Answers (?) to life, the universe, and everything from a pup loving, chainmailing, leaning towards eccentric sometime writer who probably should have been born a corgi
just thinking, like on a page.
Rewatching Breaking Bad to prep for El Camino… a dog barks on screen and of course, Bree takes that as her cue to join in.
Rick- if you bark, we won’t get you a rocket launcher.
Bree-
Me- Yeah, we’ve been working it out with Santy Paws, so you’re going to have to be good.
Bree-
Unrelated side note- does anyone know where to get a custom dog toy made?
I may have gone overboard a little.
I love fall. I love the cooler temperatures, the mellow afternoons out in the open air that can happen since it’s no longer too damn hot, the many many reasons I can find to sip wine in those open air spaces.
And maybe, I also associate fall with wonderful things because of this-
-which happened on a particularly beautiful, rainy fall afternoon.
This particular year, I was feeling a little more festive than usual and ended up buying a few critters to hang out in my courtyard. Mom says the sign should stay all year.
Thanks mom.
Just for fun, I thought I’d share a short tale from the Way of the Fae that seems kind of apropos considering the time of year. If you like it, please feel free to check out the rest of the book. All I ask is that if you hate it, you don’t tell me, and if you like it, pass it on!
The Craven
Never can I not remember the evils that took place that November, when the world lost the fairest maid ever to walk to settle a score. I may be but a young fae lad, and I’m told that my fancies will grow cooler and paler as the years pass- and yet, and yet, I know I shall feel the sting of this pain till the veriest last.
For many days after the sad tidings were delivered, I remained in my burrow and laid alone. Neither wind nor rain touched me as I swaddled myself in the care of the numb. Friends came, but I saw none of them, in my den their words could not reach me, their hands could not touch me. Part of me wishes I laid there still, but I am obliged to sit upon this perch until I am stone, or he is no more.
Sometimes I wonder which happy occasion will arrive first.
All my sorrow, all my plight, all my pain, all my loss, all of the suffering of my light of love is lain on his doorstep. This low dull witted creature, this cowardly mule headed fool that drove my darling to doom. For some farcical point of human pride, he laid all that was decent aside and played the dastard to win her hand without a care for her heart.
When the lovely girl was among the living, she was one that would suffice, once she no longer drew breath, she was the only who had ever lived. Long and long I plotted and pondered how to insure his short pathetic human life was as miserably squandered as surely as my lady had been damned.
At last it came to me one dark night in which my heart found no solace, and I took on an ill omened form. As black as an unredeemed soul, with eyes to fix upon the heart and render it cold, I spread my wings and flew to the pleasant house of prosperity he preferred.
It took only minutes to find him seated before a roaring fire in velveted comfort, warm and well fed and well cared for, looked after all his life long. His smug countenance as he turned the page, undoubtedly with a mental aside that his abilities were far superior to the wordsmith he read, nearly undid all my good (or ill, if one considers it as such) intentions as I wanted nothing more than to bury the beak of my borrowed form within his breast. How dare he smirk so in such satisfaction when my beloved lay in her cold virginal tomb!
With a fury I knocked in the only way I could, pounding for admittance across the threshold, but did he leave his comfortable chair by the fire to see who called at such an hour? No, he did not! It was a gentle faced lady who came by my beckoning, looking out into the swirl of snow. In through the politely cracked door I swept, silent as a shadow. The housekeeper frowned, thought, then yes! shrugged and turned away, following the call of all the chores necessary to keep the residents in their accustomed comfort.
You may read and wonder in all of my plotting and planning how did I see to disrupt one such as this? With servants to cater to his every whim, a home to take pride in and social standing to spare how could I ever hope that the mounting sense of injustice be repaired?
And to you I would respectfully offering this reminder- all of the blessings that money can convey, all of the status, all of the worldly possessions you may surround yourself with- none of these things can weigh against the engagement of the conscience and the weight of the guilt carried within one’s mind.
Down the hall I ghosted, my determination as solid as the oak of the door to the chamber that I knocked upon next. And heard a start and a shuffle, then a pause like a breath held, waiting to see if the tapping would resound or was but a fancy.
When he let the breath go, I knocked again, and when he called out, his voice had a quaver that filled me with chilled delight.
“Sir or Madame, truly your forgiveness I implore! But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door that I scarce heard you,” said he, as he swung the door open, apprehension a mask over his face.
