Saturday, March 29, 2014

Food Bullies

Yes I Am

Gluten Free

For me, there is no choice. Gluten is poison. It tried to kill me in the most painful way imaginable. I was ill for 11 years before I was diagnosed properly, and I had to request the blood test myself. The nurse had no idea what I was talking about. My Gastroenterologist wasn't even the one who had that pleasure (he was later found guilty of Medicare fraud and I'm not surprised. I don't believe in most medical litigation, but in this case I'm pretty sure he kept me ill; a colleague of his looked at my file and said "You don't have Irritable Bowel. You don't belong here." And that was that. I had spent a tremendous amount of money on medications with no real names, and time under anesthesia. I'd sue if it wasn't so long ago). So. When I sound passionate about it, it's because the medical profession not only failed me, but almost killed me. I was 107lbs, and I would black out from the pain about once a day.

No, You Don't Have to Suffer Like I Did

Celiac is one of many different disorders caused by wheat--celiac is specific to gluten which is also in rye, spelt, triticale, and barley. There are several ongoing double blind, peer reviered studies on the effects of gluten on the body. For some it manifests as sub-clinical generalized inflammatory issues; achy joints. Others it can cause diabetes, migraines, psoriasis, rheumatoid arthritis, MS, white matter lesions, thyroid disorders, lupus...I'm not getting in to the list because it's not really my point (but I will tell you the studies are conducted in places like Johns Hopkins< Mayo Clinic, and Oxford). If you give the diet change a try and you feel better, run with it! But be careful in talking about it. You feel great, and you want to share this feeling. Some people will defend their jelly roll to the point of the absurd, and here's where I'm approaching my point.

Food Bullying

No, this isn't about "you, you, or you", so stand down. If you're upset by what I'm about to say, then maybe you need to take that into consideration.

It's something I've been coming across more and more as people have started to go gluten free, or even gluten less. Others get downright mean. "Not you, Kendra, I don't mean you because, like, you'd die...but those other people," as though the severity of my reaction grants me some kind of immunity (it doesn't. I still get attacked). But I've witnessed it happening to others.

"You don't -really- need to be gluten free, it's not like you get sick." Maybe they don't get your personal, unprofessional qualification of "sick" but for them, the consequences are just not worth it. And guess what? I didn't start with sudden violent illness. It was a frog in a pot. If I could go back to that one day in college when I realized something wasn't quite right, I'd have had a FAR better quality of life and would have saved tens of thousands of dollars on medical bills.

"You went to all that trouble to get a gluten free plate of food and now you're having a brownie?!" Guess what? There's a pill. Guess what else? Some people have limited tolerance for gluten, so they are gluten free all day, and save it for that one brownie (that they may still pay for later, but damn). Personally I explain myself about the pill, but that's me.

"You didn't get diagnosed by a doctor so you don't have it. Self-diagnosis doesn't count." That one baffles me. Just shut up.

"What is it with this fad? It's just the newest thing." Ok, then let it go. In the meantime, some of the 97% currently undiagnosed cases are getting diagnosed properly, rather than having a fist full of highly expensive secondary illnesses put on their already strained budgets.

And some people go back and forth on and off the diet. Why? I don't know. It's none of my damn business. Does that annoy me? Yes. But only because the litany of complains about feeling sick, crampy, achy, rheumy, lethargic ensues and I lack the patience for that. It also encourages the bullies.

So Stop

Show some respect. If someone wants to go gluten free, it has NOTHING to do with you. It has EVERYTHING to do with feeling better. One of the side effects I did not expect after being gluten free was, for the first time in years, feeling happy. At peace. I had a sense of well-being, I had energy, and my depression was gone. I remember telling my mom that I wondered if it was that elation that people felt when they "found God". I had no idea my ring size would drop from a 7 to a 6 because my knuckles aren't slightly swollen any more.

