All Of The Things… Adjusting, Reading, Ripping

Since it's all lists extraordinaire around here... lists for Home Depot, lists for stores to the east, lists for stores to the west, lists of things that need to be fixed asap, lists of things that need to be fixed almost asap etc, there will be no lists in this blog post because it's been enough to make this non-list girl go crazy.

Good news, this 57 acres of dirt and trees has entered and bonded with my DNA like Spiderman... or maybe more like Anne of Green Gables? My offspring and husband seem to be having similar reactions. We all love it here. I can't describe what it is exactly, maybe we're just like the chick in "Are You My Mother?" ready to bond with the first place that isn't losing its mind (aka California), but the kids play outside all day, eat whatever I put in front of them without complaining (shocker) and promptly fall asleep at bedtime (double shocker). And this is despite me feeding them soggy crockpot debacles and tucking them into sleeping bags on hard floors. The bad news is that the house is in rougher shape than I remember (I saw so many houses when we were here in September that they all started to blend together in my head). When we walked through the door, the smell of cigarette smoke and those glade plug-in things hit rather hard. Also, the previous owners unexpectedly took all of the appliances, and we sold/gave away all of our furniture in San Diego since moving trucks right now are not to be had except with fame or fortune, so we're living rather like gypsies. Add some carpeting that was more like a petri dish of pet urine, grime, food and a thousand uknown substances, and It almost makes me want to go live by the pond in a tent (almost).  

I react to stress (and always have) by burying myself in a book when I'm most needed (ask my siblings).  So I've been living out the Napoleonic wars again in between ripping up carpeting, scrubbing walls and painting everything with Kilz (and major thanks to my FIL for doing so much painting!).  Charlie saw me crying and thought that I was unhappy about moving, but when I told him I was crying over a young boy who died in the first charge at the battle of Waterloo, he turned around and told his brothers, "Mom's pulling a Where The Red Fern Grows". We apparently are known book criers in this family. Or at least Jamie, Charlie and I are. Jim thinks we're crazy and Will and Robbie haven't encountered any books yet that made them cry, but I predict Robbie will be like Jim and Will will join the ranks of the criers.

It hasn't all been indoor remodeling fun though, I rashly bought six fruit trees from a local nursery and have planted all of them in the front yard (which may or may not have been a good spot for them). I couldn't buy any good soil though, and the soil here is very clay heavy, so I had to carry buckets of rich tree mold/soil from the forest. Jim has had pity on me and bought me a wheel barrow, but I regret nothing, it was a great workout. The only casualty is nobody told me you couldn't put your muddy boots by the back door, because I did and some animal dragged one off who knows where. I've put out a reward for it, but so far the kids haven't had any luck finding it.

I think I have PTSD from dealing with Covid in California. I went grocery shopping at the small little grocery store in town and every time someone came towards me or started to talk to me, I started to have a mini panic attack. Imagine my shock and surprise when they just complimented me on how cute Will was or asked me if I needed help. I don't think anyone has smiled at me or done anything like that since March. When I checked out, they even gave me bags (gasp), and the cashier called over the loudspeaker, "Josh, can you come up here, we have a mama who needs help loading her car." It took me a second to realize she was talking about me! Never in my life with small children and four boys has anyone helped load my groceries for me. I had no idea what to say or how to act. I thanked "Josh" profusely and wondered if I was supposed to tip him? Clearly I have no idea. Someone needs to write a "How-To Manual" for living in old America. Even our mail lady is super nice.

All in all, I'd say it's going well. The rain is hitting the roof which is a delightful sound to these dry coast ears, and I think I've killed all of the mice in the house. Yes, our house is small and features ripped up floors and buckets of paint everywhere, but we bought a fridge, washer and dryer and mattresses!

At this rate we'll be living like kings with a couch and stove by Christmas. --
www.mrsxerxes.com 

The Muffler Man And Driving Across The Country

We officially closed! The last paper got signed, a sizeable chunk of money disappeared from our coffers and we found ourselves in possession of a key… or rather our agent has our key. But it’s a real key, to a real house, on a real piece of property with three ponds and 50+ acres of trees (and a ton of pokeberry and poison ivy, but who’s counting). It’s so amazing Jim and I keep having to pinch ourselves.

We’re currently en route across the country. I’ve ceased to have any feeling in my legs. The car is packed so tightly the space at my feet is actually filled higher than my seat. I also forgot to pack any toys or books for the kids, so it’s a good thing we all love road trips and are used to driving across the country often(ish). Granted, we aren’t used to crawling at 57mph, but that’s because we’re towing Muffler Man.  Jim and his brother spontaneously concocted a scheme to find a trailer, so I wasn’t sure what Craigslist or Offerup would cough up, but Jeff worked his genius and found us a great deal on a 14 footer that will hopefully live a long life as a temporary garage, shed, appliance mover and eventually cow/livestock carrier? It even came with its own built in mascot: (cue music) Muffler Man. Half the kids want to keep him on the side of the trailer, and half of them want to scrape it off….it’s also led to several musical renditions of “Do you know the Muffin Man”.

The only problem with the trailer (if you can call it a problem) is we couldn’t fill it up all of the way without maxing the Suburban’s weight capability. Jim actually weighed all of our boxes and built a spreadsheet. He numbered and catergorized each box and item by type, sorted it to the vehicle it was to be packed in, and then made a pivot table in Excel that showed how to distribute the weight evenly between all of the axles and optomized for the suburban’s unique strengths and weaknesses. 

...and if you read and understood any of that then both you and my husband need a more fun hobby (Jim objects to this and says it’s also what he does for a living, but I double object because he really does find it relaxing and fun.) .  

All that to say though, we are driving the most carefully packed, slow-moving apparatus across the country ever. Semi-trucks are passing us like we’re standing still. Google map’s “estimated ETA” has given up trying to figure out when we’ll actually arrive at our little homestead in Missouri. 

