Mulan-ing It Up and Deciphering Pernicious Plumbing Portents

Mulan on Rooftop
Definitely Stolen Image…Come on Disney, let me have this one!

In science fiction/fantasy stories, when the heroine has pissed off the gods or broken the ancient talisman of her people, she can go on a quest to redeem her honor. Sure, she may have to crop her hair and dress like a boy to defeat the Hun army…but in the end, it’s worth it.

She returns with the seal of the emperor and is held up as an example of once-in-a-lifetime courage and fortitude. At the very least, she is welcomed back home with cries of “Huzzah” or a marriage proposal.

At what point does our heroine realize that she is in an epic battle for her existence?* Maybe to her it just seemed like a lot of bad luck rolled up on her at once?

I ask this question, in truth, because I think I missed a giant clue along the way.

Or I’ve defiled a temple somewhere and the gods are angry.

I’m not entirely sure when it happened.

But I think it started with the toilet. Continue reading Mulan-ing It Up and Deciphering Pernicious Plumbing Portents

Advertisements

Happy Lousy Valentine

Pick on You to Be Valentine
Pinterest: home of the most disgusting things you can Google.

We were introduced by a friend.

She didn’t know you would be so clingy, so demanding.

Such a total leech.

Sucking the life out of me.

But when you started in on my kid, that was it.

It was time for you to go.

It wasn’t easy.

You didn’t want to leave.

It was clear.

You had to die.

Stuck home on a snow day, I’m Googling ways to end you.

It wasn’t enough to get rid of you.

I had to totally erase your existence.

Clean anything you’d touched like a literal plague.

Boiling all the sheets was easy enough.

But trying to get a kid to sit still, while I tore your influence away one painstaking strand at a time?

Just awful.

Everything had to be examined.

All the lies and denials.

It was a total nit-picking nightmare.

Kiri Louse 2

I went to a specialist.

We went over everything.

Talked about how you wouldn’t let go.

How I just wanted to cut you out of my life so badly I was willing to get rid of anything you held dear.

“Just do it.” I told her. “Quick, like a band-aid. I’ll close my eyes and think of Sinead, Sean, and Shaquille. They’ve made it work for them.”

She talked me down from the nuclear option.

Getting your hair done is usually a calm, soothing experience.*

But getting rid of you was not.

With every stroke, it felt like I was being pulled in two.

As she scorched my tresses in thirty-second blasts, I visualized you frying until your little head popped.

I imagined your tiny death rattle.

And then I went home and cleaned like a woman possessed.

If you’d touched it, into the garbage, laundry, or freezer it went.

And then, I tackled my child.

It wasn’t pretty.

It wasn’t fun.

But it had to be done.

And if you ever come back into my life, I will totally do it again.

Breaking up is hard to do.

But in eleven days, after a repeat cathartic cleansing, it’ll be over.

I’ll finally be rid of you.**

Happy Lousy Valentine’s Day, you creep.

 

Lice Check

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnote:

*I’ve never paid so much to have my hair done only to leave a ‘stylist’ looking more like a train wreck. Except for the time I went to high-end salon and they gave me (without my permission) some godawful cut called a ‘Rachel.’ Looking back, even this experience wasn’t that bad!

**Don’t visit us for at least two weeks to be safe.

Kiri Louse
The price we pay for hugging people.  Maybe my son had the right idea all along.

 

*_____________________________________*

You read this far bonus:

I found a weirdly appropriate book in French while searching for Google images to accompany this post. I couldn’t quite fit it into the above text but wanted to share it with you.

Here is: The Terrible Adventures of Valentine and Her 118 Lice.

Valentine and her 118 Lice

Yes, I’m giving you lice for Valentines.

It truly is the gift that keeps on giving.

 

Featured image available at: https://www.toilette-humor.com/valentines/valentines_heart_rejects.shtml

 

 

What the Flake?

Dear Powers That Be:

I don’t know who you are but you obviously don’t have any school-aged kids at home, or you would understand what level hell you are putting us through. By us, I mean parents who had hopes of getting through this winter alive with our sanity intact. But no. You’ve trapped us in our homes with our children for, FLAKE*, what is it? Ten days now? Eleven? I’ve lost count of how many flaking snow days it’s been. Continue reading What the Flake?

