We're getting closer....

It's like the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi rivers here right now.   Things are coming at us from both sides.  We're still reeling from the effects of last weekend (and when I say "we" I'm referring to "me") when "we" had these lovely sweet lovely sweet crazy ten year olds over for a sleepover. 

And over here to the right we're gaining the view and losing some red pines in preparation for a very exciting project I have in the works.

And as you can see over here to the left I won't be able to enjoy the new view of the valley because one tiny little Bee is using her paws to request entrance into the house.  Exhibit A is evidence of her lack of training and her overall general feelings of ownership over this kingdom.

And over here to the left are pieces of evidence of two very cute identical twin boys whom I have not seen in over ONE YEAR but with whom I'll be visiting with on Thursday.  It's always a sad day to visit with babies who don't recognize you or your smell.  But I can't wait to smell them.  However, they might be a little sketched out if I come too close too soon.  I'll take it slow.

And over here to the right is the one year anniversary of Liebe's death, which is right around the corner.  Still waiting to hear from the artist who I hired out to paint an oil on canvas print of Liebe.  I'll keep you posted.

And over here to the left is the last two months I'm going to be "working" as their "nanny".  I've fallen in love with these kids and won't let any of them forget my smell or the fact that I'm their second mom.  And that's my final answer.

And over here to the right you have my back fat.  All 39 years of it combed into one shot.  It's right out there in plain view.  No, I'm just joshin'.  Well, no I'm not joshin' about the back fat.  It's just that I'm posting this photo because I think, if you look closely enough, you can see the tick bite on my back.  And today just happens to be the 2 year anniversary of when I found that tick on my back.  Well, I'll clarify here and say that Claire found that tick on my back.  And I just knew- you know how you know when you know?  Well, I just knew.   And I'm REALLY REALLY close to writing that post to say thank you to EVERYONE who had anything to do with my road to recovery but I'm not quite there.  SO SO close.  It's hard to believe it's been two years and I'll be glad when all is said and done but I'll let you know when we cross that bridge.  Over the Mississippi.  Or the Missouri.  Which ever one we're at when we're there.

And last but not least is this crazy adventure over here to the left.  Two baby piglets.  Too scared to come out.

 

One is polka dot.  And I'm not going to tell you what Claire named them because some day you might come to my house and have pulled pork sandwiches or the best maple ginger breakfast sausage you've ever ever had and you won't want to know you're eating Wilbur.  Ah, shit I told you.

But I know you're still gonna wanna come.  Because I'm getting closer to becoming a true homesteader.  And a hussy.  And I know you won't want to miss that.

Easter (@$%^&*) Brunch

I'm a week late.

NO NO NO- I'm not pregnant. That would be an act from the god I don't believe in if that happened! I'm a week behind in posts. But I wanted to share a little Easter love with you...if that's what you call it, even if it's a week late.

Well, (MOM) please don't read this if you're offended by general un-Christian-like comments and/or the F-word. STOP READING NOW.

This is how the behind the scenes commentary went between a few of the wombats as we tried to organize ourselves around this holiday none of us officially religiously (only spiritually) celebrate.

Katy:
Is anyone interested in an epic Easter egg hunt and brunch next Sunday? I have great memories of such events as a kid. John isn't up for hosting, but I'm game for hiding eggs/candy, providing egg strata and bloody mary makings. Anyone interested?

-Da 40 year old slut

Me:
I'll host!!

JB:
Great! I'll bring an egg casserole thingamajig and maybe some Easter bread. Let us know what time. We'll be going to Camp S later in the day.

Mud:
What is the attire??? Fluffy dresses and big hats??

I'll bring something edible and vodka for the bloody mary's since we have some.

I will help hide eggs since that is one of my favorite things to do. Should I bring stuff for the kids to decorate eggs too??

Me:
Please (!!) no coloring of eggs here. I have to admit that's my LEAST favorite thing about Easter. Fucking mess. I know, I'm a beeatch.

Let's do 11-2.

