Random thoughts on a brilliant Wednesday morning

First I just need to know if there is anyone out there in the cyberworld who also avoids his or her financial deficiencies by pretending the bills never arrived. Or they can't be found. Or perhaps they were never sent in the first place.

Eventually I do find them and pay them in time to avoid late fees and interest, but if there is anything about which I am the least bit cowardly it would be fiscal responsibility. Why must I wait till the last possible moment to pony up? It's not like there is any more money in the bank (always sufficient, but never enough) at the beginning of the next month than there was two weeks earlier when the bill started pouring in. And I do always--even when the credit card bill is completely overwhelming--find a way to pony up. For all of it. I just can't seem to do so in a timely manner.

What's up with that?


Isn't it cool that no matter what your shortcomings are as a parent or that this is the kid who says he doesn't like pancakes and insists he is not hungry, the simple act of making Mickey Mouse pancakes for breakfast makes you the best Mom in the whole world?


Dear Macey's (the grocery store, not the now all-too-common-it-ceases-being-interesting department store): It does not matter how much you mark it down or make it cheaper than the other "generic brands" I refuse to buy something whose brand name is a misspelled word. There is nothing sure about "Shur Savings" brand except that I absolutely won't buy it.

Even if that means my husband has to make a second trip to the grocery store because we are out of milk and I also refuse to spend $2.50 for a no-name brand of 1%.


Can I tell you how much it pained me to reply to the poor girl who puts food on her table doing surveys for Harris Interactive honestly and admit out loud that I read "The Daily Herald?" I only read it because it comes to my door each day free of charge. And I'm such a word-a-holic that I will read the back of shampoo bottles if there is is nothing else at hand. I couldn't lie to her. But somehow I felt cheap and ditsy. It's like admitting that you only watch shows on the CW. Or that you bought Britney's last CD.

Or something.


Speaking of True Confessions:

Today I will freely admit that I am tired of being a responsible woman. After days of spending every possible minute my children were at school at work I am going to deliberately arrive late to work.

Because today I am just so over being responsible for everything and being repsonsible to everyone and just plain being "the repsonsible one" and I would rather just sit here. Basking in the silence. Wrapped up in a warm quilt in my comfy navy leather recliner. (You know, the one with the purposely inflicted ball point pen-holes in the arm.) And notice out of the corner of my eye that the sun is shining more brightly through my southern-exposed living room window and the blue of the sky is getting more intense each minute that I linger.

These are things I usually forget about once I clock in at work. But just for today I want to remember.








Isn't life ironic? The very day after I lambast the Herald in my blog they publish a letter to the editor from me. Of course I blasted them in the letter as well, but the fact that if there were no Herald or Herald readers my letter would've been totally irrelevant is not lost on me.

a bird in the kitchen is worth two in hand

I.

A couple of months ago I was driving home from somewhere with a mini-vanload of 15-to-16-year olds when my cell phone rang.

Me: "Speak to me!"

My seven-year-old, K~: "We found a dead bird. And it doesn't have any wounds on its body. And there's no blood. It's feathers are undisturbed. And it's wings aren't broken..." I'm thinking, "I should write a pilot for CSI Animal Planet."

I interrupt: "DON'T TOUCH THE DEAD BIRD!"

So at this point the teenagers in my car stop talking about life and love and the lastest song on the radio and start laughing. I want to say to them, "Just you wait. You future parents, you." I turn my attention back to the phone call, which is not going well. At the same time I'm ruling out West Nile Virus because it's too cold. Bird Flu because we're in the western hemisphere. At least it looks like we won't be going into quarantine...

K~: "I'm not."

Me: "Where is the bird?"

K~: "In the kitchen."

Me: "WHAT? "WHY IS THERE A DEAD BIRD IN MY KITCHEN?"

K~: Because L~ brought it in the house.

Me: "Did she touch it?" Did you touch it?

K~: "No. It's in cups."

Me: "What???"

Suddenly the darker side of me pictures dismembered bird pieces distributed meticulously throughout a number of paper cups. "I'm raising some kind of a psycho animal torturer, I think to myself." At the same time I'm also thinking, "You know you'd have to work pretty hard to dismember a bird. They kind of come all in one piece, don't they?"

Me: "Tell L~ to take it outside!"

It was the nicest way I could think of to say, "GET THE DEAD BIRD OUT OF MY KITCHEN! NOW!" Remember, there were witnesses.

Me, reiterating: "Take the bird outside but DON'T TOUCH IT. AND DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING ELSE EITHER!!!! THEN GO IN THE BATHROOM AND "WASH UP TO YOUR ELBOWS WITH REALLY HOT (read scalding) WATER AND LOTS OF SOAP!!!!! I'll be there in about five minutes. Wait till I get home."