SNOW

As the fourth snow day in a row reveals the madness of winter housebound by frigid air and fluffy white stuff, I am revisiting a piece I wrote in 2015. Truer today than it ever has been.

TheDustSeason

Snow, as heavy as death,

How you break the frail back.

Shoveling is a gladiator sport, and

Winter is the lion which slays you.

 

Roar the oncoming hordes of flakes.

Sodden mittens clench the staff,

A blade against an unrelenting foe.

Blisters in anticipation.

 

Hurl the churlish weapon in futile rage.

A pain given is a pain received,

For every shovelful is death to someone.

And snowmen weep when the sun comes out.

 

Latticed crystals mock in six-sided glee

Covering once more the open ground.

Laying the monstrous earth to sleep.

Writing epitaphs in mounds of white.

View original post

First Words

rock garden words 2

Cave paintings tell the oldest tales.

Charcoal impressions of a Neolithic age.

Ancient stone stories echo authors past.

Symbolic of the writer’s rocky path.

Once pried from cold, hard stone

You ask yourself, were they there all along?*

*-*-*
rock water melt snow

First Words

by K. L. K. Salazar

 

What siren song do fissures sing?

Elusive, mutable—so close, yet out of reach.

Can anybody hear you? See you?

Or do you speak only to my soul?

 

 

Hidden deep, in crevasses unknown.

Only found in shadows, on lichen-crusted clefts.

Under a winter’s sky—cold and blown.

A resonance of stone.

Falling, hitting, frozen things.

Echo shots creation brings, broken and rebuilt.

 

Etched in deep, where all words hide.

Unexpected meaning lies, unrefined,

Inside. Pitched to black and deeper reaches

No one knows what they may find.

 

When broken from the rock, words flow.

Released like melting snow

Warmed by sun’s beat.

Through erosion, exposition unfolds.

 

While I am weathered

Glacially slow.

Imperfections reveal

Dreams fragmentary and unreal.

 

 

Part hope.

Part defeat.

Cemented with faults.

I am stratified

Awaiting metamorphosis.

rock garden

 

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnote:

*I wouldn’t ordinarily have a footnote to my poetry. But I’ve never had this happen before. I don’t know what to call that little slice of word jumble at the top. I tried leaving it out and that felt wrong. I tried putting it in…even wronger. Is it a foreword? A prelude? A prequel? I’m not sure what to call it. So, I’m not calling it anything. It just is. And I hope that is enough.

monster rock
Word Monster Says: “FOCUS!”

I’m trying to do a thing.

Writing.*

That thing I swear I want to do.

But words are hard.

And will not come.

Until they do…enjoy this:

In harmony with my mood,
Here’s a song for a writer’s melancholy day:
Asterisk Bedazzled Footnote:
*I’m only posting this so you can stop wondering/worrying that I (or my computer) have died.
P.S. You can stop taking bets now.

Blow Drying…Please Stand By

In case you are wondering how my year is going and why I am offline…

2019 kind of blows!*

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:

*This is karma in action, I swore I wasn’t going to buy any more tea until I drank all I already have…but I just can’t kick the loose-leaf habit.**

**Fingers Crossed People. Otherwise, get used to the pithy new mode of blogging I can achieve typing with one finger on my cell phone. On the upside, I can now blog while on the toilet. So this is a case of the glass being half full, really.

Getting Disciplined

“Desire is the root cause of all evil.” Buddha

I try to remind myself of this every time I see something that my avaricious soul desires.*

But it is so very hard to be good.

What I need is a little Christmas Discipline.

Ginger Fetish
Buy local – and if you’re into S & M and live in San Francisco, this link is for you: https://sf.funcheap.com/sf-fetish-flea-market-citadel/

<*>

I am currently enjoying a period of forced minimalism, otherwise known as being broke.

I have never budgeted. As a result, I have also never saved much money. I just let the paycheck drop into the account and spent said moolah on whatever I wanted and periodically looked to make sure I wasn’t dipping below the fill-line, so to speak, trusting that the bank will never run out of money.

