The Missing Months

So, I was supposed to be cleaning the bathroom today. We'll pretend I did. Okay, that's settled. Now...

A quick warning about this post. If you are seriously arachnophobic, you do not want to scroll all the way down to the last picture. Seriously. I cannot be held responsible for any heart palpitations or soiled shorts that may result if you ignore this warning.

So, the last time I posted anything was in February. Shame on me. In my defense, I have been writing a lot of poems... which might not actually be much of a defense to you. Philistines.

We had more of a winter in 2012-13 than the prior one, and Winter's last hurrah was a pretty impressive. It waited until the third week of March, gave us a lovely sixty-something degree day, and then the next day... HA HA HA! Here are six inches of snow, SUCKERS! The daffodils were unfazed, however, and the boys and I tried to build an igloo. It didn't work. They got too wet and cold before we got more than two layers high. Well, there's always next March. I'm onto Winter's tricks now.

After that, mud and gloom kept us living roomed (which is like being closeted, only with a bit more space) for a couple more weeks until April showed itself with a sudden leap into the 80s. Degrees, not high tops, horrible neon clothing, big hair, and shoulder pads. I quickly planted all of my "cold weather" plants, hoping that that would result in a return of sixty degree weather. Got forty degrees instead, then eighty again. Apparently this Spring is delivering desired temperatures by median. Regardless of reasoning, it made quick work of the spring flowers, and the boys and I have already been to and in the river once this year, gleaning even more shells that will eventually be jewelry. I think I even found a flower I haven't catalogued yet. It looks like an anemone, but what exact kind, I can't be sure. My flower book doesn't have one just like it and now that I don't work at the library any more, I can't sneak off during work and identify plants.

The bonny weather brought a fit of high spirits amongst us Pearsons, so we decided to go hiking. Joe bid me find a place to go, and behold, a discovery! Quiet Trails Nature Preserve, nestled in a quiet corner of Harrison County, KY... three miles from our house. This spit of land was donated to the state in 1990, and made into a nature preserve with hiking trails and little nature-observation shacks... and an old tobacco barn. Kentucky--go figure. The things you never know are there if you don't enjoy getting lost on narrow, windy Kentucky back roads! Actually, I do enjoy getting lost on back roads, and have even gotten lost on this very road, but still somehow never realized Pugh's Ferry housed a hiking destination. Rawr!

Why, Rawr? No idea.

In the last couple of weeks, I have been very Amish. I turned the soil in my little garden by hand and made a pea trellis. I planted greens, carrots, peas, and flowers, and started tomatoes and peppers in a flat. I even planted trees! I'm so green! Now I spend a lot of time staring hard at dirt, which leads to the discovery unplanned of bugs. I think this is a dung beetle of some kind, which makes me worry about the efficacy of my septic tank right next to my garden. And who knew dung beetles were pretty?

Besides dung beetles and wood anemones, I have also seen the second ever Zebra Swallowtail to visit my yard, and seen and identified what I believe to be a fine specimen of a Western Meadowlark. Yes, Western.... They range this far, according to my book.

Charlie has been begging to mow for weeks now. On Saturday, while Daddy was fixing the mower (which prompted more poetry, but that's for another day) Charlie was literally climbing the trees in anticipation. Good thing, because he found this:

.
She was not very pleased, but the kids and I thought it was cool.

While Charlie looks skyward, and I look dirtward, Abe looks at the swing set and finds... this is the part where arachnophobes will want to stop... Phidippus Mystaceus! This was the best picture I could get, but he/she was very pretty, with iridescent blue fangs and fluffy, white thingies that he seemed to use to clean his eyes. I studied this critter for quite a while, and decided that spiders in jars are charming. He really looked hard for a way out, the clever little fellow, testing the magnifying glass I had atop the jar. He would poke, poke, then clean his eyes with his fuzzy things as if to say, "What is this hard air!? I can't be seeing this... Maybe I shouldn't have eaten that really shiny bug... I seem to be hallucinating." Yes, spiders in jars, I can dig. When I let him out of the jar, he jumped at me and I screamed like a little girly and ran away, though; So spiders outside of jars, I can still do without... 

Funny Things Pearsons Say

I've about collected enough of my boys' witticisms for another of these.

I was trying to shove Charlie's snow boot on. This never works very well when he isn't making an effort to apply counter thrust. His boot sort of flew off and almost landed on his other leg, just above the heel. "Hey!" he said, "You almost hit me in the intestine!" (Doubtless, he meant Achilles.)

