Epitravelogue

Well, I made it home. Still not dead! No thanks to the ravens. My diversionary tactics worked perfectly. I sailed through security, sans corkscrew, and even had time to suck down some hooch at the airport bar. My second glass of crappy but overpriced merlot was so loaded up that I dumped it into an empty water bottle so I could take it on board and introduce it to the mile high club.

It seemed like pure absolute zero torture at the time but now as I look back on it through the haze of retrospect, maybe it wasn't so bad. Isn't that always the way?? I learned some stuff, for one thing, and I always appreciate that. I was so sick one day that I turned on the TV. My energy gave out just as I clicked on 'Extreme Cheapskates'; have you seen this show? They had this woman on, she looked totally normal, but then she cooked a lasagna in the dishwasher WHILE IT WAS WASHING DISHES.  It might not be so weird if she was just cooking, BUT THE SOAP!!!!!! And the lasagna was for a party; a party at which the guests had to use a candle to find the bathroom because she wouldn't let them turn the lights on. I mean, my party guests always hate me, too, but it's only because I live in a swamp. I know better than to be stingy, too.  I actually don't think cooking in the dishwasher is all that strange, but maybe I come by it naturally.  My dad doesn't have a dishwasher, so he recently tried to cook some sausage, noodles and broccoli in his coffee maker. I don't think it's because he's a tightwad, though. If he was he wouldn't buy clothes for statues and food. Disappointingly, the coffee maker meal was not a success, but I think he might just need a new model. So, that's one lesson: my family is not NEARLY as strange as I thought they were.

Here's another one: you can make a candle out of used motor oil, steel wool, and an empty beer can. I would totally do it, too, if I could force myself to drink beer out of a can. That one comes courtesy of a mechanic who lives in his shop. He just sleeps in cars people bring in and bathes himself in his car wash bucket. The candles were for a blind date. Lucky for him, too; if she could see she'd know he lives in an auto shop and be out of there like a shot.

And here's a little silver lining: I was too weak to buy neither a single pair of boots nor nary a touristy trinket. Not that the local wares are all that appealing, but the locals do push a certain kind of specialized knife. It comes with a DVD, or so the sales pitch goes. I don't know about you guys, but none of my friends or family members need a sharp implement that requires an instructional video.  That adds up to tons of extra Christmas thrifting cash for me; I think my dad could use some new kitchen appliances. If I don't have to spend it all on antibiotics, I mean. And those stupid fines to the Department of Fish and Wildlife. Who knew ravens were so valuable?

Ravens of Doom

Maybe you've been wondering what's become of me. Or maybe not. Whichever, I don't care. As it happens, though, I have been working out of town. WAY out of town. And since I have been traveling I thought it would be a good idea to do some travel writing. What is that called? Travelogues? Something like that; watch out Rick Steves!  So, hmmmmm, where to start? A good beginning is so important when it comes to good travel writing. Otherwise it would be super boring: I got on an airplane and the seat was too small, then I went to this place, and saw some stuff and ate some food. Snoresville, am I right?  In fact I should probably just admit right here I have never read one single word of any travel writing, ever, because it is so deadly dull, and therefore have not even the slightest idea how to do it. Oh well, that never stopped me before! I'm just gonna jump right in, how bad can it be?

First of all, the stupid TSA confiscated my corkscrew. And they didn't just take it quickly so I could be on my way. No, it was a whole ordeal.  See, somehow,  I have NO clue how, it had found its way into the backpack I use to tote my computer back and forth from work.  The backpack had to go through the scanner TWICE, then they searched it by hand, STOLE my corkscrew, and then ran it through AGAIN.  In the meantime, I was forced to stand there with my collection of two computers, iPad, and multiple phone/devices. It was very depressing to confront the fact that I should have been able to launch an array of satellites or at least hack into the FoxNews website to endorse gay marriage across the land but instead my efforts will produce nothing but a prodigious stack of questionable paperwork.  And me without a corkscrew, sigh.

Finally, my spirit adequately squashed, I was allowed to continue on my journey. In an airplane seat that was too small. Now, the purpose of this particular journey was to assess some disaster damage in a bunch of freezing cold and remote places.  Places that you have to get to in teeny tiny airplanes that are wired together with walrus guts and polar bear spit. If you don't die in an icy fiery crash first, of course.  Because I am opposed to dying in such an undignified fashion, I put the kibosh on the wings of deadly carnage and instead we evaluated damages remotely.  From a toasty warm office that was apparently riddled with bacterial pneumonia spores. It was a really tough choice, deciding whether to plunge into the frozen tundra at high velocity or hack up blood. I went with door number two, which has worked out relatively well for me so far. I weaseled out of a boring meeting because germs! And one of my coworkers brought me salami and orange juice and kleenex because I can't leave my hotel room, because the blood will freeze in the air on the way down because it's like 12 below, and then I might slip on it and hurt myself. Also, every time I leave the room there are ravens following me. Ravens of doom. They are waiting for me to die so they can devour my bloody flesh and peck my eyes out.  Actually, they might not even wait. Especially the big shiny one. He talks to me. Caw! Caw! Caw!

