What's the price?

How much does this cost? If you ask this, they say, you can't afford it. I don't know if that's true or not. Lots of times I don't ask how much something is if it's not labeled. Probably about half the time because I'm passively punishing a seller for not merchandising their widgets well enough and I refuse to buy their goods. The other half of the time, I figure well, I probably really can't afford it anyway.

What about life? If you ask what the price is, would you really want to know? Would you pay for it? It's impossible to know and it's a dark place to visit, but it's a question that's been weighing on me this week. We lost a dear family member recently. I hate using the word lost like this, like he's wandering around Denio's, bewildered, but every other word that can be used to describe someone's sudden, tragic death seems just as lousy. My cousin was a big deal, a big joker, he laughed big raucous laughter, he was the big grill master. He was Santa for the kids at Christmas. Anyone with that big of a presence in a family is going to leave a big hole when they're gone. That's what we have now, a huge crater of full of missing. We're a bunch of loose ends. The cost is due and we're all paying.

I look at my kid's face, his precious, perfect little face and I feel boundless love for life. What's the price of that and will I ever have to pay for it?

[Last Night]
Ira: "Mom. These are the best butter noodles you've ever made!"
Me: "I'm so glad you like them! I love to hear nice things about my cooking. I feel it in my heart!"
Ira: "Mom. These are worth more than gold."

Using Ira's price scale, if the perfect butter noodles are worth more than gold, then life is worth more than gold times infinity.

I do all my own stunts (slightly NSFL)

I'm putting this big picture first because it's Russel making his signature face (it's as if he's perpetually asking "what about me, guys?") and because I'm about to post a picture of my box cutter injury. Even though it's stitched up, it might gross you out.

La, la, la....

Do I have to make this space longer in case you decide to wuss out?

How about a nice YouTube video?




Okay, are you ready? I'll lead with the not gross picture.


On Saturday I was trying to get through some kitchen recycling that stacked up over the previous couple of days. Junk mail, magazines, cardboard packaging, brew bottles. Don't act like your kitchen never gets messy. Any way. There was a craft brew bottle with some wax around the neck (some serious WTF design but I love you anyway Cigar City). I was going to remove the stupid wax before tossing it in the glass bin. That wax was tough stuff! When my fingers couldn't peel it off, I went for my super sharp box cutter. You already know where this is going! So like a genius, I held the bottle in one hand and swiped my box cutter through the wax with a little too much force (here's where it went way wrong), right towards my thumb. The blade sunk right into me, so very deeply. I screamed and ran to rinse the cut and inspect the wound. My heart just about leaped out of my chest when I could see the yellow, polenta-like fat layer seeping out of my cut. I am so sorry that I just ruined polenta for you. Even that really delicious polenta from Magpie, where they must use an entire stick of butter in every serving, because how else do they get it to taste so unbelievably creamy and rich? Man alive, I love that polenta! Moving on - I panicked hardcore and then Leon swiftly dropped me off at urgent care. I was certain I needed stitches, maybe even a prosthetic hook thumb. In panic mode I always go to the worst case scenario. Why not? Go big or go home, I say! So I checked in at the front desk and went to sit as far as I could from the other folks lolling about with very vague-looking illnesses. I think I was the only one there clutching three super-sized paper towels in a wad around my thumb as if my blood volume depended on it. I have to say, it was a real soul-searching 20 minutes there. How could I have been so careless? I was embarrassed, mortified and absolutely horrified. My eyes started to tear up and I couldn't stop them.

Before long, they called me back into a treatment room, where the best nurse in the entire world triaged me and joked with me while she cleaned my cut and gauzed me up. Seriously, her sense of humor had me in stitches (pun intended), which calmed me down a lot. I managed to peek under the gauze to get a better look at the cut. It was awful. I could still see the layer of skin and fat I had cut through. I didn't have the stomach to take a picture of it. You're welcome. Or, I'm sorry? Then a nice lady doctor came in and numbed my thumb up proper, stitched me up 1-2-3 and it was over and I was on my merry way.

