I took the boys shopping for Arin's birthday tonight. I had one of those "we have to go home NOW" moments which is usually caused by just being at Walmart. I thought nothing of it and we headed home. I was getting ready to turn on our street, when I noticed a light blue car with its hazards on. Usually when I see that and are not in a position for helping a break down, I think "Sucks. Hope someone can help" but this time I slowed down. The train was coming near and the noise startled a huge and still young red tail hawk that was obviously wounded on the bike trail along Atlanta Road. I said "He's trying to help and we are too", pulled into the parking lot on the corner. I pulled out my phone and called Arin. Here's where we are. Here's what's going on. Call Hugh now and find out the best way to handle this. The hawk freaked out trying desperately to fly across the road. Traffic slammed on it's breaks and let it pass. The first young man and I planned. He called animal control. I told them I had Hugh on alert. Arin drove down with his CERT kit. Patch and I approached slow and low to discourage her going back into the street. More people stopped. Locals came from the doors. She scooted away from us into a vacant lot. Much better a vacant lot than so close to the busy road. First man went to get a plastic kennel at his house. An older couple gave us a fleece packing blanket for better protection than the old towels that we had, and all the phone numbers for Chattahoochee Nature center and the Dep't of Natural Resources. Another young couple stopped- she works with non raptor exotics. Patrick became nervous when he saw the beak and talons close up and opted out of the rescue. The boys walked to Jackie's house, I made a myriad of phone calls to find aid and rehab, while Arin and 7 strangers who never got around to introducing themselves waited for the bird to relax enough to tighten the ring, drape her, then corral her. I gave my cards to folks so we could give reports on this strange bonding of people we might not ever see again. We were able to take our momentary guest to the Cobb Emergency Veterinary Clinic on Cobb Parkway. They already had another hawk from earlier. I hope she can be returned to the wild. All of us strangers are from the same general area. We are all used to seeing the hawks fly above our homes. We do not know each other, but in her way, that bird knows us all. I'll miss her until she is better.
The boys got to stay up late tonight and go with us to the vet clinic. It's a unique opportunity and they go to see it through to the end of our ability. Arin told them to remember all those people who stopped to lend a hand. They saw there was need and took time out of their days to help when they didn't have to for the betterment of something other than themselves. That's the kind of thing heroes do.
You know what? We're that kind of people too.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
that which is not accepable
My work consists of telling people why they are wrong.
I have to tell people no and give them bad news.
Good customer service consists of spending as little time as possible with people.
I produce nothing.
I am accountable for things that I am not supposed to review.
As a government employee, I can not defend when racial or religious slurs are said to me. Nor can I defend myself when some one is aggressive verbally. Nor can I say a thing to the man who slaps his infant in front of me and yells "no hitting" when the 1 year old was just waving his arms around. As a government employee, I have to hold my tongue when the mother in front of me calls their toddler stupid and useless.
In the first few weeks, I had compassion and an eagerness to make sure paperwork was in order for the benefit of the customer. This is not necessarily office policy.
Go call your insurance company. I'll be over here eating paint.
I try to focus on the notable people of the day. I met a man today who is doing what I would love to be doing- restoring historic buildings. I met a man who was so moved by the wonder of seeing his own child in an ultrasound, he is near graduating with his MA degree so he can share that experience with others daily as a tech. I have to focus on these people. It's these few that my gut tells me to chat with that get me through. I come home and leave everything at the office. That part is easy because I am nothing there. I know myself so well now. I am reassured in my knowing. I am looking to reviving.
On Monday, I had a moment when I was arguing with a customer about his due date. The expiration is on the bill twice. It's not my problem if you wife did not read it. Something popped in my heart/ brain connection. I actually heard it- like when a tendon is torn from bone. I could see the whitish connective band frayed and ricocheting in my mind's eye. I had become the grey of a government employee. I put Black 47's 'James Connolly' on repeat in my car-
"It's better to die like a man on you feet than like a slave bound in chains-"
I searched out that man's restoration business when I got home today. We all have asked at what point is enough enough? Why, when we decide it is, my love. That which is not acceptable can only be for so long. I need more because I am more.
I have to tell people no and give them bad news.
Good customer service consists of spending as little time as possible with people.
I produce nothing.
