Random thoughts including a snow squall....

 What the what is a snow squall anyway?! 

I guess I'm experiencing it. There's snow-ish. Snowish stuff coming from the sky, barreling through the air, at whatever angles it might choose. The news station says it's the coldest windchill in at least 22 years. I just wonder, is that on this very day? For every day of the 22 years? Or how does this compare to the arctic blast from early 2021 that kept us all inside (I do mean ALL... I had 22 critters in the back room by day 3 of that arctic blast) and made natural gas prices sky rocket. Is this one really colder? I'll tell you, I need a shower, but the floors are cold, the air is cold, my feet are frozen and I don't expect that Y'all are coming to visit. So I'll just let my hair be all gnarly and dreadlock-y for a couple more days. I'll hunch down in the heat and enjoy it because as warm as it is when our make shift little heater runs, it will cool off at an alarming rate when the heat stops blowing. When the heater runs its like standing in front of the fire place and soaking up all the heat until it's too hot and it gets uncomfortably warm. I could move over one chair and it wouldn't blast me quite as directly but it's strangely comforting. And-- I know this is my own weird grief thing-- it makes me somehow closer to my Dad. All those years. Bundling up. Going to work for big energy. or small-time work for his own company. getting those farmers back up and running. The power of energy. Electricity. Such a noble calling I'd say. And in the end.... bundling up and headed to the coffee shop. So he could stop and help a neighbor who's car won't start or push a stranger out of a drift. Or help his family with the farm emergencies that just happen when the temperature is arctic and the wind starts blowing. When he got home, he'd strip down from all the layers. The layers that could not keep that air from chilling his bones and he'd hunker down in front of the fire until at least the first couple layers of frozen chill would thaw from his bones. Then he'd add more wood and sit in his chair and soak up heat in what I can only describe as a sauna of our family room and wait for the chill to subside. So I sit here and soak up the heat and remember my dad and how he loved to be a helper and how he'd always do the right thing, even when it meant leaving the family he loved to get power restored to some community member on Christmas Eve while we put our celebration on hold waiting for him to return to us. And I feel a melancholy. It is the same melancholy that never leaves me. The one I was born with. The one that I blamed on others for a long, long time until I realized that I don't know the beginning of the sad. It was always there. It's not evil. (Though I sometimes forget that). It just is. It always was. And it will always be there. Sniffing around trying to grow. And somedays it grows. I feel that melancholy. and I know in my heart that it's a part of me. that it just is. and I'm sad for my dad. he left us. and I'm still not sure how to navigate this world without him. I'll never be the difference-maker he was. But he didn't know he was this hero kind of guy. He knew he was flawed. He knew there were so many parts of himself that he never made peace with or made sense of. I think, in the end, with the help of his clergy, he came to know more about right and wrong and lines that shouldn't be crossed. That some things that feel like love do more damage and tear down the soul, of others, but also of himself. I think this because he knew on some level the difference between right and wrong. But for so many years there was this part of him that didn't get it. And he saw every failure. I don't know if he ever forgave himself for ways he failed. 

This is irony at it's fullest in my life. Because people tell me that I'm awfully hard on myself. But the truth is, sometimes I'm over the top with strange or wrong ideas and they don't feel wrong. And I'm scared I'll never learn my lesson and be the person I am supposed to be and it terrifies me. I want to make a difference too. 

I know I should take water to the birds. I don't want to. My weather app says it's -5º and feels like -32º. I'm guessing they really could use their water filled earlier (like now) and again later (like dusk or close to it). It will freeze in between. The "barn" is an open-sided shed and it's definitely warmer than outside! But it's not that warm. I'm sorry now that I didn't get a tarp stapled to the front to keep some of that wind at bay. *sigh*. The cats are invited to the back room, but haven't taken me up on my offer yet. Well, one kitty of the three did. But I wouldn't let my orange tomcat bring his breakfast with him, a large black bird still steaming and freshly killed. I'm glad my cats are savvy and can take care of themselves. But it's cold enough that I would let them inside for sure. This is my little bitty mission in life right now. The people are not frozen.... thank God. And the animals need looked after. That is my little farm life. Not the life-changing mission of a teacher. Not the energy giving mission of an electrician. Just a simple, tiny calling. One I can easily overlook and say, "I have no purpose today." 

God grant me the serenity.

and give me a purpose. please. feeling useless is only magnified in the midst of this squall. 

Winter Solstice

 Today is the shortest day of the year. Thank God. Today came in with all sorts of frosty wonder. I couldn't help but smile and say, "Thank you God for reminding me that every season is a season of beauty and wonder." As a child, I remember the Christians whispering... "they are trying to take God out of our schools and changing the celebrations to winter solstice instead of Christmas!" "Winter solstice is a heathen holiday. A pagan celebration." the words were cold. Icy. Void of any Christmas cheer, void of wonder. And so it pasted itself into my soul. A cold and sterile view of Winter Solstice. Coldly evil and void of any pleasure or celebration. But when I fast forward to today.... I don't want this old view, this perception given to me by small-minds filled with fear. Today winter solstice is a turning point. The last day that daylight eludes us earlier and earlier. The pivot-point. Tomorrow will be a longer day. Every day. Until Summer Solstice. The next pivot. Today l long to take the definition of refresh, renew, and rest. The short days are so a body can rest. So my soul can rest. rest. Refresh. rejuvenate. I'm grateful to have this viewpoint. Namaste.

It's that time again...

 Well, I was blogging a lot for a little bit. Now I'm stuck again. Ugh. I didn't even want to dive in. But it's begging time. This feeds my apathy. It's so unmotivating to be in limbo, to be dirt poor, to be in this waiting game for disability. There is some movement. Well, let me just say, I know I was contacted by them wanting me to fill out more paperwork. And so were some of the professionals in my life. But it still says I'm in step 3 of 5 of the reconsideration. So I know there is something happening, and yet..... I'm forever in step 3 of 5. *sigh*

I realized that a new evergy bill posted and I didn't even notice. I've gotten pretty far removed I guess. I just draw my little cards, feed my little birds, and hide in my home. 

So here are ways to help:

Re-visiting the Past....

 Not long ago I posted about feeling safe. Or more to the point, not feeling safe. And the knot that creates in my stomach. And so I've been over-thinking a whole lotta schtuff from the past and generalized observations about American culture/society in general. To be honest, I don't know if this stuff is limited to, because of, or even influenced by the 'American' part of the culture or not. I've never been submerged in any other culture. 

But something that chaps my hide more and more as I age is the whole objectification of women. I know that in general (you) meaning a generalized MOST of the male population, and specifically NOT some of my dearest, nearest friends who are surprisingly enlightened (God bless your souls).... I know you don't MEAN any harm by objectifying women. nice boobs. nice ass. let me see your cleavage. "its meant as a compliment, really...." Yeah. Well, it's not a compliment. I have worked super hard on myself. Not showing my crazy to the world, not acting on every impulse I have, not being too proud to admit failure, or at least certain places where I need to improve. But my genes. I was just born with them. I am not in control of my cup size in any natural sense. And what if took control of my cup size? What if I took my destiny into my own hands and went under the knife and came out a B cup. You know, no-bra size. And then all you bitches that said how lucky I was to have back pain and uncivilized (and unsolicited) societal pain from being a large breasted woman (there, I just came right out and BREAST... not boobs, not knockers, not ta-tas, not titties), well, then the joke would be on you because I would have achieved something I covet. No-bra status. What I wouldn't give to have that option. But I'm no more in control (without the help of a surgeon) of my cup size than you are, you who are busy coveting and objectifying and telling me how fortunate I am to have pain (physically) and sorrow (not so much physically) of oversized fluffy marshmallow boobs. That's what I call them when they billow out of whatever size bra I put them into. There's almost always some piece of me marshmallowing out of the holder it was intended for. I would love to have my way with the people who design these articles of clothing that do very little to support and entrap my societal pariahs. You know, the assumption is (one of many), that I cannot be very intelligent since all that physical substance went into my chest, the God that made me wasn't smart enough to leave some matter for the brain area as well. 

