Author has written 13 stories for Supernatural.
A bio...ok, well--I'm a sign carver from Ontario Canada. I'm of Dutch heritage, but can't speak it, alas. I love old buildings and critters. Married to a patient man, (luvya Greg) one awesome son who is in university biology and will one day save the planet. I collect old forged things, just cuz I think they're cool and I could never make them. I've had grey hair since my twenties...(I blame my husband, lol) Grew up Catholic, not so much now. Wish there was magic, but resigned to live without it. I have a thing for acorns. Love Pearl Jam and Nirvana, and Matt Good. Radiohead. Learning to like red wine, but not there yet. ( I got as close as zinfandel, does that count?) When I grow up I wanna be a sculptor.
I've come to the conclusion that I like the characters of Supernatural more than the show itself. Once I discovered this amazing phenomenon called Fanfic, I was hooked. Now I can direct their travels, instead of lamenting their situation on television. I may go mad with power, lol.
We're slowly restoring three very old houses. (old by canuck standards) It's a labour of love/hate, lol. The log house is our current home, and on the market. It started life as two early 1800 hewn log cabins. We disassembled them and rebuilt on a new site. Greg is the driving force behind these endeavors; he provides the site-specific tech, and brute strength. I round it out with a contrary sort of logic, and a refined vision. We work well together; which, I'm told, is not normal. Hoping to move to the Farm soon, which is a stone house currently stripped raw inside, and without modern comforts yet. I'd consider going off-grid, but I need my internet. And as I age, I appreciate modern conveniences and comforts. I fear I am losing my pioneering spirit. Got land though, and a barn. Hope to grow stuff soon. Legal stuff, lol. (Haskap berries, anyone?)
Third home is an old cape out East... It was built by a Loyalist somewhere before 1800. We don't get there but once or twice a year (17 hour drive) I worry all year that it has fallen in through my neglect, but it still stands, stronger than me, I guess. My younger sis wants to do a seance in the old house, but with two hundred years of human experience within those walls, I'd just as soon leave everyone peacefully sleeping, :0
I used that house as the setting for one of these stories. You can figure it out later, ;)
We're not exactly real estate moguls with these places. We bought all of them for very little, because where others see a tear-down, we see great potential and faded charm. That'd be the legacy I'd like to leave: that if you want a home of your own, find something out there that is cheap but with good bones, and do the work yourself. You don't have to be an expert to try things. Leave the electrical to a certified person, (your insurance lampreys will require that) but do your own plastering, rough construction, painting, plumbing. It might not be perfect, but it won't be a disaster, and in the end, through your own sweat and determination, you'll have something far more valuable than the sum of its parts.
Love backyard archaeology. Saw some cool books on Ebay on the subject of metal detecting and unearthing relics. I'm not looking to get rich and find a hoard of gold and jewels, (Canada, not Britain here!) just cool hand forged things, and any accompanying relics. Even here, near Ottawa, I've found a wealth of interesting things in the yard...like coins, tokens, bottles, clay pipe parts...a pocket watch case. Oh, and a grave stone. Charlotte Scully's headstone (RIP 1862) now forms the hearth of our fireplace. I think she appreciates the warmth.
Found and hatched only one Monarch butterfly this year. They're getting harder to find, too bad. But I did hatch a black swallowtail. And in a horrific twist, I also hatched an ichneumon wasp, from a second chrysalis. Imagine waiting for a pretty butterfly to emerge, and then to be greeted by a freaky orange parasitic wasp instead. Had the willies for a week. But I let it go. Ugly doesn't mean less valuable in the big picture, right? I mean the non-Hollywood Big Picture, of course.
New favourite television time-waster; Time Team, it is really fascinating, ya gotta google it!
Huge Bobby fan here. (The opposite with regard to Papa Winchester. Those poor little kids... Great actor, but I can't even look at that guy.) But Jim Beaver has created a figure that is believable and progressively more important, probably more so than was ever intended by the creators. Pray the writers never get it in their heads to kill him off. They will face the mother of all petitions, lol!
These stories I wrote are unabashedly Dean-centic. Most were written a year, or several more, ago. (I can't believe so much time has passed...) I find it sort of interesting to re-read them and correct/revamp them to post on this site, now that I have figured out the intricacies of how to do so. (not very techie here) I one-finger peck-type in wordpad. Most of the stories are in an order as part of an unofficial series that started with What Goes Around, Comes Around. There are two, I think, that I wrote that could be considered separate from these. I'll eventually post them all here, after re-editing. I think there were thirteen in total. I have a fourteenth that is currently imprisoned in my dead laptop, and I'm not sure if it is possible to retrieve it, but if so, it would most likely have been my last one anyway. Still love the characters, still watch the show...but I found that my version of Dean in particular was growing progressively more sad and hopeless over the course of my knowing and writing him, and it was getting sort of hard to keep journeying alongside him. Does that make any sense? Anyway, I really hope you find these tales worth the read. Thanks for dropping by, lol.
I need a vacuum. I just inherited my mother-in-law's Kirby. Now...apparently, when you say the word 'Kirby", you have to say it with a certain hushed reverence, and then nod knowingly at whoever is there to witness its fabulousness. Well, sorry to sound ungrateful, but a 40 year old vacuum is a 40 year old vacuum; it doesn't matter how elite it was when it was bought, it's a tired old piece of crap now. All I ever ask of a vacuum, in my pet-hair-tumbleweed-laden house; is that it can at least suck up a freaking popcorn kernel. We like popcorn, and I've been chasing the damned leftovers around the floor forever. I've seen the Dyson commercials, with that elegantly thin, soft-spoken engineer touting his amazing machine. He has that mesmerizing accent, and that soothing and reassuring tone. I believe him. I would follow him anywhere and do his bidding. ...As long as his vacuum picks up popcorn kernels.
Well. The skunk that visits was here again. If we'd been more aware, (alotta wine and a game we invented using Trivial Pursuit and Popomatic Trouble) we might NOT have put Bear out alongside the little bugger. The results were predictable. Ground zero blast to doggy face, and if you've never experienced it first-hand, you cannot understand the sheer intensity of it. It is nothing at all like that smell you get a whiff of as you pass a road kill. It is the most pungent, eye-watering burnt garlic smell, and it permeates everything. We bought a Skunk-Off product that was supposed to do wonders. It didn't. As far as I can tell, it just angered-up the stink.