I am accountable for things that I am not supposed to review.
As a government employee, I can not defend when racial or religious slurs are said to me. Nor can I defend myself when some one is aggressive verbally. Nor can I say a thing to the man who slaps his infant in front of me and yells "no hitting" when the 1 year old was just waving his arms around. As a government employee, I have to hold my tongue when the mother in front of me calls their toddler stupid and useless.
In the first few weeks, I had compassion and an eagerness to make sure paperwork was in order for the benefit of the customer. This is not necessarily office policy.
Go call your insurance company. I'll be over here eating paint.
I try to focus on the notable people of the day. I met a man today who is doing what I would love to be doing- restoring historic buildings. I met a man who was so moved by the wonder of seeing his own child in an ultrasound, he is near graduating with his MA degree so he can share that experience with others daily as a tech. I have to focus on these people. It's these few that my gut tells me to chat with that get me through. I come home and leave everything at the office. That part is easy because I am nothing there. I know myself so well now. I am reassured in my knowing. I am looking to reviving.
On Monday, I had a moment when I was arguing with a customer about his due date. The expiration is on the bill twice. It's not my problem if you wife did not read it. Something popped in my heart/ brain connection. I actually heard it- like when a tendon is torn from bone. I could see the whitish connective band frayed and ricocheting in my mind's eye. I had become the grey of a government employee. I put Black 47's 'James Connolly' on repeat in my car-
"It's better to die like a man on you feet than like a slave bound in chains-"
I searched out that man's restoration business when I got home today. We all have asked at what point is enough enough? Why, when we decide it is, my love. That which is not acceptable can only be for so long. I need more because I am more.
Monday, August 1, 2011
rant of the day
Suppose you are allergic to seafood. You are at a restaurant and ask the waiter what he recommends. He says the shrimp scampi. Knowing what your needs are, knowing what is unacceptable to you, you order the veal Parmesan.
To say you have to accept the current society, the now environment, the status quo-
that Hollywood and Madison Avenue dictate what we do and how we view ourselves is irresponsible bullshit. To believe that means you do not know yourself and are too weak minded to stand up. It means you deserve the psycho-emotional anaphylaxia you put yourself through.
Know thyself and to thine own self be true-
To say you have to accept the current society, the now environment, the status quo-
that Hollywood and Madison Avenue dictate what we do and how we view ourselves is irresponsible bullshit. To believe that means you do not know yourself and are too weak minded to stand up. It means you deserve the psycho-emotional anaphylaxia you put yourself through.
Know thyself and to thine own self be true-
Thursday, July 21, 2011
at work
I work in a tag office- I process car registrations and titles and collect vehicle property taxes. I meet notable people now and then-
an Indian guy with turret's syndrome and stuttered
a woman with a PO box over 300 miles away to decoy a man who wants to kill her
a family trying to retitle their cars before the father gets out of jail
a young man who had his foot reattached very very recently-
an Indian guy with turret's syndrome and stuttered
a woman with a PO box over 300 miles away to decoy a man who wants to kill her
a family trying to retitle their cars before the father gets out of jail
a young man who had his foot reattached very very recently-
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Memorial Day drive
After breakfast burritos, we set out to see new things. I get it from my Dad- the desire to not be on the interstate. The back roads have more to see and friendlier people.
First stop was http://www.deercreekgunshop.net/index.html to get information on build kits for match lock pistols and rifles for our Elizabethan Trayed Band recreation. These guys have a large Civil War re-enactor clientele, with all the black powder supplies they need. Since that means percussions cap, Pat Rabun advised us to explore The National Muzzle Loading Rifle Association website http://www.nmlra.org/index.asp. I found myself admiring the craftsmanship of the filigree work of the trigger plates and the carving of the stocks.
While on Fairground, I spied an estate sale sign. At the end of a dead end, we were greeted by a 3 month old guard dog named Daisy who’s preferred plan of attack was looking up at you and asking “Why are you not petting me?” and you just had to, so you wouldn’t break her little puppy heart. Once we made it past Daisy, we met Clay and Eric McNeil of Certified Asset Removal and Liquidations http://certifiedliquidations.com/About_Us.html
The unusually big house and ware house were peppered with furniture, books, and renovation supplies. This was the first of their big shop sale and they hope to make a regular thing of it.
