Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Woodsmoke and stew.

I'm always surprised at this time of year how quickly it becomes fall. Bang, it's colder, windier, wetter. The trees are changing and losing their leaves. Two weeks ago I was optimistically dosing the pool and marveling at how hot it still was. Now I'm wondering who's at the switch.

There's still some beautiful sunny days, just not that choking heat. I couldn't conceive of wearing long pants or sleeves, let alone a coat or heaven forbid SOCKS, in July. I wondered if we'd ever need the woodstove or heater again.

Now I'm scrambling at the back of the closet looking for my sweaters and hoodies; those too small jeans that some sick puppy swapped for mine and the flannel jammies as opposed to the cotton ones.

I love fall, I love the undertones in the air, the smell of woodsmoke, the smell of the last of the roses and sweetpeas. I also love the rain, I know shaddup already but I do. I'm a creature from one of the wettest place in North America, and it ain't natural (in my view) to go months without it. Sure I'll be whining soon that all it does is rain, for now I love it.

I love that I can cook in the house (how uptown) I like to cook food that takes all day. Soups, stews, roasted meat, and I miss that comfort food in the summer. I like that I can have a fire in the yard, and in the woodstove. Nothing like woodheat for the joints; and again I'll be snivelling about the work and dirt involved before too long.

The snowball trees have changed, the maples are shedding, the flower bushes and gardens are more brown than purple, pink or orange, the pool is empty and there's a ton of stuff to put away for the winter. The cats are plumping up and getting puffy cheeks. I'm gonna put on long pants, socks and a coat and get out there, maybe I'll light a fire.......

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Stealth cleaning

In the 29 plus years that Buzz and I have co-habitated, he has either worked away from home for long periods, or worked shifts. In order to get any semblance of a clean house I've had to develop some unique skills, while he sleeps.

I can and have prepared holiday meals in complete silence, (Hell, we've even done Christmas in dead silence, opening gifts and all) I can sweep and scrub the floors, dust, polish, windex, fold, and straighten without so much as a creak or thump (except from my joints) I can practically lip read the t.v. and can, in a Uri Gellar like state will the phone to stop halfway through the first ring.

I have a weird ninja reflex that I can employ to catch a falling object and prevent a door from slamming, a dog from barking and a salesman from knocking on the door. The only things I'm unable to do in a quiet, stealthy manner are the dishes.

This task eludes me. No matter how careful I am the glasses tingle, the silverware clinks and the cupboard doors get away from me. The tap will scream, or I will when I cut or scald myself. Even the dish cloth is loud, the detergent bottle farts (yes it does) and I always drop a pot lid on the deck and it takes forever to quit wobbling.

So as a consequence I've always got dirty dishes........hehe That's my story, etc.

Monday, September 28, 2009


This is Tiger Lily, A.K.A. Clawdette. With one of her tennis balls.
Can you imagine how insufferable I'll be when I get GrandChildren? hehe

Friday, September 25, 2009

What pushes some one to react badly?

For me it's unfairness, toward me and my loved ones, or having to defend myself
for something I never said or did. To have to justify every opinion, or choice I make to try to live a better life and be an evolving entity.

That's one of the reasons I started another Blog. I'm tired of people calling me on everything I write in there. I'm tired of people misreading or misunderstanding what I write. I try to be clear, but I guess if you're not sitting in my chaotic head with me, you'll misconstrue some things.

I was going to put up a disclaimer in here, but decided why bother? People will read into my posts what they want, based on their relationship or lack thereof with me and mine. That's your right. Some people I've decided must have a guilty conscience, because lets face it, I've been pretty critical and called them on things in my other Blog, but only to stop or bring attention to the unfairness.

I'm also weary to the max with the few who claimed that they never read my Blog, when I see them logged in with their Delphi account. It's become a joke, "Look Buzz, so and so is in here not reading the Blog again!" Then a little later I'll go to their Blogs or web sites and find them waxing eloquent on the same damn topic. (sorry kb kinda said the same thing you did last week)

What pushes their buttons? What's the motivation, the goal, the aim, the purpose? What do they hope to achieve or attain by threatening to *beat* me up at the dance? Not just me either, but two other people.( Well, that's what I was told by four different people and e-mailed about. )Was it true? I guess it was to have so many people relay the same thing to me.

At first I laughed, then I got really angry, then I felt pity for the person who'd allow herself to go out in public and physically threaten a fat old broad like me. The thing is I didn't react in a like manner, I could have gone up to her in the brief time I saw her at the beer garden and smacked her a good one, but why? I can control myself, I was angry but I didn't let it show and I believe there's a time and place for everything, but never violence.

I know what it's like to have someone take away your options. For someone to physically pound you and I know how it made me feel. I would never strike another person except in self defense, ever.

The crux of the matter is that I had posted in my Blog that we were not going to the Toy-Run dance, and I know for a fact that she read it. I have her log in. Then to be overheard at the dance saying that I was scared, friendless and embarrassed. That's the reason I backed out of going. Is that true? I dunno but again that's what was relayed to me. So am I in fact stirring the pot? Am I in fact fanning the flames? I guess I am and the best thing to do would be to delete this post and carry on with my every day.

BUT!! I was threatened with violence by a person who has no reason as far as I can see. I haven't even laid eyes on this individual for over a year. I'm not going to pretend it never happened, there's a lot of that going on, I'm not going to give her a pass, it goes back to consequences and living with your choices and actions.

