Team Candypult

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I had a birthday last weekend. Mike wanted to take me to an elegant restaurant, as we’ve done for each other every year we’ve been together.  But the All New and Improved(?) Me longed for something more. . .more. . … Continue reading →

Kitsch in snow.

This gallery contains 32 photos.

The weather forecast for today was correct — sort of. Maybe they forgot to insert the numeral “2″ after the “1 inch predicted” – when the snow exhausted itself, there was a foot on the ground. And, yeah, all this stuff … Continue reading →

Things I’ve heard this year, things I’ve said this year

Things I’ve heard this year:

God bless you.

So you’ve got a Baltimore map, right?

Pray more.

Toasted?

You’ll meet people.

Love you, sis.

What time are we leaving?

I’d hate to see you do that.

That might be what you do in the city, Linda, but we don’t do that here in the country.

Beer run!

We’re Christians, so we don’t worry about that.

If you need a church, I’ve got one.

Hay! Hay! Hay!

I’m sorry about your life.

You’ve got to understand, Linda. . .

Have you seen my shorts?

Do you miss Houston?

What’s wrong?

Do you need help?

You have to establish a presence.

You might not want to (or be able to) tell your story in, say, 1,100 words.

We shoot them and bury them off the property.

There’s a mouse in the garage.

It’s a rat in the garage.

You are too funny, I really do miss you.

You’re a good writer, and you have a nice eye for detail.

Dammit!

Why does everything have to be so difficult?

There’s a bear!

Did you know you have HD?

Hi, Aunt Linda.

Debit or credit?

Avert your eyes, boys, ‘cause the waters is mighty cold.

Are you finding it hard to meet people in this neighborhood?

We miss the diversity.

Things I’ve said this year:

Thanks very much.

So, I guess that’s it for now.

Can you make that with skim milk, please?

I just want to be happy, here, in this moment.

It’s complicated.

I don’t really Christmas shop.

I’ll get milk.

Can you cook meth?

That does look better.

No, that’s okay.

What do you do in the country?

I will not be drugged.

No, I’m not going back.

That seems harsh.

Do we have to pray?

Let’s not go there.

Awesome.

Sorry.

Love you.

Texas!

It’s not about the weather.

It’s just a job.

Nobody’s going to look after you but you.

I don’t think of myself as a writer.

Can we stay with you?

There’s an exploded mouse in the garage.

Don’t run over the snake in the driveway.

It’s not about the money.

I love beer.

How cool is that?

I’m leaving. Bye.

They pay me way too much money.

I write a blog.

I spend 90% of my time alone.

 

A Baker’s Dozen

n    (Mathematics & Measurements/Units)   thirteen

[from the bakers’ former practice of giving thirteen rolls where twelve were requested, to protect themselves against accusations of giving light weight]

 The current trend seems to be toward publishing lists – 10 things women wish men knew ( toilet lids down, use napkins, no means no, never enough shoes, no empty jars in the fridge, yes I cry, no you can’t fix everything, finish what you start, 20 years is long enough to wear a free tee shirt, sometimes the box is better than what’s inside);   50 best places to retire this week (there’s so much more to it than cost of living, weather, and population count so laughably emphasized in those worthless articles) ; 7 deadly sins (as listed at www.deadlysins.com: anger, gluttony, sloth, envy, lust, pride, greed – how many evil badges have you earned? Collect all 7!).

 I’ve compiled my own baker’s dozen list of what I’ve come to appreciate much more over the past year, in completely random order. Here we go:

 TED.com – I have a link to this on my blog. Go there. Watch a lecture. Think about the presentations. Listen to the understated Ric Elias talk about a life-changing airplane trip, check out what Jill Bolte Taylor brings on stage, experience the wistfulness of wishing you’d known Ben Dunlap’s friend. Broaden a horizon, maybe your own.

 CSA – Community supported agriculture. In wide-eyed, city-dweller wonder and ignorance, I signed up to receive an assigned share of locally-grown produce. Every other week I show up at a parking lot with my bag and weigh potatoes, arugula, oyster mushrooms and many other foods I would never purchase in a grocery store because I don’t know what they are. It’s a very Dickensian experience, particularly when holding up my plastic container for the farm person to fill with apple cider from a blue 55 gallon drum. I am now addicted to lettuce and realize kale can actually be eaten; you can do more with rhubarb than make pie; watermelon contributes to a tasty chutney. And mushy cantaloupe blends well with Skyy Citrus Vodka.

 BEER – What a heady love affair I’m in. I want to sample every last brew from every micro and craft brewery in the United States (except maybe Clown Shoes, based on a near experience and general clown loathing). And I want to try them all by the end of the week, which I guess is a bit unrealistic (though still a noble goal).

 ROBERT EARL KEEN – Why did it take one of the most heart-breaking times of my life to wrap his music around myself like hot caramel around an apple? I know every word of “Merry Christmas from the Family.” If you haven’t heard his newest release “Ready for Confetti,” stop, do not pass go, do not collect $200 until you listen to it.