Back on the road north- We pealed off onto Old Highway 41 just after Kennesaw University. Hooters was hosting a “Mud for Blood” event. Georgia Bounty Runners http://www.gbr4wd.com/ were running a blood drive while showing off their off road mud running vehicles tricked out to the extreme. Arin’s favorite was red, with a black exterior roll cage, 5 point harnesses in the bucket seats- and pink knitting on the floor boards.
Every week, we pass a shop on South Main Street in Kennesaw. We finally stopped and visited Holly Jones at The Painted Butterfly http://www.thepaintedbutterflykennesaw.com/ . Her huge collection of colorful folk art is watched over by Sylvester – a loving Hemmingway Cat. With careful reading of the painted quote plaques in the gallery, you can find a few from Holly herself. One room has wonderful hand knitted Christmas stockings.
Turning right again, we stayed on Old 41 to see where it went.At the intersection of Old 41 and Hwy 293, we saw the sign for The Dixie Highway http://dixiehighway.org/dixie-history/ and we just had to turn. The drive was beautiful curvy green. We didn’t see very many cars until we got to Acworth. I had been to Acworth a couple years ago for an architectural restoration workshop. It was lunchtime, so our first stop was Henry’s Louisiana Grill http://www.chefhenrys.com/henrys/index.html . The back of the menu told a story about Henry learning to make “the best cornbread in the world” from his Nanny. And yes he did! It’s sweet, thick, cake like consistency, and bits of peppers mixed in. Jesus would have more followers if Henry’s cornbread were the bread of life. We ate crawfish etoufee’ and seafood po’boys with battered fries. I wasn’t that full even after the all you could eat buffet. We needed a walk around. Randy Shaw at Bars and Pubs LLC http://www.barspub.com/ had custom made the skylight in The Oak Barrel wine shop where Cookie Thorpe knows her stuff. She also consigns bottle art by Bonny and James Tillman from the Vino- Eco Candle company http://vinoecocandles.com/ We spent the majority of our time in the Acworth Bookstore and Library in Southern Expressions http://www.acworthbookstore.com/ We sipped coffee browsing the shelves. Arin found a wonderful repro copy of an Ames Sword Company catalog http://www.amessword.com/ in the Military History section.
Back on the Dixie Highway, we tried to find the Etowah Indian Burial Grounds, but the signage was poor. Instead, we found an 1800’s cemetery that shared a parking lot with an elementary school. The town of Emerson is so pretty. Families adopted the highway in front of their own homes. Eventually, the Dixie Highway fed us to Cartersville. Arin caught sight of the City Hall dome through the busier 4 lane. When you want to go downtown, turn on Main Street. The list of shops we stopped in is huge- Psycho Sisters, Blue Sky Outfitters, Pawn and Shop, and so many more I can’t remember. Spring Place Pottery sells local artists’ work including Dry Creek Naturals http://www.drycreeknaturals.blogspot.com/ raw and hand dyed wools from her very own goats. Tina said she will let a few folks come out to her farm in Taylorsville to help and learn.
For the ride home more than 6 hours later, we ended up heading south on Highway 5. through Holly Springs, Woodstock, Canton, and Marietta. It is strange that on a Memorial Day weekend, Marietta was the only town with flags on display for our Honored Dead. Kind of odd-
First stop was http://www.deercreekgunshop.net/index.html to get information on build kits for match lock pistols and rifles for our Elizabethan Trayed Band recreation. These guys have a large Civil War re-enactor clientele, with all the black powder supplies they need. Since that means percussions cap, Pat Rabun advised us to explore The National Muzzle Loading Rifle Association website http://www.nmlra.org/index.asp. I found myself admiring the craftsmanship of the filigree work of the trigger plates and the carving of the stocks.
While on Fairground, I spied an estate sale sign. At the end of a dead end, we were greeted by a 3 month old guard dog named Daisy who’s preferred plan of attack was looking up at you and asking “Why are you not petting me?” and you just had to, so you wouldn’t break her little puppy heart. Once we made it past Daisy, we met Clay and Eric McNeil of Certified Asset Removal and Liquidations http://certifiedliquidations.com/About_Us.html
The unusually big house and ware house were peppered with furniture, books, and renovation supplies. This was the first of their big shop sale and they hope to make a regular thing of it.
