Stumphenge

While waiting for the school bus about a week ago, my son lamented the fact that there was no place to sit. We have to be outside waiting between 5 and 25 minutes every day, as the bus is never on time, and there is about a 25 minute window where the bus just might show up. So we wait. My daughter and her friend entertain themselves, but my teenage son's only focus is, "How long will this take, and couldn't I just go back to bed until the bus arrives?"
A place to sit is the next best thing.
So, I took it upon myself to create (Notice I did not say build, as this will become important later) a place to rest one's weary bones, and a back pack or two.
I looked aroud the property and came up with a bunch of soon to be rotting stumps from trees that had been cut to create our new driveway. If I took those stumps and found some old boards (which is easy to find at our place) I could create a couple of benches for us to utilize. I even found an old giant spool (too ricketey to sit on) to use as a place to throw backpacks.
It was an inspiration, and Stumphenge was formed! Not built!
Ok, it's later.
While my kids, and even my daughter's friend, have delighted in Stumphenge, my husband-to be fair, it must be mentioned that he is a woodworker and builder- has had no such delight!
Now he's a busy guy, and does not wait for the bus. He is long gone to build stuff before the waiting begins. He doesn't have time to build bus stop seating, and no one asked him to. Stumphenge evolved from crap laying around the property, and is now apparently the bain of his existance. Stumphenge sits too near the road, where it can be seen, and where someone might think HE built it! Although he has not said this, I have known him too long to not see right through his vailed, unenthusiastic, "That's great".
The moral?
If one would clean the property up, another one might not get so creative!
Kill 'em with kindness? Naw, kill 'em with creativity!

Sammy the SSSSSnake

Yeah, it's been awhile, but that whole thing happened with the alleged Jonbenet killer, and I was busy.

I must say that while I am fascinated by true life murder, I have no such fascination with child murder. It is my belief that when proven guilty in a court of law, each and every child offender be castrated without the luxury of anesthesia! Bastards!

Ok, that said, onto Sammy...

This cute snake was caught right in my own backyard here! I was minding my own business when Sammy (henceforth known as) came slithering past my foot. I must note that I am no fan of spiders, and it has taken me more than 20 years to get over (did I say get over?) a panic stricken fear of them (I had a brother with a tarantula- but that's a whole other scary story!). But snakes? NO problem! After my son slithered after Sammy, caught him, named him, and had Sammy pee on him, we took turns passing him around and marveling at his whole being! (Sammy, not my son!)

I'm afraid fall is already here, and there isn't much time before Sammy slithers away and snow flies! Winter. That's when things get real dark. Come January it's all I can do to stay awake until 7:30 p.m. (and from 4p.m. till 7:30p.m. all I do is sit on the couch with my salt lick, and stare into space). ... Ever see the SHINING? You get the picture.....

Ah, the spice of life!

So, there I was, making yet another despicable dinner (kids' description), when I got the heebie jeebies. I had the unmistakable impression that I was being watched. I was! Up on the spice shelf, the head of Sister Anne Gregory (or was it Sister Raymond Louise?) was staring at me!
She seemed to be well preserved, with the ever present disapproving look only nuns can inflict. I was shaken and bewildered. My thoughts flying from the 3rd grade "thumping" ( modus operandi of Sr. Anne Gregory, where one would be pushed into next Tuesday with a continuous painful thump to the chest) I'd received; all the way to, "If I didn't put that pickled nunhead there, and I didn't, then who did?".
I asked the inhabitants of the house, save the cat (Sid) and the dog (Gus), and no one is taking credit. It's a real-life mystery. Right here in my own home.
Now, I must take time to answer the third installment of Name That Killer for C.H.K.
This one was so well known that the now touring band, The Vultures , even wrote a song about
Maurice Travis, called ZOMBIE HOOKER. A&E must have run that Murder Hour episode at least a dozen times. So, yes you must give up, because Kid, I know my murderers! ...and thump weilding nuns - oxymoron?! Could be!