The boys were "eating" their dinner, which involves, as with most little boys, a lot of pushing food around their plates. Joe had finished, and was going in and out the door carrying loads of firewood, (Yes, we live in Kentucky. Contain yourselves.) so he was far enough from the table that he didn't hear me correctly when I said, "Would you eat, you goobers!?"
He turned to me and inquired, quite dryly, "Did you just tell them to eat their boogers?"

Abraham was running around the living room, jumping from couch to couch, which obviously resulted in my yelling that "This house is not a jungle gym!"
Leaping into the kitchen, he replied, "But I'm a jinja!"

Charlie was watching "Lilo and Stitch," and he apparently has a tenuous grasp on reality, because he turned to me and quite sincerely declared, "Everyone in Hawaii looks like a moron!"

Poemless

Don't get too excited. This post does contain a poem.

Now that I have forever destroyed your ability to trust, I can get on with my story. Over the weekend, I organized my sock drawer. I can see you reaching for the red X in the top right hand corner, but it had to be done. I couldn't find any matching socks or any underwear. Too much information. Moving on. I organized my whole dresser, actually. And since I know you're wondering; yes, my closet is hung by color and clothing type. My 200 disc CD wallet is alphabetized, as are the DVD shelves. My book case is organized thematically and also by book type, which is to say, hardcover, trade paper, mass market, odd sized... You get the idea. I am completely unhinged. I build cities out of Duplo blocks where the main criterion is that each building be all. One. COLOR!!!!!

I really don't understand how the separate entities that are "me" can coexist in one brain. Not comfortably, let me tell you. Once I start cleaning, I find it almost literally impossible to sit down until I fall down. Cleaning, for me, is a feast or famine thing. Daily maintenance, my derriere. Wait until it looks like there was an avalanche, and then go at it like a ninja. What? This is a blog. I'm perfectly within my rights to mix metaphors.

What I'm getting at is that I don't really like being this way. I try to be organized, but some demented inner part of me rebels, like the Gollum within. And that is the part that says, "Break all the dishes! I'm going for a hike!" Then, while Gollum and I are hiking happily, catching raw fish, and writing poems, Smeagol pops its melanin deficient little nose up in the air and says, "Kids! There's no need to actually roll in the mud!" But Gollum thinks there is.

Gollum also sees no need to file the paid bills in the filing cabinet. Ever. Smeagol gets violent when it can't find proof that it did, in fact, pay last month's phone bill, my precccciousssss. This is the duality that I live with. Anyway, I think that Smeagol thinks that Gollum has been winning of late, what with all the poetry and all. That's why Smeagol needed to organize the sock drawer. And the tee drawer, the jammy drawer, the tank top drawer, the husband's closet, and the guest bedroom. Freakin' Smeagol! Go annoy a Hobbit, already! Gollum and I are flipping out because we want to write some gosh. Darned. POEMS! (Or make some jewelry or design greeting cards out of paint swatches or build with Legos or go for a hike or......)

 So... this is the result of that...

Poemless

At home

my aimless mind

writes poemless lines.

Homeless, under

trees or sky,

my lines take aim

to fly.

(my preccciousssss....)

(P.S. Elaine, you can call Jon to translate that for you. I never have to know. :D )

Answer to My High School Self

Sometimes it's fun to look back through old photos and writings and see who you used to be, half your lifetime ago. And sometimes, you just think, "Wow! How did I live this long being so stupid and arrogant?" Lucky you! I'm going to take you on the Odyssey with me!

when i grow up

when i grow up
i'm going to live alone
in an immaculate little apartment
with very sparse furniture.
i only want a bed for sleeping,
a table for eating,
a chair for reading,
and a shelf for books.
i will hang my own drawings
and collect only the best books,
which include classics,
and those written by my friends.
i will eat pasta often
and broccoli when i like
and drink a lot of caffeinated beverages.
i won't keep any pets
except maybe a small reptile
in case i get lonely.
i'm going to listen to whatever music
however loudly i like at odd hours.
there will candles on the floor
and no tv.
i will go out to movies alone--
maybe even twice if i like them.
i'll write letters home
and go on holidays
but not if dad is in a bad mood.
i will live this way when i grow up.

Dear Self, Now That You Have Grown Up

Dear Self,
               Now that you've grown up,
you've decided that you like capital letters.
You've also found that you often wonder
when you "officially" became a grown up.

Living alone proves impossible
when you have two kids.
Kids don't even like to let you be
alone in the bathroom.

"Immaculate" also only applies to
"conception" when you have four
people making messes and
one point five of them cleaning. Just saying.

Husbands also tend to want you
to live in the same house and share
a bed. Four people seem
to require rather a lot of furniture.

