love. Exclusion over inclusion. Revenge over opportunity. White man rather than multicultural woman. No amount of phone banking, postcard writing, or getting out the vote could overcome that hatred. They weren't interested in facts like crime is down, inflation is down, and that America has dug itself out of the post-covid recession to the envy of the other countries in the world. They just wanted someone to blame for how shitty their lives are. So they rallied around the candidate who spewed hatred and lies. Have I got a shocker for them. Things are going to get so much shittier for everyone, including them. Then where will they direct their anger? It's their own fault. They will have no one to blame but themselves and the Cheeto in a suit that they installed in the White House. Shame on them and their faux Christian values.

 

The World is a Little More Broken Today

 

Handmaids No More!

Vote for the candidates who will protect and give agency to the women you love and for the girls who will be women one day. Our lives depend on it. In other words, not Republicans.

  

Happy Halloween II

 What a cutie!

Happy Halloween!

 Yes. Yes it is.

For Those Still Undecided

 

Election 2024

 

Kisses are a Better Fate Than Wisdom

It's the birthday of E. E. Cummings today. I wouldn't normally know that, but The Writer's Almanac for today said so. The first four lines of one of his poems were shared, and I found them so moving, so descriptive of my marriage, that I wanted to read the poem in its entirety. I have shared it below. When I realized my husband cared more about whether my grammar was correct than what I was attempting to express, I knew something was very wrong.

[since feeling is first]

since feeling is first

who pays any attention

to the syntax of things

will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool

while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,

and kisses are a better fate

than wisdom

lady I swear by all flowers. Don't cry

--the best gesture of my brain is less than

your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then

laugh, leaning back in my arms

for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

Occam's Razor

The simplest explanation, or in this case, solution, usually is the best one. I never did need a time machine though my angst in that moment suggested it was a perfectly reasonable thing to want to procure. Sometimes it takes only a moment of clarity to find your way back to where you want to be. It's as easy as clicking your heels together and whispering there's no place like home. And it's interesting that my enlightenment took place this week after a morning of having my eyes poked and prodded by numerous optical professionals. Seeing well with my eyes is terribly important and I took measures this week to make sure that continues. Seeing clearly with my intuition and insight required some tweaking as well. Like the dilation drops placed in my eyes letting in the bright light of day, my change of heart and mind also welcomed in the light. Feels good to know that the only thing I need to hide behind now are my sunglasses.

 

This is Fun!

Maybe not so much fun for everyone. Most of these roles sound like work or poor decision making or perhaps victims. I'm a Cancer and I'll be hiding upstairs with my favorite Piscean. Thanks to Leo who's guarding the door. God knows what might be going on in there!

 

Yes

 

Inception Correction

Have you ever wanted a time machine? So you could go back and undo something? Something that on its surface seems benign, innocuous. But there it is. It happened and it changed me though I had no idea at the time. Life-altering things are like that, starting small and snowballing into something much bigger. Something has been put into motion that I could stop if I were motivated to do so. Yet motivation fails to arrive. It seems far easier to hop in the time machine and set the controls for that day and nip this thing in the bud before it begins. The funny thing is, in a year I will probably laugh out loud at this quagmire of my own design that I have stumbled into. Time travelling back would fix it in a second. Time travelling forward is a slog. I'll have to walk through it. Live it. No instant fix. At least the shitty haircut I got in August will be grown out by then. And no, wanting the time machine has nothing to do with my hair.

My Apologies For This

 

Or, more correctly, how to speak with a schlocky Irish Brogue.

 

Vote Your Conscience

 

What the Heart Wants

You are a romantic at heart. You believe in a one true love that is so strong it persists beyond the grave. Like split-aparts. You long for your other half so you will feel whole. Complete. At times you sense that she may be near, a scent upon the breeze or the way the light illuminates a space making the emptiness seem alive. You share bits and pieces of your theories about love with trusted friends but never the whole. You like being enigmatic, such mystery adds to your undeniable charm. It may be entirely subconscious on your part, but every woman you have formed an attachment with, romantic or otherwise, answers to some aspect of a deep memory from before. That very essense is what draws you to her. And when it doesn't work out, you pick up the pieces and fashion them back into a semblance of yourself and move on. The thing is, it's impossible to mold someone into your ideal if she isn't that woman. If you want her to arrive, you must be open to it. You know the safe places where you can drop your adopted disguise and let her in. She's looking for you, too. When you choose with your heart, wholly and without agenda, the split will be mended. You'll be home.   