I’d say we’ve almost gone full Laura Ingalls, except that our suburban has its own wi-fi and I’ve pretty much Black Friday shopped across the country...so yeah, clearly roughing it. 

Chapter 3 and 4... enter the villain

Chapter 3

The Duke of Malus was not an easy man to owe a servitude to, most of his lackeys were roundly fired within a few months either by desire or necessity. Brinkers however, had been with his Grace for the better part of two decades...ever since his Grace had been a young man cutting his teeth on deep games at Zero. So while the other servants were well used to his cold temper and black mood, they’d never seen his Grace show any signs of hot blood. Brinkers calmly got the good burgundy out of the cellar and prepared a tray for the penthouse library. Servants had scuttled out of the way when the Duke had returned from some errand and stalked through his thick mahogany tower doors, slamming them so hard the ancient hinges twisted off their iron screws. 

Long pale fingers drummed slowly on his desk. The Duke was not an old man by Force Zero standards, but he was old enough for polite society to have given up expecting him to ever marry or sire legitimate children. He gripped the long stemmed crystal goblet Brinkers handed him. The ducal coat of arms was cut cannily into the glass and the light caught in the vertices making it almost look like the goblet was on fire. Malus tossed the contents back and crushed the glass. He opened a drawer in his desk and put something in it. 

“Rough day at the office sir?” Brinkers was the only one who ever dared talk to the Duke in such a free manner, but even this was pushing it. Afterwards, while he was reflecting with the housekeeper, he confessed that perhaps it would have been better to keep his salutations to himself. 

Sending him a baleful, scalding glance, the Duke threw a pen knife from the desk at his servant. It sunk into the ornately carved beam behind Brinkers, who at least had the common sense not to move or twitch a muscle. “I stand enlightened on the consequences of a few...actions.” He said, waving his long fingers delicately as if he were dismissing an invisible orchestra.”

He leaned back in his chair, “It is all quite unnecessary and tedious work. I can’t imagine why I still do it.” Since Brinkers knew that his work, as he called it, was the only thing he lived for, he did not design this with a reply, but instead went about working to make his employer as comfortable as possible. 

“It’s quite damnable Brinkers” His grace said, his face almost pensive in its contemplation. “You know how much I detest braggarts, but I never fail.” 

When Brinkers didn’t reply to this, he continued, “I had all of the usual precautions of course, plus the fold was in the hatch. It is an irrefutable fact that there is no reason the drop should have gone awry. This type of….incident has been done a dozen times before and the infants disposed of without any inconvenient altercations.” 

“The Feds showed up then?” Brinkers offered cautiously. 

“Completely hanged.” The Duke’s eyes flashed dangerously again and Brinkers almost gulped and dodged behind a settee. 

“Can’t you just tell them higher gents at the Fed to drop it… ya know, fix today’s stuff?” 

“Yes, but while they’re esteemable people when it comes to disposing our wishes, they’ve got a few young bucks who are exhausting in their pursuit of an ideal.” The Duke looked pensive again. “It’s almost gratifying in a way. I miss going against that sort of young energy.” 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll sort it out sir.” Brinkers said briskly, picking up the tray and the bigger pieces of glass on the carpet. 

“It’s not so much today’s repercussions with which I’m concerned.” His grace said, “but rather the manner in which they proceeded right through my...airnets as if they weren’t even there.” He levelled such a cold, angry glare at Brinkers that the poor man was quite frozen in his spot for a moment as he realized how little a thread his life hung on in that moment. 

“No sir, oh no sir, I have never snitched on you. Sir. “ He managed to gasp out, the broken glassware trembling on the silver platter. 

“Don’t be an imbecile.” His grace said, the flash of anger was gone and in its place was bored irritation. “Have my gold and black laid out tonight, I’m going to be out late.”  

Brinkers walked backwards, bowing as he went “it shall be as you say sir.” 

After he left, the Duke picked a shard of glass out of his fingertip and examined the small bead of blood welling on his skin. “Whoever you are, '' he said, warning the walls in case there were any domoworms deployed, “you may have won this round, but you are a mere annoyance. The house always wins.” 

Chapter 4 

It was some minutes before Pendle could trust herself to speech. They were in the kitchen on the Palaver, sitting at the weirdly ornate table that always looked out of place in the stainless steel and rubber of the airship.  Surely the captain had lost his mind. He wanted her to go to a fancy cotillion in Force Zero? Impossible. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, praying for patience.

Three days had passed since the l'infant incidente and the buoyancy thrust on the Palaver had been pushed to its limits. After they got back from the unmentioned incident, Pendle had pushed past the pink and rose beaded curtain she and Serene had made in the woman’s bridgehouse, and dashed into her berth. How she had gotten through tea time on Lord Brockmore’s ship the Septen with any measure of polite manners was beyond her. She scarcely remembered the ordeal, but the captain had later remarked how grateful he was that she’d impressed Lord Brockmore with her pretty manners, so she assumed she hadn’t done anything crazy like spit in his tea or throw a biscuit at him. Chris had interjected that of course anyone who looked like her, was bound to be accepted by fancy folk, and that it had nothing to do with her manners which in his opinion were sadly lacking. This sermon, he delivered to an empty cargo hold, because Pendle had already dashed off and the Captain had gone to talk to Serene about the weather. 

