I guess I am secretive by nature. I am an only child. I just kept things to myself growing up b/c I really didn't have anyone to share them. Sometimes I would tell my parents what I thought and they would laugh and call me silly. So I don't talk about stuff.
Kevin came upstairs today and I didn't know he was coming, I just heard footsteps and since I'm not supposed to be on the 'net I closed the screen. He immediately wanted to know what I was 'hiding' To make the matter worse, I was just emailed my uncle b/c I need their address to send my aunt a birthday card. Unbeknown to me, Uncle Joe is on vacation. Since I emailed his office it bounced right back. I guess Kev forgot I have an Uncle Joe. He was seeing a man's name and I was hiding it from him so he thought I was cheating.
Of course I wasn't and I wouldn't, but it raises an interesting question- should I let Kevin read my blog? He doesn't know it exists. I started the blog so I could keep my writing skills somewhat in shape and to have a place to vent. Sometimes Kev pisses me off. He might become upset about some things I've written even if I wrote them months ago.
So what to do? On the one hand I like having my own space where I can say whatever I please. On the other hand if he ever figures it out I will be in big trouble for 1) keeping a secret, 2) for publicly voicing some hurtful things, and 3) for letting it go on so long. Part of me wants to tell him but how do I explain why I kept my blog a secret for over a year?
I think I might have to stay mum. Some things are just personal.
The Witchcraft of FreeDragon
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Still So Not Cool
Somehow the 100th post slipped by me. To make up for it I'm reposting what I consider my best and it just so happens I wrote this post a year ago.
So Not Cool
The most embarrassing thing my mother ever did to me was drive around with a fifty pound sack of chicken feed in her car.
My parents had chickens. Whose idea it was to get them in the first place, I don’t know. What I do know is that while my father liked having the fresh eggs and the occasional fresh fried chicken, those were not his chickens. The chickens belonged to my mother. Because they were considered hers, and not his, she had to feed them. And buy the food.
I’m not sure what happened. I suspect my mother said something to my father is a nagging tone of voice and then he probably said something along the lines of “Tote your own goddamn bag of chicken feed.” But at any rate, Dad would not carry the sack to the chicken pen and my mother would not do it because she knew it was a fifty pound sack. Whether or not she could actually lift the sack was completely irreverent. She knew it weighed 50lbs, therefore it was heavy, and she was NOT picking it up.
I think it was my aunt who gave Mom the brilliant idea of keeping the chicken feed in the car. So my mom would go to the feed store and the old retarded boy would carry it out for her and set it in the back in the floor. My mother would then go to the car every single morning and scoop out chicken feed with an old enamel pot and walk up to the pen to feed the chickens. I believe this has traumatized more than anything else in my life.
You must understand first that it was not just the chicken feed. It was also the car. My mother’s car once belonged to my grandmother. It was a Ford Fairmont and even when it was new it just screamed “granny car.” The car was pale gray, so it looked faded even though it wasn’t. The inside was maroon. And vinyl. The ac died so nearly all the windows would be rolled down. Through no fault of her own, my mother had been a car wreck. She was rear-ended by a truck which hit with enough force to knock her car into the one in front of her. My father, being cheap, decided he could do the body work himself. The trunk was crumpled in the accident and he painstakingly smoothed it out and primed it. But the only primer he had was red. Of course he wasn’t going to buy primer when he already had some at the house.
The trunk latch was broken, so my father tied it shut with hay rope. For some reason, he tied it so that the rope stretched across the outside of the trunk. No one could figure out how to retie his rope after they opened the trunk, so the trunk was no longer used. No repairs were made to the front bumper.
So there we were, creeping down the highway with our legs sticking to the seat and little bits of chicken feed flying out of the windows and pelting the windshields of any unlucky enough to travel behind us. With our primer red unusable trunk and askew bumper, there was no point in hiding behind the seats. The car was too recognizable and even if I wasn’t seen in it, everybody was laughing at my mom, and thus at me.
But it was more than a blow to my image. It was that we looked so white trash. We had the money to take care of things, we just didn’t bother. We looked lazy and cheap. The chicken feed meant that my mother was stubborn and my father was inconsiderate. It meant my parents had a bad marriage and I was terrified that one day they would divorce.
Once, full of teenage practicality, I decided to do something about that damn chicken feed. I picked it up, (proving my strength- no wimpy girlie-girl here) carried the feed sack into the house, and asked my mother where she wanted it.