 LEATHER – Somebody should have dope-slapped me years ago on this one. I still harbor an aversion to our leather couch, but I have no such problem with my new leather jacket, and those absolutely necessary black leather boots I had to have to wear with that (unnecessary though shivery-comforty) jacket. There’s a safe feeling, but a bold one, too, when wearing leather. Accept no imitations. Thank you, Ebay. Sorry, Elsie.

 YOU TUBE – I could not have survived the last year without YouTube. From 50 States of Confusion to Rodrigo y Gabriela to Nora the Cat to Steve Jobs to Felonius Monk to Eric Whitacre, I’m rounding out and enhancing my heretofore shockingly circumspect and limited education.  I’ve learned how to fold tee shirts and tents, seen that a smartphone might outsmart me, heard that more people answered “a joint” than “the church collection basket” when asked to name something that gets passed around, and discovered I can do a decent Bruce Springsteen imitation to Mike’s Neil Young. All these have been witnessed from my office chair. Free.

 BRAS THAT FIT – Not a pleasure, but less than a bed of nails. You can fill in whatever else at this point.

 LOW SLUNG BOOT-CUT JEANS – As with leather above, sometimes my learning curve is so steep I tip over backwards trying to climb up the slope. These gems take at least 10 years off my middle aged frame. They’re comfortable clothes that actually look good (no humility there, but I’m discarding that with everything else these days, except the bras that fit. For now, anyway.)

 THE BLUES – I’ve said it before but I’m sayin’ it again. Koko Taylor and Big Mama Thorton, if I could find a way, I’d inhale your essence and hold it in my lungs. No exhaling.

 HUMMUS – I’m going to have to put a time lock on the refrigerator. Beyond delicious, and there’s a rumor it might be healthy.

 NPR – Say what you want about government funding, biased news, etc. etc. NPR is about so much more than news. Never in a million years would I have otherwise discovered The Decemberists, The Bridge School Concerts, a Smoot, and more movies than I can name (including I Love You Philip Morris; Enron, the Smartest Guys in the Room; and The Battle of Algiers). NPR has made me more thoughtful and open to other viewpoints, but it hasn’t helped me understand Lady Gaga or that New Jersey girl, Snookie or Nookie or whatever her name is. No matter where I am I can usually find an NPR station with familiar voices and worthwhile stories.

 MY BLOG – This year’s completely unexpected lifesaver. Some years back I wrote bad fiction. Sometimes the blog seems like bad fiction. The Magic Bus Stop is a deep, murky pothole swallowing everything I can pour into it. Somewhere in that big dark space, my missing identity lies covered by Solitude, Sadness, Emptiness, and Lost Dreams. The more I write into the blog, the closer to the surface my identity rises. Must write, must write, must write.

 FRIENDS & FAMILY – Some old, some new, some borrowed. . . Sisters of another mother; friends online and in town; family found as the scales fell from our eyes leaving us bloody and bowed and leaning on each other – whether you know it or not, each of you at some point has propped me up. You are all on the Bus with me, and I’m better for having you beside me.

 

 

 

 

I need a new job.

That title is accurate, but note the word “new.” It suggests that I currently have a job, and that’s true. Actually, the Magic Bus takes me to an office M – F, 9:00 – 5:00, there’s a guy there who’s as much boss of a Queen as anyone could claim to be, and I get a paycheck seemingly just for showing up. Rarely do I do more than that. For many a person that would be a dream-come-true situation; for me, not so much.

So, here I come to you, my readers and friends, to pick your above-average brains in my search for a better job. Let me tell you what I need (mostly in this order):

1. Travel– cross-country, airplane, or get-out-of-jail-free travel. Nothing local since I really need to re-inflate my now 20-square-mile life. I thought about joining the circus but I can’t walk the high wire because I have acrophobia, clowns seem evil to me (the one that popped out of my
   

   I am very evil.

   childhood jack-in-the-box was revolting [Hear the clown laugh.]), and I have to be more judicious at my age about wearing lycra or tights. I can’t swallow fire and I don’t want to clean up after elephants.  I believe you have to actually run away to join a circus and that’s not fair to Mike. Although come to think of it, I haven’t asked his opinion on my running away to join the circus; he might disabuse me of my notion of what’s fair vs. what’s not.

    
2. People– Interaction with other humans would be a significant plus. Now that I’ve served my time in solitary at my current job, having some folks
   

   Hi! I'm so pathetically happy to see you!

   around would be pretty nifty. Given a little time, and patience on their part, I’m certain I could once again regain my comedic footing and be an entertaining asset to almost any organization. I have so much more to say than “good morning; I’m going to lunch;” and “see you tomorrow.” Some of it’s pretty interesting, too. Who else do you know who can discuss 25 ways to cook eggplant, decorating with wine bottles, 101 uses for a cork, what not to say at a job interview, and how to use the bathroom while wearing a hoop skirt?