Your husband seems to require
rather a lot of books.
His are mostly nonfiction.
The only classics

you own are the ones you found
you actually enjoyed in college.
Sorry, I guess I'm not as much
of an intellectual as you were.

Also, I hate to break it to you,
but you did, in fact, read
the Twilight Saga.
Not that you will admit that in public.

But hey, we do tend to eat a lot
of pasta. And occasional broccoli.
But not the kids.
Not even under extreme duress.

Oh, and by the way,
I discovered in college
that caffeinated beverages
turn us into a raving lunatic

so that part of the dietary plan
is out. But hey, avocados
are really really good.
And you never knew that until now!

For company, lizards really
kind of suck. Not that I don't still
like them. They're cool...
well, actually, cold. Blooded. Get it!?

Anyway....I've found that dogs are much
better friends when you're lonely. Unfortunately
though, I've kind of lost count of the cats
we've gone through since moving

to the country. Yes, you moved to
the country. You found out you like
quiet and actually
kind of hate loud music

or any music of any kind. Ever.
Because kids are loud
and adding a sound track
just gives you vertigo.

No TV... Well, I still
agree with you on that one but,
ashamed to say, sometimes the only
time you get to wash dishes

is when those two unexpected kids
are "stupefying themselves." But at least
you've trained them to call the TV
the "dumb box." So, ten points

to Ravenclaw! Oh, you disdained the first
book of the Harry Potter series when
you were in high school. But they're seven
of the books you have on your

(more than one) shelves now.
Movies, for the most part,
are out. For one thing
most of them are a waste

of two good hours of your life.
For another, you have to watch
what you play in front of those kids.
Avengers was good, though.

I don't want to spoil it for you
but the best part was when Hulk
punched Thor. Or maybe
when he trashed Loki.

But I digress.
Where was I?
You don't write letters home.
That's why you have a blog!

That, and to share this crappy poetry.

Oh, and Dad? Sorry for the
teenaged commentary on
your moods. I was one to talk

wasn't I?

Embarrassing Poetry from High School, and a Recipe, Because That Just Makes Sense

Recently, like a brave archaeologist venturing into the tombs of the Pharaohs, I dug out a folder of musty poetry and other writing that I did in high school. Much like that first sentence, I discovered my high school poetry to be rife with overblown sentiments and trite imagery. So, because I think everyone should embarrass him or herself at least once a week on principle, I have decided to share the least horrible of it with you. May you snort liquid out your nose in mirth at my sophomoric (and occasionally junioric or even senioric, but I don't think there's any freshmanic) efforts.

Who, What, When, Where, Why, Huh?

Oh no! I'm late again!
I really have to run.
I've got nowhere to be
and I must be there by one!

You ask why I must go?
I have nothing to do;
and if I don't finish it,
I'll be nowhere 'til two.

I've got No one to meet
and he'll be mad, I know
if I'm one minute late
so I've really got to go.

In no time I must be there
and there's no time like the present
to leave and get there early.
It's high time that I went.

I've no reason to go
and no excuse for being late.
No one is important
and I'd hate to make him wait.

I'm glad we talked that out.
I hope it's clearer now.
Nonsense always makes sense
when you don't know how.

I also, apparently, spent a lot of high school pondering the efficacy of the most important meal of the day. So here are those brilliant musings, for your edification.

Time for a Healthy Breakfast

Cereal is for chipmunks!
I like my breakfast hot
or if I'm eating bark and twigs
I should get to eat a lot.
Nor do I want technicolor
crunchy marshmallow stuff.
I would much rather have eggs
and toast browned just enough.

On that note, I think I created a fantastic recipe for pancakes this morning. My family loves pancakes, and I am trying to add some nutrition to our diets through stealth and treachery. So...

Banapple Oatcakes

1 cup oats
1 cup flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 cup milk
2/3 cup apple sauce
1 ripe banana
4.5 tsp honey
2 eggs
Optional: 1/4 tsp each of cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg

Put the oats in the blender until they're practically flour, then stir together all the dry ingredients.

Put the banana and other "wet" ingredients in your blender and make a smoothie of it.

Stir the wet into the dry and cook on a hot griddle like you would normal pancakes.