I stopped posting on Facebook about most of this. It became such a hot button for some people, that the comments being made and the aggression shown was scaring people away from the topic completely. Those who wished to continue to talk and learn would contact me privately, and that was enough. I'm sad about this, because there are people who are interested, but I don't want people to feel like they will be treated like a lemming for doing what is right for themselves.

If you don't like to listen to someone garble on about how much better they feel when they don't eat gluten WHILE eating a plate of pancakes, well, welcome to my world. You can learn to ignore them just like I do.

For the love of all that is holy STOP picking fights. It's not helping anyone, and it's only scaring people away from something that might actually be beneficial to them.

And No

I don't hate anyone who is gluten free for whatever reasons they choose to be. It's your body. You choose. I will gladly shepherd you along your journey if you wish. I will, however, kindly usher you out of my life if you choose to make it an issue. I've done my reading. I know what I'm talking about.

Maybe a Glass of Wine is in Order

Thursday, March 27, 2014



I tend to be fairly efficient with my words. I'm not the kind of writer who will spend hours describing a tree, because chances are, you have in mind what an oak tree looks like. Your memory gives you a certain prejudice--meaning, I can describe the details of a leaf, and you will still see a leaf from your memory. The only reason I have ever found to describe a leaf is if it stands out in some way because of some magical powers or rot. Same thing goes for a kitchen. Or a bathroom. See? You already have them in your head, some of you even have the color down. That's one of my favorite parts about writing. Your imagination. Your perception. My art is simply guiding that through a story, and trusting you enough to know what a toilet looks like.

Brevity can also bite me in the ass. Like on Facebook, brevity is an invitation for, "Well, actually" which is one of my least favorite phrases. I just don't feel the need to turn everything into an essay, that will get dissected, actually'ed, and driven to nonexistence anyway.


Sometimes I forget to add context to help place my brevity. Yesterday I shared a piece about a young woman sitting on the stairs of a bordello. The funny part is, in my mind, she was a modern girl in jeans and the house was no longer a functioning bordello. It was just a house. And she was just an average girl who had just rented a room in the bad section of a new town, and one of her new housemates was chatting with her.

It was later that I noticed the ambiguity, but I rather liked the flow and brevity of it so I left it let your imagination run with it.

And Then The Baby Walked In

Wednesday, March 26, 2014


Through The Clouds

Do titles ever really need to make sense to anyone but the author? Or is it a gentle tease, to see if you're paying the story, to the author, to the sublime. Choosing titles can be fun. Playful. Painful. Frustrating. And deeply meaningful if you know where to look. And sometimes we hide that place so well, it would take being inside our own heads to truly know. There's a reason for that.

Sacred Places

She fell in love with him on the broad stairs of a bordello, in a part of town where only indigents lingered. It was her new town, her new place, her new world for just a little while, and there he sat beside her as though he had always been there. With her. His words were liquid, the way his accent caressed her language, and though she understood every word, she let herself get lost in the very air he held around himself. It smelled of jasmine and spice and all the exotic things that existed just out of her reach. And as she let herself drift in that little bit of heaven, she kept one toe on the ground. Because if she let go, she knew she'd float away, up and up to where there was no ground any more. Just her and jasmine and spice and that voice that spoke in melodies.

That scent. That place. That time became a part of a little church she filled with sacred moments of clarity. Memories that would echo through her life, resurface when she needed their grace. Somewhere inside she could revisit when she got lost again, like she always did.

She closed her eyes. Smiled. And fell through the clouds.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

You Should Be Writing

You Should Be Writing

No, this isn't some passive aggressive rant, and no it's not aimed anywhere in particular, though it has been inspired by the ubiquitous "You Should Be Writing" statement made to all writers who Do Other Stuff. So, worry off, it's not about "you, you or you"....though you may have inspired it, in which case, thank you, you've done your job!

Yes, I Know

I had free time today for the first time in about 5. Real free time. Not time spent listening for Lokisdottir to cry, drop something, fall or do any number of toddler things they do when parents eyes are not directly on them (I believe in at least some unsupervised time in her day, but I'm never far. She plays much better by herself when I'm not in the room....that's an aside.