What's my point? I'm not sure I have one. I have many. But trying to sum it up in a singular purpose? Maybe that it just really isn't right or wrong, sexy or unsexy, to have large or small breasts. That my worth and my intelligence are not something you can see without getting to know me. I'm not more American, more Playboy Bunny, more Culturally-Iconic-Sex-Symbol because my genetics endowed me with more chest that what I ever wanted. 

I'm pretty smart. I just wish people could see it. I am not my body. And... another post entirely... I am NOT dependent on a filter-system to make me smarter either. Sometimes (and only sometimes) I am sorry that I don't have a filter, but that is also not an indicator of intelligence or stupidity. It is just an indicator that I'm still learning impulse control and that as an intelligent person, I still have the option to learn more. and more. 

The Pit in my Stomach

 One thing on my mind is the objectification of women. Specifically, women's body parts. Ass. Boobs. ass... you know. And I've blogged about this before, but the whole, "you must have liked it...." spiel. Sex and sexuality are very confusing in that sexual touch does feel good. Even when it doesn't. So even though some touch gives me a knot in the pit of my stomach and a nauseated feeling that I might consider puking to express my emotions that confuse me so much, I also encounter a level of okay-ness and pleasure. And I have to decide which is the emotion I am going to value. 

Well, of course, it's more complicated than that. Definitely. One of my friends was talking to me about an eligible bachelor we know. She said, "he's a catch." I said, "only if I want to feel like a prostitute." Which spurred a conversation about sex as a simple transaction, just part of the business of life. And there might be a profound truth there. I think it's more about what a person can live with.

I am finding that I can't live too far outside the bounds of what I am comfortable with. I mean, I have done this. Many times. Year after year. Relationship after relationship. But the more I'm okay with being alone (and I'm there, finally, I'm more than okay with this), the more I can't really abide the pit in my stomach. I guess the bigger thing is this: I want the big win. I want love and freedom. I don't want to cheat or step outside the social constraints of what is acceptable sexually in a monogamous relationship. But I want to live my little Hippie Chick Life being the one solely in charge of my body and when I give and what I give and not have it taken without permission. I want the ultimate in trust and respect. Trust that I won't trample your trust and companionship with my selfishness. And respect that I know what I am a ready for and not ready for. 

I'm angry and confused with myself today. Why can I easily put this all out here for the world to see, but I'm terrified of just having the conversation in real life? It's anxiety producing. I know part of it. You, my dear readership, are a captive audience. Not really. You are free to stop reading at any given moment. But the thing is, you can rant at my writings, but you are not interrupting the flow. The words have already poured from my being to the space of this blog and I had complete and total freedom to use the words I wanted and to edit and to purge and dump. For this, I love writing. Writing has gotten me into trouble a plenty of times. "Why didn't you just talk to me? I read your letter and I feel attacked and ambushed." Talking terrifies me. I think I will choose it because I want what happens when people talk to each other. I want to learn to build trust and intimacy. I want to learn give and take. In a way that doesn't leave me with a stomach ache. I'm not sure how to do this. But I want it. Graceful or awkward. I want it. More will be revealed...

What day is this again?!

 The days run together. The days. The nights. The weekends. the weekdays. What's what and all that. Is it Sunday or Monday? Why is there no mail today? Oh yeah, it's Sunday. How come no one answers my call? Oh yeah, because most businesses only man the phones M-F, and it's Saturday. and so on and so forth. Today, being Veteran's Day and Friday, will probably really throw me off. No mail today. No banks today. Only today is not the weekend, but just darn close to it, so repeat this scenario for the next 2 days as well. 

This is a joy of being home. Being home all. the. time. I don't know if you all will remember but the borrowed car we were driving is now better left undriven. (Surely that's a word...). I can't tell you definitively that the problem is a head gasket, but it sure presented that way. I'm savvy enough to know that driving it is a BIG no-no in such a state. ugh. 

These things are related in that when you don't have a car, you just kind of languish. The days on the calendar don't mean much except for when you have a ride to somewhere or something. Today, we have an appointment this afternoon and a ride (hallelujah), and therefore it's important to know that today is Friday. But the next two days being weekend days will not be scheduled and once again, we'll just be out here in paradise without wheels and things will start to blend into each other then. 

Apparently my disability case is moving. Some professionals are getting paperwork. That is a good sign. I'm so tired of being in limbo. And I'm tired of being discouraged. So I'm praying for the people assigned to my case and that the right answer will come to pass sooner rather than later since I've already been here for a year. 

Blogging feels random and without direction, much like the rest of me lately. Directionlessness is a difficult place to live. I find myself counting down the hours until I can go to bed. Ironically enough, bed is not blissful now either. There's the waking and not being able to fall back to sleep. And there's the waking early with a drive to get up and make cards. The waking and feeling motivated are not bad in and of themselves, it is just when it's coupled with too little restful nighttime sleeping. 

But there's much to rejoice about really. Did you know..... someone paid my energy bill again? Yep. Let me tell you, this does more for my tired soul than you can possibly know. I feel loved. I feel important/cared about/for. And I feel safe. Like God is just proving what I say about knowing that He has always taken care of us and that He's NOT going to drop me on my ass now. Amen. So if you're the one, thank you. It means SO much to us. And if you're not the one, thank God with us for angels among us gifting ordinary (needy) people like me with electricity and a deep sense of love and care. It's a big deal and I'm grateful and asking you all to be grateful with me. thanks.

I'm sitting here under a blanket typing in the house that currently already has a bit of a chill to it. I'm worried. Tonight is supposed to be cold. 20º F. And that is bearable. We are in Kansas after all. But it's not desirable since we have no source of heat.  I mean, we are well stocked on little plug in heaters.... yeehaw. But I know I don't need to worry. Right? Hence the previous paragraph. And a little thing called a power greater than myself that takes care of me all the time, like the one I call God. Sometimes I call God... Good. Good takes care of me when I can't. And Good (God) will continue this trend. The Bible says that I should cast all my cares onto him and he will take care of me. So that's the plan. Casting now. Worry-free living ahead. The thing with that is that I'm a fast-forgetter. I get to grow myself in discipline and ask for God to take away my Worry and fear again tomorrow and again and again and again. But I'm okay with that as long as I remember to do it. Because God is good (see how I did that there), and will take care of me for as many todays as I ask. All I have to do is humble myself and ask. And how hard can that be. Right?! 

For the love of Ducks....

 Lately the blog feels like work. just more of the blah, blah, blah.... Which is in and of itself depressing. And there's a low-level of depression accompanying this, daily melancholy. All. Day. Long. Melancholy is tiring. 

But there is always something more, something better, some sort of reckoning with gratitude. Righting the sideways that is melancholy and putting my life into an orderly space of gratitude. It happens. Often. Overwhelmingly. And sometimes I'm so deeply entrenched in the melancholy that I don't acknowledge the goodness. The goodness in my life that makes me weepy and emotional almost on a daily basis. 

So I have written at least briefly about the vision that Jadyn and I are growing about the Hippie Chick Farm. Why couldn't we develop this into a place that sustains us? With art or birds or whatever. Why couldn't it work? You know, the old "Why" vs "Why not." Why do we think this could be possible? Well, Why not... 

I have been stuck on how we "need" some chickens. Because predators and illness completely wiped us out. And we have a Roo and no hens. I seem to think that if I am going to define this little homestead as a farm, we need to have chickens. J keeps reminding me that we are duck people. We sort of love ducks. Only without the sort of.  We just love ducks. And the damn raccoons took too many ducks as well as wiping out our chickens. But we're slowly building our flock again. Our local Tractor Supply had two lone ducks that needed to come home with us. They needed us. So we added them to our backroom birds and about a week ago we got to move them outside. I guess it was a week and a half ago, because they moved outside so the new babies could move in. My friend just messaged me and said, "I knew you were trying to re-build your flock so I picked these up at Atwoods...." So we have back room ducks again. or still. It seemed to me to be a sign. Something that said, "God loves you and wants you to be happy, here are some ducks." And also, "don't worry, you are on the right path, the path where you grow your little farm and it loves you back...." Thanks God. 

