Goings On

It’s nice to have the widget over there to the right with the music seemingly pre-set to be a muse this evening. It feels like a week since I read anything, visited anywhere, or got a damn thing done in the house. And it shows…

Just as I am rallying today Trooper wanes and falls victim to the same crap. Such is love, my darling… But he does not get to lay in bed. Paperwork is due tomorrow and he has evidence to process and the papers to get across the county before midnight. At least tomorrow he can sleep all the day long. It isn’t much but it’s all I’ve got to comfort him.

I grow melancholy with the season, not really wishing to do more than wander through the rooms. I tire of my work, more behind than ever, and threatened there with foolish warnings if I do not rehash my every task in their bloody horrid database. If we delivered that piece of shit to a client they’d sue us. So…tomorrow I have to set my mouth and just do it, trying to decide if I can wait until the new year to cash out the 401k – if it will lose much in the interim. I figure if I wait to toss it onto the next tax year I might get out of it entirely. Assuming the inevitable failure, of course. Would utter collapse be worthwhile if it ended the IRAsses?

I watched people this weekend at the fair, thinking about how they would all end badly…so many trust that their kind, public thievery and redistribution will buy them a Get Out Of Gang Rape Free card. They will feed on you, mad fools. And how can you not see it? My eyes shifted away, blinking, trying to put on a smile over the hot cider. I felt a kind of motherly sympathy for them, the unwitting. Trooper and I shared a bit of derision as a father kindly explained that the horses were going to dig up the field. Even the mules on the team snorted at him. Is that how far we have come from it?

We watch from our soft perch discussions on tactics, mechanics of this rifle against another, review historic battles and modern warfare. Every moment is spent trying to learn something that might help. And even with all that – all that information – I know that I am still a helpless infant against what will come. I shall do better than most but I think it will not end well. And I worry about it, sometimes.

I press him about the gifts, trying to find the right ones for those young and promising friends. We’ve no children to spoil and so take on those, getting what might help in those coming days…buying larger for the growing to come…

I want to tell the families – do not spend anything on us but instead on yourself. A weapon, ammunition, food or gas. Whatever suits you best. But it seems rude…not all of them know…or are ready to consider it, whole. At what point is it socially acceptable to rip off a blindfold and show them what you see as truth?

We think of his family, of his old homestead still far enough in the hills that the young men would try to hold it. Wonder if it’d be better to arrange a slot there…but Atlanta is too close. Much too close. No, it’s better here. Safer, here. And so we begin to look, again, for the land that is just right. The water, the terrain, the population, and the accessibility. And that is where the money will have to go. An investment in survival.

Along with all this the old carols ring…the season should bring more than just this chill. I tell myself it is just the flesh aging, a protest against this quarter. But something seats deep in my bones and bids me watch. Watch and wait. And in the corner of my eye she wears the blackest feathers, sharp fingers tapping impatiently.

Holiday Horror

What might be the worst personal affliction on this holiday o’ feasting? Not being able to taste any of it.

Yes, I’ve been brought low with a bad cold/sinus infection/attack from the planet Mucus. (Yeah, thanks for sharing, eh?) It began late Tuesday. Wednesday morning I was hardly able to get around. Never mind cooking…I completely forgot the pineapple cheese casserole (!!) and Trooper had to make the sweet potato fluff under my nasal-y direction.

I stood back at the dinner, trying hard to not touch ANYTHING but my own plate and glass. I begged off of any affections. I felt utterly useless on the one day that I am usually joyfully cooking, serving and tasting of the abundance…sadly, I could only eat for the sake of civility, making kind remarks while tasting nothing so much as my cough drops.

It was a long day and I was so happy to get to bed. But sleep avoided me. If it wasn’t my choking every hour, it was the damn cat trying to sleep on me -whichever side I proferred. Mind you, he’s a honking beast of at least 15 pounds. He and I turned round and round in misery, sleeping perhaps 4 hours. And then there was the fair the next day…

I really should have begged off and stayed home. I don’t know what I was thinking. But we’d planned the visit for so long…I was certain I’d feel better on – what? – day 3…I wandered the festival, looking at all manner of things but finally could do no more. I found a bench and fell onto it, waiting for Trooper to haul me off to the car, leaving our friends…

I did at least sleep but…I want nothing so much as to just peel off my face and hose out the innards. I will have to put the damned machine to use. (The usual sinus meds give me the worst head creeps and jitters. I cannot stand them.)

No pumpkin pie, no smoked turkey, no cranberry sauce nor chutney…it was all the same bland pablum. What a terrible fate for a cook…

However, I hope the rest of you had a terrific crud-free holiday. Stay safe…


I was reviewing some early posts and came upon this one, aged and yet spot-on – as he always has been.