What did I do? Nothing. I took a nap. Stared at a wall. Rested in a sunspot. Thought about everything that worries me. Thought about nothing at all. All with reckless abandon. I looked outside at projects I have begun, and could have worked on, but didn't. I ate toast because it required little thought.

And when my toddler came home with dad, I was very happy to let him take a much-needed nap, because I had time to do nada.

Where Is Lokisdottir Now?

Right here. In my lap. I'm looking around her head to type. She just slid off my lap and is headed for the tremendous number of toys we have collected over the years, and the four foot plastic slide I brought indoors for the winter. I'm here. I'm present enough. I can disengage if I need to (NOT the case with my various, longer projects, which I'll discuss later). Now she's "shopping" with her little cart. So far she "purchased" all of the magnets from the refrigerator, some dolls, and various parts of other toys that she will assemble into something unexpected here shortly.

Why I Take Writing Breaks

My writing is dark. Really dark. It puts my head in a place that doesn't necessarily inspire calm parenting, and for my outrageously active toddler, I need to be able to be there. I also believe in letting her get frustrated before I help her; usually she problem solves toute suite. Sometimes it takes a few minutes for her to realize she has to work this one out (I stop it before it becomes anger). Because I've had time to let the last five days of being "on" nonstop into a void of absolute nothingness. I find I have a much calmer approach to her.

I do smaller stuff, like this blog, or pieces of flash to incorporate into a larger story later, whether or not she's sleeping or away. I've learned to heed the Muse in that respect. If I let her go, she may not be back for a while.

Recently I "quit" writing and it was the best thing I've done for my entire family. Oh I still write. But I no longer resent the world for its interferences. There are no more moments of "TAKE A DAMN NAP!!!" It's good. And I've done some really good storyline development.

My Time is Up

Because Lokisdottir has found the mouse, and is looking for actual time with me, rather than just filler. Besides. It's the first day of Spring and it's time to go get Baldursdottir from school and head to the market for ice cream.

Monday, March 17, 2014

Winter Brown

It's Been A Few

I've had the browser open, sitting with my header incomplete for days now. Occasionally I'd look at the blankness of the page, and think "Later I will be more interesting," but that's not really happening. So, I'm gonna follow a little canoe of thought down a trickle of a stream of my consciousness and see what happens.

Winter Brown

I know it's usually called winter blues, but blue is a pretty color when matched against the stark white of snow. We had quite a bit of that this winter, and I was very happy for it. It's cold, but snow gives me something to do...shovel all the snow on the deck into a snow ramp for the dottirs, have snowball fights with Baldursdottir while Lokisdottir stomps around and watches her feet like the toddler she is.

But the snow is gone and the mud is back. Even when the temperatures drop below freezing, we still have mud because dirt is brown and mud is even darker brown and the sun loves that shit (which also melts in the yard, by the way. We have two Labs as part of our little zoo...more on that later).

This is the time of year I dislike most, and it's usually the sum of our winters. Though the sunbeams are nice, they lie. It only looks warm outside. It's too cold to play (in the mud and poop), but the indoors feel like a steel trap. The kids are antsy, and only want to watch tv on these days--I can't exactly blame them. Yes, there is the occasional nice day that hits the forties, fifties and even sixties, but they only make spring seem that much more of a fairy tale we tell kids to keep them from losing their little minds. Because no warm day goes unpunished. The freeze will return and back inside we will be, huddling in our little sunspots, thinking we can go outside in shirt sleeves.

All The Melty Things

Not all that glitters is gold, and not all that melts is mud. Poop, as mentioned before and after a long freeze, there is a LOT of it in the yard. I try to scoop it, but often enough it just smears. Yay dogs. Perhaps the worst thing to thaw is several months worth of dead animals. All at once. Because dogs love that. They love to eat it, roll in it, deposit it in the house in various ways. A lot of things die on ten acres in the course of a couple months. So yeah. There's a great deal of cursing and dog bathing that happens, as well as disinfecting with bleach.

