New Song

Those of you that have not heard this song already, tell me what it is about as a sort of game.

This kind of stuff is what has been sucking up my time and keeping me away from blogging and soap-making! Now, off to make soap!

At some point I will write something on here. Not that anyone is reading it! Ha ha.

Psalm 84 Live

Feeling Empty When Life is Still Sweet

This is the time of year when things slow down a bit (at least near the end of the month) and I can take a deep breath and record. Well, I don't anticipate doing that until June, but it takes me a long time to settle into an idea. Seeing as how it is only the beginning of May, I am a little bit premature in my anticipation, but that is ok. School should be done by the beginning of June, Co-op will be finished next week, and a little vacation awaits my family directly after I have a gig in almost three weeks, which I am a little nervous about. No one will probably be there, and it is probably as low key as you could possibly think, but it is the step of doing it, not that actual act itself. I have pushed myself to do this---asked my friend to pray for a fire to light under my rear to get it over and done with. It worked. I sort of blindly called a number and booked myself. Exciting, but I am not incredibly excited about much lately. I am down a lot, surprise, surprise.

You know how you just feel like giving up on all the things you love to do---to sit on the couch and let the TV put your brain on autopilot? I never watch TV. But it sounds good. Reading sounds good too. Just a sort of reality besides the one I have so I can escape for awhile. And not that life is so bad. It really isn't. It is just that spiritually I feel beat up and worn out. Recovery could take a long spell, who knows. I am willing to see it through and roll with the punches. I asked the Professor what he thought of the whole TV idea. He said, "Well, that's classic depression." I guess it is. But I still get up in the morning and run. I still make soap. I still school the kids. I still teach outside home. I still drink all my water for the day. I still get dressed and put make-up on. I even still pick up the guitar about every other day and accompany myself singing. Just inside I have a weariness that does not abate. A sort of spiritual lethargy. Doing the things I love to do are harder to do.

My mother in law is close to leaving this earth. I hear reports of her peaceful countenance and readiness for the next life. I envy that peace, and I envy that wisdom. So I see the importance of doing what you need to do even if you don't take joy in it for a time inside.

Jack the Ripper

Been thinking about this song a lot and also about the famous London murderer. I am presently reading The Lodger on the Professor's reader thingy, and it is very suspenseful and entertaining. I recommend it. It is free to read on Project Guttenberg. This song I sing on this video is a cover of Morrissey. Great, great song. I think when I realized what it was about (I always listened to it as a teen not knowing what it meant) I fell over while running on the treadmill.

It is from the murderer's point of view---when he sees a harlot he wishes to murder and how he deceives her into getting alone with him, which isn't hard as she is indeed a harlot. Of course, if you don't know about Mr. Ripper then you should read up on him. He was famous for killing harlots late at night and sometimes taking body parts like uteruses from his victims. He was never discovered. I wonder how The Lodger ends.

Sunshine and Rain

Here is a picture of the "shine sprite" The Oldest made for me in art class. Crazy little sculpture, but it makes me a bit happier for some reason. He knows that the dark, dank weather affects me so he thought of me when he made it and said when he handed it over, "This is for you, Mom, when the weather is bad, you can at least have a little sunshine in your window to cheer you up." So I have the thing on my kitchen window sill where I store some of my soap balls. He was probably thinking of himself too though when he thought of making it for me. I get very down when it is cloudy and rainy (which used to be my favorite weather). He has to deal with a not too happy mother every so often.

Speaking of the rainy weather, I remember back in the archives of my brain one of the times I first met The Professor. When he was only my acquaintance, he used to come over to my parents house as they had a sort of "marriage class" home group sort of thing. He was the only single guy who came as he wanted to learn about how to be a good husband as his goal was to marry eventually. I rarely stayed during those meetings, but since it was raining cats and dogs, I remained indoors while everyone piled in the house one by one.

I don't know what I was thinking. It was indeed true that I loved the rainy weather, but I must have had a confidence with men then that I forget about in my older years now. When The Professor walked through the door, all rainy and in a bright yellow raincoat, I couldn't help but look up at him. One of the elders had opened the door, welcoming him in, saying, "It's terrible weather out there, eh?" The Professor put his hood down and said jovially, "Oh, I LOVE the rain! I wish it would rain more!"

