Life

 This past year has been a sea of emotion.  Joys and sorrows.  Gratefulness and peace.

The ebb and flow, felt as thought I were being pulled out to sea one minute and the next, felt like I was drowning. Once or twice I cried a sea of tears. Tears of joy, frustration and deep sorrow flooded from me. There were days that I just bobbed along peacefully.  At times I wrestled  fiercely with life, yelling out to God from the quiet of my garden.  Some days, I sat quietly and drank it all in; storing up every blessed moment.

There are so many things resting on my heart that warrant sharing but as I ease back to this beloved space I find that I can only share the simple, not the deep.

A frosted Barley Pop on the only (nearly) hundred degree day of the summer.

The piano, on loan to Calamity Farmstead, brings me joy (most) every morning.  (Note to self: teach kids new song....'Heart and Soul' is grating on my nerves.)

Katie needs her groove back:: Part 2

As I searched through my archives this morning, I was hopeful of finding something to post; something that didn't require conscious thought or photo editing.

I had no such luck.

Bleh!

Most of the posts I have in draft are so dated they would require much more tweaking and consequently, editing, than I have the will power to attack.  Yet, I still wanted to post...something.

I stared at the blank post editor. Then I clicked over to Facebook. FYI: Facebook is a deep swirling vortex. It will suck your will to live.  At the very least, it will tap into your inner voyeur and will prevent you from doing anything other than checking the pages and comments and pictures of  every. single. friend.  And....it goes on and on.  Facebook is a vortex I tell you! (Facebook is evil.)  The thing I love most about FB is that I can chat with all of my best farm chickie friends (whose job it is to tell me to blog ALREADY!), my cousin in France (who loves reading about all of my calamities), my dear friend in Idaho (who adores my blog) and my Mom (who checks up on me via my blog) all at the same time. Which is what I was doing instead of blogging. So, I clicked back here and stared some more.  And so it went. Till I grew weary of the clicking. And the manic chatting.  And my poor lonely blog cried out....

BLOG ALREADY! 

So....I started and stopped. And stopped and started.  Then decided to just jot down the truth. The truth being, I have lost my blogging grooviness.

I want to have time and drive for blogging. Frankly, I want to have time and drive for just about everything but I also have a desire to make my blog more....well, just more. I want my blog to be what it once was.  I want my blog to be my online storybook.  I want to see something funny and think "That is totally blog-worthy. I should blog it".  I want to take pictures of the beauty around me and post them for all the world to see.   I want to find my groove again.


Blogging groove, where are you?

Circular Logic

I think my friends are trying to tell me something.

























Click on over to College Plus! for the full article.

Katie needs her groove back

Instead of a lucid narrative, (have I have ever written a lucid narrative?) you will now be subject to my incoherent ramblings. It's that bad around here folks.

This very morning, I stubbed my toes four separate times. Same toes, on the same chair. Did I mention...


four. separate. times. 

In looking up the meaning of  "Groove" this is what I found.
The transitive verb tense of groove is:

    *To perfect by repeated practice

I think I am grooving in the toe stubbing department.



The intransitive verb tense of groove is:
    *To enjoy oneself  intensely
    *To interact harmoniously

I think NOT grooving in the intransitive tense.

All sorts of words come to mind when I think of describing my state of being, non of which include:  "interact harmoniously or enjoy oneself intensely ".   Maudlin may be a good word.  Perhaps, stoic.  I am afraid of seeming a kvetch.  I am teetering on the edge of malevolent. I am hard-bitten.


I feel... blah. Bleck. Yuck.  I am groove-less.




I have lost my groove. And don't know where to find it.




Maybe I lost it on one of the 42 trips I made to town in the last two weeks. I think I lost it at the Gas Station where I had to pay for fuel with: my right arm, my first born child and my will to live. I might have possibly left it in the E.R. where I took Fidget to get 10 stitches in her eyebrow.  Perhaps I left it at The WalMart.  Maybe I left it at the Doctor's office when I took Fidget in for a Tetanus shot.   Or, I could have forgotten it at the Doctor's office when I took Fidget to get 10 stitches removed from her eyebrow.  It could be some where in the Dollar Store. One of the kids might have swept it up while cleaning house for Mother's Day.  I could have dropped it into one of the four giant vats of potato salad I whipped up for our Mother's Day/Birthday party.  It could have fallen into the compost pile where I was dumping arm-loads of weeds I pulled from the garden beds. Conceivably, it might be on the floor of the OB/GYN's office along with my dignity.  I could have dropped it at the dentist's office when I took the Mr. in to get a tooth pulled. It's probably lost in the laundry room.  Reader, don't think me quixotic; maybe, possibly, the dog ate it.


Hogwash, horse-feathers, POPPYCOCK!  My groove has got to be around here somewhere!



Blah.


