Rambling

Once it was Tuesday morning, and now it is Tuesday evening, the night before October 1. October Eve, you could say. I was wild about this time of year for the first half of my life, and spent hours getting ready for Halloween. First you stuff kid-size footed pajamas and then staple the body to the porch ceiling so the legs are hanging down. Then you get a pumpkin and after carving just a mouth, you stick a cow's tongue in that you got from the grocery. Some bratty kids stole the cow skull I had put on top of a men's suit stuffed to look like it was playing cards. Finally, since I was the one answering the door, I would dress up as The Bone Collector, a concoction of old clothes including a Jethro Tull concert t-shirt and a real pig's foot stuck in a pocket somewhere. I tell you, for great special effects, go to the meat department.

There was the year my son wanted to be Ghidrah( spell check doesn't work for Japanese monster names, so sorry), the three-headed dragon from the Godzilla years. No problem. I got this kid to hold still under a pile of plaster on his face, so I could mold a fitted mask to his contours. Papier-mache, felt and gold paint made the head, and since Ghidherah had three, my son's arms ended in dragon-head mitts made of gold satin. I was awed by my awesome costume skills, even though the sewing looked as if done by drunk monkeys. Bri glowed like a radioactive reptile, winning a compass from the scout troop for that one. Ghideracchi.

Perhaps someday I will haunt a cave somewhere, purely through natural selection and the dementia created by inhaling too much cat hair. Stop by on Beggar's Night and I will put dead forest mice collected by the cats in your bag. What could make a better story? The villagers will chase me with pitchforks to the top of the windmill where I will yell "Fire! Bad!!" at them and fling roasted chestnuts at their heads. The old ark will crumble in flames, and I shall fall through the beams into the watery pit and after the ruckus dies down, open a drive-through cafe on the site and hire ska bands for the weekends. No, I really don't know what ska is, it just sounds funny.

You get a decent sleep tonight, you certainly deserve a fresh day tomorrow. Sweet dreams.

This and That

Hello to Cybertown; yes, that's you! All us chilluns got through the day admirably and here is hoping that you did too. It's time to get out the extra blankets due to the drop in temperature at night and the apartment complex hasn't turned on the heat yet. Living on an upper floor has the advantage in cool weather, and benefits from rising heat. I am warm and thankful for that in this place.

The apartment before was lovely, half of a house, but my son and I had to be frugal so I kept the heat at 58 degrees during the day and sixty at night. I dressed to go to bed, it was like living in a cabin...thermal long johns, socks and wool slippersocks over that. On top, flannel pajamas, a knit hat and a robe. I felt like a Pilgrim in layers, and when we landed in this rent subsidized apartment and felt the heat and the hot water rushing out of the shower and the windows that shut tight against drafts, oh, it was and still is a blessing.

Tomorrow is Saturday and the turn of the seasons is apparent by the produce offered; late peaches are still available and corn. Tomatoes are becoming fewer but the cruciferous vegetables are being stacked in pyramids of cabbages, colored cauliflowers, and spires of Brussels sprouts. Last week was the hundredth anniversary of the market, and they honored a fellow who had been working at the family stand for ninety years. Elmer, who got to sit in the wooden wagon pulled by two gorgeously brushed and shining black draft horses.

The local home extension office based at Cornell came out and set up a stand featuring heirloom apple varieties, some of which I hadn't seen in yars. Baldwin, Wolf River, Winter Banana, Russet, and Twenty-ounce. You can make a pie out of one Twenty-ounce, they are that huge. If I had the land, it would be filled with cats and apple trees, two dogs and chickens.

Well I am getting to bed after a hot chocolate. The wind is picking up in such fashion as it is whistling around the corners of the building, as a good autumnal equinox wind should. Oh I love fall. Sleep well.

Darker and Darker

First off, if you like chocolate chip cookies that spread, change the ratio of brown to white sugar 2 : 1. That would be one cup of brown to every half cup of white, and bake in a slower oven than recommended.

Second, as it is Sunday, I have papers to correct and also went over to Dad's, still grousing. Although today, things became much clearer, but I promised I wouldn't yell at him or approach my brother. All his life, my brother received payment for existing. Go to the store, get ten bucks. Mow the lawn, get twenty. This was extra besides getting an allowance, until he moved out in his thirties to get married. It kept him close to the folks, and I wonder if he regrets that.

Apparently not too much, because my father said he was broke and could not afford the woman who checks in on him three times a week. She gets $240 for the hour long visits, which really isn't bad, and she calls inbetween to check on him. Well, Dad, where is all your money going? He gets almost as much as I make a month from disability. Oh, I dunnnooo, I pay $40 for electric and $147 for gas and then there's groceries. That should leave him with about $800-900 left over for maintenance and clothing. Guess who I found still gets an allowance?