II.

A few weeks ago the mercury finally crept up above 20. So I felt I could finally venture back out to my deck. My deck can be a lovely place in the spring and summer. But in winter it pretty much serves as a second refrigerator. Or during cold snaps like the entire frigid month of January, a freezer. I keep a number of things I can't fit into my fridge on this cute little table we eat off of in warmer times. On this day I notice that there is some trash tossed about so I start to gather it up to throw away. I casually pick up a couple of 12-oz. Dixie cups stacked on top of one another. The top one falls off and there it is:


The dead bird.


I had completely forgotten about it. EWWWWWWWW! Although slightly relieved to see it's NOT a case of ritual dismemberment, I start to toss it unceremoniously into the trash when my 11-year-old daughter L~ appears out of nowhere and lets out a wail. "Mom, NOOOOOOOOOoooooooo!"


Apparently she's waiting for the ground to thaw enough to give it a proper burial.

Because my faithful readers get whatever they ask of me . . .

Have you met my friend Toni? I think she found me via Luckyzmom. In any case, she tagged me for a meme and since it's regarding the subject of homemaking skills (we all know how seriously I take those homemaking skills), I thought I'd play.

ABCs of Homemaking Meme

Aprons- Y/N? Several. One my mother made me. One made by Melody. My latest favorite is the red hot chili pepper one Lynda gave me for my birthday.

Baking- Ask Lorien about my sour cream lemon pie.

Clothesline- Y/N? I've been known to do that to my kids now and then.

Donuts- Only when there is a good layer of snow over at the church parking lot.

Everyday- One homemaking thing you do everyday? Get out of bed.

Freezer- Do you have a separate deep freezer? - You bet. My husband likes to stock it with deer and elk meat. I like to stock it with berries for pies.

Garbage Disposal- Y/N? Yes. He's 15. He'll eat just about anything except for tomato chunks in spaghetti.

Handbook- Y/N? For what? The girlfriend's guide to chasing down cobwebs? I think not. All I need to guide me is my favorite motto:


Ironing- My husband was forewarned. I don't iron and I don't dust.

Junk Drawer- You bet. But since I don't consider anything in my kitchen to be junk, it's the top drawer by the linen closet.

Kitchen- Design and decorating? Roosters. I started with them before the last two times they were in and out of style. And I am loyal so they're here to stay. I did have to do an intervention for one of my friend's who couldn't stop buying me roosters for my kitchen, however. The coop's full!

Love- What is your favorite part of homemaking? I love to make comfort food for people who are sick, afflicted or in mourning. That is something I take very seriously.

Mop- Y/N? Yes. And I am sending out an SOS for suggestions for a new one. I have loathed every mop I have ever owned. Why is it so hard to design an effective and efficient mop?

Nylons- Wash by hand or in the washer? I refuse to call them nylons. They are hose to me, but I find them too confining and they don't go so well with Birkenstocks. If you don't wear them, you won't have to wash them.

Oven- Do you use the window or open it to check? Open to check. I need to see, touch and smell to know if something is done.

Pizza- What do you put on yours? I'm a western girl. Hawaiian all the way.

Quiet- What do you do during the day when you get a quiet moment? I am the queen of the ten-minute power nap. If I can find 10 minutes in the day.

Recipe card box- Y/N? Yes. And numerous cookbooks. And a binder full of printed recipes.

Style of house - Split entry mid-century messy.

Tablecloths and napkins- Y/N? At my house we're lucky if we're ever home at the same time to eat at the table. I know, I know, it's the pillar of American society. I'm working on it already!

Under the kitchen sink - One of two things I pride myself on. I put vinyl tile on the bottom and try to keep it orderly. So it's not something I'm ashamed about. (In case you are wondering about the other. I am extremely proud that even though I have three sons my bathrooms do NOT smell like pee. That is really something when you consider that all the bathrooms in my house are carpeted.)

Vacuum- How many times a week? Isn't that why I had kids? I have to admit, however, that although I am often willing to let the downstairs go, I have been known to vacuum the upstairs all over again after one of my kids (or the husband) when no one is looking. I need to get the edges.

Wash- How many loads do you do a week? Way too many. But the older boys do their own. I'm about ready to train the daughter.

X's- Do you keep a list of things to do and cross them off? I make my list at the end of the day of what I did that day, then I cross it all off. It's so wonderful for my self-esteem.

Yard- Who does what? I used to love to work in the yard. I even completed the master gardener program. But now that I can't kneel on either of my knees I have kind of let things go. I will putter now and then.

ZZZ's- What is your last homemaking task for the day? Flylady drop-out that I am, it's certainly not cleaning the kitchen sink. I'm doing well if I get any remaining food the kids have left out put away and the lights turned out before I fall asleep.