The Postman Occassionally Honks Twice

I grew up in the city. Back when one would walk to a friend's house and stand below an open window or screen door and yell, "OOOhhh [insert friend's name], can you come out and play?". There were trash collectors who would work in twos, one to drive, the other to collect the cans , dump them in the back of the truck, and whistle when he wanted the driver to go to the next house. The mail carrier would walk the block, and deposit the mail in a slot that was an open portal to the house.
I remember my first experience visiting a rural place and seeing the mail being delivered by an unmarked station
wagon, kind of an undercover mail carrier. The driver sat in the passenger's seat and somehow worked the foot pedals and stearing wheel from the there. The mailboxes looked like an animal cage, or birdhouse, to me, sitting atop a wooden post. Always on the right side of the road, so the poor mail carrier had to drive their vehicle in the awkward position described above.
I also remember thinking that I would slit my wrists if I ever had to live in a rural place! AH, City Life!
The above photo was captured not too far (as the crow flies) from where I currently live.
In rural New England! And no, there has been no wrist slitting (as of yet). And what I have learned about rural living is vast, and humorous, and has opened my eyes to change, which is good.
Now, when I see a rural malebox (my guess is that this one is male) I can relate to the humor, or the desperate attempt, and know that somewhere in the city there are postal carriers who would love to be driving their routes undercover with the promise of entertainment along the way! And really, how many rural carriers can you name that have gone postal?
And speaking of names, the answer to NAME THAT KILLER two, is Richard Speck.

Cup O Dirt?

Today I actually counted the dirty glasses/cups I found in and around the kitchen. It was 3 pm; there were 11. Now, it must be said that I only have 2 children. Two children who didn't even get out of bed until 10:30 am. They then left the house (with me, of course!) at 11:30 am and we did not return until 2:30 pm. Now, you do the math!

We didn't even eat lunch at home!

How many cups/glasses of who knows what (see photo) can 2 kids get dirty in approximately an hour and a half???

The answer is 11! Well, at least today it was.

And speaking of answers, does Clifton Heights Kid think I wouldn't have the answer to name that killer?

Gary Gilmore, of course! And I even remember the song from SNL...Let's kill Gary Gilmore for X-mas (sung to the tune of Winter Wonderland)! You gotta love that!

You don't? Just kill me now.

In closing, as I must (the Murder Hour is about to begin), I'll just leave a little sumthin,sumthin, for YOUR MUM - you were me mum in another life, and another religion. Remember?

PS For the record, I don't have siblings. Ala Bart Simpson, I had an emergency sisterectomy right after Molly left her scathing comments! And by the way, my meds are better than your meds! Har!

Dog days, already?

Dog eat dog! My kids are at each other's throats constantly, and summer gives them more time to plot against each other, and me! If it's not one thing, it's their mother!
Now, I won't play the martyr card here(even though I was taught by the best) but how much can one take? Really.
"What's for dinner?" "What's for lunch?" "I'm hungry!" "I'm not eating THAT! I hate THAT!"
"Who ate my cereal?" (from a community box in the pantry) and the one that happened years ago, that made me pull the car over in a hysterical laughing fit, "SHE'S LOOKING AT MY DRINK!!!!"
No, it's not all about food, but I do find myself way too often having to stop whatever it is I am doing to feed some child (my own, or others')some husband (ok, just mine) or some animal (you know, the FAMILY pet!).
The dog in the kitchen? Couldn't find a pic with a stick of furniture sweating over the hot stove.
It works.

Celebrating the 4th with a fifth...

Hope I don't get sixth! Look,
It's the cereal that's shot from guns!
Maybe it's just me, but I don't get re-enactors. I can't even get up enough interest in my own life to get dressed in my own clothes, let alone re-enactment garb. Ok, I know there's more to it than that, but com'on!
So, where was I?
Ah yes, my family treating me as walking, talking furniture...although they don't hear a word I say, or notice when I've left a room, they have a sense that something has taken place in their realm. I have to give them that. Keen sense of awareness, when something even vaguely brushes passed their realm.
I've had a summer's worth full of arguments, disagreements, and general ugliness already, and it's only the 4th of July. Saints preserve us!
And hey, where did May and June go? Not to mention where that fifth went?! E-gads...

Welcome to my world...

You may have some preconceived notion as to what this blog may be about, but you would be wrong. Dead wrong.
It is a cry for attention.
You see, I am the ignored mother and wife of a family that not only ignores me, but when I do get some attention, it is the kind that only perpatrators with long criminal histories get. Seems I can't do anything quick enough, smart enough, or sane enough for the likes of the people I live with.
So...I have been hiding. Upstairs, if they are down, downstairs, if they are up, and I have watched real crime mysteries to escape. Hence, the murder hour.
I have always liked the idea of true life anything. Autobiographies, love stories, life stories, but nothing gets it for me like a murder mystery-true life, though.
I fail to see how this saves me from being ignored or one upped by my family, but it has worked for years....somehow. Tonight was particularly brutal, as I was already hiding by 6:30 pm.
As for the pic, well, isn't it shark week?