Around the House

I spend a lot of time in front of my kitchen window.  More now that I’m washing bottles several times a day.  I like my kitchen window.  I have a lot of cool stuff there.  A giant jar of spaghetti.  A bear carved out of a piece of wood with a chainsaw, who is holding two halves of a chestnut core that look like owl faces.  A bar of soap from Hawaii.  A bunch of spoons made out of…something.  A kitchen witch.  A deer antler that holds my hand towel.  Measuring spoons.  Lots of things.


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Nothing, Really…Just…

…who gave Harper and June money to buy tie dyes from their mother’s shamelessly self-promoted Etsy shop?  Just curious.  It was probably grandma.

Chillin’ on Harmony, watching mom hang tie dyes. In their tie dyes.

Around the House

I have too many things.  I’m forever worrying that A&E is going to show up on my front porch.  Cameras and therapists and those big, embarrassing 1-800-JUNK trucks that let all your neighbors know that you’re a filthy dirty hoarder.  

It’s not that bad.  My mother will tell you it is, but it’s not.  At all.  I don’t think so.  Neither do the Hoarders.  

Anyway, as I mentioned, I have some freakin’ cool stuff.  I’d like to share some of it with you.  I’ll try to do it every Sunday.  

This week:  The fort in my grapevines.  

Yep.  I have grapevines.  With a fort built into them.  It belongs to the little girls who live in the house behind me.  It’s not really clear whose grapevines these are…they could be theirs for all I know.  But theirs is a rental house, so the grapevines, if they’re not mine, would actually belong to the landlord.  And I’ve lived here five years and these grapevines have never, ever been tended.  Not by me.  Not by them.  Not by anyone except the birds.  And the birds are really bad at pulling all of the weeds out and getting rid of all the dead vines.  So these grapevines are really just a viper’s nest of foliage.  Great place for a fort.  Kind of wish I’d thought of it first.  ImageImage


I’m Going to Dye!

We had a nice evening away from the kiddos.  Grandma took one and Uncle took the other.  I got some new things for dyeing.  Made a couple of kinda cool shirts.  Good night.  They’re both back now.  My house is still a mess and I still have things I’d like to get done, but I’m glad I spent the night doing what I wanted rather than what I needed to do.  

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50 First Words: Bear

The prompt

This world is blue, here in the reinforced plastic tube into which we – he and I – are crowded, staring up at the tank of rippling water that swirls above us. Even one crack in our fiberglass bubble would turn the lot of us into the next three day news tragedy. Outside it’s a sweltering ninety six degrees and only getting hotter. Here we can forget. It’s blue. Ice blue.

“I think we should see other people,” he says, slender hands in the pockets of his skinny jeans. He never looks down from the ceiling. No one does. I nod. The silence slaps my cheeks. They redden. “Here it comes,” he says, pointing with thick knuckles to the liquid sky. We hold our breaths as the crystal air around us goes black, then cracks back to the frozen, unabashed glare of sunlight. The white bear swims back to the edge of the pool, climbs out, shakes. The crowd begins to shuffle toward the door. He turns, moves with them. I watch the water slowly settle. A new crowd is on its way in.

Batman Is, Apparently…(SPOILER ALERT)

…the new MacBeth.

Alfred:  Be careful, Mr. Wayne.  This young woman is about to ruin the film for anyone who hasn’t seen it yet, and actually gives a furry flying rat’s ass about it.

Batman:  Thank you, Alfred.  I’ll put her on my list of people to allow to be made collateral damage while fighting my next super-villain.  Who, in the town where she lives, is probably named something like “Captain Meth Head.”

Both, in unison:  Ah ha ha ha ha ha.

Alfred: (placing his gnarled, white gloved, old man claw lightly upon the caped crusader’s firm and supple, lycra-covered left buttock, whispers) I love you, Mr. Wayne.

Batman:  (stiffening…no, not in that way.  Perverts) Hey…did you just make a…did you just make a joke about…

Alfred: (not removing hand) About bats being nothing more than carriers of disease infested fleas, and who have been merely the lucky recipients of the evolutionary gift of flight, Mr. Wayne?

Batman:  (brows knitting slowly together beneath the molded neoprene brows of his pointy-ass mask, drawing out the word) Yeeeeeeeeaaaaaaahhhhhhh….

Alfred:  I did, sir.

Batman:  (spinning around to sucker punch Alfred in his saggy, liver-spotted bicep) That’s for the bats.  (Roundhouse kicks Alfred to the inside of his right thigh) And that’s for grabbing my ass.  Y’old pervert.  (Stalks away into the darkness of the bat cave, cape trailing in the eerie moonlight glow that somehow penetrates a fucking cave).  Oh, and Alfred?

Alfred:  (doubled over wheezing) Yes, Mr. Wayne?

Batman:  Bring me up some Oreos and a caramel latte after I’ve had time to slip into the bubble bath, would you?Alfred:  My pleasure, Mr. Wayne.

I just…I have no idea why I just did that.  I can just be really tangential sometimes.  Anyway…

I was saying that Batman is the new Macbeth.  And I know that I’m using humor here and that there’s nothing funny about what happened in Colorado but…seriously?  Does anyone else see the connection?  This film is just basically ruined for everyone now.  Batman will always be regarded, from this day forward, as the epic film of the year that just fell flat on its face in front of the whole school at the Senior Prom.

Not only did Letterman ruin it for everyone, but now it will always be remembered as the movie that was the backdrop for a random act of terrible and senseless violence.  So:  (a) Batman will forever be associated with bad things happening to people and (b) no one is going to want to say the word “Batman” ever again.  Yep.  I’m still definitely drawing a parallel between Batman and MacBeth.  Just sayin’.

Sucks, dudes.

I like little assignments every day. I can write without the pressure of writing anything at all. I like this because I get permission to quit after 50 words, which is all my attention span can muster quite often. I’ll probably quit fairly quickly. But I’ll pretend I won’t and I’ll even try really hard not to.

First 50 Words - Prompts for Writing Practice

They are convinced they can drive, even though parking frightens them. The radio must play some head-banging, nerve jangling mayhem that makes a normal human want to scream. It’s better if the windows are down so they can shout out obscure jokes to passers-by. All the mirrors must be turned toward the faces of the humans in the car in order that they can inspect themselves with great regularity. There are teens in the car.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “teens in the car.”

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And I’m Tie Dyeing Things Now…

…so…there’s that.  Trying to sell them to make a little extra cash.  Apparently no one in this town shares my enthusiasm for swathing their tiny people creatures in the ultimate symbol of the counterculture movement.  Bummer.  Looks like my kids are going to be the local hippies.  That’s okay.  No, really.  It’s okay.  There are worse things in the world.  Botulism comes to mind…

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