I happen to know that it is physically possible to fall asleep while sweeping the floor.

All I ever really needed to know I learned on high school band tour

Greetings from Arizona!


Where adventure begins . . . and never ends!


Adventure I

So much for the Bellagio! After a fabulous clinic at UNLV it became apparent that perhaps taking 60 teenagers to The Strip on a Friday night during the NBA All-Star weekend was not such a great idea. Of course some of us had come to that conclusion long before others, but eventually a consensus was reached and plans were changed to Plan B, which involved getting away from the melee as quickly as possible .

Only somehow long after the switch to plan B, the driving directions for Plan A remained stuck in the driver of my vehicle’s head and we managed to spend 2 1/2 hours driving bumper to bumper from UNLV to the nearest freeway exit, which happened to be on the other side of The Strip anyway. We saw just about everything except for the fountains.

And George and Brad and company.

Lessons I

Sometimes the harder you try to avoid something the faster it sucks you in.
And never make weekend vacation plans for any city hosting the All-Star game, especially not Vegas.
Vegas is the grand illusion.


Adventure II

The next day found us in Phoenix. Here I was surprised by two sweet serendipities: One, a little southwest mex joint called qdobas makes mighty fine food. If you are ever in Phoenix you must go there to eat their food. Two, Rembrandt was in town. Deep within my heart, an urgent cry for flakiness was heard and I learned that if you generally prove yourself to be a responsible and reliable person sometimes it’s OK to bale on high-school band students. Especially if Rembrandt is involved. Besides, I thought it was a great teaching moment as I practically skipped out of the parking lot of their scheduled concert and promised to be back soon. Kids should witness adults getting excited--and therefore sometimes even flakey--over unexpected pleasures such as good art.

Lessons II

Trying local fare can be a good thing.
Always leave room in your schedule for spontaneity.
Especially when Rembrandt is involved.Obviously this was not part of the exhibit, but it was located across the street and so aptly depicts how happy I was to blow the concert venue for the MOA


Adventure III

Later that day we arrived in Tucson, where I was given the charge to take a student to the local University Medical Center, which, I learned, is the only trauma center in the entire region. Having spent more than a few nights in the ER either as patient or family, I was prepared to camp out there for some time.

But what I did not expect when I arrived at 8:40pm was that all three waiting rooms would be full and we would begin our long evening's journey into morning waiting outside.

What I did not expect was that when we finally saw a doctor--a little after midnight--she would only be a resident, which meant we would have to wait another hour or so before the attending physician would come in and repeat the exact same examination again. In its entirety.

What I did not expect was for her to tell me it would be another hour and a half or more for the strep test—and that was assuming the lab "didn’t lose the orders or the swab." “I prefer you do the rapid strep test,” I said politely. “This is the rapid strep test,” she said.

Fortunately after Nurse Ratched left and Glenda the Good Nurse arrived with the prescription, Glenda also was so kind as to give me directions to the nearest pharmacy to which I and my charge would be safest to travel well after 2am in this strange border town.

Feeling rather proud of myself for having safely carried out my chaperone duties above and beyond the call, I pulled into the hotel parking lot looking forward to at least a few hours of much needed rest.

Lessons III

If one has to be sick, one should never choose to be sick on a Saturday night in Tucson.
Sometimes the term “rapid strep test” can be a misnomer.
For every Nurse Ratched, there exists a Glenda the Good Nurse. And that's a good thing!


Adventure IV

Is merely a continuation of Adventure III, which I thought was over. But it had only just begun . . .

We arrive at the hotel and I realize that one, I have no way to get into my room and two, I have no place to park the Yukon and the attached percussion trailer. The night clerk informs me he cannot give me new room keys and that there are two buildings and I should be able to park by the outer building and wake up my roommate to let me in. I drive out to the outer building only to realize that one, I would need a keycard just to get in the building and two, this is a very seedy hotel. While I consider my options I observe several vehicles drive up to various spots outside the hotel and watch their respective occupants engage in suspicious behavior. I also watch as a man who may or may not be a guest comes out of the hotel and props the door open as several other men who very clearly are not guests start going in and out of the hotel and walking up to the various cars and also engaging in suspicious behavior.

