tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87448891441015736382024-03-13T12:38:58.601-04:00AustanspaceReality is offensive.Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.comBlogger1722125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-45552282869375938422023-12-15T13:11:00.004-05:002023-12-15T13:11:50.930-05:00Whatwhatwhatty?<p> Blogger has changed many things, including my ability to comment on posts. It all saps the will to live, much less blog...<br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-42362776567840868612023-12-14T07:52:00.000-05:002023-12-14T07:52:36.011-05:00Ye Aulde Lang Syne<p> I've had this blog for a long time. I should do something about that. </p><p>Current Miniscule Irritant: Sheldon not mentioning the origin of Y as in "Ye Olde..." It was never a y sound; the Y is from the runic symbol, but a th usage/sound. It's "The Olde..."<br /></p><p>Current Major Irritant: Governments everywhere. Everyone's nuts. WTF</p><p>This is not Covid, part 5. This is a grammar school head cold. Runny nose and all. And lots of coughing. Better to get it over with because it's</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25BqSwn8ngsNA6sG5X_mEW7w2rpTE6crMA7VHvXAaX9SDSkhz3iwSk0Qp2GghyphenhyphenakKrAAkJ075vcKgo_-68DuqVaHWwDYR6wCcK1vmmgPdvcjAWWCmYI-bLwj4kTawkULGy7GABm7Qo6xLqr6CHzSbwYg7XtYA9qt-l4iVlW3aDxkGzIqpMA8VSnwECiM/s800/santa%20n%20mrs%20waltz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25BqSwn8ngsNA6sG5X_mEW7w2rpTE6crMA7VHvXAaX9SDSkhz3iwSk0Qp2GghyphenhyphenakKrAAkJ075vcKgo_-68DuqVaHWwDYR6wCcK1vmmgPdvcjAWWCmYI-bLwj4kTawkULGy7GABm7Qo6xLqr6CHzSbwYg7XtYA9qt-l4iVlW3aDxkGzIqpMA8VSnwECiM/s320/santa%20n%20mrs%20waltz.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>THE HOLIDAYS</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKyFBTfXpaKxqi_sT5q3rLMA17icUKFqmIjeSVQ97p77KTJyfQ4OX7-Y3IzH3aIeQKZ7l28S0ss4b4tV8tS2AZCzm-PIUS9wUpv2jm-UmHNdf2vHFhyphenhyphenOTW3DiGwmSaoxP3gr4tLhRRnPmcaZ3O5VzxJBSXYBXIAz6ImkWs4aHUvs11pzrFEDsbVmU_6Iw/s516/winter%20sol%20out%20of%20darkness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="387" data-original-width="516" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKyFBTfXpaKxqi_sT5q3rLMA17icUKFqmIjeSVQ97p77KTJyfQ4OX7-Y3IzH3aIeQKZ7l28S0ss4b4tV8tS2AZCzm-PIUS9wUpv2jm-UmHNdf2vHFhyphenhyphenOTW3DiGwmSaoxP3gr4tLhRRnPmcaZ3O5VzxJBSXYBXIAz6ImkWs4aHUvs11pzrFEDsbVmU_6Iw/s320/winter%20sol%20out%20of%20darkness.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>again.</p><p>Dinner with Plague tomorrow, vegetarian. My blood sugar is a mess in December anyway. Turkey dinner with Wendo on the Solstice. Then Open House on Xmas Eve, the afternoon gathering before facing the commitments. Doing a Scandi smorgasbord this year. Xmas Day is me, Harry Potter, and a rib eye steak. Then there's a break until we do The Very Crompton Christmas on the 6th. I ignore New Year's Eve, something I never thought I'd do back in Ye Olde Universe.<br /></p><p>But I never thought I'd adore being alone, either. There are surprises in getting old. Not a lot of good ones, but surprises nonetheless.</p><p>The theme this year was division. Everyone is divided, and not in two. We're in many pieces. It's happened several times before in my recall and it's scarier every time, though I'm not sure why. Is it worse every time? Do we lose ground, get perverted, sink a bit lower each time? Well yeah. That's not to say it's a bad thing, it's real. We've been living in such programming for a long time and as Zappa said:</p><h1 class="quoteText">“The illusion of freedom will continue as long as
it's profitable to continue the illusion. At the point where the
illusion becomes too expensive to maintain, they will just take down the
scenery, they will pull back the curtains, they will move the tables
and chairs out of the way and you will see the brick wall at the back of
the theater.”
</h1><p></p><p>Same as it ever was.<br /></p><p>May we look at the brick wall with grace and humor.</p><p>Peace and love, fellow babies.</p><p>x<br /></p><p> <br /></p><p></p><p><br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-82904817432399296212023-11-14T09:42:00.000-05:002023-11-14T09:42:45.456-05:00And Just Like That!<p> It's mid-November, I'm wrapping presents and planning Pie Day Friday- the day after Thanksgiving. Here's a shot of Pie in July. There were 8 pies in the end. I hope we exceed that for Pie Day Friday.<br /></p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPolcK38_zZYz8aMpccRmZmQ_wBIH6DkdfF60LR83JMGh7M8agcRgyHpgnn0nVQQorVH_mz7VjuzSEmELRDUEkCOQaNM3zRQOyTkfB-819-9lAL6OKhgvfEge6_mdXpWKWbXJNw9AQmtxdE661HzVt6gEl7SYCouQ_p5okz7s6Jr6CsmYOkiQ_7_pJWlo/s859/pie%20in%20july.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="644" data-original-width="859" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPolcK38_zZYz8aMpccRmZmQ_wBIH6DkdfF60LR83JMGh7M8agcRgyHpgnn0nVQQorVH_mz7VjuzSEmELRDUEkCOQaNM3zRQOyTkfB-819-9lAL6OKhgvfEge6_mdXpWKWbXJNw9AQmtxdE661HzVt6gEl7SYCouQ_p5okz7s6Jr6CsmYOkiQ_7_pJWlo/s320/pie%20in%20july.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>My Thanksgiving is forever changed. No more big dinner for several, just a turkey thigh, stuffing, gravy, Brussels sprouts and cranberries for me alone while I bake pies and watch the parade and set up for company the next day. I like it.</p><p></p><p>In fact, I'm discovering things I like and don't like, free from any influence. For example, I finally admitted to myself that I don't like being touched all that much. It probably goes back to gods know what, but I just am no fan. The 70s hugging, the hand-holding, the stroking of head/hair, all somewhat repel me and I think always did. </p><p>There are foods I've come to the "ew" point over that I've eaten without complaint all these years. </p><p>There is clothing I refuse to ever wear again. </p><p>There are countless opinions I don't give a rat's ass about. </p><p></p><p>There are rules that I deem foolish and ignore.</p><p>Religion, and its trappings, are a curious human situation to me. Nothing more. <br /></p><p>Is this the benefit of 6.5 decades of living? To finally get to be who You are, sans the imposed and shellacked layers of socializing/programming? Who knows. Not "having to" do whatever is the most freeing thing ever. </p><p>And maybe that's the gift of aging. Saying what I think without interior censors. Doing what I like without caring what others think. Freedom. And for that, I am truly thankful.</p><p>x<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrsX68xaxIMta7fbtSlo5Otdiqt6DA62hjNZfcQgqCGAStkPnmt368mUYypebWK-DIyAZpksc7H3TcMyDIHBUXhQ1ix3s0rB0Ghyphenhyphenqxe5PZ5INmUlNrJc62Ml_X7aFP1tbfu2G61eMh2kNjAEkJYuM_0KDBDp9sCz1WKr-TCAtagoDKY48NQiw_j3fMXk/s550/thanksgiving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="550" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrsX68xaxIMta7fbtSlo5Otdiqt6DA62hjNZfcQgqCGAStkPnmt368mUYypebWK-DIyAZpksc7H3TcMyDIHBUXhQ1ix3s0rB0Ghyphenhyphenqxe5PZ5INmUlNrJc62Ml_X7aFP1tbfu2G61eMh2kNjAEkJYuM_0KDBDp9sCz1WKr-TCAtagoDKY48NQiw_j3fMXk/s320/thanksgiving.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-49295037353625868522023-06-26T13:06:00.000-04:002023-06-26T13:06:21.598-04:00By The 4th<p>By the 4th time you have Covid, nobody checks on you.</p><p>By the 4th of July I'll be well and able to host Pie in July. I'll make a couple pies, people will bring pies, people will eat pies. We'll watch a certain person who does really bizarre things, like bringing half of a 5" tart and then eating half of that herself. We'll get varying sugar highs, then people will go to the town fireworks display, and I'll clean up and go to bed.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4mv545inPuiyp5NNIQue6u9j2UDLE9GHb-TJauEY0pjiAYF_VS-hKoRraKmYfUxS60X_deISEDToBWxMXigsI1O3aiyqGal1aSNYlur3ICm3MkAeOk2ZbaeCiDuNjsPCokVMDOGevhyy6sAfbSd1BdXv9u83r3Ji691RNDbJ3jNqnsmYtRv4APgmOlI/s2121/pies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1414" data-original-width="2121" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4mv545inPuiyp5NNIQue6u9j2UDLE9GHb-TJauEY0pjiAYF_VS-hKoRraKmYfUxS60X_deISEDToBWxMXigsI1O3aiyqGal1aSNYlur3ICm3MkAeOk2ZbaeCiDuNjsPCokVMDOGevhyy6sAfbSd1BdXv9u83r3Ji691RNDbJ3jNqnsmYtRv4APgmOlI/s320/pies.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />By the 4th week of every month I'm ready for the next month, June has been a busy, tiring month and I'm glad to see the end of it. It's always great to see my OK cousins, to hang with friends, to get projects done. It's even good to see my doctor and everyone in the office. But it's exhausting and I always end up sick. <p></p><p>By the 4th time I re-injure my hand the pain doesn't impress me anymore.</p><p>By the 4th day of less than 6 hours' sleep I have little good to say. So I'll just say, </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia72u8vOV4is5MjHhn9-2M_DkCrShB-baV6BQMFZ5C9YGW7b40SX6hdLpnscvRSTgKvQQtTbaYElnEcJYxsUT17ZHSP5-Cz4usdjqRVuy0eaRIYG75wZIjBa_V35oHJCqlyx_puRc420GcHW0kj2xDBJtMPKT6I7viDk_pbYNUh2NVjQwPAyEW4lByIug/s504/4th%20of%20july.