I really hate spiders. Seriously, what was nature thinking?? I'm up a ladder , painting under the eaves, and a big fat eight-legged freak shoots out of some cranny at my face. I knocked it away in a panic. it went flying with legs splayed and just when I think I'm safe, I see the thing start to rappel back up its thread. I try with flailing hands to sever the invisible line, but it just keeps coming. So I have a choice; let it reach me and smack it, or jump to the pavement and break my ankles. All of which would involve screaming like a little girl. Luckily the choice was taken out of my hands. The wind took it and it disappeared.
I got a skunk/raccoon/neighbour dog proof outdoor garbage can for my birthday, lol. Exactly what I wanted. And fuzzy slippers. A really cool dining room light fixture... And an air hammer, (already got that earlier, but got to try it out on the stone wall on my birthday) Thanks guys! You da best!!!!
We spent the day out at the farm, and walked areas of the property that we had yet to see. I brought a shovel, hoping to ascertain if a rise at the back of the land was an even older home site. (Telltale plantings of honeysuckle and lilac) We found a likely-looking row of stones, and dug up a small piece of wavy window glass. I think we're on to something. And even better, we found the "orchard" that had been described by the real estate agent. We thought she was nuts and was confusing a little group of hawthornes for apple trees, but nope--she was right after all. We found some ancient apple trees, various types, all gnarled and split, looking like giant spiders. No leaves any more, but plenty of apples on the ground. It smelled like hard cider as we walked over them--I'm guessing the deer are getting pretty looped.
Deer hunting season again. I will ardently hope for their safety. The whitetails, not the hunters.
One thing I meant to add to the end of the last story (the stone lamb) was a gesture of thanks to Tom and Helen, for their kindness. The winchesters were supposed to send a bouquet of flowers and a note to them, but once again, I forgot to add that. So just imagine that they did that, will ya? Thanks, lol.
Last note regarding my choice of subject matter in writing... You probably all know by now that I'm a Dean fan. But there are certain consistencies with my stories, and I don't want to disappoint anyone.
1. No slash. No Wincest. Hey, if others want to write it and there are readers for it, knock yourselves out. Just not my thing. I like characters to act within the parameters of who they were designed to be by their original creators.
2. No graphic sex. It may happen, but you won't get a play by play here.
3. Some bad language. A fair bit of blasphemy.
4. There will always be DeanHurt. I don't know why I find that such a guilty pleasure. Maybe I need a shrink, lol. But I take comfort that apparently, within the vast realm of fanfic, I am not alone in having this vice. (!)
5. And I like hopeful endings.
Thanks for reading, and your kind comments! Cheers, Mal.
I miss Father Ted. Nothing worked as well as a bottle of Kittling Ridge and a Father Ted episode to transcend current worries.
Hey...most people who've read me before will know this, but I studiously avoid reading other people's work while I'm in writing mode. I am always paranoid that I will absorb someone else's great ideas or styles, and I find myself too easily discouraged after reading other good fics. (confidence can be a shaky house of cards.) I know many of you are excellent writers yourselves and I'd love to return the favour, but just not at the moment. Forgive me...?
And as always, a big THANKS for your reviews.--Mal
Hubby drove in this morning to a sign install, with dog as co-pilot of course-- and on the way he had to stop the truck. There was no one behind him, and there were about thirty wild turkeys meandering over the road. He waited while they milled around the truck, and he opened the window for Bear to experience it. Bear was wagging, very intrigued by these birds that were nearly his size. But when one abruptly fluttered up from beneath his vantage point, he got spooked and hopped back into the rear seat to watch from the safety of the closed, tinted window. That's my brave little doggy, lol. He'll scare ten years off of anyone coming to the house door, but god-forbid it be a wild turkey.
Sometimes you have to crank Yellow Ledbetter as high as your speakers will go and just sit back and let it wash through you. I swear to god you can fly on that tune.
I miss my books. I packed them all away for the move, but of course, we have yet to escape to the next location. So now I am bereft of a creative reading outlet. I'm not a novel reader as Greg is; my attention span is too unreliable. My books are all art or craft, antique or architecture related. Lots of howto's, like masonry, sculpture, or rug making, needle art things. I go through them, planning in great detail projects that I will never do. (STS)
I won't keep houseplants as my little prisoners.
Forgive my proud momma moment, but I have to put this somewhere in print. Our son Thomas was offered an exclusive place with his prof to do his masters. ( Fairly new area of landscape ecology) He was told earlier that she was cherry picking her team worldwide and he had no chance, but today it turned around. Congrats, Tom!! You're the one thing we really got right, lol.
Monday. Always a Yellow Ledbetter day. Here's the link if you feel the need. You'll have to cut and paste it. I highly recommend it.
My Dog, Bear is a mix of border collie, brittany spaniel and husky. I don't know which breed in him triggers this, (probably the latter) but the hair between his toes grows extra long in winter. It sticks out all over the place, Looks really silly, it kills me every time I see it. Wish I could post a pic.
This close to hopping a plane and going out east. I was looking over my photos of the house. I miss the early days (I say this about all our old wrecks) when it was still so unknown, and it was lying quiet, heavy with potential. I love that stage, all mystery and strangeness. That house is still all those things, but so far away, all I can do for it from here is worry.
This house, the log one, had those qualities in the beginning. Or at least, the land did. Overgrown and tangled, the place was a mysterious and slightly foreboding alien terrain. We didn't know what secrets it hid, or what it would reveal. Tight, tangled paths penetrated it, edged by thorny brush and heavy knots of grape and Virginia Creeper. We dug the midden that had once been a foundation for a log building that no one could ever remember being there. It gave up bottles and broken ceramics, coins and metal things. And slates and ink bottles...maybe it was a schoolhouse. And we dug up Charlotte Scully's gravestone, a local grey marble slab which is now part of our hearth. I loved those days. But progress required that mysteries be laid bare and exposed. Bulldozers and backhoes leveled the secrets and homogenized the surface. It was all good, done in preparation of accepting the two old log buildings that were taken from their own sites to be rebuilt here. But sad to me none-the-less. We used to joke that Amelia Earhart's plane was somewhere in there, caught up in the hawthorns. Never did find it, although Tommy did find some WWII era un-fired Howitzer shells that brought some stress to the local police and the Department of National Defense when we first moved in. Imagine the scene...We've just bought the neighbourhood abandoned eyesore wreck of a house, (our Victorian four-square) and not days after moving in, the community witnesses an OPP officer's patrol car in the driveway, followed by several military vehicles. There goes the neighbourhood...
But the stone house still has secrets. I'll find them, one by one, as we restore it. But it was stripped by previous owners, so much of the interior mystery and history is gone. No outbuildings remain, save for the barn, which I am sure is of a later date. Maybe when I dig the garden...
Still don't like red wine.
