Just Like That...

THIS...


.... turns into this:

One minute things are all sunny and happy and the next minute I'm in the dark, stubbing my pinkie toe, tripping over a nervous dog, looking for the damn flashlight and candles because the storm of the century is upon us... it's no fun getting teenagers out the door for school with the power out in total darkness, but we got it done.

October was the sunniest on record, EVER, beating the previous record set in 1958. No wonder I've been in a decent mood. I thought maybe hormones were leveling, but now I'm sure it was the sunshine. I'm glad my head was out of my ass far enough to notice it, appreciate it and revel in it. It was splendid.

Yesterday, the weather gods gifted us with a late October balmy sunny day that was too good to be true. Today, the storm cells cover 2200 miles of North America: the wind is howling, with gusts this morning at 60 mph, sustained at 30 or so. The house is shaking, the windows are rattling, and they're saying this will continue for 3 days. Damn. My little town had a small tornado destroy a barn, but otherwise we are lucky, destruction-wise. Weather-wise, we are screwed. It will be awful for about a week and when the winds and monsoons are gone, we'll be left with is bare trees and varying shades of gray and brown. Lucky for me, and for you, my lovely readers, or am I down to a reader! that I took many photos of the leaves this week, so I could remember them when they are gone. I'll share them in a later post. Here's the best one:



And so it goes.

Anyway, it wouldn't be a Mel post without a nature shot or too. In honor of the pending Halloween festivities, here are some creepy crawly things for you to look at. This spider has driven me crazy all season. She's almost as fat as my thumb, and spins giant webs, six feet across, from the tree branches to the ground. I've run into them at night TWICE. Ick, ick, ick. Once I rode my bike through it, calling to the dog and got a mouthful of web, but clearly no spider. She will not give up, this one.

This one I found in the grass in North Carolina. Looks like a skull on her body, almost.
This is evidence of pure love. My husband called me outside as I was rushing out the door, saying nature lover that I am, he knew I'd want to see the largest praying mantis he'd ever seen. It's sweet how he indulges my nature nutty side. Of course I had to go get the camera and the tape measure, because that's how I roll. I've seen one or two bigger, but this one is grand.

So, wishing us all calm breezes, sunny days and creepy crawlies in their proper places.
Until next time.

Colors For Deb Stone

For Deb, my nerd friend, my art friend, my lives in Hell-A and doesn't get fall friend, I thought of you when I snapped these. Crunch, crunch. It's the balmiest, sunniest fall I can ever remember. 80 in October? I'll take it.

The Burning Bush in on fire.

Orange and Magenta, hmmmm.

Lined up like the orange to yellow Crayolas. Sumac, I think.

This little guy is called fothergilla, for the bottle brush blossoms. It's too tender for Illinois and is the last of my three left alive.

Hickory trees never fail to golden up the yard.



This is just for fun. Something in the garden from a greens seed mix. Swiss Chard, maybe?


The last butterfly this year, a boy.
See the black dot on the bottom wings?


Happy Fall. The leaves are coming down fast, it's been so dry. But I'm not complaining. I'm storing up memories of all this to see me through.

Happy Wednesday Affirmations

It's hard to complain about the buckets of mulch, twigs, burrs and dead leaves he drags in on his moppy fur when he looks this darn cute. So my floors are awful. I'm lucky to have such problems, right?

Just like with the kids, I can't remember what I did with myself before he took up most of my attention during the day: let me in let me out play with me thirsty hungry whatchaeating play with me let me in let me out. He does have his perks, besides being cute. He protects me fiercly, he cracks me up, he makes me go out and play, take long walks in the woods, and he snuggles me when I'm cold or sad. Fair trade.

The kids take what's left in the evening: wheresmy didyouseemy ineed helpmestudy readtome hungry thirsty thisneedswashed ineedaride wheresthekleenex imsad scratchmyback hugmeonemoretime iloveyous we cram between school and sports and bed. We are all tired lately, and rightly so, as we rush through busy days.

And my poor husband gets what's left if he's not already snoring in bed: the exhausted, cranky shell of the girl he married 24 years ago, whose aches and pains and hot flashes and odd dreams and rampant thoughts ruin most night's sleep, wound so tight she's in no mood if he is still awake. I drag my glass of water, my glasses, the newspaper or book I meant to read yesterday, crawl into bed and count the hours until I have to get up and begin the Mommy show again. Before he has to get up and go make the doughnuts, as we say. I think my job has more perks, even if I am on call 24-7.

