Smokey Mountain Breakdown

Winter Fucking Wonderland Already! Jesus Marimba, I am weary of walking around with tampons up my nose.

Gee Rosie, is that a tampon in your nose?

Yes, actually, it is. See, my bleeding thing means that nosebleeds last for one to three hours. Much blood is lost. I have to hold my nose for 30 to 45 minutes before even checking to to see if it's stopped--and going into the ER is no longer an option since September. And ever since I looked up on the internet what the ER idiots did for nosebleeds and found out they stuck tampons up your nose...

So yeah. I stick tampons up my nose. What of it? You want to start somethin' about it? Fuck you! Yes, I'm sure it is a mental picture you'd rather be without. And yes, it is pretty much as amusing as all that.

So. This weather means my nose bleeds more often. And tampons leave my hands free. So there.

But Friend Scott called last night and we had a good long talk. Scott's just TMI all the time and I so miss that about him. Did I ever tell you guys the ball sack itch story? Anyway. Suffice it to say he gets way more sex with straight people that most straight people do. A regular Frank-N-Furter.

Anyway, there is a story for you to read. I'm a bit peeved with them because they screwed up the formatting. Pretty much everyone who asked for .txt screws up the formatting. I asked them to fix it and they still haven't. So I'll probably ask them to withdraw it and remove the journal from my sub rotation. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to remove obviously extraneous hard returns and if they don't care how their journal looks I'm not interested in having my work appear there. It's HERE if you want to read it before I demand it be removed.

You guys have been really sweet about my lack of acceptances. But I'm actually sort of SMBD about my rejections--enjoy them really. It means I'm doing my job. And they are always very nice to me and very definitely ask me to submit again. They even send me the "nice" version of their form rejections. The one they send to writers who aren't psychopaths with editor parts wrapped in butcher paper in their basement freezer. So that's good? Don't worry--I'm cool--totally down with the rejections. They come in waves, you know.

Please sir! May I have another?

I went off the mountain this morning to get some milk down at the Citgo. I actually didn't get up until noon this morning and didn't really take note of the coldness until I went out. After yesterday's two hours of snow, today was bright and sunny--but very cold at this elevation. One nice thing about the sheep. They are very pretty out there with snow blowing on them. They have shelter, but being Shetland sheep, they don't seem to mind the cold. And I don't worry so much about them in their four inch thick fleeces like I did the goats. Goats shiver in the cold and look miserable and you feel guilty that you can't bring them in the house.

I was surprised that the creek was coated with a slick of ice in the sun. The clarity of the water is so amazing at this time of year and I'm soothed by its brilliance. It's a nice change from the stagnant pools the drought caused all summer long.

Happy Sunday. Stay warm.

Today was one of those dirty gray days where the light fell like over-used mop water being thrown from the sky. So, I dug around in my photo archives for the sort of sparkling clear winter morning that it really should have been. But wasn't. But we can pretend.

Max continues his interaction with the geese. A few stray tail feathers tell me that he has won a few of the encounters. But every time I see him, he is running for his life with a goose attached to his rear end. The other goose is usually making a ruckus while this is happening. I interpret this as hysterical, mocking goose laughter.

It has come to that difficult point in the year where I ask myself, "Decorate for Christmas? ...Or don't decorate for Christmas?"

Please understand that I have become a bit superstitious about this. Every time I've really done this in a big way, something drastic and calamitous has happened.

I think it began during that memorable Yuletide fifteen years ago when I, thrilled that I had someone in my life I could do this for, went all out with the Christmas thing. For whatever reason...perhaps my family's intensity when we do the Christmas thing is just way over the top or something...I awoke in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve to find my lover standing over me holding a butcher knife. What followed was me depositing said lover at a mental ward for a forced period of confinement and ended up with me using my chainsaw to cut down the Christmas tree...in my living room...and then stomping on the delicate glass balls with my k.d. lang boots. My friends walked in about that time. They are still laughing.

And no...that's an entirely true story.

So, I approach this season with caution. Lest someone go all cuckoo-for-cocoa-pops just because I opened a big ole can 'o Martha Stewart all over their ass.

Happy Sunday.

Yesterday we had one of our little blizzards. The wind drove the snow in horizontal sheets across the pasture. They tell me a "clipper" came through.

The temperatures went down to 20 degrees F. last night and this morning the ground is sparkly and crunchy. It hurts my eyes to look at it. All of the water for the goats is frozen solid and they skittered off the mountain down to the creek to drink. I can't even prise the lids off of the feed bins. At least I don't have any chickens right now. I'd be hauling hot water up to them about now if I did.

Leonard, my beautiful buck, is not feeling well. I tried to catch him to bring him up to the house to medicate him, but he skittered off with the rest of the herd by the time I collected a lead to pull him to the house. I hope he makes it back okay. Some goats do not overwinter here well. I'm worried that I may lose him. Generally, if they can make it through one winter here, they can make it through all of them.

Blinkin' is still on the porch threatening to kid at any moment. I'm tempted to release her back to the herd, but her bag has filled up in the back. Surely it can't be long now.

The seasons are bi-polar here. Each one containing sweetness and sorrow. Winter contains more sorrow and glints with danger, while the summer hides her sweet snakes under a pretty package. I try not to judge. I know they each contain equal packages of dark and light.

But the cold. The cold makes it seem so dark.

I woke this morning to find the hoarfrost laying heavily upon the pasture. The rails to my balcony were coated with tiny little prisms of ice. I went out to get the wood for the stove and my breath made clouds about my head. Winter was here.

Aegis licked my hand to get me out of bed, as has been his custom ever since he was big enough to put his paws up and reach me. He was trained to do that and has lovingly performed that task even after I no longer needed him to do so.

I pulled the hood up on my long flannel robe and took him outside. He wants to leave, I can tell. He tries to slink off but comes back when I call him. I won't let him go away in the frost.

I was encouraged that he finally wanted to drink some water. I think the lactated ringers has hydrated him enough that he can at least do that and keep some down. He lays obediently at my feet next to the couch and lets me care for him. The needle dripping life back into him, hopefully. The whites of his eyes look like lemon drops.

I want to ask him to wait for spring. I want to whisper dog language into his silky ears and tell him to wait until there is warmth and blackberries and baby wild rabbits to chase. I want him to wait until that first swim in the creek with the barefooted boys of summer.

"Wait," I say..."For God's sake don't leave me here in the cold."

I want to tell him to wait until the baby goats are here. Aegis loves baby goats. But I don't know if I have any right to do that. Because I know he would unquestioningly follow my orders. Out of love...blind love.

I know that God has a sense of humor. But this...this...is in poor taste.