Thanks Joseph

We will look forward to your return.  Don't get the assless chaps wet wading ashore.  I am not sure the glue I used for the bedazzling is waterproof.

Celery

I have a weekend ritual that revolves around food... Perhaps a lot of my life revolves around food, now that I think about it.

Sunday morning I wake up early to see the cooking shows on television. There are several to choose from, one after the other from early morning to mid-afternoon. I like to watch. I can't touch, & I sure as hell couldn't eat.

I also love these & other shows like Come Dine With Me or reruns of Man V Food when I'm fasting or cleansing. There's something about them during these times in particular that I really enjoy. I suppose it's something in the line of discipline. I like to know that I have control over how I sustain my body. & I like to know that I have control over myself.

Yesterday Goliath & I were talking about food; I was off to make a mulligatawny, a curried Anglo-Indian soup. He decided that this was a potential blog subject & that I should write something "semi-vegan"... I suppose I could if I had a notion as to what to say.

So instead you're just reading as I blather on the subject of...

Recently while reading articles online about nutrition, as is my want, I came across a new word (to me): thinspiration. Its web definition describes it as: 'Photographs or other material intended to provide inspiration for anorexia nervosa as a lifestyle choice.' &, well, that's not good!

On further investigation, I discovered that a lot of the food related habits, restrictions, & rituals I have are eating disorder related... & yet I don't have one myself... & my soup was delicious.

My father suffered from an eating disorder, however, as I was growing up. He seemed to pinball back & forward between anorexia & bulimia. Starving, fasting, cleansing, purging, judging, weighing, & measuring. He did them all.

These things I do are clearly all just learned (& somewhat parroted) behaviours. & I don't like that one bit. I am all for making up my own mind on things. So I've decided to work on changing them one by one until they replaced with habits that my more sense... 'Cause I'm a stubborn little thing & I refuse just to follow blindly in any area of my life. (Rawr!)

But for now I'm off to make more soup. Celery today. Goliath's favourite. ;)

[All complaints with regard this somewhat pointless &/ or half finished
Blog post should be addressed to Mr Tree. It was his fault.]

Oysters

I think oysters are a type of food that you either love or hate.  Myself, I love them.

A conversation about food with Sonnet brought this story to mind.

My son and I had brought some oysters to the tavern owned by a friend and together with some he already had, his wife prepared them and we put them out on the bar.  Deep fried with a bit of cocktail sauce, they were absolutely delicious.  There was enough that several baskets full of deep fried oysters were placed on the bar and most everyone was enjoying them.  Not everyone, but actually the majority.  My wife and daughter were not interested in them and ordered some deep fried cheese curds instead.  To each their own.  Like I said, I thought they were delicious.

After we had dug in, another friend came into the bar with his wife.  "Tom!" I said, "come over here and try some of these fried oysters!  They are great!"

"Oysters!" he replied enthusiastically, "I love oysters!  I make oyster soup every Christmas.  I love raw oysters!  I have never had deep fried oysters before!"  He strode over, ordered a beer, and tried an oyster.  "Wow!  These are really good!" he said, "Nothing like I expected! They are light and almost buttery!  Really Good!" as he ate 3 or 4 more, trying some with the cocktail sauce.  "Sonya!" he called for his wife, "come over here and try some of these deep fried oysters!  They are awesome!"

She walked over and picked one out of the basket, dipped it in cocktail sauce and took a bite.  She looked at me with an eyebrow raised as Tom polished off three or four more, and said, "These are good, but they are not oysters are they?"

I laughed and said, "Sure they are!  Rocky Mountain Oysters!  Beef testicles!"

The bar pretty much erupted and Tom, caught very much by surprise in mid bite of what was probably his tenth slice of "oyster" glared at me, finished the piece and stormed out of the bar.  I think even Sonya was laughing at that point.  He collected himself outside and returned shortly and called me a bastard.  I am sure he believed I was too, until I bought him a beer.

I love the other kind of oysters too.

Purge

Between crises, work and other daily chores, my wife and I have been doing a bit of Spring cleaning. Yes, I know it is late summer (what summer?) going on fall, but still....

We started in the garage.  A trailer load of what the hell is it went to the dump. A truck load of why the hell did we keep this went to the local twice around shop.  Several wheelbarrow loads of holy shit I forgot I had this were sorted cleaned and properly stored.  Before we knew it, we could actually see the floor!  Holy Mackeral!  You mean we might be able to keep the motorcycles in the garage rather than in my shop?