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="358" data-original-width="504" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia72u8vOV4is5MjHhn9-2M_DkCrShB-baV6BQMFZ5C9YGW7b40SX6hdLpnscvRSTgKvQQtTbaYElnEcJYxsUT17ZHSP5-Cz4usdjqRVuy0eaRIYG75wZIjBa_V35oHJCqlyx_puRc420GcHW0kj2xDBJtMPKT6I7viDk_pbYNUh2NVjQwPAyEW4lByIug/s320/4th%20of%20july.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <p></p><p>from the very green Green Mountain State.</p><p>x</p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-88147031845771867232023-04-30T14:20:00.000-04:002023-04-30T14:20:08.436-04:00Come She May<p> Suddenly it's Walpurgis Day, and tomorrow's Beltane, May Day, International Workers' Day. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEichLbq8sMi3Q7_QwGDsd64CjMw9jvPCXZd1CrJXMPVmY7XQRAxU8AcKjmVJsJ_Tk0bvEzAiGTMDzGmpkz-IYn36lyqxuOp160h_85GvLw50oSJoI488G4YsQjpEPeaRmyaLTi3Sf-ZxrSWolyD4omhAjBRChodBTic14_7yINv7TFCTL0YHUc4SCkX/s900/beltane%20bright%20fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEichLbq8sMi3Q7_QwGDsd64CjMw9jvPCXZd1CrJXMPVmY7XQRAxU8AcKjmVJsJ_Tk0bvEzAiGTMDzGmpkz-IYn36lyqxuOp160h_85GvLw50oSJoI488G4YsQjpEPeaRmyaLTi3Sf-ZxrSWolyD4omhAjBRChodBTic14_7yINv7TFCTL0YHUc4SCkX/s320/beltane%20bright%20fire.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10biHs7OVhnYAlqAJkuhA50VfhsOJWjI_DwsBlvli-3vmQkvWfj4_P2ETWUqKyytw3TLzuNdp9VUzqLv54SKqBP6hDhj6iEO1L7alaEeJEKRK44SaMPfWDr-UXxf6TuYhBglnwDmW-XFtkDA_2lgPSsMrZZ4ekMI111bHZLb8__d3LXtSsEEV_zen/s629/may%20day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="321" data-original-width="629" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10biHs7OVhnYAlqAJkuhA50VfhsOJWjI_DwsBlvli-3vmQkvWfj4_P2ETWUqKyytw3TLzuNdp9VUzqLv54SKqBP6hDhj6iEO1L7alaEeJEKRK44SaMPfWDr-UXxf6TuYhBglnwDmW-XFtkDA_2lgPSsMrZZ4ekMI111bHZLb8__d3LXtSsEEV_zen/s320/may%20day.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><p></p><p>In a few short weeks half of 2023 will be done. We're 3+ years into the pandemic. I currently have friends sick with the latest Covid variant. The usual slings and arrows seem lesser tortures in the face of the insanity that's running rampant in my country. <br /></p><p>And, Jimmy Carter's in hospice care.<br /></p><p>Still, it could be, and probably will be, worse. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRXQb7cRtdPPLt_9tR0jYx3QYCbUVHHPy2NfCVr6mqqg-RKfzZc1LDB3OiZ2N4WOv4fIkXXaVJAZeT7dDs6ioVr2G_RyQ4cXqFrhuC7b9MZcaeuRLSy_S1LW3qSa5v-8ycH2J8C_UZk5-dkZUFTTYsokrJ1N89UvxOtCxERvqSb8lRBgafZDDx18q3/s970/handmaids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="546" data-original-width="970" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRXQb7cRtdPPLt_9tR0jYx3QYCbUVHHPy2NfCVr6mqqg-RKfzZc1LDB3OiZ2N4WOv4fIkXXaVJAZeT7dDs6ioVr2G_RyQ4cXqFrhuC7b9MZcaeuRLSy_S1LW3qSa5v-8ycH2J8C_UZk5-dkZUFTTYsokrJ1N89UvxOtCxERvqSb8lRBgafZDDx18q3/s320/handmaids.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <br /><p></p><p> April has brought good gatherings though. </p><p>We have Game Nights again, and I'm making soups from around the world for our suppers together before we play. We had Solyanka first, an Eastern European classic with ham, pickles, olives, and herbs, that we loved. We followed that with Beef Tagine, which melts in your mouth with its chick peas, raisins and apricots cooked slowly for 8 hours. This week I'm making a traditional Welsh Cawl, with lamb, bacon, root veggies and cabbage.</p><p>And birthday time rolled around, with friends visiting, bearing gifts and food. I don't feel anything different about being in my 65th spin around the Sun as I did in my 64th. After a while, it's just more of the same. But it's lovely to be made a fuss over for a couple days, and to eat what I wish, damn the diabetes.</p><p>Which brings me to the weirdness. My left hand swelled to the point that I couldn't lift the coffee pot. So I quit drinking coffee, which seems to have cleared up the dermatitis spots on my fingers. Go figure. A coffee allergy? Typical. However, nothing I did reduced the swelling, so off to an Urgent Care storefront I went. There, I waited over an hour (despite my appointment made online) to see a nurse practitioner who did a cursory look-over and prescribed Prednisone, 50 mg for 5 days. After taking the first pill, my blood sugar went up to near 300. So much for my upcoming labs, I thought. My Doc said cut them in half, which I did. 2 days later my hand had deflated a bit but my BS was still around 200. The thing was, all my pain subsided and I was sleeping like a log. Sure thing, soon as the steroid was over, the pains returned. And in another day, my fingers blew up to the sausages they'd been, and have stayed that way.</p><p>The rest goes on here as it goes. Goggles raves and reeks, the weather does odd things (97'F in April?), the town keeps persevering in the face of a brutal murder and assorted societal ills... <br /></p><p></p><p>Words don't come to me as they used to do and I've stopped writing. This has gone on for some time now and I don't know if it's permanent. I'm overwhelmed with everything, and nothing. </p><p>I hope things are sunnier and happier where you are. Sorry for my ennui.<br /></p><p>x</p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-29938127366011686772023-03-15T12:37:00.000-04:002023-03-15T12:37:31.995-04:00Where's House When You Need Him?<p>We had a 36 inch snowfall over the last 2 days. We had no power for one day, and no internet for a day and a half. So I didn't hear until today that Kick's husband is in the ICU up north. She came downstairs to find him naked on the floor in an 85'F sitting room yesterday morning. He was, and still is, unresponsive. The medicos can't figure out why he won't wake up. Kick is beside herself. This is a nightmare. We need a genius doc or nurse who solves the puzzle.</p><p>Meanwhile, if you're the praying type, it can't hurt to send up a wish for his recovery. Thanks.</p><p>x<br /></p><p><br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-6313091829172752402023-03-03T10:58:00.000-05:002023-03-03T10:58:02.985-05:00March Madness<p>Is it me or is there a lot of craziness going around? I mean, several people have gone mad in the last year. Like the zeitgeist has caught them, and they lost their footing in the whirlwind of insanity. One of my oldest and dearest friends disappeared in paranoiac fear of all things electronic. I'm not even sure what happened as she wasn't making a lot of sense, but it had something to do with Second Life and people tracking her. News comes of someone losing the plot on the weekly these days.</p><p>Not that it's surprising. With this country the way it is, and a Venn Diagram of Insanity/Stupidity/ Greed/Hatred that switches dominant sectors often, what else could happen? </p><p>I've been contemplating whether it was good or bad to shield children from reality as we did "back in my day". Nowadays kids grow up with a lot of harsh real world from the beginning. And as soon as they're amongst other kids, they get those kids' realities added which can be traumatic to witness. Then there are Smartphones, texting, the internet and social media, all avenues for bullying, trafficking and drugs. We took the nastiness our schoolmates could dish out, but not like this. Online talk is conducive to loathsome conduct that never transpires face to face. We had schoolyard fistfights if someone said things that nasty- not that that was good either- but what do you do when faceless, nameless bullies pile on you? Get depressed, withdrawn, hopeless. And then a white coat comes along and diagnoses some insurance code and prescribes something for changing of the nerves or brain. </p><p>So would it be better to raise kids in a cloud of lies and protection? We had so many realizations to digest as we grew up, so many pretenses to recognize, and then discern what was truth. But we did have relatively easier times in which to be kids. Even if it wasn't, we felt the world was generally safe as long as we didn't do anything stupid. I don't know a child who feels safe anymore. So was ignorance bliss? </p><p>This stuff comes to mind lately as another friend's child committed suicide. That makes 4 over the last 6 years. 2 of them left babies of their own to grow up without a father. </p><p>I have no answers, just questions and observations, and grief.</p><p>Tell someone they're wonderful today.</p><p>x <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> <br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-13512433963653384092023-02-04T07:23:00.002-05:002023-02-04T07:23:29.188-05:00February Makes Me Shiver<p>As I type it's -15F/-26C. Cold. I like weather the same way I like Prosecco, cold and dry. </p><p>Winter is finally here, with February. My friend Tall Paul and I were discussing it yesterday, when it was also damn windy. He's lived here most of his 70ish years and noted that he'd forgotten what Vermont Winters were like, but this was it. This is the cold that freezes snot in your nose in seconds, that blisters your lips if they aren't protected, that makes frostbite quite likely on any exposed skin, that provides a suicidal opportunity. And I love it. My favorite season.