Well; I managed to kill the un-killable. My dad always bought mums for my mother, and I bought some for myself. And now they are dead. I just cannot get any sense of this watering thing. I made them my prisoners and then I killed them. Christ, I hope my garden fares better.
FIX THIS FECKING BOBBY THING! Just sayin'.
The Dog has been carrying around this one cellophane-wrapped mint from a restaurant that must have fallen from one of our pockets. He's been mouthing it for days, trying to figure it out. Today I unwrapped it and ate it. It was good.
I think there is nothing more inconsolable than a weathered graveyard lamb. I have an interest in the subject, to the point that hubby claims it's an obsession. I have many pictures on file, of lovely, worn lambs. They were most often carved of local marble, by naive carvers. Weather, age and acid rain have taken their toll, so that many are smooth, almost unrecognizable forms. Ears, eyes, details are long ago smoothed away, resulting in sculptures that are almost abstract. But they remain poignantly evocative of their subjects.
Hey there. Here's some Pearl Jam to break your heart.
So they got their Season 8. I'm glad, because now they can fix all the wrong turns taken by the season 7 show runner. I hope they make it right again. Jus' sayin'.
Next story up is called The Georgia Incident. It had 44 chapters originally, but I'm consolidating it to have fewer but longer entries. I'd love to start posting it right now, but I think I'll start after this season ends. Hopefully it'll fill the void and ease the withdrawal for y'all, ;) Seeya, Mal
But in reality, I want to start posting NOW, because I have no other creative outlet at the moment. All my sacks of wool for rug hooking are boxed. All my books boxed. Got three cross stitch quilts under way, but all boxed. All project antiques are safely stored in the barn. I'm losing my freaking mind.
Of course...there are lots of sign projects underway to stimulate the creative juices. I have to sculpt two chocolate labs for a sign; they are the beloved pets of the construction company owner. It seemed like a great idea when I was quoting on the job. Sure...sculpted dogs on the top of the pillars...no prob. ;)
Why is no one coming through this fecking house...? I'm starting to take this personally. I need to go to the farm. In the four years it took us to build this house, we had a constant stream of well-wishers etc who all swore that this was the house the would have themselves if they could. Where are they all now? C'mon people, step up!!! Do you really wanna live in a cardboard rabbit-warren subdivision house? Or do you want a place with roots that go back farther than your own?
Carlotte/Charlotte...give us a hand here, please...
One of my neighbours at the farm has sheep. I could listen to them all day. :)
Poor Bear discovered Electric Fence today. He was ahead of us at the farm, running along the neighbour's fence line as we explored our old orchard. The neighbours keep sheep and have at least one electrified line along the fence. Bear touched his nose to it. It's unlikely he'll do it twice. ;)
Sorry. Four Vex's in, so I may get maudlin. Had another showing of the house yesterday. Whiners. People who come from condos are unlikely to understand this house. It doesn't have granite counters. There's no 'Great Room'. The rooms are only square-ish. The front five windows are six over six period sash, meaning your hair will blow when you sit next to them. But they are beautiful. There's an ant or two. Some emerald green iridescent carpenter bees. But we have redstarts nesting in the vines. And blue jays. Catbirds. And every kind of woodpecker, including some great big pileated, which are a sight. The plaster is imperfect, because I did it. But it's not hideous; just a waver or two. The systems all run perfectly. The grass is spotty, but the big Elm is alive and thriving and the maples are absolutely robust. It was good enough for generations before us. If you expect the thin and cheap predictability of tract homes, why request a showing???? How about you go back to your subdivision and GFYS. Stop wasting my time.
I have thin skin. I'm pushing fifty. I built this house with sweat and love and history intact. I am having a hard time with the concept of being judged by strangers who have no goddamned clue.
I was going to delete that rant but I'm still pissed off. ;) Open house tomorrow. Cross yer fingers.
God I hope I don't turn into my mother. It's my greatest fear. Don't get me wrong, she never means to be hurtful, she just has no filter and near zilch empathy. I'm lamenting that no one has bought the house yet, and where others might think to say an encouraging word here, she asks me if I think people are turned off by the gravestone in the hearth. Sure, Ma. That must be it. Not the slow real estate market, not the mother's day and then long weekend. It must be the stone; I'll go chip it out and haul its 400lb weight out the door and put in some nice shiny, flowery tiles. (the feedback over that has been 100% positive btw) And then again, I call her later and tell her we are having an open house. Other people might think to say, "Oh hey, good luck, I'm sure it will go well yada yada" her response is..."Isn't that a last resort by the realtors?" Feck. I need to drink more.
Okay. Back home after spending two and a half hours in the truck with three decidedly vocal and unhappy cats in carriers, and a dog who is not at all impressed with having to share the back seat with them. Got a low carb beer in hand and am heading out to the deck, rain or not. Seeya. ;D
I gave the three Stripes some fresh catnip from the garden today. The scarfed it down and got spinny-eyed, and then hissed at each other and got into slap fights. (hiss, whappity whappity hiss) The dog barked at them; he doesn't approve of their behaviour when they're high on nip. They bounced off the ceiling with fat tails, then shot off in all directions. Now they're all sprawled on various chairs, sleeping it off. ;)
Going to the farm tomorrow, gotta cut the grass. I wish I lived there, power or not. I planted five sprouting chestnut conkers last time, I collected them from my son's campus when we were helping him build shelves for the greenhouse in which his plants for his masters were being grown. The guys had it all under control, so Bear and I walked around the green-space. There was this gorgeous horse chestnut tree, and it had dropped seeds all over the place. Under the bushes by the walkway, a few were sprouting in the soil, so I went to the truck and dug out a bunch of Tim Horton cups and put five into them. I hope they take. I love chestnut trees. I have one at the house out east, and I remember this magnificent one on the way to my gradeschool when I was a kid. I love oak trees even more, but I'm not sure they will like the level of moisture in the soil at the farm. I haven't seen any there, anyway.
Our son Tom is graduating from University this Tuesday, with a Bachelor of Science, Honours, in Landscape Ecology. Greg and I did some things well in our history, and many things wrong. But Tommy is our crowning glory. He is such a great kid; so level, so intelligent, and just a wonderful human being. So I will take pride in his creation and nurturing. We got it right that time. He's already embarked on his masters, and when he has that, he will be well fledged. :)
But I've lived in fake crocs and paint covered clothes for the last few years...what the feck am I gonna wear to this event???!!!!!!
Got a decent offer on the house, but the wrench in the works is that they want a six month closing. Six months?? Who does that??!