I have to go home tomorrow, though. In an airplane seat that is too small. So I'm working on a strategy.  I'm going to save all the hacked-up blood and use it to fashion what appears to be a bloody corpse out of pillows. This room has at least eight giant ones, they won't miss a couple. Then, when I get outside, I'm going to throw them at the ravens and make a break for it. Wish me luck! I'm leaving my new corkscrew for the maid, along with all my dirty clothes and a few books. I can't have that stuff slowing me down. If you never hear from me again, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Well, dammit

My head hurts. I think it might be because I brushed my teeth with beer this morning. About ninety times. What? You don't brush your teeth with beer? You probably don't live in a swamp, then. That's why. You probably live in some kind of fancy ass house where water, glorious municipality-provided chlorinated fluid of the gods, flows out of the taps. See, it's freezing here in the swamp. The pipes in the well house froze up WHILE I was in the shower this morning. I had barely gotten last night's beer rinsed off and had just soaked my head and squeezed some shampoo into my hand when the pounding hot liquid fruits of my swamp-well slowed to a trickle, then stopped completely. I twisted the knob this way and that, and looked disbelievingly at the sticky clump of Neutrogena in my hand for at least thirty seconds before I figured it out. Guess how you solve this problem? After you brush your teeth with beer for a long time, I mean- yep, you hike out into the arctic morning with a soaking wet head toting some sort of warming device FOR THE WELL HOUSE. I felt like freaking Ma Kettle, or Ma Ingalls, or Ma Joad, or whichever Ma had the most agonizing collection of suffering combined with a demoralizing lack of sufficient beer and bad hair.

Then I had to go to work like that. Luckily I have been using this awesome deodorant made out of approximately equal parts coconut oil and baking soda mixed with a few drops of tea tree oil so I didn't stink too bad. My armpits, anyway. I'm not so sure about the rest of me, but that worked out well for our late afternoon staff meeting to develop performance goals and metrics. We don't have any right now so some people peak out with making it to work on time a couple of times a week.  Well, that's not quite true. We HAVE some metrics but they are (U) unsatisfactory, (S) satisfactory and (E) exceptional and everyone just gets S's because if you get a U or E someone has to do extra administrative work and no one is on board for that. So now, we get to write our own, and there needs to be two levels, 'meets expectations' and 'exceeds expectations', or something like that. I wasn't really paying attention. So, for example, 'meets expectations' could be 'responds to customer inquiry' and 'exceeds expectations' could be 'gives customer correct answer 90% of the time'.  These are not actual examples from today's meeting (these are totally actual examples from today's meeting).  Properly executed, this could work out well for me. The bar should be low enough that I can handily outperform the special snowflakes that are tardy all the time. I'm thinking of a 'meets expectations' goal of 'comes to work sufficiently hygienic when temperatures are above freezing'. Brilliant, right? Well, gotta go- I'm off to lay out tomorrow morning's beer!

Hello, my friends!

Look! I'm posting again! I always feel so virtuous when I put up a post. It's like having my vitamins, or shaving my legs, or getting the last stray sock off the laundry chair.  Let's see- what's going on around here? Thanksgiving is coming soon and there's apparently been some interfamilial debate over whether squirrel is appropriate  holiday fare or not.  I come down pretty firmly on the 'not' side, having once eaten squirrel.  I know I've written about squirrel eating before but the truth is I only did it once, a really long time ago. And I didn't inhale, I swear!  Anyway, I'm not sure how that's going to play out but I'll eat anything if I have enough wine, that's my motto!  The weather has gotten very chilly lately, it is definitely boot weather.  I have recently discovered that it's also the season for purchasing larger than normal sized stretchy cords.  I found this out the hard way and I don't want to talk about it anymore, thank you very much.  I might have to travel to an even colder place for work sometime soon, too. To a place where I hear that people routinely wear cleats to keep from slipping on the ice. I'm not sure how well that's going to work out for me. Cleats, really? I mean, sure, those are great for clawing your way to the top of the heap, if you have a pile of coworkers in your way all the time like I do and you don't want blood on your good boots. But just for walking down the street? I don't think so.