She got mad with me.
Didn’t I understand that it was convenient to store chicken feed in the car? She never had to pick it up. Whenever it was empty, she simply stopped at the garbage dump and tossed it out before proceeding to the feed store. If she left it outside it would get wet. If she put it in the shed the rats would get it. If she got a storage container then somebody would have to pick up a fifty pound feed sack and pour it into the container. She told me I was very inconsiderate and hardheaded and I was making a big deal out of nothing. Since then I have tried very hard not to interfere with my mother’s business.
Of course, my father embarrassed me, too. But that is another post.
So Not Cool
The most embarrassing thing my mother ever did to me was drive around with a fifty pound sack of chicken feed in her car.
My parents had chickens. Whose idea it was to get them in the first place, I don’t know. What I do know is that while my father liked having the fresh eggs and the occasional fresh fried chicken, those were not his chickens. The chickens belonged to my mother. Because they were considered hers, and not his, she had to feed them. And buy the food.
I’m not sure what happened. I suspect my mother said something to my father is a nagging tone of voice and then he probably said something along the lines of “Tote your own goddamn bag of chicken feed.” But at any rate, Dad would not carry the sack to the chicken pen and my mother would not do it because she knew it was a fifty pound sack. Whether or not she could actually lift the sack was completely irreverent. She knew it weighed 50lbs, therefore it was heavy, and she was NOT picking it up.
I think it was my aunt who gave Mom the brilliant idea of keeping the chicken feed in the car. So my mom would go to the feed store and the old retarded boy would carry it out for her and set it in the back in the floor. My mother would then go to the car every single morning and scoop out chicken feed with an old enamel pot and walk up to the pen to feed the chickens. I believe this has traumatized more than anything else in my life.
You must understand first that it was not just the chicken feed. It was also the car. My mother’s car once belonged to my grandmother. It was a Ford Fairmont and even when it was new it just screamed “granny car.” The car was pale gray, so it looked faded even though it wasn’t. The inside was maroon. And vinyl. The ac died so nearly all the windows would be rolled down. Through no fault of her own, my mother had been a car wreck. She was rear-ended by a truck which hit with enough force to knock her car into the one in front of her. My father, being cheap, decided he could do the body work himself. The trunk was crumpled in the accident and he painstakingly smoothed it out and primed it. But the only primer he had was red. Of course he wasn’t going to buy primer when he already had some at the house.
The trunk latch was broken, so my father tied it shut with hay rope. For some reason, he tied it so that the rope stretched across the outside of the trunk. No one could figure out how to retie his rope after they opened the trunk, so the trunk was no longer used. No repairs were made to the front bumper.
So there we were, creeping down the highway with our legs sticking to the seat and little bits of chicken feed flying out of the windows and pelting the windshields of any unlucky enough to travel behind us. With our primer red unusable trunk and askew bumper, there was no point in hiding behind the seats. The car was too recognizable and even if I wasn’t seen in it, everybody was laughing at my mom, and thus at me.
But it was more than a blow to my image. It was that we looked so white trash. We had the money to take care of things, we just didn’t bother. We looked lazy and cheap. The chicken feed meant that my mother was stubborn and my father was inconsiderate. It meant my parents had a bad marriage and I was terrified that one day they would divorce.
Once, full of teenage practicality, I decided to do something about that damn chicken feed. I picked it up, (proving my strength- no wimpy girlie-girl here) carried the feed sack into the house, and asked my mother where she wanted it.
She got mad with me.
Didn’t I understand that it was convenient to store chicken feed in the car? She never had to pick it up. Whenever it was empty, she simply stopped at the garbage dump and tossed it out before proceeding to the feed store. If she left it outside it would get wet. If she put it in the shed the rats would get it. If she got a storage container then somebody would have to pick up a fifty pound feed sack and pour it into the container. She told me I was very inconsiderate and hardheaded and I was making a big deal out of nothing. Since then I have tried very hard not to interfere with my mother’s business.
Of course, my father embarrassed me, too. But that is another post.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Trees
I love trees. I recently sent a donation to the Arbor Day Foundation and I have been waiting impatiently for the trees they promised me. While I'm waiting I thought I'd do a Witch's Dozen, that's 13, of my favorite trees.
1. Dogwood. These are the prettiest trees I can think of and they offer something year round- white flowers in the spring, glossy leaves in summer, red leaves in the fall, and bird food in winter.
