I Sorta Almost Died

I almost died this weekend. No joke.

If you ask my husband, he’ll tell ya that you can’t “almost” die. God either takes you, or he doesn’t. And since we weren’t tempting death, we just had a “lucky experience.” I think he’s in denial.

It was just your average Saturday around here. The kids were exhausted from the night before, so they were inside watching cartoons. The husband and I were out walking around…

The new baby goat was looking all cute, so we went over towards her, and we started chatting about this and that. An average summer storm was brewing out in the distance, you could feel the incoming cool breeze, but the clouds were still far off in the horizon, and thunder was not yet audible.

And then…

Have you ever taken a blanket out of the dryer, fleece blankets are the worst, you take it out, and it has so much static charge, it’s clinging to itself for dear life? Then you give it a good shake. The static pops and crackles as you disrupt it, raising your hairs, and charging the air around you…

THAT. The air crackled and popped, like someone was shaking out the largest fleece blanket ever, quickly followed by BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM. Insert in one of those milliseconds, bright lights, and my heart jumping all the way to Miami.

Death and I were feet away from becoming beasties.

Okay so maybe not feet away, I don’t actually know the exact spot the lightening hit. But from the ringing in my ears, the static in my hair, and my muscles that so did not want to relax, it was close enough, thank you very much. Scientifically, they say that sound happens within a 100 feet or less. Still too close.

As for the weather? After that strike we cautiously rushed inside (didn’t want to show mother nature any weakness of course), and saw nothing more, for ten minutes. Then, then it started to storm, and the nice weather man rushed on tv warning of deadly lightening. Thanks. Thanks a lot. *grumbles*

Moral of the story: You only almost get hit by lightening on sunny days. 😉

The Goat

I’m not sure I quite get it, 22 and counting request for a post on the goat.  TWENTY TWO separate people wanting a story on the thing that eats my weeds.

She (the goat, Sydney or Sidney or sidddddddddnnnnnnnnnneyyyyy) should have some exciting story I suppose, like some amazing adventure on how I went in Laura Croft (Tomb Raider) style into a bear den and rescued her from the jaws of a grizzly.  Or how I was out on a hike, broke my leg and she carried me to safety, and we’ve been soul mates ever since.  That’s usually how things happen around here, there’s always a story.  (real stories to boot)

This story goes like this…  We bought a foreclosed home out in the middle of an abandoned jungle.  The grass was taller than my then 3-year-old son, the weeds taller than myself.  Copperhead snakes and moosen goosen were crawling out from every jungle clump and all we had was a push mower… for 6 acres of jungle.  Although it was fun (yes I have issues) chasing down snakes with a mower, I knew one day I’d meet the wrong snake and hell I was tired of cutting down jungle.  So I turned to my husband and said, “I’m buying a goat.”  And since he had just slain an adult Copperhead on our driveway with a shovel he agreed.

And so I put an ad on Craigslist, and the next day I had myself a goat.  Exciting right?

The rest is history.  She loves me and I love her.  We often share Cheetos and coffee while headbutting the kids. There’s not much more to say.  Unless you want goat facts? 

Here ya go:

• Goats are from the same family as deer.  They have several stomachs and only one set of teeth. 
• They don’t like being alone… unless your goat is Sidney and hates everything and everyone except for me, or if you bring her Cheetos.
• Goat poop has no smell.  BONUS.  They put out instant fertilizer in the form of rabbit turds.
• Goats make awesome weather forecasters.
• Goats will not eat everything.  They are very picky eaters and in a natural environment they will not eat anything that has been soiled or that could be toxic.  (This does not include unnatural houseplants) 
• They require very little vet upkeep.  Wormer, occasional tetanus vaccinations and hoof trims (unless you live on rocks like us, she’s never had her hoofs done in her entire life).
• They’re fun and awesome and make you popular.  (well they are awesome)

And there you go.  A whole post about a goat. 

 

I’m With and or In the Band

As  I’m standing outside last night my husband pulls down the driveway, just returning from work.  He rolls down his window and calls out, “So I’m picking out a bass guitar for you because the new guy at work is an awesome lead guitarist.”

