ImPerceptibility

Archive for August, 2008

Youngest was in her room playing with her Magnetics and singing softly to herself. I was cleaning up the kitchen and only half listening. Youngest is a bundle of noise, action, and commotion from the moment she wakes up until she passes out exhausted on her pillow at night. I’ve learned to accept it, ignore it, and even appreciate it. You don’t get bored when she is around, even if you’d like to. I couldn’t imagine her any other way. I wouldn’t want to.

She came out of her room and requested an audience. She had a song for me. Then with a scream unlike any I have ever heard from a sane and uninjured individual she began.

Even a flip-flop is dangerous if it gets stuck in your mouth!
Stuck in your mouth!
It’s dangerous if it gets stuck in your moooouuuth!
You might choke.
It could happen.

You’ve got no bars for the holiday
No bars for the holiday.
You’ve got no bars for the holiday
Because your cell phone got flushed down the toilet.
And you’re never gonna get it back.

You’ve got no love for the holiday
No love for the holiday
You’ve got no love for the holiday
Because you flushed your girl down the toilet
And you’re never gonna get her back.

You might as well give yourself a swirly.
Just swirly yourself right down the drain.
Ride a boogie board to the sewer.
You might find your bars
And your love
Watch out for poop (pause to see if I’m going to say anything)
And the pee (Another pause and mischievous look)
Poop and pee
Poop and pee
Poop and pee 

“Youngest!”

Even a flip-flop is dangerous if it’s stuck in your mouth!
YEEEAAAAH!

(Runs back to her room giggling)

I laughed so hard my sides hurt.

audio I’m not sure when it happened. It wasn’t gradual but it didn’t happen all at once. Passion turned to desire. Desire turned to complacence. Complacence turned into to what I have now. I think it’s called… actually, I have no idea what it’s called.

Let’s face it. A fresh ripe tomato is nothing more than a fresh ripe tomato. It hasn’t been around long enough for seasoning. There might be slight variations in color, texture, or size but nothing remarkable. A tomato has to be around for awhile to become remarkable. It has to be simmered and seasoned, and stirred. Time changes the tomato. Experience makes the tomato more interesting.

I don’t want my tomato sitting there looking sweet and ripe but unable to express it’s true desires. Half the time they don’t even know what their true desires are. They think it has to do with their stem. You also have to handle them gently or they’ll bruise. I don’t want a tomato that needs to be handled gently. I want a tomato that sits on the counter, looks me in the eye and says I am Lasagna! Stuff me between noodles! I want my tomato to know what it wants and make me want it too. Actually, I don’t want a tomato at all. I want cheese.

Extra sharp aged cheddar. The kind that is so rich and flavorful that it melts on your tongue and leaves you wanting, if not begging, for more. Put it on crackers or sprinkle it on a salad. Serve it with grapes and wine. Perfectly aged cheddar is the ultimate in culinary experiences. It knows what you like and it gives it to you. It takes years to age cheddar to perfection and that is time well spent.

Every once and awhile you have to mix it up. Try something new. Step out of your comfort zone. Today was that day. I got wild and crazy in the kitchen. MyHusband wasn’t impressed. He sat on the couch and watched the game. That didn’t stop me. I had no problems with doing it alone. Today I tried not one but two new canning recipes. Yes, I am out of control. Get used to it. I like it that way.

The first was green tomato hotdog relish. I went all out and bought new jars for that recipe. They’re the ones in the middle. Aren’t they cute? The second was Brushetta in a jar. The recipe said I could ‘enjoy the convenience of ready-to-serve garden-fresh tomatoes all year long.’ You know I’m not passing up a recipe that uses both a single and double hyphenated word back-to-back in the description. I like my hyphens. I won’t know how they turned out until I actually open and eat them but I feel good about them.

Also, here is another picture:

This is the other half of the hottest garlic clove ever known to man. As I was waiting for the relish to finish cooking I decided to sample a left over piece of garlic. Next thing I knew I was in serious pain. I screamed and should have spit but instead I swallowed. It burned all the way down and I started crying. I went to wipe the tears from my eyes and unfortunately I had garlic juice on my hands.  It was not a good thing.  But I picked myself up and finished those recipes.  I deserve the gold medal.  As of now my tummy still hurts a little, my ‘can you make that a little hotter’ pride is bruised, and I might have a garlic induced ulcer. The Tums are helping.  I might need a foot rub.