2. Willow. Another lovely being. Willows are the most graceful of trees. According to folklore, willows live about 100 years. They are very magickal and they guard the gateway of death.
3. Oak. Of course oak makes the top three because it is THE most magickal of trees. Oaks are easily recognized but identify the particular species can be a little tricky. There are post oaks, pin oaks, water oaks, red oaks, white oaks, a few dozen more and oh, they can interbreed and create hybrids. You could spend years studying the oak and not learn them all.
4. Black locust. Thorns. And more thorns. And thorns growing on top of thorns. That is the black locust. This is a tree of respect. The honey locust is exactly like the black without the thorns and the honey produces longer pods. Both trees teach us to pay attention to details.
5. Osage orange. This is another thorny, funky tree. It produces a green fruit which sort of look like green brains. It smells wonderful, but don't eat it, the fruit is poisonous. The wood is strong and Indians once used it to make bows. The wood will crack, but never break.
6. Sweet gum. I think this is a misunderstood tree. Commerically it is almost useless as the wood is too soft. It doesn't burn very well and it will take over rapidly. But the sweet gum is unmatched in autumn splendor. The whole tree will be crimson or a purple so dark it's almost black.
7. Orange. Yep, like orange juice. I planted an orange seed once. My father told me it wouldn't come up b/c oranges are kept refrigerated at a temperature that kills the seeds. Not only did my seed sprout, it grew into twin trees. Orange trees have dark, shiny leaves, thorns, and they produced very sweetly scented flowers.
8. Long-leaf pine. Not to be confused with those short needled pines which rapidly cover clear-cut land, long-leaf pines are very, very, very slow growing. Seedlings can be 70 years old. We've shot ourselves in the foot by ignoring this tree. The long-leaf pine is resistant to those beetles and fungi which are killing off the other pines.
9. Cherry. Freshly cut cherry tree bark smells just like cherry cough syrup. This is another pretty tree and is used in magick for love spells.
10. Apple. Probably the second most magickal tree after the oak. Apples are food, shade, magick, and home because its wood is used for furniture, boxes, and decoration. Apple is the tree of knowledge.
11. Fig. Fig trees produce several 'stalks' from a main tap root. There is no central trunk. The fruit is delicious and magickally is used to promote lust. Just don't eat too many, figs have a milky substance in them which can irritate the lining of the mouth. And I don't believe for one minute that Adam and Eve covered themselves with fig leaves. The leaves are itchy!
12. Hazel. This is another tree without a main trunk. It's also high on the magick list. Hazel wood is used for divining.
13. Black walnut. Black walnut is a very valuable tree due to the fact that its trunk is long, straight, and thick making it suitable for furniture. It's used for gun stocks because of its lovely grain. The nuts are delicious. So why aren't there black walnuts everywhere? Because they're slow growing and the nuts are hard to crack. The black walnut is tree of hard work and endurance.
1. Dogwood. These are the prettiest trees I can think of and they offer something year round- white flowers in the spring, glossy leaves in summer, red leaves in the fall, and bird food in winter.
2. Willow. Another lovely being. Willows are the most graceful of trees. According to folklore, willows live about 100 years. They are very magickal and they guard the gateway of death.
3. Oak. Of course oak makes the top three because it is THE most magickal of trees. Oaks are easily recognized but identify the particular species can be a little tricky. There are post oaks, pin oaks, water oaks, red oaks, white oaks, a few dozen more and oh, they can interbreed and create hybrids. You could spend years studying the oak and not learn them all.
4. Black locust. Thorns. And more thorns. And thorns growing on top of thorns. That is the black locust. This is a tree of respect. The honey locust is exactly like the black without the thorns and the honey produces longer pods. Both trees teach us to pay attention to details.
5. Osage orange. This is another thorny, funky tree. It produces a green fruit which sort of look like green brains. It smells wonderful, but don't eat it, the fruit is poisonous. The wood is strong and Indians once used it to make bows. The wood will crack, but never break.
6. Sweet gum. I think this is a misunderstood tree. Commerically it is almost useless as the wood is too soft. It doesn't burn very well and it will take over rapidly. But the sweet gum is unmatched in autumn splendor. The whole tree will be crimson or a purple so dark it's almost black.
