The Clampets Move to the Big City, Or, the Esserts Move to Chesapeake.

It's time for true confessions: we have ten cats and two dogs. Yes, ten, 10, T. E. N. cats. We live in the country. We have a barn. There are field mice everywhere. Mark argued with me every time I told him I was going to have a cat neutered. Believe it or not, he still does and we have 2 kittens left to fix. So yes, we have ten cats and we're moving soon.

How in the hell are we going to keep ten cats safe in suburban Chesapeake? There are fox, raccoons and opossums all over the place we're moving to. The chickens will be inside an iron box which will then be coated with titanium. Maybe that will save them. But the cats? Just for a moment imagine living in a house and keeping ten cats inside it. Think of the litter box(es). Think of the tons of kitty litter. Imagine, if you will, the overpowering stench of cat shit and urine. Think of the hair and the hair balls and the little footprints all over the kitchen counter. The cat fights. The clawed and shredded furniture. My god.

Don't get me wrong. As I type this there is a cat asleep beside me on the coffin we keep in our kitchen. There's another snuggled on the couch with Martina and one more tootling around somewhere, I can hear her bell. I am not opposed to keeping cats inside the house. Especially the ones who like it inside, stay off the counters and find their way outside to do their bidness.

We have bought collars and tags for all of them and applied them liberally (and tightly). So far, only 3 losses of said collars. Here's hoping we manage to get the felines all relocated safely. I foresee this move into the Big City to be a lot like herding cats. Heh.

And then we have the dogs. Jasmine who jumps in and out of the fences at her leisure and visits the neighbors on occasion will have to learn some new habits. Thunder is sweet but crowds stress him out and both of them bolted at Pet Smart the other day...out into the crowded parking lot. Scared me to death and earned me a lecture from a pair of know-it-alls who think I should have done a lot of things differently with the dogs. Including spending Martina's college fund on them.

Just in case you find it hard to believe, here are photos of the characters. Some of them anyway. Frisky, the most overphotographed cat in the world left all his pics on the other hard drive and Hartley was off visiting the neighbors.

There's no need to fear! Thunder dog is here!

Hootie the Uncastrated.

Bridey, the unspayed.

Jasmine. Cute, clueless, house dog.

L-R: Peaches, mater-famiglia of the cat herd; Martina; Frisky (I found a pic of him after all!)

Bandit. He lives in the rafters of the barn. His collar? Snapped in two.

Gypsy. She has a twin sister Hartley. I saw them born. 1 placenta. 2 kittens. Hartely was visiting the neighbors when the photo shoot occurred.

Yes, yes, I realize that this is a goat. If you look in the background you will see her little friend, Bagheira, lounging on top the the plywood. She does not like being inside.

P.J. Grumpy, pretty, mother of Bridey.

Gizmo, who almost died at a week old. Offspring of Peaches the Great, mother of Hootie the Uncastrated, Gizmo is black and walks like an alligator.

Science Fair

We have been working, last minute, on Martina's science fair project. She is comparing the speed with which her pony will learn to bow as opposed to how quickly her goat can learn the same trick. Her hypothesis is that the goat will learn more quickly.

I don't know doodley about how to do one of these projects but we are going to have one, nonetheless. One, tri-fold board with photographs and her report. Today is day 3 of the experiment and she has a fever of 101. I guess spending 30 minutes outside won't be the end of her. The fair is tomorrow, so we have to get it together today. I really hope she feels well enough that we can go and enjoy all the cool things at the Guess Homeschool Science Fair!

Sick

Last week Martina had the flu. She recovered. Now? The 'stomach flu.' Fever? check. Diarrhea? check, check. Nausea? of course.

Can we stop the madness? Please?

Waiting to Exhale

I admit it: I have a real problem with Facebook. Especially Farmville and Cafe World. I can't stop playing. I can't stop reading all the status updates. I can not stop. This is not because Facebook is so interesting, really, it isn't. It is because my life has become so small and so isolated that my only contact with the outside world is via the internet.

In many ways living in North Carolina has been good for my family and me. We have been normal, average, typical in our household living arrangements. We learned to make due, to eat in, to enjoy each other's company, to be content with what we have. Maybe we learned that lesson a little too well. We are quite capable of holing up for ages and not going out except to feed the animals. For years now I have been holding my breath, waiting to get out, escape, exhale.