</p><p>It's February, and February usually sucks. Death anniversaries of 3 people I loved (my mother, hubby, and favorite boss). Valentine's Day (which I've always hated). Post-holidays isolation. Post-holidays tight budget. And lots of tourists here to ski. Blech to it all.</p><p>For whatever reason we have a delay in Winter's arrival (could it be Climate Change? Pole shifting? the Jet Stream moving/flattening/being erratic?). Nah, don't be talking any of that Democrat conspiracy shit. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieZXQoO9qkPLohFO8DWP2ywXfOSRrSnv-sZqzRu_u7zzWU-SIka3HW2zt1kf4ki59dp-ssqQ3uprurWgGI_-j2CPly8OgwdtnmTV3iCysfIxZQt1kxMWTvWQnPYcQ7ijpsEgVaGKYPieuVO_24W3WW6tX9-f4TeqdZy0DTO-7Kjizloj6ondLcSgyM/s283/fargin%20iceholes%20like%20you.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="283" data-original-width="240" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieZXQoO9qkPLohFO8DWP2ywXfOSRrSnv-sZqzRu_u7zzWU-SIka3HW2zt1kf4ki59dp-ssqQ3uprurWgGI_-j2CPly8OgwdtnmTV3iCysfIxZQt1kxMWTvWQnPYcQ7ijpsEgVaGKYPieuVO_24W3WW6tX9-f4TeqdZy0DTO-7Kjizloj6ondLcSgyM/s1600/fargin%20iceholes%20like%20you.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Anyway I can't hate February because now it brings Winter- about 3 months later than it once came, but it comes nonetheless. My joints ease, pain recedes, I can do things. So I'm pretty happy with February this year.</p><p>LilaPie Muffinpants has had some troubles and caused many, and is currently staying with assorted people until there's a residential program/school for teenagers that she qualifies attending. She spent a day with me this past week. We hadn't spent any time alone together since she was 4, which was 11 years ago. Wild to see the burgeoning adult version of the sweet, bright, protective little girl who was a SJW by age 9. She lost her beloved and adored only uncle to suicide, her grandfather to cancer, and birth father to cirrhosis, within 4 years of her childhood. Her family has been thru so much in her aware time. It's a lot to process, and I think she's carrying a ton of grief and PTSD. I don't think she feels loved. I'll just keep throwing love at her and hope some of it sticks. <br /></p><p>There's still about 6 inches of ankle-cutter snow. Don't know what
ankle-cutter snow is? It's snow that's been thru temp changes and sun,
and forms a hard layer of ice on top. This snow, when deer walk in it, cuts their ankles. Good for some fast and ultimately painful sledding, though.<br /></p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijeTe3uxCXANqZH1oIPXVEs-YV57-vhYNPEUBKrJiMnsFyckIpQ6OwBnBa_lNeka9bwuUA1U64OUnI4n1SyfN-GxZ-Icn7P4WsLOsYw_wd2pZ_ahIVig4WmrC9xD0VwbGrMacyoRJMJlU585XVdqKY6SgP_fe7m4BReODcCx6iEWy9CUUncecpcHpw/s960/snow%20and%20kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijeTe3uxCXANqZH1oIPXVEs-YV57-vhYNPEUBKrJiMnsFyckIpQ6OwBnBa_lNeka9bwuUA1U64OUnI4n1SyfN-GxZ-Icn7P4WsLOsYw_wd2pZ_ahIVig4WmrC9xD0VwbGrMacyoRJMJlU585XVdqKY6SgP_fe7m4BReODcCx6iEWy9CUUncecpcHpw/s320/snow%20and%20kids.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>The sun's rising and the sky is a washed out blue watercolor.</p><p>The wind knocked over some recycling bins, </p><p>Yep, it's Winter in The Dreadfort. Stay warm.</p><p>x</p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-16655627070193325012023-01-02T11:52:00.000-05:002023-01-02T11:52:35.205-05:00Onward At Last!<p>It's 2023. We're firmly in The 2020s. I never thought I'd see these years after the nuke fallout drills, wars and threats of wars, drugs, alcoholism, city living, AIDS, prescribed opioids, heart issues, blah blah blah. I'm not special, most people my age got all this too. Nobody I talk to thinks they would live this long. Yet, as they say, here we are.</p><p><br /></p><p>I'm glad to kick 2022's ass out the door. Getting Covid twice (after 3 shots) wasn't so bad after all. But what sucked was all my friends being sick, one after another with one thing or another. Bugs galore. One that took your voice. One that gave you the runs for weeks. One that filled your head so you had to mouth breathe and couldn't sleep (I hate mouthbreathing!). We didn't see each other for months at a time- crowning 3 years of distance, 3 years of no Game Nights, 3 years of sitting here online way too much. And the weather was screwy too making the creek rise and cuing my PTSD, which turns me into InstaBitch (not that that's much of a push). So yeah, get the hell out, '22. Take the sicknesses, TFG, the assholes who follow him, and his pal Putin, my neighbor Goggles, all the petty tin gods around, and shove them all so far up an orifice they never know fresh air again.</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyah7-rEh2_q_saquA-g08XuPPmi5UHLfA4jz9DrPrjE-xy4NfzxeohOWIbi8GbDQibA7oIPBh-yOTarg8aGg88D0-IpygrSVcD_jmz6GxRTW0wbC_zi1OsyoksrDhXR7RQezQ4MGQPD2x2cKatIXf339gTdCAmjSQIGy5PntYCF0JI49wn2ujr6d/s650/new%20year%20things%20never%20been.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="650" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyah7-rEh2_q_saquA-g08XuPPmi5UHLfA4jz9DrPrjE-xy4NfzxeohOWIbi8GbDQibA7oIPBh-yOTarg8aGg88D0-IpygrSVcD_jmz6GxRTW0wbC_zi1OsyoksrDhXR7RQezQ4MGQPD2x2cKatIXf339gTdCAmjSQIGy5PntYCF0JI49wn2ujr6d/s320/new%20year%20things%20never%20been.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>What will happen this year? Good, bad, just meh? Anyone have predictions?</p><p>Happy New Year, everyone. I wish you health and laughter, strength and good surprises.</p><p>x<br /> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-84582681600127829782022-12-25T11:07:00.001-05:002022-12-25T11:07:49.366-05:00Ho Ho Ho<p>We've had sickness, tragedy, crises, ill will, anger, heartaches, and general drama this year. We've had some joys, a few victories, and shared stupefaction. Somehow, we made it to Xmas. And like the Whos in Whoville, we gathered and clasped hands and hearts.</p><p>That's what Xmas is all about, Charlie Brown.</p><p>And here comes a brand new year. Another construct to do with as you will.</p><p>Let's move forward with big goodness in our minds and acts. Let's learn, and think, and do better. We can, you know.</p><p>War is over, if you want it.</p><p>Peace, prosperity, laughter to you and yours.</p><p>x</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCWhbqvpUK5IEtB27O4YrADWIS5FPIu4wntlgn7GYoj5ru-zrPq3ZIdWN6HNmcEwO84RUfAw9kthI__mJXm5RzSJqZZ2BNM2UdDLwaMLDo-DA41JI_kyZrz2CE2UF9nopx9VzffDgF-CW5dMnJKGj2qWzj2GJ5ZlDqJkJU8xthErSv-0F56ChNsGcv/s1280/xmas%20scrooged%20quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1280" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCWhbqvpUK5IEtB27O4YrADWIS5FPIu4wntlgn7GYoj5ru-zrPq3ZIdWN6HNmcEwO84RUfAw9kthI__mJXm5RzSJqZZ2BNM2UdDLwaMLDo-DA41JI_kyZrz2CE2UF9nopx9VzffDgF-CW5dMnJKGj2qWzj2GJ5ZlDqJkJU8xthErSv-0F56ChNsGcv/s320/xmas%20scrooged%20quote.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <br /><p></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-13819969284971957702022-12-06T15:06:00.000-05:002022-12-06T15:06:52.848-05:00Covid, Round 2 & Last Call for McNeill's<p>This version of Covid is quite different. The first was coughy and deathlike. This one's been like a regular flu- ague; runny nose; crazy thirst; nothing stayed down - even water; full head; mouthbreathing. It's better today. I want to sleep but I'm slept out now. Yesterday was right off miserable. But figure this out- I started feeling sick on Saturday, but tested negative until today. Nothing is reliable anymore.</p><p>Much worse than my little illness is that our town lost an institution. McNeill's Brewery (aka Dewey's to oldtimers) 32 year-old community hang out, burned down on Friday night. Worse than that, Ray McNeill, founder and award-winning brewmeister, father and grandfather, went down with his ship.</p><p><a href="https://www.ibrattleboro.com/news-information/police-fire/2022/12/mcneills-burns-1-died/">Mc Neill's Burns, 1 Dead</a><br /></p><p>With this tragedy, the old Brattleboro is gone to me. The many places I frequented back in the day are closed, or changed, or upscaled. We won't see another McNeill's, as we won't see another Mole's Eye, Frankie's Pizza, Sporty's, or Mike's. Change is inevitable. Tragic ends like this are hard to live with.</p><p>So farewell Dewey's, RIP Ray, see you on the other side.</p><p>I'm going to go light a candle for us all.</p><p>x<br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-10060892821462600252022-11-16T08:24:00.000-05:002022-11-16T08:24:49.728-05:00# 17 and Pie Day Friday Returns, At Last! <p>It looks like an organized, sane, non-histrionic personal assistant has appeared. She's mature, owns a cleaning biz, has 9 children and 3 grands, and we get on like a house on fire.</p><p></p><p>What a strange expression, why would clear communication and understanding be like a burning house?</p><p>My friends have kept me in groceries, and tomorrow Plague is coming to do laundry, watch Rings of Power and eat pizza with me. I would be dead without my friends. <br /></p><p>Anyhow, #17 is the first solidly promising PA I've had since my Alicia left to have her second set of bairns. The eldest of those three is 4 already. Here are the littles.