A pain in the ass, but worth the effort.  We literally went through boxes that we had not opened in over 20 years.  Most of what was in them had value....not necessarily to us anymore, but either donation or future yard sale value.  I found several tools that I knew I had, but had no idea where they were and finally had gone out and bought a new one...so now I have two.  I found a metal box with college papers in it including a couple letters from my grandparents.  Unfortunately they were mildewy and smelled...I laughed a bit reading them and nearly cried thowing them in the stove...but that is the way it is.

I have always been a "saver."  Much like my grandparents and parents were frugal and made do with what they had, I have always seen potential in what some people might call junk.   Hell!  I farm with junk...and do ok too!

I have three old skid steer loaders.  Two of them run and one is strictly parts.  The two that run need various things and should probably be classified as projects.  I had plans for them!  I have not used them for probably 5 years, but I had plans!  About a month and a half ago, my cell phone rang.  I did not recognize the number.  It turns out that this person had seen one of the skid steer loaders behind my shop and tracked me down.  "Would you be willing to sell me some parts off your junk skid steer?" I was asked.  Now to be honest, nothing pisses me off more than some guy who thinks he is God's gift to negotiation and just because there is a bit of grass growing around something it must be junk.  "No, and it is not junk.  If you would have trespassed a bit further you would have seen that."
"Oh...Uh....well I only looked.  Would you sell the whole thing?" he replied, not getting the hint.  "No.  I have three of them.  I might consider selling all three, but not just one and certainly not parts off one."  "Ok...how much?" he asked.  "I gave him a price.  A high price in my own opinion, but remember, I never planned on selling them in the first place.  "Oh...Uh....are you sure you won't just sell me some parts?" was the response.  "Nope." and I hung up the phone.  That was the end of it...or so I thought.

About a week ago, the phone rings and it is the same guy.  "Would you still be interested in selling your skid steers?" he asked.  "I suppose. "  I replied.  "How much did you want?" he asked.  "I already told you." I responded.  "Uh yeah, but how much will you take?" he asked.  "Exactly the amount I told you....in cash."  I replied.  "Well, It is going to cost me probably $500 to come get them and get them home and I was wondering if you could do something to help with that?"  Wait a minute?  Why is where this guy lives my problem?  Why does this idiot think that is a valid negotiating point?  "Nope."  I replied, "Cash money, no negotiating, you want them and I don't need to sell them.  I will help you load them up though and that is it."  "OK, I will be there Saturday afternoon."

So I guess I have sold 3 skid steers....the only problem is that the dumbass is coming with a covered trailer....I should not have offered to help him load....

The honest truth?  I probably never would have gotten around to fixing them.  I am roughly doubling what I have invested in them and I can use the space.  I can always use the money, but getting rid of something that could still be usefull is not an easy thing and snooping trespasser piss me off.  However, it feels good to not have the projects hanging over my head.

A clean garage, some space in the yard and a few bucks in the pocket.  Damn...what could I buy to fill that space in the garage and the shop?  It will have to be something useful...Maybe if I sold one of the tractors...I would have space for something really big...and rusty...and cool...

Heart of Darkness

Nearly 12 years ago I gave my best friend and teammate the trophy I won in the girls’ county basketball tournament. I scored a bunch of points but it was her acrobatic dribbling through double coverage and dazzling passing which set up easy shots that allowed our team to win in an upset.

We have been best friends for nearly all of our 29 years, toddlers together rattling the bars of the playpen while our moms drank coffee; in each other’s class throughout elementary, middle and high school; the same basketball camps, playground and school teams from a young age on; cheerleaders together for Pop Warner, JV and the varsity football teams; secrets, thrills, our “crushes”, first kisses and concerns shared in whispers over the years. Never jealousy, disagreements or anything near an argument except over boys. 

And while we went our separate ways when we graduated, attended universities in separate states, pursued different career paths and settled down 1,000 miles apart, rarely a week would pass when we didn’t talk or said goodbye on FaceTime with four quick air kisses like always...... “Chimps in love,” we giggle and usually add mad monkey snorts.

It was for me an entire new set of feelings and thoughts when a few months ago she was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer. I’ve visited her three times since her double mastectomy and between the surgeries and the near-lethal witches brew that doubles as chemotherapy, the toll on her is stunningly apparent. Long gone is the perky comet of a girl  with the quick-fire mouth eight inches shorter than me but always much bigger who just a June before jumped on the table at my wedding, demanded attention and delivered words about being great friends. 

