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PAGE MOVED!!

Pretty much, anyway.
My new website is UP at www.artofseeking.com. Go see! Leave comments! Make me feel special!! ....or not...

Goals Finally Attainable

It's been a long time since Matt has had teeth that weren't crumbling apart, thanks to a lazy dentist who just didn't prepare his teeth properly before applying braces. That was when he was 17, and since he got together with me when he was 25, I've been trying to locate some avenue he hasn't tried yet. "There's got to be something you can do, I kept saying, and he kept telling me he'd tried everything and people just kept treating him as if he's a drug addict and therefore undeserving of help. They take one look at him, his thinness, his oily skin and his severe ADHD, and assume he has what is known as "meth mouth." The piercings in his eyebrows and his gauged ears don't help much.

We tried the volunteer services, where they were very nice to him on the phone, and when he came in one lady handed him some forms and had him go to the senior center to do volunteer work in exchange for dentistry. But when we got back to the office, we had to talk to the coordinator, who had been cool on the phone- her attitude did a 180 at the sight of Matt. She was so nasty to us that I tried to complain to her higher- ups- who just got back to her, who got back to me, and told me there was nothing I could do to make her treat us any better. If there was anyone I'd just love to throttle, it would be that Nancy M. bitch.

There was a glimmer of hope when we got married that we could get on state- funded insurance called PCN, which covers some dental, and they started taking applications a few moths ago. We were finally approved, but that didn't help Matt get all the services he needed. A friend told us about a dentist who was helping her get free services and we went to see him- but it was the same story all over again. One look at Matt, and here come the nasty questions. "So, are you on methamphetamines?" Of course, when he says he isn't, they refuse to believe him. I thought, what do I have to do, have them call his DAD to validate his story??

But he will do extractions for $7.50 each, leaving us only with the $1000 bill for dentures. Which, I just found out, I can cover with my next student loan! I didn't want to do anymore loans, but it's a pretty low interest rate for what would normally be a lot worse. It actually looks like, soon, Matt will have teeth again. Which means the infections in his mouth that threaten to kill him will go away.

Now all I have to do is keep him from falling off a cliff or something on one of his crazy daredevil adventures.

last night's dream

I was just minding my own business, trying to find work. It was getting frustrating, as it usually does for a lone mute with a face too pretty for a boy's.
A blacksmith just laughed at me and said something in his language that boomed across the hills and probably frightened sheep twenty miles away.
I wished I could do more than grunt.
There was a fair in town, so I headed toward it. I wandered among the colorful exhibits and pretty tents flapping slightly in the morning breeze, and tried to communicate with the people there at the booths. I would ask them about their trades and if I could be of some help, but the ones who could actually figure out what I was trying to say through my awkward gestures just turned me away. A crude woman ruffled my strawberry blonde hair, pinched my fair skin, and said she knew a man who would pay me for my company. That made me angry, and I nearly threw a fit- then a plain woman with long dirty blonde hair and a strong jaw put her arm around me. "I think you can find a job at the castle," she told me in a soft voice while giving the crude woman and her grinning consort a hard stare. She led me away.
The King's home was apparently also a welfare office of sorts. I waited in a stone room while the woman talked to one of four apparently very busy people behind a counter, their faces as stony as their surroundings. One nodded and the woman came back. "They've got one position left- washing dishes," she said. It wasn't as if I had a choice.
Hours later, I'm still scrubbing dishes. I hate it. I was worth so much more, if anyone would give me a chance, but hey, if you can't talk, you're really nothing more than an animal. An animal who can wash dishes and perform menial tasks.
I was frustratingly attempting to scrape a piece of food from a fancy little dish when the woman came in. She helped me wash the dishes. She ended up finishing the rest of the dishes while I worked on that one stupid dish. The she led me from the room and walked me back to my grass hut.
She looked around at my carvings and looked back at me, her face a question. I took out a piece of wood and my knife, and began to carve the image of her face into it. I handed it back to her. The question in her face turned to amazement, and the next day, she took me back to the castle.
We're back at the same counter, and she's showing them the carving and pointing at me. An escort is called, and I'm led up a flight of stairs, through a labyrinth of increasingly elaborate halls and steps.
That night, I'm carving again, only this time the face I am etching into the wood is the King's.