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIKJ8A6tX7DQQgVVRNNDv0oUF_Lu9wE3EJQj1J8h2ZWFWHvtU9Z9gw0o9z-PUALBp_HXPtnhuHC3vFQD2V_y8bBQUpSuLJ0lxLwmkhpzT8ZJKxgrHSphmGQ_odOy_1XXnnUTHO8nliZDdExzBrsCCqQ2ENKYMWng9VaMYmUDkor41VyvbdykqGC5M/s320/Ben%202%2010.22.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIKJ8A6tX7DQQgVVRNNDv0oUF_Lu9wE3EJQj1J8h2ZWFWHvtU9Z9gw0o9z-PUALBp_HXPtnhuHC3vFQD2V_y8bBQUpSuLJ0lxLwmkhpzT8ZJKxgrHSphmGQ_odOy_1XXnnUTHO8nliZDdExzBrsCCqQ2ENKYMWng9VaMYmUDkor41VyvbdykqGC5M/s1600/Ben%202%2010.22.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p> The youngest, just turning 1. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8O6cFHOZl5jpxOGUywdIRMGoiD9WObp-pkwSXL-MlcfiPei9B_DitUWkvBdP7yL7WZabyri89KW-p1v3BrdliDP78QBorTLOVS5nFpajIH3sa_60aDAMbYGt0wibNjWFXTgxtB7v7rsXCq61J_yH7CtYYiTvtSZUjHl5fkaRX_IayFumaDIF0NR5V/s320/alex%20n%20max%20easter%2022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8O6cFHOZl5jpxOGUywdIRMGoiD9WObp-pkwSXL-MlcfiPei9B_DitUWkvBdP7yL7WZabyri89KW-p1v3BrdliDP78QBorTLOVS5nFpajIH3sa_60aDAMbYGt0wibNjWFXTgxtB7v7rsXCq61J_yH7CtYYiTvtSZUjHl5fkaRX_IayFumaDIF0NR5V/s1600/alex%20n%20max%20easter%2022.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p>The middle and eldest, 3 and 4. Aren't they adorable little stinkers?<br /></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>It snowed overnight, the first snow. Of course the predictors made a deal of it, inches and heaviness exaggerated for ratings and to satiate the drama-addicted. The reality is a sloppy inch of mush like any other first snow. It's defrosting already.</p><p></p><p>The holidays are looming ahead. Thanksgiving is a non event to me, but Pie Day Friday is returning and I'm looking forward to it. This year I'm making Maple Whiskey Walnut, and Blueberry. If anyone wants the recipe for the MWW, lemme know. It's like a pecan pie, but different.<br /> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQfKhKl0aOrG_jpooAdJAwDtYFh7YNK-v5t8hyGtJi68ObnD-MiMnNKGQlR0Bf4FJpOkntDdp5MRLd1AtLADJLJr4vOjJULVtG_tc9KAJ8CP99jlsxZKz129SCMd3y34rSyKKKuoXbOC-EU3fqObcP_nlGNRaZU6j-iENHq6FIfKxqCoAWZofeFRe4/s560/maple%20walnut%20pie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="560" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQfKhKl0aOrG_jpooAdJAwDtYFh7YNK-v5t8hyGtJi68ObnD-MiMnNKGQlR0Bf4FJpOkntDdp5MRLd1AtLADJLJr4vOjJULVtG_tc9KAJ8CP99jlsxZKz129SCMd3y34rSyKKKuoXbOC-EU3fqObcP_nlGNRaZU6j-iENHq6FIfKxqCoAWZofeFRe4/s320/maple%20walnut%20pie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>There are 3 cartons of holiday gifts wrapped and ready to go under the tree. The only stuff left to get are for the far away that are easy to do- money to charities, a gift certificate to my brother, a set of earmuffs and gloves to my cousin. No big whoop. I'm about 3 weeks earlier than usual, and already getting antsy to haul out the holly. But it'll wait til #17 gives this place a real dusting and vacuuming. It'll be nice to breathe free again, to not see dust particles in every light beam, to wake up without a clogged nose and a headache. And then filling the clean front room with a bright tree, sparkling hoohahs, baked goodies and fancy chocolates, and carols playing. Seeing all the old decorations is dear and heartwarming to me. I love the holidays. <br /></p><p> A very happy Turkey Day to those observing, may we have peace and plenty in our lifetime.</p><p>x<br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-51012916360974135262022-11-11T18:49:00.000-05:002022-11-11T18:49:37.289-05:00It's All Weird to Me, and I'm a Wyrdo<p>By some oddness, all the testings and evaluations this year came back just fine. I'm not eating the 90% meat and dairy diet, because who can afford that now? But I rarely get carried away. I will, as traditional observance, be trashed thru the holidays. It starts with the tree trimming, and carries on until the Very Crompton Christmas. So a month or so of stupid and careless behavior, which is kept in check by my nonexistent ability to party these days. </p><p>It's sad, I'm in bed with a book or movie by 8p and asleep long before 10. </p><p>The latest startling revelation is that I'm turning into Aunt Audrey, who wasn't a blood relative, who looked like Audrey Hepburn, drank whiskey straight, and was a very bitter person. She suffered no lie or stupidity in her presence. She put pins in balloons. She was called, behind her back, "bitchy". Yes, me too. </p><p>If there were some way to stop myself, I would have by now. So I must be aspiring to be Audreyish on some level. Isn't constant self-analysis fun.<br /></p><p></p><p>I truly don't mean to be bitchy. It really irks me when friends are drowning in needless stupidity or someone's lies that they believe. It didn't used to bother me. Here and there I'd drop a terse bomb, and that was it. But over the years, it's fine tuned to dry, sarcastic know-it-all Audreyness. It's Sheldonesque, and boring, and somewhat mean. And that's all freaking weird.</p><p>Furtherly weird, I had to order wide glasses because this giant Viking head breaks readers that normal people wear. 3 pairs of readers in 6 months. Arms give out, lenses pop, frames crack apart. I have a huge head. <br /></p><p></p><p>And here we are on a rainy, weirdly warm November 11th, Veterans Day, Armistice Day. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwleezGcViywqBjAiR2hl3pgp1rSZUxx6WjNRsKpA8ev_5DdExks_i6vzuWQo6wGeBOFTU_lJmcI0qvJynNfmKjuzdRRCW-8mkhqgOaekueF3FEJFvoaMpxj83nqI1sPVYa_KGcno-EqyeH_mcKPyu1oSdamWfhofnRKhTuXYFB0dcKxpX4z2EWep/s3960/veterans%20day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2640" data-original-width="3960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwleezGcViywqBjAiR2hl3pgp1rSZUxx6WjNRsKpA8ev_5DdExks_i6vzuWQo6wGeBOFTU_lJmcI0qvJynNfmKjuzdRRCW-8mkhqgOaekueF3FEJFvoaMpxj83nqI1sPVYa_KGcno-EqyeH_mcKPyu1oSdamWfhofnRKhTuXYFB0dcKxpX4z2EWep/s320/veterans%20day.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ4__jWXOIkwcaS65Ehx8nq23P5cHLuj2QO6MbwCNK2SgBzIS4jyeTm2UEupSPbhXlwocpQIR_qAYt1aNnjJkdk0aA5Gzx-tNBrsib9bhdpLahRuCQiKKSKGwmHdpsiSUNWcNmNWWSiZjuQ-Ljo7ftAEOIObAGOAARSic9LDBm_BgRwIx4KGvJOTb5/s800/vet%20more%20badass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="774" data-original-width="800" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ4__jWXOIkwcaS65Ehx8nq23P5cHLuj2QO6MbwCNK2SgBzIS4jyeTm2UEupSPbhXlwocpQIR_qAYt1aNnjJkdk0aA5Gzx-tNBrsib9bhdpLahRuCQiKKSKGwmHdpsiSUNWcNmNWWSiZjuQ-Ljo7ftAEOIObAGOAARSic9LDBm_BgRwIx4KGvJOTb5/s320/vet%20more%20badass.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>It was t shirt weather today. People were all "Isn't it great?" while I'm thinking, "This isn't November weather." </p><p></p><p>Elections are hanging like the pit and the pendulum; who knows what will happen but my guts won't allow me to think about it. Hell, my guts won't allow me to drink 2 cups of coffee anymore.</p><p>We creep and crawl closer to the Herman movie, at so slow a pace, but I won't let it not happen. Lots of sickness and elder issues among The Old Gang of Witches. Time is ticking and we've already said goodbye to 2 of the interviewed, Kaye Flagg and Jim Wasserman. I still can't believe they're gone. So yeah, this will be finished. Dammit.</p><p>And I still have no aide, so there's that. #17, where are you?</p><p>If you are a veteran, thank you and I'm sorry.</p><p>x<br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-8722296498269755342022-11-03T18:23:00.000-04:002022-11-03T18:23:30.617-04:00Good Times, Bad Times<p> There is balance. But somehow it's not enough.<br /></p><p>My eye doc says I'm still 20/20, 4 years later.</p><p>Aide #16 is done. I was to interview a possible #17 today, but they didn't show up or even call.</p><p><br /></p><p>I despise being disabled. I hate having to depend on other people for stupid things like shopping, vacuuming, laundry, mopping... These are things that are making me silent and bitter. Nobody wants to hear it. I don't even want to say it, because what's the point? It's obvious this all sucks. So I don't talk about it. But then there's this here blog, where I've opened many veins over a decade and a half.</p><p>It's generally not easy getting old. I swear my body started falling apart at 30, when I saw my first arthritis specialist. But it's been a "slow fade" as my exboss The Meathead put on my disability form. And to end up in a wheelchair when in my dreams I still run... </p><p>I loved to run.</p><p>I loved a lot of things, and a lot of things are gone.</p><p>My wise motherinlaw once said, "Life is a series of losses." Yes it is, Roz.</p><p>And so there's a lot of acceptance needed. Not crying and whining, just quiet acceptance. And with that acceptance is also the special acceptance annex of friends doing things I can't do.That isn't easy either. I'm a proud Brooklyn woman who was raised to be the charity giver, not the taker. It's a very different view on the other side. A lot to swallow.</p><p>With all that, it's a miracle I have several kind and caring friends who are eager to help out. And for that I'm truly grateful.</p><p>And now I'll shut up and not let myself get bitter.