Thanksgiving, boring! Work, boring! Let's talk about my most brilliant recent discovery! It's only the most awesome zombie/vampire repellant ever!  Like all brilliant discoveries it happened totally by accident. See, I had to clean out the cat box, so I scooped the cat poop into a bag, then I tied the bag shut and put it outside the front door. I kept 'forgetting' to take it to the garbage, which was super annoying, until it got to be about the fourth day and I realized that the entire time that bag had been by the front door was undead-predator free! Not a single vampire or zombie! It worked for about ten days and would probably still be effective, only someone got sick of having a bag of cat poop on the front porch and threw it away. Someone who doesn't realize how valuable it was, no doubt. So now I have to just wait until I can get another bag full. In the meantime, I make the cat sleep with me with his butt pointed towards the bedroom door.  With that problem solved, I need to figure out a way to keep the raccoons away from the chickens.  So far they have gotten three of our chickens. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure they are regular raccoons, not the undead kind, so the cat poop doesn't work.  Let me know if you have any ideas! And Happy Thanksgiving! I'll be sure to keep you posted on the squirrels.

DOGGAMMIT

I didn't want a dog. Seriously, if you'd asked me one second before I saw her if I wanted a dog, I would have said 'HELL, NO!' Then I might have punched you in the face for asking such a stupid question. Then I saw Samantha, and I wanted a dog. Not A dog, THAT dog.  She's a beautiful, glossy gracile black lab, and belongs to a friend of a friend who needs to find a new home for her.  I convinced myself this was a good idea, and then she came over for a sniffing session. She cheerfully and enthusiastically bounded out of the car and within .0063 seconds she had lunged and bitten Lloyd, so we had to pass.  I mean, biting Lloyd is one thing, but we can't have her attacking the neighbor kids. Sure, they might be little assholes but if it was socially acceptable to bite little assholes my mouth would be sore and bloody all the damn time.

Of course, the boys were heartbroken because they were SO excited about getting a dog, and now if you asked me if I wanted a dog I would probably just punch you in the face because I wouldn't know what to say, and I hate it when I don't know what to say. Also I'm a little nuts so displaced anger is one of my go-to strategies. On that note, I joined a gym today; they have a punching bag and I'm pretty excited about displacing my anger onto that. I'm not sure how well it will work but at least I can bash up my fists instead of my mouth for a while. I'll let you know how it goes if I can still type.  I guess if my mouth isn't sore I could use my face, or I could try my toes. Really, I have a lot of body parts that aren't earning their keep on a regular basis.

Anyway, back to this dog thing, because I'm starting to seethe again: I can't decide if I should look for a different dog or if I should just repeatedly punch myself in the face. Undoubtedly, if I look for a dog for long enough, I'll find one. And then I'll convince myself it's a good idea. And then I'll have a dog. And I might have mentioned this before, but I don't want a dog. DOGGAMMIT.

Now it's Monday night and the boys have been cross ALL weekend.  It's Veteran's Day, you know, so it's a LONG weekend, too. And if I wasn't so lazy I'd write an indignant post about how we stiff veterans every damn day so we can give tax breaks to Exxon, but I'm lazy. Did I mention that? So here, have a link to my 2011 Veteran's Day post instead.  Interestingly, as I reread that one, I see that I was about to get some recycled cats. Perhaps I have fall/winter SAD or something that makes me want pets. And by SAD, I mean 'Stupid Ass Decisions'.  It goes nicely with my ADD; what was I talking about? Oh yeah, the severe crossness we've had here ALL this whole LONG INTERMINABLE weekend.  Things are starting to look up, though, as bedtime approaches. Only a few more hours and the boys will have survived by the skin of their teeth. I was going to work at home tomorrow but I'm going to work at the crack of dawn because I don't want to push my luck.  If I'm feeling generous and have a little magically regenerated patience I might even brush my teeth first.  I'd go now but the babysitter doesn't get here until morning. DOGGAMMIT.

Well, toodles! When I start repeatedly taking dog's name in vain it's time to hit the wine. Have a good week, my friends!

Quietly making noise

Quietly making noise; I think that’s a Jimmy Buffett song. I would look it up but I’m writing this from my internet-free vacation. It’s sort of a handicap, this googleless existence.  I can barely even remember how we used to figure things out; do you remember?  You would have to ask someone, or go to the library. Funny, you’d think people would be a fuck of a lot smarter these days now that it’s so easy to look something up, but not so much, hmmmmm? Well, I’m not here to muse about technology and stupidity, at least not today. 

I was out running on the beach, and the song came into my head. Like a lemming! Not the whole song, just the phrase ‘quietly making noise’, and it took me a while to work out where it came from. I’m pretty sure it comes from the album ‘Fruitcakes’.  It’s a catchy little tune; you should check it out. The whole album is good. But I’m not here to muse about Jimmy Buffet’s vast catalog, at least not today. 