Katie needs her groove back. You haven't seen it laying around anywhere, have ya?

A Bug

Sometimes you're the windshield.  Sometimes you're the bug. Sometimes the bug comes to live at your house and inflicts pain and suffering. And copious quantities of mucus.

Don't get me started with the mucus.

For the past 4 weeks (holy cow its been 4 weeks) my family has suffered through the worst, and I do mean worst, flu/cold virus thingie we have ever had.  It has been graciously shared around too. It seems that everyone we know has also suffered.

Long suffering doesn't bode well.  It makes it hard to get anything done.  Like say, laundry. Or dishes. Thankfully we homeschool because can you imagine if we had to catch up on all that missed school? Lawsy mercy!

Makes my mucus hurt just thinking about it. 

As it sits now, I have empty glasses, tea cups and plastic cups scattered, well, everywhere; under the couch, beside the bed and even on the washing machine.  I will, in all likelihood, still be discovering the now undisclosed location of many more drinking glasses over the course of the next year.

Don't even get me started on the used tissues!

That also makes my mucus hurt. Also, it makes that pesky mucus afraid. Very afraid.

If you have been lucky enough to have thus far escaped the clutches of that very bad bug, Saints preserve ya. Take your vitamins people.

If you have are among the long suffering crowd.  I will say a little prayer that a healthy friend will come do your dishes. 

And laundry.

And bring you tissues.

NaBlo

This has sure been an interesting month for me and mine. With all that has gone on this month I still feel the pull of my commitment to finishing NaBlo . I am NOT A QUITTER! That said, let me just say this:

NaBlo-mePoMo is sucking my will to live. My will to live I tell you! I have such a huge blockage, it surely must be constipation.

Yes! Constipation of the brain. Yeah, gross I know. At the very least I must be suffering from brain damage.

Hey! I hear there are only 5 days left in November. Really? I hadn't noticed. I was sure that November was the longest month, say, EVER! Sure feels that way.


Alrightythen.

In light of all that has gone on this month, I need a vacation. Anyone else need a holiday?

Lame excuse and a cause

Since my last computer tragedy, I have had a really hard time getting my groove to well, groove.

I sit and stare, vacantly at the screen and nothing comes.

This night is no different. I have spent an hour adding some tunes to my play list, rocking out to the Across the Universe Soundtrack...still nothing. Surely the Beatles would inspire...

***
NOT!
***

I am feeling stressed out (and quite sad frankly) about not having an original piece to submit to the 'Some Times Life is Funny' book fund raising project for NieNie. Why is my brain not working? I sent in some old stuff but, ya know, I would really like to help the cause with some fresh wit. NieNie deserves at least that much.

Hello? Brain? Work with me here...

OK folks, there is nothing to see here. Move right along. Go send something to Sue for this amazing book. You only have until the 30Th.

And...

start saving your pennies so you can buy 10 20 of these babies and send them to everyone you know...for Christmas!

Alright, off you go!

Happy day.

This morning I am fraught with emotion. I am ready to sue the brand new 200 million dollar medical facility in our area.

Yesterday afternoon, while on a play date with the Farm Suite girls, my youngest fell from the monkey bars and landed on his arm. After Miri and I frantically gathered and divided all 8 children. I rushed off to my doctor's after hours clinic. As it was 4:30 in the pm all of the Dr.'s had gone home for the evening. Hence the after hours clinic, which as it happens does not open for business till 6pm.

At this point I am flustered beyond cope ability. The nurse assured me the Dr. would take Head-Long asap. OR as soon as she finished her dinner.

After crying for an hour and screaming at the slightest bump in the road, H.L. lost his will to cry (or the adrenaline kicked in). For the rest of our ordeal he just sat vacantly staring and screaming only when his arm was moved.

After waiting in the Dr.'s office for an hour and a half H.L. was seen, for all of 2 seconds. Then we were told that the arm needed to be X-rayed and it just so happened that their machine was down.

We were sent to our local, brand new, Urgent Care. URGENT! So, not the case here. More like Lackadaisical Care. Where I had to beg and beg to get some Tylenol for my poor baby. What gives, people? I was asked over and over again, "What? YOU didn't give him some before you left your house??" Umm, hello? Do they hand out the brain damage pills at med school??

After waiting ever so patiently for 5 hours at the, AHEM!!! Urgent Care. The X-ray was inconclusive.

Head-Long's arm was put in a splint and sling (of which, was young adult sized, as the brand new 200 million dollar hospital didn't have infant sized anything) and we spent what was left of the night in a fitful sleep.

My baby is such a danger mite that this rushing off to the doctor is nothing new at our house. But frustration is hard to deal with, for both Head-Long and myself.

We will see what our regular doctor says today.

Oh, happy days.

"For the love of Pete....