But it did…for about three days.

November had five Thursdays in it.

FIVE!

Did you notice? I certainly didn’t.

Fun fact, our social security payment arrives on the last Thursday of the month. I auto-pay my bills electronically on or around the 25th because, usually, by then the check has hit the bank.

Unless there are five Thursdays.

Five Thursdays spells disaster with my current un-budgeted way of life. If I’m not careful, the money doesn’t quite stretch to cover the month unless I pay attention and not buy every indulgence that catches my eye.

Discipline
The Victorians had a very odd notion of discipline if this is what they think it looks like!

I had no idea what a spend thrift I could be until I realized I couldn’t spend ANY money for three days.

I mean none.

I got through the days of parsimony and rue recognizing that I have some really bad habits.

Elf on Shelf Naughty
It was about this point of writing, I began to regret Googling “Naughty Elf.”

It was time to enforce some strict discipline…

I looked at my love of fancy compressed curds and altered my favorite Thanksgiving side dish to omit the Grueyer and Emmenthaler cheeses.** 

Turns out, I might just need a cheddar-vention.

cheese_addiction

I have some expensive, thoughtless, habits that I now need to pay attention to.

A sudden need for a french fry fix makes me commit a fast food drive by almost without thinking about it. The doctor, at least, will be happy to hear we are cutting back on our deep-fried addictions.

The road to my personal hell is paved with indulgences that would make angels weep.***

So, I’m submitting myself to some long-needed tightening of the purse-strings.

The Little Vanilla Book
Add a little Vanilla Discipline to your life!

I am become an acolyte for pleasure through self-deprivation.

All books will come from the library for the foreseeable future.

…Or a regional Little Free Library /black-ops drop site.

Little Free Library
I didn’t notice the Ayn Rand book front and center until I downloaded the image. Mea Culpa.

No more wine.

We won’t mention over-priced chai lattes that you can get at Biggby’s.

And I’m going to cut back on the diet cherry coke habit, though I worry I might actually kill somebody for a taste of the sparkling poison, so be warned.

I am now faced with the consequences of life-long bad habits. I must buckle down and pay attention to my finances and make fiscally restrictive choices. Or, find another way to make income.

Which brings me to my brilliant sub-theme.

My New Year’s Resolution will be to find out which of the following jobs is the least repellent way to bring in extra cash:

Will Humiliate for Food

I once read a profile on OKCupid for a guy who was willing to pay women to come out to California, dress in appropriate costumes, and humiliate him for hard cash. I’m not entirely sure if this one wasn’t an invitation to join a sex-trade, but maybe he has Skype?

Phoning It In

Sex phone operator. In which we find out whether I can suppress the giggles long enough to achieve a quasi-sultry conclusion. Also, where exactly am I going to do this in a house full of therapy techs and my ever-present child? I’m yawning the minute it hits 8:00 pm…this will take some thought.

Lashing the Page

Or, based on what I’ve seen while Googling images for this topic, there’s an aching void waiting to be filled in the Christmas-based sadomasochism/erotica market. Now how shall I plug that hole?

Santas Naughty List_0001

With such exciting job prospects, I’ll be sure to report back I am once more swimming in something festively green…hopefully it’s money and not jello with marshmallows on a pay-per-view fetish site.

Oh, and could someone remind me in the third week of January that the month has five Thursdays?  Thanks.

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:

*Which, at Christmas, means everything. My inner child is a window-shopping glutton.

**For those interested, here’s the recipe: Pumpkin Stuffed with Everything Good

***It doesn’t make angles weep–which is what I originally wrote–but then I decided the heartless bastards would just laugh for 90 degrees in their corners until it was no longer funny or acute. How obtuse!

***

You’ve read this far bonus:

 

 

Bunny Town Show Down

While I was surviving the past six months, fun events still happened. They just were overshadowed by the dark cloud looming. Now that the storm has passed, everything is sunny skies…or should I saybunny skies?

*

It was high noon in Bunny Town.

When trouble showed its floppy ears.

Some folks might say, he was itching for a hare-raising fight.

