buggin

Here in the southeast, there is a bug for every season, I recently shared with M--a literal bug. Spring is the season for tick-abundance, and like freckle posers or ends-of-sentences they appear on your skin as if they can escape your constantly editing eye. Or else they burrow in the dogs and have a feast, dislodge themselves and waddle away, brainless and dumb, off to provide a feast for birds or, in a decidedly lesser contribution to the circle of life, a horrifying squish experience for your bare foot.

Summer is mosquitoes, wasps and, toward the end, deer flies. Itchy, oppressive and mean as the heat itself. You fight them with toxic sprays and swatting hands and running feet, but ultimately you just have to endure their existence until the cool arrives, providing them an expiration date and you a sigh of relief.

Fall brings the stink bugs, brown and shield-shaped, and seeking a warm home. In spite of their unfortunate name, I have yet to encounter the actual stink, perhaps because my research came to me in advance of any encounter and I know better than to kill them. I simply ferry them from their place on the curtains and walls and window screens back outside. To me, these are the least offensive of all the bugs, because they are just there. Hanging out solo or in groups. Minding their own business, not attacking, and maybe more importantly, not scurrying.

Which brings me to winter and the bugs that are not bugs - mice. Every year we have at least two, appearing for the same reason as their predecessors (warmth), but these I cannot abide. Perhaps they tap into my deep-seated anxiety toward balloons and biscuit cans: the element of suspense, surprise. Or else I'm intimidated by a cleverness and physicality that can lead them, in spite of blindness, toward the darkened depths not in, but behind, a dishwasher.

Are these creatures questionable mascots for each season, a reason to wish the time away? Or are they simply what is there, a defining attribute or buggy backdrop to the scene...

Part VIIII

Listening to Adele. Playing Gears. Drinking iced-tea. Unsweet. Wearing paintclothes for no particular reason but I'm ready dear friend, for the day.

Happy Anniversary.

It's been 9 years of words exchanged over this enchanted device. And in the midst of having friends that make me think why even bother having enemies, I have you, and I wanted to remind you Narnia is real in the midst of pain and elusive gmail archiving problems. Don't cease to believe. It is the one tragic thing I could not bear in this life, and

If encouraging you is one of my sole purposii in life I am happy to do it. Because you my dear one, are priceless.

It's been a few weeks since I heard from you, and though you can't feel it, there is magic humming at your fingertips- that table is a series of molecules moving at a rate we can't perceive- we run our fingers over the smooth and cool of the surface. It seems so ordinary and we look out- the way the wind whips right now through the sky into the tree, trouncing the leaves they twist shudder and unfurl. They bend but don't break. They fly off and out and the tree won't forget them. The way my cat's whiskers arch and twitch as he yawns. The way the light dances through the eye, the way our muscles move into smiles. The breath, deep in a sigh our whole body responds aching for peace. Rest be with us this day. God be faithful. Bring unity to our hearts and bodies. Bring us to wholeness.

Can I understand the miracle of my hands?
To be silent and let it pass without an exclamation?
To leave you there disbelieving in your extraordinary life?
When look how you are and how much God must love you.
My heart beats fast at the thought.

Let me run into the yard and disappear into space.
And I just went to try but the hose needed to be moved and Twist was mewing at me and I picked her up. That green of her eyes staring wide at me and the pincing of her claws as she wonders why the water is disturbing her rest. She mews. She mews. Her fur a midnight with streaking stars. And the morning glory blooming that ostentatious purple mocking me and the weeds taking over the orderly roses. And the warmth of my flipflops against the sun. And I heard no need to fall away up and out and into because I am right here. You haven't far to go. Sit beside me.

I will, always and forever Penelope,
m.


 

pass the zyrtec

Or something? I feel like it's allergy season, officially. Or else I'm tired from camping, or allergic to DST, or... We tried to release the butterflies today, but they wouldn't go. We got all four out, but then they just looked sad and unmoving and basically cold. Butterflysicles, and I didn't want to chance their death. So we packed them back up. I did however hold one on my finger for quite awhile. And they're way prettier as butterflies! no longer in their gremlin state.

