About Me

I am beyond vexed that the lottery has not made me a winner. I am not greedy for millions ~my needs are simple: good books, better wine, and a new vehicle.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Mother of a teenage boy

Me walking by the Minion's room and glancing in:

Me: Jesus Christ! what the hell was THAT?!
Minion (putting Nip/Tuck on pause) : The person wearing the saddle is the lesbian's daughter.
Me ( resting head on door jamb. and closing eyes. wondering why I dismissed parental controls as rubbish ): Was that sex?
Minion: No, he's just having a dream.
Me: But it's a dream about sex....?
Minion: Well...yeah..i guess so.
Note to self. Wash his sheets in hot water this week.

Thursday, August 29, 2013

Better Than Painful Shoes

I was going to write about the horrors of breaking in 2 3/4 inch satin pumps. But who wants to hear about that? {{Slides eyes to the floor where the offending articles are sitting..waiting..anticipating the 2 hours tomorrow when they will be worn again for "breaking in". There is no such thing.
Julia Roberts ~ barefoot wedding to Lyle Lovett :  Click to view full size image

SMART GIRL. Well, the groom can sing, and I really like the head wrap. I do.  So instead of my taped Morton's toes ( look it up) I give you music from a 65 year old man.

My toes need wine. And my toes get what they want. But I admit to an '80's thing for the guy. Don't judge me. I was simply morphing.


Well, this has been just lovely. My bucket of hate is empty and my toes are numb. Seriously considering the Julia approach. And why the fuck not? It's my damn wedding.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Un-Oaked Pinot night

It's Thursday. The day the lady of the house over serves herself and waxes ridiculous. It was suggested by a Dear Friend that Thursday's be the day I write. I made the mistake of saying I had nothing to say. Dear Friend knows my dirty secret of Pinot Grigio Thursday ~ the reason he knows this is that he opens shameful emails from me on Friday mornings. I am sure as I am laying with a pillow over my face, detesting my 1am conduct, he is several hundred miles away simply shaking his head and grateful that he got out when he did. But being a true friend, he hasn't kicked me to the curb yet. I should also mention that my Dear Friend posts photographs of his travels and other people's prose on his blog. I think I would suggest that he write as well. Now that the self loathing and jabbing is over, fortification is needed in the form of nicotine, a full glass and my "Mom's goodies" mix on the iPod the Minion graciously tossed my way (literally) after I dropped $120 on a new one for his 16th birthday. {{{{several minutes pass, many of them with me trying to work the iPod}}}

So, I have music and wine. I also have crazy peas and kale. I have a new porch with pots of basil and parsley and leggy pansies . Dragonflies swooping around the oh so pregnant hydrangea. The whiskey barrel of daisies on the stone wall that saved the house from Irene. Marigolds, Lobelia,  Zebra grass, and black-eyed Susan's growing in a flower bed I made from the shovels of silt and dirt from the post-hurricane cellar clean up. I cut the flowers for the kitchen table and feel such relief that I can bring something beautiful into the house that grew from sorrow. Endless tears and anger when trudging up and out with those shovels of dirt. I have bunnies eating the lawn clover then hopping down and chasing each other in the pasture ravine. And I have a soak-hole in the brook that almost killed me. Stones moved around, a seat made, driftwood found and left ~ the sun hits it at 2pm ~ and it is a peace offering to sit in her and hear her apologize while my skin cools.

Monday, July 22, 2013

“The principal difference between an adventurer and a suicide is that the adventurer leaves himself a margin of escape (the narrower the margin the greater the adventure), a margin whose width and length may be determined by unknown factors but whose navigation is determined by the measure of the adventurer's nerve and wits. It is exhilarating to live by one's nerves or toward the summit of one's wits.”

Monday, April 29, 2013

Driver's Ed

Yes, it's hard to believe. The Minion can learn how to drive. I know it's a shock as I still think he's 11 years old as well. How this happened is easy. Against my better judgement, I continued to feed him. And now I get to reap the benefits of being a good, loving and caring mother. There was a parent/student meeting at the high school. I think every parent was pale and shaking afterwards. Friends came up to me, we'd had our children within months of one another, we looked at each other and asked: A) How did we get this old ( Note: not how did the children get so grown up). B) Weren't we all just yesterday fancy free drinking dollar drafts and watching volleyball outside at the local bar?(Note: this is how The Minion came to be). C) How the Hell were we going to cope with the mandatory 40 parental supervised driving hours. Yes. 40 hours of me sitting in the wrong seat, no doubt pressing my right foot into the invisible brake, probably breathing the way they told me to when I was attempting to push him out of my body and without a doubt, assuming we make it back home to Tearstained Farm in one piece, I will make a bee-line for the medicinal Scotch tucked into the back of the baking goods cupboard.