Oh! To see this, to see that a midnight visitor fed his morbid fantasies, I settled on the lintel above the door. For the dread was too delicious not to be drawn out and savored, lingering so sweetly against my senses as he whispered, “Lenore?”
With a shudder at the stillness, he lingered but a moment looking up and down the hall. As soon as he shut the door, I flew to through kitchen and stable to alight upon his window ledge. There I made more noises pecking at the shutters, hoping to set his pulse once more aflutter.
“Surely,” he said, “Surely that is something at my window lattice. Let me see then what the threat is, and this mystery explore. Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore, tis the wind and nothing more.”
Thus emboldened, he thrust open sashes, up windows, out shutters with violent motions, and welcomed me into his pleasantly cozy abode. Grandly in I went, noble as a prince, to settle upon a suitably glowering bust, joining my gaze to the blind eyes and looking down, down, down in judgment at my foe. And there I sat, onyx eyes boring into his very soul.
“Though thy crest by shorn and shaven thou art sure no craven, ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore. Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Oh! And now the word, the perfect word, the essence of my sadness that would drive this excrescence down the path to madness was the part of my plot that had finally moved me from my burrow. For all of his clever classical references and mocking tone, I gave a single word in answer- “Nevermore.”
He stared up at me for long minutes in silent marvel, and perfectly still I remained as though I myself had become one with the bust on which I rested. Clearly, he waited for me to speak again, to further my point and give him something he could wrest against and win (at least in his own mind) with force or charm.
Then he scoffed and muttered, “Other friends have flown before- on the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
If I could have smiled with the same smug smirk I had seen from him so recently, I would have, as it was, I answered him, “Nevermore.”
Startled, he did as most men do and went to explanations, suppositions, some trick of logic to will away the creeping of his flesh. “Doubtless,” he said, “what it utters is its only stock and store caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore- till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore of never- nevermore.”
Not settled enough in his argument to dismiss away the apparition of me, he drew his velvet chair away from the fire and sat opposite me to ponder my appearance and the meaning of the one word I would continue to gift him with forevermore. I kept my unbirdlike stillness, my burning gaze fixed upon his visage, taking pleasure in his every shortened breath and twitch. I knew already he thought of his lost lady, and as much blame as eyes can have were concentrated within mine as I stared down from the bust.
“Wretch!” he cried. “Thy God hath lent thee- by angels he hath sent thee respite, respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
I scoffed to myself, as though I would release him from his care so easily! but merely said, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” he screamed, “Thing of evil! Prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether Tempter sent or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted on this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore! Is there balm in Gilead? Tell me, tell me, I implore!”
To which I answered, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet,” he cried again, fists clutching his head in despair, “thing of evil! Prophet still if bird or devil! By the Heaven that bends above us- by the God we both adore- tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, it shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore- clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
And there it was, the veriest peak, the jagged edge of madness he had reached, the shape of my revenge had taken form as his mind began to break before the storm… and all I said was, “Nevermore.”
Like a shot from the chair, his mien unhinged, he screamed, “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend! Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Let my loneliness unbroken- quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart and thy form from my off my door!”
For a long moment, I pondered, truly pondered what damage I took upon my soul- was I no better than my rival? Unbidden came the image of the white marble tomb that housed my love, Lenore, and before I could think further, I merely said, “Nevermore.”
Because I’m an insane giant child, I got Rick a Lego Star Destroyer for our 10 year anniversary. No, I have no idea where we’re going to put the giant thing.
This evening, it has drawn close to completion, prompting the following conversation.
Rick- um, so I don’t know what to do with this thing. It just keeps getting bigger.
Me- that’s what happens when you come home every night AND KEEP PUTTING PIECES ON IT.
Anyone know a good carpenter? We may need shelves.
It’s not going to be even primarily written in 30 days.
Sorry, guys.
I’m being realistic here- there’s no way this story can be told like a Nessa story.. but I’m going to say that without those stories and without tackling all the different voices of the fae folk, there’s no way I’d be able to try what I’m about to try.
One of the joys (?) of getting older- if not growing up- is in learning to cope with loss for which there is no remedy. How many blows can the spirit take? What is it that inspires us to keep hope and love alive, over and over again- why can some people do it and some just go brittle and break?