They’d run into thunder cells over Kentucky, and the Captain and Serene were so distracted with the atmospheric pressure causing a such a non linear variation on the temperature equilibrium that it was only the short height and wide width of the Palaver’s shape that kept it afloat. Thus, it wasn’t until Pendle burned a batch of honey lentils that left the ship so filled with the smell of scorched legumes, that things felt sufficiently normal to broach the dreaded subject. Normally, under less auspicious conditions, the Captain ran the ship like a strict dictatorship. There was no questioning what jobs he took or where he decided to take his ship...and crew. The responsibilities were clear cut, and there was no crossover. Chris was the pilot, which Serene snidely insinuated was a glorified mechanic job on a ship like the Palaver since it practically flew itself. Lee was the cook, which lately he insisted felt more like working in a dog food factory, so low was his opinion of the ingredients the captain had been able to procure after their last job. Serene held the coveted spot of any airship on earth: chief meteorologist… or only meteorologist in the case of the Palaver. Pendle was technically hired as the emissions officer. Usually a grease boy or small orphan child who made sure the vents were clear and no one was going to blow up from a gas malfunction.  The job used to be important in the old days when airships were prone to disappearing into a mushroom cloud of its own making, But no airship had gone the way of the Zeppelin in a hundred years, causing the Pendle’s job to be all but obsolete except in the strictest ships.

 She didn’t mind however, there was plenty to do on board even a solid, dependable airship like the Palaver. Normally, pilots didn’t let anyone touch their instrument panels or yokes, meteorologists viewed their profession as something akin to pure magic or science...depending on the company with which they were talking, and cooks never let anyone in the kitchen. However, everyone on board the Palaver was prone to letting Pendle do all of that. She cheerily co-piloted with Chris, whenever the captain wasn’t around. And she had graduated from eggs to sauces in the kitchen.  Serene was the only one who wouldn’t let Pendle touch or know one iota about the mysteries of the weather, but since she adored Pendle and doted on her as if she were as beloved as a little sister and as protected as a princess, it didn’t affect the peace on board the Palaver. Until now…

“You will go.” The captain said calmly, peeling an orange that he got as a treat in Miami, but which no one on the ship was in the mood to eat at the moment. “I already accepted an invitation on your behalf.” 

“But you have no right to accept an invitation on my behalf!” Pendle stomped her foot. 

The captain looked up at her “I was unaware your opinion in the matter was found weighty. I think it is well time you went out and joined your place in society.” 

This got four pairs of eyes looking askance at him. “Unless of course you wanted to continue being an emissions monkey.” 

“Oh, but I do...I do.” she said, “Please don’t make me leave the Palaver, I’ll be good and do a better job. I’ll even polish the silverware and empty the chamber system even when it’s not my week to do it. Just please don’t make me go.” 

“You astonish me child, one would think I was dropping you off back into the Hatchway system instead of introducing you into polite society and letting you get pretty new clothes and new friends.” 

“Bah,” she said scornfully, “What have I ever cared for clothes? And why would I want to be in polite society, I’m not...exactly… you know… polite.” She struggled for the words. 

“You mean, you don’t think they’ll except ya just because yer a bastard child?” Chris asked? He was digging into a turkey leg and enjoying the conversation with relish. 

“I don’t believe you were hired as a consultation service for anyone’s genealogy.” The captain said easily, but there was a warning edge in his voice that went blissfully unheeded by Chris. 

“I mean, you picked her up from that hatchling school for kids who were born on the wrong side of the fancy carpet, so I just assumed…” His words got cut off when his chicken leg magically found itself relocated in the receptacle and the captain standing in front of him looked deceptively calm, but in the sort of way that made Chris think strongly of a circling shark.

 “Sorry, sorry Pen, you know I don’t mean no harm.” He said, eyeing his confiscated turkey leg longingly.

“Oh shivers,” she said, “you’re just saying out loud what everyone else is thinking, and don’t I know it. I ain’t come from the type of folk that dress up in glitzy diamond shoes and waltz around with fancy lords and talk to ladies on Zero.” 

“If you think you’re trying to scare me into relenting by talking with that rough slang, I’m obliged to warn you I’m well aware you’re doing it on purpose and far from being trepidatious, I’m heavily amused and comforted that you can pick up accents so quickly. It will be perfect for this job.” 

“It’s a job, Captain?” Serene asked. She’d been the quietest, sitting cross legged in her usual soft green leggings and tunic. Her hair always looked like the antithesis of her name, flying out in every direction, looking like she’d been caught out in a storm, but the rest of her was calm and observant like all reputable ship meteorologists.  Pendle saw her exchange looks with the captain. 

“Oh, it’s a job?” she breathed with relief, “why didn't you say so? Of course I can do anything you need for a job. I thought, you were…” she drew a half sobbing, half laughing breath, but pulled herself together. 

“Aren’t you supposed to know these things?” Lee asked “You know, do the magicky things with your mind and know ahead of time what's going to happen?" 

"Chris!" Serene exclaimed. 

"What?" Chris said, "I don't know why we always have to tiptoe around Pendle being a bit tetched in the head." He made a circling motion around his head. "you forget that I was playing babysitter when she made all kinds of weird stuff appear. She made a c-2 engine appear in an ol mail truck!" so much affronted was he by this, that Pendle couldn't help but laugh at him. 

"Poor Christobel" she said, "I did misuse you sadly, and you even got arrested for me." Her eyes twinkled. "I don't think you very much enjoyed it, for you knocked out two of those beetle men. But that’s not magic...not real magic. Right?" 

She looked up at the captain. The last magician had died decades earlier and it was generally felt the society was better off without them. They had a tendency to disagree strongly with the elected officials, which had led to them retiring out to the backcountry. Besides rumors that occasionally circulated about one or the other of them marrying their washer woman and having fourteen kids out in the tundra of old Siberia, no one had seen or heard of any magician in almost two lifetimes. Surely they must exist, some people reasoned logically, but so long had they been out of present society that there was now a slowly built web of sanctions preventing their existence and rewards set up for anyone who saw or heard anything about one. It wasn’t strictly illegal to be a magician, but the Feds and consequently everyone else felt a lot safer knowing they couldn’t just come back and mess everything up.  Of course there were some that said it was just the Feds and a few members of the nobility who got sweaty palms and heart palpitations whenever there was a magician around blurting out things and knowing things no decent person should know. They said those things quietly though, or risked finding themselves missing some vital pieces and parts in a back alley somewhere. 

