The Leaves are Gently Falling

Mother Nature stands at the edge of the woods; she raises her palm and blows a warm breath against it. And gold and red and brown glitter settles upon the leaves of the aspen and maple and birch trees. Autumn has arrived and it is glorious.

Winter is pushing the calendar, though, edging its way into the auburn-colored days. The sibling seasons tug on this last day of October, each unwilling to yield to the other. And Mother Nature watches, a smile on her sweet face. She knows that some of the most brilliant moments come from this battle of wills. And she has patience the year long...

Del Sol watches in amusement - he puffs a big fat cigar and white clouds billow across the afternoon sky. The Man in the Moon hides on the horizon, waiting. At dusk, he will climb the clouds to settle, a fingernail tipped up to hold the winter's snowy weather at bay for a short while longer. His patience is wearing thin.

Bats fly with one mind, zigging then zagging; they pass in front of the bright moon like a witch's hand blessing the land. Or cursing it, depending on your point of view.

Mother Nature spreads a misty shroud across the valley; she knows the season is dying, and so she prepares the land. The trees weep and stand in great puddles of their own golden tears. The ground goes hard as cold seeps into its bones. And just as the last burnished leaves settle on the ground, the first white flakes of glittering snow drift on a gentle, dying breeze.

All Hallows Eve

“A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up.” Ecclesiastes 3:3

My brother and sister-in-law just returned from a week's vacation to New England. They saw Plymouth Rock, a replica of the Mayflower, and Salem, Massachusetts...where nearly 200 people were accused of practicing the black art of witchcraft.

Can you imagine? Two small children go into violent convulsions. Their bodies contort, and they utter strange sounds. There is no evidence of disease, their symptoms point to no known disabilities. Other children in the village become similarly afflicted. The obvious conclusion in a village driven by puritannical fever is witchcraft.

We surround what we don't understand with a cloud of superstition, sometimes to inhuman results.

Three women of impoverished and/or godless stature were accused of afflicting the children and taken to trial. One of them, Sarah Good, was pregnant - she later delivered in prison, awaiting her execution, and the infant died having never seen freedom.

Sarah's four-year old daughter was also accused of witchcraft and imprisoned for 9 months. This four-year old supposedly confessed to being a witch and to seeing her mother "consort with the Devil." The child was eventually released; she suffered psychological trauma the rest of her life. No freakin' duh...

When it was over, nineteen people had been hanged and one man crushed to death - his chest was piled with heavy rocks in an effort to convince him to "confess." He was 80 years old.

The accused also suffered excommunication. The were denied Christian burial, and they were deprived of all their worldly possessions and inheritance...based on the evidence provided by a group of teenage girls, one of whom was caught in a blatant lie - she received a scolding. The "witches" were still hanged.

Not one of humanity's finer moments, to be sure. Also not one of our worst, I'll admit.

Interestingly, the bible talks about witchcraft and demon-possession. Yet, when Jesus approached a man possessed, he did not string him up at the nearest Joshua tree. He wapped him on the forehead and called the spirit out, restoring the man to his right mind, or so the story goes. An interesting point, though - not that you should believe the story, but this from the very book the Salemites based their belief system on.

Now I'm not suggesting we walk around wapping crazy people on the head and calling Beelzubub out. First, I don't really like the thought of a bunch of Beetlejuices floating around all spectral and trying to find other "hosts" in which to live. I'm also not so sure I would be able to tell a possessed person from someone who just hasn't been taking their meds. The moral of the story is to help, though, not to condemn.

The Reverend Increase Mather, father to Cotton Mather and president of Harvard College, encapsulated this spirit and became part of the changing tide. “It were better,” he stated, “that ten suspected witches should escape than one innocent person should be condemned.”

To Sarah Good and her infant child. Rest in peace.

The HAPPY Haunted Forest my ass...

We went to a haunted forest; don't ask me why - last year I screamed from beginning to end, I cried, I shook, and all of that with my eyes closed. Yet, when the irish folksies sent out the invite to attend one this year, I took no more than a millisecond to hit "accept." I may have even said, "Yay!"

These things are now done in wooded areas to heighten the fear instinct. This one started off quite lame - 'twas done as a storybook sort of thing with plywood pages that hid small children who popped out at the last moment and said, "BOO!" Well, really more like "boo" but whatevs. It was not well-lit, so we couldn't even see their faces, if they were painted. Scary Point Factor (SPF) .00125.

