I'm going to pretend I don't hear you muttering about where I've been or what has been entertaining me (instead of writing) and instead I'm just going to resume like nothing happened. Because that's what I do, decide which comments live and which die. Now then, to ease us back in gently - some pictures - because who doesn't like pictures?And in the interest of "keeping it real" I'm going to give you pictures you will find no-where else (except on my hard drive). Because I know you, my semi-loyal readers, can handle the truth.

Because it just wouldn't be one of my blog posts without a head-wound

The kids seem to think I need a driving assistant. If I were my passenger I probably would too.

This story has a twist ending that totally makes it worth reading, should you ever find it in your library.

Caption Contest for this one in the comments below - ready GO

Don't look carefully, don't notice the dog pooing on the New Mexico state line. The opinions expressed herein are not -necessarily- the opinions of the people responsible for writing this

Caption Contest Number 2 - GO

Without coat

With a coat - ish

Caption Contest Number 3 - GO!

This one doesn't actually need a caption - and that's a heater behind them

 

And from me to you, and mine to yours - until next time!

I used to say that the fastest precursor to an emergency room trip in our family was hearing
"To Infinity! And Beyond!"

Today, I heard this:
"Queak's getting his ears pierced, and it's free!"

Me "when, from whom? Where?"

"Right now! In the living room!"
(one day my children will realize their mistake is telling me first - in the meantime I get to have the sunken heart by being their little rain cloud - even when they are ingenious little people.)

Me "huh, ha ha, ummm, no."

"BUT! We're using a yucca needle, it's totally safe!"

Me "what?"

"Yeah, that's how the real natives do it, and how it's supposed to be done - and we have the needle, and he's ready to go."

Me "This isn't a good idea - I mean - at the moment" (coward)

"BUT! We cleaned and sanitized the needle - and he WANTS this to happen - why not?"

Me "ummmmmmmm, welllllll, it has to be done very precisely, we'll have to read about the method before we actually attempt this, you can't just do the piercing"

"So I should untie him? What do I do with the needle and the towels?"

Buttercup "Well, I'll tell you what they do, those ear piecing girls. They pierce things, ears and faces. Here, here, here, here, here and here - oh and noses - he's safer at home."

This post is not a catch-up or excuse for where I've been.


I like blogger because I can flit from one blog to another and "follow" lots of bloggers that way. I am sort of fickle, and I get bored easily, so while if I find a blog I like, I'll scroll the beginning and read the entire thing like a book - I also lose interest and stop reading posts for a long time.
In the meantime, I've been toying with abandoning blogger and moving over to a wordpress format. 

I have times when I blog like that too. I seem to over-share or some such, have a bloggers regret and then stop blogging for long periods. Sometimes I have nothing to say. Sometimes, I have lots to say but I'm bored because no one actually reads this stuff. Sometimes the format feels wrong. Sometime facebook gets my attention instead - instant gratification.

So - I'm running a reader poll. For the 3 of you out there who read this - maybe 2 - what should I write about? Focus more on? Do less of? Etc..
My disclaimer is if I disagree with you, I'm going to ignore you completely.
In the meantime - tell me what you think?

It is the Ides of March, and I wish a happy one to you. Et tu.

I figured, this was a lovely day to get back into the blog saddle. Yes, I said lovely. Though, I'm a bit rusty on the ol' writing thing. So le's jus cut to the chase....

When I was younger, I had a bit of a classical education. I was brought up by my parents (imagine). Which sounds a bit obvious, except most people are also brought up by society, churches, synagogues, schools, extended family, etc.. Me not so much. I grew up in an island of my mother's making.
The classical education included my mother's (ahem - obsession) film collection. One such film was "Cleopatra." When we moved from Beta to VHS we bought "Cleopatra", which was a big deal because videos cost a small fortune back in the day. "Cleopatra" came on two tapes. Every time we watched it, I would endure the stories of watching it in the movie theater. Back when movies were real, and theaters were an adventure with velvet detail and proper aisles and whatnot. I did listen, I did find it interesting, I did appreciate being told but I was never sure what I was supposed to do with the information. I still have an image of the movie theater they watched "Cleopatra" in, in my mind.

