Upside Ann

  Probably not, definitely not, as well known as other songs by this artist (Sinead O'Connor - if you are too young to know).  But "I will rise, I will return..." - that gritty wail. The passion in this song.  OMG.  "You should have left the light on..."   It tears my heart from my chest in a very personal way.   I think it is the anguish in her vocals - particularly in her first album "The Lion and the Cobra - combined with raw sexuality that speaks to me.  We will be listening to more of this album here in the days to come.  "I want you hands on me..............."

When I clean the kitchen, I put the butter dish in a cupboard.  Even leaving the butter out, even leaving the butter out in the middle of summer, our butter stays rock hard.  Not cool.  But that is why it is not in the refrigerator.  Now you have the background for the story. Last week I cleaned up.  Typically, I am not all that good at putting EVERYTHING away.  But I did.  I put the butter plate on top the stack of plates we use for meals - just while I wiped down the counter.  Then maybe I walked away or maybe the portal opened immediately.  All I know is that FOR DAYS I have not been able to find the butter.  I looked in the cupboards.  Even the cupboards where I don't think I have ever put the butter.  Even the, gasp, refrigerator. Yesterday was Sunday and on Sunday my Auntie comes for dinner (that is lunch in non-farm speak.)  I made meatloaf and real mashed potatoes.  Butter was still missing so I broke down and...

 Once upon a time, I used to - on occasion - pretend I forgot something.  Yeah, I know. Bad me.  But I was 22 or so.  And even at that young age it wasn't the thing I regret most.  I was in graduate school and there was a lot going on.  The thing is, it wasn't very long before I actually did START to ACTUALLY forget things.  Maybe it was stress.  I WAS in graduate school.   Maybe I just trained myself to forget.   Unfortunately, that affliction didn't stay at Duke.  It followed me forward and progressed in funny ways that made me into the proverbial absent-minded professor.  For example, I once forgot to go to class.  Honestly, forgot.  To go.  To class.  To a class in which--- I was the teacher.  OMG Now that I am a parent, rather than forgetting things intentionally, I will sometimes lose things intentionally.  I'm guess that most parents of a suitably low caliber have done this...tho...

 If you've read my previous blog, detailing life in Australia, you may already know the aphorisms that guide my life.  If this is the case, all you get here is a photo of me in a bathing suit in 1978.  That's where this story begins.  Right here.  This boat. This bathing suit. You see, I had gone out with my friend, Barb, and my cousin, Todd, and his friend, ??.  Waterskiing.  Probably not obvious from the photo as there are no skis and no life-jacket.  (Was there ever a life-jacket? I don't remember.)  What I do remember was that I was a miserable water-skiier.  We could look at hundreds of photos from that day and NEVER see me standing on skis.  It was here, this day, this boat, that my cousin admonished me, "If you are going to fall, fall funny so we can laugh." We all fall.  We all fail.  We might as well laugh. And now, why are waterski and waterskiing unhyphenated, but water-skiier is???  Great mystery of life....

 " Here is Sunday morning’s moon ushering my dear mother onto her next port. I will miss her every day but rejoice that she is free from suffering and, once again, united with her parents, her husband, and her daughter, Renee." 3/24/24. It was two years ago this week.  My mother fell on Saturday night.  The MRI suggested that she'd had a stroke before sustaining injury to her skull and brain in the fall.  Both sides of her brain were damaged.  She could speak to me before she was removed from the house to travel to the hospital.  She didn't want to go.  She wanted to be taken to her room.  When I saw her an hour later in the ER room, she could no longer speak.  I got a call about 4 AM telling me she had died.  Zupe and I drove to the hospice center to see her.  I wish I could have stayed with her to hold her hand, but I had Zupe with me.  After we said goodbye, we drove home and all the way I was led by this full moon. ...

 let there be fireworks. I swear I heard fireworks last night.  I had put Zupe to bed and was sitting at the kitchen table and drinking a cup of warm tumeric tea.  I didn't get up to check.  I figured, it was over.  And then, I'd hear more.  Rinse.  Repeat. These, however, were from a July 4th party here in Versailles.  What I like about this image is the people - in particular, the line of 3 children on the left. There is also a swing set in this yard and I wanted to get a photo of the kids swinging being lit from behind by an explosion.  But, I don't think I succeeded.  At least, I don't know where that photo is today.  

 This recipe came to me from Diane Schultz-O'Brien.  Thank you! (Note - the original recipe called for something like 8 pounds of pork shoulder.  Given that Zupe will not eat this, that would never work for me!) 2# cubed (2 inch) pork shoulder 3 garlic cloves 1/2 T salt 1 t oregano 1/2 t black pepper 1/2 t chili pepeer 1 bay leaf 1/4 T orange zest 1/2 T vinegar 1/2 T orange juice 1/2 T lime juice 1 onion sliced in 1/4 inch slices 1.5 T broth (vegetable or chicken) Toss pork with all the dryish ingredients and juice Layer onion in the bottom of the crock pot Add broth to the pot Then add the pork and marinade. Cook on HIGH for 4- 4.5 hours. I need a lime.... and there are none in Versailles.  Great.  Into the freezer the meat goes.

More music videos from the 1970s, 80s.... maybe later.  All, you know, because I cannot watch them on my own.  Thank god for Alexa.  She'll indulge me in what I ask for though she threatens me that she can't give me exactly what I ask for unless I buy her subscription.  No, Alexa.  She typically relents and the tune shows up sooner or later. Photographs.  Mostly from my phone as those are the easiest to access and, honestly, I take more with my phone than my camera these days.  Or, those recent past days.  That could change.  After all, I have someone to share with again. Painting.  This January I started to try to learn watercolor painting from a Facebook creator.  I didn't keep up- but I have been collecting ideas - on my phone.  Or, maybe I'll do a collage.   Stories of Zupe.  Stories from work.   Dreams. Recipes - oh, I need to find that one for Cuban Pork Shoulder.   Honestly, the most li...