I’ve got characters searching for redemption and peace- others trying to find ways to inspire it in others. One of them- charming lass named Maya, has been trying to come out for a long time now, and I’m kind of amazed that she’s finally ready. She’s got a lot on her mind, a long road to walk as she explores the little city I call home.
There’s Janney- who very deliberately sets out to change the world, one person at a time, with a certain odd mix of results.
The city is there, too, and I hope I do her justice- all the whimsicality that comes with being a crossroads of so many cultures and lifestyles. It’s a culmination of random ‘wtf was that’ moments from over twenty years of Albuquerque citizenship… by the way, red or green with that?
Hey, can you shut the light? I gots to get some sleep over here….
My position on 2020 is that I should have a self flying car.
I think that a crisp fall afternoons are for baking something with pumpkin or apple or maple or cinnamon/nutmeg in it.
I will stand in firm support of cuddles from pets, people, you name it, as long as it wants to cuddle you back.
Kindness is good, and I want it to be easier to be kind without red tape and being worried about being taken advantage of. Ditto helpful. Ditto thoughtful.
I will go on record as saying that I am unquestioningly, unequivocally pro-nap- in moderation. Just one a day, really.
I believe people should spend more time daydreaming.
My position on things you may not like… gay marriage, pot, abortion, children, pets, an alcoholic beverage, guns… if you don’t like them, don’t have them, and your opinions on them only apply to you.
I know my last position has come under question from time to time- but I assure you, I still believe that Ewoks are methed out Care Bears.
Cause a girl’s gotta have standards.
[3:18 PM, 9/9/2019] Ari: [1:54 PM, 9/9/2019] Mom: How’s Rick today?
[2:04 PM, 9/9/2019] Ari: don’t really know.. haven’t seen him today
[2:12 PM, 9/9/2019] Mom: did he go to work?
[2:14 PM, 9/9/2019] Ari: no, he locked himself in a small room and there’s a foul odor emanating from it; I fear he has shuffled off this mortal coil.. that he has ceased to be… that he wouldn’t move if I pumped 20,000 volts in to him.. and he has thrown down the curtain and joined the choir invisible.. I fear he could be… AN EX- RICK
[2:14 PM, 9/9/2019] Ari: yes, he went to work
[2:24 PM, 9/9/2019] Mom: you are a smart ass
[2:24 PM, 9/9/2019] Ari: and I come by it honestly
[2:25 PM, 9/9/2019] Mom: well yeah…you really didn’t have much of a chance
Funny things happen when fall rolls around.. I start thinking about good old November. And I’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that while I do have another fae book in me, it’s going to have to wait.
That’s right, I’m going for the real book.. the liter’ry effort. The adult fiction in which I explore themes of connection among the disconnected, grief, severance of body from soul, definition of self, divinity of self, sin, and redemption.
Sounds like a nice, light read for the beach, amirite?
So I woke up around 4 to find that most fearsome of findings.. a sick Rick. Considering I’d gone to bed late with some lovely shingles effects hitting post migraine, the news was unwelcome at best.
Like the angelic and sympathetic wife I am, I ascertained that there was nothing to be done for sick Rick and went back to sleep until his next spasm of stomach revolt woke me again.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
I got up and went out to start my day with breakfast (which I did tactfully offer to eat far far away from sick Rick), and upkeep of my happy little zen places, which I think I will be adjourning to later today.
The hose in the front yard has had a leak for a few days now.. well, today it decided to turn just so and really let loose, rapidly dowsing me, my zen place, Bree, and the entryway of the house.
Really everywhere but the plants I needed it to hit.
After scrambling to turn the damn thing off, I stood there, dripping and shivering in the light morning breeze, and a hummingbird dove for me.
Understand, I’m wearing black. It wasn’t attracted by color. It hung in the air in a perfect Disney moment six inches from my nose, and I know damned good and well it said ‘HA HA’ a la Nelson.
We’ve got a week to go til Santa Fe Ren Faire, a pile of work to do, a hose to go buy and install, laughing asshole hummingbirds, a pissed off wet corgi, and two bodies that don’t reallllly wanna cooperate.
Can I go back to bed?
So, there’s this recipe that keeps bobbing around in my space… and today I finally decided it was time to take on the adventure!
https://www.delish.com/cooking/recipe-ideas/a22344312/cool-ranch-zucchini-chips/
Now if you know me, you know I don’t eat zucchini. Like never ever. Like you can hand me a chocolate muffin and I’m going to say no thanks, it looks like something you’d hand to a person that doesn’t eat zucchini with zucchini stuffed in it, you sick sob.