Wisps of hair on a bare scalp have replaced long, thick brunette locks; dull and deep-set eyes without a sparkle stare back; constant nausea, many times intense and overwhelming despite a bevy of anti-nausea drugs; headaches, sores where the flesh is most tender, a dizzy tired and the inability to do nearly everything is her chemo-routine. 

I try to give her mom a bit of time to herself but she and her dad dare not let go for a single second.

I’m capturing this experience for my first blog here not because of the obvious drama but to admit I am a coward. 

I have never stared into death’s face up close.... the only funeral I ever attended was a grandparent when I was seven.... and frankly never experienced real hardship. I have been very lucky to be born into my place. Perhaps without a silver spoon but damn close. I have seen affliction, pain and struggle with my online friends, many times wrongly offered input, every day read about the pain and suffering on a global scale, but never cry. Gaza, Ebola, the Ukraine, starvation, disease? Outrage today but yesterday’s news tomorrow.

But now I cry thinking about my friend, a single person on this planet.

From what I read the statisticians from Sloan-Kettering and Cancer.Org say there’s a 72 percent five-year survival rate. Just great, a worse than one in four chance of living. My husband, who sees and participates in the battle for life every day and is familiar with and understands every molecule in my body and brain, says to believe in and concentrate on the other half of the equation, a three in four chance of survival. Yet, no matter how much input, expert advice and love heaped on me it is for me to understand and it is for me to learn to cope and create meaning from darkness. 

“Life goes on,” he would tell me with his clinician’s thinking if I was anyone else. He’s right of course. I need to get to that point. I just can’t do that.

When I catch my breath, the absurdity of the American health care system wraps its tentacles around my throat. My friend has very good health insurance as a government worker. Her father is a small business owner and her parents live in a town with upscale demographics. But fighting cancer the best way possible is absurdly expensive in the U.S. and the best treatment (yes, my international friends, there are levels of treatment depending on wealth including no treatment at all to a sickeningly growing number) is stupefyingly outrageous. The post-chemo regimen of Genentech drugs, not yet approved by her insurance, is $115,000 (that’s just for the tablespoons of fluid that will be administered bi-weekly by IV); the plastic surgery to reconstruct her breasts is north of $100,000, not covered by insurance. With each trip to the hospital, every nurse and doc who touches her, and each time to the pharmacy there’s a percentage that’s not covered and the devil must get his due.

She and I will play basketball together.... matching shots in O-U-T next summer in my driveway on the rim above the garage. We will laugh, go to the beach, share cloying margaritas at loud restaurants and dance up a sweat late into the night ..... and not a single empty breath will pass that is not filled with too many words. 

                                                              ####

September

I love this time of year.   It's still warm, but the air gets crisp.  

The leaves are still green, but they are just a bit raspier in the breeze.

Of course, this is a northern phenomenon, so for those of you in warmer climates, close your eyes and use your imagination.  

There's a sense of wonder this time of year.   What will school be like?    Will football be the same with all the new rules?   And thank God for football for those of us who can no longer hope for baseball playoffs.

What will Halloween be like?   Will there be a lot of kids?

How much snow will we get?

I love this time of year because leaving the windows at least partially open 24/7 is a reality.  

And being naked is that much more comfortable.  

It's a good time to reflect on the summer past, and start making holiday plans.... or at least pre-plans.  

A friend asked me to post something happy.   I suck at following directions.   I hope this fits the bill.  :)

Everyone Bitches

I was just sent a link to an amusing blog: http://empireofjeff.wordpress.com/2014/09/05/the-100-hamburger/

I agree with his attitude...  and the premise.  

But, like every other conservative who's angry at liberals, he's actually missing the bigger problem with the economy.  

The increasing cost of goods is not due to increased labor costs.   Of course there's an impact, but that's actually not the big problem.   The increasing cost of goods is due to increased real estate costs and increased fuel costs.  Additionally, large corporations are able to reduce costs with automation of every damn thing added to optimization of manufacturing and off shoring.  

It means that joe blow uneducated guy is competing with recent college graduates for that same burger flipping job, because jobs that pay the bills just aren't available.  

The unemployment rate is far higher than the stats will show because just about everyone making less than 60 grand a year is under employed, not to mention the fact that 60 grand used to be a good salary. Now, for anyone making that or less is barely scraping by.  

I agree that there are too many people in this country that have their hand out and expect someone else to solve their problems.  

But bitching about those folks is NOT the solution.  

The banks have more control than ever.  Why?

- money became "cheap" in the 90's and real estate prices outpaced income growth by 3 times over a ten year period. 