</p><p>x <br /></p><p>. <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> <br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-40176763021092376552022-10-29T11:54:00.001-04:002022-10-29T15:16:03.871-04:00Austanspace: the Final Frontier<p>So Musk has bought Twatter and is proceeding to stink up the place. Since he's become a MAGAt, it will no doubt become another MeWe, full of fascists and stupidity. Well that's about it for social media. When it comes to the point that you have to give up personal info just to log into their craptastic site; when your 'free speech' is threatened and subject to approval by, and privately owned by, some rich freak, screw it. I intend to treat it as it deserves. hehehe</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQ3gBva6UHJLFLLKCi9qjMD9XcsKkDXVSrHj8ctHX9MHb7ljEp5Z8Fxn792tm377tgGg9E5Lkll-Usrwta91gt7Qd2RrS-v0wY1i2jHy4Ni-Q_RTl-1d4KyGbTOusIVUR99NOUM_sw_rdYqLQTzQuR-LB9_GlIFs2oDOe2Z1yYe-XRSRiCKV8HeSY/s420/boom%20bitch.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="319" data-original-width="420" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQ3gBva6UHJLFLLKCi9qjMD9XcsKkDXVSrHj8ctHX9MHb7ljEp5Z8Fxn792tm377tgGg9E5Lkll-Usrwta91gt7Qd2RrS-v0wY1i2jHy4Ni-Q_RTl-1d4KyGbTOusIVUR99NOUM_sw_rdYqLQTzQuR-LB9_GlIFs2oDOe2Z1yYe-XRSRiCKV8HeSY/s320/boom%20bitch.jpg" width="320"></a></div><br><p></p><p>Okie cousin was here, sparkles and spandex and very much like Meemaw on "Young Sheldon" but with a platinum page boy. There was much "getting to know you" since we had 6 days and nobody came out with her. I may go into detail at some point, but we have more in common than we knew. </p><p>Halloween is Monday, Samhain following. It's like this last month folded and reopened a couple weeks later. This year I'm dressing up as the elderly Luna Lovegood. still in her Ravenclaw robes, her wild blonde hair and weird earrings flying.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><span></span><a href="https://austanspace.blogspot.com/2022/10/austanspace-final-frontier.html#more">Read more »</a>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-64060599733936226842022-08-18T13:26:00.001-04:002022-08-18T13:26:26.872-04:00Late Summer<p> There are certain tenets I stand by.</p><p>1) Things went to Hell after Bonzo died, September 25th, 1980.</p><p>2) Nothing good comes of Rudy's.</p><p>3) Take care of your teeth and feet.</p><p>4) We are pretty ignorant, quite hypocritical, and know very little for sure.</p><p>5) Hot pans cool down if they get out of the heat.</p><p>6) The whole world's got PTSD</p><p> </p><p> One of the things I gave up is online arguing. It's easy if you're off Fecebook (and I hope you are). In general, I've grown to care less and less what anyone else thinks. So if they don't agree, who cares. If I still argue with you, by email or in real face, you're a true friend. If you continually try to provoke or be an ass to me, you'll be gone like Poof! It makes life feel nicer.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGvL-mD0RJbRlp5eOQOJiilNTR0txNk_PXdpEbrSuCLie8Auf4bXyZ9XI5xLMoLgfm3otC8OUBhBZyENzrmstRmyLVFAD5qDrZgXw-kdB3yYR7ZIUodSTzNyWvhCIT4XFE2_8cr2ljsX3rgpNJRq80qz_fJgqW4HvozSVV4k8no_4T_XzfkMiTlZCn/s960/you%20feel%20nice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGvL-mD0RJbRlp5eOQOJiilNTR0txNk_PXdpEbrSuCLie8Auf4bXyZ9XI5xLMoLgfm3otC8OUBhBZyENzrmstRmyLVFAD5qDrZgXw-kdB3yYR7ZIUodSTzNyWvhCIT4XFE2_8cr2ljsX3rgpNJRq80qz_fJgqW4HvozSVV4k8no_4T_XzfkMiTlZCn/s320/you%20feel%20nice.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>It's really been One Damn Thing After Another for many years now. People who weren't alive when the Twin Towers fell are about old enough to drink alcohol. And we've been in a horrific, stupid, and costly war their whole lives. Terrorism, foreign and domestic, rules. We are devolving, for a time. But all things must pass, and chances are we'll return to inert mediocrity in the end. After all the bangs and booms will come exhaustive quiet and a low farting sound. Then we'll carry on with the tame squabbles.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfgHoa3s7qHRx6n42-UZYJpRAEIM9RTLQlZ2ONxaoXQa6MY6Lg_gN_p6To0BCWWPVNjYziIQO10mhLYRe-donnt2hLLl3KJ7OiOxVZoir-uARVJCmUJRXlv1RRZrDWfgO0Va5HKbMBjRhe7V2Vi2KWz_joQVuM75cseecvuJTN9YZ7PzPJP2YdHufF/s362/percy%20your%20music%20sucks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="362" data-original-width="295" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfgHoa3s7qHRx6n42-UZYJpRAEIM9RTLQlZ2ONxaoXQa6MY6Lg_gN_p6To0BCWWPVNjYziIQO10mhLYRe-donnt2hLLl3KJ7OiOxVZoir-uARVJCmUJRXlv1RRZrDWfgO0Va5HKbMBjRhe7V2Vi2KWz_joQVuM75cseecvuJTN9YZ7PzPJP2YdHufF/s320/percy%20your%20music%20sucks.jpg" width="261" /></a></div><br /><p>My new Gal Friday and I cleaned all 32 of the hanging pictures in my front room. Next comes the bookcases and the many things in them. After that, the real Fall cleaning before windows are shut for the duration. The year is moving ahead, the planet spins, I'm about halfway done with Yuletide shopping. Planning food for entertaining this Fall. Looking forward to my cousin visiting. Helping a young woman who's writing an article about home aides. Of course I wonder what's in Ivana's casket besides her, but<br /></p><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1LLwC7N1h8">In the long run</a><br /></p><p> x</p><p><br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-22681209227129879812022-08-10T11:52:00.000-04:002022-08-10T11:52:42.170-04:00Might as Well Dump<p>In the post-Herman days of the Childe, the various characters that worked there reconfigured and carried on. At the cash register, and maestro of the mayhem was Steve Teischer. A big old Brooklynese Jewish hippie with sharp edges and great humor, Steve stepped into Herman's role with no ties to The Craft. He didn't disrespect it, and now and then credited it, but he never partook. He did what he could to keep the place running. He called himself and me The Dumpster Sisters because everything there ended up on our heads. Steve and The Childe are long gone now, but I continued to uphold the title for a couple decades. </p><p>That was, until I got away from being a working stiff, and then escaped living on ramen noodles, and at last cleared some people out of my life that lived in perpetually dirty diapers. It's amazing how much nicer you and life can be when the psychic vampires are gone. All of a sudden you aren't carrying people's crises for them and they aren't sucking the energy outta you. You dumped it all and things lightened up. <br /></p><p>And that energy you now have can go into good works, good ideas, and good people. </p><p>This has been a good week. I have hope that truth will out, that people get their comeuppence, and that maybe a little sanity will return. Maybe things aren't entirely broken. Maybe refiring up the Hadron Collider shifted us back to our old universe. Whatever is happening, I'm happy it is, and doing my part to increase the good. It starts with dumping the bad. Try it.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTv5da9_kAodfSdQXYtLpe5GDrXFjAqJr31pUJxpn8GQYCmXeu5fbOxUH_-6XN3KQlDMrpRrwpJsjNe8lMZzOYclCUh1C9OLPaCnQqoBBX7Q9RVRbDruH81xXoO0OHANKlf6vGocvuMtR9CgiLGZOHH0dRd4MnKm_YAon6npItS5f1NOcn8VSqlAuY/s774/if%20it's%20not%20ok%20it's%20not%20the%20end.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="774" data-original-width="590" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTv5da9_kAodfSdQXYtLpe5GDrXFjAqJr31pUJxpn8GQYCmXeu5fbOxUH_-6XN3KQlDMrpRrwpJsjNe8lMZzOYclCUh1C9OLPaCnQqoBBX7Q9RVRbDruH81xXoO0OHANKlf6vGocvuMtR9CgiLGZOHH0dRd4MnKm_YAon6npItS5f1NOcn8VSqlAuY/s320/if%20it's%20not%20ok%20it's%20not%20the%20end.jpg" width="244" /></a></div><br /> <br /><p></p><p>x<br /></p><p> </p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-37024036135001062962022-07-17T18:11:00.000-04:002022-07-17T18:11:19.987-04:00Lazing On a Sunny Afternoon<p> Glad to see Summer coming to a head. It's been so claggy and Allergy Hell. I'm in the AC 99% of the time and even indoors with portals shut, it's Niagara Falls, coughing and sneezing. Someone asked, "You don't like a nice sunny day with warm breezes?" No. No I don't. I want 20F and snow blowing sideways.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilagOpsnYg-cI8E4FhF9h-RFvBJxxRa_K9Kry7exIk-KIv9TxeoCEK-bQQ-u5pP18IMty0zL29uYY8Dfi0H5lBPjfWihpc7SD-1XufzVVd99SGfiVscXrdTw1aHyoGsYwnM2svu_dERueJSHITsoTJxtXfHvLxjXpg0DwN8tFMZTiNV80H7IfG1jFE/s634/snowblower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="422" data-original-width="634" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilagOpsnYg-cI8E4FhF9h-RFvBJxxRa_K9Kry7exIk-KIv9TxeoCEK-bQQ-u5pP18IMty0zL29uYY8Dfi0H5lBPjfWihpc7SD-1XufzVVd99SGfiVscXrdTw1aHyoGsYwnM2svu_dERueJSHITsoTJxtXfHvLxjXpg0DwN8tFMZTiNV80H7IfG1jFE/s320/snowblower.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>There's news. </p><p>Brother Billy flatlined on the operating table and was dead for 23 seconds. He's mostly fine, just takes a bit longer to say what he's thinking. He saw nothing when dead. But he's back, has a pacemaker, and should be ok for another 10,000 miles.