I'm done, and in the case of this person I'm telling it like I see it. Enough mollycoddling for someone who doesn't deserve it, or need it.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

You know

I could write this in serbian and put up a translation link....hehehe

I was ready to puke today when I saw MacKenzie Phillips talking about having sex with her Dad. She said at first she was passed out and came to with him doing the nasty, she was 18, then it became consensual for years afterward. The kicker was she wasn't a little defenseless girl and only ended it when she got pregnant. eewww.

So I wonder, is this her way of getting attention? Is this the way she wants to be remembered? Is this something that had to be done so she could heal? Did it really happen?

I know a woman who totally fabricated an incestuous relationship, made her Father out to be a monster and he didn't touch her, ever. She did it for the attention, and for shock value. That whole woe is me, protect me thing that I'd of quite readily smacked out of her.

In this case I think MacKenzie is telling the truth. I don't know why, but I do. She admitted to it being consensual and being fucked up on hard drugs, and that she ended it.

Kinda takes the joy out of California Dreamin' for me.

Well, this is awkward.

I was thinking that I needed a less popular place to vent. I've taken a lot of heat over the years for some of my posts on Delphi Blogs so here we are again.

You Guys were sent the link because I trust you all. Really, even you Bear. This is a pubic Blog so eventually it'll be out there, so don't feel like it has to be a state secret. I just need offa Delphi for now.
I may still Blog on that account, use both for now so don't be expecting any great profound posts. Unless you make them.
Love you all

Going to post some older stuff on this entry from previous blogs.

This is from 2008.

A random light

I saw the light up ahead, it flickered and looked all the more intense for the darkness that surrounded it.

I wondered what I should do. There's supposed to be nobody on this Island, save me. I wondered why after all this time I should see a light, a beacon in my darkness.

I'm afraid, I'm ecstatic, I'm expectant. Will I be able to go near the light? Announce my presence? Or, would I hunker down like the animal I've become; saying nothing, hoping it disappears and and leaves me to my life. However small and insignificant it's become, it's all I have that's mine, this life.

I thought back to my first days on this Island, time has since become meaningless. I fear all I remember is the day to day, the hardscrabble existence I have here on this Island. Try as I might, I cannot remember how long I've been here. Five years? Ten? More?

I wondered what I should do. Who or what is behind the light? Friend? Foe? Family? Are any of them still alive, five or ten years since I've been on this Island? Do they wonder about me? Where I went, how I'm doing? Do they even care?

The light has stopped pulsing it's now a constant brightness, I think I hear voices. Not the regular voices in my head, my constant companions, but new, stronger voices, coming from the light.

What is the light, I wondered, is it here to take me away? Is it here to end my time on the Island? To extinguish my light in order to shine brighter?

I've been crawling down the beach, nearing the light. It's no bigger, no brighter, it's just there; just ahead.

I think back to my first days on the Island, the pain, the uncertainty, the dreadful feelings of hope. It's wrong to have hope on this Island, there's nobody here, save me. Hope is for fools and dreamers, this Island doesn't allow dreams, or suffer fools.

I crawl and scuttle like a rat, a wild thing, crawling toward the light. I'm eager for the voices to separate themselves, to make sense.

Maybe they never will I thought. Maybe I can't understand anymore. Maybe what I think is only a made up shorthand in my head, just for this Island. Have I forgotten to understand? To speak? To be human? I'm frightened.

The surf is loud in my head, the night birds are screaming, the light is shining and I'm no longer human. I'm a creature of the Island, of the darkness, like a moth to a flame. I need to know what the light is. I need to see and hear and feel the light.

Finally, I'm close enough to reach out and touch the light. I realize that there are no longer any voices coming from the light. It's just me and the light on this Island. I stretch out my hands to touch the light, and it's gone. I leap up in a panic, I search frantically. but there's no light.

Was there ever a light? I must be crazy, too much time on the Island. Has it been five years? Ten? Longer? I cry and I curse the random light. The light that gave me hope, gave me fear, and a purpose for being on this Island, in this neverending darkness.

The Island doesn't allow hope, the Island doesn't allow dreams, the Island is me.

Another oldie.
Doubtful manor

Doubtful Manor
Have I ever told you about Doubtful Manor? This is a place that I use regularly. Like a time-share, only this is my unhappy place. When I lived in The Dad's home, I frequented Doubtful Manor a lot. I'd go there, 'cause I was fat, lazy and a blathering idiot. I'd go to Doubtful Manor, because I could be the person The Dad said I was.

Doubtful Manor is a sad place. The wiring flickers, the plumbing is old and I'm usually knee deep in shit. The carpets are stained, the floors warped, the roof leaks. Doubtful Manor is just good enough for a lazy, stupid, fat reject like me. In Doubtful Manor, every day is a bad hair day, every day the roaster is soaking in the sink. When I'm in Doubtful Manor, no one can reach me, no one comes to visit and no one calls. Total isolation, all the pain and remorse I can handle and then some.

I don't go to Doubtful Manor a lot these days. I only need to go there the odd time, the odd day. Well today I spent the afternoon there. Nothing has changed, the yard is still weedy and the cat box needs to be cleaned. I went to Doubtful Manor today because it's Friday April the 13th. The day The Dad was born. Usually I can see The Dad from the asbestos filled attic of Doubtful Manor. Not today though, he wasn't there.

Instead I saw a black cloud over a dear dear friend who is ill. Can I be the friend she needs? Can I be the friend that drops everything in a hearbeat and goes to her? Will I have the strength to hold her up when all she wants to do is fall? I think I can. Now from Doubtful Manor, I see my dear friend with her loved ones and family dancing under a rainbow. I can do this, she can do this, Doubtful Manor can bite me, and burn the hell down.