This went on for ten minutes and I finally loosened my grip on the irish lad on one side of me and my daughter on the other side of me. Foolish, foolish me. That's when we came into site of a plywood castle, i.e., enclosed space. That's when I felt warm breath on the back of my neck. That's when the irish lad whispered in my ear, "Don't turn around, Vicks." SPF 125.

Now, I'm not actually afraid of clowns. HowEVer, clowns with pointy teeth and growly voices, clowns carrying axes or hatchets or whatever the hell it was, yeah, those make me want to dribble my knickers.

This clown circled me like I was prey. So perhaps I should have worn something less revealing. But still, I think this clown could smell fear, and there was a tad bit of that emanating from me.

My heart started racing, I started to breathe shallow and my mind did this sort of fritzing out thing it does when I have a panic attack. He circled and I dodged behind the irish lad; this continued until he whispered my name. I seriously thought I was gonna throw up, and my hand shot out and I shrieked two octaves above middle C, "IDON'TWANTTOSPEAKTOYOU!!!"

And surprisingly, he walked away - into the castle ahead of us. Where he went through the entire castle telling all the ghouls and goblins my name. All the way through the castle, I heard, "Viiiiiiiicky...VIIIIIIIIIcky. Come here, Vicky." SPF 1 billion six hundred forty eight million, seven hundred and ninety two thousand points.

Tilt, Tilt, Tilt.

I am officially changing my name to Jennifer. There is no SCARY way to say Jennifer. No way. And for added protection, I am dressing as Jesus next year - clowns who mess with Jesus are sure to earn a lightning bolt from heaven...

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Monkey Antics

In 1890, the town of Pullman boasted a whopping 868 inhabitants. In 2000, 24,675 people called the prairie town home. So, in 110 years, 23,807 people have either moved to Pullman of their own free will or were birthed there, most likely against their better judgement - not that they were given a lot of choice, well-water does that to folks.

Now why on earth would anyone move to Pullman, Washington? Well, there is the University, of course. Washington State University was founded on March 28, 1890. Within 20 years, the population had more than doubled and alcohol consumption quadrupled.

I jest, of course, at least about the alcohol part, although WSU is known for being a party school. Hm. Attending a concert at Beasley Colisium where no alcohol is sold, I excused myself and left my handsome date to go "powder my nose." I'm shy, so I used a stall in which to powder my nose, and there on the back of the commode were about twenty minis, mostly Jack Daniels, but a few Jose Cuervos as well. Assuming the restrooms were cleaned prior to the concert, and extrapolating (20 bottles times 15 stalls times let's say four restrooms in the coliseum), that's a well-enforced No Alcohol Sold rule. Basically, it's more of a No Alcohol Sold So Bring Your Own Booze rule. If we'd only known...

Sober or not, the crowd was in far better form than the previous night's throng in Portland, Oregon. That concert hall served hard alcohol as well as beer and wine, so there was no need to secretly gulp minis in a water closet. Even so, the folks around us were amazingly uncooperative in helping us get our groove thang on. What the hell is wrong with people, who goes to a rock concert without a dance jones??

Both concerts were outstanding; the first a little more mellow, but I was sitting next to the cutest little kid you've ever seen, a huge grin plastered ear to ear. I kept trying to catch his eye with a well-exposed thigh; but he was transfixed, spellbound, entralled. I'd seen him a little earlier in the evening when my date and I were walking down the street and turned a corner to see Billy himself standing there in all his bearded glory. Next thing I knew, this adorable little kid was holding my hand and giggling...giggling, I tell you. "It's Billy! It's Billy F*ing Gibbons!" and then more giggles.

"Go," I said, "Give me your camera and go stand next to him!"

"No, no, I don't wanna bother him." (Jeez, you sound like that Vicky chick. "Oh, I'm sorry. Thank you! Yes, please." Could you possibly be any more considerate?)

"He's surrounded by fans! He's signing autographs! He wouldn't be standing on that street corner if he didn't want to be bothered! GO!!"

"No, I'll just stand here. It's Billy!! It's really HIM!!! Hee hee!"

Hey, Begorrah, if monkey boy tells you he saw Billy F. Gibbons in person, ask him for proof...

Coup de Grace

Dear Miss Irish,

I promise to take my meds.

Love, V

I Want

Amy wishes she looked like this. Puh-leeze. Anyone can look good naked and oiled. Or in boots.

"Just say the word, I'm gonna give you what you want."

The Chicken Dance

Sable went out for her morning pee today and returned with a piece of chicken in her mouth, skin on, gizzards still attached.