But I also really really love cool ranch doritos.. like a lot. So I finally got desperate enough to try this. Extra love and thanks to my shipt lady for adding the ingredients to my order last minute, or this wouldn’t have been a thing.
The proof, because I know I have highly skeptical readers-
And yes, the inside of my oven is purple. No, I didn’t order it that way on purpose. Yes, it’s awesome.
And yes, I tried them personally.
I wish I didn’t have to say this part…. but yes, they were actually pretty damn good and I’m probably going to end up eating zucchini.
/sigh It’s a glad/sad day….
And, hell, maybe we never really did.
The more I try and make some kind of sense out of the horrific, mind numbing craziness that’s going on out in our world today, the more I think that the people committing these atrocities- these are people for whom a few key points must be true:
In short, they never learned how to lose.
It’s not a fun lesson, or an easy one, and some of us learned it early and well. How to accept what is, take a breath, and decide how to make peace with what is and what one can do. To find beauty and purpose and meaning even when life didn’t go the way you thought it would, could, or should.
Am I what I thought I would be? Uh, no. Not even remotely… I look in the mirror and I think about what I wanted at twenty, and no, not even close. But all those nasty knocks life gave me.. I know I had to travel through that portion to get to where I am now, and without restraint I can say every piece of it, every moment was worth it. It was all those moments of fear and doubt and pain that made me who I get to be now… and I have a deep sense of faith that all the fear and doubt and pain I feel today is going to help shape who I’ll be in ten years.. and you know, I’m pretty eager to meet that person.
Here’s to all of us who are afraid and hurt today and acknowledge it as freely as we would celebrate our successes. May we never make peace with these circumstances as being unavoidable, but instead strive to find what we can do. Let us find beauty and purpose and meaning that no life that has been lost has been lost in vain.
It’s going to take a lot more than thoughts and prayers, friends. Let’s get to work.
https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/look-for-the-helpers/
In times of trouble, adults seeking to reassure inquisitive children who are aware of frightening events in the news but are too young to fully understand their import often turn to the example of Fred Rogers, the gentle and genial host who for over 30 yearsdelivered lessons on love, kindness, and friendship to children on the Public Broadcasting Service (PBS) television program Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.
The Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood section of the PBS web site offers some advice on “Helping Children Deal with Tragic Events in the News,” including the following:
During his lifetime, Fred Rogers reassuring way of helping families with difficult times, beginning with his response to Robert Kennedy’s assassination. Over the years since then, there have, unfortunately, been other tragic events during which parents and educators turned to him for his calming and thoughtful insight. Fred Rogers’ wisdom is timeless, and his messages continue to be valuable for children and the people who care for them, as we deal with the events of today’s world.
In times of community or world-wide crisis, it’s easy to assume that young children don’t know what’s going on. But one thing’s for sure, children are very sensitive to how their parents feel. They’re keenly aware of the expressions on their parents’ faces and the tone of their voices. Children sense when their parents are really worried, whether they’re watching the news or talking about it with others. No matter what children know about a crisis, it’s especially scary for them to realize that their parents are scared.
Even if we wanted to, it would be impossible to give our children all the reasons for such things as war, terrorists, abuse, murders, fires, hurricanes, and earthquakes. If they ask questions, our best answer may be to ask them, “What do you think happened?” If the answer is, “I don’t know,” then the simplest reply might be something like, “I’m sad about the news, and I’m worried. But I love you, and I’ll take care of you.”
If we don’t let children know it’s okay to feel sad and scared, they may try to hide those feelings or think something is wrong with them whenever they do feel that way. They certainly don’t need details of what’s making us sad or scared, but if we can help them accept their own feelings as natural and normal, their feelings will be much more manageable for them.
Fred Rogers often told this story about when he was a boy and would see scary things on the news: “My mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers — so many caring people in this world.”
There’s a whole lot going on right now for us… and something as simple as fetching my mail reminded me that no matter how rough things feel, my own helpers are there. I see you, and I am grateful more than I will ever be able to say to each of you for being there, for thinking of me, and for listening.
Cause if I’ve learned nothing else, it’s that Mr. Rogers is always right.
Curiouser and Curiouser 