At that moment he looked over at me slightly as I was sitting at a table facing the door and I was shocked. I had never met a person who loved the rain like me. In complete confidence (I only imagine), I said, "You are DEFINITELY scoring some points."

What he took that to mean, I am still not sure, but he turned a little pink and laughed as he took his coat off.

Isolating X

I think I have lost my ability to write at all. I took off about 8 months on this thing and left it for dead, but decided, why not? Who knows if I want to keep it up regular like I used to.

My brain is entertained elsewhere these days. Mainly it wants to stay indoors and never leave the house, but of course I find that I am taking a kid to soccer a few times a week, running errands, meeting friends for coffee, and teaching at the co-op.

I just survived a very terrible experience worship leading at a local church (I wasn't terrible, the people were a mixed bag). I spent a good year doing that but it was not wasted. In fact, I was still writing on here when I was leading. Well, that's over. The present worship team did not appreciate my efforts much because I was not rock n roll, so here I am. It took me a bit to be fine with it. It feels rather not good when people do not like or accept you. But when you are rock n roll, you are rock n roll.

I am in the throes of teaching my Oldest Algebra. When anyone asks me what I am doing these days, I just say, "Isolating X." They look at me puzzled but if the person is a wise homeschool mom she knows immediately what I mean and chuckles. This, I believe, is why my brain is fried. I literally broke down and cried last week when I couldn't figure out a problem (when I usually can). My son looked at me in horror as if to say, "what is this wetness falling from your cheeks onto my math book?" His lack of "Here, let me solve the problem, dear mother!" or "How can I make this better?!" made me so angry that I didn't know whether to ravenously eat the math book with my retainer on and upturn the coffee table when finished or just calmly sit there and cry a bit more. You know when you are so mad you just look around a bit saying in your head, "what can I do? What can I do?" seeking something to possibly destroy. It is desperation and I don't ever want to feel that again.

But we got through it, you know? And eventually I looked at the problem again and realized that I was looking at it wrong and solved it in a jiffy, which, turned out that the boy could solve it in a jiffy too and the world was right again. I didn't have to eat the math book, I didn't ruin my retainer, I didn't upturn the coffee table in my wrath.

But this has been a year. Next year will be my favorite, I am quite certain: the Oldest enters high school. I will be homeschooling ten years when this one is over and I am not sure I like it. Some of you Anons that hate me in the world like to come on here and comment on how ungrateful and melancholy I am. You are exactly the reason why I exist. While I jokingly complain, you are probably on your angel-bordered template blog talking about tea and pretty little laces and bears and whatnot. Let's not forget your house is full of knick knacks and your closet is full of Christmas sweaters. If only I had a thimble collection I would feel less melancholy. If only. Try isolating X for days on end with an Expo pen until your fingers bleed. So I am exaggerating. But you are not. You are over there with your pink sweat shirt sipping some earl grey as I type.

Psalm 84

Here is a new song I have been working on since yesterday.

Listen

I put up a couple of song sketches on my music site. One is called "Recall Unto Me" and it is about how in this life we need God to remind us of pretty much everything.

The next song is called "Side" and it is about death. Those that know me would know exactly what it is about and it was good for me to write it.

It is just me and the guitar and I only did one take----so it is not the best recording, but fun nonetheless.

Enjoy!

Porch

I just went ahead and turned the water on in the crawl space minus the bug bomb. I had the job of cleaning the moss off the house and in order to do that I needed water! Because I am so good at planning things, I decided to just bite the bullet and go down there to twist the two cobwebbed knobs. I inhaled a lot of bug spray. I am shocked at how much the human body can tolerate. I was hacking and wondering if I had to call the poison control center once I crawled outside, but soon enough fresh air seemed to help and I was righted again.

I also painted the porch this past week, which was a sort of disaster. I painted the floor of it dark blue (like the shutters on our house) and it looks all great and everything, except I should have left a sign for kids to enter through the back. Or "wet paint" or something. A kid came up the porch and pulled the paint up in the print of his foot in several areas, and then somehow he touched the paint and christened my storm door with his finger prints.

I was livid. All I can say is that the kid ran away and his older brother was banned from my property until I could re-paint that madness.