John's strapped for money, says Dad. Oh ho ho. He has a job with the county, a wife who doesn't currently work, a new van, a house, and they live nicer than a lot of people. My father pays him various amounts for mowing the lawn or going to the store. He pays the wife money to do his laundry, gas money, and extra for picking up his groceries. Well, some of that I can see, but twenty five bucks for getting groceries? Here is the one that made me see fire: he pays my brother $150 a month to call him every day. Is that insane? Who in their right mind would take that kind of money from an elderly parent to call everyday?!

The house needs taking care of and a sump pump to be dug, paint, landscaping, recaulking, tree care, a stove, carpeting, and it would be nice for a cleaning service to stop by once a month. It could be done without the horseshit my brother is pulling. I said it was between the two of them, that I wouldn't say anything to John. There are other ways of getting around this.

First thing, I'm calling the Veteran's Administration to see what Dad is eligible for regarding benefits. He told me he doesn't get anything from the government except the SSI. Dad is 83 and won't be here much longer, a few years at best. Not that I ever got along with him, but I don't take advantage of his insecurities.

Good Christmas. I couldn't believe it when he told me he paid my brother for calling. Jesus H.
Well, it will give me an impetus to set a few things straight in this nutcase family. I hope I can sleep tonight, I made decaf this morning, but still feel a caffeine buzz as I finished the carafe.
It will be cooler, this end of September night.

Peace to all, sleep cozy and sound.

Nuttin' Much

I am waiting for water to boil for the allegedly low carb pasta. There is a frost warning in the Southern Tier and the edges of Erie County tonight; it may call for hot chocolate tonight. I've had a chocolate craving for three days now, and it isn't going away regardless of how many activities are inserted as diversions. We do have some fine candy shops in town, for supermarket chocolate won't do it this time yet I don't want to pay an arm and a leg for my fix. What do you do to take care of a chocolate craving?

Sometimes sponge candy will do it, it is such an odd contrast between the sponge and the chocolate coating. Other moments call for a solid chunk to break up and gnaw on, woodchuck style. I think I am having a woodchuck craving, like I'm getting ready to hibernate for winter. Over the summer I was able to get up to DiCamillo's bakery, and brought home a small cake...gosh, what's the name for it...not cannoli...ah! cassata!... it was white cake rolled around a ricotta filling. lightly flavored with rum, fruit and tiny chocolate chips, covered with chocolate ganache. I was happy for a month after that. For four bucks.

I have found a study that will earn me the degree I need in eighteen months, and am enrolling for the Spring Term. It's called Creative Studies, and honest to god, I am not sure what it entails but the hours and the price are right. Organization and leadership, says the blurb. You just watch me organize and lead, folks.

After dinner, time for turning in, the way the dark comes so early, I 'spect the clocks will be turned back soon. Spring forward, fall back. The night is so enjoyable, I wish it were safe to walk around in. Every other sense is increased because of the limited eyesight, so sounds and smells and sensations are much more intense. I remember being twenty and unafraid under city trees at night, the horse chestnuts falling in the gutter, leaves turned orange by the streetlights and me in my skinnie minnie jeans and red leather platform ankle boots. What a sensation of being young, accented by nightfall. You were there, I know I saw you on the side street, calling to your friends.

Relativity

The outdoors is beginning to smell like fall, the cooler nights are welcome for blankets which are good for burrowing under after the day. The neighbor lady is trying to catch the feral kittens before winter comes in, this weekend I shall buy apples for making and jarring sauce.

This post is more of a vent, for even though life is seemingly back on track, some things just don't change. In a nutshell, my father offered his small house to the Church, they refused saying they don't deal in real estate. He offered it to my brother, who is getting everything in the will anyways. John said he has enough on his hands with his own, and doesn't want to put the necessary money into repairs. To me, it wouldn't be an inheritance, it would be a sale. "I never thought of giving you the house, Susie; I'll sell it to you for $29,000. We paid $14,000 for it back in the sixties, and I put $15,000 into it. Maybe you could get a loan."

I don't know. There are a lot of bad memories hiding in the plaster walls, but I could clean it out, add color, replant the roses my mom loved. It has a pretty good backyard, needs a sump pump excavated, an exterior paint job, and a cellar wall needs to be sealed. Like an exorcism, sprinkling salt and burning sage could purify the phantasms. So you see, I've thought of it. It's his house to do with as he likes of course, no one owes anything to anyone. Why he would give the house to my brother or the Church for nothing, but hand me a bill of sale is the same old nonsense, and it still hurts. Ah well.

