The reading was great. It's marked off as one of the best days of my life. And I want to devote some time talking about it. However, right now I am very busy imagining what Massachusetts will be like without 900,000 citizens (That's what the illegal immigrants are proposing we do tommorow during their "Protest America" day.) And I have to say, not paying the taxes for the welfare, court fees and unpaid medical bills of 900,000 illegals sounds pretty darn good. Thanks guys.

Showtime

Well, this may be my last post. A few months ago, I wrote a story and entered it in a contest. I didn't think I'd win. I REALLY REALLY REALLY didn't think that. Because if I'd thought that, I wouldn't have entered, knowing that part of the "prize" is having to stand up on a stage in front of people and read. So, since I might die tommorow, I wanted to say, thanks for reading. And I'd really love it if you would come to the reading. Here's the info... "April 26th" is a typo. It's really April 27th.

That being said, I am sincerely grateful. Thank you Niblets (Holla)

I forgot to mention...

Tonight, still warm and damp from her bath, Phee-Phee looked deep into my eyes and said, "Your breath smells like caterpillars."

Should I admit that? What, exactly, does a caterpillar smell like? What does that say about my child, about ME? I don't eat caterpillars. I promise.

That's it. I quit. Twelve hours ago, I declared myself a lesbian, but then PTCakes pointed out that you can't just do that because you are mad at your husband. She's right. I'm just not a lesbian at heart. But I am sick of drama. What's the word for that?

MiniVein

What a weekend. We had one of those weekends that passes faster than a glass of prune juice. Today I went over to OHM's house to help her put up a new dining room chandelier. I'll tell you what I learned: electrician is not a born trait. After we managed to get the thing secured to the ceiling and outfitted with the fifty million little hallogen lights that came with it, we flipped the switch. By we, I mean OHM because the two of us flipping the light switch at the same time would be, in a word, wierd. Anyway, OHM flipped the switch and the chandalier lit up amber for just a second before a very electric and scary sounding pop came from the switch and the power went out. OHM got on the phone with my dad and I went into the living room to do some yoga when all of a sudden it hit me - dimmer switch does not mix with hallogen. I told OHM this and she decided to make the dimmer switch into a regular switch. I wasn't really sure about that being a completely viable idea which is why I hid in the front hallway when she tried to turn it on. The new chandalier did not turn on, however, the kitchen light did turn off. Which is why I am taking back my own and OHM's electrician self-certification.

Then Tiarra came over and told me I have spindly little veins. She said I should be fine as long as I don't get anything that requires extensive antibiotics intraveinously. I'm pretty sad about my underachiever veins. I think my little veins are the root of all the difficulties I've had in life.

Sorry about the Happy Easter greeting still being up. Know that it irks me more than it irks you because I'm not a post-holiday cuddler. After any major event, I like to roll over and go to sleep. Pastels, eggs, bunnies and tulips should all go away now. I've moved on to summer planning. (Don't take it personally, Easter. It's me, not you. We can still be friends. And who knows, maybe we'll get together again, say, next year.)

Happy Easter

Tonight, while we were dying eggs, Ya-Ya asked me what eggs have to do with Easter.
"Hm," I said. I had to think about it for a moment. Sometimes when my kids ask me big questions, I overshare. A couple weeks ago, Ya-Ya asked me why dogs don't see in color, and I ended up on an hour long digression of quantum physics. Which I only pretend to know about. But religious symbolism is never ever a succinct topic. Eggs, bunnies, crucifixion, lambs blood over the door, what does it all mean?

Luckily we were in the kitchen, where I do my best thinking. I tend to use cooking as a medium for deep thought, which is probably why I once cut off my own thumb. Then lost it down the garbage disposal. But again, I digress.

I picked up an egg, not yet mauled by my girls, and thought.
"An egg is a perfect symbol of potential, Ya-Ya," I said, "A perfect symbol of rebirth."
"Oh, ok."
And the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. The winter is death, introspection, the spring is renewed life. Passover :death and oppression rewarded with life and freedom. Resurrection: death as the price for life.