Sold the house today. What a weird day. We pulled an all nighter, putting together a 35 foot sign for a stone mill. We delivered the four sections this morning, the clients were putting it up but we had to oversee it, it's about 60 feet up on a stone wall. They got the centre section up and it fit perfectly, and when the left side was raised by the genie lift it was discovered to be a foot too short. Subsequent measuring found the right side to be--you guessed it; a foot too long. Not exactly something you want to learn with no sleep to buoy you. But--it turned out to be their mistake in measuring, and not ours. Huge Whew! We still have to lengthen one side and shorten another, which is a pain in the ass, but at least we weren't culpable. All the while we were waiting to hear how our counter offer was received. Well, long story short, it's sold. As of September, we will be living at the farm. I could sleep for a week.
Got the home inspector coming at 1:00 tomorrow. It's a make or break part of the house sale process. Cross yer fingers, will ya? I need all the help I can get. ( maybe I should offer to sleep with him, HA!!!) But today was a good day. We watched the installation of the last two parts of the mill sign go up. Took four hours, but it worked out nicely. Big relief. Usually our signs are no more than 4x 8 feet, but this one, at 6 by 35', and 60 feet off the ground, was our biggest yet. The sign was relatively easy, it was the installation engineering that made us bite our nails to the quick. But no sections fell, no one died, and the BMW Z3 parked directly below survived unscathed. --whew--
Home inspector was in my house for five hours. We drove around with three crying cats and a pushy dog for FIVE HOURS. This was fun. Let's do it again.
Hubby has America's Got Talent on. Yep; it's a Yellow Ledbetter night. Going upstairs now to find my headphones.
Well...I pulled the cord out of the grass trimmer. Greg pulled the cord out of the mower. I am doomed to live with a shaggy lawn. I need to borrow my neighbour's sheep. Hope they're not corded...
Happy Fathers' day, to all the good men in the world who are lionized by their children. Not all great men are giants. Some leave a light footprint, but one that endures.
I will miss the mail system when it finally succumbs. They say it will, under the pressures of the electronic age. But nothing makes me happier than waiting for and finally receiving a package in the mail. I love Ebay. I never spend a fortune there, but I indulge in small, weird, old things. A forged piece of hardware, or a hand-made piece of lace. Useless things, really; in the sense that I put them away carefully in some drawer after the delight of their arrival. What will happen to Ebay when the mail system is finally no longer viable?
It is, and I wish I was joking; 114 degrees fahrenheit with humidex today. This is crazy. The planet is bitching. It's run out of patience with it's little parasites. We soooo screeewwwwed. No aircon here, just lots of fans. I'm tempted to haul our bed down to the basement, right there next to the cat box. But it's too hot to move...
I know; you Texans and Australians are going, 'What? What's the problem..?' But this isn't normal for Ontario June. It's too damned hot too early. There is now a tick, and consequently a Lyme disease danger, and this was never an issue a few years ago. The Eastern seaboard had ticks, but here? No sweat; the sub zero months and cool spring kept them at bay. Ticks are gross. I've come to terms with spiders over the years, but these things give me the willies.
Well...not all spiders. I picked up an empty paper BBQ charcoal bag from the deck the other day, and discovered a palm-sized wharf spider (Pisauridae in the genus Dolomedes)--technically fishing spider. Ok, here in Canada we don't have any native tarantulas, but these suffice. Hairy, muscular legs, and fangs. Yep, that'll do it.
Poor Bear had lost his last Old Navy rubber frisbee. Life had lost it's luster, and nothing; not a ringette ring, or a hockey ball or a hard replacement frisbee could fill the void. Well, we went to the farm today to cut the grass, and guess what turned up? Nobody does sheer joy like a dog.
HAPPY CANADA DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Well, on Sunday anyway.
Suck It Phaneuf!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We hosted a Canada Day party at the farm last weekend. It was our son's crowd, we were the token oldsters. Great time. I found a monster garter snake that seems to live under our mudroom. I tried to grab him (her) but it was too far into it's den; I pretty much only had a grip on it's hinie. But man did it leave me with stink! Garter snakes are non-poisonous and unlikely biters, but they release a substance that will turn your stomach. I washed and scrubbed my hands, but it lingered all weekend. Serves me right I guess. ;)
(btw--I had to google 'hinie', I had no idea how to 'properly' spell that)
Wow. Old house Journal website has a post from a guy who is considering buying a stone house in my area. He's very nervous, hemming and hawing. I went through the pics he posted under "can this house be saved?" and I'm thinking, are you kidding me??? That house is in WAY better condition than mine when we bought it. Jesus, how bad WAS mine then????
On a total tangent; my current keyboard is a government surplus reject, and it's french. NOTHING is labeled right!!! Things like a question mark, or the delete button; these have incomprehensible symbols. WTF!? Where did I get this thing????????
I wish well meaning people would stop asking me if I'll miss this house. Of course I will. I built it, with my husband and son and no one else. And long before me, Thomas and Mary Armstrong built it, in 1825. And others as well, put their hands and minds to turning these timbers into two houses that saw generations grow and thrive and move on. We built it with our own hands, just as they did. Our son thrived here, and grew into a thoughtful, intelligent young man, one that we are proud of.
I'll miss the big logs. I'll miss the big elm, and the maple trees. I'll miss the space inside, the wide stairs, the big tub. I'll miss the little discoveries. I'll miss the neighbourhood. I'll miss the pets we buried over the years in the yard. I'll miss the Harbour Store, and the people who are always there, always friendly. So yeah, I will.
But that doesn't mean we should stay. It doesn't mean we should sink in to complacency, and count this as our final effort. We're not finished yet. New people will live in the log house, new children will grow up here. They'll add their experiences and memories to the history of this place.
The stone house is tired, and shorn of much of much of what made it a home to its builders. It's challenging. It's more isolated, but not so much that we should fear it. I can't walk to the corner store, but I can drive to Tim Horton's in less time than I can from here. I have land, once tilled and minded but now fallow, and it requires my stewardship. I need to put it back to work. The stone house needs our attentions to keep it going, after some neglect. The ghosts of its builders should be pleased by what we do, if we do it right. Nothing is simple, nothing is solely good, or bad. There are facets to every move we make. I guess it's up to us to swing the pendulum the right way.
Holy giant, freaky bugs!!! We have several Great Orange Digger Wasps in the yard. First time we've ever seen these creepy things. These are exactly as their name suggests, and at least an inch long. They paralyze katydids and lay an egg on them, and then drag them underground. Gross.
That may be "golden" digger wasp, I forget.