When I got older, I realized I had no idea how many times I'd seen the movie. It was never one of my favorites, but it fascinated me nonetheless. I went through an Egyptology phase, as I believe all children do.
Normal children that is.
I had seen it often enough to have it memorized.

One day, for no reason, I was about 12 and sitting at the kitchen table with my grandmother having coffee, her mainline drug of choice. I asked, "what are the Ides anyway?"
 She said "the 15th."
"Of what?"
"Of March."
"Only March? Why is March so special that it deserves Ides? Did it become the Ides, and how?"
The question then became our theme of the day, and in the days before the internet had really caught on we decided to investigate. Which meant pulling a couple books off her shelves, not many books, she always knew where to look and I suspected she always already knew the answer and was just entertaining me.
The Roman calendar was investigated and we learned that the 15th was the Ides only for March, May, July and October.

These things entertained us greatly. You'd be right by guessing we had too much time on our hands, but it never seemed that way to me. It was a languidly sanguine education.
So we decided...to watch "Cleopatra." It was a nice day, and we had a good time and we would shush anyone who came home and into the room, as though it were hugely important that we take in every detail. This would be treated like the first time we'd seen the movie. This time, because we were being entertaining, my grandmother started in with all of her Hollywood gossip stories, which segued into her Egypt and Rome gossip stories. Which eventually segued into her childhood and how she'd come across it all (ancient history) herself. I remember realizing I'd aged enough to get it more both her stories and the movie, to know who the actors were. To feel differently from the times I'd seen it before.
From time to time after this I'd watch "Cleopatra" again alone. Sometimes, I thought Cleopatra was a spoiled brat. Sometimes, I found her pathetic. Sometimes, I found the entire thing supremely irritating. Once I cried for her.
Anyway, the Ides became our thing and every year on the Ides of March I would call my grandmother and wish her a Happy Ides. Sometimes I'd send her a card to arrive on that day.

In the alternate family universe, whenever family arguments would side against my mother, or she asked my opinion on something and my answer was unexpected she would utter in her pathetic tone (you'd have to know her to get the tone) "Et Tu, Brandi?"

When my mother died I stopped watching "Cleopatra." When my grandmother died I stopped knowing what to do with the Ides. No one else would get that. It was our thing. Every year it rolls around (in March), and every year I feel sorry for myself. Sometimes I still mime calling her and wishing her a Happy Ides. Sometimes I just say it in my head.

Today, for no reason, I wished my husband a Happy Ides, because often he doesn't let me down emotionally, and surely he'd say something pithy back. So he responded "Et Tu, Brandi." I told him that was my mother's pet phrase for me and he said she always got there first. Of course, anyone with half a consciousness would have been able to guess that, but hey, there ya go. I've wished other people a Happy Ides, and by and large I get confused, blinking stares.
So I said "Let's make the kids watch "Cleopatra" tonight!" and of course he said "Yes, lets's!"

What I hadn't predicted was how into it Celia would get for which reasons. I thought, because she'd identify with the romance, or the young queen. No, because she studied Rome and Egypt intensively before and has even some Latin to show for it, she was enthralled.
 And it made me happy. Because though they aren't here to lecture my children about proper movie experiences and over the top film productions, I can cast my mind to them as I lecture my children about my own classical education, and how this ties into the Hollywood version reality.
Thus far that's had lots of mutterings from me about the lack of CGI. "See those hundreds of people? They aren't copied. Those are real people! They really burnt those fires, they really did that, look at them all, look at their costumes. They filmed all this, think about the timing! Of course this is a fairytale version, but still."

If you haven't done so lately, I urge you to find a huge grandiose and outdated film. Something that lasts for 4 hours and you know every line. It will warm you, you'll see. Even if you can see visions of your 5 year old self with tears of boredom, waiting for intermission, dancing before yourself. (Unless, you were geeky, like me and detested intermission. In which case, have a glass of wine too - for good measure.)
And to you I wish a Happy Ides.

This is a post I've been meaning to write for a while and in a synchronous way I am continually reminded to write.

