Monday, November 21, 2011


I'm trying the new blogger interface again.
The old one was doing funky things to me this morning. Weird though, how you get so used to putting your thoughts into a certain format, a certain little box, and trying to write in a different one is so disconcerting.

So I wanted to let you all know that Ms. Sarcastic Bastard Beloved is alive and working her tail off. New policies at her place of business have precluded her from reading or writing blogs at work and she refuses (and rightfully so) to open a computer while at home.
She is not happy.
As you can imagine.
But that explains her silence.
I asked her if I could make this announcement and she is in such a work-related tizzy that she said whatever. Basically. But I know I would worry.
So there you have it.

My son sent me a link to a story he's written and I am just reverberating with it. First I asked him if I could link it but then I read what he had to say here and what he basically said was, oh hell, go to the link and read what he had to say himself.

When I read the story it showed me beyond doubt that it is not just the evil which pervades a family for generations. It can be the good stuff too. The magic.
That was about the best gift, that knowledge, I've ever received.

Plus. That was about the best story I've ever read.

Damn. My son can write.

Last night ended so sweetly. That soup was fine and the focaccia was some of the best food I ever put in my mouth. My brother and I came to some sort of terms of peace via e-mail.
Mr. Moon and I blessed each other with love and kisses.
I don't know. I feel like I'm maybe going through some sort of process wherein I am...hell. I don't even know. But I do know that as the dreams continue of violence and fear, I am finding myself in real life feeling more fully in my own body. I would not wish this sort of nightmare therapy on anyone, but we can't always choose our paths of healing.
That's what I am thinking, maybe.

The chickens are out, the sun's light is pouring down. The little yellow butterflies are dancing around the Firespike blossoms which are allowing themselves to be drunk from freely and with passionate color. I have much to do before Owen gets here.

It is Monday morning, a strange time, perhaps, to be so filled with thoughts of magic and wonder, but there it is anyway. One can only take note, one can only be grateful. One can only be cheered at the thought of all that is possible even at this time of life.


  1. I'll come back and read hank's story, and i know for sure he is an amazing writer, but i'm just touching base with my blog friends before dashing off to work and i just wanted to say i'm glad you and your brother came to terms, but it does suck when someone tries to challenge your recollection of things, and tell you what you experienced wasn't true for you. i sat and listened to my family tell stories of years past yesterday, and i marveled at how differently we all remembered things, and i made myself not try to correct their versions with my own, because hell, they know better than to try and correct my version of things on my blog. But memory is subjective. And that subjectivity has a powerful psychological truth. And yes, the good definitely persists through generations, just look at your beautiful children, at owen. you planted such goodness inside them. and talent and spirit too.


  2. I'm just getting to know you, so I don't get what you're saying in the same way that Angella does, but I'm moved by what you write.

    'subjectivity has a powerful psychological truth' - that's so right Angella.

    I'd lke to read your son's story. But I don't know him at all.

  3. Angella- Yes, yes, YES! I love you. Thank-you.

    21k- You don't have to know Hank to read his story. Send me your e-mail and I'll send you the link if you want.

  4. Hank is a good writer. His sense of humor is fine. Glad that you and the Bro had a truce. Nothing like family to make a person crazy.

  5. I'm happy for you. Glad too that you and bro have found a common ground for the moment.

    You are blossoming sweetly in new ways everyday. Remember it.

  6. I can always tell from your writing when Mr. Moon is away. There is so much more of an edge to it. That man brings you so much comfort that it's visible even here.

    The new Blogger interface-well I've been working with it for awhile now and still have to stop and think about what button does what. It's not very intuitive, is it? Obviously not designed by Apple.

    Can I add how much I miss that darling SB? My Blogger world has a big, gaping hole in it.

    Hugs to you this morning.

  7. Syd- ALL of my kids have spectacular senses of humor. Which is how I know they are so damn smart.

    Ms. Fleur- One step forward, two steps back. Always.

    Mel's Way- It is true. I am a different person, or a different version of the same person, when Mr. Moon is gone.
    Life without our beloved SB is not nearly as spicy or fun, is it?
    Shit. She needs a new job.

  8. Hank's writing is what drew me in eons ago (and I'm sure I still have some of it in a box somewhere...knowing me...I can't part with amazing words) - I'm happy to read that he's still writing. As of late, I've been feeling a bit of a draw to it again, and it feels damn's like finding a long lost friend you didn't realize was fully missing, I guess. -AA

  9. oh, I'm so so glad to hear read this.
    I've been going through so much turmoil spending all this back and forth time at "home" , which of course really isn't.
    The sibling stuff. The stepsiblings.


    I think that having my mother's dying stretched out so is giving life to other .


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.