- in that same span, college tuition has significantly outpaced income. 

And the fed's response?   Make money easier to borrow.  

And the banks' answer?   THANK YOU VERY MUCH.  

So we spend more and more money on real estate (residential and commercial). We spend more and more on college tuition, which has an increasingly bad return on investment as jobs are harder to find.  

Public companies no longer function for customers or employees, they function for shareholders.   

Even non-profits like many hospitals end up with increased virtual costs due to the expectation if bond-holders for capital improvement projects.  

Are there good for nothing's out there who don't deserve more than the minimum wage?

Yeah.  Probably.  

Have unions outlived their usefulness?

For the most part, yes.  Unions are now as corrupt and political and generally as ineffective as the morons in Washington.  Do some people need the protection of unions?   Yes.  But there are VERY few unions that effectively protect their members.  

But the real problem is not with the folks on the ground.  It's not with illegal immigrants stealing all the jobs that no self-respecting American would dare stoop to perform (please note tongue firmly in cheek).  The real problem is the banks and pretty much everyone in Wall Street which has turned otherwise functional companies into irrational and desperate Scrooge's.  

And lest I be accused of being a liberal and a supporter of the idiot in chief, I am not.  Liberals refuse to admit that Democrats are in the money as much as Republicants.  With all due respect Mr. President, it's time you grew a set and started acting presidential.  The next time you whine about how the Republicans are gumming up the works, im gonna throw a brick at my TV.   

Grow some stones.  Stop pointing fingers and negotiate compromise.  Stop listening to the polls and stop checking with your inept White House staff.    YOU sir are in charge.   

Do your job and stop giving us shit to bitch about.  

Coming full circle (Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel!!!)

Almost two years ago I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder, a neurological condition that I believed to be the root of any & all ills in my life. If you don't know what AD/HD is though I'll wait here while you google it.

.

.

.

Since then however I have not only learned to accept it, but to a certain degree embrace it. So much so that I didn't imagine I'd ever write about it again... Until last Thursday night.

Some backstory is relevant... Well, the backstory IS the story.

I was busy at work one Friday, looking forward to home time & the impending weekend when along came a young man. During our conversation he told me that he had written his first ever computer program, in a morning, that very morning no less!

I recall this meeting as though it were yesterday... I recall saying how I wished I could do as he did, how I wished I could do (pretty much) anything, but I didn't have the concentration... I didn't have the means to express myself… He then asked me some very non-leading questions & at the end of the conversation said, "It sounds to me as though you have Attention Deficit Disorder. Google it."

So, last Thursday I had two appointments, both ADD related. The first I didn't mind, it was Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, the second was a group thing at my local support centre. I was only going for friends I'd met there because I hate talking about myself & that's such a big part of it.

I arrived late, from one meeting straight into the next, my stomach churned as I realised the introductions were heading my way.

"Hi, my name is 'Sonnet,' I'm thirty-five years old & was diagnosed with ADD a couple of years ago... What would you like to know? ... Ask me questions or there'll just be silence". *blushing*

The whole time I've been on this journey I've cast my mind back often to that day, to the nameless man & to how he changed my life forever, to the answers he led me too.

They asked their questions; I answered some & avoided the rest with the finesse I'm known for, (apparently.) *winks*

Everything moved on; as everything tends to.

I have attended these meetings on & off since I found the centre, I've often, if I'm honest, wondered what was in it for me. I felt the whole thing was rather repetitive. But last week I realised that I was no longer there for myself, I was there for the new people, & when asked my thoughts, I said as much.

Others spoke after me, of course. But one person stood out. He has been affiliated with the centre for a long time, over ten years now. He was succinct & interesting, & educated about the subject... He spoke with such flair & passion that I was drawn to him.

At the end of the evening, just as I was about to leave this same person approached me, curious as to whether we had met before. If some years ago, one Friday afternoon we had spoken on the subject at hand. He described the when & where... & I knew it was him.

Perhaps you don't see the significance, perhaps you don't understand what happened inside me at that moment. & that's okay. But all these years I've thought about that hour I spent in his company, trying to remember any clue as to who he was... & now I've met him, I've hugged him!

There is another meeting this week. He will be there. I feel almost giddy every time I think about it. I know I'll have to make a real concerted effort not to follow him around like a hero-worshipping doe-eyed oddball... I am so excited about seeing him again that I'm honestly not sure what to do with myself.

Must appear cool, calm, & collected.
Must not tell him I love him.
Must, MUST not get arrested for stalking!!!