“Well I wouldn’t start out the party with a narration of your mail truck story, but I wouldn’t keep you on board if i was worried.” The captain tried to spread the papers out that detailed their new job. He had a strict rule about not using any technology for jobs, because it was too easily tracked. Serene and he both knew how to form their letters with a graphite stick fairly quickly and legibly, and Serene was teaching Pendle, but Lee threw up his hands and left, telling someone to give him the highlights later. 

Serene interrupted, “How will you get her the proper clothes, captain? Surely we can’t set down in Zero and be seen buying anyone or even anything there. You know how starchy the Duke’s parties are, they won’t let her near the front portico steps if they even so much as smell a whiff of the hatch on her.” 

“We’re not going to Zero.” The captain, “We’re going to old Paris.” 

“But sir, we haven’t taken the Palaver over the ocean in years.” 

“Sir, old Paris is gone, there isn’t anyone there anymore except piles of old cobblestone and broken down ruins.” 

The Captain unruffled, consulted his papers, “yes, so I’ve heard.” but there was a little smile tugging up one corner of his mouth. 

Chapter 2 (Nanowrimo)

Chapter 2 

'Is this what you dragged me away from the Palaver for?" Chris whispered furiously to Pendle, who was unhappily running her finger along a dusty rolled up turkish rug in hideous orange and blue tones. 

She shook her head "Don't be a dunce, of course it's not." she bit her lip and looked very much like a lost and forlorn girl fresh out of the education system. Her companion was having none of it and instead looked almost delighted. 

'Great, let's go then." He said grabbing her elbow. 

"I can't." She said a little too loudly. The shopkeeper lifted his head and made movements towards them. 

"We close in ten mineets missers." His thick accent was even more difficult to decipher through his thick handlebar mustache. Nothing about his attire made him look like a shopkeeper, but he'd hadn't denied them entrance to the warehouse when Pendle had brightly gushed about searching for the perfect accoutrement to her dining room.

But if Chris thought any of these obstacles would make his unwanted charge resign herself and go home, he was sadly mistaken. If anything, her eyes only got more of a spark in them and her small chin got a stubborn twist to it. Her companion noted these changes warily. "Oh come on, if you think I am going to do something completely insane like hide in a rug until everyone goes home, I'll tell you that your brain  is completely fuzzed."

"I can't leave." was her logical rejoinder. The shopkeeper was closing blinds and counting the money in the cash box with so many long looks their way, it was impossible to miss his meaning. "We have ten minutes." she reminded Chris...and loudly enough for the shopkeeper to hear too. 

Chris gave an exasperated sputter and followed her over to another pile of rugs that all looked like they belonged more in a thrift store or a junk shop. His fingers were itching to feel the comforting hardness of the 560 strapped to his leg, but he resisted. The hairs on the back of his neck were very annoyingly standing up despite his best attempts to convince himself that everything was fine and he'd soon be ensconced safely in the galley of the Palaver eating Serene's flax chili and getting a tongue lashing from the Captain. 

Pendle discovered a new pile of rugs and was busily digging through them. The rugs were stacked up against the wall like giant rolls of paper towels...dusty paper towels. Sweaty hair stuck to her cheeks as she heaved another rug off to the side. She was getting closer, she could tell. If only she knew what she was getting closer to, it would be so much easier. Although everyone on board the Palaver treated her well enough, only the captain put any stock in her “visions” and even he was known to laugh them off with a wave of his hand “Child, when I want fairytales instead of jobs, I’ll let you know.” The others...Serene, Lee and Chris had been nervous at first when she joined the crew a few months ago. She glanced at Chris who looked about as comfortable right now as an outlaw in a church...ok, so maybe everyone was still nervous around her, but it didn’t signify.

Sometimes she wistfully wondered what it would be like to be normal. To live with the brass in one of the nice cities and have a tri-lobe class airship that you only flew if you needed to go somewhere. Vaguely she remembered that at one point in time she had lived in one of those places. Distinct flashes of memories would sometimes hit her. An indoor garden with black roses. Getting dancing lessons from a man who looked like a toad in a gold suit. But Madame Horten said that was impossible. That Pendle had lived her whole life in the Hatchway system. That she’d grown up in Tower-Eleven with the Madame and forty other wards of the Hatch. She’d probably still be there if she hadn’t begged for a job at the coffee shop in the real tower across the street. It was there that Captain Dru had found her and offered her an even better job aboard his ship the Palaver. Madame Horten hadn’t been happy about letting Pendle go, but she was up against a far more worthy opponent when it came to Captain Dru. Pendle didn’t know then that when the Captain made up his mind, you might as well give yourself up as a gentle breeze for all the good it would do you to change his mind. 

As soon as her hand reached behind the last rug and felt the cool metal of a brass doorknob, she knew instantly she’d found the object of her restlessness. Serene, in an attempt to understand Pendle, had once asked how Pendle could tell when the magic would work and the best Pendle had been able to do was that it was like hearing music in your head where you knew the tune and thus could sing the next line.  Well the music in her head was crescendoing like Beethoven’s fifth at the moment, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she had to open the door.  The door stuck for a second, like it hadn’t been used for awhile. As she pranced excitedly over the pile of rugs on the floor, she caught a glimpse of the shopkeeper coming towards them, his mouth open in horror. Curses and obscenities sprang from his mouth, as Chris stepped in front of him, his own answering string of street slang erupting effortlessly in response. 