Naturally, it was crying out to be turned into a blog post, and I started thinking about why that particular phrase was in my head. It’s because I stopped making noise. I lost my voice. It’s easy to do; I had no idea how easy. And it can be hard to find again, especially if you look in the wrong places.  But my voice is important, and so is yours. So is everyone’s. Well, maybe not exactly EVERYONE. Sadly, I don’t get to pick.  It doesn’t have to be loud, just true to you.  But it’s good if it’s loud, too…..

Man, the olden days must have sucked

The power is out at my house right now, going on about hour four.  It took me precisely 17 seconds to figure out why olden day people whipped their kids with leather straps and two by fours.  It’s freezing and there’s no water because the well pump requires electricity.  Fortuitously, as it turns out, my bathtub has been full of water balloons for the last week and a half, so that’s one problem solved.  If we go more than a few hours around with here without flushing this place makes the Hanoi Hilton look like the Taj Mahal.  Next time, though, I’m going to make the boys fill their balloons with wine.  If I get the right swill for them it will probably clean the toilets on the way down too.

And as luck, wretched bitch that she is, would have it, the boys just got home from a weeklong hunting trip and it looks like the filthiest, bloodiest corners of the old west and Quik-e Mart collaboratively exploded in the living room, kitchen, dining room and mud room. There is a squirrel tail on the dining room table, y’all!

There are sheets of water and chunks of trees raining down from the sky. It’s so bad out there that I had to use the leather strap AND the lumber to get the kids out of the house. Man, the olden days must have been EXHAUSTING. My arms are going to be sore for a week, I swear.

Update, hour six:  the generator readily powers two lamps, the fridge, the television and the phone charger, but I have been unable to configure it to supply wine or muck out the mountain of dirty clothes, food wrappers and squirrel parts. It also appears to not have an autodestruct sequence or an option to spray out chloroform.  Frankly, I’m pretty disappointed in the Honda people. I mean, generator suppliers should be aware of what sufferers of power outages REALLY need; this is just common sense.  No wonder this place is going to hell in a handbasket; corporate America has lost touch with the people.

Update, hour nine: Power restored, generator dented with boot, minions dispatched to wine store. And all is right with the world.

Let there be lemmings

Hey, y’all!  I bet you thought you would NEVER hear from me again. No such luck, sucks to be you!!  I sort of wondered if you would ever hear from me again too; it has been a while since I had any ideas to write about at all. Well, I mean, I had a FEW ideas.  Just piddly little things, really, like the one where I was thinking I could stuff footballs with wine to take to work, because people there like sports and they might not notice someone drinking from a football. Not very practical, because those things taste terrible on the outside, plus I can’t even take full credit- it was a collaboration with some of my more twisted coworkers.  But now I think I might be getting my mojo back for real! See, I took this remote vacation BY MYSELF! There was not even any internet, can you believe such a crazy thing? I couldn’t even text! I know, I wasn’t sure I would survive either, but not only did I not shrivel up into a teeny tiny dried up husk of skin and die, I had at least a jillion brand new ideas! I would go running on the beach and the notions would just cascade into my brain like little suicidal lemmings.  I had to hurry back to my room and write them down before they crushed each other into a big squishy heap of brilliance!

It sounds pretty easy, doesn’t it? This taking a vacation by myself thing. And it would have been, too, if it hadn’t been for those darn meddling chickens. Oh, you didn’t know about the chickens? Right, I guess not, because I haven’t written anything for what feels like a million years.  We have chickens! We started with five, and are sadly down to three, because RACCOONS. So, until we figure out a chicken sleeping solution that is raccoon-proof, they have to be locked in at night and left out in the morning. EVERY night, and EVERY morning. This, as you might suspect, completely negates the advantages to having chickens, and there are many: delicious fresh eggs, high quality poop/compost, and peaceful clucking. Not being willing to abandon the girls to take their chances with prowling predators, I scooped them up into cat carriers and transported them with their accoutrements to Grandpa’s house to get chickensat.  That sounds pretty easy, doesn’t it? HA! You might not know this, but chickens are quite wily. And fast. Really, you have to hold them with both hands.  Which is fine, and not problematic at all, unless you are laying on the mud and chicken poop covered ground because you fell trying to catch one, and now you caught one only you are laying on the ground holding a chicken with both hands. I think I invented a new yoga move; I call it ‘chicken up’. I hope there’s not already one called that. I wouldn’t know because I don’t do yoga. It’s boring. Also, it hurts. If I need exercise I can just go collect chickens.