Yesterday afternoon I was snoozing. This new thing of waking up at dawn and being awake and starting my day leads to some mid-day drowsiness. Anyway... I'm interrupted by the phone. Caller ID tells me it is my friend, so I shake myself awake and try to pretend I wasn't just sleeping my day away. She says, "some lady just called me and wanted to know if I knew anyone who rescues ducks, do you want a couple ducks?" Of course. So they are supposed to be Pekins. They seem small to me to be Pekin ducks but maybe they are just too young. I don't know. They are adorable and were not in a good situation so now they will be fed and loved and get to free range every day. Not yet. Right now they are in the pen in the barn and will go back in the dog crate that is in the duck/goose pen when the rest of the free-rangers come home for night. This gets everyone used to each other. Less picking on them that way. But the big ole Goose will probably have to exert some bullish behaviors anyway. But seriously, this helps a lot with those behaviors. Introducing them in a more isolated environment.

But anyway, back to the whole Hippie Chick Farm thing and encouragement vs. discouragement, ebb and flow and all that good jazz. The two new ducks makes my heart happy. Of course. They make me feel as though things are right in the world. Another sign. Because the one who is greater than me, the one I call God, knew I needed a sign. 

Ahhhh. Thanks God. Because encouraged wanes quickly. And more is always needed. But today I will remember that we are on a right path, the universe told me so.

Dog Fighting and Amazon and Bills.... oh my!

 This post has been sitting here for a little while already. Type a couple sentences, hit the wall, wait for writer's block to subside, come back to it, erase said sentences. Start over. Repeat until today. Today is the day. I will get the thoughts to translate to characters and letters on this machine and get them out of my head. 

First things first. I am on hold with DCF. I am number 74 in the que. I will opt for a call back. We'll see if it works today. I tried this earlier in the week and about mid afternoon I forgot that I was waiting urgently for their callback and walked away from the phone for a brief couple of minutes. Not long, maybe 5 minutes tops. But yes, that is when they called back. *sigh*

Next, taking care of business. The business of being broke. Ugh. Who likes this part? Can I tell you a secret? (You know I'm going to no matter your response to my question). I secretly like/love the part where I feel loved and cared for by anonymous souls of the universe and knowing that God is such a big entity that he can take care of me on a daily basis and a month-to-month basis. So I hate the begging. But I feel the love in the receiving. 

This month's needs. Are still big. But not giant. You know, when you're at the point that things like insurance (home-owners, auto insurance) are luxuries, your needs start getting smaller. Pay evergy. Pay phone bills. Keep animals and people in enough food to be healthy. Be able to buy toilet paper. 

So here we go..... 

Evergy says.... the magic number is $308.19. See inserted slide for account details.

Phones. I was bragging not too long ago about paying them. That was a smallish lie. I paid mine. But the Punky's, hers was paid by donation last month, and let's face it, she is currently without service. bummer. Our phones are on Straight talk and if you want to be anonymous, you should send us a straighttalk refill card (the $35 one is all we need) in the mail to 4411 S. Woodberry Rd., Burrton, KS 67020. If you don't care about anonymity, you can just message the scratch off number to me on facebook. Then I go online and put the numbers into the right slot in our account and violà we have phone service. 

The weather is wreaking havoc on my knees. Both of them, but for sure the newest Robo-knee. Aches and pains and pangs of arthritis. Oh my! 

Dogs. I don't know how to tackle this dog fiasco, and it's what has triggered the stagnation in blogging. Last week on Thursday night we let dogs out to do what dogs do. And for our dogs that doesn't just mean pottying, but also barking. Barking at the darkness and the mystery predators awaiting just beyond the line of sight. So they were barking when the sound changed, so aggression and crying. I ran out there. The new knee does move fairly quickly. Yelling at the big OAF to leave my dogs alone, and seeing that the blondie, my Maddie, was just fine and dandy. But then out of the shadows limps a little black mess, our terrier, and fearsome leader, Alice. We don't know for sure, but experience would say that Alice started something she was not able to finish. Because that is what Alice does. Rules with an iron fist and scares and growls and snaps and attacks the other dogs. But she's a small terrier and the Oaf, our Princess, is not anything small. She is rumored to be Catahoula, Husky, and pitbull. She has a very Pitty face. It's also a very pretty face. But best guess I would say she is probably an 80 pound dog. Alice is a 15 pound dog. Alice was seriously injured. Some deep and gaping puncture wounds requiring stitches, as well as multiple more punctures that didn't require stitched but were wounds nonetheless. And deep bruising. The vet mentioned the reason she was favoring one leg was that the bruising was pretty deep and severe. Yeehaw. 

The general census is that we need to re-home the Princess. But we don't know if we can. Let me tell you, I love that big lug. I rescued her. I mean, technically we just acquired her, adopted her, whatever. But she was in dire need of being rescued and she is safe and healthy and happy here. I love her and she loves me. And today was supposed the magic day we take her to the Humane Society. Well, after the ridiculous amount of tears last night, the new conclusion is that we can't. So I don't know how exactly we will handle this, but we'll handle it. I think she is going to be called on to step up her head of ranch security and lean into the title and do her job. And that will lead to less indoor time. Less interaction with the small and fierce Alice, who walked around all night last night just pissed off at the world and growling at all the dogs and cats and anything/anyone else that got too close.

We'd rehome Alice, but no one would want her. Isn't that sad? Yes, yes it is. And there are moments and even days when I love Alice and tell myself that she's a good dog. But she's not really. She's cantankerous. And bitchy. All. the. time. But Alice needs to be loved too and she is Jadyn's dog. Jadyn is super mad at her right now for putting us in the uncomfortable position of having to work through this having to decide about re-homing, retraining, how to finance $400 of vet bills. I borrowed $200 to take her to the vet. But I still owe Southview $193. Damn dog. I think I speak for both of us when I say, we just want to shake her and secretly I harbor a desire to kick her. But I don't and I won't. But yeah, I have pent up frustration here. 

We were the anonymous recipients of a pillow of shame for her to keep her from licking. Thank you Jesus and thank you to whoever sent us this. I mean, amazon. I thanked them, but they just provided the goods, that financed the goods. 

I feel like this is probably a boring read and full of "matter of fact." But I guess that is just where it is at today. 

insomnia

 I don't even like the word: insomnia. Yuck. And I've never battled this. Other women talk about the insomnia that accompanies menopause. Thanks change of life for no sleep. But I haven't had to deal. I sleep like a rock. Except tonight. Tonight I sleep like a baby. A colicky baby. Asleep for two hours, awake and crying for 2 hours....

Okay, not crying. Everything but... 

Dreaming... what would a cooktop cost? I wonder if I can wire that myself? Will I blow us up? oooo, look, a clawfoot tub. Let's get that 2nd bathroom ship shape, and right now. Okey-dokey? 

Fretting... why God? Why are we $.02 away from broke again? or is it still? Did I just live in oblivion for a couple days/weeks? *sigh* What about guinea pig food? And food for ducks and the guineas and the dogs are eating like crazy and acting like they've never been fed before. We'll be out of dog food in a lamb's shake if they keep going like this. and I see that important call came and that they left a message. Finally. Great. My one and only message, and now I have a new message in the portal. I know what that means. That means case closed. That means I get to jump through even more hoops. I can berate myself for missing the call but seriously, if you want me to answer, leave a message the FIRST time you call so I can watch out for your calls. What if I was pooping when you called? Seriously. One message and one following missed call are not enough. Ugh. And seriously. I said pooping. Cuz the commercial says it is okay to admit that women poop. And if you've met me, you know I would have told you before the commercial said it was okay.