Others believe, the dastardly bunnies had it coming.

The lone bunny rider looked honest…honestly dangerous.

He dressed all in white…except for the mask.

Clemson Cadbury
Quite a quiet furry fury, indeed.

 

Clemson Cadbury—Clem to his friends—rode into Bunny Town one fine day.

He was wanting to put up his lucky rabbit’s feet and ease his saddle sores at the only hopping joint in town:

The Rabbit Hare Saloon

IMG_8281
Where the phrase “Hare of the dog” takes on a whole new meaning.

The girls at the saloon were of the heart of gold variety.

They made a rabbit want to sit up and pay attention.

To push his fuzzy-tailed luck.

Bugs Bunny Drag
“Who was that masked rabbit?” The girls at the saloon swoon as he goes by.

But Clem only had eyes for the sweet, sloe-eyed school marm who taught the A, B, C’s of being a bunny.*

His heart belonged to that fair damsel–Flory-Dory Flopsalot.

Flory-Dory Flopsalot Headgear Bunny
A fragile flower of the Topeka, Kansas Flopsalots.

Clem would have happily laid his hat—or his heart—at Flory-Dory’s feet for her taking or stomping there upon.

But Flory-Dory’s uncle was the local sheriff and he put no faith in lone rabbits who just moseyed on through his town.

So Clem spent his lonely hours, pining for his true love, and sipping dandelion sarsaparillas at the Bunny Bar Saloon.

Until the day he tangled with the Black Bunny Banditos!

Peter Rabbit School
Who knows why town founders put the Peter Rabbit School right next to the only bar in town? You’d think they’d have thunk that through a mite!

Clem didn’t know, when he entered that bar that fateful day, that a gang of hardened thugs were also looking to play.

They were bad bunnies with bad attitudes.

And they didn’t care what kind of mask a bunny hid behind.

The Black Bunny Banditos
The Coney Brothers: Bippity, Boppity, and Beauregard—were wanted county-wide by the long-ear of the law. They were trying real hard to live down the sweet names their momma gave ’em. Particularly Piebald Beau—who threatened anyone who tried to tie a ribbon around him come Easter time!

Clem was nursing a carrot-infused herbal tonic and the saloon honey-bunnies were taking his orders—hopping to get whatever he wanted.

The three black-hearted bunny banditos entered the saloon.

Their tail spurs jingled as they hopped.

Bippity tried to snag his favorite coquette–Odette.

But Odette was batting her lashes at Clem.

Boppity yelled for his bunnymondaine—but Desbegonia had no time for the ruff-necked, lop-eared cur.

No, Desbegonia was dancing to and fro, making Clem watch her as she’d go.

Then Beauregard stepped through the door and stood there watching a minute or more.

He waited. He wanted. But his flowery filly—Daffydilly—was not to be found.

Except, wherever Clem was around!

Daffydilly sang sweet serenades to woo her beau…

(But not the rabbit by that name, no!)

Beauregard spit out his cheroot and hollered at his boys to scoot!

“No interloping jackalope claims our pieces of fluff!” Said he.

And off behind the saloon went the three…

Bippity and Boppity waiting outback

Clem had no clue when he stepped outside

An ambush awaited his white-tailed hide.

But Flory-Dory knew!

From her chair near the window, she’d watch and sigh, whenever the handsome buck went by.

So, when the school marm saw her rabbit in trouble, she called for the sheriff on the double!

Sheriff “Lefty” Cottontail.**

@bun_the_rabbit_619 Websta Instagramer
Sheriff @bun_the_rabbit_619 courtesy of Websta Instagramer

Sheriff Cottontail was none to keen to confront the three rapscallions—despite their lawless ways.

He was a laid-back lawman who let other people’s bullets do the talking.

Sherrif Piebald McGee
Sheriff Cottontail demonstrates his floppy philosophy of ‘laying down the law.’

But Flory-Dory wasn’t letting her lily-livered uncle get away with that!

“I’ll take on those ne’er-do-wells myself, iffn I have to!” Said Flory-Dory.

If she’dve had a spittoon nearby, she’dve spat in it for emphasis.

