You're Not Going to Prom!

It's... been. Wonderfully vague, that. My great aunt left on Easter, March 31st. The family has been in a state of flux for the better part of 2 and a half years now, and people are still at each other's throats. At the moment, I am sad, I am freaked out. People keep coming to me, both with complaints, and their struggles, and I'm choking a bit. I've found myself trying to bite my tongue before I snap and shout: "If you can't behave, then you can go sit in the corner until you can play nice or I tell you that you can come out!" "If you kids don't behave, that's it! You're not going to prom!" As the bulk of the people I' 've actually snapped at are in their mid- sixties, this is a teeny bit of an issue! As for Mom- pulling her " don't do that/ don't go out, it's (Insert Lousy Weather Conditions Here)... until I have to virtually taste blood to stop from shouting, "is it always raining in that hell hole/scar on the planet I left behind?!"- needing to rehash bad anniversaries and horrid assumptions and gossip about others... I'm worn down and not even sure how, exactly, to begin grief, for two, as grief for Grandma got waylaid into "comfortably numb" at this moment... because I don't know anything else. I'm trying to laugh, to get things out so I'm not hurting myself holding them in. But "what's new?"- scary question for me. I don't want to say, I am in a fog... Finally got over a rather lovely set of chills from the funeral- I'm thinking stress, and being in a mausoleum in 30 °F weather were probably culprits. Can't do a lot until I have time. Or get myself out of myself, so to speak. For now, adventures and baking/ cooking will have to do, and music. I can change no one but myself, and am trying to remember this: I don't know the key to success, but the key to FAILURE is trying to please everybody."_ Bill Cosby It's me I need to please. I've been listening to the Black Crowes a lot... among other favorites, played good and loud. The Black Crowes - She Talks To Angels (original video) - Video Dailymotion

Awkward!

Awkward conversations are part of life. Thankfully, many are the sort that can lead to giggles later. A friend and I were discussing rather bad romance novel tropes. The first thing I think of is this highly unsexy scene: Our heroine, (Let's give her a rather depressing and clunky for the 21st century name... uh, Desdemona.) enticed by the hero, uh... Lord Byron's Underpants... Or, Lord Pants, to shed her rigid and upright demeanor, and "submit". "Desdemona's heaving bosoms... apparently she, and Lord Pants, who also apparently grew bosoms for this conquest, are elderly maiden aunts. Hot!) "...rose and fell over the tight whalebones of her corset..." unfortunately for every author of romance, I always picture the bosoms hovering... escaping from the confines of the corset and flying off heaven- knows- where. Hot! So I am left not in the fancy bedroom of the couple, but trying to sort out where these hovering- flying- titties are going. Will they be having a more splendid conversation than those they grew on? Are flying titties now loose and attacking fair cities? It's really quite pleasant, albeit awkward. I can't say the same for Desdemona and Lord Pants. Now, a disgusting word. I'm uncomfortable with "moist", even if it's a box of cake mix proclaiming its... Ew!- . I find myself responding, with a rather bizarre posh accent of unknown origin... I know, for example, my German accent is not unlike that of Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle... "Get moose und squirrel!"... "Yes, yes. My coffee is rah- thuh moist, as well." And then I feel warm, possibly from blushing at how embarrassing this all is. But there's always fun to be had.

Tomato Basil Soup In the Giant Yellow Cup

Tomato basil soup... a strange comfort food... I hated tomato soup as a child... it might just be that the few bowls of Campbell's were simply a bloody shame to me. Resting up and have a pretty simple little recipe, a slight take off of Copykat' s wonderful facsimile of Le Madeline' s recipe. They always do say homemade is best.

Keeping it simple: Get a big Stockpot.
Set aside for now.