Mabon Morning

Squirrel company! He blends right in with Edgar and the rusty pink flamingos. Except he's the only one munching on a french fry.

 

Brew of the Moor

A very long time ago I faced the fact that I have a tendency to overaccessorize. It could be said that I get into the shower wearing more pieces of jewelry than most people do when going out for the evening. This is mostly due to laziness. I have five piercings in my ears and the upper three of them sport earrings pretty much all of the time. I swap out the two bottom holes for bling that goes with what I'm wearing. Then there are the seven silver meditation bracelets on my left wrist that I have removed only for things like medical procedures where they make me! At this point I'm up to ten pieces of jewelry worn 24/7. I have more of an affinity with the number eleven, so today I added my Trollbead called Brew of the Moor on a chain as a necklace. I simply could not resist adding it for daily wear. The following was the script on the tag when I bought it.

Awake in silent darkness,

questioning reality,

among young girls dancing carelessly

in the brewing mists of the moor.

Hope usurps reason

when your heart is bewitched.

This is more or less how I have been feeling lately. Mildly distracted, not feeling anchored in space or time. Wondering when I might feel movement in the stars.

 

If You Feed It, It Will Come Back

I wrote this poem years ago. It perfectly describes how I feel tonight.

Feed The Beast

This isn't how it works

I tell myself

Not the way it's gone before

What used to set me free

Does not release me

Instead beguiles me

Tell me, please, am I insane?

Einstein's quote does not apply

Same actions always yielded

Satiation, calm and rest

Expecting something different

Would be crazymaking stuff

Something here has gone awry

Same actions are resulting

In a hunger deep and wide

Demanding to be fed

To be acknowledged, satisfied

I'm puzzled and confounded

Yet without question I comply

To be finally consumed

By this desire bound inside

 

Growlers

Roy Kent, as played by Brett Goldstein on Ted Lasso. Growls when he is at a loss for words or when he is aggravated. Sometimes both at the same time.

Matthew Clairmont, as played by Matthew Goode in A Discovery of Witches. He growls in a way that is both sinister and sexy. But only when that blood rage thing takes over.

 No explanation necessary.

Regrets?

How in the world did I manage to let this one slip away? Nonetheless I did. I suppose it was a little bit him, a little bit me resulting in the not working out. Maybe neither of us was ready. I thought that I was. It would seem that I'm still tweaking the formula. 

 

'Tis the Season...

...of fresh garden tomatoes and peppers! The reasonable thing to do is toss together a bowl of pico de gallo. I have sampled this batch and declare it delish. 

 

Fuckery 101

I want the full set! There really ought to be Fuckery for Beginners as an introduction to the art. Maybe a Fuckery for Dummies for those who need a simple approach. Perhaps an occasional addendum for new fuckery that has come into practice. I might procure some old encyclopedia volumes and rebrand them with these titles. Then tuck them into my bookshelves and see if anyone notices. That would be some advanced fuckery on my part. Maybe I don't need these books at all. I feel as though I have been practicing fuckery most of my life without the benefit of studying. Not evil fuckery, mind you, just the fun kind.

  

All Hail Dorothy!

Today is Dorothy Parker's birthday. In honor of that I'm sharing my favorite poem of hers that was first published in 1928. Let's hang onto our bloom, ladies! Defy cultural norms and scandalize the pearl clutchers!

The Little Old Lady In Lavender Silk

I was seventy-seven, come August,
  I shall shortly be losing my bloom;
I've experienced zephyr and raw gust
  And (symbolical) flood and simoom.

When you come to this time of abatement,
  To this passing from Summer to Fall,
It is manners to issue a statement
  As to what you got out of it all.

So I'll say, though reflection unnerves me
  And pronouncements I dodge as I can,
That I think (if my memory serves me)
  There was nothing more fun than a man!