BLOG ALREADY!!??!! "

The words echoed through the receiver. During the last hour I had heard this question maybe a hundred times. It was Miriam, assaulting me with this, her current lament. I stared at the phone. "Ugh, I can't," came my pathetic whine, "nobody's reading anyway, why bother?"

Miriam isn't one to beat around the bush, "You have to actually write something in order for people to read it."

I sighed loudly into my phone, "I don't have anything to write about." To which Miriam regaled me with a plethora of bloggy good ideas.

"Ugh!" I sighed again.

The day before had found me staring at the computer screen for 3 hours. Not a single sentence came to me. The words evaded my grasp. They swirled and swirled, jumbled and blurry, about my head.

"Why don't you write about getting your orange belt for Tae Kwon Do?" she asked. Innocent enough, I could do that. Right?

"But, I don't have my picture program on the computer yet. I want to add pictures. Don't you think it would be better with pictures?" I whined hopefully into the cell.

"Hmm," she said, not willing to give up so easily. "Hey!.....Did your dog die?"

"Whaaaatt!!" pitching my voice high, "Seriously. What are you talking about?"

Speaking slowly, she replies "Is. Your. Dog. Alive?"

"Weeeell, I think so. Lemme check. Umm, yeah, I think I see him. Why??" I asked almost not wanting an answer.

"Oh, no reason. Will you.. JUST! BLOG!!" she hollered at me.

OK, so it was becoming painfully obvious that my lack of blogging was causing undue stress in my faithful friends' life. I still had no clue what to write.

Out of ideas and probably just bored with me, Miriam bid me farewell and told me again to blog, "something, anything". I sighed an agreement that yes, I would blog. I snapped the phone shut and flopped down in front of the computer.


Heaving a sigh, I closed my eyes.


My thoughts started jumping; words fighting for freedom. Who would go first? What story would garner the right to adorn the pages of Katie's Calamities?


And still nothing.


What do you think, dear reader, should I wax poetic? Wane pathetic? Bemoan incessantly? Spew haphazardly? Flit capriciously? Or, pontificate eloquently?

My cup runeth over

While relating my latest calamity to my friend Miriam, I had a hard time fighting back the
tears. This story finds me starting my weekend off with a bang.


I had just done the big grocery shopping for my 30 day cook. I put the fresh chicken thighs into the (adorable) 1950's GE fridge. Six packages of meat. Family packs. Thursday afternoon, preparing to make a big batch of BBQ Chicken for our dinner, I went to the GE and noticed right away that something smelled funny. Not funny-ha-ha! but funny-odd. I actually stood there sniffing out what I might find to be the culprit....all six bags of meat cutting into my hands...dangling out behind me.



I plopped the heavy bags onto the kitchen counter with a jolly thud. Feeling so proud of myself for having meat to fix for dinner. Humming to myself, I prepared to well, prepare. When I caught a whiff of the smell. Sniffing my own stinky armpit first. (OH, you know I did) Whoosh! Bad but not what I was looking for. This was a sorta rancid smell.



I opened up the first package of chicken.





I was met with the most disgusting, hair curlin' odor. I lunged back. What the heck? I snuck in for a better look and smell. Everything appeared to be fine. No little rainbows on the meat. Meat was still very pink, no graying. All signs, I had been taught to look for. But that smell. So, using a trick I've used with blood shot beef, I placed all the thighs in a large bowl of cold water.



Boy howdy! That bird was fowl foul.



After changing out the water and giving the meat another sniff I find it was still bad. I was now totally ticked. Ticked at the fridge. Ticked at the butcher. Ticked at myself.


I sulked around wondering what to do. Hubby was home wanting dinner. He frankly didn't smell anything that seemed OFF to him. He would eat it....he proffered.

Umm....


I couldn't handle the loss of the meat. The cost of the fuel to return the rotten meat would be more than the meat had originally cost. UGH!


In a desperate attempt to salvage the meat, Inspector General decides, 'this meat will not go to waste'. It shall be cooked and fed to the animals.

(read: This was solely for my benefit, as he would have just as soon thrown it in the trash or used it as raccoon bait.)



Rancid meat was packed into all of the Crock Pots I own and set to stew overnight.


The horrific odor that greeted me in the morning made me wish for a gas mask. As I strolled into my kitchen to asses the damage, a curious sight met my eyes.










My cup had surely run over. It had overflowed right out of the crock of friendship starter. Spilled right out onto the counter from the crocks of rotten meat and even dripped onto the floor.


I spent the next two hours cleaning up the greasy, rancid, fermented, sticky mess. I think I burned a bit of the skin off my hand with the ammonia. Now that was a smell. The ammonia, flesh eating, need a gas mask ambrosia.


Miriam's response:

You just can't catch a break, can you?



****



No....my friend, my cup surely runeth over.

Sicky yucky...