7. Orange. Yep, like orange juice. I planted an orange seed once. My father told me it wouldn't come up b/c oranges are kept refrigerated at a temperature that kills the seeds. Not only did my seed sprout, it grew into twin trees. Orange trees have dark, shiny leaves, thorns, and they produced very sweetly scented flowers.
8. Long-leaf pine. Not to be confused with those short needled pines which rapidly cover clear-cut land, long-leaf pines are very, very, very slow growing. Seedlings can be 70 years old. We've shot ourselves in the foot by ignoring this tree. The long-leaf pine is resistant to those beetles and fungi which are killing off the other pines.
9. Cherry. Freshly cut cherry tree bark smells just like cherry cough syrup. This is another pretty tree and is used in magick for love spells.
10. Apple. Probably the second most magickal tree after the oak. Apples are food, shade, magick, and home because its wood is used for furniture, boxes, and decoration. Apple is the tree of knowledge.
11. Fig. Fig trees produce several 'stalks' from a main tap root. There is no central trunk. The fruit is delicious and magickally is used to promote lust. Just don't eat too many, figs have a milky substance in them which can irritate the lining of the mouth. And I don't believe for one minute that Adam and Eve covered themselves with fig leaves. The leaves are itchy!
12. Hazel. This is another tree without a main trunk. It's also high on the magick list. Hazel wood is used for divining.
13. Black walnut. Black walnut is a very valuable tree due to the fact that its trunk is long, straight, and thick making it suitable for furniture. It's used for gun stocks because of its lovely grain. The nuts are delicious. So why aren't there black walnuts everywhere? Because they're slow growing and the nuts are hard to crack. The black walnut is tree of hard work and endurance.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Borderlands
I live in a between place.
My house sits on a county line. Actually, Kevin and I have been arguing about it. He says the line starts at the sign which is past my house. I say the line starts were the pavement changes because counties pave their roads and not inch more. The pavement goes from bumpy gray to dull black before the house. But that's the problem (and magick) of a 'tween place- nothing is definite.
Let's take a drive. Let's leave the Twin City and go up 280. Just after we enter Chambers Co. we'll turn left onto Seals Street which is only Seals for 30 yards then it will be Tallapoosa 9. Another 50 yards up the road forks. Right is Seals Street again and left is.. what? I think it's Lee Road 70-something. All I can tell you is the closer we get to the house the more it forks and changes. It will be 73, 71, 72, and 71 again before becoming Roxana once we are back at my house and safely in Tallapoosa County where none of the roads are straight.
The air is different. There is a hint of possibility. Things are always the same, but they are not what you remember. My father is always telling me 'I know where I am. Right around the corner will be the beer joint.' Except when we round the curve the old bar is now a garage, but the same greasy men who sat on bar stools are fixing cars. Dad frowns. 'Well it was here.' There's an unspoken I think following each statement.
I got lost two miles from the house. Or maybe it's a lot farther than that. We rode for a long time in the dark, over the winding, bumpy road. We were looking for the new dollar store. My landlord gave vague directions (which is the only thing you can do in a borderland) which included lots of pointing in the direction of Hwy 50. I thought surely the store would actually be on a major highway and Kevin drove pointlessly back and forth down an empty stretch of road the town seems to forgotten about. We got better directions and tried again two days later. This time Kevin went right to it. Where is it? Somewhere on a dark corner. I still can't find it.
If you're waiting for me to get to a point, there isn't one. Nothing is definite in border country. Go for a drive. Find something. Forget about it. Rediscover it when you meet some friends. Find the local bar before the parking lot fills with rusty old cars, or does it already have battered trucks out front?
My house sits on a county line. Actually, Kevin and I have been arguing about it. He says the line starts at the sign which is past my house. I say the line starts were the pavement changes because counties pave their roads and not inch more. The pavement goes from bumpy gray to dull black before the house. But that's the problem (and magick) of a 'tween place- nothing is definite.
Let's take a drive. Let's leave the Twin City and go up 280. Just after we enter Chambers Co. we'll turn left onto Seals Street which is only Seals for 30 yards then it will be Tallapoosa 9. Another 50 yards up the road forks. Right is Seals Street again and left is.. what? I think it's Lee Road 70-something. All I can tell you is the closer we get to the house the more it forks and changes. It will be 73, 71, 72, and 71 again before becoming Roxana once we are back at my house and safely in Tallapoosa County where none of the roads are straight.