Drawing. Sometimes it is fun. I have completed 8 of 12 mallard cards for Christmas time. For the most part they are fun. But there's a pressure. A pressure that doesn't accompany cute little penguins sitting on a sled or a penguin eating a slice of watermelon reminding me that summer is over and sweet fruits are fading. I'm fretting about drawing and what if I'm not as good as I said I was?! But seriously, my drawings and ability to draw have improved and expanded 10-fold. Whatever that means. 10 times. And new pens. Fun. Except learning how to use them. Not-as-much-fun. I mean, I wrote with them and I wasn't ready. I didn't KNOW them intimately. And the writing looks.... juvenile. Maybe I got ahead of myself when I thought I could do this card thing..... 

    

  

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Coons. Raccoons. They were in the barn last night. Well, the night before this one (the longest night ever mostly because its 4:30 now and the dogs got me up at 2ish and I've been awake). This night might never end and then I'll not venture out to the barn to see what I did or did not trap. Night before last the geese stayed in with the ducks. I'm pretty sure that is why I had a full head count in the morning. Well, not full. We've lost 4 ducks in the last 3 weeks and with the loss of our beloved Tofu, the headcount may full well never be complete or whole again. But the remaining heads were accounted for and not by counting up pieces and parts, but all were alive. 

See? So much to fret about. Dream about. Worry about. There's more. But for one thing, my need to pound on computer keys is waning. And there's the part where there really may be some things I'm not ready to put out there for anyone and everyone. But hopefully morning will be coming soon. I'm tired, but not sleepy. The idea of laying back down fills me with dread. 

Maybe I'm just Tired....

 Yesterday I was in a slump. Grumpy. Out of sorts. Grouchy. Touchy. Disgruntled. Discontent. Certainly not my favorite kind of mood. To be honest, it was the sort of day where you know nothing is wrong, it just doesn't feel right and praying for bedtime seems to be the best solution. So here I was, praying for the day to end and hating that I was wishing my lift away. But I went to bed early-ish for me, and got up late. These are good things. Today is much better. Yesterday I was tired in a Lord-take-me-away-from-this-earlthly-mess kind of tired. And part of the tired comes from not being able to put the finger on what it is. I know I'm tired of living in the clutter. But as we try to clean and organize, we come up against problems best solved with cash. Which we don't have. Coming up with $35 for a phone bill is important, but let's face it, that is not a lot of cash. And I don't really have extra. So.... 

It was also the tired of not knowing when it will ever really end, this waiting for disability to make a ruling.... again. And being tired of holding my breath. Living poor just gets old. I think yesterday's tired was the kind that comes from utter exhaustion of the soul. 

This soul is tired. Bone tired. Dog tired. Drag-ass tired. Too tired to pray tired. 

Thank God the sun came up today and I can reach out again and ask God to renew my spirit. Thank God that each day is a new beginning. 

A moment of Truth: I'm never NOT asking for money....

 Life and times of me and the Punk. They've been rocky to say the least. Punkin-seed said the post about abandoning her when she needed me most was unfinished, it just abruptly ended. Which is true. I believe that my readership (much like a mother ship... har har) deserves the raw, real me. But that one was difficult to write. And while I applaud myself for choosing transparency, it can and does kick my ass sometimes. Every day I have so many thoughts I want to write about, they pile up and bury me. One of the things on my mind though is the money situation. I was sharing a prayer request yesterday and I qualified it with, "I am only sharing this as a prayer request, I'm not asking for money...." because heaven forbid that anyone views me as someone looking for a handout. Is that not hilarious? Why do I think it's hilarious? Because let's face it. There is never a time when I'm not asking for money. Just sayin'.... 

Here's the request. A person in Burrton has a GMC Jimmy 4wd they would sell me for $2000. Well, that is the exact vehicle I've been praying for. So I am praying for some sort financial miracle to come along and make this happen. So yes, I was not directly asking the pastor for money to purchase said vehicle, but I would not turn it down either. 

In light of recent car problems, to the car I don't own, I might add, there is a certain urgency to the need for a vehicle. Well, there is and there isn't. It's an exhausting amount of work to find rides and whatever, but in our current state of relying on powers that are greater than our own self-sufficiency, it is a great opportunity to let God be God and to let miracles happen. So there's this whole giant guilt thing with the car we've been using. My friend's car, that allowed us not to be stranded in the country without a working vehicle. First the AC stopped working, which led to the ceiling trim stuff, headliner (?), to come loose, because of the 2/70 AC. Then there is the slob factor. I treated that car like it was my own. Shame on me. There is also a tire factor. The passenger front tire has a leak. We have to air it up frequently. It was on the proverbial list. Get tire patched. So now would probably be a good time to come clean to my friend about all of this. The guilt of driving another person's car was big enough already, or so I thought. But there is a more than fair chance that this latest problem is big. Like blown head gasket big. I feel like a terrible friend. Like a loser friend. Because I begged to use my friend's car and now I've run it into the ground. What kind of friend does that?! Apparently this kind of friend. *sigh*

I am getting excited about the work we are doing around the farm. Today's agenda includes fun cosmetics. Yay. I splurged at Walmart the other day because we got an unexpected cash gift. I bought about $20 worth of bulbs to plant. One thing Punky and I have talked about it that we need to do what we can to clean up the farm, yard, house and make it appear functional and pleasing to the eye. When you have 0 income, a $20 splurge is a big one. But I also know myself and if I don't put some of these little controlled splurges in my life, I'll go off the deep end one of these days and just dive in all the way and have a big, uncontrollable splurge for all the pennies in our possession. So today's to do list includes planting bulbs. I can't wait. This will be fun. 

As always, if you want to contribute, there are always ways to help. What we've learned about straight talk is that you don't want to give them your debit information directly. So if you'd like to help with a phone bill, buy the refill card at Walmart. We use the $35 plan. It's enough. If you purchase the refill card, message me and we'll get those details taken care of. Or if you'd rather be anonymous, put the card in a card and mail it to: 4411 S Woodberry Rd., Burrton, KS 67020. 

Remember, Punky is a bit directionless right now. It is the time of her life to question and want, and rant and scream anyway, but we're up against some big circumstances here. She would do well to start a youtube channel and video blog. She's super excited about making some of those videos where they are all sped up and you can watch her make something (like chicken pens) is a short period of time. But she needs the stuff to do it now, like the camera and tripod and such. That stuff is on an amazon wish list. You can access that HERE. So you can help a young adult grow into her adulthood by contributing. And that is the kind of shameless begging I am not able to stop doing. We need help. Your help. and we know it and we humbled by the awesomeness of others. Thanks for being part of our world. 

more life and times of the Punky-girl

 The other day I talked here about my Punky. And I wanted to delve back into this. Jadyn, the Punk, Punky, Punky-girl, Punkin, Punkin-seed. She has battled respiratory illness all her life as I wrote about in the previously mentioned post. Did I mention that she was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia this June? This is great and terrible all at once. It's great that there are explanations for some of the unexplained pain and weakness and fatigue. It sucks because.... Fibro. 

This Punkin-seed of mine, she likes to work. She's a hard worker and good at it, strong work ethic. Customer service is something that comes naturally to her. I love-love-love watching her interact with John Q. Public. But the constant battle of good and evil, I mean, er, health vs. illness, takes a toll. On jobs, self-esteem, and so much more. Punky misses an average of 1-2 days of work a week. She needs something that can accommodate this. Like 2 days on, one off, 2 on and another off. It's hard to find this. She lost her last job because of this exact thing. It was manual labor, line work, manufacturing. She LOVED it. But her body did not. This is a consistent issue. So here we are, the kid needs a job, and she has a suspended license. Mom is just coming off of surgery. You know? But I am driving again. Well, I was driving again. But you may have read that the car I was driving (I don't even own it), is not fit to drive currently. But here's the thing, the Punk has applied for some jobs and she gets all choked up and teary and says, "what if I can't do it?" "What if I get fired again?" "What if I get sick?" Lots of What if's. And this plays havoc on her self-esteem. We have been scratching our heads trying to figure out some non-conventional ways that she can make life (and work) work for her. 