Pendle paused, looking around and trying to adjust her vision to the dim room. Something was mewing a soft little cry. A pile of fabric wiggled and for a confused second, Pendle thought she’d discovered kittens. It took awhile for it to dawn on her that a live human baby was the author of the plaintive crying noises. She took two steps towards the baby and her foot caught on something soft and warm. In horror, she realized she had tripped on another red faced infant who must have been sleeping on another pile of rags on the floor, because it was now scrunching its face into a human rendition of a squashed tomato. 

Never having been at a loss for words in her life, Pendle found herself backing up with her brain searching for what to do. “Chris! Help...quick!” her voice sounded strange to her own ears, strangled, for she’d spied two more babies asleep in a cardboard box that was ripped on one side. “Chris!” she called more urgently. The symphony in her head had reached new heights and it was so strong, she felt dizzy and little sick. 

Chris dashed through the door, feeling abused and harassed. He had the 560 in his hand. “What are you screeching about?” he demanded “I’ve been busy enough with that right canty gent. A real piece of work I’ll tell you, he tried to….” his voice trailed off as he took in the squalling infants. “What in munning sheol?” 

Pendle was trying to decide between which infant to pick up first or if she was going to vomit first. “Oh do stop standing there,” she said “call the Captain quick, the poor little things.”  The music in her head was so overpowering now, that she couldn’t quell the retching of her stomach. Chris felt like her chastisement was grossly unfair considering he’d just knocked a fellow in the head for her, hopefully not for squalling infants. The least she could do was pull herself together. Outside a whirring sound went off, the lights flickered and the building started to thrum as if someone had stuck it next to a power plant. 

“Oh freeze it all to munning pergs,” Chris said, stepping to the window and looking outside, “the feds are here.” 

Barely had the words left his mouth when he found himself knocked unceremoniously out of the way. Both windows crashed open and men in gray saelor suits started crawling over the place like ants with walkie talkies. Pendle’s first instinct was to throw herself in front of the two infants closest to her, but she didn’t have a chance before she recognized the brown boots and suede camel colored pants of someone she was well familiar with. Her eyes traveled upwards past the navy blue coat and up further to the eyes of the Captain. 

“Capn!” She exclaimed in delight. There were only two people in the world who weren’t intimidated by the captain, and the only other one besides Pendle was his mother. Far from being surprised to see Pendle there, he merely raised one eyebrow and flicked an invisible piece of lint off of his coat as he surveyed the surroundings of his young protege. He seemed to take it all in and understand far more than she did, and she would have thrown herself into his arms and had a good cry, except that he caught her by the arm. “Dear child, do comport yourself more decently, may I present to you Lord Brockmore lately from Force Zero?” 

Pendle gave him a very proper two finger offer, and he took her dainty hand and bowed over it. If she had been less distracted by the current conundrum she was in, she might have noticed that he didn’t sport the same uniform or gear as the medics and adjus. In fact, his coat and boots were of the sort that were so high quality as to be quite unimpressive and understated, but made other young men wonder in vain who his couteriour was. If it weren’t for the faint sneer on his lips, and the glossy shine to his hair, he could have easily fit in among the stalwart airman class. His shoulders were wide enough and his jaw strong enough to be considered tolerably good looking even without his reputation as being “loaded to the nines.” 

“How do you do?” She said politely to him, but it was clear she was distracted. She bounced from one foot to the other impatiently and turned away to address the captain. “I’m sure you’re in a great fuss as to why I’m here, but you must not blame Chris, I dragged him here against his will.”

Chris, who had quite unjustly been put in handcuffs as a precautionary measure after he’d smacked two adjus’ heads together and taken offense to being treated like a possible henchman in this abominable quest, snorted. “It’s bad business Capn’ and I don’t mean to let a foragey girl take no credit for the trouble, if you catch my meaning, I’m all up to snuff whenever needed, but it’s bad business.” 

The captain did catch his meaning perfectly well, but replied mildly, “Next time you decide to take out a stool pigeon, it would help if you didn’t alert the entire operation of your presence. We’d appreciate our share as well you know.” 

Chris flushed at this, “I didn’t know we were in the line of work helping the fuzz...sir.” He stopped and nodded in Lord Brockmor’s direction “excepting whoever you are of course sir, I mean no offense.” Chris hadn’t ever seen Cap'n hobnobbing with the elite before. Normally the kind of jobs the Palaver picked up were specifically the kind that avoided any run-ins with the Feds or folk from Force Zero. 

“Oh where are they taking them!” Pendle interrupted as the captain freed Chris. She dashed towards one of the medics who had slapped a potassium and calorie pack on one of the babies and was prepping it in a web to be taken away. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparked with indignation. She’d been so sure she was supposed to be here, and now… she supposed she should just be glad she wasn’t in as much trouble as she expected. But when she tried to follow the baby out, the captain stopped her. “Are you going to take care of a half dozen squalling wee babes by yourself?” He asked, when she turned with flaming eyes and shook him off. “In a ship like the Palaver, where do you plan on putting them? I suppose you will have already stocked the larder with milk and bottles? And turned the engine room into a nursery full of cribs?” 

“But I found them!” she retorted, “and I was supposed to find them. I had a vis…” her words trailed off as the captain pursed his lips and shook his head almost imperceptibly. She started to say something else when Lord Brockmore interrupted dryly “May I suggest we adjourn to the quarters on my ship for some refreshments?” Pendle wished she could tell him in Chris-like terms exactly what she thought of this suggestion, but another quelling look from the captain stopped her.

Nanowrimo 2020- Craggy Honors (Chapter 1)

Non-Cemented Back Cover Blurb: On an airship, a girl with a long lost gift lives on the outskirts of polite society. In the back streets of Barthal she runs into the infamous Brockmar, upper echelon's golden boy. Both are too talented for their own good, with zero desire to find each other even exists. However, a warehouse full of stolen property, and an undercover team of separatists have triggered fate to conspire and bring a generational secret to the surface. 

