Let sleeping regrets lie

Tense and release

I find very few things work as well to relieve stress quite like hauling off and saying, I'm at my breaking point, enough!

I find myself to be patient and tolerant, but I hit that point today where it feels like a belt was strapped around my ribs and getting pulled as tight as possible as frustration welled up into a ball of stress and anger.
And I'm half embarrased that I let things get to me, but the other half is so wrapped up in everything that I know i can't let go.

I guess it's good to know your limits and not keep things bottled up.

And now I do feel better. Overall. I feel fine now.

The dying light

This winter so far has been unusually mild, with 60 degrees and sunny on thanksgiving. Thaghappened a few years ago too. It smelled like spring and we walked down to the chicken house in tshirts to see what the girls were doing. 

This year we contemplated volleyball but ended up skyping my bro that's out of the county instead. Now that I think about it as the bitter cold bears down hard, I wish I would have set up cricket or a bocce game. We just listened to my other bros baby mama chat about black Friday deals on new computers and other unneccasaries. 

Turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce And goat cheese. Mmm. And separating this years lambs that are to be butchered from the ones kept for breeding and he ones going to butcher. And yes, I feel terrible how excited I am for some new rugs. I am thinking of getting a sturdy needle and turning some of last years pelts into warm slippers. 

Well, despite the coccoon of quilts with a bed warmer I've created, I need to get up and prepare for another day of Christmas decorating. Spray paint and ribbons and sticky hands from evergreen sap will be the fate of my day. Which I think sounds pretty good. 

Universe city

Boston is beautiful this time of year. The slight nip in the air adds to the scholarly and historic tone of the city. And any drab bit of gray is entirely covered with garland and lights like no other time of year could be. It's still the exciting time of the holidays where the old songs aren't too overworked yet and the lights are in full glory. The pubs are filled to the brim with decorations so gawdy that if it wasn't for the overwhelmingness of the entire collection, you might consider them bad taste.

Decor aside, the city is very beautiful and mildly reminiscent of European cities with small brick townhouses with store fronts on the ground floor and very pricy lofts above. I ate the most expensive hamburger of my life and drank the most expensive whiskey and soda I have ever had.

Public transit is amazing and I can only imagine that public health care might be nice to have too. Riding the train or the subway I can't help but notice the slimmer waist sizes from us corn fed mid westerners and I didn't know it if was from walking because parking was a nightmare or from having to fit in small spaces on the subway, the packed restaurants or crowded staircases

I'm always amazed at how quickly adapted and at home I feel in big cities, not quick to ask for directions of check online reviews but rather enjoying the somewhat directed wanderings and experiences new places bring.
It also amazes me how no matter how large the city, it suddenly gets smaller with familiarity. Once you start to recognize the streets and landmarks, the subway routes and main roads, no matter how nonsensically designed they may be, the map dissolves into number of Dunkin doughnut shops or the building next to the park or the crowd gathering around the bronze -pull my finger- statue. It becomes real and attainable and easy to navigate.
It's only at that moment that I think "I have conquered another city!" that the overwhelming lonely feeling washes over me. Kinda like learning all the planets that orbit our sun, just to turn around and realize that every star is a sun and the universe is so vast that the surface hasn't even been scratched. Yes, I know where the farmers market and the fish mongers sell and I found where to get a $10 lobster and walked through the basement shop of Chinatown that sells beta fish and porn, but I look up and imagine thousands of people living here, piled story after story on top of each other with lives and jobs and kids and dreams , suddenly the city seems so vast again. And I didn't even scratch the surface

Blood is thicker than water

Tuesday has turned from garden day to gift making day. My sister and I get together and we trade off what gift ideas to make each week. Last week I picked grandmas BBQ sauce. We spent a ton of time and money on ingredients just to keep tasting it thinking- that's not right. Sneaky grandma left out a

couple secret ingredients. Of course

This week my sis found fruit infused vodkas on pinterest. Good idea in theory. In practice, more vodka was consumed than any recipe would have called for and I watched some tv while she cooked dinner. When I went up to see how dinner was, she could barely stand up. Fuck. Sneaky vodka. But I'd be lying if I blamed the drink not the drinker. 

So when her husband came home, I felt quite embarrassed about the situation. But what was I supposed to do? I love my sister and she loves to drink but something in the Houston blood doesn't trigger the -had enough- cue to stop. So I made small talk and left, her leaning against he wall for support, cussing about how ugly her dinner looked. 

An hour later I got a call from her husband that she fell and was bleeding everywhere. 

He wrestled her to be hospital where a cat scan was followed by many questions about how much she had drank. I sat outside the room as she was disorientedly getting her head stitched up. She made horror movie jokes about being covered in blood and begged to go to work the next day. 6 deep tissue stitches for the nicked artery in her forehead then 17 to close the gash. Very little anesthetic but quite a few nurses to hold her down. 

I snuck away to clear the house of vodka and clean up the pools of blood and the trail. Can I just say nothing is quite as creepy as cleaning up a creepy little house with bloody walls as the trees creek and rain falls outside. 

I looked outside with a lantern for her glasses. The pumpkins  and zombie heads around the doorways didn't help ease my nerves. Blood coagulates rather quickly and I contemplated a career change to crime scene cleanup until I looked at it again in daylight and realized I missed a lot of spots. 

She didn't sober up until we got her back home and the reality hit that she was covered in itchy blood with a big gash in her forehead. She kept wanting to touch it. The doctor said if she would have gone unconscious she would have bled out in less than an hour. 

While I'd like to decidedly state that this is her moment of clarity, I am hesitant to get my hopes up. 