There has been a bad outbreak of Incessantwhineyitis at my house. It might also be Bronchiobadattituza. But I am not sure which. I have been working on a treatment plan for this outbreak but to no avail. Alas, alack, I am at a loss.

I fear I might actually have the ever dreaded (dah, dat, dah...)

Summerheadcoldius-wishitwaswinter-soIcouldsnuggleundermyblankieosus.

I feel like I have been run over by the lawn tractor. (IE: not as bad as if I had been hit by a Mac Truck you see, but bad non the less) I don't feel bad enough that I have lost my ability to compose sentences out of catchy cliche's, obviously. O' yes. I am that good. My extreme case of Crackedintheheaditis does not affect my ability to write.

I feel crummy either way you slice it, the proverbial it of course. What is IT exactly? Anybody have a clue?

(Read: This is just plain comment begging. Asking you questions, that is. There is no reason for any of this blather. Leave me a comment anyway will ya? Just one. It (it being the comment, you know the fabulously long and ever thought provoking one that you are going to leave for me to peruse) won't hurt ya any, I promise)

Seriously though, I put a dose of Whiskey NyQuil in my coffee this morning and it really seemed to do the trick, but commenting would really make me feel so much better.

I am soooo not below groveling at the feet of the masses. Well....maybe I take that back. Who knows where your feet have been. I already have some sorta Germitusmagnus I don't need any more.

Maybe I should resort to camera begging, like Farm Suite does. That might raise my spirits. The idea that somehow, someway, I might, just might, maybe be the lucky recipient of a free camera from heaven. Maybe? Hmmm......What to do, what to do.

Well folks, there you have it. My prognosis is grim. Death will surely overcome me. My lack of Commentireadusitis has brought me to the depths of despair. Doesn't anyone have a cure?

Got Straw?

So yesterday was a Monday to beat all Monday's in my book. After the toilet water incident, the day only got better. By better I mean, my children were on their best behavior, if you like to watch the U.F.C. (read: Ultimate Fighting something; basically this is a beat the bah-gee-beez outta some dude, show) fights.

Needless to say I was on my last nerve by the time dinner rolled around. I gave a trite report of the days activities to my Inspector and started making noodles for dinner. As I had spent all of my energy being referee, dinner was a no fan fare deal.

After the kitchen was cleaned up and the dishwasher started, children were sent to their rooms to ponder the actions of the day.

When I heard our dishwasher groan and complain, I thought nothing of it. The beast has been on its last leg for quite some time now. But, this noise was slightly different.

As I sat sipping my tequila tea, I decided that the sounds emanating from the kitchen were of a "somethings wrong" sort. Reluctantly I left my serene spot on the couch, to venture toward the garage band sounds echoing from the dishwasher.

I was slightly shocked and amazed at the scene that lay before me.

My first thought was "Wow, I guess it really is broken".

Then, thinking back on the morning incident: "Man, I guess there really is enough soap".

This is the kitchen floor last night:

(didn't I just ask for some one to mop the floor?)

This is the dishwasher as of this morning:

(still foaming at the mouth)

And this is the (invisible) bottle of dishwasher detergent that my oldest, extremely intelligent, teen-age man child, claimed he could not find. He was unable to locate the soap, that was right on TOP of the dishwasher! Notice the proximity to the dishwasher its self? In a fit of brilliance, my son chose to fill both soap dispensers with Extra Strength Joy dish soap.

Here is "the straw that broke the camels back"....

It was just a lucky strike that I had just washed all of the bath towels we own. They were sitting freshly laundered in my ever so finicky washing machine. I am sure that the towels knew what was required of them, for they willingly mopped up the masses of sudsy water with out a complaint. They sit in their now soiled state, in the washer that refuses to WASH. (insert curse words here)

Yes friends, my day only got better and better.

I finished off the day watching the most depressing enlightening movie of my life and sipping tequila hot tea.

I am hoping that today will be a better day!?!

Snow White

March 21 2008-June 24 2008

OK before any of you get the wrong idea........Snow White is (was) the white chickie in the above picture. She was the children's favorite chick. She would come running when she saw you. She loved to be snuggled and packed around. She was the sweetest chickie I have ever known. She had been a bit sluggish for a few days and was found dead on the morning of June 24.

Good-bye Snow White. We will miss you.

SERENITY NOW!!

Man has it been a day!!

I just don't know where to start........ I seem to have mediated one screaming fight after another all day long. There has been slapping and other hitting, bitting and clawing, and an emmence amount of tears. Even Cinna-bun (aka: Charro) the rabbit was clawing and got Fern on the hand with her Charro like claws!

My right eye has had a twitch all day I wonder why??!!

Have you ever read the book No fighting, No biting? I quote just that to the kids all the time......"no fighting, no biting". Today it did no good to even threaten them with "DAD".

I think that spring break has lost its lustre......I need some serenity NOW!!