At this point I go back to inform the clerk about the action outside his hotel (yes, it’s well after 3:00am on a Saturday night) and firmly request keycards for my room, as well as an escort to the second building. He kindly obliges and lets us in and then locks the building door behind us and asks us to call him when we get into our rooms safely. My young and still sick friend S., who is now also completely exhausted, cannot get into her room. Her roommates will not wake up. So we go to my room and call the clerk, who agrees to meet us at S.’s room. Before we leave, I learn from my roommate that a creepy drunk guy has been stalking our girls—even after he checked out of the hotel—and that our group has been in lockdown for the night. On our way to S.’s room to meet the clerk, I notice that a door down the long and deserted hallway has been left ajar. This creeps me out big time given what I have learned about this hotel and the fact the rooms have been open to the public for the entire night (not to mention a few scary movies I may have watched in my youth). So after we finally get S. safely locked down I ask the clerk to accompany me to my room. He assures me he noticed and closed the open door, but as we approach my room we both notice that now the door of the room right next to my room is slightly open. He knocks, then turns on the light, and opens the door. Fortunately there are no dangers lurking behind door number two, but it is clear that mischief has been afoot. The place is trashed—chairs thrown across the room and on the bed, bottles and pizza boxes strewn around. And it’s obvious no paying guest did this.

The clerk locks the door and I finally get into my room by about 3:45. Only the room is filthy. The tub faucet leaks loudly and echoes throughout the room. There are hair follicles from the previous guests lurking in the shower (this is a huge pet peeve of mine). The bathroom door won’t shut and the bed is seriously mushy. I am still cold after sitting under the frigid ER AC for a decade, and my pajamas are in the car and the heater doesn't work. I sleep horribly for about two and a half hours and then I wake up still pretty wired over events of the last 10 hours and worried about the security of our kids, their stuff and our vehicles. Not to mention that by now the outside door right next to my room is banging closed every two minutes.

I decided I needed to repack the car and finally—because there is now daylight--locate all the things I needed but went without the night before. I also feel an urgent need to get in the car and scream "Holy Freakin' Crap!" a few times and to find my stuff so I can brush my teeth and brave the shower long enough to wash the grime of Tucson off of my skin. This task requires digging through several dozen two-litre bottles of soda which are stacked miles high in the back and is impossible to complete without numerous incidents of said full bottles crashing down on my hands and on my feet.

During the 15 minutes I am repacking the car, I set off the car alarm twice because more of last night’s activities appear to be continuing and I know I am not safe. I lock myself in the car, but each time the coast is clear and I exit the car the alarm goes off. After I am done I realize that the door to the building has once again been propped open (I later learn that the sliding glass doors in some of the students’ bedrooms are also unsecured). Eventually I get my shower and we check out of the hotel, I with the general manager’s phone number safely tucked away in my pocket so I can give him a piece of my mind.

Lesson IV

It’s never a good thing when your find yourself in the desolate halls of a seedy hotel--for which you paid good money--and you realize the best defense you've got against the ills of society is a 21-year-old male stranger.
Yelling out loud in a locked car can be very therapuetic.


Adventure V

By early this morning I was thankful that at least a couple of our destinations seemed to turn out OK. Not to mention much more appealing than some of our previous accomodations.Montezuma's Castle

Today was our day to go to the Grand Canyon. Despite having been previously warned by cjane that it’s just a hole in the ground and my constant nightmares that some kid who thinks he is invincible—preferably not mine—will end up over the edge, I’m actually getting excited!

My excitement dwindles, however as we approach the park.
It's clear that while on a clear day you can see forever, during a floggy blizzard you can't see squat!
Ain't that grand?
So the students are relegated to taking pictures of themselves

What a disappointment! All that way and the big hole is full of fog! I decided to have a good time anyway and so I went shopping for some killer souvenirs for my kids. And for me. And some cactus taffy. And I take pictures for some nice Canadian tourists and try to kill a little time, hoping for a miracle. . .








. . . and finally we are rewarded when the mists of cloud and fog start to thin and part. We can actually see the other side.



And the bottom.

In spite of the frigid cold we all had a great time. I think we enjoyed it more because initally we knew we weren't going to get to see it.

And, thankfully, although I nearly had a panic attack when I realized that all the adults had left me behind and responsible for a bunch of kids who thought it would be so fun to lean over the rail or walk much too close to the unfenced edge, we didn’t lose a soul.

Lesson V:

Sometimes when you expect to get nothing you are more satisfied with what little you do get than you would've been if you had gotten the whole thing.

So long, farewell . . .

At the unearthly hour of 4:20 a.m. I'm getting out of Dodge and heading out to see. . . . . . a big hole in the ground.


But I might even get to see this on the way. I'd like to tell you I'm actually spending the night here.


But I'd be lying.



Instead I'll be riding herd over a bunch of high school band students at the likes of this.


Fun stuff!

Don't forget to to vote for your favorite Valentine's Day storyteller before midnight on Tuesday!

Have a great weekend!

You be the Bard Storytelling Contest

Let me first just say to all the entrants, you got game! Thanks so much for playing. I had a great time reading your submissions!