So here are my pictures from the weekend. The good parts. Puppies are photographically inspiring, of course, as are lakes and docks and abandoned houses/tobacco barns/lonely chimneys in the woods. 

Six days until 35! And two days until the anniversary of my first date with J.Lo. What! Amazing AND true. For birthday, there will be fish tacos for dinner (they are the best EVER) and turtle cupcakes. (Flavor, not form.) Chocolate, caramel, oh my. 

Tell me how you're faring over there! after that long long bus ride to the next place. Without an ipod. But also without DST. Or, I hope, seasonal allergies! You'll also have to expound again on allergies because I feel like I missed a thread - I know you can't eat pork, but you can eat biscuits again?! Does that mean you could eat fish tacos, I ponder...  

and this is happening (gremlin caterpillars)

So the story goes that one of K.Lo's friends gave her this awesome butterfly kit for her birthday. It comes with a mesh "house" and instructions, and then you go online and order the caterpillars whenever you're ready. Like don't have a vacation planned in the middle of the experience, or whatever. So the caterpillars arrive not long after in a bubble-wrapped cup. Open IMMEDIATELY. The creatures inside don't move much, don't look like much. They're maybe a centimeter long, 5 small streaks in the mud, and you shrug and say, well okay. And put them on the kitchen counter, out of the sunlight. There's tannish sludge food on the bottom of the cup, and they must be eating it, because a week or so later those suckers are huge. And they still don't move that much, but they're definitely alive and active and accomplishing something with their furry, undulating lives. And they're totally cool. Pre-butterflies! But also they're sort of gross, like the no-longer-mogwai gremlins that form a goopy, crunchy pod around themselves and hatch into something sinister and green. Except we know that's not at all what's happening, and this is nature, live and up close, and it's totally rad. Despite or maybe because of its alarming evolution. Eventually they migrate to the top of the hole-punched lid to become full chrysalises (and leave behind their heads? i think?), or at least four of them do. The last is just laying there in the muck food, looking to be dead, or something, but then you realize it's just the Gregor Samsa of the bunch and place him on a napkin on the bottom of the mesh house, while the others stay attached to their paper disk, pinned to the side of the house, all lying in wait to become butterflies.

ho hey, ho hum

Good morning or evening, as the case may be,
At the moment I'm extremely restless, but this hasn't been the norm. No, it's more - wake up, J.Lo, so we can make some biscuits! and the puppy can quit clamoring for your presence already. And the coffee hasn't cooled enough to sip, and I'm too scared to open the biscuit can. And dagnabbit, the puppy keeps chewing on your shoes and my pillowcases. Oh my.

But anyway. Let's talk about madskillz in the Goodwill shopping dept. Ooo, I would so love to go to one or three of your Goodwills in LA. Because if I'm finding decent stuff here (The Loft! Old Navy! Express! J.Crew!) I can only imagine what I'd find there. So far I've added to my wardrobe for outrageously minimal expense: dress shoes, dress pants, a skirt, multiple shirts - some dressy but mostly casual, a sweater, a cardigan, a pair of cords and a pair of jeans. Some of it mildly flawed, of course (like how am I going to get the sharpie-d on price of $4.99 off the bottom of that one pair of shoes?), but some of it remarkably unworn looking. A month ago before I understood the sale system, I had tried on a bunch and wanted to walk out with it all, but then the sale items were explained, and I sighed and put most of it back. But then! I realized most of this stuff probably wasn't going anywhere, so each week I come back and pilfer the things that are currently $1. It's like a game, I admit, and I'm most amused by my take-home clothes-lotto winnings. And then - because I've done a barely adequate job of maintaining a proper wardrobe over approximately the last 10 years, I trade out - with the old. In with the new. All my shit goes back to Goodwill to possibly make someone else happy.

Whatelse. My interview was rescheduled for Tuesday @ 9:30 a.m. EST so everyone think Good Thoughts during that time. I'm waiting for ANTM to start again, even though I secretly hate it. I'm ready for spring! Because it looks like spring some days, but then it's just too chilly to abide. And the other day (maybe Thursday?) was completely gray, dank and like a weather personification of these crap-ass death colds that have been incessantly circulating around our family. J.Lo is on the mend and me too, but now the children are hacking. What on earth. Die germs! already.