I don't have any plastic eggs, what does one hide- real eggs? We always do a jelly bean hunt inside so I have no idea. I've never given my kids the privilege of this tradition.

I'm a fuckin' non-Christian crumudgin. So let's just eat and drink. No dresses. Hats are up to you.

PMSing,
mg

JB:

Excuse me, but if I want honor the reawakening of the Lamb of God, who hath taken away the sins of the world, by wearing my Sunday best dress to accompany my Easter hat, while I hide eggs--plastic or real--by God I will.

Hail Mary, full of grace.
Our Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
Jesus.

Mud:

A-fuckin'-men!!

Me:
I hope my dog jumps on your fucking Easter best and gets alpaca shit all over it and then I hope your dog steps in my dog's shit and then he steps on your fucking Easter hat. And if the Lord was with me and blessed the fruit of my womb he would take all the fucking Easter candy and fake green grass and yellow Peeps made out of something from a horse's hoof and he would throw all that shit OUT! And then he would send down word from the heavens above that there is NO FUCKING EASTER BUNNY that comes INTO your HOUSE to leave you shit that makes your teeth rot.

I'm making eggs Benedict. And maybe an asparagus pie. AND I'm going to drink like a fish and puke in your hat.

So fuck off.

Katy:

Your kids are going to fucking love me when I fill your yard with horse hoof products and plastic!

But really, if this is going to mess with your non tradition I can respect that (and lock your kids in a closet or something while the other kids hunt).

I can't wait to see the white hat, white shoes, and white tights jen wears!

JB:
Katy! You ruined the surprise element of my outfit. What if we hide colored hard-boiled eggs only--no plastic jobbies. Then, they trade in their eggs for a nice chocolate bunny, or a little Easter basket with treats in it. That way they all get the same amount of stuff, there's less junk, and still a fun egg hunt with treats. I'd be willing to pick up the baskets and stuff after work one day. Feel free to veto me...

Katy:

Okay, fine, I'll give up my reminiscing about fantastic egg hunts I was treated to as a kid. It probably turned me into the competitive shit that I am now........and my little redheads aren't likely to be able to fight seven and ten year olds for horse hooves and whatnot, anyway. So, seeing that Mary hates dying eggs, those of us who like eating/dying them should do so before the gathering and hide them while kids are eating brunch or something. A few chocolate goodies hidden here or there wouldn't hurt.

As for the menu:

• Mary is making eggs benedict
• I'm making an egg strata (unless Jen would rather), an easter rabbit shaped cake (with lots of refined sugar), bloody mary's (mud, we've got plenty of booze to bring-- after my husband picked up the purchased alcohol that was supposed to be at High Meadow) and I'll bring coffee (am I correct that you don't drink coffee mary?).
• We need juice and fruit and maybe muffins/donuts

Weather looks like it'll be beautiful-- 62 degrees and sunny (as of right now)

Me:
We've got a good old fashioned party forming! E and Rebecca are joining us and I felt obligated to put the invite out to everyone. I'm going to change my eggs benedict (too much work for too many people) and make a sausage/egg bake and maybe some scones.

Bring chairs!

But what transpired was pure (wholly) fun!


Because




what



it




really




comes




down




to




is




Easter





is




about






them and





them





and



them and



us.




And then when all of us get together with the spawn we created



it doesn't matter who died on what cross for what sins or was or was not resurrected. What matters is that we have each other to fill in the love and support and faith that a church community provides. And then we add a little fun with expletives and jesting. And then we put really good food and a little alcohol and mix all that in with a bunch of really fucking cute kids, add a kick-ball game and a walk in the woods, and you've got a perfect perfect day.

We didn't win.

We didn't win the 640 MILLION dollar jackpot. We thought we might. We bought tickets. For the first time. Ever. We played the lottery for the first time in our lives. Paul Bunyan turns 40 in August. I'm right on his tail. That's almost 80 years (combined) of NOT playing the lottery and that's, you know, that's a lot of NOT participating.