The Fab-o-u-lous Entries:

from la yen

Challenge 1:
Tyson and McKenna

In Fair Mantua 'twas there a school
For plucky tweens and such
And there, in class, two lovers met:
O'er dissections their palms did touch.
But lo! The bell doth ringeth and in time
They parted. Off to chemistry and math
Separated they, sad partings, wo,
Yet their digits still, they hath

Saith he: QT, ILU
WWYC. Wrote she.
H2CUS. WKD?
KOTC, ILU2
NOT OTC, BUT OTL
MoS! She sent
But 'twas too late; the phone was gone
Not to be returned until well after Lent.

Two star-crossed lovers, cried and moped,
Without texting, they were naught
'Twas Friday night and how to meet?
They had to chance being caught.

So under humblest pretext of
A library study date
They left next morn to meet again
And betwixt them plan their fate

Twas unconscionably cruel, they two agreed
To confiscate her cell
Did'st not her mother know that separated
Young lovers were in hell?

And so to show her mother just
How cruel was her decision
They planned to unite in their true love
With perfect teenage vision

And so they kissed, upon the lips,
For parting was such sorrow
And vowed to reunite again
In perpetuity tomorrow.

He had with him a box of juice;
Imported from Capri
And laced it they with tiny pills
Purchased from a guy named "Zee."

And so they drank the tainted juice
"And with thy hand in mine I die"
"'Twas total bliss these past two days.
Forever with you I will lie."

But soft, what yonder vision broke
Next morning at first light
But two dumb teens, embracing still,
Frozen, in eternal spite.

Challenge 2:

"Maybe I should have thought this through better..."



from melody

What Darwin Didn't Know

No one had told them how steep the hill had become after the last earthquake or how fragile a young woman is when she is in love. She paused, watching him move steadily forward. She wasn't certain of why her head hurt and her heart was racing. She thought she felt the ground tremble beneath her.

She called to him. He stopped his pursuit, turned and joined her. She asked him to rest with her for a while in the shade of a juniper bush. He set down his tools, pulled the water vessel from his bag and offered her the first sip. He looked over his shoulder and called for the dog, but it had run far into the distance chasing a smaller version of what would evolve into a mule deer. They needed the meat and he understood what it meant to slow the hunt. But he had come to believe she was more essential to his survival than food.

Her mother had begged her to stay in camp, to behave like all the other young women when their men went hunting. But she couldn't. She couldn't miss a moment in his life. She was one of several like her in the tribe, young people who had broken away from familiar patterns, had moved in a new direction where mating was something beyond sweat and rhythm.

The day was almost over. In time the pain in her head softened and her uneasy mind had stilled just a little. The dog hadn't returned, but they expected him to find them later and perhaps bring a bird in his mouth for breakfast. He would have given up the other hunt when his master changed course.

They made a bed and ate the dried figs and flat bread she had packed. He cooked a squirrel he had caught earlier. By the time darkness came they found they were exhausted, fell easily into each others embrace.

They spoke of the future, of how the earth was changing; how the sky shot fireballs toward the ground at unexpected times. Sometimes entire valleys were destroyed in a moment. They talked of their families and wondered if they too were quieted for the night. They couldn't have known about the great mass falling from heaven toward the next mountain, that in an instant while they slept they would suffocate, forget their memories and surrender every cell to millenniums of cold. They couldn't have known they were the beginning of the next phase of man and the end of their kind.

Her breathing slowed, she let her thoughts move toward the other world while he whispered near her lips, "I've never felt so warm."



from lyle

As archeologists continued exhuming the grounds where the “Romeo and Juliet” skeletons were found, they came across a series of texts and have had moderate success in translating the text into what appears to be an explanation of these two eternally bound remains.


The Prophecy- [A translation]

In the year of the missing season, when winter’s clutch shall fail and the earth shall struggle to give rebirth upon the land, there shall be a great lament upon the land for eighteen cycles of the earth. Crops will fail and the beasts shall flee and winter will be vanquished for a spell. And the fruits of the ground shall dwindle, dry, turn to dust and utterly fail. There shall come forth from the womb a woman of muted mouth and boy deprived of sight. Only upon the union of these two, will the nature turn away her anger and bring the solace to earth’s empty womb. This union needs be bound in life and death and only from their deaths will hope sprout and reclaim the barren land.

The tale:

The text further indicates that many seasons passed and generations drifted to eternal slumber and what was once considered as truthful slipped into myth and lapsed into ramblings of a lunatic.