Finally with chickens satisfactorily collected, we set off for Grandpa’s house.  I mean satisfactorily to me, of course; I’m not sure the chickens would agree. I would ask them but they aren’t talking to me.  My car smelled like a barn for a while, but it aired out in time, and I was off to collect lemmings. The chickens are definitely easier, but the lemmings smell better. To me, I mean; I’m not sure the raccoons would agree.

Ship

I bet not all of you know the story of the ship painting, am I right? It's very large, this painting. And full of ships. Ships firing cannons at one another and burning. Also, do you think we have enough fishing poles?  No? Oh, don't worry, that's only some of them. Anyway, back to the ship painting: it made the trek over to the new house last night. I had high hopes that it was going into the Goodwill pile, but no such luck. Since I guess it's here to stay, I thought it would be fun to revisit the story of its genesis, circa 2008/2009:

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Will someone please poke me in the eye with a sharp stick?

Please, I beg of you! Someone, anyone? Lloyd is buying 'art'. Yeah, yeah, yeah, blindness is no joke, blah blah blah. My apologies to all the blind people reading my oh-so-popular blog. Now, if I may continue. Lloyd and I have TOTALLY different tastes in, well, everything. We never, ever like the same furniture, housewares, decorative items, clothes or anything else. Marital fealty prevents me from fully exploring my true feelings about Lloyd's taste in art here, so let's just let Lloyd's own words speak for themselves.

But first, a little background: Lloyd has commissioned a local artist to paint a picture of an epic naval battle, circa 1700's. He has been down at the gallery at least twice a week, giving direction: A little more tattering on the sail, please, and there's not quite enough orange in the cannon fire, and so on. The artist doesn't seem to be annoyed by this, but I guess when you are a big-shot art patron paying over a hundred smackers for a custom piece, the sky's the limit, right?

A word about the gallery- outside, as advertising, they show paintings done from photos. The paintings remind me of the 'King of Queens' episode where Deacon and Kelly give Doug and Carrie a hideous painting of themselves (Doug and Carrie, that is) for their anniversary. Doug's teeth are huge, and Carrie's arm is freakishly misshapen. Doug and Carrie hate it so much that they stage a robbery to get rid of it.

And now, here's Lloyd:

"The artist used to paint in New York and he said this size painting would sell for $19,000!" So I guess we're getting a real bargain. I didn't know paintings were sold by the square inch. 

"I told him that it had to be just right because we're going to hang it in a place of honor and pass it down from generation to generation!" Forget the sharp stick; just put me out of my misery entirely.

And, the absolute worst, the one that sent chills down my spine: "I'm going to get him to do another one, this one of a New England scene!" When I suggested maybe we get a New England scene from a New England artist, he said, "But do you know how much that would cost?" Umm, no, let me get out my measuring tape and calculator and figure it out!

Sunday, July 20, 2008

The masterpiece has arrived

Lloyd picked up his painting today from the shop. I'm not sure when the big unveiling will be but I am all aquiver with anticipation. I will put up a picture as soon as possible. In the meantime, this photo is of the very alarming painting outside the gallery. Is it just me, or does the woman look like she has a combined shoulder and elbow, or shelbow, if you will?

Monday, July 21, 2008

The moment you've all been waiting for....

Without further ado, here is the painting. I have to say, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. It is, however, very large. And, we discovered it does not have one of the agreed-upon modifications: a third ship, smoldering and foundering in the background. I'm not sure if Lloyd plans to take it back for alterations (revisions? restroking? insertions? Not sure of the correct terminology, or if such terminology exists). Also, we do not have the necessary hardware to hang it on the wall. So for now, it has found a happy home in the laundry room, propped up by a gallon of antifreeze. Hehehehehe.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Sunday

Here are some photos of Shane playing in a box that came in the mail from Grandma the other day. Weston went to Vacation Bible School this morning at church. He had a good time, though he didn't want to go beforehand. Lloyd stopped on the way home to check on his painting. It has the third ship burning in the background now, but the smoke is not quite right; it should be drifting with the wind and not going straight up into the sky. I'm pretty sure I could have learned some Korean swear words today if I had been paying attention, but they were hard to make out through the gritting-teeth smile.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

The Bad Penny Turns Up, and it has a friend

Well, it was inevitable. You may recall that Lloyd had taken his painting back to the shop for modifications. If you're unfamiliar with the painting saga, you can read about it here, here and here. Yesterday, we had a sitter so we went downtown for lunch. After a delicious meal of hot shredded beef soup, bibimbap and kimchi dumplings, Lloyd said, 'Hey! Let's go check on my painting!' I died a little inside, but I pasted a smile on my face and off we went to the 'Blue Boy Gallery'. The painting was done, and Lloyd was very pleased with it. The smoke is apparently just right now. I asked him how he was going to bring it home, because it's quite large (and valuable!) and we were on foot. He said, 'Oh, I'm just going to wait until the other one is done and get them at the same time." My head spun, I blacked out just a little, and everything started moving in slow motion. I understand that's a common reaction to shocking and traumatic incidents, like car accidents or when you fall through the ceiling. Not that I would know. Anyway, I said, 'Whaaaaaa?', and Lloyd pointed to an easel where a small canvas rested. Clearly visible were the outlines of the two ships, and it was obvious even in my discombobulation that there will soon be another, similar painting released into an unprepared world. If you're getting a little nervous, I totally understand, but you can rest easy. It turns out that his mother admired the painting, and so he is having a similar, smaller one done for her. Whew.

