Just stuff

Not much going on. Still cleaning the mess in my 'crap room' and doubt that I will ever get it done. I dragged all of my beads out into the back yard so I could sort them and only once I had them nice and neat and tucked safely away in their double decker tool box that I realised that I had a whole tray that needed to be done. Now I had been in and out of the house 111 times which is worse then it seems because every time I went IN the house the dogs went In the house and when I headed out... well you can imagine. But now most of my beads are done and i'll leave that tray for another day when I feel the need to go outside and get the stink blown off me. Later I messed around a bit with my art journals. Yes more than one. I MUST be crazy. Then I made a mistake and started looking at other blogs and I want MINE to look like them. So I guess it's time I actually learn how to work my digital camera so that the pics actually look like something I made and not blurred as if the something I made suddenly came alive and was running for its life. I mean really. How hard CAN IT BE?
As youcan tell, it was another exciting Saturday here in the land of odds. For we definitely are an odd bunch of people, and, yes, animals as well. No one I know of has dogs that can 'talk' and now one of the cats has started a language of her own. It's out littlest cat Isabella and when I am in my crap room with the door closed she will actaully go downstairs to get oldest son to come upstairs and open the door for her. With such ingenuity I've made her her own spot in the room beside my chair. HOWEVER if she starts making collages better than mine, I'll need a spot beside HER chair.

What the......

hell did I eat before bed last night that gave me the crazy dream I had? I dreamed that Orson Wells called me to ask if I had any Acey Deucy rubber stamps and when I went to his house he showed me HIS collection of rubber stamps that filled 4 pizza-ish boxes. What the hell??????? Orson Wells and rubber stamps? I've had some weird dreams in my time but this one takes the cake.I'M not even an Orson Wells fan, though I sis like him in the movie with Loretta Young and Edward G. Robinson where Wells was a Nazi that escaped Germany after the war and had this clock fixation. But rubber stamps/ Sheesh.

DING DONG THE WITCH IS ME!!

Yes boys and girls you have read that correctly. I am now a witch. Not only any witch but an evil insane witch. I saw it in someone's blog so it must be true. That is supposed to upset me but I like being a witch. Not too sure about the evil part but insane is good because then I AM NOT responsible for my actions.
If I were a true witch with all the true witchly powers oh what fun I'd have. I'd make money grow on trees. I'd fix sick children. I'd mend broken hearts. I'd make dogs smile and pigs fly. I'd release all trapped souls so they could go to heaven. I would abolish mortgages and with it foreclosures. I'd plant rosemary everywhere just because I like the smell and I'd witch the work week into two days with the weekend the remaining five. I'd love to be a witch. Thank you strange once a friend, you have made my day though I know you didn't mean to. I think that makes it better.
Oh and this strange once friend borrowed money from me and has never made a move to pay it back AND the friendship was destroyed shortly afterwards... I sense a plot.

That being said it is noon on monday and all of my office work is done. If I were a witchI'd witch all the data entry I have to do and let it enter itself. Then the letters would fold themselves tuck themselves into the envelopes.... ahhhhh heaven.
We have a client coming in so I can't really go home and then there will be lunch and I can manage to fuddle the day away, I love fuddling.

There is really not much to say today but I was in an evil witch sort of mood and wanted to crow about my evilness. Yah me! PFFFFFTTTTTTTT strange once a friend.

Welll...

That all seemed a bit too easy. There is probably a way to attach two at one time but I'm amazed that I managed to attach one. So let's see if I can get the second art journal page on here. Fingers crossed.

Art Journal

I've wanted to keep an art journal for some time but have always been stymied with what comes first, the entry or the art. Now I know it's my art journal and I have no plans for anyone to see it but still I was stuck but the what comes first. So now I have taken a virtual deep breath and did two pages of 'art' last night and will journal whenever I find something to journal that matches the feeling of the so called art. I did two, entirely different pages and now will try the next step of attaching them to this blog.
So since I really have no idea what or how I'm doing this, I will take a deep breath and ATTACH!!!


