Numbers Game

Challenge AcceptedToday Google reminded me I have analytics. I have pretty much ignored these since the beginning of my blog. I sometimes peek if someone asks. Mostly though, only Denise asks. I roll my eyes and say that Google Analytics doesn’t work on my blog. I don’t want to login to Bluehost to look. Whatev. Today Google reminded me as I said. By email. I forwarded it to Denise. She replied asking how many page views. I went and looked. Erm. Ok. More than I did 5 years ago.

I don’t reach superstar status though. Apparently that is only in my mind. Ree and Elise love me…so what more could I want? Those are AUTHENTIC. Or just because we get stuck in an elevator together a lot.

This blog has long been about a love song and not so much about the rest of you. Did I say that out loud? Oh well, you know it anyway. You like to watch The Flamingo House Show.

Now there will be a show.

You see, during the series of email exchanges, Denise said I needed more page views. 50,000 more a month. Why? Because she was being sassy. Because she likes to challenge me. Because she spends time with the superstars of the blogging world. Because in our world, a challenge works like flirting. You have seen the story of my first website. You know the story of this blog.

So here I am, once again, forced to prove what I have always said: “I know HOW. I just don’t.”

Of course, the problem is: I haven’t. I have ignored the “Build Your Traffic” and “Take Your Blog to the Next Level” sessions at BlogHer for years. I have been happy where I was with blogging. So, I will be doing my homework.

You will be seeing more posts. More Retro Goodness. I am going to throw in a bit of green blogging, frustrated city dwelling homesteader to be blogging, some grandma blogging, maybe even some blogging about what it means to be a lesbian mother of six, including a transgendered young adult and another GLBTQAI or whatever duck soup letters they choose young adult, a lovely married daughter with a child, a teen dating for the first time, and some other quirky young adults finding their path. (Lesbian mother of College Student Queers, Young Adults, and a Teen. ThatGrandma to one! Light Green. Hound obsessed. Plotting to move to the country and grow a lot of peaches!)

Not only that…I want to make this a love song for YOU.


This is the post I started yesterday, then completely scrapped just now. Starting over. Same topic. Different words.

Blame the dog park.

You see like the modern urban pet owner, we take our dogs to the dog park. I’ve rambled about it before. It makes “the dogs” happy. It does, but it also makes US happy. It is not just our happiness at seeing the pups bound through the tall prairie grasses and flowers, though I think that sparked a bit of what happened next, it is that WE are happier mucking through the mud, watching the seasons change, wandering where the only path is one designated by the dogs. We like sitting by the pond. We like cutting through the back brush. We like the dog park. 44-acres of puppy/people fun. The dogs come home content. We come home content.

We come home to a dense neighborhood. We come home to a house suited to our basic needs here in Chicagoland and even a house that screams US. We come home to a house that isn’t really what we will need post-young children at home. And we daydream and escape all of it. We’ve long daydreamed. Once upon it was of 5 kids and us together in a home. Then we daydreamed of a slightly better home of our own. We didn’t buy though. Nothing was quite right. Ok, we sort of still think about that house by the airport in Gainesville, that had an indoor pool and a warehouse. (What a great skate park! Place for the big kids to hang out and play their instruments! A big yard! A POOL.) Then since moving to Chicago and knowing before we even moved here that it wasn’t a place that would enfold us as “home,” daydreams of moving south again. Way south.

Not Gainesville. Not Charleston. Not Anderson or Atlanta. Not Charlotte or Asheville. Somewhere different. It got narrowed down to the area on the coast around the Florida/Georgia line. At first there was a lot of Amelia Island and the surrounding area. There are some great, fairly reasonably priced houses. Of course, with a beach house, we need an elevator. No getting Mama up and down long flights of stairs on a regular basis, not to mention the fact that knees are failing here, and none of us is getting younger. A Peter Pan house won’t work for a forever home.

So, we started to winnow into rather interesting but fairly suburban/small town/medium town types of houses. Then the dog park happened. Our search widened again. No longer just price points (below 200K), bedrooms (at least 3), bathrooms (at least 2). It changed from no horrible granite kitchen or bad electricity. Suddenly we were looking at homes with LAND. Yes, land. “For the puppies” Yes, we do daydream about being able to open the door and have the pups bound off and have their tails disappear into the tall grass.

Of course, when looking at houses with land…they often come with other structures. A pole barn. A pump house. A pond. Pasture. Fields. This of course sets my heart to thumping. You see, since I was a youngling, I’ve always wanted a “farm.” My grandfather had one. My mother’s family had tales of them. I lived in Wisconsin and fell in love with cows, gardening, and canning.
Soon the daydream of forever home started to include fruiting trees, bushes, and a big garden. But a stable or barn means…animals. So there prances along my family cow…the Jersey girl I’ve wanted for 20 + years. Then Denise has wanted chickens for a long time. I’m amenable to goats. (mmm fresh goat cheeese!) Ava suggests sheep. RJ suggests pigs. (She’s vegan? What am I going to do with a pig? Besides Denise is NOT of the mind that we will slaughter our critters. Erm…I haven’t told her the hard truths about chickens yet. Or male calves.)

Today I ended up on The Livestock Conservancy site. There I learned of Florida Cracker Cows and Florida Cracker Sheep, which led me to learn about Florida Cracker Horses and Pineywoods Cattle. These are all farm animals that will do well with novices living in a scrubby, hot, wet place. Hmm…the daydreams continue. Yes, we might have priced the Florida Cracker Cows.