Cue the Spooky Music

Well, my friends, the day has come. The paintings are back from the shop, propped up in the bedroom, awaiting the unwrapping. They don't look so bad with that pretty paper covering them up, do they? If only the paper could remain... But no, I mustn't give myself false hope. Fear not, I do have options: I can always throw myself to the badgers.

If you are not familiar with the sad saga of the paintings, you can read about it here, here,
here and here. Then you can send your condolences to storiesfromkorea@gmail.com.

So! That's the epic beginning of the infamous painting. I'm still plotting its ending. The Goodwill thing didn't work out for me, SO FAR, but I'm a resourceful girl.....

House

Heheheheheheeheheh..... that's the sound of me laughing hysterically, in order to keep from crumpling up into a fetal ball and whimpering until I fall asleep in a sodden, tear-soaked heap. Remember last week, when Lloyd was going to move us while I was out of town? Well, he did. Sort of.  When I came home, I took one look and then had an overwhelming urge to light out for Mexico and consume mucho, mucho cervesas, but sadly all the cars were jammed full of garbage bags, boxes and miscellaneous flotsam and jetsam. No beers, either. Truly, it was..... well, here, see for yourself: 

So, yeah. It's pretty daunting. The garages at both the old house and the new house are full, there is a huge pile of junk awaiting a dump run, even more that needs to go to Goodwill, and nothing is where it belongs. For example, it's obvious that weapons, antlers and pilot crap all belong in the garage, right? But funny, that's not where they are. Hmmmmmm. 


On the plus side, the outside is awesome, and I haven't even been to the swamp yet. For the first time, my kimchi pots have a proper home. Oh, if you click on that link to read about when I bought my pots, just ignore the extraneous story about how I accidentally got trapped in the men's room in a Korean discount store, okay? Thanks in advance.


Here are some pictures of the outside. The garden is going to be in the front where the blueberries are; that's the spot that gets the most light. There are also empty beds all along the front. The dirt doesn't look super good but luckily there is a big pile of old rabbit poop next to the garage. Seriously, how fantastic is this place?!?!?!? You can almost NEVER find a house that comes with rabbit poop. 


Weston really wants to get some chickens right this very second but I'm pretty sure I'm not quite prepared for that. I have to go out of town again soon, though, and I never know what I'm going to find when I come back. Hell, we might have emus or something.  I'm a little concerned about the french drain that runs the entire length of the uphill side of the house, but oh well, we need to get rid of a bunch more useless stuff anyway, and flooding is as good a method as any.  


Have a good weekend, my friends, I am heading out to work in the garden!

Huckleberry in front yard

Storage building, blueberry bushes, and wellhouse

Kimchi pots

Backyard with salmonberries

View from wine drinking spot deck

Move

****Updated: in retrospect, I feel the tiniest bit sorry and guilty for what might be construed by some as Lloyd mocking. By 'some', I mean Lloyd, of course. Not quite bad enough to take this post down, only bad enough to add this disclaimer, and to state that I did, in fact, probably agree to undertake the moving methods described in an unflattering manner below. I might even have helped. But I was under duress.****

Yep, we've been in the same house for a full eighteen months now, time to move! I counted them up today, we've moved ten times in a little less than ten years. This time is a little different, of course- it's the first time we will have to pack ourselves. By 'we', I mean Lloyd, because I will be working out of town. See the picture up top? It's part of the garage. I stopped going in there, as you may recall, some time ago when I noticed Lloyd had the corpse-stashing cooler, some hefty bags, a mop and a case of bleach staged by the door. I sucked it up today, though, so I could illustrate what a daunting task the move is going to be. The first thing I noticed was the pile of firewood the size of a small sports stadium; it's much larger than it used to be. I mean, I like wood as much as the next girl, but there's a limit, am I right?