There are ways, too, in which living here has damaged us, hopefully not beyond repair. We have learned even more than we already knew about the dank, dark depths of conservative Christian hypocrisy. We have learned that the farmers either lie or actually believe that there is such a thing as, "A very safe pesticide," and that they have no qualms about dropping it all over our children and livestock. We have learned that if they don't like you much, the Rescue Squad will be late to save you and you will probably die before they get there. We have learned that the Civil Rights movement was something that happened in cities and that out here equality doesn't exist. We have learned that this is a sad, shallow place filled with hatred, stupidity and malicious intent.

Our lives have become concentrated to the point that there is no juice left, there is nothing but the pure essence of life and we are holding tightly to it and trying to make our escape. I hope that when we do, my Cafe World and Farmvilles wither and perish from lack of attention and that my home and garden and life come back into full and juicy fruit, that walking outside in the evenings will again be a pleasure, that civilization will smooth our rumpled hair with her soft and lovely hands.

25, 000 words per day

According to research, or legend, English-speaking women speak aloud 25,000 words per day. Men are allotted 10,000. I got about half of one man's share. If I can't bother to speak them aloud, why on earth did I believe I could type all of them plus an extra few thousand?

Like an idiot, I signed up for Nanowrimo. What was I thinking? We are moving. Any second I will pack up my tipi and tie on the travois and we'll haul our butts back to Chesapeake. Seriously, 7,000 written words per day while we're moving? I don't even talk that much unless we have a great read aloud going. To think I could do it mid-move was preposterous. Peer pressure caused it. I blame them and refuse to shoulder any of it myself. All those women who blogged and Facebooked and emailed about this damned balls-to-the-walls writing extravaganza. I should never have given in but I did so let me be the first admit defeat. Today I wrote my allotted number of words and really? Drivel. Suckage. What a waste of time. I wish all of you, my friends, my peers, my more dedicated-to-the-word friends the best of luck.

Me? I'll see you on the 26th when you are pale and exhausted and I will laugh at you. Then? I will get you a glass of wine and toast your success.

Halloween, Sick. Fun.

We decided that today was going to be a Happy Halloween, regardless of any old flu bug that might be lingering around our house. Luckily, I feel fine and had the energy to plan and bring off a fun day for my little one.

Last night...

We decorated the living room...

Set up a refreshment table...

Picked and arranged flowers and made paper lanterns.

This gal is an old friend I met in the Italian Alps.

Today Martina and I were ready for some fun! First off there were flying lessons on her home made besom with Hootie. They are both naturals.

Then we bobbed for apples. Martina was more excited about this than any other thing I planned for today. There was morning apple bobbing and afternoon apple bobbing. I only participated in the morning division.

We made homemade candy apples. Aren't they beautiful? They look better than they taste.

I thought so, anyway...and no, it's not the camera, she really is a little bit green. We also made sugar cookies, which is a bit of a trick with demerara sugar and whole wheat flour, but we succeeded and the little ghosts and bats are delicious and coated with orange frosting. Yum-o!

Martina made this odd looking fellow from tissue paper and glue. He's on the front door.
For those of you who wonder what an actual, real-life Pagan looks like on Halloween, here you have it: tired and old.

Last night I mentioned to Mark that I think I like Halloween better than Christmas. He told me he'll remind me of that come mid-December. He's right. But it's damn close.

Happy Halloween everyone!

A Really Sick Halloween

We are not going trick-or-treating on Halloween. We're staying at home because my daughter has the flu. I don't know if it's H1N1 or not but she is really ill and even if she's feeling better by tomorrow, we still don't want to risk sharing the germs with the kind folks handing out candy. No, we're going to stay at home and so I'm planning some fun for us here.

We will bob for apples and then make homemade Candy Apples. We'll eat them. We will carve our pumpkin and light it up on the kitchen counter with a tea light candle inside. I'll sprinkle some cinnamon inside so that it smells really nice. We will watch a slightly spooky movie on Netflix--maybe The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Okay, more than slightly spooky for an 8 year old but she's sick and sleeping with us anyway. We'll have popcorn and hot cider while we watch the movie.

I hope all of you who get to trick-or-treat have a great time. We'll be right here, nesting and eating too much sugar and enjoying our Really Sick Halloween.