</p><p></p><p>I hired a new aide, and 16 may be the magic number. There are omens: her first name is a kickass Game of Thrones woman's name, and she lives on a street named for Alicia's family. And she's Scandihoovian. And a NYer. I'm psyched. She starts Weds.</p><p></p><p>Much company in the last few days. Nurse Muffinpants stopped in Thursday. I don't see nearly enough of her. She's going to a Rob Zombie concert, which is her version of me seeing Greg Lake after all the years. Wendy's nephew is here visiting, so they came for dinner Friday. Made Caribbean foods, yukked it up, told him the Stories. Then Saturday, Kick finally came south and we did Christmas in July. We hadn't seen each other since she came running to help last Fall when I got bitten. Right after she left, Deb did a drive by. She always has stories to tell. Today I interviewed the Hoovian and cleaned. Tomorrow I interview a backup aide, and then Wendy's bringing Chinese takeout along with her nephew, and her Dad. Tuesday will be a total Nothing Day. <br /></p><p>It's almost pre-pandemic feeling. Not all the way with big hugs and kisses, but much more than it was. In the Big Lockdown Times people only left their houses when they had to. I didn't see one friend for 15 months, but she's been around this year a couple times. The variants are still making their ways around the world. At the start I heard this would be a 3 year deal. It sure looks like that's the case.</p><p>Rain tomorrow, and a big solar flare on Tuesday. Maybe we'll have a regulation Summer power outage in there sometime. Better charge things in the morning.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmOk5eTHvvE8uGfWTJQ-201Q1RtyfRf8bdlTzbmiUa2vHLxuFmciFrydRMrosLJqyqTbMhoXDjfvhR2KZ2sC4hsfXhNe8rXOo0VG38lzUFvwP2ayRjD_M-on_i7mfaIDUHOS2LJZph9cY4arN0TreNf66j7Von_oyjM3uF2KdIRVtLda_RmCdAbuKQ/s500/candles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="500" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmOk5eTHvvE8uGfWTJQ-201Q1RtyfRf8bdlTzbmiUa2vHLxuFmciFrydRMrosLJqyqTbMhoXDjfvhR2KZ2sC4hsfXhNe8rXOo0VG38lzUFvwP2ayRjD_M-on_i7mfaIDUHOS2LJZph9cY4arN0TreNf66j7Von_oyjM3uF2KdIRVtLda_RmCdAbuKQ/s320/candles.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p></p><p>I hope you're having a lovely Summer evening in the north, and a cozy Winter evening down under.</p><p>x<br /></p><p></p><p> <br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-59628175081230123312022-07-06T15:21:00.000-04:002022-07-06T15:21:04.273-04:00I Want the Old Universe Back<p> I don't know what happened that pushed us to some alternate universe, but it seems clear to me that something did. The Large Hadron Collider? That seems the likeliest culprit. And it's at it again. Part of me wonders if they're trying to get us back in alignment with the old semi-insane universe and out of this full-on crackhead of a world. </p><p><a href="https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/technology/large-hadron-collider-scientists-hail-most-powerful-collisions-ever-as-detector-gets-back-to-work/ar-AAZgAA8">Hadron up running again </a> <br /></p><p>Since Alicia left to have her 2nd generation of bairns I've had a parade of aides. 15 so far. It's been really difficult, and if it weren't for my friends I'd have been screwed several times. One was close to the high bar Alicia'd set, and she stayed until getting a full time job as a manager at a gas station. But others...</p><p>One had a series of unfortunate events (best friend OD'd and died, mother became gravely ill, car died, boyfriend in jail, sicknesses, on and on); one cried thru her entire shift every week; one went into labor on her first day; one who was stoned and mixed up her own purchases when doing my shopping (which is illegal, btw); another stoner who held forth instead of working (he was 25 and burdened with knowing everything and he laughed when he vacuumed up my 22 year old Swedish ivy); a very confident mess who was 13 in a 20 year old's body; too many. Today I was to interview a new one. She emailed just before the set time she chose, cancelling, and answered none of the pre-interview questions. Why has it become so hard to find a dependable competent person? I pay well, I encourage joining the union, and act the way I wish my bosses had. It's not the odd chance of coming across a weirdo here and there, it's the norm now.</p><p><br /></p><p>The country has gone entirely nuts and stupid. Is this the way it always was and we're just seeing it now, or is this the new world we're thrusted into? I can't believe how gullible the populace is, and how reasoned thought has disappeared. Craziness and idiocy are encouraged. They attract viewers with lies and drama. People are addicted to fear and despair. This is Hell. I don't want to live here but I don't have a choice.</p><p></p><p>And speaking of choice, the Supremacist Court needs to go. </p><p>Don't even start with the gun nuts and the killings.</p><p>And these assholes are everywhere, even in my town.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijxMfvOkEL1ZFpMsMUmjfSwpP2IPIvfYxyPtJqwN18KhGS3z2PlWPqDDyuosgUjVznzjValPIxXFKyNJXdt0ZVb2oysDFx80SSjmzBCS7RwC7LaXiGrcuKmlhcmqnL5wT__NQ-DRjzTBqzKvjuQsq6CrVHsq_aW3qL0Qjbq9KeP8k2O92J9JXKL2bw/s1200/nazi%20in%20VA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijxMfvOkEL1ZFpMsMUmjfSwpP2IPIvfYxyPtJqwN18KhGS3z2PlWPqDDyuosgUjVznzjValPIxXFKyNJXdt0ZVb2oysDFx80SSjmzBCS7RwC7LaXiGrcuKmlhcmqnL5wT__NQ-DRjzTBqzKvjuQsq6CrVHsq_aW3qL0Qjbq9KeP8k2O92J9JXKL2bw/s320/nazi%20in%20VA.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>If the last years were parts 1 to 5 of The Years of Living on Edge, this year is The Year of I Just Can't.</p><p>So yes, I want our old universe back. It was far from perfect, but it wasn't all fucktards and scum.</p><p></p><p>x<br /></p><p><br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-14770383390757027092022-07-04T20:04:00.000-04:002022-07-04T20:04:02.982-04:00Independence Day '22<p>Kick asked me why I stopped blogging and I'm not sure. It just was all too obvious, the misery and tragedy parade, accented often by shocks. We've had 22 years of PTSD. Does anyone want to hear what I have to say about it? I don't even want to hear myself.</p><p> </p><p>But there are updates. Learning to deal with arthrtiis, diabetes, crazy neighbors, poverty, all the usual bs, was followed by a spider bite that put me in a hospital for 3 weeks last Fall. I'm still dealing with the aftereffects, but at least my hair stopped falling out... Now if I could have a competent aide, life will move right along. I just fired #15 since Alicia's departure. And she now has 2 toddlers, a 6 month old, an 18 year-old who just graduated HS, and a 20 year-old who moved to Mississippi.<br /></p><p> <br /></p><p>Billy and Mia are still together in Retirementland, having just observed their 4th/52nd wedding anniversary. They are still supporting their son and his tribe, with a 3rd generation having arrived last year. They became very hardcore crazy Trumpers, which seems receding a bit now. With many health issues, they still seem pretty happy. I keep my distance and love them from afar.</p><p> </p><p>Kick and family are back in VT, north of here, though with gas prices it's hard to travel anywhere right now. The Muffinpants family sails ahead, damn the torpedoes. Plague also forges on, having at whatever strikes her fancy. Mrs. Levy has bought a house in the next town-with-a-theater up the road a piece. My southern relations have been thru some real bullshit, everything from Covid and heart failure to nonalcoholic cirrhosis and gender changing. My long-lost cousin is having the time of her life at 66. 3 boyfriends, lots of sex, travel, plans galore. I just adore her. </p><p><br /></p><p>The Herman movie is stalled. I have hopes it will be finished. Already 2 people interviewed for it have died. And tick tock, the time keeps going by.</p><p> </p><p>Fecebook cancelled me last year, and it was a very good thing. I still waste time with Twitter, but it's much better than FB. Real life and the telephone has made a comeback, what with pre-Covid, Covid, and endemic Covid periods. I had 3 shots, and Covid. But it didn't do much to me, just like a headcold that exhausted me for a week. Not so for friends and relations, some of whom ended up in isolation in ICU. I'm grateful none of my nears and dears died, but the outer edges have had losses. Lots of deaths in the last couple years. I suppose the "Golden years" are full of death. Like the grandmother in the Evanovich books, the old ladies go to funerals to socialize. Joy.</p><p>I still have my bee and flutterby garden to bring me back to Earth.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYZO458uKqMeORgu0DWmcLpT9lW_9qsuSIJm29NF5vLAKkzrxMkeNBUrI93yz9csSM3jtsH-lQVu4qo4wd8RceSmpjVhdwS4gY3KBstKeGD81LxCOW6wlg6dp4wXLs8W76lMiHTwQXRxVjftw2c3OZA3qyCvQkAvHjjAIlty06nAigl2jUOHXYlcuX/s960/garden%20gnome%207.19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYZO458uKqMeORgu0DWmcLpT9lW_9qsuSIJm29NF5vLAKkzrxMkeNBUrI93yz9csSM3jtsH-lQVu4qo4wd8RceSmpjVhdwS4gY3KBstKeGD81LxCOW6wlg6dp4wXLs8W76lMiHTwQXRxVjftw2c3OZA3qyCvQkAvHjjAIlty06nAigl2jUOHXYlcuX/s320/garden%20gnome%207.19.