My dreams have been full of seashells, which supposedly means wanting protection and security. The shells are colorful, mostly oversized, broken or extravagantly curved; I am happy when finding them. For all my hoo-ha and premonitions, I'm not one to believe in dreams; if it weren't for the repetition of the subject matter, I would pay little attention. Maybe you will dream something tonight, a message, a solution. Sleep well, dig under the blankets.

It's Really a Wonder

Money money money. How on earth does anyone keep track of it? Say the right things to the right people, and it will come your way if you are ambitious and business minded. Will it ever not be a worry for the rest of us, meaning me?

I go to a Graduate Program Open House on Saturday morning at 10a., probably not time enough for a run to the Farmer's Market which is a run up into the Tonawandas. But the peaches are coming to an end, and there just isn't enough time left...how many years of fresh summer peaches do I have to come? Ah. La.

The program that I am nosing around is based at Buff State, where I achieved my Bachelor's. It is called Creative Studies and is the only graduate degree program in the world focused exclusively on such, the site says. There is a picture of adults sitting on the carpet of a classroom, touching raised hands. Jeezum Crow, I may have cornered myself into touchy feely motivational Village, but it's the quickest course I've seen yet, with a final 33 credits.

I wanted to earn my Master's at a local private college that has a deal with the state teacher's union, however, since I have my Provisional certification, it would be the same education courses as before with a required student teaching practicum. They suggested looking at their other graduate programs which include accounting, nursing, or special ed. Ick, ick, and ick. Special Education is being quietly smothered by the government, and will not exist as a separate entity much longer. Our Special Ed teachers have not been given their assignments yet, and it is the second week of school.

So, back to the State College, which is a short hop down the highway, offers necessary courses in the summer, and has online learning components. There are concerns in dealing with them, in getting the right courses at the right time and getting out. Had to fight like a woman to get them to recognize that I had all the courses the last time. But it will work out, as sure as strawberries grow in the fields, as sure as peaches hang pendulous and heavy on trees. I can feel it.

Love to all, Susan

At it agin

Oh la, it has been a while. Michigan contains ferocious appetites for literary inventions and lists of laser cowboys. I hope to meet you someday, Michigan.

Today is Tuesday and the clouds from the hurricanes cover the sky in voluminous skirts of moisture and electricity. This northern clime is only receiving piddling bits of rain compared to the rest of the country, but it clears the air and I appreciate the cooler temperatures. One feels like wearing clothes again.

I have joined a juggling club that meets once a week, for although I can do a cascade with three balls, it is one of my heart's desires to learn clubs. Nine year old children can do clubs, if they're precocious...me, I'm dedicated and ambitious, so that counts also even though I don't have my nine year old reflexes. I think there's enough time between throws for some error, just as with the balls. After the first meeting, I'll come up with a report.

Everyone is fine, the fall crops are abundant thanks to the voluptuous summer rains, and I tell you, the best potatoes for mashing in these parts is the flavorful Chippewa. It's been mashed potatoes every night this week just because. I mixed in a rutabaga for one supper, today there was a supplement of Swiss chard. Just a farm girl at heart.

The house I grew up in is haunted, but there is a chance it might land in my lap. Dad, who is still alive and better not have any idea of haunting anyone after because he's a pain in the ass and I would not ever be able to go to the bathroom again in my life thinking he could see me, has left everything in his will to my brother. Well and good, fine by me, no contest with any of it. Brother doesn't want the house and suggested that Dad give it to me. Me! I could possibly have a house again. I would take it in a heartbeat.

But, there would have to be a communication between me and whoever whatever visits there. A whoever I can deal with, you just make room for them and clean house, dish out a little respect. If it's a whatever, well, then I may ask for assistance from one of the folks from LilyDale, the psychic community near Lake Chautauqua. Let me grow my vegetables and leave me the hell alone. Really, there is nothing in the spirit world that will harm you like in the movies. No.

Sometimes it can be a pervasion of despair that hangs over the area and leeches off of any mind that is filled with sorrow itself. There are people like that, emotional vampires; it would not surprise me in the least to find entities beyond who do the same. Just cause you're dead doesn't mean you become an automatic saint, I wonder if there aren't lessons to be learned in that part of the cycle as well. Who knows. But if I do get the house, there will be room for everyone who respects the house rules. I already bought a cast iron door knocker.

You all get to sleep and put an extra blanket at the bottom of the bed in case there is a chill tonight. Sun is long gone, and the crickets are quiet in the cool night air. Dreams have been filled with finding sea shells, or coins on the ground. Maybe tonight I will think of interior paint colors and beebalm. Peaceful night, Michigan.