I feel like I'm having these growing pains or mid life crises or some combination of both. My best kitchen worker quit. I miss her terribly as humor really used to get us through whatever. I haven't been to work in days. Rent is due and I don't have it. I spent the first half of the week with my mother who can't go to the store and my dad left her for two weeks with a bunh of sugar free ice cream and sugar free protein bars. 

Ok, so I don't think we will ever make a healthy meal in pill form or anything that comes from a lab. She thought her condition was effecting her bowels and turning them to liquid. Anyone who's had one too many sugar free candies before knows what sorbitol does to you, to anyone. It's sugar free and a very powerful laxative! Yay! Weight loss here we come!

Her fridge was bare. She was eating veggie chips and cheese as a meal. Not veggies cut up but those puffed deep fried things. 

And my brother booked his ticket back to Spain despite not finishing up his med school applications or going through the courts with driving without insurance.  Genius. 

So now I am sitting out front of a dance bar waiting for my friend to come as my dog barks at the drunk girls waking by. Akron looks a lot different than it did 5 years ago when I came back. The crackheads on bikes are still here. So is pints and the college, but that's sprawling and pints has different songs on their jukebox and bartenders not quite as accommodating. 

But maybe it's me that's different. 

centered and unbridled

I forgot how much I fucking love yoga.

I finally have two days off in a row again. Actually three days off in a row as I refuse to work on Sundays. It's a holy day of football that should be left sacred. And Monday there's nothing to do in the vines anymore so... I guess I don't go in to work. And Tuesdays there's still nothing to do, except maybe label bottles, but with my recent tennis elbow in one hand and cyst in my wrist in my other hand, I'll leave that for the kids to do. I feel old and falling apart. And I don't feel like moving case boxes around by myself, trying to stay motivated.

So I grabbed my formerly yoga enthused sister and went to the advanced class Monday morning, after grabbing a bagel, extra cream cheese and a coffee but forgetting to throw on extra deodorant. Um, so hot house yoga = not as fun as it sounds when you're hopped on caffeine and stinking like a gym locker room.
But still I was shocked at the techniques that I just automatically remembered, opening up my "heart" by pushing shoulder blades together and keeping my hips open, a term that makes my friend Janice giggle like a school girl every time.
I can't tell if I love or hate the succession of lunges into what can only be described as a pushup midway through but held out for an ungodly amount of time. Or the eagle, which is pretty much what every kid did when they were trying to turn themselves into a pretzel while standing on one foot.

So follow up the cleansing of the soul via namaste with some sushi and a couple sapporos. Damn. That feeling of being totally stretched out, muscles forming new tiny little tears with soreness in the best way possible as strength grows, and then consuming copious quantities of raw fish, eel, lobster, crab, shrimp, and tuna tar tar wrapped up in seaweed is indeed euphoric. Deep breathing must be carried out when doing weird head stands as well as when balancing delicious bits of food on the end of two little sticks, trying to dunk into salty soy water after two delightful beverages.
I think I could get used to this whole - days off thing. I mean, as long as I don't run out of money... which would probably happen pretty quickly at this pace.

Now I've spent my day on the internet doing something that my mother can't do. She's great at putting together rocks and gems and glass pieces and silver charms with intricate wire working... but she does not understand how the internet works. So hopefully by me throwing her work online it will move some of the inventory that is filling up her house.
And it's kinda fun to see how I can photograph everything. But I'm having trouble imaging the other end, the person who is like, wow, I really need to search for a 1978 vintage Christmas Cross in sterling silver and damn, I really would like some Jasper stones in there too while I'm at it. Here's my credit card, ship right away darling!

Oh, but I did save a bunch of money. I got a loop pedal app for 2.99, which effectively saved me about 97.01 dollars buying an actual loop pedal. My throat is swollen up like I swallowed a balloon and I feel like I'm sick more often than I'm not now. Hmm... I might get that looked at. But probably not.

So soon I'm off to Radio Shack to buy an overpriced tiny specialized cord to plug a bass guitar into my phone. Bassist moving out of state? There's an app for that.
Sooooooo not as fun. But at least it's something to occupy my time. I still haven't bought a tv. I'm not sure if I'm saving money or becoming more productive.... or just going down to the local bar more often. Either way, it's an excuse to get out of my tiny four walls.

Grand Rapids? or Chicago? or Akron? or just find a spot of land and hunker down waiting for what my prepper friends keep saying is inevitable? It's a weird spot to be in, debating between such total polar opposites. Sigh. A decision that doesn't have to be made today, for sure.

Oh, by the way, how I wish I had $250. There's the cutest little meat slicer that my butcher is selling because it's too small for him. But I'm looking at it as the perfect size for my smoked beef brisket, thin sliced and piled high on a hoagie bun. Or that boneless leg of lamb, or that turkey breast on the grill with an apple, herbed glaze. Or my picnic ham, slow roasted with a citrus soy glaze.... Sigh. I wonder if they'd let me make payments on it.

Odd how after calming myself down and washing away all the job worries, that my mind explodes into a million different ways to do so many things. I like unbridled minds. I'd like to imagine unbridled rather than off the tracks.

Move on

When your best friend tells you in a text that she's moving 5 states away, do you;

A. Lecture her about Proper life decisions.
B. Go into a screaming tirade about how she can't do this to you and she caaaant leave.
C. Grab all the dirty clothes cluttering up your bedroom and head to the laundromat to clear your head.

Change my playlist to something a bit more contemplative with a nice beat that will help with my new obsession, drum machine beats. I don't like the straight hard counts. I like the beats that you uncomfortably wait for them to hit. Not punk rock.

I forgot my soap so my trip ends up being 20 bucks but much needed.

I found 10 bucks in the dryer so I guess it was worth it.