3. Computer & internet access — Uncle. I give in. We need this. Okay, I need this. If I didn’t currently have computer and internet access I’d be wearing a lycra-free straight jacket (preferably something in a nice lime green color). There’s so much to be learned over the ‘Net — www.ted.com, www.npr.org, www.youtube.com, and on and on. When I can combine numbers 1, 2, and 3, I am unstoppable. I become a veritable winning lottery ticket of trivia, fun facts, hilarious cartoons, seemingly useless information, and pithy sayings. Sadly, I am currently teetering toward an overweighted level of #3, which means # 1 and #2 are signficantly anemic (i.e., I’m living my life online).
4. And, last — money. Last for a reason. I know how this sounds. Yes, I know we all need money. If this was only about money I wouldn’t be writing this. But when the job, or just about anything, becomes about the money, you can kiss the fun goodbye. I had a trinket-selling business some years back, which I loved, until it became about the money or lack thereof. My trinket business provided autonomy, complexity and a connection between effort and reward (didn’t I tell you I could discuss a wide assortment of subjects, and in multi-syllabic terms?).  My saleswomanship was lacking, however, which was one of the reasons for the demise of trinket business. But I had more fulfilling and fun days while doing that than I’ve had before or since on a job. And the people I met. . .beyond memorable.

I am expected, however, and rightfully so, to put my weight into the traces, help bring home the virtual (or actual) bacon, contribute my fair share toward household expenses. So be it. Remuneration is a factor, but a negotiable one.

 So here I am, looking for your advice and your ideas. Six degrees of separation – you have a second cousin on your step-mother’s side who knows someone who has a friend whose next-door-neighbor needs a reliable person who can hit the road when necessary, be helpful and kind, talk a little about a lot, finish an assignment lickety-split, pour a good beer, drive like a big girl, and be a friend when needed. Maybe even write a blog entry for them.

Will write for fun.

Send me your thoughts. Soon.

Volun-beer-ing.

I love beer. Why has it taken half my life to discover that? I’ve been locked for years  in this precise march step with wine, when my true nature dictates I should be doing a sweaty contra-dance with every craft beer that asks me onto the floor. Dragon’s Milk, Full Nelson, He’Brew Jewbilation, Dead Guy, Holy Sheet and my much beloved though currently unavailable St. Arnold’s — if I could drink them all daily, all day, I would.

So what could be more natural than volunteering at a beer festival? Why, nothing. And so we did, Mike & I, of a recent Saturday, at the Charlottesville Top of the Hops Beer Festival. For one sunny, Brigadoon-like afternoon, every last one of my smile muscles worked itself into pleasant exhaustion. We

Team Pierce, in "ridiculously happy" pose

volunteered in whatever capacity might be wanted, got free admission, met a thousand or so new friends (though I’m struggling to remember everyone’s name), a free meal, and all the beer we could drink. Whatever the definition of the word “awesome,” multiply it by a factor of 10.

The VIPs (i.e., costs more) broke the festival seal and primed us for the crowd to follow. Mike and I learned quickly how to squirt a 2-ounce sample into cute miniature mugs without making more foam than liquid gold. I know 2 ounces doesn’t sound like much, but while you can still do the math, multiply 2 ounces by 150+ different beers and unlimited servings. After the first hour of VIP tasting, the regular crowd shuffled in.

And what a great crowd! Many were called to wear their finest tees depicting favorite brews and drinking destinations. Custom beer cap earring and necklace creations  (including those worn by yours truly) inspired oohs and aahs, as did a kilt or two and genuine lederhosen. This was the first time I’ve seen pretzel necklaces, which the wearers tell me are for the aroma. Personally, if I had those hanging around my neck and a beer in my hand, I’d be chowing down on them. My favorite festival-goer was the charming young man celebrating his birthday in a crown and carrying a scepter. As Queen, I admit to coveting his scepter, and I’d give a gold coin or two to get my royal hands on the photos of me administering birthday whacks to this Subject with the wooden paddle he so willingly provided me.

It's my birthday; spank me. Please.

During our breaks we dove into the crowd. Table to table we presented our wee mugs for samples. I spotted a Texas Longhorn shirt and ran it down, snagging a Texas A&M chemistry masters grad. He took my question “Can you cook meth?” with aplomb, but that’s no surprise; he’s Texan. And of course, like you, gentle reader, he watches Breaking Bad.

 I found my voice, and myself, for a time again that afternoon, summoning the happy masses to the bar to share God’s gift of beer. Team Pierce pulled taps for Devils Backbone Brewing (“Get Boned!”), admired the remarkably polite  and intermittently colorful populace, and drank just enough beer to know that we were in a very happy moment. 

How can you not be happy with a beer?

And thanks to my friend, Marilyn, for volun-beer-ing. It’s a word that will forever remain in my vocabulary, parked beside a great festival memory.

 

Beer. It’s a wonderful thing.