I found these to taste sweeter than regular pancakes, and lightly fruity. They'd be great with apple butter, or fruit topping, but I had them with honey with splash of cloves and cinnamon stirred into it. I loved these pancakes, and I'm not generally a pancake person. They didn't fool my family, but since everyone but the four year old liked them, I will probably make them again. These could be made dairy free by using coconut milk instead of dairy milk, but then I might leave out the honey or they'd be too sweet. From what I read on the omniscient internet, these could also be made gluten free by substituting Teff flour, but you'd also have to look for specially marked "gluten free" oats. I gather this is because commercial oats are often grown in close proximity to commercial wheat and become contaminated? That sounds a bit whacky to me, but I don't want to kill someone with Celiac disease, so that's my disclaimer. Anyway, try these, they're sure to please all but the grinchiest of grinches.

Take No Revenge on Thorn Bushes

So, the boys and I took an off-road ramble today. This, admittedly, involved minor trespassing, since we had to climb over the place where the really persnickety guy's fence meets itself at one sharp corner. We were probably on his property for a grand total of three seconds, so I'm not too fussed about it, really. Where we ended up was completely worth it. It was really just the path between hills that had been carved by hundreds of years of run-off, but it was a place we had never gone.

Charlie was reluctant to follow me where I wanted to go, at first. He was worried about coyotes. Myself, I was looking for R.O.U.S.es. And if you don't get that movie reference, I'm sorry: there is no hope for you. And anyway, after we had defeated all the horrors of the fire swamp, we decided we could live there quite happily for some time... Wait, wrong story...

What did end up attacking us, or at least Abe, was a thorn bush. After we got him untangled, he was pretty angry with the bramble, so he gave it a good whack with the stick he was carrying. Long story short, don't whack something that can whack you back with a pricklier stick.

Aaaaaand that resulted in today's poem. I swear, I don't go looking for these things. We're just walking around, and something happens. A line pops into my head, and then a poem writes itself around that line. I'm really just incidental to the process because I have a keyboard and opposable thumbs.

Revenge

As I hiked through the winter woods

a bramble snatched my hat,

tore my coat and scratched my face,

tripped me this way and that.

When, swearing, I had freed myself,

I whacked it with a stick

and for my pains I got more pains

where I, again, got pricked.

I learnt this then: on thorn bushes

one cannot take revenge;

they will best you every time

and they need not bring friends.

 

Another Poem and an Original Mockermeme

Improvements

Where rivulets follow ditches,

leaves make dams,

and small boys are moved

to purpose.

Their passage downhill

is slowed by painstaking

excavations

to speed the flow of water.

Never tell a boy

that natural order requires no improvements;

they are not in the least impressed that

water finds its own way.

Help! I Can't Stop Myself!

High and Low

The wind, a howling phantom

cannot find me where I hide

just underneath its indrawn breath

at base of this hillside.

Still, the specter seeks to root

me out from in the trees

and roaring, thrashes them about

searching high for me.

If this ghost would only think

of searching high and low,

its passage chills me quickly then

wherever I should go.



Something Rather More Serious

We all know what happened at Newtown, an inconceivable month and a half ago. And what happened at Columbine, and about the others in between. Nickle Mines, Pennsylvania Amish settlement. Virginia Tech. Aurora, Colorado. We probably all know the names of those evil-doers in each case too, but I will not dignify their actions by naming them. When I looked up a timeline of "school shootings" since Columbine, I was astounded by the length of that list. The ones above were just the "big" ones. But every one of them resulted in a mother, a father, a family, missing a key member.

I have a friend, whose story is her own, whose child was stolen suddenly, violently, and permanently. I have other friends who lost children other ways. From this, I have learned that a common thing these parents hear is that "God must have needed another angel" or "another flower for His garden." And I think this phrase has begun to anger me almost as much as it must anger those being offered this "comfort." God is not some orchid thief who takes the rare flowers of lesser mortals to decorate his paradise. Those who choose to gain infamy by mass-murder/suicide are not harvesters for some hateful God. They are just hateful, evil, rabid animals. So, I've been writing. A poet friend woke my brain up, so I'll blame the bout of poecy on her.

Thoughts Regarding Those Who Profess God a Jealous Gardener

(or God Steals No Flowers for his Garden)

In this ravaged paradise,

newly greened shoots are too often trampled

or mown. But God, whose eye

is on the sparrow, knows where His

foot falls. He breaks no bruised reed.

And now, as if the Columbines had not been cut

soon enough in the flower of their youth,

the scythe of garden-variety rage

has cut a swath through a new town.

Those left in a desolate winter

are sure to hear tell of their tender buds

springing new in Elysium.

But the Reaper has been usurped,

his tool stolen by those

who have no right to sow salt.

Do not offer comfort to those left tending empty beds

by painting pictures of God's rare flora, new-sprung.

Though everything is said to have its season,

God does not cultivate His fields by spreading blight.