With this incentive, Sheriff Cottontail, decides it’s better to fight like a rabbit, than to be shown up as all fluff and no tail.

He hops to Clem’s side in the nick of time.

Sheriff Lefty (pictured right) and Clem 

Bunny Duo
This weirdly appropriate duo brought to you by #Bunnyfest #Ameliaisnothavingit # Deskgram

The dastardly Coney Brothers had trussed Clem up in baling wire and dangled him by his stubby tail over a vat of sugar syrup.

“We’re gonna dunk you neck-deep in this here sassafras barrel.” Piebald Beau promised Clem. “When they find your sorry sack of fur, all will think that you fell in to get a drink.”

Then in flopped the Sheriff, long and fat, and squashed those Coney brothers flat!

It warn’t no time at all before the bad bunny brothers were rounded up and thrown into the hoosegow.***

But Sheriff Cottontail knew, it wouldn’t be long before those bunnies were back bearing a grudge.

The Black-Hearted Bunny Banditos

IMG_8290
Bippity, Boppity, and Beauregard Coney were hardened by a life of crime and no amount of time spent stamping state license plates could sway them from their cattle-rustling ways.

 

So the sheriff hired his niece to be his stalwart deputy!

police bunny
MissBunz Policing Bunnytown! Care of the SchertzPoliceBlotter

Flory-Dory rescued her hero from a sticky fate and cut him free.

Clem caught Flory-Dory up in his fuzzy embrace and they nuzzled noses.

It was quite the scandal.

And into the sunset, as he rode away, Clemson swore that he’d come back and marry that gal someday!

Asterisk Bedazzled Bunnynotes:

*The bunny head mistress taught the children their A.B.C’s: Always. Bring. Carrots.

**Sheriff Lefty was so named because, if you weren’t careful, he’d let himself get left behind in a gunfight.

***Hoosegow—to all you city slickers out there—is the clink, the slammer, the yard, the pen or, as it is otherwise known, jail.

_____________You read this far bonus____________________

Honestly, I’ve never had so much fun as writing this post.

Here’s a few oddities I discovered while looking for bunny-related miscellany:

Bunny Cowboy Soundtrack performed by Neptune Bunny here:

Long-Eared Drifter

I won’t even try to explain this. You just have to watch it to believe it.

Bunny Wedding Trousseaus available at Grandma’s Originals

And if you want to know where I captured the pictures that I didn’t pilfer online, check out Klackle Orchards in Greenville, MI when fall rolls around again.

 

With Prejudice

I’ve been keeping secrets.

Because I had to.

Because it involved a court case.

That involved my son.

I wrote an anguished post with gut-wrenching pathos at the time it happened.

And I’ve waited until the final hearing to share it.

You may question whether it is appropriate to publish such personal information.

I certainly have.

But, I have decided that if it is at all possible to help another child by sharing what we endured…

…to reach out to other autism families.

…to other police officers.

…to other neighbors.

Then, maybe next time, nothing bad will happen.

Or something better will happen.

Or nothing will happen at all.

And wouldn’t that be beautiful!


Cops
Who did this protect and serve?

June 9, 2018

Dear Officer:

We met today under the worst circumstances. You were just doing your job; I understand that. But I feel I need to explain why I behaved the way I did and, perhaps, you can understand a little bit how the exchange seemed from my side of the handcuffs.

I came to the door, half-clothed and disoriented by lack of sleep, to learn my son had escaped. For fourteen years, I have been responsible for keeping my child safe and I have failed. Again.

But this was different from other times.

The neighbors whose home he entered were sleeping. All they heard was an intruder.

And my son no longer looks like the little boy he is.

When you first approached me, you said something about my son not responding to requests. My reply was not polite.

“Of course he can’t respond. He is a non-verbal autistic!”

You walked away as if you needed space to process that.

So, when you came back and asked me, “Do you realize what might have happened?” I answered you honestly.

“Yes. Yes, I do. It is my greatest fear.”

I was not trying to argue that the situation wasn’t serious. I was just grateful nothing worse had happened. I was focused on making my son feel better, to calm him down right now so he wouldn’t injure himself.

And you wouldn’t let me see him.