And in the year 349 [according to their calendar] a certain peasant mother in the town of Nanocia died giving birth to a daughter that never heard the cry of pain or anguish of the father who sought the cold companionship of his lost beloved, leaving the babe to be raised by the midwife. And so began life for Anony

Not quite six months later, in a neighboring village of Hamollian, a baby boy was brought into the world, unable to behold the visual beauty of his mother’s eyes and father’s joyous smile. But, Mistick could hear.

During the initial years of the famine, local villagers had gone through great lengths to establish trade routes with neighboring kingdoms. But due to the economic strain, many left the once abundant land in search of a new hope, a land free of the natures scorn and the population dwindled. Anony was only four at the time she followed her Ginny to the lands across the mountains and deep fertile valleys of Barushe.

Mistick’s family stayed put in Homallion where Mistick learned to use his lack of sight to his advantage. He was blessed with great musical talent and drew crowds [mostly made of merchants]. At the young age of eighteen, Mistick’s parents encouraged him to establish himself as a musician in a larger town [which would certainly be more lucrative].

Mistick’s journey led him to the town of Barushe and it was there on his very first night’s performance that he encountered Anony, who had stopped long enough to see what could draw such a large crowd. She was smitten by his looks and prayed for the day that she could hear his music. He was smitten by her gentle, soft, and soothing voice that could transcend his physical limitations.

The two were soon wed and made the return trip to their homeland. It was while visiting her Ginny that they encountered Ruolonge the priest that their moment of bliss began to crumble. Upon seeing the two of them together, Roulonge remembered the words of the prophecy that had been recorded so long ago.

Roulonge used all his powers of persuasion to convince them that they were indeed the ones spoken of in the prophecy, but neither Mistick nor Anony would hearken to such absurd tales and bid the priest and Ginny farewell as they continued their journey to visit Mistick’s parents.

That same night, the priest, in a fit of rage [at being so close to the focus and solution to the prophecy] secretly followed the two newlyweds to Homallion. It was upon their bed, in the home of his parents that Ruolonge smothered them in their sleep. Naturally, Mistick’s parents were very sorrowful and as a final tribute to their departed loved ones, they buried them side by side in a honeymooner’s embrace.

The priest was eventually found guilty of the crime and was promptly hung. The day that he was hung was what would have been the start of the winter solstice. The following day, it snowed and snowed and snowed. Winter had returned and spring followed just two months later. Crops were planted. Crops were harvested and the famine retreated for good.



from sarah

Challenge I:

Betty: Wake up sweetie, the volcano is erupting again. Could you get the kids up and load the cart?

Joe: You know I got the kids up last time the mountain blew. It's your turn.

Betty: Yeah, but I was up all night washing your loin clothes for work and I'm tired.

Joe: And I couldn't sleep until 2 a.m. because of your annoying snoring. Seriously, babe, you better do it. That lava's coming pretty fast and I'm beat.

Betty: I'm sick of you putting all the household duties on me. Did you know that stay-at-home moms put in at least twice as many hours as you "working" men? Honestly, I ask you to do one little thing...

Joe: Okay, well what if you get the kids ready while I load the cart?

Betty: Just get over your manly pride and do it. Honestly, you had about 20 dirty loin clothes this week. It's like you get them dirty just to spite me!

Joe: Jerry's wife never makes him deal with their kids...

Betty: Are you saying you want me to be more like Jerry's wife? Her arm got eaten off by a lion and she has a full beard. Is that what you want?

Joe: No honey. It just seems like a man should have some respect in his own home. That's all I'm saying.

Betty: Fine. I respect you. Now go wake the kids.

Joe: I bet Jerry's wife has their family to the bottom of the mountain by now.

Betty: Enough about that woman!

Joe: What's that smell?

Betty: The dog is on fire...


Cue the lava...

And so they lie, a testament to humanity's fierce will power that enabled people to even live on the sides of volcanoes in the first place. Betty and Joe will forever lie enshrined in their bed as a monument to the triumph of the human spirit. Let us look to them in our lives when we too feel tempted to cave to the senseless demands of our spouses.

Challenge II:

"This is all your fault!"



from cardine

Challenge 1

Writing Sonnet 116 Over Again

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. A staring contest is not won
By altering vision when it alteration finds,
Or ends with an object on the move
Oh no! Stare at an ever-fixed mark
Through tempests, be not shaken;
Look not toward the dog that barks,
Whose hunger's unsatiated, 'though he found the bacon.
Staring's not time's fool; though chapped lips and cold cheeks
And needing to tinkle's time has come:
Staring alters not with its brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never played, nor no man ever won.

Challenge 2

"I think the dog is chewing on your foot."



from geo

Sand for brains. I always had them. My heart was yours before time—but
where was my mind when you came of age? In my pockets. My empty
pockets. The pride in me cried, "Poverty! What else have you got to
offer a girl like that?" So I hung my foolish head. I studied the
ground and made earthy plans: work and save. Hunt and gather enough
coins to jingle out a proper proposal. "Won't she have me then!" I
comforted myself.