So I'm going through the settings here, for some random reason. And I read the recommendation to put 'Anonymous reviews OK" I had it set to "no" all this time, because that was what it was set at automatically. Crap. I might have missed a few then. Oh well, waddya gonna do.
It is so freaking hot here these last few days. The lawn is a golden, dried up wasteland, but so is everyone else's. It is interesting to see just what natural species are still green in the desert. Maybe we should be cultivating these plants instead of grass. But then again--they may not thrive in wet conditions. I used to rent a house, years ago, where the creeping thyme was escaping the rock garden and invading the lawn. It was lush and green and smelled wonderful when it was cut. What a great lawn that would make. Seriously--I think grass is over-rated.
I have so much paint on my hands that the mouse is sticking to me. Let's see; what do we have: brass metallic, maritime blue, grass green, grey tinted primer, white primer, gloss black, and I think that's it for today. A busy Sunday, lol.
We finally got the sign faces out to the site for Doyle Homes. The frame is made old hewn antique timbers, and the posts are clad in stone veneer. The sign face has dimensional extira letters with a round-over routed edge. I hate installations, I can't take it. I'm a head case that misconstrues the most positive reaction as a negative rejection. I sent Greg alone. He came back after experiencing a gauntlet of watchers as he put them up, and reported favorable reviews all around. Woo hoo! Now all I have to do is sculpt two chocolate labs to sit on top of the posts. I have the weirdest job...
Since it's been bone dry and a billion degrees around here, we've been using the deck as our workshop. It reinforces how great it will be once we are at the farm, and we have a proper workshop next to the house. It's so damned hard constructing signs in the middle of the living space. Add to that the selling and necessary showing of the house, and it's a wonder my head didn't pop like Orville Redenbacher's best. SOOO looking forward to the move.
I'm seriously concerned about the current drought. It's bad enough in Ontario, but I understand the American midwest is even worse. I joke that the planet is diabolically trying to shrug off its little parasites, but lately, it seems like there is some validity to that. Not biblical validity, I don't buy in to that, but I sure as hell hope we haven't passed the point of no return here. Poor Bear has abraded foot pads because the grass is so dry and tough, like sand paper. We can't get away with a no Frisbee day, he's too wired for it. But he's feeling the effects, poor doggy.
I may have posted this before, i forget.
And gotta put in a little more pearl jam
Yep. Well there you go. The Georgia Incident is done.
I don't know why i read the news. Just want to build a wall all around my green acre, good and high.
I wish I knew how to jump-start my creative spirit. It's a dry and desolate wasteland at the moment, tumbleweeds blowing past every now and then. There's a lot of things I'd like to do, but I can't get them to rise up and leap off the ever growing 'list'. I have one older story left, and I guess I'll post it before the series starts up again. Maybe season 8 will be inspiring, who knows.
I bought several books on straw bale building. I just love the idea; such a renewable and under-utilized resource. I am practical enough now ( and jaded enough) to realize that the resale market isn't ready yet for this concept. And the web presence doesn't help; most images depict these extreme eco-warrior havens that are totally lacking in any style or refinement. But as a building material, it is ideal. Economical, renewable, and excellent fire rating, insulation rating, and vermin resistance. More-so than regular stick-framing. If I were ever to pursue this, it would be non-load-bearing infill style, with a timber frame, rather than load-bearing bale wall. And It wouldn't look like it came right out of the Shire, for shit's sake. Bale can be covered with any siding, not just lime plaster. That's what is holding it back; the pix of all the freaking 'earth-ships' instead of well designed and contemporary or historically inspired design. Well, that and and the usual insurance boondoggles, but don't get me started on that.
But I think I will start with an out-building. Oat straw square bales are best for building, so they say. Actually, I may build a load-bearing bale wall work shed. I don't mind a low profile out-building that is built in load-bearing style; I just wouldn't invest my retirement savings on a residence in that manner. Unfortunately, the resale housing market is just not ready for that kind of practical logic.
Moot point anyway, because we recently bought a standing log barn way up in the valley. We will dismantle that in the fall, to re-erect at the farm. It is round log, late 1800's, in good shape. It measures 30' x 44'. It's actually a lot larger than what we were looking for, and we may reduce it's footprint. But it is in such good shape that the possibilities are endless.
Next up is a story called Addictions. It's the last one. Should start late this week, unless work kills me.
OK...talked the hubby into a drive to the farm tomorrow; signs-be-damned. Might actually sleep tonight. This house; the log house...will soon belong to someone else. Their experiences will add to the story, mine will no longer. I know my own are supposed to add to those of the stone house. But it seems so distant and alien lately. I am trying to feel some sort of connection to it every time we go there, but the time is always so limited, and I feel like a stranger more and more. I know it's just nerves over the move...over changes. I am only aware of where I won't be; I have no sense of where i am going. The Farm seems strange sometimes...like it isn't mine; like I'm only cutting the grass as some temporary caretaker. Sometimes I wonder what all of you think of me as I post my ramblings here. And then I remember that I am just one of a billion, and you all have equally compelling lives, with equally deep stories and histories and experiences. Sometimes that very idea just swallows me whole.
Ah Sunday night. I have a love/hate relationship with it. It has a certain feel, relaxing, especially after on-site work, but a little foreboding. Monday is near...The week will start over, new demands, new pressures. But not yet.
I've ditched the jeans, the sandals, and the belt. Truth be told; the bra too. (sorry) I'm in blue plaid flannel. Got a Dos Equis sweating in a glass beside me. Hubby is in the kitchen, watching old Mash videos and cooking. I'm here, switching between the net, and heat-gunning old yellow paint off of the set of chairs I rescued from the roadside today. I'm making a mess, but I don't care. They're perfect; peeling paint, ash splint seats disintegrating, but leaving enough clues to re-weave.. They must have been porch chairs originally, nice and big-ass. I gave my victorian dining chairs to my neighbour in a fit of half-baked enthusiasm over moving to the stone house. I don't regret it, they were just typical factory-made turn of the century things. Nice, but not particularly interesting, or comfortable. But these yellow chairs; these are interesting. As I look them over I realize they all have arms that will most likely not fit under the harvest table I'm building. Not sure yet what to do about that. And one of them is a rocker, which is a bit awkward at the table. Still; it's fun to sit here scraping off the yellow and revealing the original forest green. Not a colour I want, really; I plan to paint the frames black and sand them back a bit to reveal natural wood at wear points. But I'll re-do the seats in their natural ash. I got another old rocker at the same time. It is very dark, with a destroyed horsehair seat. I think it's birch, under the stain. Sort of mission in style, or arts and crafts. I took the seat off because it smelled bad, but it's a great frame to rug hook a new one on to. I'm trying to curb my urge to strip that one, because it's original colour is pretty neat, albeit beat-up. Tom expressed interest; maybe I'll get it redone for his birthday. (bahahahahaha) That's in less than a week.