Me, “Huh?”  Because obviously I’m missing something here, and obviously my husband is missing the fact that I have no clue on how to play a bass guitar outside of 80’s Guitar Hero and that’s using a Playstation remote, and not the plastic guitar hero guitar because that always seemed way too creepy to me.  Well given some time to warm up I might be able to belt out “Hot Cross Buns” or “Mary Had a Little Lamb” on the recorder, or “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” and a rhythm less version of “Ode to Joy” on a keyboard.  But that’s it.  And what is he talking about anyway?

Eventually as he finishes flipping through the mail he gets out that this new guy at work plays a lead guitar, and how he told him (my husband told New Guy) how he plays the double bass drums.  Which all equals to them being lost soul mates who will be starting a laid back, no intention to ever play a gig, band in our basement.  And they need a bass player who they can bring up and won’t try to take over the timing and lead of the band.  Which immediately prompted my husband to suggest me… and voila.

I recapped back to my husband, “So you’re saying my abounding musical talents fit the bill?”  He ignored me and started calling Craigslist ads for slightly used bass guitars. 

Hrrrrrm.

I was with a band once.  Barely.  As in my best friend was a lead singer for her band, and they called me a manager so I could get into all the shows for free, get free drinks, help haul equipment, and apparently (just found out a few months ago) the bass player had a small crush on me. 

The thought of joining the band for real fluttered through my mind for about five seconds, the day they were auditioning backup singers.  My friend and I sang at karaoke bars several times together and always had gotten applauses, of course those could be thankgawdthatbadsingingchickfinallyhasshutup or theysoundreallyawesometogether or imtoodrunktoevenknowwhatthehellisgoingon applauses.  But it was enough to almost tempt me.  Until the last audition of the day left, and my friend tried to shove me up to the mike.  There were too few lemon drop shots (as in none) running through my veins, and I dug my chicken shit arse deep into my metal folding chair. 

Somedays I regret not having guts on that day.  Other days not so much.

There could’ve been absolute horribleness as a result of trying out.  Like if they all made fun of me.  Would I have lost my free ride?  I mean what if I had something to do BESIDES selling tickets on a street corner to their last battle of the bands show, by myself, in downtown St.Louis.  Or getting screamed at by the old scary guy because he wanted to hear country in Decatur IL instead of what he called, “Rap Crap.”  (um the band played rock)  Or sitting around in a Buffy-ish looking bar, waiting for vampires to jump off the chandelier, talking to some groupie named “Wolf Man”????? 

Who would have wanted to miss out on that fun?  (put your hands down)

So now apparently I’m in an almost band.  With the husband on drums, “New Guy” (because the husband never did tell me if this guy has a name) on lead guitar, and yours truly who will be holding a bass guitar and air strumming along… because again, I CAN’T PLAY MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS.  But the good news now is that I can finally dye my hair pink and get away with it, because if I’m going to once again play the rocker chick I have to look the part… right?  I wonder if I can still fit into those old pleather jeans?  Ohhhh!  I bet I could teach the goat to play the cowbell!!! 

(my husband is going to regret this, isn’t he?)

 

If I Did Resolutions~

Resolutions.  I don’t normally jive with the whole resolution thing.  Not that I don’t like setting or reaching goals, more so that the new year doesn’t throw waves of inspiration at me to make a change.  Spring is the only season that really inspires me, too bad we can’t change the calendar to start in spring.

But if I were going to make resolutions they might go as such:

• Work.  Really work.  Like I already had an agent and publisher, with deadlines, meetings and such.  Take it seriously, work hard and hold myself accountable.  (This also includes treating myself to brand new pens in every color, fresh notebooks, folders, highlighters and post it notes… am I the only one who loves office supplies?!)
• De-Clutter EVERYTHING.  I’m talking nothing out in the open, everything in its place, a place for everything, inside and outside, up stairs and downstairs.  Even the crap that was left by the previous owners out behind the goat hut.   (also too, make a note that this might call for a fresh tetanus shot)
• Finish every project that has already been started.  2012 I deem you as the year in which things shall be finished.  (at least to finish everything that was started in 2011, we don’t want to go too crazy here)
• Do something for ME everyday.  Like… exercise, put on makeup, fix hair in a way other than a ponytail, remember how to wear nail polish, read a book, tend to the goat in heels, anything for ME.  Things that remind me about ME and not my million other roles.
• Make time to do something for others.  I’m talking writing a note, a letter, making a card, making a phone call… being more available for my friends.  Letting them know that even though my family is my priority that they too are the world to me.
• Can I resolve to get things done twice?  Because I really want to. 
• Maybe I can just resolve to be more focussed, more active, more of being a make things happen kind of year.  2012, Make it Happen.  Yup, that’s the theme. 