Then he came along, not a free man as I was, and with leaner pockets!
Yet he carelessly piloted you into young love, past your mother,
beyond your father, through whispers of scandal. One day he confessed
his guilt to you and went away. Why was I slow to step in? He returned
too soon in a season, untethered and ready. I watched, paralyzed.
Again he took flight, but this time you flew with him, across a state
border that divided your parents' consent from your own secret will.
You eased back into your home, even the same night, pretending to be a
maiden. You held him off with "Don't tell!" but he couldn't stand the
separation for long; he confronted your angry kin, refused to be
annulled, and carried you backward across the nuptial threshold into
open air.

That's when my stumbling, heavy feet of clay took me far, far. I
joined the army. I married a mean woman. I chain-smoked the fires of
regret and burned my inside away till my heart and breath and guts
were ash. But the sand in my mind and those ashes inside kept loving
you.

Forty years you belonged to him. For longer than that my sister
belonged to your brother. That was a tie of torment for me. "How is
she?" I asked from far away, forever.

Again: "How is she?" Forty years of forever, always asking just once more.

"Oh, didn't you hear? Her husband died."

In that instant forty years seemed no more significant than an hour of
sand falling in a glass, and I could clearly discern the last grain as
it slipped through the slender neck. I felt its landing in my heart.
"Won't she have me now!" I comforted myself. My wife was gone to her
paradise. My money was gone to terrible treatments. My health was gone
to smoke and dust, but how I could still love you! I had never
stopped.

I wrote you a rapturous, daring letter, this time holding nothing
back. I asked my son, the one almost as broken as I, to take me to
you. I proposed to you that first day, before our first hour was gone.
I unburdened my soul. Earth had no more power to hold me down; I could
fly! You asked for time to think. I stayed close by with my son, in a
rented room, waiting, loving, certain. In a few days you said yes.
YES!

"The Lord won't let me die now," I swore to you. "Don't you see? He
meant for us to be together. He's going to heal me!" I recognized that
I was God's miracle, a phoenix rising to live a second forever, this
time with you. In every way I could imagine and found the strength
for, I made up to you the tender opportunities that we'd missed—with
kisses, with flowers, with words, with slow embracing steps to music.
Did we argue? Not once. Did we waste a moment? We feasted. We were
beautiful and everything else fell away.

And then I followed. The ground called for me. "I will stay with her!
I can fly!" I argued. But my strength was fully spent. I was an empty
pocket. You brought Home to me in every sterile place I was taken for
last-ditch therapies. You lay beside me on a hospital bed till our
touching turned to pain. "Six months" was my doctor's verdict. Six and
no more. Just so. And I went back to the earth.

I watched you afterward, from my new place. My perch. I watched you
marry, and soon after divorce. I was never concerned about that one;
his jealous nature made him stupid. I watched you marry again years
later. He was so country simple and good that I couldn't wholly
begrudge him some of the time that should have been mine; I was just
grateful you didn't have to be alone in the interim. Then I watched
you become a widow for the third time in your life. I saw the changes
age worked upon you; I loved every wrinkle and evidence of decline;
they brought you closer to me. I waited, counting the years . . .
twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Would I have to
endure a full forty more?

At last it was our moment. I saw its thrilling approach, knew it was
coming, even before you did. Perhaps you never knew until you'd
already left the ground. You flew first to the comforting, exalting
embrace of "Well done," and then—oh, then!—it would finally be my turn
to receive you, and my arms would keep you close forever.

I waited long, but you didn't come.

"Where is she?" I asked again and again, feeling far away, lost in forever.

"You haven't seen? She's with her husband."

But wasn't I your husband? Had he flown you past us all again?

I cannot bear to stay, to wait, to watch, to perch, to dream any
longer in the open, empty air of forever. The only chance left for me
is in the ground. I always had sand for brains. Before the last grain
falls and the morning hour of resurrection dawns, I will hold you
again. I will break open the strong box that shelters my rest and I
will fly to you through the earth, riding gusts of soil and currents
of root, passing clouds of rock and billows of worm. I will breathe
deeply my dust, hunt and gather you, and our bones will mingle again.
Won't we have a time!"



from jennifer b.