We've thought of a few. But the truth is, it's been a struggle. One conversation that we keep having over and over again is this. The Punk wants to "take over the farm when you die Mom." First of all, I'm not planning to ever die. And this makes me chuckle. Like What-the-heck-do-I-really-have-something-you-want?! and also, "...so now you're wishing me dead?!" But moving is hard and we've been here for 2 years now and my girl is kind of starting to realize that she likes country life and living on a little farmstead. And she's good with the animals.  Real good. They like her and she likes them. 

So we're working on the idea of homesteading. Making the farm work for us. Creating our own jobs instead of attempting to fit the mold of conventional jobs. One thing that is starting to work is artwork. Yay! My cards are starting to catch on and I can't pay our bills off the sales yet, but it makes the pinch less painful. And pays for "extras" like, you know, phone service. 

Punky does most of the research and we're finding what poultry we want to invest in and what things won't bring us joy (or profits). Jadyn does an amazing job of finding information through vlogs and blogs and other sorts of youtube stuff (this stuff her is beyond my pay grade). We've decided to start a video diary of our journey. As we start to generate income it will be fun to record the journey. This task falls to Jadyn. I am the writer, and she's going to start following the day to day tasks using video and creating a youtube channel. So we need to get started on this. And it takes stuff. So we've created an Amazon list to help get started. 

This is the part where I tell about the goodness of people. One thing I need to admit to myself OFTEN is that people are good to me on a consistent basis. I mean, believe in the good and good will happen. Which is a cool concept. But the thing is, I'm a jaded soul. And God (or Good) is "out to get me." He is determined to let me know that people are genuinely good and that good things happen all the time. Which is where you angels without wings come in. I'm going to stay corny and upbeat and not get teary-eyed here. But the reality is, I have so many awesome people in my life today: rescuing me when cars break down, paying my evergy bill, picking up prescriptions, giving us rides, lending us a car, bringing out groceries. People are good. So good. dammit, here come the waterworks again. 

Thanks Lord for this good life.  I'm so very grateful. More adventures to come! I can't wait to see what this transforming of the farm looks like through the lens of Jadyn's optimism and other people's good will. 

Being Poor or Blessed.... or Poor AND Blessed: both at the same time

 Yesterday I received one of those blessings in the mail. So off to town (Hutchinson) I trotted to get some cash and get some needs knocked out. This quick little outing quickly turned into a recipe for disaster. 

First, I went to the bank to cash the check. The bank said no. So I said gimme back my check, I'll figure something out. So I went to the Walmart. It says that it can cash personal checks up to $200 and this wish was less than $200. But the system declined it. Thank you big banking. Okay, so I'll take it somewhere else, I say to myself. I went to Dillons. They only cash personal checks up to $25. *sigh* Last ditch effort. Try the (name of the bank it was drawn off of). I set off looking for said bank. No luck. Got lost. Found a cool park, but no bank. At the light, smoke and steam starting rolling out from under the hood. I quickly pull into a parking lot and turn the engine off. Now what?! Who should I call? Who even knows about cars?! I called person number 1 in my contacts that might be able to help. No answer. What if there's no one else to call? What if I'm truly all alone? The church. I'll try that pastor from the church where I go eat dinner. So I call him. He says he'll head my way and in about 45 minutes, there he was. We can't find the leaky hose, but I mention the antifreeze was coming out the top of the lid of the overflow where you put it in.  So "the pastor" goes to the auto store and gets antifreeze and comes back. I'm not sure how time passes here, but I'm starting to be very aware that my pain meds are all at home, and I am not. 

We end up putting in antifreeze and I start out for home with the pastor behind me. I make it a whopping 6 or 7 blocks before the engine temp starts to shoot up again. So when the light turns green, I move to the right lane and find a side street to pull onto. 

Now we have to decide. Tow to a shop where someone might be able to fix said car? or tow to the farm where no one knows how to mechanic. 

The short answer: it is sitting out back by the garage. 

So.... 

Sucky poor people things:

• no money for a tow or anything else.... 
• no money means no bank account which has come about after years of living with a bank account in the red, so no bank account if better for me anyway.... 
• no bank account means no way to cash a check
• no money in the bank or on a card means I will have to shop for whatever needs we have, can't just make a walmart order or farm store order to be picked up later.

Blessings that happened/continue to happen in my state of humility and despair:

• someone sent the extra payment on the check that I couldn't cash
• the tow truck driver slipped the payment for the tow into my hand when we got home.
• people show me their goodness by being willing to help pick up groceries, prescriptions, and more
• the church/pastor paid for the car to get towed
• I had a friend willing to let me drive their car in the first place. 

In the midst of two steps forward and one step back that sometimes shuffles into one step forward and two steps back, we are learning to look for the miracles. To find the good. To believe that good is going to keep on happening. We are learning about dreaming and how dreamers can't stop dreaming just because reality tells a different story. 

Dream on.... 

Confessions continued....

 Yesterday's post left the reader with an unfinished feeling. Like whoa, where's the rest of this? But I just had to quit. Giant epiphanies are draining. However, other than exhaustion, I felt like there weren't/aren't huge repercussions from yesterday's spilling of the guts. I have deep pain and sadness over parenting fails. Giant gaping holes in my ability to mold and shape my children for good because of my lack of parenting skills and my own pain. This is saddening. But right now, I don't have a heaping helping of self-loathing on top of it. Just the sweet release of letting this failure be exposed and hopefully expunged. I know my kid has forgiven me, and I know it is a process.... some days are better than others for both/each of us. I wish I had felt like I had options back in those moments, but I didn't feel that way. I just felt drained. 

Another big "aha" moment for me goes something like this.... I could not fill anyone's bucket, mine included because of the huge deficit. Not only was the bucket empty, but so was the pond I'd been dipping it into. I was unable to give to a job. I was unable to give to my children. I was unable to give to myself. I was defeated and depleted. Losing my job was a blessing. I hate not knowing if and when bills are going to get paid. And we seriously miss having a trash company! That is one of the biggest complaints we have. We have the privilege of allowing others to take care of us in regards to our energy bill each month. It's a cool thing to see. And not always a nail-biter. I'm kind of getting lax about it, really. "Nawwwwww, I'm not worried, God's got this, He has seen to it that the energy bill has gotten paid the last 4 months in a row! He won't drop me now!" Which is cool and I love it. But I feel guilty that I haven't lain down and cried and pleaded and begged and it still got paid. What? That's weird. I know... Guilt is a strange beast. And so is relying on God/others. If I expect it's gonna get paid, then I'm cocky, ungrateful. If I stress and cry and carry on, I'm lacking in faith. And those are just the "rules" that are not spoken but are still most definitely in play. That doesn't even get into all the weird shit that swirls around my brain. But again, I digress...

I needed this time off. I told someone I thought I could successfully go back to work now. And that seemed true for about 5 seconds. But then I realized the mental energy that being "on" in a job and being "on" at home would still be too much. I need to connect with my kid. I don't do surface level connection for any reason. What I mean is, I don't know how. I don't know how to superficially care about those I work with and those I work for and/or my family. I don't have a nine-to-five button or a leave-work-at-work switch. I am possibly ready and able to do a half-ass job that doesn't take too much thought or interaction and also doesn't use too much of my time. Like a 20 hour a week something that wouldn't be draining (or fulfilling, but that's not part of this equation). I am learning to be here for whatever goes on in life right here, right now. And it's a learning process, I have not mastered it by any means. But learning is messy and dirty and draining. So just learning, and cooking and cleaning have me maxed out. 