That’s all of course if I did resolutions.  Which I don’t, not until the spring. Which of course then all of my focus goes into running from tornadoes and getting as much dirt under my nails as humanly possible and the infamous hunting of snakes and moosen goosen.  Did I mention that I heard a large cat the other day, of the mountain lion variety?!  Hrrrrm, maybe I should start this stuff today, what’s the point of nail polish when you’re hunting and playing in the dirt?  And MAYBE I should cut back on the coffee… probably, maybe… not.

Baby it’s Cold Out There

Winter is here.  Big time here.  Like I should have been hibernating in a cave weeks ago here. 

Summer left all too quickly, just like my favorite chocolate in the Halloween Trick or Treat bag.  Gone.  Poof.  Vanished before I could properly enjoy it, leaving the desperate want of more.

I want more hours playing in my garden:

Organic Pest Control

I want more hours of toes in the water:

 

 

I want more hours of watching storms blow in:

 

 

And I want absolutely NONE of this:

Oh sure the sneaux (aka snow) is absolutely beautiful.  Maybe even breathtaking, blanketing everything in a peaceful white.  But it’s cold, and messy, and not conducive to gardening in tank tops and flip-flops, and there’s no frolicking through the green fields of prairie grass and wildflowers with the goat… 

*Sighs*

Dear Summer, I miss you greatly and my heart shall not heal until you come back to me.

*Chokes down more vitamin D*

*Shivers*

The Voices in My Head, and Why I Blog

A requirement for the Kathyrn Ingrid Creativity Award is to share why I began blogging.

I wish I had some moving inspiring story, or some fantastic journey that led me here… but I don’t.

Honestly I just have to write. 

I’ve tried to quit, only to find the voices in my head get much too loud.  I tried to privately journal and share my stories with the goat, but it’s just not the same. 

There’s just something therapeutic about spilling thoughts into the interwebs and having real human beings respond back.  It’s about making that connection. 

It’s almost addicting.

I do have my practical reasons to.  Like if I ever finish my book and get it published I do expect each and everyone of you to buy a copy.  Which means I best come up with some far more interesting topics to keep you roped in for the next few years…  Yikes.  

So that’s why I’m here, because the voices in muh head tell me I have to.

What about you?

And yes I’m almost done with making this the longest (and worst) acceptance speech EVER.  Come back on Monday to meet fabulous bloggers with whom I’m passing the award onto!  (here’s a hint, it’s probably YOU)

 

Mommy Ran Away With the Goat

Monday ate my good-natured children and left their skins filled with rabid beasts last night.

Honestly.

Their fighting, tantrums and whining would have broken Mother Theresa, I’m sure.  There wasn’t a second where one of them was not yelling, crying or whining about something causing visions of National Geographic and giant katsup bottles to fill my head.

After the second, or fifth time of having to sit on the floor to keep them separated I had more than enough.  With no wine, no xanax, not even a beer in the house I did what any mother would do.  “Do you hear that hun?  That sound?  The goat MUST be in trouble….”  And I ran out the door.

Sweet, sweet, silence. 

Somedays I have come up with divine plans on moving in with the goat.  She’s soft, she’s warm, she cuddles and she keeps her mouth shut.  I could totally become a survivalist, living off the land, all alone in complete silence.  Just let me have a gun, a lighter and at least two months worth of coffee.

But they would all find me, most likely before I finished building my hammock of heaven out of twigs and vines. 

So I returned back inside, with fire wood of course, so it wasn’t so obvious that I had been running away.

I have 18 more years of this.  At least. 

I best get started on digging that wine cellar under the goat hut, I have to be prepared.

But dear, sweet minions, mommy has plans, you just wait until you’re old enough…  *evil laugh*.