Back to thinking, my job has gone the way it wa foretold by a winery consultant about the model not to do- plant a ton of vines on the family farm and wrap yourself in so much overhead before you even know if your location is good, you can sell your wine, you can even make good wine, or if the local market can absorb all you can produce.
I can sell wine. About 700 bottles per month through the tasting room, 90% consumed on site with high staff overhead.
We can make wine... But it explodes in the bottle and we keep having to redo it.

The business plan is flawed. No matter how hard I try, selling bottles of wine for under cost isn't going to make things work.

So I am stepping back and taking a deep breath. I should have run the numbers awhile ago. I guess I assumed someone already had. Now I know that's false
There's still some part of me that hopes we could make some changes and make things work. I have loyal customers who tell me I'm too cheap. I just say - I don't set the prices.
And my bosses are in panic mode and using the word micromanaging like its a good thing.  Which is making every day harder than the last. I'm laying off my awesome employees and then calling them back to help me with exploding wine, which is frustrating for all involved.

Alright. Back to deep breathing and assessing my life. If I would throw myself into something with a smart business plan, I would feel more accomplished and less frustrated. Of course. But what and where.

I re-remembered that I like city living. Maybe a bigger city?

Eh, I won't decide today. I'll go to lunch wih my sister an my mom. Then I'll go to work. And try to be happy and keep my best employee from quitting exude I don't know what I would do without him. And I'll drop my dog off with my sister an she will look sad. And then a night walk by myself, maybe to the bar up the street with giant beers for $3. An sit in the corner with my drum machine and make uncomfortable yet cobtmplative  beats.

Two broken keyboards and one broke Jane makes for very depression nights with no music.

All bets are off

Today I woke up to the tree trimmers at the park placing bets. One guy obviously bet with his heart instead of his head as the others pointed out how he always loses and should take the points. He refused the spread and went with the bet, despite their incredulous reactions. I just thought- that guy must be a browns fan.

I now have 17 chickens and three turkeys in the brooder house. I should be setting up some fencing soon so they can have some fresh air and I can teach them how to roost. With winter coming up, it's nice to know ill have fresh eggs... And something to care for and stare at.

I am feeling very uneasy about my job as I realizations through the company finally set in that our cost benefit analysis shows more cost than benefit. Depressing. But with more overhead than your average place, like acres and acres of overhead, it's hard to keep your head above water. I feel as though I'm in a terribly stressful chess game where I'm waiting for my opponent to move, but there's only thick silence from the other side of the table.
I have a crew that's dedicated and hard working. I just need a formula that is profitable.

I am trying not to get too down, but I really like my job and I want to succeed. Things that are out of my control frustrate me. So I am here, pinching pennies by buying flour and yeast. Dammit, I'll make my own bread. :) Now as long as my numbers were right on that cost and baking is anything like cooking, this should be fun and profitable. I fear it might not be as easy as I imagine.

Anyway, nick has a few pigs out back. They are both terrifying and enticing at the same time. I feed them split tomatoes and they look at me with upturned lips that I can't figure out if it's a snarl or a smile. Or maybe that's just how their faces look.
Soon I will be getting whey from my goat cheese lady to feed to them. But I am in an epic hillbilly battle, unbenounced to me, with the guy who brought the pigs. He hated the goat I gave nick and was yelling at me while I picked tomatoes. Nick wanted to keep the goat. Then one of my sheep got sick so I put it in nicks barn but that threw this dude into a fit of rage because he thought I was just makin fun of how much he hates that goat. Hillbilly drama.
I just dont like being yelled at.

Ok. It's time for a shower and a list. And maybe driving out to the middle of a field to drink a beer an listen to the silence. I need to clear my head.

Sad owl. Jumpy jane

In the most conspicuous spot, I hung sad owl. I found this little print in an antique store. It's a small owl perched on nothingness with a white background and he most sad look on his downturned face. Sometimes it looks serene, like a turkey going limp when he's upside down in the kill cone. It's my favorite albrecht durer print and it was a gem to find on a sunny north Carolina day with my mom as she rifled through boxes and boxes of old costume jewelry.
Sad owl calms me down.

I recently hit the point of exhaustion where I could sleep for days. But for some odd reason yesterday as I dragged myself to work, I got the strangest second wind where I felt like I was super caffeinated but I didn't have coffee but i was super energetic. Weird. Kinda reminded me of a runners high like tha one day I decided to try a treadmill and then was so shocked I actually liked it that I did t want to get off.
But then I wonder if it's high blood pressure. Great. Stupid no health insurance. Or maybe it's anxiety as I can't do anything right. I'm not sure if I have too much responsibility or expectations are too high.  I did make some delicious meatball subs and chicken Parmesan wih homemade sauce to calm my nerves. Tonigt I might cook a ham. And reubans. Mmmmm

Today I have a car filled with boxes and boxes of Amish canner tomatoes. All I need is some garlic, oregano and salt and maybe a few secret spices and I'll have enought sauce to last me until next summer... Maybe.

George is gone now and I'm foster dogless and trying to detox in order to get my jumpiness in the middle of crush season down. No soda, no double shots. No beer... Well at least for one night. Maybe two. But tonight is wine and chocolate where laura and I go through and find the perfect pairings of some oddly flavored chocolates (lavender?) and then proceed with the night slightly buzzed with a sugar high. So much for detox.
And I got a french press so I can stop paying so much money for crappy gas station coffee. Organic fair trade and turning on the burner kinda warms my house a bit since I'm boycotting turning on my electric heaters. Not looking forward to that bill, but gas is included in rent... So I'm going to try my hand at baking again. A warm apartment that smells like fresh baked bread sounds wonderful.

Bed ridden

I am  having one hell of a time getting out of bed today. I've been laying here awhile reading and then drifting back to sleep and waking up to various work texts or emails and then just closing my eyes and going back to sleep. 