 Embarking on this journey - in essence writing love letters - to myself, to you, to the universe - has sparked a sliver of hope and joy.  It is that, or the good night's sleep and the cup of mushroom coffee this morning.   Yep, I bought a subscription, accidently, of mushroom coffee.  I only wanted to TRY the stuff but that comes with a subscription that you have to be very canny about to cancel before the second delivery.  I was not successful.  The good news - even though when pressed as to why I wanted to cancel - "It tastes like dirt - and coffee" - the stuff has grown on me. OMG.  What an image! I can see I have become/ am now the unwitting host to a million mycelium.  Quick! Find me an image of the brain-eating, zombie-inducing fungus that takes over wasps and ants and ... mushroom coffee drinkers! I, of course, cannot watch this- what with my super-secret ad blocker.  I'm beginning to suspect it was my zombie-mushroom brain that ...

  Years ago I thought of myself as a piece of paper.  I didn't recognize I had any third dimension.  I had a front and a back but no concept of being visible from the side.  Much like a shirt on a hanger. This particular shirt is soft and old and full of amazing memories.  I remember when I bought this shirt.  Shopping with my mother at Elder Beerman's in Piqua.  I needed new clothes for my upcoming post-graduation trip to New York City.  1979.  I was about to change my life.  In this shirt.   We probably got a sandwich at Arby's after. The hanger.  You noticed that? One of the weird and wonderful things in Fayetteville, North Carolina.  I would go to the Glam-Orama every couple of weeks to wash my clothes...that is until Dave and Mary bought a new washer and gave me theirs. But even then, if the weather was wet, I'd stop in to do my laundry as I never did have a drier. That shirt.  I still wear it.  I shoul...

 I really wanted to be a Minecraft Villager for Halloween last year.  This is as close as I got.  Can you pick me out from the line up?

  Well, lovin' maximally 3600 seconds.

 I remember years ago - pre-COVID and full-time employment days - when our groomer was exasperated and expressing incredulity that people could FORGET their dog's grooming appointment.  I was re-telling this story to my mother in the evening and midway through my first attempt at a knock-off chicken gnocchi recipe,when I looked at the clock and realized I was 10 minutes late for my haircut!   And, the came March 2026. Reading from my calendar.  Friday March 13.  Haircut.  11:00.  I rushed around and walked in for my haircut, after a productive morning of cleaning kid's room - at 1 PM.  F##$@@.  Deep apologies.  The hair dresser was so nice.  She had had other things to do.  We rescheduled for the next Monday at 11:30.  I remembered that appointment at 3:30 when I was nearing Lima with Zupe for tutoring. Today is March 28.  No photo- did ya notice? I need a haircut.

 I've been feeling out of touch with myself lately.  Out of touch with myself and estranged from friends and family.  So much of my family has passed on - well, like everyone in my nuclear family.  When I was young, I imagined that would be freeing.  There were things I wanted to do that I felt like I couldn't.  Now, I could but the opportunity has passed.  But that wasn't where I was going with this post.  What I wanted to do was to start having conversations with you, my imaginary friend and with myself.  Let's face it.  I'm more likely to respond.  It is challenging living not alone but without someone with which to talk.  Zupe is "less than verbal" and doesn't seem interested in me.  The latter probably comes from being a nearly 15 year old boy.  Still.   So, I'm going to make a commitment to myself and do this writing thing regularly.  I'm debating writing longhand on paper - but deep down, I want ...

For some inexplicable and frustrating reason, my computer and you-tube are having a dispute.  I cannot play videos as the you in question believes I have some sort of ad-blocker.  If I do, I don't know how that happened.  I'm trying to watch this in my blog.  Love.

 The paint at the fence shakes her head from too many horse thoughts rattling around in there and Cassidy shakes his head just the same, trying to get a rise out of her.  She's smart enough it works sometimes. Not this time She's looking past Cassidy. He turns, stands slow, dropping his bowl and Jo's both. "Holy shit," he says, having to move side to side to stay standing, from the dogs rushing this spilled lunch. He doesn't care about it anymore. Spread out behind him, just down the slope from the camper, are probably eighty, ninety elk.  Maybe a hundred. They're all looking right back at him, not a single tail flicking, not one eye blinking. Cassidy swallows hard, wishing more than anything for his rifle. The name he was born with wasn't Cassidy Thinks Twice, even though that's what he's doing now -- Where's my gun, where's my gun?-- but Cassidy Sees Elk. Names are stupid, though. Pretty soon he won't even n...

 “I'm too old for change," she explained.  "I'm too old to pursue good health and new relationships.  The past breathes for me.  It is my life.  You are young, Dr. Scarpetta.  Someday you will see what it is like to look back.  You will find it inescapable.  You will find your personal history drawing you back into familiar rooms where, ironically, events occurred that set into motion your eventual estrangement from life.  You will find the hard furniture of heartbreak more comfortable and the people who failed you friendlier with time.  You will find yourself running back into the arms of the pain you once ran away from.  It is easier.  That's all I can say.  It is easier." I have started re-reading all of Patricia Cornwell's Scarpetta novels.  I prefer these earlier works to her last one - which, ironically, is the one that pushed me into this journey.  Scarpetta, Marino, and Benton don't seem to really age....