Oblahdee, Oblahdah and the Year of Law and Order

Finally, either the elves are all holding flashlights at the clouds or the sun has returned. I am now in the mindset of the ancient peoples who were once afraid that it might never happen again. My knees are sore from the praying and throwing myself about in repent. So, the sun is out and I have 2 FO's to show off but cannot because they are still blocking - why, oh why must this part drag on into eternity? The camera and I are getting along nicely and I am trying to focus on her interesting details - the flip screen that allows me to photograph myself and clean lunch out of my teeth, the flash that actually works - and the reality that a flash is really a kiss of death for very pale peoples like me. Sometimes, I get emails from ya'll pondering the everyday workings of our funny farm and/or wondering if I ever, indeed, take the human form. Alas, no photos of me have been splattered on this blog and ya'll should have known there was a reason for that. Is it the pasty white skin, the always frightening red eyes (modern technology has served me well in this area) or the haunting expression of a crazed woman that makes little children back slowly away while wimpering, "mommy".

If you, too, have been wondering how bad I look on a regular basis - or you just want something to scare the children in your neighborhood with - walk with me on the tour of photogenic nightmare:
We have, here, Mortitia, all shiny like and ready to eat your brains. Raw, of course.

But if you don't like her, and you enjoy the sinister smile of one who was born of the flesh of evil, try this smiling horror (a short explanation of why I don't smile in real life because everyone always looks behind them like they expect to be crush by a troll at any second)


For the slightly perverted but defintely not into gothic fright, how about the one the kids and I call - the police line-up?


One of the things the kids and I love about the new cam is that we can look at a page of thumbnail shots on the screen. When I asked them to pick the one that looks most like me, this was it. Later, they would name it 'Crazy Lady'. Hmmm. D'ya ever get the feeling that you're working real hard to find a compliment? Digging deeper, thing 1 suggested this shot of my eyes which are an endless fascination for all my brown-eyed children. Green, brown, blue and (supposedly) yellow are my eye color. That with the bump on my nose ought to dispel any notions you have of spreading hope and love for me. Now, with these works of evil I am done and I promise not to torture you with my warty self again for at least another year.

About the law and order thingie. Forgive me, I don't watch television. I have one but everytime it is on there seems to be something more interesting (like a movie, home video or some lovely nature special) on so I don't really think of a tv show when I say law and order. I was raised by a navy man, cop, turned oil man. Naturally, my rebellions tend toward uncle sam, authority wearing shiny suits, and oil. I don't despise authority, rather, I have a sort of allergy to it. I thoroughly suck at enforcing it and were it not for the fact that my things 1, 2, and 3 are inherently pure and sweet - who knows what kinds of crudeness they'd get away with while I cringe at thinking of discipline. I like self discipline. I expect it, actually. My beloved Spindling Scot was right on in the comments as to the fact that we should not be in darkness just because it is cloudy. Indeed, most people with spines find they can get adequate solar charging with all but the most gray cloud cover. Note the spine part. Originally, our house was built in THE PERFECT spot for solar charging (the spot picked by me, of course). But, the less than perfect house, now a barn was not to be. We built another one (incidentally, this location was not picked by me) that is shaded by a far-away but quite large pine most of the day. People, I have over 100 acres of trees and it has taken me a year and many dark evenings to finally order the cutting down of this one tree. If you think this is pitiful - wait - I will impress that sentiment upon you more deeply. The fact is, we built this box, I mean lovely house, with the real understanding that we would barely fit in it and to have a kitchen that is not also a living room an addition would have to be done. That means lumber. That means you need a tree. I could be in a cozy kitchen this winter but it will have to wait until summer, now, when this gorgeous beauty will be milled into the lumber for the addition. Half a tissue box later, I'm feeling less cruel.

I'm also divorcing my cat right now which is a torment but me, the disciplinarian, made a law and she has broken it - many times. Let me tell you about this wild Maine Coon Cat who was recsued from atop a tree as a kitten. She rarely comes inside and if you try to make her stay, she rips screens, insulation, walls even to get back out. Yet, whilst she is in, she expects you to make her tuna and cream cheese. Because you are me, you do it. Last year, she and the Jack Russell Terrier demolished thing 2's hamster cage and our dear little hamster as well. They were almost exiled for it but we decided to take responsibility and try much harder to prevent such atrocity in the future. Guys, my kiddos love their hamsters, birds, and little critters - it was a heartbreak. Since then, Hazel has hated the dog. She scratches his eys all the time and will attack from across the room just because he moved too fast for her liking. She kills a mouse outside, brings it in, and sits in his bed to take it apart, hissing at him all the while. No one else really likes her. They tolerate her because I love her and they love me.

However, love does have boundaries. Since last year, thing 2 has had two hamsters, Rosie and Sam. We built super sturdy cages, have them well secured when we go out, and remove all cats from the house before going anywhere. A couple of nights ago, I awoke to a sickening twack. Then a wierd growl. I jumped out of bed to find that said bad cat had gingerly opened the cage and fished poor Rosie out. She was still alive but passed on later that morning. And a promise was remembered. I promised that we would do our best to make our pets live in harmony but that if any agression was shown toward the innocents again, my cat would go. She howls on the porch and then, in defeat, trots down to sleep in the barn - where there are plenty of rodents for her sick pleasure. Goodbye, Rosie, you were loved by all but thing 2 is still lost without you....