I am not sure if I'm getting sick of if my body is just shutting down thinking about the looming harvest. .. Their words, not mine. I have hired some harvest help and now I just spread all my papers with calculated tonnage and man hours and ripening dates and pre harvest intervals and I just pace around and ponder what will be next. 

I think I might be over worrying. Or maybe I fear I am over worrying. 

The best thing I could do would be my Thursday laundromat ritual with a cup of gas station coffee and a magazine with a pocket full of quarters watching the dirt from the week suds off in he industrial front loAders. 

Possibly the worst thing I could do would be to check my email obsessively (stupid new smart phone)  and lay here in bed worrying about how this next month is going to go

I think I need a hug.

I just got back from a terribly unrelaxing vacation filled with empty wallets, new tires, and tons of mosquitoes and ticks. I learned something about myself though. I like to have a point to doing something. I like goals or mile markers or a specific destination for a specific reason. That's probably why all my vacations are working or helping a friend move across country or going to seminars on farms far away. 

Alright. Now my dog is pawing me int the face to go out. Good dog. Time to get my day started. 

Space

I'm listening to the early August noise of a Monday night,
Where the cicadas are singing with the crickets and tree frogs
 Courting lovers with songs they're too shy to say.
The neighbor kids are in the streets shrieking and playing, enjoying the last few days of freedom in the loudest way possible, like teenagers do. I am slowly decompressing, melting into my couch and a bottle of refermenting hard cider that is champagne fizzy.  This is the equivalent of my Friday night, just kinda hiding out and trying to find the right combination that will end my week long eye twitch. Is really starting to get to me.

I am inventing other realities where I branch off like the hardy boy books and imagine different paths and endings to my life.
Like chapter 12 would have been when I was 18, if  I should stay with my professor boyfriend and move to Taiwan, go to page 88 or if I switch schools and get into music and drinking, continue on page 54.
I imagine scanarios where I could be in the peace core in Africa or on a boat saving whales... My plans I hatched when I was twelve. Or I could be a writer in Nyc chasing down stories like my senior year of high school idea, I mean, when I wasn't acting in of broadway plays. Or a rock bassist or a bartender or a college dropout or a mortgage broker.


But as is, I'm in a quaint little apartment in Akron with three dogs, two of whom aren't mine, listening to te noise of the street while I try not to think about work or my future or my present too much. 


Ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in space.

new!

I just bought a car. She's a sweet 2001 Subaru wagon in a nice dark blue. The cupholders are just like the online reviews said - in odd spots. But the AC works and it drives amazing!
It took me a while to get used to not having to do all the quirks that my truck did, like pulling to the right whenever I would brake. Or keeping my foot on the gas when idling.
The service engine soon light came on a day after I got it, but I'm hoping it something small. I paid cash for the car, which was nice to scrape together every cent I had and even sold a few goats to pay for it. Yes, that sounds odd to me now and a bit archaic, but a car is quite a bit more useful than a pair of fainting goats. Even though I do miss my goats, they didn't get me to work and back. I've already put 600 miles on it in just one week! Gas efficiency is in between the truck and the honda, but all wheel drive will be nice in the Ohio winters. I'll just have to give up sushi for a month in order to pay the insurance, but overall i'm very happy with my purchase.

I also got a new phone. A new smart phone. It's pretty sweet so far. It combines all those notebooks and calendars and notes that I used to carry around along with a music player and a mobile hotspot so I have internet anywhere I go.

New apartment. New car. New phone. Wohoo! Finally getting my shit together post DUI, which was incredibly expensive.

And overall, I'm very happy at work, mostly because I have an amazing crew of smart, interesting, and hard working people. I've spent my last week doing a task that should have been complain worthy, but these kids took it all very well... I mean, after the initial shock of having to re-do something we just did wore off. Yesterday we were uncorking hundreds of cases, but the mood was bright and we swapped playlists every couple hours and everyone was in a good mood and somehow still focused on a goal, as frustrating as that goal may have been.
I am having one of those moments though where treading water and barely paying the bills is frustrating because I like my crew and I want them to be successful and I want us to be successful and we're doing a lot of things right, but I can't seem to get ahead no matter what I do.
Maybe that's the inherent fear of managing people. They give me their time and energy and I pay them and try to make their labors into something.

Oh man, what a week. No real day off in sight and a giant party on Saturday that I hope works out, but isn't so popular that I can't handle it. Thin line between a nice turnout and a huge parking problem, understaffed, and not a table or chair in sight. Worrying won't help, I just have to tell myself.
Sushi, however would help ease the worrying...

Dead puppy and wolf dog curse

My dog died. She was a sweet little pomeranian who I had for almost 10 years. I guess I never thought about it until she was gone. She was just always around.
She did have an affinity for hanging out in the road, so you kinda knew how her story would end. I just really miss her. I guess death always is kinda sudden, even if you see it coming. I hope she knew I loved her, or at least she liked my company. She was a pain in the ass at times, but I liked having her around. I like how little dogs can have ridiculously big personalities.

I think I've inherited a curse. It's this white wolf dog that my mom's friend dumped on me because he saw someone dump it out of a car and this poor wolf dog was running after his dumper down the highway. Depressing.
But after hanging out with him for a few days, I can see what would drive someone to throw it out of a moving car.
I don't think people should mix wolves with dogs because they look cool and then think that they will act like dogs. This thing paces around me with his piercing amber eyes always following me. He watches me while I sleep. And if I leave him, he freaks out howling and tearing everything apart. You can't tie him. He slips collars, shreds leashes, and finds any way he can to be free.
Once free, he doesn't wander far. He just paces around his new turf in a wolf-like gait, head down and looking around constantly.

I have him posted on craigslist, but the people who want a crazy wolf dog are just the type of people who can't handle wolf dogs. I'm sorry, I just can't give this thing to someone with an infant. People are idiots.