hopefully

The Husband

As much as I love the husband, I sometimes wonder if I am really living IN a sticom and not a life that I thought was... well... real. Mostly thanks to the husband, a rolly polly sort of man with a distinct resemblence to Jerry Garcia (before Jerry died and not the Jerry a mouldering in the grave) and a secret desire to BE Santa Claus. He's smart, he really is, especially with numbers and abstract thought but drop the man in the real world and there is a crisis around the corner. Take this morning.
I roll out of bed, drag myself toward the bathroom and suddenly he's there, telling me something but my ears aren't awake yet and I have him repeat it. Not the thing to do as the Husband cannot just continue from a stopping point but has to go wayyyy back to the beginning of the thought and start all over again. Even worse is when he has to tell me the whole history of a person till he finally gets up to the point where he ment to be and usually it is something as mundane as the person called.
Anyhow, this morning, I finally get the idea of what he's talking about. But first I had to hear that one son's room is leaking (It has been raining forever) and something about towels and a wet vac and the dog barked and the washing machine is broken.
Uh huh wait, go back, what? So I hear the whole story again till we finally get to the washing machine is broken and then he is silent, watching me expectantly and, I swear, holding his breath waiting for me to DO SOMETHING. So I head for the basement laundry room with the Husband so close behind me I can feel his breath on my neck, so I can see what's going on.
Now I don't know about anyone else but I CANNOT concentrate when someone is staring at the back of my head and waiting for me to make the world safe for mankind once more. So I fidgit with this and unplug that plunging myself into basment darkness at the same time. I'm twisting the knobs and unplugging the cords all the while the husband is keeping up a running litany about how the washing machine is broken, how he will have to go to a laundromat, and bring wet clothes home to dry because the dryer still works and we will have to consider calling someone in to fix the washing machine or go out an buy a new one.
Now I WAS STILL NOT AWAKE and since I took a benadryl along with my usual nightly meds I was even foggier than usual. By this time the husband is pacing behind me, repeating the whole water in the basement story and te go to the laundromat etc, till I give up and come upstairs. I bide my time, just waiting for him to leave for the office and once he's gone and the house is quiet, I go back downstairs and discover the washing machine was UNPLUGGED!!!
We have a drain at the bottom of the outside steps that sometimes gets clogged especially if there is a storm and when there is a storm, oldest son, prepares to do battle with a minor flood by getting the pump ready to go. So he unplugged the washer so that he could plug in the pump. Something I hope I would have found earlier if my mind wasn't stuffed full of the Casey leak, laundry broke stuff. So I plugged IN the washer and washed the towels that were a crucial part of the whole event and that, had they not been washed and dried the world would have ended.
Yes, the husband panics. He's a man that stands in the middle of the front yard, holding an umbrella and watching for tornados. He's the one who the minute he misplaces his wallet is running for the phone yelling that we have to cancel his cards and he's the one that woke older son shouting that he can't find his keys and that he has to take younger son to work in 45 minutes and only once the older son is awake and searching his room, does the husband think to look on the hook where the keys belong. Who would have thought? Where they belong.
But to give the man credit when there really IS a crises, he knows what to do. For instance, while near the end of my labor with oldest son, I suddenly went into a seizure. The husband flung himself over my body to keep me from bouncing off the bed and jammed his finer in my mouth to keep me from swallowing my tounge. Though I suppose his halo is tarnished just a bit, when he admitted he knew what to do because he had seen me deal with a cat that went into seizures. Note never pick up a cat that's seizing and hold it against your body to keep it safe unless you LIKE your chest shredded.
So there he is, husband o'mine. I think I will make a plaque for the house that reads "PLUG IT IN". After all, that seems to fix just about anything.

Death

Lately I've been thinking about death. Not any random death but my death. Not that I'm planning to do anything silly but I'm no longer young and, after all, none of us get out of this life alive.

So I'm wondering what I'd like my death to be. Slow and fading like sunset on a hot summer day when the light lingers and lingers or quick and sudden like a power failure during a thunderstorm.

If it was slow then I could cause people to marvel at my grace and bravery as I face each day. It would give my men a chance to tell me what they normally wouldn't. It would give us all a chance to get used to it and a chance to give away my stuff. I would also have a chance to be magnanomous and forgive my sister her cruelty, as she sobbs beside my bed.

Am I selfish if I choose quick and unexpected. Then I wouldn't have to be brave or give things away and my sister would forever be racked because she treated me so badly. I also wouldn't have people telling me things simply because I was dying and they wanted to be nice. I have a hard time accepting the compliments I get, always suspecting that people are just being nice and don't mean it at all. At least I know nasty people mean it.

I'm not afraid of death. It would just be another adventure and I'm curious to know what follows. I'd miss my men but eventually they would join me again and maybe the next life will be better for us all. OR maybe I'll just come back as a rock. Then I wouldn't care. I mean, how can you hurt a rock's feelings? You might stub your toe on one but then you'd be the one limping. ROck's don't limp. No feet. Of course they have no arms and hands either but maybe it would be mice just to be.