And if there is one thing that I'm teaching my kids to do, it's to play! At our local Shaw's they were giving away (!) over 15 MILLION dollars in prizes. We just collected our Wish Big Win Big game pieces every time we bought certain foods (the processed and non-organic kind) and then we'd come home and spread out our game sheet and lick and stick our game pieces to their matching pictures. We came very close to winning an I-Pad but we just needed that fucking Whip Creme container. And every time I was at the check-out and the young Nick, or Jane, or Sam who was scanning all my goods would ask, "Are you playing our Wish Big Win Big game," I'd say, "Hellz Yes, you can't win IF YOU DON'T PLAY." And the kids would chuckle and know that they actually had already won anyway because I just bought FOUR boxes of Frosted Flakes to get double the number of game pieces.

We didn't win...anything.

So last Friday when all the craziness was swirling around this WORLD RECORD jackpot Paul Bunyan went down to our country store and said, "Uh Linda, how do I do this?" We picked birthdays and ages and I went to my journal to find out what my crazy psychic palm reader told me were my lucky numbers and we bought 5 tickets. And somewhere out there in the world someone was yelling at me, "YOU HAVE A GREATER CHANCE OF GETTING HIT BY LIGHTNING!" And I yelled back, "YOU GOTTA PLAY TO WIN BITCH!" and then I added, "AND I DON'T PLAY OUTSIDE WHEN I HEAR THUNDER!"

Well, when the kids heard about how we had a SLIGHT chance of winning 640 MILLION dollars they started dreaming about what they would buy. There were I-Pads, I-Pods, I-Phones being passed around like candy, Wii, an art studio (Claire), 4-wheelers and dirt bikes (Timmy), a 5 story tree house with a hot tub in it (Auggie), a brand new speed boat (Paul Bunyan) AND a 50 foot sailboat (Paul Bunyan). All I said I wanted was a new bathroom. That's really not too much to ask for. Oh, and a house in Telluride. We shook hands about paying off friends' mortgages and buying pop-campers for them. It was like we had already won. And then we danced.

Yea, we didn't win. Someone won though- actually three people did except we don't know who they are yet. And so when it's all said and done they'll get like only a little over a million dollars, or something like that, after taxes and that's, like, chump change. Or something like that. I'm not really a Mega Million lottery super star so I don't really understand it so well. I won't pretend to.


Paul Bunyan bought the kids a few "scratch" off game cards as well last Friday. Claire took home $20. He tried to get her to reinvest it into 20 more tickets. She said, "uhm, no." I'm not sure what she is planning on spending her winnings on (candy) but she knew enough to get out while she was ahead. And that's a tough thing to teach with this betting thing. I mean you gotta bet big to win big, and you gotta wish big to win big, and for god's sake you gotta play to win.

So, can we pool our money next time?

Song Writer?

So besides deli owner, writer, beer maker, farrier, I'm now considering a career in song writing. Mud and Jen, I had soooo much fun writing this with you.

Happy Happy and Many Many to you Katy- you only turn 40 once.

The Official Official Arrival of Spring

I've been contemplating this post for a week now. I've been contemplating this post for a week now because I'm not really sure you absolutely for certain love to see Paul Bunyan naked. I mean every spring he waits impatiently for the ice to be gone from the pond and every spring I wait with baited breath and camera ready in hand.






But the official official arrival of spring- Paul Bunyan's spring leap- has, for the past 8 years, been after the official arrival of spring. And so spring doesn't really officially get sprung around these parts until Paul Bunyan leaps naked into water that was just ice a few hours earlier.




But this year the ice went out on the day we returned from Disney- the 16th of March.
What a weird and eerie thing to have the official official arrival of spring happen BEFORE the official arrival of spring.








And my soul and my car have been tormented by this crazy early arrival of geese and ducks and buds and mud and the dog poop that has been buried under the snow for 3 months. And there has existed the same morose sadness I experience at the end of every winter.




But this season it has been worse because the heat wave that brought record breaking warmth to the area wrecked everything I love about this month.