Eraser Eater promptly made a sign for me and stuck it outside. He put "DANGER!" in large capital letters.

To be honest, the porch was depressing me. It looked horrible. And we were having people over for the Girl's eighth birthday party. I painted it days before the event, but because of all the thunderstorms and high humidity, it took a century to dry. I thought since the day before the party was completely sunny, I could do little touch ups in the walk way. I'm an idiot.

The next morning it was fabulously wet so in my Sunday best, I took one of my good rags (I can't think clearly in the morning, you know that) and wiped it all up. But I was barefoot and I got paint all over the bottom of my feet. It covered the bottom of my feet, actually. And I forgot about it. I just put on my heels and went, wondering later why it was a bit hard to take them off.

After the party was over (it was after church) the Prof. and I sat down with our glasses of pop and talked. He was on the couch opposite me. I kicked my feet up on the coffee table. Immobile, he stole a glance at my (I am sure) dark colored blue feet bottoms. But he thought he was being slick and looked at me like it was nothing but I intercepted. "I know what you're thinking," I said,"I stepped on the wet porch this morning...."

"Um, yeah, I was about to say..."

I don't know how many times in my marriage I will feel like Lucy Ricardo, wincing.

Of Late

I have very little to write about. I mean, I could write about nothing and then I could write about everything.

The Professor is supposed to bomb the crawl space to kill the bugs before I enter in, but that has not happened yet. The cars need to get washed and we need the water turned on. These robins keep perching on the rear view mirrors and pooping on the side of the car. It is pretty gross looking---long streams of white and black poop. The man keeps saying that if he had a gun he would "shoot that thing."

But other than that not too much is going on. Our mailbox that got annihilated a couple years ago has still never gotten fixed by the culprits, our grill has taken to catching on fire (apparently there was a recall we had no clue about) and only works half way, and the Prof. and I killed another pot of herbs I tried to buy again. We set them by the window and watered them but they still biffed it. When I found that there was still a little life yet in each plant, I put it outside once it got warm and what do you know, the next day, the whole pot was upturned.

"Guess I'm not supposed to have herbs," I mumbled to the Prof.

I made an amazing Oreo pie yesterday. I worked hard on it. I imagined exactly what I wanted. An oreo crust, a chocolate ganache layer, Oreo infused ice cream, another thin layer of ganache, and then more ice cream. I drizzled it with chocolate. As we ate it with our guests I heartily complimented myself after I took a bite. "This is awesome!" I yelped. I guess it is not proper to compliment your own pie, but it was the first time I had ever tried it. And I thought it up in Costco. The Prof. looked at me in surprise (I suppose he could not imagine his own mother hollering her own praise) and kept eating. Everyone else ignored me and kept eating---and no one talked about how incredibly wicked it was because I had already crowned myself queen.

But Eraser Eater, who was with me when I was audibly imagining my pie at Costco, said as he was chomping on a piece, "Gee Mom, is this the pie you were envisioning at Costco? It is AWESOME! Thanks! You're the best! You were right, it really WOULD be good!"

I give up on adults who insist on propriety.

Me and the Oldest

I've been hacking a lot due to the pollen here. I had a word of wisdom from my dear friend Laura about allergies/moving to new areas/honeymoon periods, etc and this spring has been an asthmatic mess. Breathing is an issue. The Oldest has been hacking up a lung too (we call it our TB). He asked me stupidly this spring if he had tuberculosis.

The Prof. and I looked at each other. Of course, the man always jumps at the chance to kid the poor gullible wretch. "Yes. You have it. And you are going to die soon."

The crew and I took a field trip to a local estate with huge grounds to hike and whatnot, and the Oldest and I both were hacking up a lung the whole time. He has been pocketing his inhaler and sometimes I bum it off him when I need to breathe.

"Hey, my mucus, it tastes metal-lick." He coughed again and swallowed it.

"You CAN'T DO THAT! Look. You swallow the junk and then it slides down into your throat again and all you can do is just hack it up---again. It's gross. It's like you're eating your snot. And the word is metallic, dude."

"Oh. But it tastes metal-lick, I mean, metal---how do you say it? It tastes like metal---like blood. Do you think I am coughing up blood? I have to have tumercolasis. This isn't good. Here--" {violent coughing spasm}"...mook," he stuck out his tongue.