Anyway, my throat is swollen to high heaven and I'd like a night out tonight, but wolf dog tears up my new apartment if I leave him alone. Sigh. I knew my fucking bleeding heart would bite me in the ass some time.

The quick torrent of rain swept me from my plans tonight and has me staring at the window through a wine glass half full of terrible wine. The waves of rain coming down in sheets across the road has me thinking that I need to go to the ocean and soon. I like being consciously consumed by something so much bigger than me, tossed by a gravitation pull of the moon and collected in particles that touch me, touch millions of fish and crustaceans and creatures in the deep and kids off the coast of Africa and seabirds of all types. I like the thrill and terror of a good rip tide. It's less predictable than skydiving, but still the same amazing floating feeling.
I like ocean much better than politics, which gives me a similar feeling of being thrown around, but the ocean doesn't have any motives. It just is. Swimming would be my version of Zen.

I'm having trouble breathing today. Could be the 90 degree heat or could be the crawling in and out of pesticide laden grapevines. Tonight is like my Friday night as I'm off tomorrow, so the rest of this turned bottle of red wine is coming home with me along with a pit stop for some D batteries for my crappy keyboard. It's time to create, to write, to play.

And I love my new house. I feel terrible about it, like I'm guilty of treason, but I come home to my stark bare walls and minimal furniture and I feel right at peace. I'm developing new habits: where to take off my shoes or throw my keys, shower, brush my teeth a new way, clean out the cat box. It's all new and so therefore, I have tabula rasa. Each day I continue the sketch. With a fresh journal at my bed, I write before I go to bed and as I'm sleepily waking up. I listen to the birds outside the window, the sirens, the muffled conversations. I write. I read. I love it all.
I have a clear head, or a head that's clearing.
I have Parisian breakfasts of baguette chunks with some fruit and delicious cheese. I have fresh almonds to snack on as I pace around, nose in a book I've been meaning to read for years now.

Now I just have to purchase a vacuum and a drill. I never realized how much indoor cats get on my nerves. But she's pretty cool for a cat, so I guess I'll push out of my brain that part of my day involves scooping the manure of another creature. I swear she's whispering to me and changing my dreams. They've been about talking cats recently.
I need to sweep up around the catbox. That's the point.

And I'm drill shopping. Nothing makes a girl happier than a nice power tool. Don't be fooled. I'm serious.  Diamonds? No thanks. Unless you're talking about a sharpening stones. And platinum comes in chef's knives only. Silk is still ok in my book. As long as it's not underware. Those ride up and were invented by someone who hates women.
Anyway, I'm having trouble staying in my budget with a decent Ryobi or Black & Decker. I want the Dewalt cordless compact drill with extra battery. I'll probably get my girlie card taken away from me if I get a crappy vacuum and a super nice drill. Eh, I'm fine with that. My priorities are right.

I guess overall, I'm happy. The rain finally came so I don't have to water. I had an awesome week last week. I'm immercing myself in music and proper sleep patterns. My garden is about to produce for 10 families. I'm planting up a storm and lovign this June heat.... or so I try to convince myself. I night swim. I dream of what meat to grill. I am deep breathing, or trying to. I am centering myself as though gathering my footing on the starting block of a swimming pool, ready to jump....

Serial Lamb Killer

Round one is done.
I reek of lanolin and guilt. I gathered up my first sheep I ever got and loaded her up. She's a rare type of jacob with 5 horns and a free spirit that really made me hate her as she showed her follower sheep buddies how to scale my ramshackle fence with a single leap. I've had her for 4 years now (?) and she's been with me through 4 different rams and only gave me one baby. I loaded up her one baby next, a ewe lamb from last year that was just guilty by association.
Then I loaded up a shetland sheep I bought at auction a few years ago who only had one ear from an angry dog who didn't care too much for her wild tendency of not being contained by the fence. So a frustrated foster dog I had decided to prove herself to me by thrashing around with this shetland in the creek, the dog showing the sheep and thing or two about what destruction a four legged creature could do with a set of canine teeth and some strong jaws. A week later, the sheep got out again. Brainless.
After these three easy picks, I had trouble. I guess I grabbed the little lamb from last year, the daughter of the shetland who had the same wild streak and inability to listen to fences. Then I had a tiny bit of space in my crate for one more, another lamb born on the farm that I had no feelings either way for.

With a bleating truckbed full of unsettled feelings, I headed up, stopping for coffee at the gas station on the way. In the back of my mind, I know that going to auction without ear tags meant probably just a hop and a skip away from the slaughterhouse. :( But my free spiriting ways meant that I didn't care too much for registering my sheep as I didn't foresee this day ever coming. I thought for some reason that I'd just keep building my flock and running between buying a new ram each year and picking up boxes full of delicious meat from the butcher along with the hides hidden out back for me to tan.
So in the back of my brain, I felt like I was marching my creations to their death. And not the same way that I take the boys to slaughter.... not because I hate boys, which is the theory my assistant has, but because I didn't anticipate slaughtering these ewes. I had a conscience like a serial killer walking into the gas station, in a different frame of mind, feeling very apart from my own body as I drew a cup of coffee by the people who were just going to another day of work. ABBA played a happy tune and it seemed like the calm in a movie scene where you just know something is going to happen so your skin pricks up and you're more alert than usual.