The Lying Sunbeam

It calls. So I'm gonna curl up for a bit and pretend I'm napping while Lokisdottir is asleep. If I actually nap, she will be awake in seconds. I've learned this much. They have relaxdar, which is a lot like radar but it only works when parents are finally comfortable enough to relax. The relaxdar goes off in their tiny little heads, an alarm sounds and they hit the ground running as if their lives depend on it.

Monday, March 10, 2014

Ear Worm

Of Monsters and Men

Ear worms happen. Usually it's a phrase or two, but for me, the lyrics have been dogging me since I heard the song. Maybe it's because I really didn't want to latch on to the lyrics, because I had a sense about them. Today I finally remembered enough words (three) to get me to a point that I could search the song.So I did. And I was right.

Little Talks

It's a cheery song and I always turn it up and feel really good about it. It makes me happy and dancy. Today it made me cry (and a couple of my readers will likely cry, too). It's about death; the way I perceive it. I don't see an end, or even a beginning. I see death as "other". I think of it as stepping aside...the soul takes a walk while the body doesn't. I'm not going to get in to ghost stories, or go on about my own experiences that have led me here...I have lots of each. But this is mostly about the song that I still love, but now hear differently.

I'm not going to analyze, but I will add in the lyrics (still working on my skillz, see). It is a duet, and that's the important part.

I don't like walking around this old and empty house
So hold my hand, I'll walk with you, my dear
The stairs creak as I sleep, it's keeping me awake
It's the house telling you to close your eyes

And some days I can't even dress myself
It's killing me to see you this way
'Cause though the truth may vary
This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back
Well tell her that I miss our little talks
Soon it will be over and buried with our past
We used to play outside when we were young
And full of life and full of love.

Some days I feel like I'm wrong when I'm right
Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear

'Cause though the truth may vary
This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore
Don't listen to a word I say
The screams all sound the same

You're gone, gone, gone away
I watched you disappear
All that's left is the ghost of you.
Now we're torn, torn, torn apart,
There's nothing we can do
Just let me go we'll meet again soon
Now wait, wait, wait for me
Please hang around
I'll see you when I fall asleep

I cut out some of the repetition for obvious reasons. And I promise this isn't going to become some random collection of lyrics. This just hit me where I live. The video is stunning. I think I'm going to go think for a while, about the little talks I miss with a boy with blue, blue eyes.

Yes, I did learn something new in this post :)

Sunday, March 9, 2014


It's Not Just For Dessert

In My Food

It's the stuff between the stuff that tastes good. It's the vehicle for the goodness that is sugar and spice and everything nice. It's the stuff that sits like a lump in your gut, making ya wish ya hadn't finished the plate--starving children in China or no. I'm limited in my fillers these days. Wheat might as well be salmonella along with the other gluten-bearing fillers. Quinoa and I had a falling out.

Rice and I still talk. I like rice. Sticky rice, long rice, dirty rice, redbeansandrice (yes one word thankyouvermuch), jasmine rice, basmati rice, brown rice. I like rice. White rice with a hint of butter and a little garam masala is a pretty tasty breakfast.

In My Movies

Graphic novel geeks will get this, I apologize to those who won't.

The Watchmen. Saw it on blu-ray the other night, and I have to say....I probably won't again. Or at least not without reverting back to the highly edited one that was on the big screen. Why? "The Black Freighter" was woven in to the story and I'm not geek enough to get the correlation between the movie and the cartoon within the movie (please don't explain). I actually yelled at the tv "DROWN ALREADY!"

Usually I like the deleted scenes. I loved Kill Bill because it was a movie with episodes, rather than a poorly executed summary of a summary. Usually I find the additions help the depth of understanding of the movie.

Not so much with "The Black Freighter".