I spend a fair amount of time questioning.... "so God, if I'm not going to be disabled, I'm just going to be out of an income for a year? How is that going to work God? I will just live forever without a car? I'll never get my taxes caught up? I'll never get to help my child get her car back on track? I'll just always be trying to play catch up?!" "So God, are you saying the same thing I've been fighting against all this time? That Im just lazy and not disabled?!" "Um, God, what the....?" "I know you've held me this long, but seriously God, how much longer?!" 

And I usually come to the same-ish conclusions. Gratitude. I have much to be grateful for. Educate. People don't know they are shaming you. Unless you teach them. I will be okay, no matter what happens because God has always taken care of me in the past. 

So that is the wrap-up from the unfinished blog from yesterday. I still have more to say. Maybe I'll post again last today. There is lots of learning going on here.  Exciting.... yes. Fun? sometimes. Scary? all the times.                                                       

Confession from the Punky's mom....

 I have had a few epiphanies of my own lately. About the trauma, fight-flight-freeze, chronic stress, constant struggle to stay afloat. The 4 years that my kid was in high school were all crazy with stress. I-hope-my-baby-doesn't-kill-herself-today stress. And accusations and failings and falling short when the needs didn't stop long after the resources were depleted. You can't pour from an empty cup. But you can create accusations and hate and bitterness and blame. ouch. I don't blame myself too much too often because I was depleted on every level. Spirituality? bankrupt. Mental Health? bankrupt. Self-care? bankrupt. Physical Care (crazy shit like... sleeping an adequate amount of time, eating meals, and showering)? bankrupt.

A good thing to come from all this suicidal ideology and hospitalization and what-not.... insurance. My kid has insurance. And this covered the cost of a psychological evaluation (this type of testing begins at the very least at $1500 but probably more). Which led to a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder. Read up about that. It's a heavy label. But also a necessary one. This time the label was good because.... it changes the treatment... meds for one thing. We changed some medications around. Knowledge for another thing. Knowledge is power. Knowing what's kicking your ass somehow gives you the power to control it, change it. At least this seems to be true for my child. 

I'm getting ready to get into some heavy shame. I feel my body getting flush and red and just plain heavy just thinking about it. And teary. But that isn't too surprising. 

I've been on the defensive for so long, defending my child, but defending me as well-- my position, my trauma, my hurt, my pain-- that it's damaged my processing abilities. And today I can see that my baby loves me. And sometimes I wish that wasn't true because it hurts SO BADLY to think of every way I have failed her. It is a sick, sick thing. In my fierce love and devotion to my little Punkin, I somehow got caught up in me. And my needs, and my hurts, and my emptiness. And every cry for help from her brought a knee-jerk reaction from me about how it wasn't my fault. I fought so hard to get my own feelings validated that I lost my love for my child. No wonder she nearly gave up No wonder she was so angry. No wonder she just wanted me to notice her. I don't know how to let you know that every day, every waking and sleeping moment, were about Punky in a way that caused a terrible and bitter blindness to the very thing I was fighting the world for. The life of my child. 

I metaphorically and literally abandoned my BPD child who has intense abandonment issues already. I'll just let that one sit there. As much as I want to try to enhance and add more adjectives, it's pretty descriptive and accurate all by itself. In fact.... let me repeat it. 

I metaphorically and literally abandoned my child who has a disorder that is inherently caught up with abandonment issues. 

I'm a blubbering mess right now. Trying to figure out how to continue this mess of a blog. Maybe this post needs to be finished.

I will live with this parenting fail for the rest of my life and I'll bet you I won't get cocky anytime soon about how great of a parent I was/am to my children. 

The intricate weavings of the Life of a Certain Punky

Adventures of a hippie chick mom farmer blogger writer artist..... 

So we live on this cute little place with an acre and a half (or so) to just enjoy country living. Which, by the way, is sometimes more enjoyable than others. Two nights in a row there's been a skunk that has no doubt been up close and personal with our front yard. Thankfully the dogs were inside. But when it is so gag me strong, I know he's close. Maybe even on the porch. ugh. That's the not-so-fun part. 

Here we are with circumstances, some beyond our control more than others, but circumstances they are. Hitting a parked car when your mom is broke and your insurance has lapsed. circumstance. that one was a domino. And fast forward to today and (we) are facing up to two years of no driver's license. This isn't really my story to tell. But when you live with me.... lol. Also, there's the part where we are this team and we are Hippie Chick Farm, not me, but we. So today, I am going to get into the story of Jadyn a little bit. Or Jadyn's story. Or some such matter. 

I've known for a very long time that my baby has a compromised immune system. That first croupy cough at 10 days old that sent me into an emotional tear-filled panic was just the beginning. From a three day hospital stay at two years old thanks to a bout with pneumonia to the constant/consistent aches and pains and hearing your pre-schooler say things that sounded like an 80 year old.... "oh... my knees...." To the Munchausen syndrome/hypochondriac remarks and thinly veiled accusations from Doctors and pastors and daycare providers and parents (and the list here is long....). Finally, as a 4th grader, she was tested for asthma and got a diagnosis. Why didn't anyone care enough to order this before the age of 9?! Why did advocating for my child's health get us labeled and not assisted? These are questions we will never know the answer to. But if you ask questions about why we don't get medical attention right away when some new illness develops, this is part of it. 

Migraines. Migraines were also diagnosed this same year. Chronic migraine syndrome or whatever it's officially called. Fourth grade is also when we decided to see what happened if we eliminated gluten.  This is when the depression started to show itself. With suicidal thoughts coming along in the 5th grade. 

Fast forward. 8th grade. The need for interventions for my kid were at a level that I thought (silly me) I could work this out with the school without the legal backbone of an Individual Education Plan or 504. But they were necessary and I didn't realize that I needed the law on my side to keep my kid from being bulldozed by a system that does not give a flying fuck about the success of my child. And in the grand scheme of things, that system, that doesn't give a fuck about success of students, that translates into not giving a fuck if they live or die. Because it's really that serious when your kid is in the 8th grade. This is when I knew I had to get my kid out of public school in order to save her life. And you know what? I'm grateful that someone else's kid was the casualty of that school's administration and not my kid. Because, yes, a boy in that 8th grade committed suicide that year. I'm glad I got my kid out. You can back pedal all you want school district, but I had a kid in the 8th grade, I know the crucial role that school plays in the life of these kids. All that trauma training that school send teachers to, that isn't really for the upper-middle class students from well-adjusted two parent households. It's for the kids of parents in recovery and active addiction, the kids in poverty, the kids who has one or both parents incarcerated, the ones whose family is uncertain or on the mend. And selfishly speaking, I'm just grateful that statistic was filled by someone else's precious child. Do I grieve for that family? Yes. Do I think teachers on a larger scale, from K-12, all have an obligation to see that no one's 8th grader ever feels this alone again? Yes. Do I think that parental circumstances are out of the realm of control of the schools? Yes. Is this a tragedy that an entire district should learn from? Yes. But I'm still glad it wasn't my kid. It totally could have been.

Fast forward again.... those illnesses? Yeah. They are always biting us in the butt. So once the Punky reaches a certain level of truancy, then there's pressure.... just send her to school sick. Ummmm..... okay. But I can't come get her. You can't call me to come pick her up. 

Let's just suffice it to say that she's legit sick often enough that it's a problem every single year. And that whether or not I SAY I won't/can't pick her up, I will and it will affect my job as well. Every. single. year. 

And that it's draining. Drains the finances, the hope, the physical well-being, the emotional well-being and zaps that part of you were you balance everything in life and determine that life is good and worth living through all the crap. It damages this. 

Knowing this and KNOWING this are two different things. Not getting invited back to jobs is hard. It's sad, and it hurts. Having the realization that it is impossible to be a teacher on the level I want to and need to in order to insure the tiny humans succeed, and to be there for my kid who suffers with asthma and literally every respiratory illness that makes the rounds every season, depression, unmanaged mysterious pain and brain fog and more is a tough realization. I am not superwoman even I play a super hero in my own mind. 