I've been working on an article for a digital magazine, randomly, about traversing the world of organics, and segued in my research to find a CSA that we're totally going to join. Since we can do a quarter bushel every week for 24 weeks, for slightly more than $10/week. I feel like it's an awesome plan to supplement our garden yields.

Speaking of plants, I'm still devastated by proxy about your lot being taken all apart. All the symbolism and magic that went with it falls, also. So unfair.

I still have to blog about those creepy, I mean awesome, caterpillars. They're all in full chrysalis at the moment, waiting. evolving under wraps. And totally gross looking in their crunchy, gray, unassuming state. Well, but it's' true!

Ugh, now the children are demanding to be fed. How rude.
Will e you more in a bit - xo,
your penelaotang

dear pen,

the kitten is nestled near my neck and purring. calming my breath. which is necessary in assuring me as i started crying when the chrysalis we'd been protecting that had stupidly hung itself on the trashcan handle was knocked down by one of dads workers. i freaked out and luckily found it not crushed near the mint and then after accidentally dropping it, doing some internet research, pinned it to a stick and put it back in the ivy. dammit. i was like, i can't take it. apparently i do not subscribe to darwins theory of survival of the fittest when it comes to personal encounters. for instance the other day in the park i kept feeding a duck with a limp leg and another one that had a partially missing bill. you can do it duck, you can do it. wahhhhhh. *sniff* you can do it little guy please become a butterfly and don't die. wahhhhhh. it's too much.

the morning started off bad too. weird dreams- something about a production and backstabbings and betrayal and drama and waking up to find my attempt to consolidate balances was denied. and then books i suggested were banned from a reading list. with a weird excuse of 'i've never heard of them'... and!? i suddenly felt censored. well quite literally. and jobless which is perpetual but this time i can actually use the term dire. as i am at the cliff. literally this time and not just heading toward it. and the girl who's organizing the teaching we're doing through october suggested we bring paperplates, napkins, cups and flatware to all of the 5 teachings we're doing as our contribution! are you kidding me!

nevermind it's all too much.
i may just spend the rest of the day sulking.

the unfolding story of sunflowers

You know you want to hear more.

Here’s the tallest.

And the smallest.

Working the camera, finding its best light.

And here’s one that fell over in the storm.

But against the odds is finding the sun.

Oh, and the promised picture of MORE BEES.

down in fraggle rock

Otherwise known as Linville Caverns. It’s a short tour in and around the cave and back, but worth the $7, I feel. It’s been awhile since I’ve traversed a cave, and for the most part, claustrophobia magically eluded me. Until the point where the tour guide (who wasn’t ideal, letsbehonest – lacking in enthusiasm and coolfactor, although she was in fact very pregnant, so she gets some slack. a lot of it, really, considering) was all, this next part won’t be good for people with claustrophobia, so if it bothers you, stay back. And I was all, fuckit, I’m going! Right? And then I started to walk down the little passageway where people stood shoulder to shoulder while the cave walls bowed in and out to form a stand-up spelunking path, and my visceral reaction said, Leave this place immediately! Turn back! So I did. And the part where they turned out all the lights and you could no longer see your hand in front of your face was a bit disturbing as well, but I was so busy consoling the children, that maybe it didn’t bother me as much. Imagining the two teenagers in the 1950s or whenever who lost their lantern there. K.Lo, as anticipated, was the most wary of the Fraggle Dwelling and J.Lo had to carry her most of the way. But she did stick it out through the tour and once she heard we were on our way back out, she was all good, saying look at the trout in the stream and why’s it so cold and wasn’t this fun. I can’t really say what the pictures are all about. Because when you’re there you can understand the full scope of the twisting turning walls and passageways and cracks and curves and grooves and hideouts. But in pictures it’s like, umm, hmm, cool. Rocks. Let’s just appreciate the textures, shall we? And the fact of nature taking millions of years to form these drip-dropping multi-faceted shimmery-shadowy surfaces. For the Fraggles to live.