The auction yard is not a happy place. It's filled with the feces and urine of a million animals who walked through those gates, and not in the same way that the butcher house is. These animals are the unwanteds who weren't even worthy of freezer space.
I remember going to the auction with happy anticipation and getting caught in the rush (thereby paying waaaay too much) of bidding on animals that I had no idea the history of. And then one by one bringing them home for them to just die 2 days later or learning of some new disease that I just inherited from the auction lot. God bless Jason and the 22 on several occasions where my impulse ran away with my reason and I ended up with a big problem. Those animals didn't get fruit trees. They rest in the swamp out back where I hope to only remember them by a twinge of what not to do and passing the warning onto others. Don't buy at the auction.
But there I was, dropping off my ewes, no registered ear tags so therefore, no sane person would put them into a breeding program. So they were to be put on display, prodded at, yelled at, and then scuttled away for the next lot, unaware at their future.
But then again, what do sheep think of the future anyway.

I've read a lot of farm books, usually of the happy times where people are getting their first chicks and harvesting their first carrots, building fences, rebuilding barns. I wonder where are the farm books that are the other side- the flock that's ravaged by the weasels and hawks leaving the empty chicken house, or the fences that are broken and can't be fixed, or the gardens that are eaten by the goats and so you sell them to the first person with $50 on craigslist.
Yeah, so I'm not sure if I would read that book, even if it was a very poignant warning against buying auction animals (except for mine) or not securing your chicken house correctly. Who thinks about putting their tail between their legs and leaving the country life for a shitty little apartment on the upper east side, surrounded by pictures of ghosts of sheep and chickens from the past.

I think this feeling will pass. Moving in 2 days. Probably just nerves anyway.

Iris blossoms, the big indecision, and romance novel covers on horseback

The iris blooms are up and billowing pale hues of yellows, lavenders, and deep purples, stretched on top of thin green sticks like surrendering flags or drunken girls skirts on a hot summer night. It amazes me at how unashamed nature is at displaying sexual organs with such prominence, with scent, color, and shapes to ensure pollination and procreation. I just imagine -RATED R for sexual content- posted outside of secret gardens.

Anyway, enough of flowers. Bob left me. Oddly enough, he left me for another 30 yr old girl, much cuter than I though, with a betty paige type haircut and a mortgage and a cute dress. He'll be happy. But not having a scary looking big dog around really has me wondering about just me and pepper living in the sketchy part of akron. Not that I'm not excited about going to the gun range and getting a concealed carry permit.... sigh.

I have it narrowed down to two places:
Apartment A is suuuuper cute with a nice landlord and rent on a month to month basis. The kitchen looks like a lot of meals could come from it with it's nice work area and decent amount of counter space and cabinets. The landlord is apparently quite stylish with his choice of antique farmhouse sinks and clawfoot bathtubs. There's a dining room and a living room, but the bedroom is a bit small. There's a back porch and off the street parking and a very low deposit with an invitation to rip up the carpet if my little heart desires to reveal the hardwood (hopefully) underneath. Month to month sounds very appealing as I'm not sure what the hell I'm doing.
The unappealing part about apartment A is the location is kinda, um, not the worst neighborhood, but also not the best. I guess that's just Kron, take it or leave it, but not being able to walk my dog at night does not sound very appealing. I guess I can just take her to work with me but... hmm. Guess that's what you get when you need something cheap.
Apartment B is pretty close to an efficiency. The property manager lives downstairs and wears stained tshirts and collected "background check" money but hasn't called me back yet. It's a big kitchen with just a sink on one side and the fridge and stove on the other with just about no countertops. That's right next to the living room with stained carpet and lightswitches that are impossible to find. The bathroom isn't bad, there's a couple of closets, and the bedroom is very narrow which is where the front door opens into. There's a back porch, kinda, off the fire escape, and off the street parking. It's in the Goodyear area, which just built their new world headquarters so the area is pretty well maintained and it's right across the street from a park. Playing basket ball any time I feel like sounds pretty appealing. I wonder how many unsavory characters collect there at night though....
Apartment B is more expensive. For sure. And it comes with a 1 year ball and chain. Yes. I am afraid of commitment.

I'm cleaning, which I secretly love to do. Sweeping makes me happy. I'm also pretty happy at how clean my truck has been since usually it's just me and a dog or two in it. I let someone borrow my truck for a couple days and it came back filled with trash and newspapers and a book about vikings. It's pretty insane how you can love someone for something and hate them for it too. Creativity and reading interesting things is awesome until I have to keep picking up after it. But that subject is for a entirely different blog.

Right now I'm making a list for what has become the highlight of my week: the BRX manager's meeting on horseback. It's the best way to focus my boss, who usually can't stand still for more than 2 minutes, let alone listen and retain what I'm saying. Trail riding is the equivalent of getting locked in a room and being forced to communicate, only it's waaaay more fun. And memory retention has been ridiculously high.
Maybe I'll write a book about how physical activity should be integrated into workplace communication. It just seems like my boss retains a lot more of what I'm saying and we both are in way better moods because of it. I'm not sure if that's because we're both incredibly ADHD and having to focus on keeping the horses (ahem, not very well trained horses) in line draws more connections with the topics of discussion or what. Or maybe I just like riding around with a shirtless, ripped dude who keeps feeding me beers and complimenting what a great job I'm doing. Hmm, I don't know.

Back to cleaning and debating A or B and staring at my phone for confirmation from B and chasing my nieces around. And then later planting tomatoes, mowing the garden, loading up sheep for auction (a task I have been dreading),  grilling veggies with lamb, drinking delicious refillable growlers, and trying not to dread the first of the month and decisions.

help me lord, it's getting hotter...

The sweat beads up across my shoulders and draws a line down the middle of my back, tracing some familiar path down prickled folicles to join the pool in the small of my back which adheres to my shirt. The left side of my face is getting unequally burnt as I position myself to get the sun out of my eyes, lamenting the loss of my big floppy hat somewhere between gardens in two cities.
And I have two addresses not scratched out on my list of possibilites. One I've seen and the kitchen is big enough and the street not super hood and only two boarded up houses for neighbors, which means a bit of green space for the dogs. I need a porch. I need my dogs. I need a not terrible neighborhood. I need a kitchen and I need a shower. All other things are just a bonus. One more house to see this Saturday and then my life goes into boxes and bags, in trucks, and up stairs.

