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Gully washer

          If you haven’t heard from me in a while, its because every time I sit down to write about my sorry life, just after I start getting into “the zone” and really channeling the Zeitgeist of my life, I find myself on the ledge of a high rise building, being talked down by a suicide prevention team whilst the fire department sets out the net below. I don’t have any recollection of how I got there, but it happens again and again. Or not just that scenario, if you want to be all perfectionist, detail- oriented and, oh, well…truthful, it’s true that sometimes I’m not on a ledge, but I wake in the middle of the ER, while having my stomach pumped. Once – and I count this as my favorite – after I sat down to write about what is going on in my life these days, the next thing I knew I was lying in a petrified, bloated, gassy and exhausted puddle on the floor with Allie, surrounded by an immeasurable mountain of chocolate wrappers. The house – the incredibly well insulated and sealed house – had filled so completely with our methane that if I hadn’t had a nightmare about Willy Wonka which woke me up, it surely would have been Death By Chocolate.

          Where to begin (without incubating a new blackout)? Well, last weekend I threw a siding party, and nobody came. Well, that was untruthful, and potentially libelous, wasn’t it? Actually my hitherto under-mentioned friends Alouette and Mike were there; in fact they were the impetus for the siding party. They volunteered to come help finish the siding, and I said “Great! I’ll throw a party and invite all my friends who know which end of a saw is the sharp one! We’ll get it done in no time, and then we’ll have a barbeque!”  Everything went fine until it came time for people to show up. Only Alouette, Mike, their two year-old (cute!) daughter Neva and the staunchest of my supporters, Jim showed up. I’m just not the best candidate for a job in which one has to motivate people to donate to a cause. I’m more of the wicked-witch-of-the-west type, actually.

          And so things should start looking up, since Brother Mike and his sisters Mary Louise and (Sister with a capital “S”) Maggie are back, and we’re on track to restart our Witchy Wednesdays with Gertie, in which we all gather to perform white magick with spells and smoke and mirrors (while the Catholics  amongst us– oh, all of them are Catholic except me, if you must know –  simply pray, but at least they agree to participate in all the ritualistic motions and even wear witches hats…). It will be nice to have positive, happy people around me again. With them around, being all Catholic and Good and Right – along with fun and silly – there’s bound to be fewer Witch Sightings in the neighborhood, despite the proliferation of Witchy hats and brooms.

          What I mean is that I’ve got protection now, and no one can blame this ol’ witch at the end of the bread-crumb path in the middle of the woods for causing misery and malcontent amongst the natives for a while. Yesterday we had a mammoth hail storm, with enough accumulation of hail on the ground to give reason to the plow crew to go out and plow. An icy gully-washer. It was almost as impressive as the micro burst we had a few years ago which took out a whole hillside of mature trees. And I didn’t cause it. I swear I didn’t. That crap about witchiness is hyperbole.  Get it?

          There’s a few more gully-washers to write about, but not just now…ok? I’ve got to spend some serious time appreciating all of these friends of mine who show up when I need them. The thing you get isn’t always the thing you wanted, and once in a while it turns out to be exactly what you need. Doesn’t it?


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