"No blood, pal. Just snot. Now don't swallow it."

"But I have been doing that the whole time! I wish I would have known that sooner!"

"Well now you know." I handed him the inhaler, he coughed into his elbow pit and then ran off into the bamboo.

Eventually we reached a place where there was a huge hedge and on the other side of the huge hedge there was a building. The problem with this hedge was that it was some sort of flowering one and there was no way to get around it to the other side except to go through it. I forget the woes of spring and summer just about every year until it hits me for the very first time again. The Oldest did not want to walk through. The reason being: huge bumble bees soaring around the towering hedge and all over in a sort of canopy. He stood at the foot of it.

"I can't do it," he whimpered, "it is not possible. I am going to die, we are never going to get out of here, and there is no way out!" He was steadily backing away and petrified.

I immediately donned my spring/summer coping skills with freshness. My mind was clear even though I was hungry. But I was hungry. We were with friends. The pressure increases for good ideas to get out of the next panic mess. My ulterior motive: to get to food. The only way to get to food was to get through that bee infested canopy. The bee infested canopy was between me and fainting.

He started to cry. Yes, I do admit, my eyes began to roll. I just don't have time for this madness. "I just can't do it...." he was saying over and over in a soft shrill whisper, hands to mouth, eyes wide behind his glasses, looking to and fro from one side of the bee infested canopy to the other. I quickly imagined myself with a huge roll of duct tape. Really, I did. I ripped off a piece and blinded his eyes and then I suddenly got a great idea.

"Close your eyes," I said. I pulled out a stick of gum from my purse.

"What? Gum? Close my eyes? Are you nuts?" he wailed faintly, Mickey Mouse fashion.

"Please just close your eyes. Then when you are done closing your eyes, you can have this gum. But you have to keep them closed. We are going to walk through that walkway and you are going to hold my hand. But you can't open your eyes. And the bees won't get you because I will guard you. I am best at it. And when we are through walking, you can open your eyes and have the gum. Let's go. No choice."

He very reluctantly obeyed. Half way across, he stopped with his eyes shut tight and said, "I can't do it! They are going to get me!" I jerked his hand slightly and said, "You are half way there, man, and then it's over."

With eyes tight shut, he floated his head around like he could see in all that blackness. He timidly went forward, shaking. When over the threshold of bee-less air, he popped open his eyes, hastily grabbed the gum, threw it in his mouth, chewed it with violent relish and ran like the dickens to the field beyond.

Hast Thou Bedecked Thyself With Humor

I was reclining on the bed reading the torturous Merry Adventures of Robin Hood when Eraser Eater ran toward me to kiss me goodnight.

"Have you brushed your teeth?"

"No."

"Get in there."

He went to the bathroom and got going with the brush. He has one of those firefly toothbrushes that blinks a flashing red light until a whole minute is up. In the dark hall where he was peeking his head out to spy on me from time to time, he looked a bit strange----all dim yet glowing red about the mouth.

The Oldest was sitting in a chair, talking to me as this was going on. When I pointed out how "trippy" Eraser Eater looked, the Oldest decided he had his own bit to say (as usual). "Hey, that does look a bit odd. How bout you send that toothbrush to a lighthouse so they can bring in the ships with it!"

I tell you, he is a bright boy, but so not good at cracking jokes. He was laughing in a hearty, lusty manner at his own jest, sitting there in the chair, slapping his knee. He gets this genuine, actual smile that I love when he does this.

Eraser Eater saw this great deal of mirth and cried out with toothbrush smashed against his cheek, "Why don't you send your brain to science!?" At this, the fountain burst into a flowing stream and my Oldest was almost on the floor laughing his sides off.

"Oh Mom, that boy, oh, that boy, he kills me every time. He always has one up his sleeve!"

"Yeah, so Mom...." He just stood there waiting for a response.

Try reading in this house. It is impossible.

"Yes?"

"I did inform Dad today that you don't really get crackin' until around 7:30. Well, sometimes it is more like eight....."

"Is that so?" I put the book mark in my book and set it down.