Back on the road north- We pealed off onto Old Highway 41 just after Kennesaw University. Hooters was hosting a “Mud for Blood” event. Georgia Bounty Runners http://www.gbr4wd.com/ were running a blood drive while showing off their off road mud running vehicles tricked out to the extreme. Arin’s favorite was red, with a black exterior roll cage, 5 point harnesses in the bucket seats- and pink knitting on the floor boards.
Every week, we pass a shop on South Main Street in Kennesaw. We finally stopped and visited Holly Jones at The Painted Butterfly http://www.thepaintedbutterflykennesaw.com/ . Her huge collection of colorful folk art is watched over by Sylvester – a loving Hemmingway Cat. With careful reading of the painted quote plaques in the gallery, you can find a few from Holly herself. One room has wonderful hand knitted Christmas stockings.
Turning right again, we stayed on Old 41 to see where it went.At the intersection of Old 41 and Hwy 293, we saw the sign for The Dixie Highway http://dixiehighway.org/dixie-history/ and we just had to turn. The drive was beautiful curvy green. We didn’t see very many cars until we got to Acworth. I had been to Acworth a couple years ago for an architectural restoration workshop. It was lunchtime, so our first stop was Henry’s Louisiana Grill http://www.chefhenrys.com/henrys/index.html . The back of the menu told a story about Henry learning to make “the best cornbread in the world” from his Nanny. And yes he did! It’s sweet, thick, cake like consistency, and bits of peppers mixed in. Jesus would have more followers if Henry’s cornbread were the bread of life. We ate crawfish etoufee’ and seafood po’boys with battered fries. I wasn’t that full even after the all you could eat buffet. We needed a walk around. Randy Shaw at Bars and Pubs LLC http://www.barspub.com/ had custom made the skylight in The Oak Barrel wine shop where Cookie Thorpe knows her stuff. She also consigns bottle art by Bonny and James Tillman from the Vino- Eco Candle company http://vinoecocandles.com/ We spent the majority of our time in the Acworth Bookstore and Library in Southern Expressions http://www.acworthbookstore.com/ We sipped coffee browsing the shelves. Arin found a wonderful repro copy of an Ames Sword Company catalog http://www.amessword.com/ in the Military History section.
Back on the Dixie Highway, we tried to find the Etowah Indian Burial Grounds, but the signage was poor. Instead, we found an 1800’s cemetery that shared a parking lot with an elementary school. The town of Emerson is so pretty. Families adopted the highway in front of their own homes. Eventually, the Dixie Highway fed us to Cartersville. Arin caught sight of the City Hall dome through the busier 4 lane. When you want to go downtown, turn on Main Street. The list of shops we stopped in is huge- Psycho Sisters, Blue Sky Outfitters, Pawn and Shop, and so many more I can’t remember. Spring Place Pottery sells local artists’ work including Dry Creek Naturals http://www.drycreeknaturals.blogspot.com/ raw and hand dyed wools from her very own goats. Tina said she will let a few folks come out to her farm in Taylorsville to help and learn.
For the ride home more than 6 hours later, we ended up heading south on Highway 5. through Holly Springs, Woodstock, Canton, and Marietta. It is strange that on a Memorial Day weekend, Marietta was the only town with flags on display for our Honored Dead. Kind of odd-
Friday, March 11, 2011
insomnia rant-
I'm more and more convinced that I am unbalanced. At least after a bit of a cry and a rant, I feel much more stable when I do get a full nights sleep-
I am scared most of the time. I feel I need to be ready to explain myself- not defend, but explain, because my mistakes are catching up with me.
I am lonely most of the time. Giving out, without a balance of putting back in.
I feel left out, forgotten
I don't know what's going on with my friends
I feel avoided
I feel I have nothing to offer
I have lost inspiration to create.
I feel like I am not doing what I need to be doing to be a worth while friend- like I haven't earned fellowship.
I am grieving for the loss of my family, my business, my Shire, my household- all of which have faded in the last few years.
When I want to reach out, and take myself back, I am reluctant for fear of failing again.
I have no more faith. I put it all in my business, in the SCA and in RSC.