From Billy, back in November of 2006…

“…What you’re seeing tonight is only a rehearsal for full-blast civil war in America. Now, it breaks my heart to have to tell you this, and I don’t want to see that any more than you do, but there can be no other natural course of these affairs. Sooner or later, that’s what it’s coming to. And I want you to remember me, Melissa: the kook who told you this back in 2006. Okay?”

Sigh…I wonder if that young Melissa remembers that night, now.

“If you have knowledge, let others light their candles at it.”
~Margaret Fuller

That Place

There is one place I’ve been that instantly lifts from my soul the burdens of life, worries, and dread. And it’s strange because it is also tainted so…almost a decade ago and yet that evening still rings loud as did the countdown of the year and the jarring clash of the band as I looked at my pretty shoes.

But even so…even so…it was the place I went to when I’d recovered myself. After all the drama, all the tears, and recriminations…after that madness was danced with and whirled away. I was the healthiest I’d ever been. So I let myself go there, alone this time, to celebrate.

Everytime I drive into town I see that front range peeking and we greet each other with released breath. That is a view not often noted, the Flat Irons stealing the show easily. One has to turn away from them in that meadow to see the undulating hills. And nestled below that town…

I was perhaps 15 the first time I saw it. Visiting my sister in a nearby town, her friend took me there to see the mountains. I was a city girl, entirely. The plains that skirt that range did not look that different – though the air certainly was. But we drove toward that town and my eyes widened. They beg you to come, keep coming, to climb and know them. And so we did, driving to Boulder Falls and (as they allowed it long ago) climbed behind and above them to where the fall was a mere trickling stream.

I remember looking up and up and seeing specks against that rock and having the sudden realization that those were people climbing up there. I hadn’t a moment of vertigo before that moment but suddenly it came over me in a wave and I had to put my hands to those rocks to regain my senses.

Those rocks…I do not know what is there that meshes so with my soul. I have a courage and a strength there. I am often self-doubting and trying to work out Plan A, B and C before doing anything. But in those rocks, that air…I just Do.

I’ll get there again this winter. I swear it – my feet will pattern that frosty meadow again. I just need to be patient. Not my strong point, no. I have to trust it Will Be. Because I need that place in me. I need that internal exhalation of soul. I need to let it all go even if only for a day.

There’s a long night coming…I might not get another chance for a very long time.


I cannot tell you with what pleasure I saw this posting of dear Sarah, smiling as she hurtles toward motherhood. Mind, I think anyone bringing children into the world as it will become is mad – but I give her a special wink and a nod. She’s earned it like so few others have. And I like to think that smart people giving birth to and raising smart kids may be just what we need.

Strange, though – we are like enough to be sisters. I saw in that photo myself at about 26…very weird. They say we each have a twin in the world…


There is a very interesting convo here, noted by Roberta here.

I have, for many years, found it astounding how so many religions across so many centuries have so many common stories and backgrounds. “Hang he pah du rootless tree” easily translated over to a crucifix much later. An ancient triskele becomes a four-legged cross which survived around the world across many ages only to be snatched up as a symbol of German wretchedness. And, it would seem, a taste for blood and dominion was substantiated by a wholesale retelling of a “savior” story.

All these things across all the ages in the name of a God or Gods which none can ensure await them after this path ends. It is faith only that supports them and I am always amazed at what it allows people to survive. Faith alone can move us from the very edge of our lives back to a center. But that faith can be turned by a crafty individual to serve his own purpose. Because it helps to have something concrete to put ones faith in.

My opinion of Islam? An utter sham suited to ensure the pyramid scheme of power continues unabated. Is there a way to find “agreement”? No. The very tenets demand nothing less than our adherence or death. There are no other “outs”. Well, that of slavery and tithing for survival.

Does that mean I wish to place them all in a compound? No. However, it does make me itch to thank them all for their time, cash them out and send them back home with a pat on the fanny. Been swell, adios. Happy to deal with you – from a generous distance. Anything less is accepting a risk – a guaranteed risk – that you will have to one day submit or die. “Moderates” will say that there is an option – that the religion isn’t so damning. But the religion also states that it’s alright to lie, to hide, to deny all if it means the desired end is met. Therefore, no protestations can be trusted on their face.

This also means that we’ve no business meddling in their affairs. Go home, do whatever you like – there. We will leave you to your advancements or steady decline. It has been our bane that we feel the need to “save” people from themselves. One can extend that all the way back home to the welfare state. Once upon a time stupid people failed. It hurt, usually. And they learned. The removal of that failure, that pain, is what has made this country what it is today.

I know these opinions are not popular. I am confident an educated person could argue me to death over them. But I do not try to wash it over with any manner of “my religion is better than yours” dogma. I know merely what they say. I know them by their acts. I understand their commandments. And I weary of those who will gloss them over with a parental kindness and slap of a wrist and a “they’ll grow out of it” mentality. Fine, let them. Just not here, not among us, and let us not be the lab for their explosive experiments in higher learning.

We’ve our own growing pains to attend to, after all. No?