We pulled off I95 and headed down the back roads. It doesn’t take much longer and it’s way more interesting. We drove and looked at the tobacco fields on one side, they were just about ready to harvest. The other side alternated between soybeans (just starting to bloom) and cotton. It was God’s country. Seriously. We passed four Free Will Baptist Churches and an Apocalyptic church within just a few miles. Better yet, I think it was revival week. They had bouncy castles outside. I thought, ‘Bounce for the Lord, my brothers! Bounce for the Lord!’ I keep that thought to myself. You don’t say things like that in God’s country.

I was staring off over a field and looking at an old piece of farm equipment. Cotton I thought, that harvests cotton. I wondered if I could grow cotton in my back yard. I grew corn, why not? That’s when things got weird.

Suddenly MyHusband rolls down his window and starts waving like a mad man. Another church, another revival. But in addition to the bouncy castles, there was a life size plastic Jesus standing all alone in the middle of a field. The girls and I didn’t wave. We just sat there staring at MyHusband.

“You guys are so hosed! You didn’t wave to Jesus. I waved to Jesus and now I’m in with the man.”

MyHusband obviously didn’t know the rules of conduct for God’s Country.

We continued our journey and there were a few more statues of Jesus hanging out on the side of the road. This time the kids were in on the fun. It was a 60mph plastic Jesus meet-and-greet. I was starting to get hives but I was doing all right. I was doing all right until my youngest saw a Jesus made out of stone.

“Rock on Jesus!” She shouted and flashed the ‘Rock on’ hand sign. “Get it, he’s a rock!”

That’s when I realized we would not be stopping at the Piggly Wiggly on the way out of town and I thanked God when we were finally back on the Interstate.

It must have been about 10 years ago. It was before I had a youngest but I remember little white baby shoes in a well-worn lap. They were both sitting comfortably in a wheel chair and both were excited because chocolate pudding was on the dinner menu. I was listening to them talking and giggling when I saw him.

He was shuffling slowly, almost painfully towards me and he was saying something. His voice was gruff, barely a whisper. He stopped in front of me and spoke to me but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Then he held out his arm for me to take. I told him I’d love to take a walk with him.

We walked around the common room and he talked to me. I don’t know what he said. It sounded melodic and rhythmic. I wasn’t sure if he was singing a song or reciting poetry. I suppose it’s all the same. After a few minutes he started to get confused and agitated and the nurse came to take him back to his room.

I leaned in and kissed him on his cheek, then I told him I loved him. His eyes started to sparkle and for a second or two I thought he was young again. I couldn’t watch as the nurse walked him back down the hall. I just wanted to remember that look in his eyes. And I did.

I’d never seen that man before but when I said I love you, I meant it. I’ve never seen him since, but when I think of him I still love him. I don’t understand how things like that work. For some reason I think he did.

In my mind Im goin to carolina
Cant you see the sunshine
Cant you just feel the moonshine
Ain’t it just like a friend of mine
to hit me from behind
Yes Im goin to carolina in my mind

Karen shes a silver sun
You best walk her way and watch it shinin
Watch her watch the mornin come
A silver tear appearing now Im cryin
Aint I goin to carolina in my mind

There aint no doubt it no ones mind
That loves the finest thing around
Whisper something soft and kind
And hey babe the skys on fire, Im dyin
Aint I goin to carolina in my mind

Dark and silent late last night
I think I might have heard the highway calling
Geese in flight and dogs that bite
Signs that might be omens say I going, going
Im goin to carolina in my mind

With a holy host of others standing round me
Still Im on the dark side of the moon
And it looks like it goes on like this forever
You must forgive me
If Im up and gone to carolina in my mind

I’m sure you understand :)

I’m back from a vacation at the beach. I ate tomato sandwiches, built sandcastles, waited for sea turtles to hatch, and was almost sacrificed to the sea. It’s good to be back but then again it’s not. I missed you guys but not really. My sunburn hurts but not too much.