I find out later I have been not invited, and it's whispered like I was never meant to know. I feel abandoned by friends who didn't say that they were leaving. Two in particular who say they miss me while feeling more and more guarded on our rare visits.
I have so few people, I'm taking it harder than I should be. I am over reacting because I feel my circle getting smaller. I feel like I have forced people away without realizing it and I want that feeling to stop. I want to know the root cause. I ask what I need to do, and I have no reply, or mean ones that don't address the issue.
So much for clearing the air. Today, I decided to wipe all my slates. Clean house and deal with the 'it's been really bugging me' things that I have been accepting and just pushing down. So far it hasn't turned out well. Do what's best for you, I'm told- but I have rotten timing. Or something-
There's a bunch of people out there who owe me sincere public (or at least witnessed) apology. There are a bunch more who owe me sincere thanks.
There are bunch who's company was comforting and fun and moved the world who I feel separate from. I wonder if I am unbalanced? I need reassurances. I need faith. I need good news. I need joy and silliness.
I need to know I don't somehow deserve isolation: see Karma, see divine retribution-
I need to feel secure in the times that must happen that I am not forgotten, left behind. I've spent a lot of time on my own. You'd think I'd be used to it. Ok with it. But I'm not. I feel like I have to chase down company, grasp at people who want to be uncaught.
I take myself, and my hurts way too seriously, too much to heart.
I say the wrong thing at the wrong time and get blown up at.
Maybe Dad was right and sometimes turning the other cheek means walking away.
Maybe that friend was right when he said things run smoother because I was not around- one of those jokes that cuts to my bone, but will always make me wonder if there was truth to it, because it did unload smoother with out me.
One thing I know is when you start saying "everybody says/thinks/does..." it means you say/think/do...whatever it is.
People have been reaching out this week. I've been wrapped up in my own darkness to notice properly. Like the wounded animal, I snap before realizing. I disappoint myself when I do that and stay wounded. I can't heal because I am already hurt.
I still want to ball up and grieve for my Dad when I hear "Swing Low" and remember the walls singing as we all bellowed it our in our rooms last time my brothers and sisters were together. A time when, I found out later, I hurt people without knowing and was told it caused unfixable damage. Yet another example of should have been addressed at that moment before it was too late.
I want to grieve for the dreams my business held for me and the 'I can make anything' attitude- even though that got me in over my head on a few projects. I loved every minute of it, even when I hated it. I feel like the fact that it really was a full time job squeezed into 5 hours days was not understood or respected. I started being hurt by that attitude, and when I confronted people, I had it carefully explained how that didn't mean I had open days and could easily do things that could not happen with a real job-
I want to grieve the fact that things were so fucked up when they were babies that I couldn't enjoy those times that will never be again. I am angry at myself when I resent the boys when it was G who was the issue.
I want these things to be seen as real injuries. I want my sadness respected. I want my circumstances respected. I want to be poo-pooed. I want to be told not to worry- that people will come back. That I haven't been abandoned. That I haven't fucked up without knowing it. That it's not too late-
I want to be able to not feel like I have to speak and act perfectly as not to upset anyone.
I grieve most of not being me - river walking, rock climbing, beer swilling, sword swinging me- because I have my grown up responsibilities I need to tend. There are kids whose future depends on my doing the right thing. It's taking me a way too long time to use this grindstone for my nose instead of trying to come up with as many other uses for it as I can find.
It's my dreadful high maintenance side -The fear that I will look up and everyone has gone- left me behind and I could have prevented it, if I only knew I was supposed to- a piece of me that has always been there and a burden to have.
I hate being weak and insecure. I don't blame other people for making me feel this way. I blame myself for being so needy.
Sleep is finally coming. It's been almost 2 weeks of on and off sleeplessness. We'll see what the future brings- if I have cause harm tonight or not. And if it is fixable.
I am scared most of the time. I feel I need to be ready to explain myself- not defend, but explain, because my mistakes are catching up with me.
I am lonely most of the time. Giving out, without a balance of putting back in.
I feel left out, forgotten
I don't know what's going on with my friends
I feel avoided
I feel I have nothing to offer
I have lost inspiration to create.
I feel like I am not doing what I need to be doing to be a worth while friend- like I haven't earned fellowship.
I am grieving for the loss of my family, my business, my Shire, my household- all of which have faded in the last few years.