So, okay, now it's Sunday night. I started this early in the weekend and had big plans to finish up a nice long post about the new house and how I didn't see it first, which gave my sister conniptions but all my military spouse friends will know that you get to see the new house before it's picked out only about half the time, which in my experience is about the same ratio at which you get your husband to be present at the births of your children. But let's face it, I'm well into the second glass of wine and the posts don't write themselves, even though it seems like it sometimes, so I'm going to finish it up combat style:

• The new house is awesome. It has about a million huckleberry, salmonberry and blackberry bushes, its own stream and swamp, ample hoses and limited carpet, among many other fine features.

• I can't decide if I feel sorrier for Lloyd, or for myself. He has to move however many millions of pounds of crap we have, but I have to live with the aftermath. I'm thinking of the time he drove my car into the back of a U-Haul and then tossed a crib on top of it for a move from Florida to Louisiana and scraped up both sides AND the top. Oh, and also of the time he put my ridiculously-expensive-purchased-foolishly -for-a-first-child leather glider in the back of his truck and didn't secure it so it rocked back and forth until it rocked right out onto the road, and then tried to throw it away. Oh, sorry, is my bitter showing? And I changed my mind. I DEFINITELY feel sorrier for me.

• Don't worry about me, though, I have all my important junk stuffed in plastic bags in my car. I am not even kidding. I could live comfortably for quite some time.

• We had a nice picnic at Grandpa's house over the weekend. Well, nice to everyone except Shane, who informed me that it was the worst bad picnic ever. I'm not sure, but I think it was because Aunt Jennifer called a premature halt to the dirt clod throwing. Doesn't he look TRAUMATIZED? You'd almost think he was about to move.

• I'll keep you posted; I'm pretty sure I can blog from the car. Have a good week, my friends!

Yellow

****WARNING for Helen: immediately below this warning is a picture of my foot. It probably won't traumatize you as much as this one, but you are likely to suffer moderate discomfort. Please click here for Hilarity in Shoes, which I think you will like much better than feet****

Well, I guess the Easter bunny can live to terrify small children for another year. I caved in and bought the yellow coat this morning, so there will be no need to skin his yellow fur off for a cape. Wait, if you didn't read yesterday's post, you will probably have NO IDEA what I'm talking about, even though it makes PERFECT SENSE. So, let me explain. No, there is no time. Let me sum up. See, I had this brilliant plan to..... Oh, NEVER MIND. It's a long story, and trust me, the scheme was genius beyond words. In any case, it ends like this: I have a beautiful new yellow coat. So beautiful that I painted my toenails to match it. I do like sandal season but sadly, it appears that boot season may be behind me. Bittersweet, I know, and as a result I have been thinking ALL DAY about my motorcycle boots that I lost in the great Osan mold epidemic of '08. Oh, those would have been SO AWESOME with my new yellow coat.

Also, I noticed another problem caused by the fantastic new coat: it's sort of like when you put in a new kitchen floor, and then you realize how ratty your cabinets and countertops are. Then you replace those, and start noticing the chips in your china and how your pans are all scratched up and how you don't have NEARLY enough wine. No? Maybe it's just me. In the case of the coat, I decided it would look stunning with navy, and I don't have any navy. And maybe some blue and green toned scarves. And a crisp white shirt, and DEFINITELY some new purses. And probably a lot of new open-toed shoes. So you know what happens next, right? Yep, I am for sure taking that sucker back tomorrow. Okay, fine, I am totally just kidding. Wanna go thrifting with me? I will be there every day for AT LEAST the next three weeks. Maybe I will even find some new motorcycle boots!

Well, that's all for now, I have to go rest up for all that shopping. Have a good week, my friends, wherever you are!

Easter

Happy Easter! Oh, I know Easter is not actually until tomorrow. I have just never felt especially bound by convention, and besides, my sister did all the work and she said we were having Easter today. If she hadn't done all the work, we wouldn't have even HAD Easter. I told that to some people in the office the other day and they looked at me as if I had two heads, both with horns. I didn't realize not wanting to tell lies to your kids about some giant imaginary rabbit and then bust your ass to hide eggs full of sugar and chemicals for them to ingest was so controversial. But I guess it is.

So, we went to Grandpa's house, he cooked a ham, Jennifer made all the kids lovely baskets, Stefan hid about 4,372 eggs and a great time was had by all. Even the dogs and the garden statues were all decked out for the occasion. You'll note Ranger has a yellow Easter bunny attached to his collar. Do you guys think the Easter bunny really is yellow? I'm not a huge fan of holidays in general, especially ones that create work for me, and I've been coveting that snappy lemon-colored coat, you know. But I could go with a fur cape, too. The ears could attach around the front in a jaunty bow, what do you think? I've seen pink and green Easter bunnies, too, though, and those aren't really my colors so much. At least this season. Oooh, that gives me an idea for winter, too: can't you just see me in a deep red velvet? With white trim!