I'm no longer the boy, but the woman.
The castle where I work and live has everything we need, including a hospital. I've been ill for some time, and they think they know why.
I'm in the gown, lying on the surgery bed. The IV drips a fluid into me. The doctor adds something to the fluid, and I ask him if it is the anesthetic. He doesn't respond.
I wake up in the same hospital bed, the same room, and it's dark. The doctor has turned off the light, but the sounds of the hospital still waft through the open door.

No Time to Blog Lately...

But I'll try to give you a hint of goings- on before I run off:

We had the biggest, brightest rainbow ever, and it's been kinda rainy. And hot. The whole rainbow wouldn't fit in the frame:





Matt spotted a dragonfly who came to visit our tomatoes:



And I did an impromptu (and very cheesy, but fun) photo shoot with Barbaradell but only Ana had time to come with us and take pictures. She didn't do too badly:




I took the most amazing picture of Barbaradell to date, due to a middle- of- the night inspiration:


And my feet were, once again, inspirational when I had a chance to put them up:


Sorry, no pictures of me running all over the county registering kids for school and going to appointments and setting up my job etc. etc. Oh, and I'm making progress on the drums.
Gotta run!!

old dog vs. new tricks

So I wanna play the drums. I already play hand drums, in fact I have nine of them. I have half a drum set in storage- bass, snare, couple of toms. But I find myself desperately in need of a high hat.
My teacher is a longtime friend of Matt's and a pretty cool guy. I asked him to teach me since he's the only drummer I know who isn't A. a drunk/ addict, B. a pervert, C. hates teaching, or D. married with a jealous wife who hates me for no reason except that I'm female and not in her clique and know her husband, or E. all of the above. Brian is a great platonic friend, a damn good drummer, and most importantly, won't charge me.

Today was my first formal lesson. I'd thought my left hand was going to give me the most trouble, but was rather surprised when it was my right foot (pictured) who refused to cooperate. This bugged me for quite some time until I figured out what the problem was. First, I had to take off my shoes- apparently I can't drum in clogs- then I had to reorganize my thinking.
I began to see my brain as kind of a teacher, and my appendages as different types of students. Obviously my right hand is my star pupil, and does what I tell it to, unless it's goofing off with the others. My left foot seems stubborn and unwilling at first, then I start to believe it must have a learning disability. So I concentrate solely (haha) on it and am thrilled when it starts to get the hang of things just a little- then I realize that the problem is that my muscles aren't used to moving in that particular way. The solution (special disability equipment)- I will wear my clodhoppers with the giant heavy soles next time.
Then there's my left hand, which I'd assumed would give me the most trouble. In reality it's turned out to be the class clown. It messes around and doesn't always do what I want it to, and starts cracking stupid jokes just when I think I've got the class under control.
My left foot is the new student that I'm told will be joining the class in a few weeks, and I already know it has severe behavioral problems.

Thankfully, my teacher is patient, and even leaves me alone, goes in the next room, and plays music while he does things around the house while I sit in an otherwise quiet room and bang on things. He's genuinely happy to have me for a student and can't wait til he can really be proud of me. I'm not planning on being a disappointment.
My progress promises to be... interesting. But really, I'm stoked. I love drums, and I'm willing to spend time getting this down. I might never be like Danny Kerry, but that's okay, as long as I can play a 6-8 and learn to be more coordinated while having the time of my life.

I have a reputation?

Apparently, I do. I never thought anyone paid enough attention to me for that to occur. And guess what? It's not a BAD reputation. It has nothing to do with my personal life at all, either. It has to do with my "chosen career" (HAHAHA- sorry, I had to laugh at that term, though I can't think of a better way to put it). People seem to like my work. "People" as in the new editor- in- chief of the new UVU paper, his higher- ups, his lower- downs, and the folks from the morning show on a popular radio station, X96.

There was some sort of "yay it's official, we're UVU now" party at the school while I was out of town for my family reunion a few weeks ago. X96 was there, and when I talked to Jack (the editor- in- chief) yesterday, he told me they were SO hoping I would be there so they could interview me. This after they generously called me a nerd on statewide radio last term. Oh well, we'll banter another time, I guess. X96 tends to cover UVU stuff whenever there's something actually happening there. I'll make it a point to drop in next time they show up.

I'll be writing for the paper still, but now I get PAID for it! All I have to do is join the rest of the (peons) writers on Mondays to stuff ads in the papers, attend the staff meetings, and- oh yeah- write articles before the deadlines.

Sounds good to meeee....