The sun is shining and my grapes are starting to tangle themselves together into giant green masses, holding hands and pulling hair of their neighbors as they clamour around the trellis, pushing out tiny clusters of beautifully scented blooms. My tomatoes are migrating from the greenhouse into spots in the ground, surrounded by basil, flowers, and sweet peppers.

I am falling into stringed music, eyes burning with sweat and sunblock, thinking about floating in a pond soon and washing away this sweat and worries. I'm looking at my calendar and then checking it again. And again. and again. The end of May? I still have Bob. It's only been a couple weeks, but I like him and I'm glad that he's moving with me. It's nice to feel a bit of security from having a somewhat threatening male around, even if he's actually just a cuddly sweetheart that only looks big and mean. He eats garbage, but is super loyal and doesn't leave my side. And being completely housebroken is a plus too. I might keep him if he keeps up this good behavior. Except the trash thing. And he chases chickens sometimes. That's annoying.

Time for a cold beer and a book. Something to turn off my brain. Spiritualized's new album on full blast. And aloe for my fresh sunburn...

loving this- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VesyhH8zams

West Virginia, take me home

I woke up to a text asking if I needed my potato patch tilled up again. Yes I do, and I can't believe I don't have them in the ground yet.
Then I got confirmation that there's now a mandatory manager meeting once a week for work to be conducted on horseback. Sweet! When I pitched the idea, I didn't think it actually would get approved. That pretty much solidifies that my job is awesome.

The afternoon was spent putting apple trees in the ground, sampling barrels and tanks and saying -what the hell is wrong with that-, and then melting into an evening of tables and chairs all filled up with tables covered with sandwiched plates and wine glasses that kept going empty only to get filled again. The music was this beautiful guitar player from West Virginia and despite being grossly overpaid, he was actually rather enjoyable to listen to. It is hard to not think that all the money I've tried to save in the kitchen or all the bottles I'm pushing hard to sell, all that effort gets wasted on some overpaid guitarist that no one is listening to, no matter how good he is.

The nights have a chill that require a heater still and the days are filled with dogs chasing squirrels into trees (squirrels can really hold grudges!) and sheep grazing on the lush, spring pastures among the grapevines. The lambs are getting huge and I'm gently settling myself back into the lush, green lull of Ohio. I haven't been to a veggie auction yet, but the greenhouse is filled and screaming for water two times a day and the weather has been perfect for doing my late spring dance of planting tender nightshades and wondering if they'll be massacred by the one last frost.

I can't help it now, but on my drive home I look at every exit and think -if I lived there, I'd be home by now. I'm looking at a small apartment on the upper east side where the Akron crime map didn't have a bunch of character burglers, fists, guns, or handcuffs and they allow dogs. I'm not sure my pup is going to transition well from her pond jumping, squirrel chasing, sheep herding, and chicken guarding life into the upper east side of Akron very well, but I think she likes me and hope that love conquers all.

I can't believe that six months ago I was looking for bottle baby calves to keep at High Mill. And now I'm leaving this place that I've spent so much time building the soil, building fences, planting trees... Am I just a terribly irrational, impulsive person? What the hell am I doing?

Jason is talking about moving to the west coast. The idea is appealing and terrifying at the same time. I think, wow, I've never lived outside of Ohio for more than a couple months here or there. That would be interesting to try. But another part of me gets homesick just thinking about it. I love to travel, but I also love to have a home.

Yesterday I went for a ride. It was supposed to storm hail and damaging winds so my crew begrudgingly went out into the vines to start to control the growth of these crazy vines. By the time 4:30 hit and they all had retreated, I was chomping at the bit to clear my head of the million marbles rolling around colliding with each other with the growing snot and mucus. It was time for a different point of view, and using someone's legs other than my own.

I'm terrible at saddling up. Jimmy's back is so high that I have to hoist the heavy saddle over my head to get it on. He just chomped at grain and sized me up to see how this round was going to go. He's strong willed. I'm strong willed. He weighs 9 times what I do. But I put a bit in his mouth and then proceeded to do the most hillbilly thing I think I've ever done: I lead him over to my truck and jumped on the saddle from the tailgate. Yup. That takes the cake, but usually he wanders away from any bucket, step, or block I set next to him. So it worked this time. Good start

I always love watching those elephants with people saddled up on them. I just wonder why something that size would allow themselves to be brought down by a tiny little human.
I think for that same reason, I like riding horses. I've been riding since I was young, jumping English at the barn up the street until the money ran out and then I would muck stalls for hours in exchange for a short trail ride at the exhausted end.
Cars are boring, despite the exciting possibility that someone else would collide and kill you at any minute. Roller coasters are cool, but you always know which way they are going.
In the heat of the day, watching the sweat lather up the neck as his mane started sticking in between quizzical looks, I like the understanding between horse and rider. I like the thousand pounds of flesh underneath me. I like the kick and the run or the pull and the stop and the way that old leather and barnyard are brought together with heat and sweat.

Jimmy wanted to run. I was sick of staying tight on the reins. And I finally knew that I had the stirrups high enough. (I always feel odd using someone else's saddle that I'm reluctant to change, like borrowing someone's car and forgetting to put the seat back.) So after the first few fields, loosened the reins and let him open up, as Nick would say.
We tore through a newly planted soybean field and then followed the tracks through the briars and into a Roundup ready corn field where my new black hat flew off. I thought maybe that was an appropriate place to plant it for a bit and crossed the street to the vineyard. The storm clouds were gathering, but it was nice to get that reprieve from the heat. We walked up to the rows that were finished today, about 1 inch growth on the buds that didn't get hit with last Sunday's hard freeze. Down into the frost pocket and then back up to the other side to look at the pumpkin patch that needs planted soon and then we took off again, tearing up along the creek and back for my hat.