Fourteen candles flickered and cast dancing shadows on the wall. One
candle for every month Ella had known and loved him. One candle for
each night they had been apart. When Sal broke the news that he was
going to have to make a trip out to the family estate outside of Paris,
he knew it wasn’t going to be well received.
“But Sal! It’s our first Valentine’s as husband and wife!”
“I promise to be back in time to celebrate.”
With considerable effort, Ella smiled and nodded. Upon Sal’s
departure, two days later, she managed to wave and hold back the tears
until he had ridden out of view. Ella had lit one candle each night in
his absence and let it burn from sundown until she went to bed.
Finally, all fourteen lights were burning. He would soon be home. All
day she had lovingly prepared their celebratory meal--pounded the
chicken for cordon bleu, roasted and ground hazelnuts to make the
perfect crust for a delectable fruit torte, torn five different greens
that were a perfect blend of fresh and bitter flavors. When the final
dish was complete, Ella put all the utensils in the sink to soak.
There wasn’t much, as Ella believed in efficiency in the kitchen. Soon
everything would be ready.
The distant pounding of horse’s hooves thudded in unison with Ella’s
heart. He was home! Sal swept Ella up in his arms and for a time they
stood frozen in a fierce embrace. When they eventually sat at the
table, everything seemed perfect. Candlelight, a delectable meal, and
the joy of reunion filled their hearts.
“Mon Amie. Mon Ella. Je T’aime.”
“Oh Sal!”
“Mon Ella!”
Three days later, Sal and Ella were discovered. Rigor mortis had made
it nearly impossible to separate the couple and they were buried
together. As a warning against careless culinary practices, Sal and
Ella's last words live on to remind us of their tragic end. Don't let
their deaths be in vain--as you contemplate re-using that cutting board
or sampling that raw dough, remember Sal and Ella and think again.



from moi

(I made the mistake of reading some of the entries before I wrote mine and to quote the poor jilted lover--and master of understatement--in "Twister," immediately knew "I can't compete with this." You are, however, graced with my response to Challenge II. This entry is NOT eligible for voting or prizes galore--for obvious reasons.)

"Honey, I think I left the iron on."



(There's more to that story, too. And, oddly enough, it has a little something to do with Shakespeare as well. Only it smacks more of Lady Macbeth than of Romeo and Juliet. Another post, perhaps.)


Now it's time to cast your votes at henfeatherz AT gmail DOT com Please feel free to bestow in the comments lavish praise on ALL the entrants who took time out their busy Valentine's week to regale us with romance. But e-mail me your vote for your favorite entry. Votes will accepted (only one vote per person) through midnight next Tuesday and the winner announced next Wednesday, Febrary 21.

You have until midnight . . .

. . . to enter submit your entry for the first annual You be the Bard writing contest.

E-mail your entry to henfeatherz AT gmail DOT com. All entries will be posted on Valentine's Day. Good luck!

You be the Bard Storytelling Contest

Thanks to the brilliant idea of one of my favorite new bloggers, jennifer b. over at Going Barefoot, I am sponsoring my first ever writing contest.

Your job, should you choose to accept it (and please in the revered name of St. Valentine and all that is romantic, do play), is to write the rest of the story. E-mail me (henfeatherzATgmailDOTcom) your best prose regarding how these young lovers ended up here, eternally entwined:


That's only Challenge I. To complete Challenge II, simply come up with a better parting shot than that uttered by Romeo, "Thus with a kiss I die."

So dip your pens in their inkwells ladies and gents. Let's Play!

(All entries are due by midnight, February 13, and will be posted on Valentine's Day. Then we'll vote on a favorite. The winner will receive a $20 gift card to The Olive Garden. Thanks for playing!)

Photo of the Week: Undying Love

"Thus with a kiss I die."--Romeo to the only merely nearly dead Juliet, act V. scene iii

(If you check the link, be sure to note the location in which these millenia-old lovers' remains were located.)

Be good to you!

So this is not nearly as effective as it was last week, when our high temperatures were lower than this week's lows. But since this week I'm battling a wretched head cold, it still works for me.
I . . . feel . . . cold . . .

After barely enduring the bleakest and most gloopiest January EVER, I've decided my problem (aside from the worst inversion and cold spell in recent memory) lies with me. I obviously didn't get the year off to the right start.

So I'm declaring February "Be Good to You" month.

I will dedicate each day as an opportunity to do at least one thing that is good to me. (Notice I did not say "good for me" but "good to me" as I didn't want to rule out things such as a whipped cocoa bath or other luxuries about which I've heard tell, but which may not actually be good for me). Some days I will post my plan for the day on my side bar. On other days I'll mention what I did that day (it depends on how organized I am) after I've accomplished it.


So tell me, what do you do to be good to you?

Cart before the horse? Who's pushing the cart? What do you think?

There was hardly time for debate about this or this before Texas jumped on board. It could be coming soon to a state near you.

What do you think?




For more info visit the CDC's FAQ page.

Have you read the post of the week?

What love is . . . and is not.