Here's that NSFL picture. Don't go on. Go back while you still can. This is not the way. Take heed and go no further. Beware, beware. Soon it will be too late.











I changed my bandage that evening since it was still bleeding a bit:


Today it's achy and tender to the touch. I still have to do some stuff one-handed (washing and such) and I haven't tried holding my guitar yet. I'll maybe give it a try tonight.


This photo filter is called "gator skin." I have my wedding ring in the shop for repairs, so I've got this big turquoise thing on for a while. Between this thing and the layer of greasy band aids, I keep thinking this is just my stunt hand. Nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-stunt hand!

This blog is now 12 years old and one day blog will be 12 years old on July 27. It's such a brat, it wants me to buy it a car when it turns 16. The nerve.

It's Not About Big Sur

Okay, here's some content! Words and images on a screen. Fresh, hot internet. It's not Big Sur, which I said I would post about, but no one's keeping track anyway except me. I mean, I keep putting this off because even though I think of something to write about, I immediately shoot it down because it's not about Big Sur. Maybe I'll get around to it before we go there next year. In the meantime I have forgotten all of the things I thought fit to write about. So here we are. And I'm not even mentioning how handsome my child is in these pictures because it is clear as day. Never mind, I totally just mentioned it!

It's been such an up and down summer. On the positive side, I went to see Fleetwood Mac with some super fans It was great! Some highlights: Mick wore his Mick Balls and did an epic, eleventy minute drum solo, where he was either talking to the drums or the audience, I couldn't tell. That guy is so weird but it was great anyway! They played all the hits and at the end, Stevie called me her dreamcatcher. To be honest, she called everyone in attendance her dreamcatchers, but it doesn't make it any less special since I felt like she was speaking directly to my heart. My comadre made these gorgeous leather-feather and beads hair clips to round out our gypsy-boho-Malibu-California Gold looks. The clip part was a mini-alligator clip. I remember some neighbors of ours used to use their leather-feather-bead "hair clips" to smoke funny cigarettes.


Mick Balls!

Pup update, pupdate! Heylove came down with a really bad case of bronchitis and was sick for a month. She sounded like the sickest little goose with all the honking coughs. We took her to the vet and she got x-rays and a bunch of meds. We're almost done with the meds and she is doing a lot better. My poor girl. Luckily Rusty didn't catch it. He's like a tank. I love those dogs and it hurts my heart to see either one of them suffering.


Speaking of suffering, I have a terminal case of the Fridays today. I really wish I were home laying on the couch and watching the slow panning of black and white photographs in a Ken Burns documentary. Instead I'm here, making public service magic all day, everyday. But just so you know, I used my 15 minute break to post this from my phone.


Sent from my iPhone.

^^See???^^

From the desk of the infrequent blogger

Wow, I really should not have gone back to boot camp the third day in a row. My elbow/tricep blew up. It got super strained and swollen. I've had my share of sore muscles before, but never any swelling. For the better part of last weekend I could not bend my right arm high enough to reach my face without excruciating pain. I needed help with the most basic of things: dressing myself, putting my hair back, preparing food. It's better now, but I need to pay better attention to my limits from now on. I'm not as young and resilient as I used to be. I hate pushups and pushups hate me.



Oh, Russell. Ira's lunch bag was left on a chair when we were out and this meatball here took prime opportunity to tear it up. I don't blame him, not every dog can be a proper lady like Heylove. We came home to find the bag's food containers strewn about, the shredded bag, a guilty looking Rusty and a very scared Heylove cowering in her crate.



Not to worry, we got a new lunch bag and Rusty wrote this letter of apology. I slipped it into the new bag for Ira to find at school. We all agree that it's hard to be mad at a Boston who can pen such a graceful note.



We took a little trip to Big Sur for some nature times. I am excited to sit down and edit our pictures, which I'll do first chance I get. I kind of love packing for trips. I typically make these little lists to plan out clothes. This is the one I made for Big Sur. Ira saw mine and made his own which included three things: a drawing of cowboy boots and some words about a jungle and one to-do, "play Ninjago weth [sic] Dad."