I'm glad Jimmy and I are on good terms now. Right after my DUI, I might have had fantasies about throwing all cars away and only riding everywhere. That thought was quickly squelched by a terribly disobedient horse and lead to many very unpleasant rides where he wanted to go back to the barn and I wanted to go anywhere but. So we'd just stand there, him pawing at the ground as my thighs held on tight in a pissed off dance of wills.

Anyway, I think I've revised my new fantasy. It's getting sketched in, bit by bit. Yes, it involves a new car (or truck?)  I think now along with my few chickens and my well trained heeler pup and my flock of well behaved sheep on some acreage with fruit trees, I've now drawn in the picture of a horse as a vehicle to check on the flock. The sheep may look confused, but then again, when do they not.

cull  (kl)

tr.v. culled, cull·ing, culls

1. To pick out from others; select.

2. To gather; collect.

3. To remove rejected members or parts from (a herd, for example)

It's time to cull the flock. The new ones have been born and I only have so much room.

I first cull the trouble makers. The ones that hop the fence. The ones that don't follow a grain bucket.
Then I cull the ones who weren't successful. I keep sheep for lambs and if they don't lamb successfully, they have to go. Or if they have a lamb and it dies. I am about to cull my leader sheep who I have had the longest as she was barren for 2 years, had one successful lamb last year, and lost her one lamb this year. Her personality isn't great enough for me to keep her as a pet.

Then it gets a little hazy at to who I keep next. This is how cows came to look the way they do, or the selective breeding of dogs. The traits we like, we breed. This is how commercial sheep growers are the biggest, fastest eating machines. They cull the smaller ones and keep the ones that get big, fast.
I usually have to wrestle my sheep myself so about 200lbs is the highest I go. Sitting on a sheep to shear it if it's any bigger is like wrestling a wild horse with velcro fur. I usually end up sore and stinking of lanolin, with a weird pattern of wool left on the sheep. (My biggest sheep still has pantaloons on as she wouldn't sit still and did not like getting a haircut.)
So what do I want is the next question. I am selecting for medium size, well behaved, and delicious. Yes, you can select for taste, which involves many grueling hours of taste tests and keeping the mothers of the ones on the grill for hopefully more tasty lamb chops.

Culling my flock this year is especially hard as I'm culling other things in my life too. Living out of a suitcase really reminds me of how little stuff I actually need. I called the dumpster to get picked up and I'm ready to fill it again. I can't keep holding on to these things forever, especially if I'm not using them. I hate clutter and I'm ready for a change.

And I can't tell if I'm removing rejected things, or if I'm just gathering or collecting the things that I want. I think it would be easier to pick out my 5 favorite shirts and throw away the rest of the pile than it would be to go through every shirt that I haven't seen in years (I tend to wear the same 5 shirts, despite their growing holes and tears) or if I should keep that cute dress that I never wore. Or my dreaded interview clothes. Or the even more dreaded substitute teacher clothes.

I've been dreading this day for awhile. My first sheep, how can I get rid of her? It's where the sentimental creeps up ad makes me second guess everything. But my mom sewed that skirt or that was the tshirt I was baptized in. I never wear them, but somehow things tie me back to a certain time of life where things were different and so getting rid of them seems rough, like throwing away old love letters or losing a picture of my dog as a puppy.


I also decided after midnight during a thunderstorm to have a discussion about moving. I'm sick of living in a half finished house with no shower right next door to my parents for way to high of rent. Coming home to a not clean house after vacation, despite being promised it would be cleaned when I got home was the kicker. I think I've just been here too long and I need a change. The lightning all around seemed tame as i plead my case. This is even more difficult because I feel like I invested all my hopes of happiness or a normal life into this house, into building this flock and this family and it stinks to think that it's not what I'd hoped. .

After finding this old blog and reading it over, I realized that I've been bitching about the same things for years. And while things have gotten a bit better, I think moving in together was a terrible idea. But it seems  every step in a relationship has barbs like a zip tie and once those are tightened, you can't go back.
So it's not just like, hi honey, I like you and all, but I'd like a little bit more space and for me not to have to worry about money issues by being so closely tied. Actually, I think that came towards the end. I've found myself to be more articulate more often now. He said I was being selfish.

I know this is going to be hard and it hurts like fucking hell right now. But can I keep going back and forth? My place is amazing, but the short circuit for the light in the fridge, the leaky faucet sink, no shower, the insulation in the ceiling falling down, you'd think I have the worst slum lord in the world. But in the morning as I walk through the field with the chickens swarming like a school of fish around me as I walk back to check on the sheep who are peacefully laying in the field chewing their cud with no idea of my culling plans.... this is what I fight with. There's good and bad to everything. I know my instinct is just to keep doing what I'm doing because it's uncomfortable to do anything else. And once I start making changes, when do I stop. And will I regret it?

One time at work I was moving a carboy (giant 5 gallon glass thing) and I set it down on the pavement a little too quick. It shattered and a shard of glass cut my finger straight through down to the bone.
At first I didn't feel it. At first, I was just looking at this flap of skin that was turning white. And then this rush of warmth came over me, drew the blood from all over my body and rushed it to the slice in my finger where it spurted out like a river. I got light headed. My face was warm, I paced around. I couldn't think. My whole body started to go into shock, seeing stars, heart thumping so hard in my head that I couldn't hear and everything went muffled.
All I could do was apply pressure to the wound and kinda retreat off to the side and say, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine... even though I didn't feel fine at all.

That is how I feel right now. Cut deep and slowly going into shock.