You will need 4-5 ripe, vine- ripened tomatoes. I still had bits of vine
A jug of tomato juice, virgin if you please.
One Giant, Scary Knife!
Peel, core and remove skins. I'll stop now. After my sarcastic review of Mrs. Beeton' s Everyday Cookery, I might not be allowed around apricots for a bit. I blame Lisa Tarbuck. :) Pop those tomatoes into your pot with the juice and let simmer slowly, on low,  for 20 minutes. Grab coffee. Alrigby. Pour mixture, in small amounts into blender. Add fresh basil leaves. Puree. Pour back into pot. Add 1 stick butter, salt to taste, cracked pepper, basil, oregano, 1 cup of heavy cream, and combine. Primary colored comfort food. The recipe I tweaked slightly is: http://www.copykat.com/2009/03/27/la-madeleines-tomato-basil-soup/

Bad Sentence Starters, And a Little More

"Everybody does..." is probably the worst sentence starter outside of, "My aunt's poodle was on phenobarbitol..." a sentence that had me making an effort, I'm pretty sure to vent my displeasure at being compared to a bad mannered perm with feet, to scratch my ear with one foot. "Go on..."

There is a lot in this great and terrible, twisted and beautiful, dark and wonderful world to confound us and more, daily. Are we really needing to live our lives by "if they're quiet, they're strange, if they don't like what we like, they must be made to feel bad!" How's this? Be happy. Do What you do best. Don't worry if Martha Peckerhead can feel confident without a ponitail and you can't. You have talents, so use them.

Please, I must beg: I don't know where this new habit of: the person next to me wishes to be quiet, I must grab and cajole them, and snap at them comes from. Please, knock it off. I will avoid your company more if you grab me or scream at me, even if you don't think you did. There's no call at all to suddenly, for example, ask a 30 year old in loud terms, "Why wasn't Ronald Reagan in the military?" and many might give you a blank look. Just be grateful my former mother in law thought he was God Incarnate. Also? um... this has disturbed me, more so because it was sudden: What kind of an asshole SUDDENLY screams at a person because they use a Rosary? News flash: Screaming scares and scars. And um, if I "hide" and get anxious, THIS is why. Politics and sudden screaming do not help me, knock it off!

This Holy Week, I turn to what is important. And I also thank the people who do try to understand me. They are gold.

It's Like Teaching A Pig To Sing... Castrated

Lately, I have felt a bit snappy... which is really bad. I was feeling marvelous. Enter: They Who Must Apparently Belittle To feel Good. Enter The Don't Analyze, But Please Do Analyze Why You Are Apparently Weird, Why You Are Quiet, Why You Just Won't Do As I Say... types. Well... I'm in tailspin, I guess. 20 page notes on how I should do my hair from perfect strangers... Uh... I beg pardon? 2 hour long conversations consisting of why I like things, why I am this or that, or why I fell asleep (either avoiding the conversation or the engine's lull, take your pick.) Why are you weird? Because I'm happier being myself, and get frustrated and anxious when suddenly, I can't even wear a rosary bracelet or eat a damn cup of soup or be quiet without the Spanish Inquisition!

Sad news too... last phone call with Mom, and these are always tough, considering that in between ordering me to relax, complaining about people, which makes me anxious, and discussing touchy subjects... how long do I have to explain, "I need coffee to talk on the phone. I consider coffee food. I do not discuss my former in-laws or related subjects over food?" before it sinks in? she informed me that my great aunt was out of remission. Sad enough. Then, because being last to know wasn't enough, and being scared seeing a fractured family isn't at all frightening, " why'd you hide it from me?" "Um, you just told me."  Yeah. I'm fucking in a spin. I'm trying to cope and get back to myself. I'm running wild trying to be bright, and all the while it feels like when people want answers, I explain 18 Times, it's fucking painful, no one's happy, and I'm beginning to think it MIGHT be preferable to teach Porky to sing   La Traviata  while castrated.

There Are Good Days And Bad Days, And This Is One Of Them

There are good days, and there are bad days. And this is one of them._Lawrence Welk

Will be having all my wisdom teeth, and the tooth I broke in a seizure, removed in April. With the last, I just have to wait for the gum to heal and a falsie will be put in. Progress is being made, and smiling is becoming more easy now.

Fearful that I can't be understood, trying to ensure I take time until I can be. There's a lot of that verbally and in writing. It's DAMN frustrating for me, too!