There's a common thread here. In the Lord's prayer, we ask for this day's bread. Not to save yesterday's, or hoard tomorrow's. We were meant to die and be reborn every day, without expectation or regret. It's the rhythm of things.

One day, I'll tell Ya-Ya that.

On The Last Post

I really am curious what y'all think. I know some of you don't live around here, so I'll tell you, the topic du jour is the fact that some 15,000 illegal aliens live in this town. As an ardent Mitochondrial Eve subscriber, I've never really cared. I like and hate everyone based on my own obscure criteria, not on their country of origin or level/lack of melanin. Besides, I love Brazilian food and I don't think downtown has thrived since Rt. 9 was built. But none of that is the point.

There's a real big labor issue. First of all, we;ve got all these unions. Now, I don't really get unions, or what their modern purpose is, but I do know that they demand their members receive a certain wage. So here come some people on work visa's or not, certainly not union candidates, and they'll work for a third of what the union guy gets because beggars can't be choosers. Right here in Framingham there's a shopfront downtown that serves as a meat market. The handler, for lack of a better term, drives to the shopfront in the morning, picks up some guys and works them all day for crap pay that wouldn't feed a family of turtles. Everyone gets all pissed off because non-Americans are taking the labor, not paying taxes, receiving free healthcare (with added benefits if they can produce a work visa) then shacking up, 20 bodies to a house, and sending the profits home to places like Brazil, where we've been milking the oil out of for decades.

So, I kind of get all these things a little, maybe not. Whatever. All I want to know is, who is winning? It kinda seems like everyone gets screwed.

There's an organization called BRAMA. This is their mission: To organize the Brazilian community in order to build an identity in the American society. But lately, they've been bullying and lobbying amnesty for illegals. Again, I'd love your opinion here. I don't really know how I feel about that aside from slightly amused. I think it's funny (in a very much not funny sort of way) that we are in Iraq bullying the shit out of everyone else on the planet, and these guys come to Framingham and bully the shit out of us. HA!

It's been a while

Since I posted last. It's hard to type with roots growing out of your nailbeds.

I have an issue I've been wrestling with a lot lately. I wonder what would happen if you replaced the fifteen-thousand illegal Brazilians in Framingham with fifteen-thousand illegal Iranians. I haven't arrived at any sort of resolution yet.

I've seen signs held in protests stating that America was built by immigrants. Shoot, my own mother is an immigrant and my paternal grandparents were. That statement is bona fide. The country was indeed built by immigrants. But not illegals.

Are You a Slacker Mom?
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yeah right! I'm saving my pennies for their therapy bills!

Well,

I'm finally in a good mood again. But in a resigned sort of way. The last 9 months have been a boil in the flesh of my timeline. A big old red, sore, pus filled boil. And now I'm lancing it. Not pretty or painless, but at least it'll go away.

At 9:00 this morning, PTCakes delivered a package from an ET. I'm SO excited. With only a hint of hesitation, I withdraw my palm. :-) (Holla FC)

Today

Some days are just crap. Some days are crap buried under a spring snowstorm. But at least Lost is all new tonight.

Ya-Ya has a F^(&ing bullseye on her leg. I hate ticks. HATE HATE HATE ticks. Some parasites have a discernable function. Not ticks. If I ever meet a Genie, and that Genie says, "Didi, I will answer one question for you," I will ask, "Why ticks?"

OK Lost is on. I'm going to push the hibernation button on my brain and ride the alpha waves onto the shores of The Island.

I've been dirty all weekend. Not because I went to that sex toy party either. Since I have been retaining all available moisture this past week, the earth has been dry and dusty. Coating my eyeballs and nostrils and teeth, mixing with sweat and thatch and garden debris until eventually I became the Swamp Thing pushing a wheelbarrow. But boy was I glad to be a big scary monster when the tumbleweeds rolled across the path and Clint Eastwood peeked out from behind the compost pile. Not even the High Plains Drifter wants to take on Nessie the Swamp Monster. But all that is in the past now. I'm happy to announce that it is raining. Now all my hard work transplanting and regular planting and agonizing over the tender little baby grasses we planted last year will be for good reason.