People have a love affair with villains. I never really thought about it before. I never really wondered what it was that compelled us to put monsters on our kids' clothes and fantasize about vampires. I mean the only reason I'd personally fantasize about vampires is in a vigilante way, I'd get to live forever and eat bad people. Really, who wouldn't want that? Though, I always worried that bad people would taste bad. 

In movies, there's a bad guy and growing up I often sided with the bad guy. I asked my mother why once, why do I side with the bad guy, am I bad person and she said "better character development."
The writer spent more time making the bad guy interesting and prosing on why he was bad, what turned him bad, than the writer spent on what turned the good guy good, or why the good guy existed in the first place. Usually, it was some hapless good guy that seemed to have nothing really going for him in terms of personality, other than he was a hero. Sometimes we're rewarded with anti-heroes. It makes us feel a bit less guilty about loving the bad guy. The bad guy deserves to be bad, because he's been wronged and really at the end of the day he's a good guy, righting said wrongs into writes -um- rights. To rights. Writing rights. Yes, anyway.

That doesn't bring us to why zombies own their own franchise and are by now the single richest (un) people on earth. They're obviously in on it with the vampires and the mutants. "Shaun of the Dead" - enough said.

It was only recently, when we developed a real live, household-villain that I started giving this stuff any thought.

One day I found scat in the back garden. I grew up in the country and I was 99% sure I knew what produced said scat. Occasionally we'd be left with other clues. Not just the scat. Like dismembered semi-digested bunnies on the patio (not ours) or, less sensory offensive, footprints
Then, one day, I heard the chickens ruckusing and the sheet metal on their shed shaking. I thought about it for a minute, until it got louder. I looked outside and saw all the chickens staring at the patio door, intently, and all huddled in one corner of their cage. I thought, "that's predator behavior, they're huddling for a reason."  I looked but saw nothing. I let the curtains shut and thought about it, the way the chickens were stood, staring at my door, waiting for me  and it bothered me. So I went out side.
I then saw, blended, perfectly behind the cage, a coyote. He was stood behind the shed, so I couldn't have seen him clearly from the window, but still, perfectly still and he was almost invisible, I think he knew that. As I approached him I realized he thought I couldn't see him. He had his snout pushed through the chain link and had obviously been checking to see how snatchable chickens were through the fencing and or how solidly built the fencing was. Had he had his wits about him he'd have started digging or climbing over. Maybe his hunger led him to snatch first, think later.

We routinely let the chickens out during the day and I was glad they were not out today. I continued to approach the coyote, and I shouted at him. "Shoo! Shoo!" Coyote looked at me like I was stupid. Pulling his snout back through the cage. I thought, "he's going to make me prove it." Sigh.

The chickens looked terrified, but possibly relieved to see me. I went back inside, and looked around. I saw in my immediate grasp nothing that looked weapony enough. The coyote began shaking the cage again, thinking I'd given up. Cheeky monster. I'd left the baby on the couch and she and the Cup and I were the only people home. I contemplated them, Cup looking out the window in fear and she asked, nervously "what is that? Will it eat our chickens? Will it eat us?" I think what bothered me about all this was the broad daylight aspect. I said, it's a coyote, he wants our chickens I won't let him get them. At which point, the Cup threw herself over the baby and shouted "I won't let him take our baby!" I told her she was a right hero, which is when I noticed the iron bar by the door.
So I went out and approached the coyote with the bar, shouting shoos and go aways.
He looked at me - again like I was stupid. I shook the bar in his general direction. Still I'm stupid. Fine, you cheeky thing, fine, I'll prove it.


I walked up to the coyote saying something along the lines of "you really need to leave now, go home, surely you have a home. This isn't your garden." then, I paused for a minute when I was about 2 yards away, reeling a little at his stench and thought, how did it get in? What if it fell in the yard from the fence and it can't get back out and it feels cornered and it goes for me? I don't feel like rabies shots. Then I thought, yeah, but I don't feel like dead chickens either and the guinea pig is out in his run too. So I lifted the bar like a baseball bat and began to swing it in the general direction of the coyote's head. The coyote sloped back a few feet and looked at me.
"okay," said the coyote "you are at least pretending to be serious - you win this round" then as I began to swing again, in the general direction of its head, semi-deliberately missing. Coyote jumped up onto the 6 foot cinder block fence and loped over into the back neighbor's yard -- with ease. It then stood, just out of my reach and stared at me. I stared at it. It stared at me. We did this for a while. I finally concluded it wasn't going anywhere and told it if it came back I wouldn't miss its head. I swung the iron bar at it again. It said to me"you're truly nuts, you are." Then it loped back another few feet and stared at me. "you brat" I said.