But it's still a fair trade, it's just a matter of perspective, isn't it? There are moments of cute and lovely and pure perfection in the backscratches, and the cramming for tests and the bringing of snacks and the hugs. Even the drudgery of the laundry and the dishes and the shopping is bearable if I think of the nurturing and love behind it, if I think of this as my vocation, my calling and my career, for now. I may no longer cash a check for my labors, but I do have a very important job, and I'm trying my best, even if my best feels like a gerbil wheel and often falls short of my ideals. I keep showing up every day, ready to work, trying to get it right, and I know that counts for something. And I also know that these days are fleeting, each one is a gift, even the ones that kindof suck. Like my Dad always said, beats the alternative. Thanks, Dad. Right, and to the point, as usual.

Have a happy Wednesday. I recommend sloppy puppy kisses and a good game of fetch, if all else fails.

ps I really meant to do a Wordless Wednesday, but I guess Wordless isn't in my vocabulary...

Things I could have Done Without Lately

Numero Uno

Hey Hewlett Packard, you suck.

I am typing on a replacement laptop, as mine died in a blazing black screen of death. It came with flashing lights, grinding hard drive and CD drive and cooling fan blaring. It is forever stuck in resume from hibernate and overheated mode and I'm royally pissed. At least in a fit of organization, I backed up all my files about a month ago, saving the 18 month history I had with that lump of worthless electronics. Hewlett Packard, I break up with you forever and always, for making lame products that die 7-8 months out of warranty.

Numero Dos

Hey - private Catholic School my 8th grade daughter's class played volleyball against:

I didn't enjoy being required to stand with all those present, and recite the Lords Prayer followed by the Pledge of Allegiance led by two giggling Catholic School Girls. Call me vigilantly agnostic and anti-antagonistic, but your forced pledges to church and state with both teams lined in the middle of the gym was embarrassing to the non-Christians or agnostics who did not know the words to the prayer, and both schools had already pledged their allegiance to the flag, whatever the hell that even means anymore. I was annoyed. It felt smug. Or holier than thou. We've participated in sports events at this school for many years and have never seen this before, which leads me to suspect it must be some new reclaim America for the righteous program. I think the National Anthem would have been over the top, but more appropriate to a children's sports event. And by the way, we Episcopal and Methodist raised as Christians know how to finish the Lord's Prayer with the last two lines and an amen.

I particularly enjoyed this display of piety and patriotism while viewing the ass crack framed by zebra panties and an artful tramp stamp tattoo on a fashionista rail thin mom who's too tight shirt rode up the entire game, while her $200 designer jeans and her leather tooled belt spelling out ....Dream across her ass provided a finishing border to the ensemble. I could barely watch the game, not because we played poorly and the Catholic girls kicked our asses, but because of the ass crack in the row in front of me and my husband's incredulous face, and the fact that I had my camera in my purse and wanted desperately to snap a picture and post it for you to see. It was artistic in an Andy Warhol kinda way, but surreally out of place and just so very very wrong.

I may have been raised a Protestant tramp, but by 40 something I knew a thing or two about cleavage and ass crack in public, especially at my kids' schools. The time for this outfit is at bars at night, trying to make your husband jealous or excited, or find someone to help you end your marriage. I expect it from the college crowd, and we see it all the time at the University games we frequent, as we've become volleyball crazed. My husband really enjoyed the no hope of a thong 20 something ass crack we were cracking up at last week, but they were college kids, they were young and hot and this was their world. Mom-Crack was different, because I believe a mom, who puts her kids in a school taught by nuns, should be striving for less blatant sexuality on a Thursday afternoon. Scanning the bleachers for the home team, I thought it was a fashion shoot for a magazine - hair and makeup and bling and cleavage and cracks - Oh My! We public school moms, not so much. Maybe we're frumpy or dowdy or have given up, but we looked like the moms of thirteen year old's we don't want dressing like tramps and getting treated like objects that we are. So. I judge, not very Christian of me, but it passes the Glass House test.

Numero Tres

Hey, tiny small town I chose to live in because it was so picturesque, with a Main Street right out of the story books, with a butcher and bank and little shops on two blocks sandwiched between the Lion's Club park and two churches: On our way home from volleyball this sunny Sunday, I could have done without your Anti-Abortion Silent Protest Sign Holders glaring at us as we were forced to ride past at 25 miles an hour. I protest your protest. You lined a whole block to tell my little family that you consider murder abortion. That adoption saves lives. It was cold, your parishioners were freezing, most of them were teens, or very old, and like a scene from a Stephen King novel, all slowly turned toward us as we passed, agape, reading the posters.
Wow, said my daughter. That's creepy. Why do they think that makes sense?
Wow, said my husband, I feel like we made a wrong turn and ended up in Wichita.
Wow, I said, if I wasn't so tired and old, I'd make signs to stand across the street from them: Abortion is Unnecessary with Birth Control, or Birth Control Stops Unwanted Pregnancy, or How Many Orphans Did You Adopt Today? Or Hey, Ladies, Your Womb is Not Your Own, or Was My Miscarriage a Murder? Because, you see, that Liberty and Justice part, it applies to a woman's right to personal freedom, her right to domain over her own body despite your beliefs or doctrine or wishes. I don't want to be a Christian nation, but a tolerant one. Christianity in its modern guises hasn't proven itself worthy of its own ideals, not to this seeker.