Chapter One: 

“Turn here...this is the street, I’m sure of it.” Pendle grabbed the hanging strap on the mail truck as it groaned around a corner way too fast for its geometrical shape. 

“You said that last time,” grumbled Chris. He looked anxiously into the one surviving mirror in a government vehicle that had been retired and put out to pasture years ago. They weren’t exactly in the greatest part of town, and Pendle wouldn’t say where it was they were going, or even why they were going. He wished her to Sheol for the fiftieth time in as many minutes, because despite looking like a human sized tinkerbell, she was impossible to say no to when she was fired up and hopping around the airship like an agitated firefly. 

“It was so much easier in my head,” she admitted ruefully, although not exactly apologetic. She craned her head out the window and scratched her head, peering at one side of the street then the other... none of which was instilling any confidence in her unlucky chauffeur. They trundled past an old falling over sign advertising “Cleaning Services” but the C had fallen off so it just said “Leaning Services”.  Pendle bounced up and down and clapped her hands together, “No No, we’re going in the right direction. Go left, go left. This is definitely it. Won’t Dru be surprised?” She leaned forward in her seat. “The warehouse is right behind that loading dock.” 

“Oh, he’ll be something, but I ain’t sure the Cap’ns gonna like being surprised.” Chris said, as the truck lurched over a driveway that had long since turned into a weed lot. He was beginning to think that maybe he hadn’t planned entirely properly for this expedition. Neither of them had ever been to Barthal before and the city looked like an old shoe that had been chewed up by a dog and left outside in the yard. “The cap’ns for real not gonna like where we tied down the airship.” 

“I thought you did a brilliant job anchoring it,” Pendle said, purposely misunderstanding him. “And Lee and Serene are still there, so it’s not like it won’t be safe and well looked after.” Chris didn’t even bother to reply to this, he gave her a disgusted sideways look. They both knew that the captain had given everyone strict orders to stay on board and keep the ship out of the city, but Pendle had experienced one of her “visions”.  It was either go with her or let her go by herself. Chris reflected that perhaps he should have tried harder to talk her out of it, but he’d gotten seriously startled when he saw her try to jam a loaded 560 RUF into her pants. When she started hitting the giant steel docking lock with a wrench, he’d had no choice but to intervene...and go with her. The only concession he’d won was he got to carry the 560. She’d taken them straight to a junkyard where she bought the first derelict vehicle she saw. 

Personally, she was rather enjoying making Chris so uncomfortable. If it weren’t for how desperately crunched for time they were, she would have picked an even worse looking vehicle and had some real fun with it. As it was, both men stared at her slack jawed when she climbed into a vintage U.S. Postal Service truck that was four fifths of the way towards transforming back into the earth. She’d just purchased it for fifty bucks and started the engine with no problem. Mystified and not a little dubious, Chris had been reluctant to climb in next to her… so reluctant in fact, that they hadn’t gone two blocks before he loudly demanded she get out and let him drive lest she kill them both before Captain Dru had a chance to do so himself. When he got into the driver’s seat, he threw another hissy fit demanding to know how she’d started a vehicle that had no engine...or tires.

She’d complacently folded her hands in her lap and looked shyly up at the thundering bundle of scowls next to her. “I don’t know exactly...sometimes I just know something is supposed to be done and I find it done.”  

To this very unsatisfactory answer, Chris gave a snort and focused on driving. It was bad enough to expect a professionally trained airship pilot like himself to babysit a munning girl, but it was going quite beyond tolerable to pilot around an antique dinosaur of a vehicle with no engine under the hood! He did not abide by this new magic everyone was obsessed with these days. They could all go to munning Sheol with his fervent well wishes. 

He slammed the door, his boots crunching over the gravel as he stared up grimly at the “warehouse”.  It had more broken windows than intact ones, and he would have expected it to be long abandoned except that there was a new sign on the front that said “Front office. By appointment only.” 

Pendle, rather subdued, realized that maybe she’d bitten off more than she could chew. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for in this warehouse, just that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she was supposed to find something important here. She unconsciously stepped closer to Chris, grateful he hadn’t let her leave on her own. Her heart was already pounding hard enough, she couldn’t imagine what it would be doing if she were standing here alone. 

Chris looked down at Pendle, not at all impressed that she was nestling under his arm like some sort of munning baby bird. She barely reached up to his shoulder, and his biceps were almost bigger around than her whole body. If there was trouble in the warehouse, she was going to be completely useless. The only bright side, he thought grimly, was that she was small enough he could stand sideways and still shield her. 

He definitely wasn’t getting paid well enough for this.

 “You gotta plan or are you gonna crawl into my armpit and hide?” 

Wrinkling her nose, Pendle stepped away and tossed her chin into the air. “We’ll be fine.” she said “It’s a rug and tapestry store...I looked it up. They don’t close til six.” 

He snorted. “Don’t think you can convince me we’re here to rug shop.” 

“Nooo….not exactly. I don’t think?” She said, sounding unsure of herself. He threw his eyes up to the heavens. She wasn’t sure if it was in a long lost plea to a higher being, or if he just felt more comfortable in the sky than on solid ground. Stupid men. She was sure if Serene were with her now, they’d already be chatting with the shopkeeper. Maybe.

 “You can stay out here if you want,” she called over her shoulder as she pushed open the grimy glass doors. 

Saying Goodbye, Being Homeless, Starting New Things and Doing Old Things

We were doing good until we went to zero feet above sea level to say goodbye to that old thing called the Pacific Ocean. We met some friends at the brewery/restaurant that was home to me this summer (not because I took up a Homer Simpson lifestyle, but because I got a good old fashioned job as a server/flinger of brews…but that’s another blog entry for another time). Charlie and I, who have managed to keep calm for weeks now, found ourselves unable to keep a stiff upper lip when faced with the vastness that is the largest ocean on Earth (and a place where my boy cub family has spent thousands of hours over the last 15 years). It wasn’t a sad goodbye per say, nor a regretful one… but more of an understanding one, like getting a nod of blessing from an old king.