Of course, I couldn't let her get away with such egregious behavior. For one thing, that might have been the neighbor's dinner. More important, that might have been the neighbor's attempt to poison Sable! So I mustered a stern look, held her collar firmly and pointed at the ground. "Drop it!" I said around my Tigger toothbrush.

And she did.

I was stunned with the awesomeness of my own power to command! Full of a new and unfamiliar mojo, I turned and squashed a HUGE spider on the door while shouting IDON'TWANTTOSPEAKTOYOU!!

Ok, the spider part is a lie, but I did go inside and squish a flea on Beastie Boy. I am Master of My Own Domain.

Speaking of chicken, I was a bit miffed with Safeway a couple weeks ago. I went to the grocery store to purchase two chicken thighs. Safeway is apparently my mother now, and has determined I am too fat. They had an entire case full of 4- and 6-packs of skinless chicken. The only way I could get a piece with the skin still on was to purchase the economy pack. I didn't want 12 pieces; I wanted 2 pieces. So instead, I went over to a friend's house and had KFC :)

KFC is not my mother. KFC is the grandparent who stuffs chocolate chip cookies in your pocket when mom isn't looking. There is nothing at KFC that is low in fat. If there is, it's not their best seller and people are only pretending to like it.

I seldom read the internet "news." Today, however, my attention was caught by the topic, "9 conditions your body can fix itself." Now, we have a few hypochondriacs in our family, so I thought a quick read might be beneficial.

Did you know that you should do nothing for a fractured skull? The article says you don't need to do anything for a fractured skull unless there is bleeding or the skull is out of alignment.

So I'm thinking, if I suffer a blow to my noggin, I'm likely not going to be in the best position to determine if the skull is out of alignment or if there is bleeding under the fracture. I would want my doctor to make that call, that's what my company pays him the big bucks for. Or does the author of this article not consider going to the doctor doing something?

The other nine conditions include a sheared off nail (no freakin duh) and blood coming from your penis. Hm. If I'm a guy and I haven't just had sex with a menstrating woman, I would be inclined to call the nurses' hotline on that one, but what do I know? They say the condition often follows sexual exploits that are a bit too, er, vigorous, and they recommend a good night's sleep and to be a little more gentle next time. I'm thinking if you romped so vigorously it caused you to bleed from your penis, you are likely going to have an excellent night's sleep regardless of blood dripping from the end of your knob.

Food poisoning also made the list. They say in the article to expect a wave of vomiting and three or four hours of diarrhea. They note that, while inconvenient, the first couple of hours of diarrhea "are your friend." Yeah, no thanks.

Speaking of food poisoning, be careful when preparing chicken. If you don't already do so, you'll want to always prepare your chicken last when using the same utensils - cut vegetables first, in other words. And thoroughly wash your cutting board and knife when you've used them to prepare chicken. This is not the time for a quick rinse.

Unless, of course, you want a "new friend."

CHICKEN PICCATA WITH LEMON AND CAPERS



Ingredients:
6 to 8 chicken breast halves, boneless, no skin
1/2 cup flour
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1/2 teaspoon paprika, or to taste
3 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/4 cup chicken broth or water
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
6 to 8 thin slices of lemon
3 tablespoons capers (optional)

Preparation:
Put chicken breasts between 2 sheets of waxed paper or plastic wrap; pound to flatten to about 1/4-inch. In a shallow bowl, combine flour, salt, pepper and paprika; dredge chicken breasts to coat well.

Heat butter and olive oil in a large skillet. Sauté chicken breasts in batches,
about 3 minutes on each side.

Drain off all but 2 tablespoons of fat. Stir in chicken broth, scraping to loosen browned bits. Add lemon juice and heat through. Return chicken to the skillet with the lemon slices; heat until sauce thickens. Add capers. Serve with your favorite pasta and a green vegetable.

Serves 6 to 8.

Speak Softly and Carry Lip Pouf

Oh, my, is life ever dull with Miss Irish around? We had lunch today, downtown, at that hotel where she did-not-fall so spectacularly last Christmas, the not-fall where no one saw her panties, oh no, not a soul. Today was equally as fun but without the crotch shot.

First, we ate prawns the size of our fists, I kid you not. One each, we are dainty eaters :) We also had sushi and tuna to melt in your mouth. We had Callebaut chocolates and creme brulee, cheese and bread loaves shaped like sheaves of wheat, and we had...

Oh, we had the most marvelous crab macaroni and cheese in the world. Guess what I'm bringing to Candlelight supper this year?

We then drove back to work puffing up our lips with special lip gloss and devising ways to use this cosmetic trick to our advantage. Swollen lips are sexy, non? And swollen tongues could get you out of a day's work. One tip, though - when you have Lip Pouf on your fingers, do not rub your eyes.