In My Blog

Okay, I admit I wasn't sure what I'd be writing about before I opened this, but I just wanted to write. Back to that discipline thing. I tried to do some "real" writing today, but it fell flat for a variety of reasons.

Like, there was sunshine and I was in a warm car alone with a sleeping Lokisdottir. Also, a remarkably wrecked car parked nose-to-nose with me that, as we pulled out, seemed to ask "Why do they make me live?" There was no front end. The headlamps appeared to be jammed into the front end and then I realized there were zip ties holding them in place at odd angles. I felt empathy for that vehicle. A deep sadness that I will likely take with me to bed.

So, There It Is

Today's post, all short and tidy. The weekend was about as fast-paced as I can handle in my old age. Birthday party, sleep over, swim lessons, birthday party, Costco. I should add the before-coffee incidents with dog poop on the floor, then stepping on a dead vole. Think I'm gonna have some tequila and some sleep.

Saturday, March 8, 2014

Woman's Day

What a Day


Today is Baldursdottir's seventh birthday. I'm exhausted. Sitting here beside my mom, the girls upstairs (mine plus a sleepover), my awesome Nordsman asleep early. All kinds of awesome was today. I'm not going to go on about all of that though because it's just not what this blog is about. Or maybe it is and I'm just too beat to remember.

Oh wait. It's about much I do and don't have. How well I can stay on topic when my eyes are drifting. If I have any ability at all to manage it. Ironic, right?

Woman's Day

Today is also Woman's Day. And while my head is spinning, and I am somewhat blank in the mind, I am posting the lyrics to one of my favorite songs in honor of the day. Because it's not just for me. It's for my girls when they claim their title as woman. It's for all women and girls. It is one of the most deeply touching songs I've heard.

Shaking the Tree

Souma Yergon, Sou Nou Yergon, We are shakin' the tree
Souma Yergon, Sou Nou Yergon, We are shakin' the tree

Waiting your time, dreaming of a better life
Waiting your time, you're more than just a wife
You don't want to do what your mother has done
She has done
This is your life, this new life has begun
It's your day - a woman's day
It's your day - a woman's day

Turning the tide, you are on the incoming wave
Turning the tide, you know you are nobody's slave

Find your sisters and brothers
Who can hear all the truth in what you say
They can support you when you're on your way
It's your day - a woman's day
It's your day - a woman's day

There's nothing to gain when there's nothing to be lost
There's nothing to gain if you stay behind and count the cost
Make the decision that you can be who you can be
You can be
Tasting the fruit come to the Liberty Tree
It's your day - a woman's day
It's your day - a woman's day

Changing your ways, changing those surrounding you
Changing your ways, more than any man can do
Open your heart, show him the anger and pain, so you heal
Maybe he's looking for his womanly side, let him feel

You had to be so strong
And you do nothing wrong
Nothing wrong at all
We're gonna to break it down
We have to shake it down
Shake it all around<
Peter Gabriel, Youssou N'dour

By The Way

Even though I'd have preferred go crash, I learned how to do the html code to get song lyrics and poems set up. Yay me! I'm essentially doing random stuff that makes me learn. Hopefully tomorrow I'll have the nerve to try an image.

Friday, March 7, 2014

Loki and The Craft

Loki and Coyote

I was just going to yammer about Loki and Tom Hiddleston for a sec, but with the name of the blog, I thought I'd throw in a little bit about Coyote to say "It's not just about Loki for me." It's about an archetype. I like the trickster.


I don't know when the fascination started. I'm pretty sure it's always been there, because I don't remember not liking coyotes as an animal. It was in college that I learned what Coyote the god was, and I loved them all even more.

Coyotes are highly adaptable. When the white man first came to America, the range of the coyote was limited to the desert southwest. Now they are everywhere, and are even interbreeding with wolves--a fact I am in love with. Why? Nature. Always. Wins.