We’re now in the stage of moving where we are nomads who belong nowhere, depending instead on the charity of friends and family to house us. We’ve officially turned over the keys and driven out of our San Diego neighborhood for the last time, but escrow hasn’t closed yet on our house in Missouri. Apparently half the country has decided to play musical chairs and change living abodes, but the purchase of our little plot of wilderness plods steadily onward.

One thing that has helped me keep my sanity is writing. Even though I’ve been sadly negligent here on this blog, I’ve been steadily chipping away at writing a homeschooling curriculum for kids with learning challenges. I thought the hardest part was going to be actually writing the curriculum, but since that has been burning in my fingertips for years, the hardest part has actually been trying to figure out how to build a website and get a tax ID. I have a whole new respect for youtube stars, instagram influencers and the like. I guess if it were easy, more people would be doing it successfully.

It’s November 1st today, which is one of my favorite days of the year. Not because I love the fall season (I am summer’s child), but because it’s the first day of Nanowrimo. I wasn’t going to do Nanowrimo this year due to how crazy and upheaved life is, but I’ve done it for so many years my brain refuses to stop mulling over a new story, so I’m going to attempt it anyway. This may be my year as a nano rebel however, as my wordcount goal is not going to be in the neighborhood of a full length 50k+ word novel.

Some years I share my story, and some years I don’t ( depending on how much therapizing is going on…ahem), but this year my plan is to put it here on my blog as I finish each chapter (for those who don’t mind reading rough drafts). I’m plotting out a sci-fi/fantasy type short story that’s heavy on the romance and light on the “science” with plenty of airships, and magic to make research a non-necessity. Right now it’s sort of a Scarlet Pimpernel meets Ocean’s Eleven in my head, but we’ll see how it actually comes out.

This is the last picture we took, seconds before pulling out of our driveway for the last time and one thing is for certain… this year’s Nanowrimo and my erstwhile homeschooling course/website will probably be accomplished on the road or squeezed between boxes (which is where I am currently writing this).

(Onward?) Onward!

Moving in T-minus One Week

There's some strong denial going on over here. We have to be out of our San Diego home by the 30th of October, but have the Uhaul showing up in a week so we can spend the last week tying up any loose ends. I have a giant list of people to say goodbye to, last foods to eat and a proper mental "thank-you" to this Harmony home that's brought us so much peace and joy after the rough few years before it.

I also suck at packing and cleaning. It is definitely not in my God-given skill set, and yet I carry on because one can only put one foot in front of the other. All in all, this move is so much easier than getting kicked out of your home and dealing with a pedophile. This move is a blessed piece of cake in comparison, but omw, how did we accumulate so much stuff? I feel like my house is like a giant Mary Poppins bag. Each closet produces more stuff than is mathematically possible to fit in that square footage.

In our new homestead (we're in escrow on a place in the Missouri Ozarks...so crossing fingers and praying it all goes through), I plan on being a minimalist who only buys beautiful long lasting things. (It's always good to have unattainable goals, right?)

Until then, it's all mattresses on the floor and pizza on napkins over here.

Superman Spankings: A no-spanking alternative for tantrums and stuff

We’ve hit the stage of this covid business where all of the cupboards and closets I carefully reorganized and Spring cleaned at the beginning of the quarantine now resemble a family minivan after a road trip (those of us with respectable vehicles of course never strew food wrappers, toys and mismatching shoes all over them...cough cough). 

A friend in a FB group asked what to do about young kids who are struggling with life right now and having tantrums. I meant to reply, but then I stepped in an abandoned peanut butter and jelly sandwich, got called to fish a small pebble out of a young child’s nostril and found that one of the year’s important school books mysteriously disappeared. 

We do superman spankings around here. (which is really confusing to people because there is no spanking involved, but I call them that because they accomplish the same purpose and the name makes my kids laugh). I discovered a long time ago that non-verbal boys don’t respond well to long talks about feelings and emotions. In fact, for some kids and personalities it may be more selfish than just giving them a spanking and being done with it. I went down a rabbit hole of child development research about why spanking works and how it developed. I came to the very intellectual and high-brow opinion that it’s proprioceptive and vestibular input that helps certain types of kids respond well to traditional discipline methods. (Did I word that ok?) That’s when I came up with “Superman Spankings”.  All of the proprioceptive, physical input needed to help reset and calm the brain, without the current social stigmas and trappings that I would love to really mull over and discuss with someone someday without triggering strong dichotomous opinions.  

Anyway, here’s a tutorial for “Superman Spankings”.

Step one: See child is having a meltdown. 

Step two: Ask said child if they would prefer to sit down and reason like diplomats or fly about the room with a superman spanking. (note: length of conversation and choices vary from child to child.)

Step three: If the answer is the latter, firmly grasp the child's forearms and swing in a circle until you a) risk losing the child to centrifugal force. b) risk falling over or getting motion sick.  (note: does not work on children who are almost as big or bigger than you.)

It doesn’t always work, but it’s a well loved tool. Sometimes it even works on an irrationally angry child (note: the stock picture above is deceptively peaceful looking… and also missing the beach nazi who would stop and tell you to keep walking).

Now if anyone can tell me the best way to remove objects stuffed up nostrils, I’ll be forever obliged.

My Feelings on the Corona Virus and Church

I wrote this earlier this week when I needed to get it off my chest because it was burning a hole in my brain (I wonder how many more body metaphors I could squeeze into that sentence…ahem).