"Yeah," he was really grinning now,"in fact, I think you only really start getting going by 9:00, but if I truly thought about it, you are only rolling by noon." At this he was nearly on the floor again. My smile wasn't helping. "In fact, because you can be so lazy, forget paying the bills anymore or even bothering to get out of bed...." he was gasping for air...

"Me? Lazy? You flinch every time I tell you to do the dishes!" He rolled his eyes in playful vengeance.

"Yeah? And you just stand there when I ask if I can play games and say, 'uh, I don't know. Uh, not now.' And then I ask later and you say, 'maybe later' and then I ask later and you say, 'it's time for bed now! why would you want to play games now?' And then what do you know, POW! the whole idea is shot because you delayed it so long!" Now them's fightin' words.

"My plan has worked successfully." I picked my book back up.

"You mean you have been doing this on purpose all along?"

"Perhaps."

"You are craftier than I thought!" he bellowed in complete belief.

Sad Song (Noel Gallagher-Oasis)

I LOVE this song. Noel is amazing. I want a recording of this terribly bad.

New Batch

I made lavender soap the other day and it looks like blueberry. Oh well. It is pretty though! I got a little too heavy on the blue, I think. Argh. It smells great.

Hello World, Here Comes a Great Typist.

Uh, long time no see.

I am about to delete this thing. I will turn moderation off. Bee convinced me.

Not that there is much to moderate. I am just ridiculously busy. I have recently taken up a worship leader/coordinator role at my church so that is taking some time. I am having quite a great time arranging old hymns and making them spunky. My next project is "Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silent" and "Christ the Lord is Risen Today". We will see how that all pans out.

And it looks like I may teach three literature classes this fall, so the intense reading and note-taking will ensue.

My Girl just got over pneumonia, and Eraser Eater had a major asthma attack on Friday, resulting in his oxygen level being severely low and his lung capacity even lower. When they finally got him to 75% capacity level they allowed us to step out of the office and toward home with a hefty prescription and instructions. When I didn't have the flu, I was taking care of ailing people. Heck, when I had the flu I was taking care of people.

"What does that mean?" The Oldest said.

We were listening to "Eight Days a Week" on the radio.

"It's a Beatles song. You know, the guy loves the girl so much that he loves her MORE than just seven days a week, see, it's pretty clever," I said, stepping on the gas.

"I don't see what's so clever about that. There aren't eight days in a week. It makes them look dumb. I don't get it."

"Forget it then."

"Yeah, ok. Hey Eraser Eater, this kid in class told me about a game you can play online that you can design yourself. He designed a stupid game where a bear catches hamburgers for points!"

Anything with design and Eraser Eater is ON IT.

"What is this game?!" he hollered.

"It is just a game where you can design your own game if you want," answered the Oldest.

"Where do you find it?"

"On the internet! You go on the internet! Do I have to keep saying it!?"

"WHERE ON THE INTERNET, OLDEST? HUH? I WANT ANSWERS HERE!" He made sure that he growled and laughed all at the same time as he said this.

I burst out laughing against the steering wheel.

"How's he so funny?" the Oldest gave me a half-grin that meant he barely got the humor.

"The boy is just clever," I confessed.

But he doesn't get clever or humor. Poor old sap.

New Song

Here is a new song I put up on my new music site. Give it a listen for me.

Listings and Dialogue

When shopping for a birthday gift today the Girl and I found Smurf stuffed animals. Incredible. 

I usually wake up in the morning wanting to go to bed already and then proceed to long for that step into bed all day long. Is that normal?

I ate two pieces of cheesecake yesterday but don't feel fat. I mean, I was sure to get on the treadmill, but I don't feel fat. That's good, people.

Once the election was over, Obama sent me a letter thanking me for voting for him. Wait. I think I already told you that before. Like I have also told you before, I am getting very old and forget stuff.

I did not vote for Obama.

My teeth are getting closer together and so the braces will be off in a few months. YES! No more eating on one side! 

Today I thought for some reason I was very wise when I said to my Oldest: "You will never control people; you can only control yourself." Then I shortly realized that I am an idiot.

I almost slipped and fell at a bowling alley today wearing my 12 year old boots. Well, I didn't have them when I was twelve, I've just had them for that long.

I think chocolate makes people very happy.