Stay tuned as I jump into this more this week. There is another side. There is more than just hopelessness. But let's walk through this part together first. And just know, the writing thus far has been draining and scary and delicious. All at once. I hate letting you all in. On some deeper level, I am scared of the vulnerability, but the writer in me knows that it's so cathartic and the wise soul buried within knows that by letting you all in, you gain understanding and I take away some of the power that the infamous system has over the lives of us hamsters running the wheel. 

Office Hours

 Here I sit in one of my favorite office spaces otherwise known as the front porch. And I'm thinking about things like, "why can't I just find a comfortable position for this damn leg?!" "What makes me think things will get better soon or even not-so-soon?" "Maybe if I go inside and sit at the table.... " "then I'll miss the miracle (some people called this the sunrise)...." "I love this place." "damn cats" " I hate blogging about some of this shit" "It's called staying alive sweetheart" "you know it is cathartic as hell" "but never enough..."

...but never enough.

Story of my life. 

and the beat goes on. 

What if.... (jumping tracks again).... what if, we, collective we, everyone reading this, my Circles friends and facebook friends and my family or at least my family-of-friends, what if we all shopped local and supported each other this holiday season? What if we swapped goodies and inventories and helped each other succeed?

I have some friends with bees that I'd love to swap tiedye shirts for honey. I mean, how cool would that look at your booth?! Your yellow and black shirt? Add your own graphics and boom. uniform. I'd totally trade tiedye for honey.

I don't know. Or cards. I could swap some "bee...." cards for honey. or whatever. 

Lately things are pretty weird around here.  Apparently I missed an important deadline because there are no food stamps in my near future and I should have a notice saying that there are pending benefits. This sucks big time. Receiving food stamps is what keeps us afloat. But as some of you may know already, I suck at deadlines. Like big time suck. 

Suddenly I have been awake and unmedicated too long. The thing is, getting back to a certain level of comfort is uncomfortable. So now I grit my teeth and wait for meds to kick in. And over and over my brain says, "why? why does it hurt like this? why?" Which I want to shout at my brain, "Dummy! It's because you had major surgery!" "You are the one who didn't set alarms to take meds and opted to sleep all night instead of stay ahead of the pain...." "Why even ask why?" "choose Bud Dry" which I've never drank. I don't even know if it is still a thing and I don't think it became a thing until after I quit drinking. But their marketing works! I'm betting there is only a narrow band of boomers (am I a boomer? '68), that even know what I'm talking about here.... 

Jadyn says, "yeah, but we're making it..." Are we though?! We don't know if some kind soul will be paying our Evergy bill this month. Do we? Just because we've received a few gifts and were able to buy the basics like dog food and chicken feed and cat food and a coke at Kwik Shop, that doesn't mean we are making it. But on the other side of that, it does feel less tight, less dire. Thank you friends who have purchased cards or tiedye and thank you to those who have gifted and over-tipped. It makes a difference. It really does. 

Oh, weird little side note.... ALL our ducks are in molt. I was getting 2-3 dozen duck eggs a week and now I'm 0-1 a day. Yesterday the egg I got was gorgeous. I think maybe someone coming out of molt laid it. So maybe that last hold out that was still laying went into molt now because I still only got one egg. Duck eggs I see for $4/dozen. It's not a lot, but most of my friends give me $5/dozen anyway and 2 dozen eggs = $10. $10 is not nothing. I know because I have nothing. If you do not have nothing, if you have anything, $10 is sneezeable. If you do not have anything, $10 is something you can work with. Strange how that happens. 

So we have always had a little hobby farm goal in mind and I have about a million other ideas every day for this place. But we've talked about it in earnest lately and with the whole not driving thing for the Punky, we are figuring out what we want for the future. 

So homesteaders we are. What does that change? Not a lot on the surface. It changes everything in attitude. I now have an 18 year old business partner and a fledgling start up business. So as of now, everything falls under the umbrella of Hippie Chick Farm. Hippie Chick Creations... division of HCF. Tie Dye For.... HCF. Poultry? Dogs? Cats? HCF. HCF. HCF. 

Speaking of cats... we have some (five) that need new homes. There is nothing wrong with them! They are sweet pets and good hunters. They would easily potty train since they were potty trained once as kittens. Whether you need a barn cat or a house cat, I have you covered. 

Bandit! He is sooooo handsome. 

Tiger. Also commonly called.... Tigey-wigey. lol. He is super sweet.

I'm holding Sissy. I call her "lil sis". She has a special
in my heart. 

Tiger again. Cuz.... he's Tige. 

Here Sis is helping me with my field glasses. 
She's so helpful. lol.

The animals are ALL catching moles right now. I wonder just how many moles we have?! I see 2-3 new dead ones every day. I watched Rosie eat the head off of one this morning. I guess she things she's Ozzie?! She left that gift in mouse form for Jadyn the other day in the house. Thanks, but.... 

Anyway, this farm thing. Between J and I, we think we can make things work for us. But there's so much we want/need. Trying to find the things we can go ahead and start on while we are yet THIS BROKE, is difficult. I think we're going to make some chicken tractors for grass feeding. Sounds like a valid use of the windows are have at our disposal. And a small green house. The person I got the windows from said she had visions of a spectacular greenhouse she wanted to make with them. For realz. I could build a giant greenhouse with the number of windows we have!! I got them on the cheap because, well, because this is one of those people who loves me and wants good things for me, and I think I can make something out of them that other people will want/crave/rave about. I also think there are enough windows to craft, make the greenhouse of MY dreams, and make one or two decent size chicken tractors. There were 63 of these windows, and more than half of them are big. They are oh-so-cool, let me tell you. Or actually show you. I'll show a couple projects for house that I've used them for. 

Stairwell gates. I had already made the 
lower gate, and it keeps the dogs out of the 
attics. We had an extra cat here last week,
and we attempted to gate this off completely.
They can still squeeze through, but it is a cool
contraption. The window lock rotates around
a little piece of whatnot that I put on the wall to
secure the gate shut and you can turn it from either 
side, so it is functional and old school and just
plain coolio!

Here's the close up of it. I left a glass pane 
in the middle in order to paint it up really cool,
but put chicken wire in the other 2 panes so there'd
still be adequate airflow. I used screen door hinges
and the old handle is still on the window, so
a person can just grab it and swing it shut and 
latch it when needed. 

This is called "the gate in my doorway...." 
I can't have a closed door because of airflow. Heat and AC and whatnot. And it keeps the dogs out. Or in, whichever is appropriate at the time. It does nothing for the cats who jump it like it's not even there. 
But I can keep the pretty princess in my room at night and know she's not wandering the house and still point
a fan straight at my room and get some air.

Now.... thinking about John Q. Public and these treasures. Well, I don't really know him all that well. I know my quirky side and I have to assume (pardon my arrogance) that everyone thinks the things I design are cool and there will be a demand for them. But I like them not re-painted. Not modernized. Not decor-themed. They are authentic and raw and have a story to tell. So I'm creating a wall hanging and we'll see what other people think. Or will we? lol. sometimes I don't actually know if someone likes my stuff and I don't have a lot of friends who know the compliment sandwich rule, so I maybe can't hear some things at some times. So she shrugs her shoulders and goes.... "I dunno....."

And back to HCF. We want to make this a working farm that keeps us alive and afloat. Growing, breeding, selling, planting, harvesting. And there are two dreamers here now, so nothing can stop us. Except us. and well, we can do that very well. unfortunately. Last night the reality of how seriously without resources we are overshadowed the dreamers and they succumb to fear and depression. Was it a lack of proper nutrition? Maybe. Lack of sleep? maybe. 