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>I try to stay in a happy place and looking youthful. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs_EZsQyBhQj2Ie_6rHFcI-GKNZ5ml1RKDCwVjvv7YPxuPcZza3Omd1yhCztd22tF24Jnzz2YVeszgG-YOTnL_xJQ4rhEuduHYGt55rJ7IOycuSpH5kob4tWB6RMsE8rDcPLJoSH5LMs2IRxXGCOymRYOmE5900U-E2Er0lhi7Ski-039X-3RtkyAw/s720/goldenbooks%20easy%20to%20be%20happy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="710" data-original-width="720" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs_EZsQyBhQj2Ie_6rHFcI-GKNZ5ml1RKDCwVjvv7YPxuPcZza3Omd1yhCztd22tF24Jnzz2YVeszgG-YOTnL_xJQ4rhEuduHYGt55rJ7IOycuSpH5kob4tWB6RMsE8rDcPLJoSH5LMs2IRxXGCOymRYOmE5900U-E2Er0lhi7Ski-039X-3RtkyAw/s320/goldenbooks%20easy%20to%20be%20happy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="631" data-original-width="640" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdSs-vpyiwbRPue0A-tOWOSeRi9_gLEgzajQCJexk3IFqq2G2Mfg5Uzwcz7qE56ZzwMMyb7rg_rysxxU_rrOTSQbZcLYuzmxSXcTqvZBrgcnRQkx8ALcIfbskx7_mtz-HlE4r1mBOGhwNmTEQDM-V6xyR7ci9QFRgt7CURSyFCTZGki2cFeqmGHIsJ/s320/bitchface%20keeps%20you%20young.jpg" width="320" /></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>I have missed blogging...</p><p>x<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-56052401884924058702018-10-26T13:50:00.000-04:002018-10-27T10:38:25.093-04:00Joe23 years was not long enough to know Joe Crompton. He died yesterday, under a full moon, holding his wife Carole's hand. It was cancer that took him, cancer that he fought with medical treatments and sheer determination. He left this plane of existence with grace and peace, and surrounded with love.<br />
<br />
Over the years I've called the Cromptons the Muffinpants family here. They are my mishpocha, the people I've bonded with for 3 generations now. We have our traditions, memories, stories, and love, like any family does. We've been through victories and losses, changes and surprises, births and deaths. And now we'll get through losing Joe, somehow.<br />
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Joe was my brother by another mother. We worked together in the meat department of our local food co-op for a decade. In that time, he, our friend Plague and I led the first union drive there. We put our hearts and souls into it, 2 long years that never got us to a vote. It was an ugly fight, but Joe (whom we dubbed 'Captain') sailed above the fray. More than that, he laughed it off, even seemed to enjoy "fighting the bastards". He was like Sir Percival, untouchable because of his purity of heart. He believed, and instilled in me the belief, that despair is a mortal sin. Not in a religious dogma way, but in the way that you're doing irreparable damage to your spirit if you allow despair. He would not allow despair.<br />
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Plague wrote a lovely bit: "...<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">he
is the only man I would call Perceval ever...he is the only one who is
pure enough of heart to find the grail. He looked to the far horizon,
and no petty bastard could drag him down. He could not see the
scorpionlike tiny crawling beings trying to get to him, just the
horizon, our captain. He fought the good fight. He stayed the course..." </span></span></span><br />
<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><br /></span></span></span>
<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">He did. He also remained working there, and 5 years after our union drive a second drive brought the union we wanted. Plague and I were no longer there, but Joe got his dream of being a union member. He was happy and proud to be a UFCW Meat Cutter.</span></span></span><br />
<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><br /></span></span></span>
<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">But Joe was so much more. He made art. I have a papier mache statue of his mother milking a goat that he made as a youth. And two manila envelopes full of prints made of his woodcuts. Near the end, he surpassed his earlier works in leaps and bounds. Here is a photo by family friend Tom Stier of his latest works; the toes are Joe's, as is all the art.</span></span></span><br />
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<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">Joe was also a deep thinker. At times he would randomly blurt out a sentence </span></span></span><span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">and look to you to add something as if you'd heard </span></span></span>whatever he'd been discussing in his head. I called this, "putting my head in a blender", and it became known amongst us as being "blenderized". He read voraciously. He criticized thoughtfully. He theorized wildly. He was a delight, a challenge, at times nerve-wracking. I can't count how many times I yelled, "I'm gonna kill ya, Joooe!" in our workdays, when he'd make a mess. And he was funny.</span></span></span><br />
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<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">The first time I worked alone with him, he was training me on the Sunday open-to-close alone shift. We were resetting the fish display, and a customer asked for a red snapper. Joe grabbed one and began wrapping it. She said, "How do you cook this?" and he replied, "Apply heat." Later that day another customer asked when the fish deliveries were. "Tuesdays and Fridays," he said. "Well if it comes in on Friday, what's it like by Monday?" she said. "It reeks", he said, and walked away. His customer service improved over the years. </span></span></span><br />
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<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">As a friend, he gave all he could whenever he could. He helped me move 3 times, including the evacuation for Irene. He came to every party I threw, bearing food. He once made a sausage pie at work for my birthday and put the candles on while it was still hot. They melted, making a layer of wax between crust and meat. A birthday I'll never forget. He brought me so much laughter.</span></span></span><br />
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<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">Joe leaves here the loves of his life- his wife Carole, daughter Phoebe, grandchildren Lila and Parker, son-in-law Jesse, his sisters and brother, nephews, nieces and cousins, and many, many who loved him. He was predeceased by his son Jeremiah, who left us tragically 3 years ago, and for whom he wrote an amazing, honest obituary. </span></span></span><br />
<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><br /></span></span></span>
<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">I'll forever miss him, his gentle nature, his kindness and decency. But somehow, he'll always be a part of me, a sort of weird Jiminey Cricket in my mind. And heart.</span></span></span><br />
<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><br /></span></span></span>
<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">The last time we spoke, we knew it would probably be the last time. A breath between every word, short because of the lung cancer that started it all. He told me to listen to Louis Armstrong to get through this, so I am.</span></span></span><br />
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<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">Godspeed, Joe.</span></span></span><br />
<span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">x</span></span></span>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-4772201982356434492018-06-09T14:23:00.000-04:002019-06-25T20:04:43.043-04:00Anthony Bourdain, Open Windows, Sheldon, and ReassuranceAnthony Bourdain hanged himself in a hotel in France on Friday. RIP.<br />
I didn't know him, apart from when he cooked in a restaurant where Ian (we were just friends at that time) was bartending. He seemed obnoxious to me, pretty much a mess and asshole. But he was funny, and his presence filled a room.<br />
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Fast forward about 2 decades, and a fellow cook lends me Kitchen Confidential, his book about life as a cook. If you were a cook anywhere from the 70s onward, greasy spoon or Michelin starred, this was your life. He likened kitchen staff to pirate crew. He talked about the chronic drinking and drugs, the ridiculous sex, the humor, the anger and passion and joy in a kitchen. It was all there. If you haven't read it, please do. I've read a lot of books by cooks, this is the one that's bald truth. Tony also wrote a couple of mysteries that are fun reads.<br />
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Some time after that, I found him on tv. I caught his shows whenever, always interesting places and often unusual foods. He seemed born for this. It was a natural fit.<br />
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Hard to accept that he's just gone. I'd have never expected it.<br />
Someone told me, "There are 2 things everyone is capable of- shoplifting and suicide."<br />
