Another Day in the Mind of THE Michael

Ah, what to post. Sometimes I'm sitting in front of this beast not having the foggiest idea what to throw at it. No, something solid is out of the question, so don't even suggest it. I now find myself in the grips of an addiction or allegiance to a number of things; sex, cigarettes, wine, blogging, and mental wanderlust, and not in any particular order. All lend their own flavor of pleasure or pain, or a combination thereof. So, here I am, a coffin nail burning, a glass of something alcoholic on the desk, glancing at my wife with lust in my heart, while crafting a post I hope will grace the eyes of my readers favorably. The tobacco and the honey lager are easing the pressure somewhat, but not entirely. The fate of this blog hangs on the tips of these fingers. Ah, fuck it, I'm going to watch a movie, and if I don't haul my woman straight to bed afterwards, I might return to this tonight and attempt to get to some point.

Next day....I guess you can figure how last night ended. Let's just say that full body back massage she needed evolved. We slept well.
Publix, Walmart, a swing by to dump off old Christmas ornamentation at the Salvation Army store, then back to the estate. Washing clothes, dishes, changing the sheets, sweeping, another effort to tidy up a house that refuses to stay tidied. Plus, the wife has ongoing Wiccan related projects going that she draws me into in one way or another. I took care of the goat barn bedding yesterday, so they're taken care of. I just might actually get something down between all these distractions.

One of my loyal readers last night asked if one had be a Wiccan to believe in and appreciate the power of the Moon. Of course not. Bob himself isn't all that big on ceremony. Which is not to say that tradition, ceremony, you name it does not have value in the affairs of humans. Traditions are good in that they provide communities of people with a bedrock, tried and true place to start from, to hold onto as things change and evolve around them. The only mistake I can see in holding to tradition is sometimes we avoid adopting something better, content to stew in something we are familiar with. The big mistake I see in ignoring tradition altogether is you end up lost, ignoring those things which have proven worth while screwing everything up in pursuit of the newfangled and different, simply for it's own sake.Agriculture is one of those traditions that have proven that some things are better the less you mess with it. Yes, the American midwestern farmer used the power of chemistry and mechanics to increase yields from a given acre of land, but look what's happening to that land. Organic farmers have found that if you limit your yield to the natural ability of an acre of land to produce, you end up with a constantly renewable resource that produces healthier, better tasting, not to mention safer crops. Throwing artificial fertilizers and pesticides at your land year after year with no rest between seasons simply burns it out and you end up with another chunk of ruined cropland good only for more suburbs. As for the Amish, they eschew plenty of modern tech happy to rely on simpler methods of accomplishing things, but they remain frozen in place in their effort to live according to what they believe their good book tells them. Well, there are many ways to adopt high tech without turning your home, your community into a soulless, artificial land bereft of nature. Solar electricity and heating are one example. Harnessing the wind has always been an option. But what really galls me is our tendency to promote two separate types of living; either crammed together in close quarters in as little square footage as possible, stacked on top of each other, or small families living in incredibly large houses that far exceeds any elbow space these individuals really need, not to mention the energy needs such structures have. I found the best of both worlds.....I live in a double wide manufactured home that is handsome, has twice to three times the amount of square footage that the apartments we lived in before had, yet is modest as housing goes, no more or less room then one needs to feel comfortable. I live on an acre of land that keeps a reasonable distance between my four walls and those of my neighbors, with room for gardens and sheds, the septic system, or just room to walk around. And all this cost less than a third or even fourth of the house going up in these close-quarter suburbs all around us, with their 5th of an acre, just enough to put the house on, with all the trees in the area cleared out, leaving no shade from the hot Florida sun. Sometimes I think the very nature of where many Americans live just adds to the stress level.

Wow, it appears my muse has not abandoned me after all. Matter of fact, I'm on a roll. "Prairie Home Companion" is playing in the background, the wife is outside painting concrete stepping stones for the shade garden, and life is good. I took a gander at Shandi's blog and met with another one of her hilarious "painting under the influence" sessions. She reminds me so much of my Mom, with a twist. I truly wish she lived nearby. Buffalo was bemoaning his mechanical aptitude again, and I know his pain. There was a time I could figure out how to make many of those things under the hood of a car either work right or outright replace it. Nowadays, venturing much further than changing the oil, the brake pads, or wiper fluid is an exercise in futility, since everything now seems to be hooked up to some computer hidden away where no one could find it, and you wouldn't know what to do with it if you DID find it. Tim-Elvis has shared his own twisted version of Christmas with us, which is both harmless and uplifting in these days of cookie cutter made in china holiday trimmings. Morningstar, my masochistic little subbie friend, is really into the holiday spirit, come hell or high water! I salute her determination. Teri has dared to suggest that she's to busy lately to post often, which is going to earn her 50 demerits if she doesn't get her ass in gear and post less infrequently. Lights in the wake has somehow overcome his brush with the angel of gambling addiction, yet he has yet to redirect the money he seemed more than willing to part with in the name of chance to his good friends who care so deeply for his well being. There are many more characters in our blogging community, loosely connected thru a tangled web of links, that have kept me entertained and in touch with what people are REALLY thinking, than I have time or room to mention. And yes, George, they are almost all universal in their intense, if not outright maniacal, distaste for having to have to admit that you are our president.