When I want to reach out, and take myself back, I am reluctant for fear of failing again.
I have no more faith. I put it all in my business, in the SCA and in RSC.
I find out later I have been not invited, and it's whispered like I was never meant to know. I feel abandoned by friends who didn't say that they were leaving. Two in particular who say they miss me while feeling more and more guarded on our rare visits.
I have so few people, I'm taking it harder than I should be. I am over reacting because I feel my circle getting smaller. I feel like I have forced people away without realizing it and I want that feeling to stop. I want to know the root cause. I ask what I need to do, and I have no reply, or mean ones that don't address the issue.
So much for clearing the air. Today, I decided to wipe all my slates. Clean house and deal with the 'it's been really bugging me' things that I have been accepting and just pushing down. So far it hasn't turned out well. Do what's best for you, I'm told- but I have rotten timing. Or something-
There's a bunch of people out there who owe me sincere public (or at least witnessed) apology. There are a bunch more who owe me sincere thanks.
There are bunch who's company was comforting and fun and moved the world who I feel separate from. I wonder if I am unbalanced? I need reassurances. I need faith. I need good news. I need joy and silliness.
I need to know I don't somehow deserve isolation: see Karma, see divine retribution-
I need to feel secure in the times that must happen that I am not forgotten, left behind. I've spent a lot of time on my own. You'd think I'd be used to it. Ok with it. But I'm not. I feel like I have to chase down company, grasp at people who want to be uncaught.
I take myself, and my hurts way too seriously, too much to heart.
I say the wrong thing at the wrong time and get blown up at.
Maybe Dad was right and sometimes turning the other cheek means walking away.
Maybe that friend was right when he said things run smoother because I was not around- one of those jokes that cuts to my bone, but will always make me wonder if there was truth to it, because it did unload smoother with out me.
One thing I know is when you start saying "everybody says/thinks/does..." it means you say/think/do...whatever it is.
People have been reaching out this week. I've been wrapped up in my own darkness to notice properly. Like the wounded animal, I snap before realizing. I disappoint myself when I do that and stay wounded. I can't heal because I am already hurt.
I still want to ball up and grieve for my Dad when I hear "Swing Low" and remember the walls singing as we all bellowed it our in our rooms last time my brothers and sisters were together. A time when, I found out later, I hurt people without knowing and was told it caused unfixable damage. Yet another example of should have been addressed at that moment before it was too late.
I want to grieve for the dreams my business held for me and the 'I can make anything' attitude- even though that got me in over my head on a few projects. I loved every minute of it, even when I hated it. I feel like the fact that it really was a full time job squeezed into 5 hours days was not understood or respected. I started being hurt by that attitude, and when I confronted people, I had it carefully explained how that didn't mean I had open days and could easily do things that could not happen with a real job-
I want to grieve the fact that things were so fucked up when they were babies that I couldn't enjoy those times that will never be again. I am angry at myself when I resent the boys when it was G who was the issue.
I want these things to be seen as real injuries. I want my sadness respected. I want my circumstances respected. I want to be poo-pooed. I want to be told not to worry- that people will come back. That I haven't been abandoned. That I haven't fucked up without knowing it. That it's not too late-
I want to be able to not feel like I have to speak and act perfectly as not to upset anyone.
I grieve most of not being me - river walking, rock climbing, beer swilling, sword swinging me- because I have my grown up responsibilities I need to tend. There are kids whose future depends on my doing the right thing. It's taking me a way too long time to use this grindstone for my nose instead of trying to come up with as many other uses for it as I can find.
It's my dreadful high maintenance side -The fear that I will look up and everyone has gone- left me behind and I could have prevented it, if I only knew I was supposed to- a piece of me that has always been there and a burden to have.
I hate being weak and insecure. I don't blame other people for making me feel this way. I blame myself for being so needy.
Sleep is finally coming. It's been almost 2 weeks of on and off sleeplessness. We'll see what the future brings- if I have cause harm tonight or not. And if it is fixable.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Sons of Somerled
I listen to the CD at work a lot. The lyric (or close to it) "...from a day when sword was mightier than pen...." harkens to a time before lawyers, and deeds, and land grants determining who owned the earth. My lands would stretch as far as I could defend myself and give protection and provision to those who would help me do so. An idea like that has a strength of responsibility that is almost unheard of on both sides of that fence these days. When you are lucky enough to find a few whom you can protect and provision, whether in body or in soul, you have allies. Even better if they are friends as well.