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My AC failed the housing authority's new standards and rules so I won't be having AC this Summer. Thus far it's been reasonably cool and not unbearably moist.With the windows open, I hear what I never heard with an AC running. Birds, animals, fighter planes, traffic, but mostly people. Could be drunks yelling, or the Old Man with the Little Dog singing a "buzz-buzz" song to his tomato plants. Some of these things aren't desirable- the new neighbor who can't slam her door hard enough, or the constant banging and dragging from the upstairs nut- but it's life in the projects. People are enjoying the weather and living it up. Another reason I can't wait for Fall.<br />
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I've fallen in love with The Big Bang Theory. Not having cable for years now, I never saw it until recently, and am happy to see something American that celebrates brainy types (think I would marry the Sheldon character!). These nerds are flawed and dysfunctional, awkward and often ignorant of their own behavior. Just like people. It's helped me reclaim my nerdiness and be at peace with it. I'm glad there's a relatable show for the young brainiacs, too. TV nerds were always depicted so poorly when I was a kid.<br />
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Billy and Maria married again, 48 years to the minute from the first wedding. They're happy and looking forward to the golden years together.<br />
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Goggles and I have settled into an amicable neighborliness. She still rants but I'm used to it. We share food. I check on her when needed. She used to be a physics professor; it's nice to have theoretical ideas bandied about in hallway chats. There's a bit of Magick in those who live in alternate realities.<br />
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I hope your June is busting out all over. Peace.<br />
x <br />
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<br />Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-44212803319498079472018-05-05T11:32:00.000-04:002018-05-05T11:32:23.148-04:00But Ya Are, Blanche!Oh dear, it's May. How has a third of the year gone already? Not that it's been an idyllic time of peaceful enjoyment. It's been more like a bumper car ride. In no particular order...<br />
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Billy finally reached out to his 1st wife and their son in February. And they're getting married on the anniversary of their 1st wedding (they married twice) at the end of this month. Their son, whom I call Junior, is a mess. A spoiled 46 year-old who's been living off Mama for years and years (along with his 49 year-old girlfriend who was convicted of kiting checks and doesn't work). Billy is riding in like the cavalry to hopefully straighten out said mess. All of this means that he is selling up and moving to Florida. Kick will help him clean out, bless her, and he has 2 potential buyers. But there's so much to unload. Since Mac was spending 4-5 grand a month on QVC, there is endless crap to wade through. He just found sheet sets crammed into the front room endtables. It took weeks to even make room to open the endtables. I'm hopeful but scared for Billy. He and Mia were together from junior high school until they were 25, and Mia was my only big sister from the time I was 5. I could be overjoyed if I wasn't terrified for him. If this doesn't work out...<br />
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Beest died on March 29th. There were several things going on, all related to her thyroid. She wouldn't eat anything for almost a week, barely drank, and at the end she was clearly ready to go. My vet came here and we put her out of the misery. His guess was she was 14-15 years old. I miss her.<br />
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RIP Beest. You were loved by many.<br />
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It's gone from snow to 90'F in 2 weeks. I miss Winter.<br />
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The housing authority is morphing into a Neocon mindset. My AC charges have jumped from 100$/ the season to 220$. We can't put our own ACs in the window, nor take them out. Maintenance will do that, but we'll get no appointment for it; they'll do it whenever. Since that Masshole Republican got into his office manager job here, things have gone to hell. I won't list the number of assholy things he's wrought, it'll just piss us all off.<br />
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Meanwhile, I gave up wheat on February 2nd when my caseworker told me a couch potato lost 150 lbs. over 2 years just giving up wheat. Not easy at first, but very worth it. All my digestive issues went away. I sleep better. I lost 32 pounds in 3 months with no other change in life. It's tough to lose weight when you can't walk, but this is working. And it's so simple. You just don't eat wheat in any form. I admit to straying twice in my birthday week, but I paid for it in gastric distress and I won't be doing it again. Highly recommend it. Need info? Read Wheat Belly, which was urged at me after I started the no wheat deal. Wheat isn't the wheat we ate 50 years ago. I'll say no more.<br />
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With the world as it is, I'm pondering the oddball theory that the Large Hadron Collider propelled us into another dimension, an alternate reality. Everything is so FUBAR, it beggars belief that we are in the same universe we were in a dozen years ago.<br />
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Yet we carry on, oars against the current, defiantly laughing at whatever gets thrown at us.<br />
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I hope you never stop shaking a fist at the sky, or laughing.<br />
xAustanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-85500973253863072252018-01-01T11:31:00.001-05:002018-01-01T11:31:10.724-05:00Dave Explains It All For YouOnce again dismantling 2017 in a spectacular way. Enjoy.<br />
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<a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/magazine/dave-barrys-year-in-review-russia-mania-covfefe-and-the-category-5-weirdness-of-2017/2017/12/28/e46e62fa-d54a-11e7-a986-d0a9770d9a3e_story.html?utm_term=.a0b27ea26f7b&wpisrc=al_trending_now__alert-national&wpmk=1">Dave Barry's 2017 summary</a>Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744889144101573638.post-63713219902070792222017-12-31T19:43:00.000-05:002017-12-31T19:43:55.731-05:00Get Out, 2017!Just this afternoon I was thinking, "I've lost the need to write." But here I am. Much of the time I'm overwhelmed and unsure these days. Plenty of other people broadcast what I'm thinking, so why add to the buzz? What do I even think of it all anymore? I don't even know. Because I don't trust anything I hear to be true, I'm unsure. I think and wonder and hypothesize in my head, and there's no summation, no conclusions. Every day it's more awfulness. This is what 11 months of Cheeto von Tweeto and the corrupt Fascist Congress, religious insanity of all ilks, and crazy ass killings have brought.<br />
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2017 was a brutal year. On the round heels of 2016's deathapalooza we get a load of crazy people in power all together. We take a deep breath and go on. No time to grieve anything anymore. Carry on with your PTSD self. Yes, those are naked pix of the President's wife. Move along. Yes, groceries have drastically risen in price. Take it or leave it. Yes, if you depend on the Social Security that you paid into for decades, or any social service, you may be screwed pretty soon. Look at this cat meme!<br />
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This is not a world for the tender or weak. But it is a place for the pissy and indignant, and I am those even at the best of times. (Has there even been a 'best of times'? agh, another topic for another day...) There must never come a day when nobody argues their point, but I worry that we've become too stupid and lazy to care to have a point. It's easier to be told what to think than to think for yourself. It's also easier to just morph from feeling to feeling, because nobody will challenge your feelings. If you're weak there's no encouragement to get strong. There are drugs to remove those annoying thoughts that may flutter by. Just take this pill and none of it will bother you. And we'll make a profit.<br />
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Lately I've read a few articles about "the end of Capitalism". It seems like the end of something. An end is also a beginning.<br />
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May 2018 bring us justice, truth, peace, kindness, open minds and hearts, and make them our values.<br />
Get the hell out, 2017 and don't let the door hit you where nature split you. <br />
x <br />
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<br />Austanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05568578637922817033noreply@blogger.com6