In my youth, when the crescent was too wan
  To embarrass with beams from above,
By the aid of some local Don Juan
  I fell into the habit of love.

And I learned how to kiss and be merry- an
  Education left better unsung.
My neglect of the waters Pierian
  Was a scandal, when Grandma was young.

Though the shabby unbalanced the splendid,
  And the bitter outmeasured the sweet,
I should certainly do as I then did,
  Were I given the chance to repeat.

For contrition is hollow and wraithful,
  And regret is no part of my plan,
And I think (if my memory's faithful)

  There was nothing more fun than a man! 

Validation

 Over ten years ago I expressed pretty much the same thing. I wish I knew who left this note in a bookstore. I would like to shake their hand, bake them a pie, and nominate them for the prize that keeps people from reading awful books. If there isn't such an award, there ought to be. Go forth and read only the very best smut.

 

Uiscefhuaraithe

 Painting Credit, Josef Kote "Letting Go"

Uiscefhuaraithe is a word from the Irish language that describes the specific sort of coolness imparted by water. It's a word I have recently become acquainted with and I love the sound of it when spoken by a native speaker. When I saw a photo of this painting the image whispered a word to me. Uiscefhuaraithe. Can't you just feel the coolness of the water this woman is immersed in when you look at it? 

Sweetened Condensed Love Redux

I swear I was dreaming about this last night. That I had printed up fancy little copies that I was handing out. Or maybe they were hand-written. With calligraphy and an ornamental border. Flourishes festooning a festive flyer. Seems a bit desperate. Are these the desperate times I have heard about? Or merely wretched? For whatever reason I'm in a good mood this morning. So let's go with optimistic. And as I am loathe to do anything out amongst people that can be managed remotely, I'll just post it here. Look at me being all efficient and pragmatic while I'm still in my jammies. Click on the link and see if you qualify. Life is short and I'm fabulous so what have you got to lose?

 

I'm In!

 

Obligatory Cute Cat Pic

I heard that it's national cat day. Here we see Newton and Einstein when they were wee furballs. Kittens are ridiculously cute and these two are no exception. My tiger and tux. They were excellent cats.

 

My Insulated Life

Being without a series at the moment, last night I was browsing movies on Netflix. And happened upon the documentary Hate to Love: Nickelback. Knowing little about this band other than derisive opinions I've heard, I was mildly intrigued. So I clicked and the streaming began. Over its hour and a half running time I felt sort of removed rather than engaged. Increasingly I was feeling more like I was watching a fabricated account of some fictional band. A la This is Spinal Tap. Because I live a somewhat insulated life which leaves me blissfully free from much of the current and past pop culture, I have heard of Nickelback but have never heard, at least consciously, an entire song that they perform. Meaning that as far as I am concerned, they reside in the same imaginary realm as Spinal Tap. Today I feel as though I should consult YouTube for a sampling of Nickelback's videos so I can make a reasonable determination about whether I enjoy their music or not. But I feel unmotivated. None of the snippets of songs I heard over the course of the documentary inspired me enough to look further. Part of me wants to leave them where they are. Characters in a mockumentary about a band that people seemingly love to hate. I also wish to avoid a relentless earworm that could possibly get stuck in my head and overwrite a musical motif that I enjoy having there. Maybe I should just sit back and be grateful for the insulation. Enough interesting and novel information sneaks in through the chinks to keep me entertained. It's possible that I have subliminally set up filters so only truly provocative and worthy content makes its way through into my conscious brain. This has perhaps come about to shield my delicate sensibilities from an onslaught of the mediocre. I am, after all, a sapiosexual. I am attracted to intelligence in all its forms, not just the carnal variety.  

A notable difference between the two bands is that Spinal Tap had nine drummers over its incarnation, all of whom died under weird circumstances, while Nickelback has thus far had two, both of whom are currently alive, and we hope, well.

Happy Lunasa!

I have celebrated by baking an Irish soda bread for breakfast. While listening to the soundtrack from Dancing at Lughnasa. Put the kettle on, this bread begs for a cup of tea to accompany it. 

 

Any Questions?

 

It Loops!