The air is different. There is a hint of possibility. Things are always the same, but they are not what you remember. My father is always telling me 'I know where I am. Right around the corner will be the beer joint.' Except when we round the curve the old bar is now a garage, but the same greasy men who sat on bar stools are fixing cars. Dad frowns. 'Well it was here.' There's an unspoken I think following each statement.
I got lost two miles from the house. Or maybe it's a lot farther than that. We rode for a long time in the dark, over the winding, bumpy road. We were looking for the new dollar store. My landlord gave vague directions (which is the only thing you can do in a borderland) which included lots of pointing in the direction of Hwy 50. I thought surely the store would actually be on a major highway and Kevin drove pointlessly back and forth down an empty stretch of road the town seems to forgotten about. We got better directions and tried again two days later. This time Kevin went right to it. Where is it? Somewhere on a dark corner. I still can't find it.
If you're waiting for me to get to a point, there isn't one. Nothing is definite in border country. Go for a drive. Find something. Forget about it. Rediscover it when you meet some friends. Find the local bar before the parking lot fills with rusty old cars, or does it already have battered trucks out front?
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Still Going Good
Kevin and I are very happy! I feel like my good fortune is spreading to other things/people so if good things have come your way lately, well, great!
I have discovered a few things I didn't know about the man I've been dating 5 years. The most surprising is he's a better bargain hunter than I am.
I am picky. I only buy certain brands. I look at everything, try to find the best price, the highest quality, the good colors. Kevin works it to the price per pound. This has worked out well on our trips to Kroger, except we got too much dog food. He got the 50lb bag, correctly surmising that not only was it a better buy but it would feed two hungry labs far longer. What we didn't realize was our dog food storage container won't hold 50lbs. He had to get a 50 gal drum, then he had to find a different lid so I could actually open and close the drum. But we still have dog food left.
I also learned that his idiot brother calls almost every day and makes him mad. His brother likes to meddle in Kevin's business and it makes Kevin angry, but he's too nice to say so. For those of you not blessed with redneck men dove season opens this weekend. Brother invited himself and asked to borrow a gun to boot. Kevin called his father and asked Pop to talk to brother. And Pop just told brother flat out, he doesn't want you over. I'm really surprised no one's been to therapy.
I'm glad to say Kevin is just as neat as I am. He puts everything in its proper place and doesn't make a mess.
Laundry has doubled, so I wash almost every day, but I don't have to pick nasty socks off the floor so I don't mind. M used to get undressed as soon as he came in the house. M left shoes in the kitchen, socks in the living room, shirts in the hall, and jeans on the bathroom floor. Kevin wisely believes as I do- such sloppiness is a sin.
Oooh- here's the best thing, but you must promise not to swoon. He took money out of his 401k to pay off my truck! That is bar none the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me and I didn't even ask!
Gotta love the dragons.
I have discovered a few things I didn't know about the man I've been dating 5 years. The most surprising is he's a better bargain hunter than I am.
I am picky. I only buy certain brands. I look at everything, try to find the best price, the highest quality, the good colors. Kevin works it to the price per pound. This has worked out well on our trips to Kroger, except we got too much dog food. He got the 50lb bag, correctly surmising that not only was it a better buy but it would feed two hungry labs far longer. What we didn't realize was our dog food storage container won't hold 50lbs. He had to get a 50 gal drum, then he had to find a different lid so I could actually open and close the drum. But we still have dog food left.
I also learned that his idiot brother calls almost every day and makes him mad. His brother likes to meddle in Kevin's business and it makes Kevin angry, but he's too nice to say so. For those of you not blessed with redneck men dove season opens this weekend. Brother invited himself and asked to borrow a gun to boot. Kevin called his father and asked Pop to talk to brother. And Pop just told brother flat out, he doesn't want you over. I'm really surprised no one's been to therapy.
I'm glad to say Kevin is just as neat as I am. He puts everything in its proper place and doesn't make a mess.
Laundry has doubled, so I wash almost every day, but I don't have to pick nasty socks off the floor so I don't mind. M used to get undressed as soon as he came in the house. M left shoes in the kitchen, socks in the living room, shirts in the hall, and jeans on the bathroom floor. Kevin wisely believes as I do- such sloppiness is a sin.
Oooh- here's the best thing, but you must promise not to swoon. He took money out of his 401k to pay off my truck! That is bar none the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me and I didn't even ask!
Gotta love the dragons.
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