You have protocols for interactions. None of the officers would let me approach the car where my son was handcuffed. But I could hear him wailing from where I was standing in my bare feet on a damp sidewalk. You have your emergency response and I have mine.

I have a mother’s need to care for and defend her child. It doesn’t matter that my ‘child’ is five feet eight inches tall and weighs 170 pounds. He is still a child who was crying because you had his blanket, crayons, and papers. Materials now taken away in evidence.

It is probably not expected for officers to feel empathy for the wrong-doer, or his mother. To care about both sides of an equation. Perhaps you were running on adrenaline?

Did you train your firearm on my special need child? He couldn’t follow a simple command like, “Put your hands in the air and get on your knees.”

This thought haunts me.

I later learn, from the reports, that you had to tackle my child to get the cuffs on him. That he resisted and clung to a door frame as he was pulled from the house. This explained the bruises and abrasions.

Trust me, I can picture what might have happened in painful clarity.

In the past, when my son has escaped and entered homes or the nearby church, people have recognized his special needs and things have been okay. Maybe that made me blind to a growing problem.

The fact that my son was wearing a pair of Christmassy pajama bottoms and a Victory Day t-shirt from the school’s special needs programming wasn’t enough to tell you how very special he is.

The training that kicks in and locks an officer into a rigid response doesn’t allow you to recognize my shock and relief at a nightmare that wasn’t fully realized. Perhaps that looked like an insult to you? It wasn’t meant to be.

You couldn’t know that I had been sick with Salmonella. That Friday night was the first night I got any real sleep in almost a week. So, when my son woke at five a.m. Saturday, I was disoriented and put him back to bed. That when he woke me at 6:10 a.m., I was more so. That I fell back asleep is my fault. I promise you, I’m wide awake now.

I am haunted by what might have happened. I am haunted by it every time he is out of sight. I am haunted by a future I cannot see or control but can only dread. Fear never leaves me.

I am grateful that he wasn’t taken into a police station and booked. Thank you for releasing my son into my custody. Even if, like Cinderella, you sent him home with only one shoe.

I had hoped that the neighbors would drop the charges against my son for entering their home and scaring them so badly. But their fear was greater than their understanding of autism or the limits of a system that is not built for children like mine.

I do not blame them. Or I try not to. I understand how it must have looked from their side of the road; I just wish they could see the situation from mine.

Just as I hope you can understand. And that you never learn how it feels to watch your baby in handcuffs, crying and just wanting to go home.

*


Like many unpleasant life lessons, this has been a learning experience.

The wheels of justice move glacially slow. 

We waited weeks for the notice that my son was being charge with first degree home invasion. Then we had to be assigned an attorney by the court. Then there were appearances and reports to submit. The sheer drag time of getting a competency review dulled the initial sharp stabs of terror to a steady, gnawing anxiety.  I cried a lot this summer and into the fall.

During that time, Child Protective Services became involved. I was very grateful for the unexpected kindness of the Children’s Services Specialist who eventually cleared me of charges of neglect.

There were some positives.

The county health organization expedited Alexei’s process for getting ABA assistance as well as Community Living Supports. We are finally getting the help we’ve needed. 

Also, I was able to take advantage of a program through Vivint Gives Back to get a reduced rate for a security system that will wake me up if any one of the doors or windows are opened.

And my son’s window now has security bars, because he can get into trouble even faster than an alarm system can wake me.  (I stopped jerking awake at the slightest noise after these were installed.)

My son’s psychiatrist agreed to let my son take stronger meds to help keep him asleep.

And this week, my son was declared legally incompetent.

The case was dismissed with prejudice. Which is a good thing. It means he can’t be held responsible for his crimes and the verdict is final.

And I can only hope that the next time a family like mine is struggling, that it doesn’t take a crisis to get assistance. And that maybe the neighbors will offer to help make our lives easier instead of harder.

As for me, I spent these months channeling my fears and anxiety into my garden. Every time I had a panic attack or thought about losing my son, I planted flowers. I think I there are over five hundred bulbs and perennials out there now.

So, when spring arrives, perhaps it will bring a promise of better things.

Tulips