This corona virus thing has mostly been a blessing in disguise. I mulch potatoes, kiss skinned knees, flip pancakes, read aloud The Seven Silly Eaters, go on a run with my husband, bake bread, plant beans, hold a baby chick… the list of happy things goes on and on. The only thing about this “world change” that has completely rocked my world and made me question all I hold dear is the church.  

And I’ve been through more than my share of church drama. When I was 7 my parents joined a homeschooling cult(ish) thing and declared the church I’d grown up in evil. When I was 14 my pastor had an affair with a woman he was counselling and it was a whole brouhaha. When I was 18 I went to a Christian College that made Bob Jones look like Berkeley and I gave up on organized religion altogether. But Christ wasn’t done with me, and neither Jim nor I lasted long outside of the church. Like Tennyson’s Hounds of Heaven we found ourselves in the grasp of an omniscient God. We left our legalistic roots and moved towards a more historical Christianity. We love stained glass windows and robes and liturgy. We love church, really truly love church. Due to seeing the “underbelly” of the church, I’ve always been pretty open minded. I’ve never thought that Baptists weren’t Christians or Lutherans weren’t Christians. I’ve always been a “big tent” Christian and I’ve always said that the church is filled with sinful people just like anywhere else. I thought I had developed a pretty hardy skin. We even survived another brouhaha last Fall with our sense of God and church still intact. 

But historical, liturgy loving Christians don’t look at church the same way that a lot of modern day Christians do. For the guitar playing, overhead projector church with a mission statement and vbs program that rivals Disneyland, this quarantine has not affected who they are as Christians. (correct me if I’m wrong) If you’re a community minded Christian who believes that church is for learning and growing in the Lord and for meeting the needs of fellow Christians, then a world wide quarantine is a time to get creative.  

As a Presbyterian though, I have (had?) a different perspective. Church wasn’t just a place  you went to “grow or learn”. Presbyterians (and Lutherans, Episcopalians etc) believe that coming together as the real, in person, corporeal body of Christ is Scriptural, precious and beyond this world. When the Pastor stands, raises his hands and gives the call to worship, then the very foundations of the world shift, the heavens open and God comes down and communes with His people. It’s the holy of holies. The sacraments aren’t just reminders of God, they are true food and true drink. They are a means of grace. They trump all times of history, all wars/famines/pandemics, all governments. They are truly real things. 

I totally, one hundred percent believed it. ...and then the corona virus hit and that rug got yanked out from under me. You can’t cancel or postpone or have an online church in the above scenario. And the fact that our church didn’t really believe those things too is earth shattering. I’m so horrified that I don't know where to go from here. Maybe it’s because I was in the catacombs last year at this time, standing where Christians faced certain death because they were so desperate to be together and take the Lord’s Supper together. 

Again, if I had a different view of what church is, I could understand the logic of online church and quarantine (maybe? I don’t know, I’d have to hear from those of you who are on the other side of the theological table).  But if God is truly omnipotent and the Bible is truly the inspired and infallible word of God. Then either this corona virus is no surprise, and doesn’t render churches suddenly non-essential for the first time in Christian history. Or it’s a mistake to think the whole “corporeal worship”, “True food/True drink” is true and necessary. Telling Christians they can’t congregate for months is the stuff of history books and legends. I feel like the breath has been knocked out of me. Maybe it’s silly of me to have believed church was real in a “heavens open up”  way, maybe it is only supposed to be a place for God’s people to fellowship and grow together and I’m crazy for thinking there was more to it, but regardless, my heart hurts. 

At this point I think I would attend any church, no matter what denomination if they were actually meeting and holding services. 

Coffee, slugs and a homestead

When you have all boys (or girls too...I have no idea), you can play a game in the morning where you pour your coffee and then try to dodge all of the flailing limbs, hugs, fights, parkouring and what-not with your coffee intact. It could be a slightly dangerous game if the coffee were hot, but “mom coffee” is never hot because it takes 3 hours to drink. It’s a perfectly safe game if perhaps a little hazardous for decorative pillows and carpets.

I listened to a podcast today that was talking about how we often outsource things to avoid the pain of dealing with it ourselves, and I think that’s part of what I’m dealing with when it comes to gardening. I don’t want to grow my own food, I want it to magically show up in the supermarket. Now that I can’t stand going to the grocery store, I’m more tempted to face the drama of growing my own food (even if it’s 1/23848 of what we eat… it’s the principle of the matter). It’s not easy though, something was eating my garden, so I dug out the diatomaceous earth from the bowels of the pantry and went outside to sprinkle it around my plants. To my horror, the flashlight revealed a scene akin to something from Stranger Things. My precious plants were covered in hundreds and hundreds of slugs all twisted around each branch and stem leaving slime, death and destruction.  Jim, Jamie and I picked them all off by hand and drowned them with salt. I think the experience may win as the grossest thing I’ve ever done. Only a few plants survived, but thankfully, I have a growing addiction to buying seeds off of home gardeners on Ebay so I’ve got lots of backup plants in various stages of development (sitting in things like milk and egg cartons because I refuse to go to the store). I just need to figure out what to do about the problem lest I allow the small slimy sociopaths to destroy more of my sweet baby plants. The DE seems to help a little, but not enough to deter them completely. Maybe as it gets warmer and drier here it won’t be a problem? 

We started out this whole Coronu thing with one pet turtle. Now our urban farm has expanded to include chickens, a pet boa, a beta fish, and a foster dog. So far everything except the snake contributes in some way. The fish fertilizes an aquaponics garden, and even the turtle water goes into the compost bin. In fact, if you count super tiny farm animals, we’re also the proud owners of a kombucha SCOBY, sourdough starter and a worm farm (although honestly, I feel more attached to the pepper plants that finally decided to sprout). 

Now I really never get to drink my coffee in the morning.