I love Titus Two's version of "Fly" by Sara Groves.

Yesterday I got raw chicken juice on my running shoes.

I have a guitar that is bigger and better than me.

I broke a humidifier a couple of weeks ago. It MELTED. I must say that I have broken many and that has never happened before.

I heard a sweet girl today get so excited about a Webkinz that she squealed so high-pitched she sounded just like a boiling tea kettle. Amazing. I did a double take. 

My Oldest, when corrected nearly the whole car trip home long, whimpered and put his head down in shame and despair. 

"This day is over," he said piteously.

"Oh but you will have chicken tacos for dinner!" I bellowed. 

"We shouldn't have chicken tacos for dinner! Good endings to bad days just isn't right!"

I rolled my eyes.

"I just like bad endings to bad days. Can't we eat something else?!"

Like what, a death cake? A dead body? A burnt up hog within a funeral pyre? Chilled monkey brains?

"I'm sorry, that's just really weird. We're having tacos, pal."

Of Late

On Tuesday we went to see the sights in D.C. with our niece from Idaho. That was interesting. We went to see the National Archives and saw The Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, and a copy of the Magna Carta (one of the four) some colonist had. I hate to sound ignorant, but it was pretty boring. The place was so dimly lit (for preservation purposes, I am sure) that to read anything was nearly impossible. You could practically take a nap in there. In fact, the security guard standing next to the Declaration was doing just that.

Next we looked at the White House and then went up into the Washington Monument. You know, that big masonic spear just smack in the middle of the city. It was pretty high up. I enjoyed seeing the National Cathedral (one of my favorite places) in the distance, northwest. The Professor did not go up as he is afraid of heights. I am a little afraid of heights, I guess. Once up on the top I felt pretty dizzy and wanted to go down. My sister in law already bolted so I was left with the kids and my niece, who was doing just fine. Eraser Eater started to pull stuff because he hadn't seen the north side of the monument and I was ready to puke and go to the elevator. "You get to see the north side and you get barf in your pocket," I said. He obeyed reluctantly.

We were going to go to the National Gallery of Art (where we frequent whenever we are in the city) but we happened to be walking by the Museum of Natural History and just went in there as time was running out. The Girl held all the available live insects in the insect section. The boys sort of ran the other direction and watched her from behind an exhibit. Even my niece held a worm, which is one of my room 101s. 

On a lighter note, this past week the Girl has been sick and I have been trying to avoid the germ, as Howard Hughes as I can get at times. At one point, my brain was so lacking one morning while waiting for my coffee to brew, that I accidentally drank from her pill-taking glass. In great panic I quickly gathered my wits and tried to think of a way to kill the now ingested germ. "Liquid disinfectant," I thought,"Rubbing alcohol---what can I drink? I can't drink that." My brain was only half functioning. 

Like lightning, I remembered that I had hard liquor in the upper cabinet above my head. I grabbed the first bottle I saw: bourbon from the sangrias I made at Christmas. I swiftly uncapped it and chugged. Ok, so it was in the morning and I almost puked. It burned slowly all the way down, and I imagine it would have burned all the way back up too! Foul stuff.

So far, I am fine. I guess that works, eh? 

Just one more thing. 

For most of my life I have let others run me. And I mean, the kind of people who prey on people like me because I have been a people pleaser. In many ways I could say that I have been my own problem, I just have gotten myself into the trap too many times to not find the common thread. 

But God changed it. He removed me from a particular situation into a new one. A fresh one. 

And I could assess. 

And a couple of years ago I ran into the same problem but with a different person. I cut it off. I let that "friendship" go. For good reason too. 

And now I have another right now. And each time I run into this type of person (manipulators), I can smell them from a mile off and I know that they are going to pull their tricks once they get an inch closer. 

And so it has happened. The ground, again, had to be stood. And they are pissed because they can't control me like they thought they could, because, I don't know, there is some spiritual sign on my head that says, "please control me, I like it."

Until I can get the sign off my head, I will not be able to ward off the manipulators. They like me A LOT. Instead, I have to keep telling them no, and they do not like that. AT ALL. 

Have I ever told you that I have probably had the telephone hung up on me about a thousand times? I don't even think I am exaggerating.