There were no nights at the sugar house or Paul Bunyan returning home drunk off the heat and sweet smoke and whiskey. And now that the sugar maples are turning red at their tips, they're done. My heart goes out to Paul and my heart goes out to all the others who rely on this sweet stuff to pay the bills.

And so I've always loved showing you pictures of my naked husband jumping into the water that had ice on it a few hours ago, and although you may not always love looking at pictures of my naked husband jumping into the water that had ice on it a few hours ago, I will continue to show you pictures of my naked husband. My hope is that the official official arrival of spring comes, next year and all the years after this, after the official arrival of spring. And that this fluke year will remain a phenomenon for the sake of the maple trees and those that need its sweet sap to make liquid gold.

Tell-you-ride!!

In the fall of 1997 Paul Bunyan and I, hair (well, what was left of Paul Bunyan's) still wind blown from a cross country tour, pulled up to Frisco, Colorado in a Nissan Pathfinder chocked full of, well, I don't think we had much at that time. We bought a mattress, a futon and a cheap t.v. from Walmart.





I got a job as a fresh smiley hostess at the brewery on the corner and he was an instant star on the Breckenridge ski patrol.





There were nights when my butt cheeks would be so cracked from the dry air that I didn't know if I could quite make it up there. And there were days when Paul Bunyan would be gone on the river for so long that I didn't know if I could quite make it up there.





I had a brand new fresh M.A. in English in my back pocket and I was skiing all the way to April and drinking margaritas on the sun deck every afternoon. And yet something didn't feel right in the gut.




I tried to let my soul be free but it was trying to dig some soil to take root in- and well, the hardwoods don't take so well at that elevation.




So I made Paul Bunyan and brand new stinkin' puppy Sydney pack up the U-Haul to move east for a job I took in Philly, where houses were made from rocks and not sticks.




Paul Bunyan would have stayed forever. He would have found his own private stash of powder, marked his claim with a native American flag, and became a good old fashioned raccoon faced ski bum. No doubt.



But we put down our roots. She grew first and fast.




And then we officially became permanently grounded when these two trees came, at once. It was everything the palm reader from the Jersey shore told me it would be.





And we haven't gone on vacation, alone as a family, without grandparents, for ten years.




Until this house came up for rent on an on-line silent auction to raise money for Haiti relief...TWO years ago.




It's a cute little place (those are license plates on the sides!) with only 500 sq. feet of moving room.




We got the winning bid.




And every morning I woke up and looked out the window right at the mountain.




And every night I woke up and looked out the sky light and saw the stars.




And every day I would wonder how I could bake enough cookies to raise 2.6 million dollars to buy this place.





Or how many pretzels I could bake to buy this for $600,000.




But one thing that surprised me, besides how quickly my butt cheeks dried out (almost as much as my hair) was how I was able to set my soul free. I know that if I lived in a mountain town I would have my own set of worries like, if tomorrow would be a powder day or not. But I was surprised at how much my soul was refilled in that valley at 9,000 feet above sea level.





The blue sky that seems to go on forever, the Alpen glow, the dogs running free all over town, the beer, the dirty chips, the Baggo game at the lunch spot on the mountain, the music streaming from every chair lift, the local kids dirty from playing outside every day all day, the bikes with super wide tires to ride to the mountain in the snow, the TWO Thai restaurants, the ability to walk to everything (or ride the free gondola). I want it all- back.




We stopped at Breck on the way back down to Denver. It was crowded. Not the same.



My favorite twice baked wings at Downstairs at Eric's weren't even the same. Definitely not as good as I remember.






The brewery on the corner where I first learned that tourists are assholes- not as good as I remember. The jeweler where Paul Bunyan bought my engagement ring- gone. Our friends? Moved away. The people we used to be- not the same.

You see, I got these trees growing from my soul here in Vermont. They started to take up root here about ten years ago and now they're thriving in this weather. They've grown despite the rainy and soggy and not as clear blue as Colorado. But hey, they're hardwoods. And in the fall I love that they turn red and orange and purple and in the spring I love that they start to bud all green and I definitely, wholeheartedly, believe that in the winter they warm my soul more than those spindly little pines ever could.