But I am old and tired, and this tide keeps washing to shore, bringing all manner of detritus to my little world. And so I become the complaining old person that you read before you, railing against whatever pisses her off this week.

Numero Quattro - A Bonus Bitch

Hey township road crew, thanks for mowing down the only field of wildflowers left in the neighborhood, just before the last batch of monarchs and swallowtails hatched. Brilliant. Who needs all those pesky butterflies around any how? There were only 7 or eight varieties in that half an acre, so who cares?

Well bitchy old lady cares, and that I can make the call about. The rest of it, the us vs them, the religion and politics and the upcoming elections in which I could give a rat's ass about which manipulative rat can buy his way into the rat race, all that, I'm just going to keep on bitching about it for now. Because, like I said, I am old and tired. And a bitch has to pace herself.

Teeny Tiny PS
If I have offended any Catholic readers, I apologize for that, unless you're wearing zebra panties and a tramp stamp.
But I don't apologize for my opinions which I freely blather on my personal blog, since I'm such a huge fan of my Constitutional Rights.
And If you want to rail back at me, please do, but keep it short, because like I said, I am old and tired. Also deeply cynical and unlikely to ever change my opinions about such things.

What it's come down to...

Is THIS.

My new pet, I guess.

I no longer have to worry about feeding caterpillars fresh milkweed leaves. Instead, I worry about feeding this broken butterfly nectar. I don't know how it happened: I never found the chrysalis, just this wounded warrior dragging herself across the counter. It can't fly, though it tries. And there's nothing I can do to fix the wing damage, though I admit to a pathetic attempt using some medical tape. I had to try, because someone online said it worked. It doesn't. My pilot husband told me so, and I should know by now he is almost always right. Smart man. He thinks I should sneak this one into the local butterfly garden, but I can't do that! So I go out every morning and evening and feed her, and she is thriving 10 days and counting. As a September hatchling, I suppose she could live for months.

It's sad, but not as sad as what became of the chrysalis on the top of this picture, the one hanging off the edge of the shelf.

It came out too early in the morning for me to see, but it could not hold on to fill its wings, and I found it crumpled like a tissue, dying. I pressed the wings out for the picture, and discovered the coloration defect in the wing, which may have been part of the problem.
These broken babies have taught me to accept what happens, regardless of what I wanted to happen, to focus on the good, not the bad. They have taught me that an infinite number of things can go right or wrong for any species, and to be very grateful when anything does go right. I have a dark streak that wants to worry about how quickly a windshield might have smashed the healthy ones I set free, but I try to quell that voice with happy thoughts of them flying away in the sunshine.

But this chrysalis...

...hatched into this beautiful female. She flew free just this morning. I have learned to sex them, and it is very easy. Males have a black dot in the middle of the vein on the bottom wings. Oddly, I've hatched all but 2 female, and will do some research to find out if that is normal. Maybe the males really get around.

Two caterpillars climbed up into my aerogarden and I almost missed them, except I saw their discarded skins when I was tidying up the mess and found them very well hidden. I was worried that there was little to hang onto, but they did just fine. They were my most impatient to be released, and I set 3 lovelies free that morning, one of the two males I've seen this season.
And so it goes, in my crazy little world. I have three left to hatch, and I'm hoping they are healthy. As for the mystery caterpillar from last month, it's chrysalis is cold and hard, and I suspect something went wrong. It would have been one of these:

My husband asked me last night how many Monarchs I've released this year. It's only been 6 weeks since the first one, and honestly I don't remember. I thought it was eight, but based on the photos I took, more like 12. I'm thinking next year, I'll let nature take its course with the monarchs and instead, go back to my beloved moths if I can find some eggs or cocoons online. I'm itching to nurture something more endangered and magnificent, no offense to my lovely monarch babies.

Female Cecropia above, Male Polyphemus below.

Who knows what I will do to stay more sane or go more crazy next. Never a dull moment.