The kids especially enjoyed playing in the dirt pile in the driveway- they got out bowls and dumped in some pond water to make concrete. Something about the Easter bunny sleeping with the fishes, I dunno. You don't think my cape will be ruined if he gets waterlogged, do you? One thing I really require in a garment is that it can be easily laundered. I suppose he has to shower, what with all that hopping and egg-delivering, so you'd think it could go in the wash. In any event, all four of the kids got all muddy, marked up the garbage bins with dirty handprints to trick Grandpa into thinking there were aliens there, dug holes in the lawn, made piles to look like poop and threw dirt clods at each other. Then Jennifer came out and gave me the stinkeye for letting them get so dirty. I keep thinking she'll stop letting me watch them one of these days but no luck so far. It was BARELY questionable activity, anyway, not like they were chasing each other with sharp tools. At least not for very long. Then Stefan finally got sick of the mess and gave them an involuntary hosing down; they threw fits and we all went home. About the usual holiday outing, all things considered.

On the brown sweater front, I have been shopping multiple times with very limited success. I went to Goodwill today and while THE sweater continues to elude me, I did see two things that I dropped off the week before, which always amuses me. I'm not sure why, except that I am apparently very easily entertained.

And that's the Easter report from here; I hope you all have a great weekend!

April

Haha, fooled you! This isn't a real post. I WOULD write a real post but ***insert whiny excuse here***. Also, I can't find a brown sweater that suits my exacting specifications and I can think of little else. I keep expecting the universe to drop one in my lap as reparations for the scarf episode but no such luck so far. In fact, the desired sweater has so thoroughly crowded everything else out of my head that I successfully resisted purchasing multiple cunning coats while sweater shopping, if you can believe such a crazy thing. Even a delicious-looking lemon-yellow one with front pockets and..... soft, smooth, mahogany-colored....wait, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, instead of an actual post, the latest and greatest:

-Shane has decided he is going to be both a jet pilot AND a swordfighter. Thanks a lot, LLOYD.

-The boys are working on a secret club called hmmmm hmmmm doodle. Oops, I hope I didn't blow their cover. I would make a terrible secret agent. I'm not really clear on the full scope of this effort but there is going to be fish. I'm a little scared, because these big bowls of water with rocks and small dishes in them are appearing all over the house.

-Jennifer has some beautiful spring pictures up at her blog, check them out. I WOULD have put up some beautiful spring pictures only insert whiny excuse here I am lazy as hell I am too obsessed with my imaginary super soft, rich chocolaty-brown sweater to even consider taking pictures or doing anything else productive in any way I don't have any.

And, that's all the news from here for today; let me know if the universe accidentally gives you my sweater! I'll take that yellow coat, too, if you don't want it. Have a good week!

Beautiful

Wow, is it a beautiful day! The boys are outside wreaking havoc in their bare feet; it's hard to believe that this was the scene outside my office two days ago:

That is the smoker's shelter outside the office, collapsed under three or four inches of wet snow. Boy, you have never seen such a crabby bunch of tokers, I'm not kidding. But that's all in the past, right? And all that nasty ridiculously late snow is gone. The sun is shining, the dandelions are blooming, and the grass is lush and tasty:

I think we can all see what's wrong with this video, don't you? I was shocked, I tell you, SHOCKED, to learn that Lloyd does not allow the boys to eat grass. I KNOW! What is he thinking? I put a lot of effort into encouraging them to be self-reliant; that really cuts down on the number of cheese quesadillas and peanut butter sandwiches I have to throw at them. Mostly my efforts consist of ignoring their ever more insistent requests for food until they give up and scrounge something for themselves. And really, they are excellent foragers. They know all the edible weeds in the yard and are pretty agile at snapping up bugs. The less food we need, the more cash available for wine! Besides, a little grass never hurt anyone, right?

He probably also doesn't let them jump out of trees, but I didn't want to ask. What I don't know doesn't hurt me, I always say! Not captured on video:

Weston (approximately 10 feet up the apple tree in his bare feet): Can I jump from here?

Me: I don't know, can you?

Weston: Tell me if it's safe!

Me: You'll have to decide for yourself. I don't know if I'd do it, myself, from that high up with no shoes on.

Weston: Will I die?

Me: No.

Weston: But is it safe?

Shane: It's safe! Do it!

Weston: No! (climbs down gingerly)

I think I might be taking this self-reliance thing a little too far, though. When I came out of the shower this morning, I discovered Shane, naked, plunging the toilet and Weston on the computer, shopping for turtles. They're starting to scare me a little, I don't mind saying. I'm pretty sure there's no going back now, though. All I can do is hang on for the ride. And stock up on wine. Okay, fine, I would do that anyway. WHATEVER.