Without getting in to details, adaptability has come in handy in my life. I'm alive because of it. I have often been the architect of my life's changes, and just like Coyote, sometimes it backfires. Epically.


I learned about Loki not too long after learning about Coyote. I don't know as much about him, but he is a bit darker, and seems a little less...playful, I suppose in the only way I can say it. I keep meaning to read more on the subject, but my reading list is endless and I have Lokisdottir and Baldursdottir to keep track of.

And Now

Yea, it's pretty obvious that I have a thing for Loki of the Marvel Universe. What isn't obvious is why. Yes Tom Hiddleston is remarkably easy on the eyes and seems to be made of the stuff of dreams and all that. That certainly helps.

I like how Loki is treated. Portrayed. Fleshed out. Brought to life. The writing for him is all the complexity, darkness, and ruthless ability to survive fitting for the type without being too heavy handed. He is the troubled kid, the mercenary, the brother, son, impetuous teen.

And the Craft

The Tom Hiddleston part, I saved for last. I've become a fan of him through the Marvel franchise, but because of his craft more than his looks. He wears the character beautifully. Loki could have easily been a flat bad guy, but has become (ok my opinion is skewed but) the most popular character of the franchise because Tom had the right chemistry for the part. He's playful and youthful and not so young that he's boring.

I've watched some of the interviews he has done, and I love it when he is asked to "do Loki". He looks away for a moment an you can see Loki in Tom's clothing. I love that. I've also seen a few clips of him in costume watching the dailies and it's Tom in Loki's clothing. I have a deep respect for that own a character so well without being consumed. One of my closest friends worked with him on The Avengers and said just that: He really is the nicest guy you could meet.

End of the day, of this entry, of my thoughts...I love masters of their crafts, and watching them work. There's an otherwordliness about them that fascinates me.

Some Day!

I will figure out how to embed images. But I have a cold and Thor 2 is going in the background. If this all seemed distracted, that's why.

Thursday, March 6, 2014

A Little Bit Of Flash

It Starts With a Typo

It's like a found sound song, or found poetry, but it's all in images. Snapshots. And I do my best to keep up because I get lost in irrelevant details, trying to milk it for more than I should. Hm. Maybe the typo is the title, after all. "I skipped the hello", was what I received, to which I replied "I hate it when I go straight to good bye." A correction and apology followed, but I smiled and wrote back, "It made for an interesting love story in my mind." It got no further than the string of texts I sent. But it was a fun little ride, though more skeletal than usual for me.

I Skipped the Hello

Black and white set in the fifties. Almost film noir, but not. He's wearing a hat and she has Marilyn Monroe hair.

She is smart and sassy like only Hollywood women were. She's a nineties girl stuck in the fifties...woman really because we eventually claimed that title.

He keeps a Clark Gable smirk ready just for her. He was the suave bad boy with dark hair and a pencil mustache. He didn't quite swagger, but there was dance in his step.

She had dropped her coat on the back of a chair as she walked by. Towards what, I will never know, but she stopped. Turned and looked at him.

He watched her pass as he swirled his scotch, leaned on an elbow on the bar. Their bar in their impossible house full of impossible things.

She smiled when she asked about his day, her ruby lips parting for perfect teeth.

He lifted a brow and leaned his head. "I skipped the hello and was too late for sushi."

She gave him a knowing look. "I hate it when I go straight to good bye."

They laughed. He poured a drink into an impossible crystal glass and handed it to her. They sat on an impossible sofa. Stared at an impossible fire. Dreamed impossible dreams that they would later write down with fountain pens and perfect script.


Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Boy Did I Fall Behind

I could go on about falling behind and a busy life with kids, BUT:

It's Mardi Gras!

Otherwise known in the Midwest as "Tuesday". I could wax poetic about the parades, the babies on shoulders catchin throws, sippin Bloody Marys, but it will only make me want red wine and a warm place to sleep.