Well, sort of. I should start at the beginning. If you ask me, an essential component of a road trip is the tunes. There must be music! Earlier this month I set off in an easterly direction across Washington, the skinny part of Idaho, Montana, a corner of Wyoming, finally ending up in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Having recently purchased all three of Hozier's CDs, I thought this time in the car would give me an opportunity to become more familiar with his genius inspired, intelligent, highly melodic catalog. In the very early morning hours (are we still in Montana?) I found myself driving into a brilliant sunrise as First Light, the final track on Unreal Unearth was playing. The soaring backup vocals fronted by Hozier's astonishingly soulful voice gave me chills while I was witnessing one bright morning of my own. The song ends with a few bars of acoustic guitar that left me feeling a bit sad that this spiritual, emotional, and philosophical journey of an album had concluded. Then this happened. The CD player in my car doesn't stop at the end of the final track. If you don't eject the disc it simply begins again, and we are launched into De Selby (Part 1). At last when all of the world is asleep. It did indeed seem as if all the world was asleep, with the exception of me on an eerily deserted stretch of highway. I momentarily felt as if I was in a dream. Unreal Unearth is a musical Mobius strip. All things might end, but we begin again. Thank you, Andrew Hozier-Byrne, for a most magical soundtrack to a very long drive.

   

On the Beach

Somebody built this way cool sand castle. All I did was take a picture of it.

 

Don't Let This Happen

Project 2025 absolutely must not be enacted in this country. If you are a woman, a worker, a veteran, a person of color, LGBTQ+, really anyone who is not wealthy, white, male, and Christian, this doctrine will ruin your life. Find a copy and read it. The Heritage Foundation created Project 2025, it serves as a template for what a second Trump presidency will look like. Do you know or have a child who is on an IEP in school? That will end. Is your current medical insurance Medicare? That will end. The Social Security you paid into over the course of your working life that you deserve will end. The tax-exempt status The Heritage Foundation enjoys is violated by the fact that they are involved in politics. If you love freedom and democracy and believe no one is above the law, vote. Vote Blue because your life and livlihood depend upon it. 

Simply Execrable

Message in a Bottle. What can I say. Perhaps the least original remark is that viewing this 1999 movie is two hours and six minutes of my life I will never get back. Though every second of screen time devoted to Paul Newman and Illeana Douglas almost makes it worth the painfully trite and miserable ending that didn't have to go that way! 

Jesussufferingfuckshitballssonofabitchmotherfucker! 

What is the point of bringing two lonely people together using a preposterous (but totally romantic) plot device when you're just going to wring every treacly teardrop of sentimental claptrap out of missed opportunities and shitty timing? When the credits at last began to run I understood everything. Nicholas Sparks. The man responsible for the novel this movie is based on. Wait, it seems he is half responsible for the screenplay as well. I think it's best I avoid any of his work for the rest of my life. All I have to say is, a way better movie could have been made using the Police's 1979 hit song of the same name as source material. It has a far superior ending. And a better beat. You could dance to it. Pardon me while I head to the kitchen. I need a bucket of lemon sorbet to cleanse my palate of this pointless movie.

Birthday View

 

Weird Human Interactions

 I had a short list of just five items that I needed to grab at the grocery store. I scored an excellent parking space and ventured inside. In the produce section I saw a woman drop her sun hat on the floor. I was an aisle over so it took me a minute to get over to it and scoop it up. I then proceeded to stalk this elderly couple for half the length of the store so I could return her hat. I called out to them several times but they either didn't hear me or decided to ignore the crazy woman in hot pursuit of them. When I finally got her attention she was very happy to have her hat back. They both continued to thank me profusely and followed me down the cereal aisle. The man then extended his hand in which he was gripping a five dollar bill. He wanted to pay me for returning his wife's hat! I said, no, no, not necessary, I was happy to do it. They thanked me again and turned around to finish their shopping. Things were pretty normal until I was at the self checkout. As I was leaving, a man who had two small children in his cart pointed at my shirt and said, that's me. Did I mention that I was wearing my David Bowie shirt? I was. I replied, you're David Bowie? He said no, just David. I responded, oh, good, because he's dead. He said, my condolences, and made a sweeping gesture for me to precede him through the exit doors. Both of these encounters left me feeling odd. I also felt myself longing for a more substantial connection with another human. One that cuts out the small talk and goes directly to soul searching questions. An interaction that would leave me smiling instead of puzzled. I'm out of practice. But I remember this sort of thing fondly.