Trying to avoid saying the wrong things to people who are loud and opinionated, too.

Have settled on another project, growing, along with Jack the Pet Orchid and Baby the Pet Clover, on a little viola - a tiny pansy like thing in a recycled rice fiber pot, that I suppose I have to give a name to. Dolly?

I don't want to analyze, that, I do all the damn time. It's not why I like or feel something, just that I do.  I don't want to judge, or need to constantly ask what a person is doing. I want to just be, I want them to just be.

Ten Million Strong...and Growing

I've hit that age now that was horrifyingly and inappropriately given to me as, "Miss, you'll never have family of your own, or a marriage... with everything, these drug interactions, allergies, your inability to thrive, sometimes (I think now that it was being put on and then raised up to high levels of, then dropping off Topomax, which this year we finally realized, oops a daisy! I'm actually allergic to, which in 15%  of patients cuts the appetite)- working to get past 600 calories, your episodes, a word used frequently by neurologists... frankly at times I was having boxed sets you won't make it to 30."  Some incidents came and went since then, one particular seizure in a bathtub had me bloody nosed and sore from hitting my head on tile and inhaling water... I wouldn't recommend it!- I realized after I was beginning to show fear of water and fought to be able to immerse myself in the complex pool. I came up bedraggled, the stink and sting of heavy amounts of chlorine in my sensitive nostrils... but triumphant. I do keep a hand on the sturdy towel bar in the shower now, and try to avoid dunking when feeling something coming on. I know I terrified myself immensely and spent the day after in my undies under the air conditioner, on a blanket, miserable. You get tired... an all encompassing, can't make yourself understandable, drunken sailor gaited,slurry tired. But I beat a developing fear I could have easily succumbed to.

I'm not a succumber... agreeable, maybe hair twiddly, seems too damn nice sort... and while I can't ask others to agree, I've taken on, somewhat of a " this is me. THIS is what works" attitude.

I can't say I'm brave, but I love to live, as opposed to survive. Learn from mistakes and be happy. I've felt what it's like to wake and be unable to move at will, willing limbs to cooperate, whomever has decided to sit directly on your chest and beat your head about - I'm certain now that was sleep paralysis and what had to be what I've taken to calling a Tonic Nightmare... to kindly, get off and fuck off. I'm not in the mood to focus on my bad days, marked in a tracker along with meds, the bulk of which looks like a pharmacy blew up on my dresser- with either an orange confused face, a red :-( or a lightbulb without the diagonal line through it, letting my doctors know I've taken meds, had a boxed set, and what I was doing... little notes- "Toga! Toga!"for a party taking place on the Ides of March, or "Had episode, etc."'. I don't want to be the saint. I'm not Catherine of Sienna ingesting  pus, and I'm no Little Flower. If I help anyone, I'm delighted... but want no earthly nimbus around my head. I just want to live, enjoy, go for hikes,find music to tap my toes to, watch movies. I won't fit into anyone's mold and ask them not to fit. Don't be the rollers on an old stereotype, the printing press, marking out where ink fills dyes and divots with a sound like "Cliche! Cliche!" to put the words on the paper. 

To be light, yes, that I want. To enjoy, for themselves, foods, music, my butterflies, my cherry blossoms, my creek ( ok,  a rather picturesque section of an 18 mile creek I like to sit on rocks by and sip my coffee, or record each season for prosperity.

To heal more, I've done a lot of that! To enjoy and be bad if I so choose, hell, to, if I like, have sex illegal in 30 states. To be silly. Being a saint... doesn't necessarily agree with me. (Never mind that there was a little gag that I got a pope for my birthday, finally driving out my feelings of complete and utter popelessness... and that he has the name of one of my favorite saints, Francis.) Enjoyment and growth is what I care for. The unspoken thought I had, unbidden, "oh, borrowed time"- it is anathema to me. 

I'm living, I'm dancing, enjoying. I'm... ten million strong and growing and have a vintage Flintstones Vitamin jingle in my head.