Now, Ava asked when she heard of the cow plans, just how long I would like it–a week? And Denise keeps saying we will have to get Christopher to move back in with us to be our farm hand–because we have jobs. I tried to tell her that most farmers do. She pointed out that they weren’t me.

But still we daydream of the perfect house that meets our requirements, has some wild yard for the dogs to bound, room for my garden and for Denise’s fussy 5 flower gardens.

Here is where I talk of escapism. You see, not only is this an escape from loud neighbors or grumpy ones who don’t appreciate the dogs alerting them to the presence of raccoons and skunks, it is a mental escape. Denise can play with her phone and watch the properties on Zillow. She can look up ag land exemptions and ponder just what that is in that picture. I can plot the dream homestead–smaller than The Idyll. I can think of waking up to go milk the cows and let them out to pasture. Skeeter will run beside me and help herd. She’s good at that. We can take a sunset stroll around the property with the dogs. I can milk and tend while Denise washes up the dishes. Dinners will be home baked bread, vegetables we grew and I canned, fruits I preserved, perhaps some meat from our livestock from time to time. I will have some retro joy in this life. And I escape. I escape now to this “simpler world” and I will escape then I think. I block out the work, the illnesses, the fact that even in the south where everyone has an Aunt who lives with her friend from childhood, and they are called “the girls” that we as outsiders will be strange. Goodness knows, we are strange anywhere.

But in the fairy tale land of escape today, it is all good. I will be far away from war, from police killing people for the color of their skin, from violence against transgendered people, from rape, from suicide, from death, from ignorance and hate, from hate toward refugee children, the mentally ill, women, gays, and all the things that ache my heart. Instead my brain is plotting what needs to go in the ground, what needs to be transplanted, how we will build a chicken coop and chicken tractor, whether to have honeybees, how we will tend the goats, sheep, cows. Just a Cracker pony to round up the cattle? Or should we get a pony for the grandchildren?

Yes, a fantasy life to escape the realities. I know it is fantasy. It isn’t as huge of a fantasy as The Idyll. It is more do-able. That makes it an easy way to slip away from obsessing about the pain and sadness in the world. Not for long enough, not enough to obliterate the worry for my family, my friends, for people I have never met and for people I have not yet met. And worst of all, people I can never meet. But in the meantime, I can slip into the escape of a sweet daydream with puppies bounding, cows lowing, and maybe even some sheep baa-ing.

And I won’t think too hard on the fact that my father dreamed of and finally escaped from the farm for many of the same reasons that I want to escape to one.

Six days. Sigh

I made six posts in a row. Then missed yesterday. I thought about it, but kept putting it off until “later.” Then I forgot altogether until my computer went to bed for the night. So I missed yesterday. Not much to miss really. It was a draggy day for me.
Today was much better, despite the fact I had the most tired, unrefreshed day EVER and then at bedtime I couldn’t fall asleep. What the heck? It was after 2 am when I finally fell asleep.

Today we went for a long visit to the dog park. We meandered. The dogs ran and and ran and ran and ran. They are now very tired. The park was nearly empty. Surprising it was so empty because well, the weather was perfect.

Tomorrow the “little girls” come. RJ’s last long stretch before college. GIANT SNIFF. Ava comes for just a wave and hug length visit Sunday. Monday night the big kids come. Tuesday morning Johnny Mac Pippin and his Mama come. It is a busy week ahead.

A Good Dental Appointment

Many of you have been a party to my long dental saga. After over a decade of cruddy teeth, I was able and yes, I had to…find the time, energy, money, and health to get through *nearly* all of a large stack of dental work.
(I have Crohn’s disease–leading to a lot of vomiting, reflux, indescribable in polite company tummy troubles. Then prednisone and other steroids. None of it is good for teeth plus the fact that dentists really don’t want to see you when you may vomit ON them or have to dash to the restroom constantly. Your gi doc also frowns upon dental work. Great loop.)
I was making pretty good progress until May. Then a flare shut down the dental work progress. So close to the end!
Then new job. Conference. And re-entry. The other night I said “I need to call the dentist about setting up the appointments for the work not done. Like a miracle, the dental office must have heard my thoughts. I received an email with a time and date for an appt. Hmm. The date and time weren’t bad…but what if I called to see if I could be seen sooner. So I emailed back. Mirabelle, the super receptionist said sure! We can see you sooner! How about tonight? 6:30. Sure. For a cleaning right? “err I guess so…you emailed me.”
Then I sort of panicked. I hate cleanings. I hate the scraping. I hate the water. I hate the lectures. Wretched. I also have long had gums that bleed as more than one hygienist has said: like hamburger.
Needless to say, cleanings are not my favorite. Give me a root canal instead. Really. But I went. I met Bea the miracle hygienist. Very gentle. Told me she was a hand scraper. Ok, I said not sure of the difference. Didn’t they all do that? Anyhow she talked and yet wasn’t obnoxious like a lot of hygienists are about talking. I know–not the hygienists fault. They scrape goo off of teeth all day long and have to talk to strangers all day long. I didn’t get a lecture. It didn’t take hours. Then she sent the dentist in. Ok, NOW are the lectures. Nope. Instead he asked a few questions. He looked in my mouth and at the x-rays. No new cavities! Mouth has healed beautifully (FINALLY) from the surgeries. ANDDDDD he is proud of me for the miracle of good dental health. Yep. That’s right. Rotten toothed me got a glowing report from the dentist. For real. FIRST TIME IN MY ENTIRE LIFE.
Yes. I still need to get the finish up stuff. But…YAY!