The chickens were hugely unimpressed and asked me why I didn't crush the coyote's skull when I had the chance. Well - I don't know, I said, I suppose I've gotten soft in my old age.

Brian contacted the city and after a week or so of phone tag with various departments he was told it was out of their hands but we were allowed to "do anything necessary" to protect our property and family. What does that mean anyway? The city advised us against leaving our children or any small pets available to the coyote in the garden. The city did not advise us explicitly with what deadly force meant in terms of coyotes. The city did not have an opinion on the ethics involved in this matter. The city is probably not available for a quote should this blog ever become famous. Though, you can ask them - tell me what they said.


By now, the coyote had stayed, in the heart and mind of my Cuppish. She began dreaming of him. She started drawing him. At first, he appeared in our family drawings.
"Who is this?"
"that's you"
"who is this?"
"that's me, holding our baby"
"who is this - up here, on the hill, with the big ears?
" "that's the coyote, watching us."
Then, the coyote came directly into the family drawings.


Later, the coyote began featuring in his own drawings. At some point, the coyote became representational in other aspects as well. Cuppish began collecting coyotes.

She has a Oaxacan wood coyote carving she began carrying around with her.



The coyote started making regular appearances in our house, peeking around corners, watching me when I was cooking.

The coyote appeared in my daughter's ears, as earrings.


The coyote appeared in her tribal drawings homework.

On a bag she was supposed to make as a homework project.

The coyote appeared, for real, a few more times in our back garden. Though as of the print date on this blog he hasn't in a while, and I think that he may have been fatally wounded in one of our attempts to dissuade him from eating our chickens. It breaks my heart in a way. He was hungry and the chickens looked tasty. The kids wanted to start leaving food out for him, but I was worried that would send him the wrong message. Coyotes do take kids from time to time. Not often, but my children are small, including babies. It bothers me that I can't leave my kids in the hammock on their own anymore. I can't figure out how to shore up the back fence, it is to zoned height on our side. I can't afford to make it much taller right now anyway. Maybe it's just as well the coyote has gone its own way.

I wondered how long coyote would appear as a household figure. I began thinking about our love affair with villains, monsters and fear in general. A friend of mine talked about how she loved the Cup's drawings, how they reminded her of the natural way a child deals with and processes emotions and fear. It was healthy she said. I liked that thought, it cheered me up. I hadn't thought of it like that.

Then, out of the blue, our favorite neighbor came over with our Hanukkah gift. It was a coyote. I asked him if we'd told him about our coyote. He doesn't have pets of his own, so I hadn't thought I'd thought to mention it to him. I doubted the coyote would bother him much. He said no, he just likes coyotes, so he had got this one for us. It was an iron sculpture of a coyote. That would probably not have appealed me to me much before our own coyote had appeared. However, odd it is that the monster that stood glaring at me, trying to snarl and snap my chickens had become a loved figure in my life -- to the point that I realized I loved the gift. I showed Neighbor Cup's earrings, she was wearing them just then - with the coyotes, and I told him we loved our gift. He looked at me like he wasn't sure.

We were though. The coyote will live, in a place of honor at our front door to greet guests from here on.
I have no idea, if we never see THE coyote again, how long this particular villain relationship will last. I think somewhere I'll keep it, as one of my Mommee moments, regardless of how - or even if - my children remember it.

"And Mommee, went out and chase it - with the iron bar - and she did swing at his head and he did jump back and she did tell him no to eating our chickens, and I did save our baby, I saved her, I held her down so the coyote wouldn't eat her and he will not come back to eat our chickens because Mommee did scare him off. She did. Yup. And he's gone now. Home. Maybe he will eat rabbits, on the mountain. Maybe."