OOo. OOo. side note. Kid thinks we are just going to magically get this revenue to cover this somehow. But she's miserable in her bed. beds. The full size mattress was a bust. So we got out the twin sized bed. And she is super uncomfortable. She is searching for the cheapest mattresses on walmart.com and thinking I am going to magically generate $100 in some sort of sales to cover this. This is sweet and naive and dreamy all at once. But it's that thing about.... $100 is not that much. But if you have nothing.... its out there a ways. Because next card sale we rake in buys dog food and cat food and I hope we get a tip so I can actually buy both of those things..... *sigh*

The goodness of others. I don't grow tired of it. I feel like *should* be somewhere else in my ability to pay back to self-sustain, but I'm not. I know God will take care of us and I know it will come through kind hearted people, some maybe even strangers. 

And I'm back around to grateful. I am SO grateful for.... 

• the high-quality people in our lives
• the magic of miracles
• the farm-stead we live on
• the animals we lucky enough to take care of 

I'm thanking my lucky stars for you today. You readers. You who pray. You who give of your time and resources. I am blessed beyond measure. Thank you.

Starting Over... and over. and over.

I thank my lucky stars for my life today. And everything in it. I can't stop the friggin' train though. It's rolling up to the station and it's picking up passengers, the crazy train. If I miss my call, no worries, these fuckers come around again. If you've ever ridden the crazy train, you already know it. It comes back around again. So if you miss your train, no worries. Oh. Let me clarify. I no longer live at the train station, and I don't ride the train nearly as often as I have before. But if I need it, I know it will be there. 

My kid, the one who's starting over. Ironically enough, he's starting over for the second time in two years. Last time a romance dissolved. And he lost everything. We still collectively grieve some of this stuff. LPs I gave him, she kept. This time it was not a romance. It was the unholy hell of squatter's rights. My kid's name is on the lease, but he has no safe way, legally or otherwise, to get control back of his apartment or to even safely remove the items we have fought so hard to restock in the last years. 

This makes me sad. And mad. and then I hear that whistle blow. 

Sometimes I feel like a hostage. Bound and gagged and thrown headlong into crazy with no resolve. Life happens. blah blah blah.

My child has been couch surfing for no less than 3 weeks. I can feel it. The ride. the leveling out. the tiny glimmer of hope. the drop, the hopelessness. the helplessness. the feeling of utter aloneness. Plunging deeper into the depths. I have been relying heavily on rock-n-roll to get me through. 

Said kiddo called me the other night crying to tell me that they were getting ready to take him for a mental health evaluation. And that there would probably be a 72 hour hold in his near future. And my sadness was overwhelming.

I've never really wished for normal-ness. I haven't had the desire to do this parenting gig the way other people do it, or to grow my own self up the way that others say to in order to heal and grow that damaged little soul that lives inside of me. When my baby was a baby, he cried. a lot. Colicky. I cried too. We walked, and I rocked and I sang and we cried. And when I'd sifted through all the songs that my daddy sang to me ("You Are My Sunshine," "Heavenly Sunshine," "Behold," "Jesus Loves Me," and all those songs), I started singing..... "don't you know that you are a shooting star, don't you know...." And well, it's our song. I hope my shooting star NEVER burns out. But if it does, I will never move on to loving the next person or thing. I will always love my kid. Just sayin'.... But you know, the whole shooting star thing got me off onto another tangent about how the world needs that one bright star, we need my kiddo's talent and beauty on this earth. 

Did I mention Rock-n-Roll therapy. You know, in the car, turn it up, loud. And then louder. So I'm jammin out and enjoying my drive and BAM! Bad company. And before I know it, I'm bawling. Thinking about my Shooting Star and how much I love my kids. and all that good jazz. 

That was last week Wednesday. I have been regularly boarding the emotional roller coaster train to crazy town since then. Cry. Stablize. Laugh. Sky dive deep into feelings. All that stuff.

I'm a little surprised I can form the words and thoughts at all. Did you know that trauma releases nasty hormones in the brain. And messes with short term memory. And crazy things, like words. duh. I feel more stupider just after typing that. 

My poor kid still needs some stuff. I'm including an updated slide..... 

We've made some progress on some clothing. We found pants, a few dresses, a few shirts, some socks and some things that people wear (or should wear anyway) under their other clothes. Kiddo had nothing. Came out here the other night with a brown bag, her pets and self. 

Putting this into the Universe almost certainly makes sure it will come to be....

I have become quite dependent on the kindness of other people. Not 100%, but approximately 2/3 of the financial needs we have monthly we are outside of our (my) ability to meet them. In the faith department, well, my faith in the goodness of the people I come in contact with, has grown at the least ten fold. So this makes me happy and I feel like emotionally I have grown to the point I no longer know how to address my old self. One of my children is completely like holding up a mirror to the soul of my younger self.... from all those years ago..... or, you know, like 5 years ago.  Or just yesterday. That self. 

It's the norm around here to not know where money to pay bills will come from and to be painfully aware that there's no such thing as "wiggle room" around here in regards to keeping afloat. I am NOT complaining about this, just waxing prose-etic about the world I currently live in (har-har... get it? poetic? only not. It's prose....) 

Earlier in the summer I had to rely on social media to spread the word about a need for moving some air in my house. And people were generous. New and gently used fans were donated lickety-split.  Yay!! And thank you. We used them. One of them we used to death. It died. Waaaaaa! And sadly, we need more of them. At the VERY least, we need to be able to replace that one that we've been limping along without for the past 6 weeks or so. We have discovered that life inside our walls is uncomfortable and inconvenient for the two people living here. But that when we have guests for the evening or guests for overnight, it is more than uncomfortable. Closer to unbearable. I keep imagining that I'll suddenly have the ability to just buy a couple more fans simply because we need them. This is a little bit funny. Why would we have the financial resources just because I was able to identify a need? I do not know. 

But if I humble myself and share my need, will my burden not be cut in half? Hasn't experience taught me that my worries are not nearly as heavy when I allow my friends and family to help should them? This is truer for my life now than ever before. I really am learning this. From the inside out. I was battling some of what I call "black energy" in my life last night and in regard to the needs we have that are neither insignificant nor hugely expensive, and there is a piece of me that knows that once I put it out in the universe that we need this stuff, the universe will bend heaven and earth to meet our needs. I also know that some will continue to see it as shameless begging or more likely shameful begging. Today I say, "I don't care, I am a humble soul, not a perfect one, and not an independent and prideful one...."

We need a few things and I am going to put them on a slide and insert them into this blog post. 

I was talking with the one who lives here with her mother.... and also to my sister, my soul sister, Sara Jane.... about the following.

I am on the verge. The edge. The cusp. of greatness. Of Artistic Greatness. And I really believe one day, one day before the current calendar year ends, I will be drowning in rewards of my labor and my artistic craftiness and creative genius. When I post, I can hear the arrogance. But alas, read it without bias and it does not seem nearly as arrogant. I am merely trying to speak into existence this feeling, this swelling, that I have in my heart. And you know what. Amen to that Mother Fucker. Amen to that. 

P.S. I have a child with nothing. Nada. Zip. Zipperrooney. Zippo. Nope. Nothing. Said child was put in a position to move out their situation and save their own life without anything. This kid needs clothes and shoes and snacks and wall decor and more.... 

Please assist. Large or small assistance, material donations, cash donations. It all means life to us right now and we are already soooooo grateful..... 

Miracles never cease....

 Today I received a payment for cards mailed to a friend. She had hinted at a little bit extra on the payment. I excitedly tore open the card. Let's be honest, who doesn't like to receive money?! But, I also love love love the whole card in the mail thing. I ripped that sucker open! I just started laughing out loud. And skipping. It doesn't cover the entire amount due on the ole Evergy bill, but it covers enough that I have hope to find donors for the rest! 

Receiving money in the mail for payment for cards = (american express... j/k, I'm just using their commercial).

Receiving a hefty dose of hope = priceless.

For every thing else, there's a wing and a prayer.