Half moon run. I like these guys, especially their Full Circle song.
Put up another gilded Barley Mow sign today. This one was 24' long, and as fate and stupidity would have it; two inches too long for the space. AAAAGHGHGH!!!! How the hell that happened is open for some acrimonious debate at the moment. However, Greg and his trusty handsaw made short work of the discrepancy, and the client was none the wiser. We don't often make mistakes like this, but when we do, it's usually a spectacular clusterfuck. The last time it happened was at the stone mill, and thank god it was their mistake, not ours. No excuses this time though.
And speaking of tunes, here is Current Swell, out of Vancouver (I think) I may have posted this before, but waddyagonnado?
Just went through the Adele cd again, after a long while. Jesus that's good.
I will be a day or two late posting next. Gotta be at the cottage for the weekend. Nothing envy-worthy, lol. We'll be stripping off thirty years of rotted shingles, and replacing them. Fun fun fun.
Crap. Squirrels dug up and ate my chestnut sprouts.
Hey! Happy Labour Day! And in an appropriately inappropriate fashion, it's a heavy work day for Archetype Signs and the troglodites who toil under its lash. Got a hair salon sign that has to go up at 6 am tomorrow. All dimensional letters and a three tone purple swoosh. 14 feet, all told. Copper gilding. I REALLY want to just park my arse on the deck and drink low carb beer all day, but that ain't gonna happen. Hope the rest of you are enjoying a stolen day of relaxation. I will live vicariously through you.
Less than three weeks til the move. Got the deck permit today, so that box is ticked...just have to remove the existing one and rebuild according to code. Pffft, no prob. The real nightmare is the crap stored underneath. Two boat 'projects' for starters; one sleek kayak and one butt-ugly fiberglas nightmare that Tommy picked up at a rural auction. OOh yeah; forty bucks well-spent. It is a very heavy and half finished plywood power boat, which once had mahogany on top but that has long since been eaten away by creepy crawlies. Sure, we have room in the barn to store it, but how the hell do we get the thing there??? I think it will be a Free offering in Kijiji.
Speaking of kijiji, I got the coolest chair carcasses the other day. I'm stocking up projects for the farm. I have no idea what style or age they are, only that they had at least four layers of fabric on them. The original wood colour was deep dark mahogany, and it looks like they had a diamond-tufted jacquard fabric as the first layer. Hey--if any of you out there know your way around old crap, I'll post the link here. If you have any ideas I'd love to hear them.
Well...we started moving in earnest today. I lettered up a neighbour's closed trailer earlier this summer, in trade for its use later. Wow, we filled that sucker, plus the truck, and haven't made a dent. Hoarders, I tell ya--we are pathological hoarders. Well, me anyway. Thank god I now have a barn to store all this shit. ;)
Don't know why I watch the news. Everybody on this planet has lost their -- minds. The world is packed securely in the hand-basket and is headed down. Putting on Ledbetter, gonna tune it all out.
Ok. In three days the deck has to be done and inspected, the wiring done and the fence moved. Then two days later we are outa here. My head's gonna explode. I just realized I won't have television in time for the season opener. But the other issue is that I'll be without internet until we arrange satellite service at the farm. I guess I will have to try to post the rest of Addictions before that. Please be kind, I'd love to hear from any readers. This is my last story, I haven't found any creative spark within to write more. :(
Hey all. I'm on Tim Hortons wifi at the moment, so I will be posting all the remaining chapters together in the next day or two. Sorry, I won't have the time to re-edit, so if you see any spelling errors etc, give me a mulligan will ya? Thanks, Mal
Hey all. Thanks for hanging out with me. I have storm satellite coming next week, so I'll be watching the second episode of the season. Enjoy tonight. I'll be anxiously awaiting the screencaps. ;) Take care, Mal
January 28 2013
Wow. Got internet out here finally. Some weird means; not through wires, not exactly satellite, involves radio transmission. But I'm not complaining. The renovations here have taken several left turns-at-Albuquerque. Power got REALLY complicated, thanks to the douchebag that lived here before us. Since he was subject to a "roll-Up" which essentially means Hydro got so pissed off that they took away all their toys (transformer, wires etc) and all remaining equipment is now subject to current Electrical Safety Authority standards; we now were faced with replacing all the poles that supplied the property, and they were all deficient for various reasons under current standards. Bottom line; $13,000 to supply power overland. So we went underground; trenching in 400 feet of line across the field at a tenth of that cost. But it took Hubby to figure out that solution; the hydro trogs were perfectly happy to bankrupt us unnecessarily.
I missed the first six or seven episodes of the show. I'm a bit at a loss as to where it's all going, but maybe I can see the missing eps through netflix or something or ? I really want to write; I have a desperate need to escape at the moment, but there is nothing but dry tumbleweeds rolling through my brain. I'm bolstered by the fact that every now and then a reader picks up one of my old stories, and enjoys it. And I miss Bobby.
Anyway, Cheers, have a great year, all of us.
Ps: I've recently learned that in it's long history, at least three old men have died in this house, and it was most recently a grow-op.
Broke my hand today. 5:30 am, half asleep and the puppy we are baby sitting had to pee. Misjudged the last step, and had to decide between squishing puppy or hitting stone wall, lol. Six weeks in a cast. Go me.
Why do we do this to ourselves???? Got family coming this weekend. This house is SOOOO not ready for company. And to complicate it, we invited our new neighbours as well. Business has been brutally slow. We haven't been able to do things around here at the speed we'd envisioned. So drywall that should have been in place is not. My bathroom walls upstairs consist of quilts stapled to the studs. The floorboards that we took from the hay mow are un-planed as yet, and the floor that I wish to cover with said boards here in the house is looking pretty darned shabby. I painted the mix of tiles and plywood so it wouldn't look so gross, consolidating all the textures and colours (green tiles and rough plywood) in a battle ship grey that was the result of my mixing all of my leftover paints. It's been wearing off as quickly as it was applied. And on top of it, my son Tom has got me going out sat night at 8pm, when everyone will be at the house; to a biology outing. We are going out (in the dark and deep snow) We are hunting mudpuppies. His prof. has done this for several years, and Tom really wants me to go with him. I can't bail now. I have a broken hand. And 45 cm of snow is coming tonight. I will have family, and the Ashby's over while I'm gone. My dog is very neurotic, and doesn't take well to strangers in his house. This weekend is going to be a flaming disaster.