It’s taking some time to get caught up with laundry, gardening, having sex, and reading your wonderful posts. Due to my remarkable speed-reading skills, I’ve caught up with a few blogs and I was wondering, What the hell is going on? I leave you guys alone for one week and you guys go out of control. Why don’t you do that when I’m here to enjoy it?

I mean really, I open up my reader and I find that:

Mamazilla has either run off with Johnny Depp or the Cicadas got her and flew her to OZ. Click your heels together, Mamazilla. Click your heels!

Beloved bought some leather and a bike. No one has heard from her since but I hear there are rumors and pictures circulating.

Whit’s wife is out of town and he is writing about oral sex and masturbating in a stream with barking dogs.

RTK was giving samples of his urine to women but they weren’t interested because it was red and contained anchovies.

Anthony is probably dead and currently being consumed by his cat.

Frowning Bill is currently unable to update his comics because Crystal has him tied up in a closet until he promises to stop burning the lawn furniture. Unfortunately he likes it, so it might be awhile before he posts again.

Chris is riding packhorses around National parks and looking for Rubies while using his ADD to throw marshmallows at Michael Phelps.

Lady Banana is having a gender identity crisis. My opinion, stick with Lady. Sir Banana sounds a little odd.

Dan stopped complaining about me giving him blisters and is booking a flight so I can take him on a real walk and, teach him, how to, use commas. He’ll be here once he fulfills his duties and kicks some blogger ass. I’m not sure whose.

An episode of Strange Love went terrible wrong and Cami is currently remote blogging until they can figure out how to get her untangled and down from there.

Ed got a call when he was in New Orleans and is now giving away his kid.

Amelia has joined the Mormon Church and might be moving to Utah once she stops kicking me in the ribs.

Dawn is fighting a terrible addiction and loosing. Step away from the curriculum, Dawn. Step away!

Phil is showing off his legs and playing with floating tree branches because it’s cool.

Bill is throwing up after he partied with the twins but he at least remembered to wrap it up.

Okay, that’s as far as I’ve gotten. I think I’ve gotten everything straight. My speed-reading skills are amazing aren’t they? Did I miss anything?

Nothing too exciting is going on around here. How about a dream from a few weeks ago?

I was tired of waiting. I walked hurriedly back and forth, up and down a long hall. I was looking at faded art prints. Flowers, vases, and vases of flowers. All the standards. Well done but not remarkable. Thirty minutes passed. The children were lost in their gamesboys. Quiet and happy. I should have been content. But, I wasn’t.

I carefully took the prints off the walls and threw them out the back door. They turned into owls and perched on the tree in the back. They were hungry and angry. They cried out and their wings flapped viciously. I grabbed handfuls of corn and threw it to the birds. They mocked me “You know better. You know better!” Their large eyes followed my every move. Owls don’t eat corn. They eat meat. Live meat. I was happy I had hotdogs in the fridge. They turned their backs on the hotdogs and became very quiet. I gave them the name of a vole farmer.

I went back to walking. Back and forth, up and down a long hall. Except now the hall was empty and I was angry. I was going to fix hotdogs for dinner and I wasted them on owls! 

e-e-f-g-g-clunk-f-e-pause-d-cc-d-ee-d-d wait where was I?

That is the sound coming from my daughters room. She’s just finished her second guitar lesson. She’s been playing around with a guitar since May and last week she decided she wanted an electric guitar. I told her if she learned to play an acoustic guitar I would get her one. Ten minutes later she was sitting at the dining room table with the yellow pages, the telephone, and a sheet of paper to write down information. She called around to all the local music stores and asked about lessons. Then she decided to go with the least expensive lessons – so I would have more money left over to buy her electric guitar and because the guy on the phone didn’t talk to her like she was a stupid kid. Yes sir, I am raising that child right.

When I picked her up from her lesson the teacher smiled at me and told her to show me her thumb. She had a tiny blister on the tip of it. “I’m encouraging her use the pick more” she told me. I shook my head and laughed. That’s my girl.

She is very proud of her blister and the rough spots on her pinky and middle finger of her other hand. “It means I’m a real musician.”

“They’re like a trophy” her little sister explained.

e-e-f-g-g-f-e-d-c-c-d-e-d-c-c YES! I’m moving on to Yankee Doodle. That has 8 notes on three different strings!

I wonder if the guitar shop has a payment plan.