Despite how much time I spent living in New Orleans, it was never during the school year, so I didn't get to go to parades until I was much older. My first one was 2006, because that was the year New Orleans showed the rest of the world what it's made of. It was the first one after The Storm, and while the entire rest of the country speculated on whether or not Mardi Gras parades should be celebrated...New Orleanians never questioned it.

And Suddenly It's Ash Wednesday

That's pretty much how the last few days have been. A few strands of unattached thoughts punctuated by the occasional realization that I should be doing something else. But I digress. Or something. It's also the greater reason of why I Facebook instead of blog. Time.

Facebook vs Blog

Blogs take effort. Time. Attention that I sometimes just lack. I sometimes use Facebook as a sort of flash-blog, just to toss up a sentence or two, share something I think is neat, funny, or cute. It was also a good place to share some personal stuff (through meme, story or simple photograph) just in case someone else out there needed to know they weren't alone.

But I am more jaded these days and it's affecting my sense of humor.

I tend to be a comment generator, and usually that's ok. In fact I usually welcome it, but there are times I'm not interested in getting advice when I hadn't asked for it. There are times I'm not interested in a debate--especially when my information is well researched, peer-reviewed with double blind studies over the course of fifty years. But the comments come. And some are so insulting--I am sure without that intent--that I've had to walk away (why don't I delete the comments? See below). And that, right there, affects how I perceive a great number of comments that I used to view as witty. Wit has started to look like insult and that makes me sad. I don't want to be that person.

Thing is, commentors play off one another--this is not simply my experience; I've found it true on several other walls. B posts something they care about. X says something witty, so Y has to be wittier, and A then has to come in from the blue to be The Wittiest of All. And that's great, when the original post had the intent of generating such a conversation. When it's not, it starts to look like X,Y and A are intent on making sure the world knows B is any number of things from racist to idiot. Perhaps they are just enjoying the moment.

Yes I know, walk away, give it a few days and the great number of bits of advice that follow a post like this. But I live in the middle of nowhere and I"m alone or alone with the kids a lot. There are things about Facebook I appreciate--mostly the feeling of being connected somehow, somewhere. I've taken to deleting some of the comments that simply piss me off, which helps a little.

I suppose that's it for now.

On a Sidenote

I originally titled an entry "In Your Facebook" and that's where I had planned my commentary. We see how far that got.

Sunday, March 2, 2014



Mud Outside

That was the theme for yesterday. It was nicely warm, so the dottirs and I got outside for a bit to remember what mud looks like...and why I like snow (which is today's theme for about half of the country). We played on the swings, Lokisdottir learned she can climb the rungs of the playset and fly down the slide on her own, we rearranged a few things in the yard (mostly dog poop), found out why sleds are used in snow and not mud, visited with neighbors. All in all it was a pretty good day.

Mud Inside

Yesterday was also a lot about cleaning muddy laundry. And boots. And dog paws. There's quite a bit of mud on ten acres, and I'm pretty sure the goal of my kids and dogs is to see just how much they can bring into the house. Maybe that's why I'm a fan of the extremes. The middle is mud.


Snow Outside

I love snow. LOVE SNOW. So this threat of a foot of snow looks like an offer for a play date from the Ice Giants to me (by the way, my husband is Norwegian American--second generation and we still have contact with his family that stayed in Norway hence all the Norse references).

I love the movie Rise of the Guardians, and practically have it memorized. Jack Frost is my favorite...the writers did an amazing job at capturing the fun and mischief that would be winter in human form. That movie is an example of writers at play.


My biggest decision of the day is where to put the snowrampyesthatsoneword. When it snows enough, I shovel the deck and pile it down the stairs to make a chute for the kids. We get some serious speed with the 5 foot drop, to the point that I had to remove the garden fence because I got tired of running into it. We built on to the deck, though, and have a narrower set of stairs with railings, which means a narrower base, which means a taller ramp, which means more speed and it's not aimed AT the garden.Thing is, there are still remnants of the old ramp on the other stairs. Decisionsdecisions.

Then the Baby Walked In