It went fine, btw. Family bailed due to weather, neighbours were gracious company. Dog behaved. (eventually)
Well, apparently I did a fine job of screwing up my hand. Had a consult with an ortho doc today. They took off the cast, many x-rays. Surgery tomorrow: screws and plates. My ring finger still turns left at Albuquerque. ( Hey; if you're going to do something; do it well.) Truth is, I've never been under general anaesthetic before. Kinda freaks me out. You'd think they could just do this under a local, but nope. So I'm getting my beer consumption in early tonight, lol, since I have to fast from midnight on. Sigh... I'm in the middle of a house restoration. And my work is very hands-on. I guess it will be hand-on for a while. Greg says he's going to request a straight-jacket to keep me from using my hand. Might be a good idea, lol.
Stitches out tomorrow at 10am. If all goes well, I get casted for another four weeks. Man; what a pain-in-the-ass. I can't even blow dry my hair properly. I'm looking a little rough, lol.
I hear Misha Collins will be appearing a few more times this season. Kudos to him. BUT WHERE IS UNCLE BOBBY SINGER?????????? Priorities, people! Bobby was an irreplaceable force in the Winchester realm. Cas...? Not so much in my book.
Got stitches out yesterday. Cool scar!
Back to that entry about old men dying in this house-- I seems one of them, a bachelor named Jack Dunbar, frequented the track with some notable success. Accounts tell of him buying a car in the forties with handfuls of crumpled hundreds, and that if he wanted to, he could have bought the whole car-lot if he chose. The gentleman did not trust banks. So I'm thinking that come spring, I need to get out in to the yard with the metal detector...
So I took off the cast a few times to do a bit of finger wiggling. Holy Hand of the Undead! I can't believe how stiff all four fingers are. And I have no feeling along the scar, hoping that will change. I know this is small, small potatoes compared to real trauma, but it's still new to me. Greg said it looks like it belongs in a wax museum. (hey, thanks honey!) And I have learned what basic needs require two-handedness though. Shoe-tying, for one. Button up-doing... hair blow-drying. Clipping Puppy out for morning pee. Opening drug bottles. Changing the freaking sports channel off of the truck radio!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And of course; mortar chipping, sign gilding, kitchen-island building, floorboard sanding. Nothing left to do but drink.
And then right after I whine here, our friend Wilfred Ashby succumbs to his newly diagnosed cancer. He'd hoped to make it to the next planting, but fate decided otherwise. He stated with typical stoicism that he'd had a good run. The nurses at the Brockville hospital summed it up: when a farmer finally comes in to be checked out, it's inevitably stage four cancer. Up til then, it's all just a series of inconveniences. Wilf was 83, and in great health, up til this
Good-bye Wilf. God speed. Your land is left in good hands. And Greg and I promise to help John with the farm, should he need it
Daugavins' move was awesome. Woulda been better had he scored, but still way cool.
I get to take off the cast to do a few grippy exercises now. Holy pasty stiff hand of the undead! I can't even flip a bird. Sucks. But on a positive note; we moved into new space for our business. I love it, complete separation of business from home. Clean, warm, well-lit space. So much better than trying to create things with poor light, dust, cramped quarters and kitty footy prints on everything. Now we just have to live in those conditions, lol.
On a total tangent: my smallest Stripe, Dora; went head to head with a big vole last night. I got up in case I could rescue whatever was making the racket, but it disappeared under a chair. I figured at that point that nature should take it's course... We heard the cat howl at least twice as the rodent apparently gave her a good bite. I almost cheered the little critter. It was laid out stiff in the morning on the living room floor, untouched in terms of consumption. I guess the cats still had enough healthy respect for the creature after their battle, enough to keep them from half devouring the spoils of war. I sent him to Valhalla via the septic system.
Ok, there's that little mystery solved. There haven't been any birds at the feeder this week, so I'm thinking, what, do they not like the brand of seeds? Turns out the seeds are ok, it was the Sharp Shinned Hawk that was sitting in the side maple. I saw it land as I looked out the window, not 15 feet away. Pretty neat. It also might explain why we seem to be down to 2 pigeons in the barn.
aw man, I have this story floating around my brain, half baked and refusing to take form. I could really use the creative outlet at the moment, but so far all it does is keep me awake. I don't know what it is...whether I've just lost touch with these characters, or if I've just got too much other crap crowding it out. It's like I forgot how to write. Frustrating.
It was a sort-of spring day today. The sun was warm on my skin, but the wind that accompanied it was straight out of somebody else's winter. I had high hopes of belt-sanding some floor boards outside but it was just too cold. Sunday is supposed to be better though, at least not so windy. I've ditched the cast a little early, but it was in the way and annoying. Aches a little at the end of the day, but nothing to complain about. I still can't grip much, and I can't raise my ring finger if my life depended on it. I swear they screwed my tendon to the plate by accident. (just kidding Doc. Jason, really!)
I've discovered GrooveShark. I had a whole playlist saved on youtube, but half the songs were prefixed there by some stupid ad or another. Now I have the same (awesome) list but ad-free. LOve it. I don't break any laws as far as I know, cuz I'm just streaming and not actually downloading, and it doesn't take any memory on my laptop. Genius I tell ya.
Spent the afternoon cleaning the beams overhead with deck cleaner/brightener. Wood snot everywhere. Arm... so... tired...
Hubby has high def golf on the tv. I don't mind this. The sound is just men speaking in mild voices, and when I look at it, I just see nice green vistas. Pleasant background, actually. Can't complain.
I need to reset my perception of these two lead characters to the first season. A devil-may-care Dean, with a hidden depth. A lost but purposeful Sam, who needed and relied on his big brother. I miss those days. I just cannot get into what is happening now with the show...as a matter of fact, I never liked the Heaven/ Hell, Angel War crap. It's dragged on for way too long, and the writers never had the strength to tackle such a massive arc. It ruined it for me. Too religious...especially now, when so much ugly violence is done in the name of "God", whatever the incarnation. I could go on.
Right. Almost June. I have to start by saying thanks to all of you who are reading my efforts. I check fairly frequently and am pleased to see any number higher than, oh I dunno...ONE? Seriously, thanks for the ego boost.
So around here on the farm front: I've belt sanded a whole bunch of pigeon shit coated boards that were harvested from the hay mow, and now our floor is nearly done. Looks tons better than the mishmash of greasy and stained OSB and plywood that currently cover the original pine floor. THAT floor is so riddled with screws and nails that we abandoned any hope of rescuing it from under the subsequent floor layer. I did one layer of paste varnish on the boards, and it seals it against the muddy footy prints of the critters here, until I can get a few other layers of finish on.