I recently attended a four-hour course on personal safety. The information presented was valuable and entertaining when it wasn't terrifying. The training involved some role playing, including an exercise whereby one of the fifteen or so women were asked to:

1. Give a clear signal to a character with suspected nefarious intent while
2. Simultaneously stepping back and
3. Boldly declaring, "I DON'T WANT TO SPEAK TO YOU!"

Our volunteer acquitted herself in a most excellent fashion - I nearly peed my pants and she wasn't even speaking to me! After a few repititions, our instructor asked each of us, "Can you do that?"

I confidently replied, "No."

Of course, this surprises none of you. The exercise brought to mind an occasion where I failed spectacularly to ward off an aggressive male - no, not the Sting concert, and also not the Special Forces guy (for those who haven't heard the story, he picked up the chair across from me which Irish Lass was sitting in at the time and set it aside, then knelt in its place to talk to me).

No, I'm talking about The Sonics Game.

Irish Lad took me to a Sonics game and we had such a lovely time! We were sitting literally behind the reporters, where action is fearsomely intense. One reporter got his laptop bashed by a errant ball; this was inches from our noses...

When the game was over, we followed the players out (by the way, who doesn't believe in giants? Seriously, these guys were at least twelve feet tall). The Lad decided to pee and left me standing in the tunnel to the locker rooms. He'd been gone all of two seconds when I was approached by a man with suspected nefarious intent asking if I would like to be interviewed for Sonic Highlights. I gave him a clear signal - simultaneously shook and ducked my head, and took a step back.

"Oh, we've got a shy one!" he remarked and stepped closer. (Oh, I so know this! It was phase two of the role-playing scenario above, what to do if the aggressor closes ranks!!) He also stuck a mike in my face (some of us consider that and a camera to be deadly weapons), so I feel fully justified in the action I took. I SHOUTED in my loudest whisper, "NO!" Or I might have just shook my head. However, I did MOST DEFINITELY step further away...

(Oh, for crying out loud, tell the truth, Fluff!)(Fine, you old busybody.) I wasn't actually trying to step away. Well, I was, but my primary goal was really to step back against the brick wall of the tunnel and melt into the wall. For some reason, I thought a brick wall would provide suitable camoflaging and the reporter would magically no longer see me. Thankfully, the team's bouncer was watching the entire thing and reached across me in a very protective manner and neatly tucked me behind his ten-foot tall frame.

The reporter, of course, was intimidated by my fiercely whispered shake of my head and fled (or walked away, what's the diff, the battle was done and won). The bouncer released me and I managed to regain my composure before The Lad exited the john. He looked at me from across the tunnel and said, "I can't leave you alone for two seconds, can I? The answer is "No." No you can't; so why did you, hm? Same reason you did not hold tightly to Miss Irish last December, eh?"

Sigh! SIGH!! sigh...

Well, you know what? The trainer is right, I need to practice in a controlled environment where there is no real perceived threat. Course Title: Personal Safety 101aa, pre-class assignment Muscle Memory.

So, I apologize in advance if I shout at you tomorrow night, but IDON'TWANTTOSPEAKTOYOU!! Unless you are inviting me to your holiday party, lunch downtown or Candlelight supper. In which case, let me put on some Lip Pouf before answering...

Oh, CANADA!

Well, what do you know? Canadian T-Day is today!

In honor of the occasion and the return of hockey - watch closely, you might see a certain Oilers fan...

Me, Myself and I

I had a conversation with myself about the upcoming election. I told myself that I needed to take it a little more seriously. I am, after all, Republican.

Myself replied, "WTF for?" Myself is the tiniest bit democratic, so tends to be thoughtless and flippant.

"Seriously," replied me. Me is very centered, so never votes because thoughts always balance themselves out making it a zero sum game. "There isn't much more we can learn that will change who we are voting for."

I interjected. "What if one of them was running a prostitution ring?"

Me replied, "Well, then, it might be worth a second thought."

Myself said, "Yeah, I don't really care that he dated a chick named Flame when they were young."

Me said, "Kinda cool, though, that she was an exotic dancer."

I nodded my head and added my two-cents worth. "If I was an exotic dancer, I would name myself Candy Cane."

Myself replied, "Already taken."

Me, "Pussy Galore."

Myself, "Taken."

I, "Kitty Tingles?"

Still, we all agreed. Flame is Not My Biz.

Here's what is my biz: When I picture McCain as the president of these MY United States, I throw up a little in my mouth.