Transparency

 

Failure

I lasted six months with my resolution to purchase no clothing. Half a year, not so bad as far as most resolutions of the new year go. I have fully rationalized this tumble off the resolution wagon. (happy birthday to me!!) I'm going on vacation. And it's nice to have a couple, well, three actually, new things to wear. Three breezy, comfortable linen tops for the summer. One was purchased with the Kohl's cash I recently was awarded and the other two were paid for with a gift card. So it wasn't a budget-straining shopping trip. I know, my resolution wasn't about the money. It was about curbing excess and wearing what I have. Let's see how I do the rest of the year. Maybe I'll successfully hop back on the wagon. You never can tell.   

Tis July!

Birthday month has arrived. I have purchased champagne. I am almost done painting. Did I tell you I have been painting? Pics later. The lawn, or the patchy growth of weeds and grass masquerading as a lawn, needs mowing. So many long, lovely mornings outside with tea and toast this summer already. SCOTUS has completely gone off the rails with today's ruling. Just snuck that depressing little tidbit in at the end. These are hard times for us optimists.   
 

Sunday on the Sitooterie

 

Skeleton Fellow and Lady With a Flower Head

Back in February I bought a couple of prints from an artist whose work tickles my fancy. I find it beautiful yet mildly creepy. So of course I had to hang it in my bedroom.

 I found these at Art by Me Cassie B. She does all sorts of whimsical prints with just a touch of the macabre. I am delighted that these are finally framed and hanging!

No Clothing!

 It's not necessary to strip. You can read this fully clothed. Unless that's not your thing. Pardon me for insinuating such a thing. The symbol is to indicate that I have not purchased any clothing for myself so far this year. If you remember my resolution then you will understand why I am so proud of myself. Buying clothes is a big impulse item for me, and it starts out with a little innocent browsing, then I see something cute, then I see if it's in my size...look! it comes in more colors! This is not merely a slippery slope, soon I am barreling down an icy conduit into a bottomless chasm. This is why I have numerous items of brand new clothing in my closet still bearing their tags. So. I have not bought any new clothing. Five months down! Yay me!

The Disaster Beyond The Laundry Room

I have just spent an hour out in the garage cleaning and organizing. I found the surface of my sewing table! I need to commit to doing at least an hour out there every day until it's not terrifying. Sorting things out and putting them away. Throwing away trash and recycling cardboard. Random things pile up over the winter when I don't spend much time out there! The putting away of things has been vastly improved since I purchased a steel storage cabinet and scored a large metal shelf unit that my neighbors were getting rid of. This is totally doable. I just need to do it. All I have to do is watch one less episode of Evil.

I Adore This Woman So Much!

 

Truth

 I can name them all. Can you?

The Miracle of Soil, Sun, and Seeds

The garden is planted! Four tomato plants, green beans have not yet poked through the soil, yellow and green zucchini, and cucumbers. Plus basil and cilantro. Thus far we have lost one cucumber plant and a rosemary. It has been cool and cloudy with the exception of a couple of very warm days a couple of weeks ago so this might be slow going. This is my third state to plant and tend a veggie garden in so I expect this will be a unique experience compared to South Dakota and Colorado. This is the sunny corner of the yard and I always start off gardening season with high hopes. There is something so lovely about stepping out into the yard and bringing in a just-picked tomato or beans to prepare for supper. Oh, I forgot to mention the mint. Mint is a magical plant. Even a brown-thumbed gardener like me can grow it. 

Brrrrrrrrr!

It is 64 degrees F in the house. It is 58 outside. I find myself in the odd position of needing to warm up a bit before going outside to work in the yard. It is May 25. I am running the furnace. Although I have fully rationalized this, I know that my stoic Norwegian grandmother would be disappointed in me. My chilly toes that are swathed in thick socks would be disappointed if I didn't crank up the thermostat. I have chosen warmth over stoicism. My Southern half has prevailed.