I'm painstakingly digging a veggie garden. The soil beneath the turf is pretty loose, thank god; so turning it over by the shovel-full is not too hard. I'll be roto-tilling it afterward. I'd better get this whole thing done soon, or nothing will come up in time to mature for harvest. My list of seeds: Green beans, sunflowers, cucumbers, tomatoes, beets, carrots, parsnip, lettuce. I was thinking of okra, but I think I'll stick to the basics first year. I am doing his myself...no hubby or offspring seem interested enough to aid me. The horseflies are trying their best to dissuade me, little buggers.
I got distracted by the lure of digging near the barn foundation. I stuck my shovel in a few times, and came up with a handful of unidentifiable iron things, and some telltale shards of glass and pottery. The pottery is floral, flow-blue. The glass is mostly broken veterinary medicinals , like Dr. Bells Medical Wonder, Kingston, Ont. Two old horse shoes, and an old key fragment. Can't wait to dig some more.
Got my garden in finally. It's way late, I know, but I had turned the turf over a few weeks ago, but sooo much rain since. It's just a start, I'll expand it next year, but I put beans in. I figured beans were a safe late bet, and we like them around here. Got pole beans and bush beans in, we'll see how it goes. BUT--speaking of digging; I started poking around beside the barn, and found another rusty horse shoe, big one, and a bunch of shards of medicinal bottles. It was getting dark but I was obsessed and I finally got to a layer of intact bottles. I ended up with 15 bottles, three cool jars, and a bunch of glass vials. Cut my fingers to ribbons, lol. I may have inadvertently done some wiccan spells what with all my finger blood going in to the soil. Hope it's a good one at least. ;)
We had our second annual paintball weekend here. The first was two years ago in the fall, and the second was last weekend. A little different when it's 30 plus celsius and the grass is six feet high! Everyone was in danger of having heat stroke, or at least they looked like it. Maybe we'd all matured by a couple of years, but we seemed to have a more sedate party this time. Shoot'nanny 2.0 was a success all around. The other beauty of having this event in warmer weather is that the paintballs are a helluva lot softer when they hit. I think I'll avoid any winter events...
We used to have nice cats. We had interesting cats...a couple of siamese, a ragdoll. A tonkinese. A big old orange bruiser tomcat. They're all gone now. All we have left are the three run of the mill stripes. (grey tabbies) But that's ok. They're indoor kitties, and they are all female, all in heat right now. You cannot imagine the midnight caterwauling. They are amorously eyeing the dog, who has no idea what to do.. Neighbourhood farm cats are coming in to our mudroom, hosing the place down with their bad intentions. But we are used to this. It's all good.
But I have to ask...why.?..why dafuq is one of them crapping behind my woodstove???????
America's got talent is on. A guy is sticking his tongue in a fan. Wow. Grooveshark, take me away--
Ok, I don't know about you all, but as a relative old-timer regarding the show, I am hopeful for the new season. The last season saw some real progress in terms of production, with some very costly advances in filming shots, and some better writing. There was a polish to it that had been lacking. The pervasive continuity issues that plagued earlier seasons were definitely improved. I really just paid a passing glance to a lot of the more recent seasons, mainly because I have a great dislike of the angels-god-demons thread. It just thought the theme was too heavy in real time to be dealt with tritely on television, especially when factions world-wide are killing each other over interpretations of the idea of 'god'. I miss the simpler times, and the ghost-busting, body-slamming adventures where the boys were a proper team. But I do like the Men Of Letters bat-cave idea, that shows promise. I miss writing too, but I just can't seem to dredge up the earlier versions of the characters so that writing is a pleasure. And I miss Bobby. I think that killing his character was a grave mistake, but I may not be very objective, ;) He was the Anti-John, and I deeply disliked Daddy Winchester.
Anyway, I have to say thanks, again, to all of you who read my stories. It's a real confidence-booster when that read count rises, and more-so when someone favourites a story or comments etc. If I wasn't using a gov. reject french language keyboard, where nothing is in the right place, I'd type in the 'less than' and 'three' for you all. (that makes a heart, ;) )
Hey, how's this for a nightmare: We just cut the front field, and being a nice, sunny Monday evening we thought we'd take a walk in the cut grass with the dogs. Tom, our son, was with us. We all wore our rubber boots and had a refreshing beverage in hand. Well, don't the dogs run right into a disturbed ground wasp nest! Ahead of us, poor little Rosie is suddenly squirming upside down in the grass, and we see the cloud around her. Tom, (a hero in my book) runs and grabs his pooch and takes off, swatting the damned things off her. Greg grabs our own dog Bear. Me--I take off in the opposite direction, earning simultaneous awards of Wife/Mother/Pet-Owner-Of-The-Year. Bottom line: The dogs were stung but ok, Tom gets a wicked nipple sting, and Hubby got at least six or seven stings on his legs. When his armpit swelled, his feet and hands became itchy and his lower lip went numb, we high-tailed it to the Emergency room. He was on IV for 6 hours, and now has to carry an Epi Pen. I tell you, it can be scary living on a farm!
Oh, and there are a couple of Stella beer glasses and a pair of rubber boots in the field somewhere. I ain't bringing'em in.
Aw man. We did all the smart things: Insulate basement...pipe wrap...heater on down there. So no frozen pipes. Just a frozen well line somewhere under four feet of frozen ground. Not an easy fix. And my hair is starting to look like binder twine.
Ugh. Why can't I write anymore?? There'as nothing in my head, just a couple of bats flying around.
Ok, that's it. I can't stand it anymore, staring all evening at all the things I have to plaster, or paint, or sand or whatever. When cleaning the catbox is somehow a welcome diversion, it's time to start writing something. Or you know...do laundry. So I have something in the slow-cooker of my head. I'll post some of it soonish, if I can remember how to do that. I'm still trying to find the affinity I had for the characters. I've disliked the show's direction for so long that I've lost them. But I'm hoping to find them by just...finding them, in the words, or in the process. If you do read it, please think kindly of it, as I am very rusty. Thanks, Mal
Dear Supernatural. Please stop making Dean Winchester look like such a classless oaf. He's not an idiot. He knows how to eat in public.
And stop making Sam such a judgemental douche.
OMFG!!!!! My laptop is dead!!!! What ever I had brewing on it re stories has perished along with it, AGAIN!!!!! God doesn't want me to spin anymore winchester tales.
Geez. You know--God luv ya for tuning in to my profile here. I see the numbers rise and it feels good. I can't tell you what it means to have others want to know a little about me. Humbling.
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