That piece of a line sounds a bit louder in my headphones. It triggers a deeper meaning I don't recall.
Excelsior-
That piece of a line sounds a bit louder in my headphones. It triggers a deeper meaning I don't recall.
Excelsior-
Blue Moon- feminine voice
I wanted to be poetic and beautifully deep while thinking about a Blue Moon, but honestly all that comes to mind is beer. I love beer. I don’t love getting drunk. I love the taste, the mouth feel, the patient creativity of brewing your own. When I am enjoying the flavor, the dulling drunk is annoying, limiting the palate.
The first time I drank beer, I spit it out. I think it was a Miller product. The next time was Guinness and I was redeemed. The two experiences could not be further apart. I started home brewing in 1993 while living in Florida. There were 5 of us sharing the house, which required plenty of beer. With a full crew, we had one batch blowing off, one in second fermentation, one aging, and one to drink. I lost the necessity of lots of bubbles. I appreciated what a good head was and how the top of the glass can be different than the bottom.
After a several year stop in production, I started to experiment again. I wanted to make a historical beer. Me being me, I had to choose the most difficult ones-the ones with no surviving recipes- Rye Beer, and Ebulum. With the German Purity Laws, brewing guilds had to destroy their secret recipes. Ebulum – an elderberry oatmeal beer- was never really written down. Well, they sort of were. They were like my recipes: a list of ingredients with no quantity or instructions of any kind. These are the best recipes. I like to play with my food. And drink-
I called the rye Judas Tears. The beverage is against the law. It is perceived as yuck by those who hear what it is, but when cajoled into trying it, those who hate beer are surprised to be fond of it.
The ebulum is called Heather and Hay- two Scottish items for an old Scottish beer. There's wheat and elderberries and a list of spices that it makes no sense that they would work together, but there you are- a bunch of individual elements that can stand on their own or combine unexpectedly into something good.
After 14 years of growing, my grape vines burst and overflow and I am encouraged to a more patient level creativity in wine making. I use my grapes, and honey and ciders to make combinations I've never heard of. My freezer is full of 15ish gallons of grapes waiting for the prefect day to get smooshed. It is the only time I am capable of patience- when I am brewing and vinting or waiting until the perfect day to do either. I'm willing to wait for a Blue Moon until it's ready.
The first time I drank beer, I spit it out. I think it was a Miller product. The next time was Guinness and I was redeemed. The two experiences could not be further apart. I started home brewing in 1993 while living in Florida. There were 5 of us sharing the house, which required plenty of beer. With a full crew, we had one batch blowing off, one in second fermentation, one aging, and one to drink. I lost the necessity of lots of bubbles. I appreciated what a good head was and how the top of the glass can be different than the bottom.
After a several year stop in production, I started to experiment again. I wanted to make a historical beer. Me being me, I had to choose the most difficult ones-the ones with no surviving recipes- Rye Beer, and Ebulum. With the German Purity Laws, brewing guilds had to destroy their secret recipes. Ebulum – an elderberry oatmeal beer- was never really written down. Well, they sort of were. They were like my recipes: a list of ingredients with no quantity or instructions of any kind. These are the best recipes. I like to play with my food. And drink-
I called the rye Judas Tears. The beverage is against the law. It is perceived as yuck by those who hear what it is, but when cajoled into trying it, those who hate beer are surprised to be fond of it.
The ebulum is called Heather and Hay- two Scottish items for an old Scottish beer. There's wheat and elderberries and a list of spices that it makes no sense that they would work together, but there you are- a bunch of individual elements that can stand on their own or combine unexpectedly into something good.
After 14 years of growing, my grape vines burst and overflow and I am encouraged to a more patient level creativity in wine making. I use my grapes, and honey and ciders to make combinations I've never heard of. My freezer is full of 15ish gallons of grapes waiting for the prefect day to get smooshed. It is the only time I am capable of patience- when I am brewing and vinting or waiting until the perfect day to do either. I'm willing to wait for a Blue Moon until it's ready.
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