Those who raze our protected glades seek

not to fruit God's vinyard

but rather to wither vines of men.



Short, Whiny Poetry

 

Thoughts at the End of Most Days

A whole day
up in smoke
but I didn’t
burn it, especially
not at both ends
so why am I smelling
the acrid remains
of the day?

Age's Garden, Youth's Window

Looking out on
my darkened garden
through a glass
lit from within,
shows a slender,
unmarred, graceful  

shade plant self:

a pale caladium

hidden from the withering

heat of time.

A Private Rainstorm

Last night, the sky and rain

contrived

to glaze all the

trees and such:

just a thin, elegant coating of ice.

Today, the sun diamonded everything

as it warmed the ice,

freeing dainty drops:

a hushed conversation between trees

and moss.

I stood outside the fence, listening,

knowing this not to be an affair for me.

This was a private rainstorm.

And now, the many faces of winter in Kentucky

 These are the smiliest faces of winter hereabouts.

 

 

 

This is ice from a week or so ago, which resulted in poetry. 

 Before that, was this.

 Between them, was this, which I think probably resulted in the last post's poetry.

I Will Now Subject You to My Poetry; Part... I Forget

The kind of day wherein everything roars—
The distant, plosive, tumbling barks of multiple dogs;
The twin engines of a lone, low plane;
The sweeping blades of a helicopter crisscrossing the sky;
But mostly,
          Mostly
Wind
Roars, cresting over the surrounding hills…
Sighs, curling through trees…
Roars, breaking into whispers at the foot of the cliff that overlooks the river…
Its sudden susurrus, an absence,
          Palpable
As thunder.

Okay, So, Classic Snow Day Story:

The four year old has no boots because he threw them in the pond back in the spring, ostensibly to "wash the mud off of them." He also has snow pants that are two sizes too small and a pair that are two sizes too big, but none that exactly fit. The intermediate pair must have gotten destroyed before they made it to "hand-me-down" stage. So today we opted for the two sizes too small pair in light of the fact that he will be wearing hand-me-down snow boots that are two sizes too big. No, not because we thought that snow boots would average out snow pants, but rather assuming that he'd probably like to have at least a snowflake's chance in the Sahara of being able to walk.

It worked out okay. The boot tops just met the pant bottoms, but this made him feel like his knees were vulnerable. So, welcome the solution of all true hill-billy snow warriors: duct tape. As I was taping around his knees, Abraham gave me the most dubious look I have ever seen on the face of a four year old.

I asked him, "Are you sad?"

Charlie, with his usual comic timing, chimed in, "Are you sad because you're never going to see your knees again!?"

Abe gave us both a look that could melt rock. "No," he deadpanned. "I just look weird."

It's these moments I live for.

Something you don't see every day: frozen mushrooms on the side of a tree:

 

And in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and... Blessed Christmas!

Fun With Cisterns

Today's lesson about Kentucky living, kids, is how much fun can be had with cisterns. When houses are designed correctly, by human beings and not trained chimps, they are built with wide enough gutters to accommodate moderate to heavy rain flow off of the catchment surface, i.e. the roof. Gutters should be covered with mesh of some kind to keep leaves and spinny dillibobber seed thingies (scientific name) out of the pipe system leading to the cistern. These catchment gutters then lead to large diameter pipes which have been fitted together in such a way as to direct the flow of water to the cistern without leaking all over the dang place, but also can easily be taken down for cleaning. As you are about to see, children, my house was built by trained chimps.

The gutters have no mesh covering, so the pipes are constantly clogged with spinny dillibobbers which I am convinced are directed there especially by pernicious fairies. They also overflow when it even thinks about raining, causing us to lose half the water we might otherwise have caught, cleverly keeping the cistern from ever actually getting full. We wouldn't want that, no sir. The pipes leading to the cistern, when not clogged, have been fitted together backwards, creating impressive shows of back flow during heavy rain. Imagine a giant toddler back washing into his cup. Yeah, like that. Anyway, the long and short of this story, dear reader, is that our catchment system is a general wreck. But! Inspiration in desperation, my friends! Which leads me to...

How to catch twice as much water as your crappily designed catchment system would otherwise be capable of in a moderate to heavy rain:

1. Gather two lawn chairs, an aluminum ladder, a wheel barrow, a small tarp, and some twine.



2. Jury rig that sucker for all its worth.



3. Practice mad scientist chortle.

Other lessons in this series include:
How to Make a Cat Shelter Out of Household Junk and Duct Tape
10 Uses for Coffee Filters That Don't Fit Your Coffee Maker
and

Hang It All, Let's Move Back to the Suburbs