#love my ancestors love how we’re always pickling things

[sluttywonwoo]

gonna ask for a chinese pickling jar for christmas

[rowyn-writes]

Little Surprises (Sam Winchester x OFC)

Warnings: Pregnancy, self-doubt, slight angst, fluff.

Pairings: Sam x Ofc, Dean x Ofc (Platonically) Castiel x Ofc (Platonically)

Word count: 2030

"Riley! Now!" Sam yelled as he, Dean, and Castiel fought off a group of demons.

"Exstirpo!" She screamed. There was a bright flash in the room, and every demon in the room was eradicated. The four let out a sigh of relief.

The woman sat down on the floor, drained from using so much of her power. Riley Greene came from an ancient blood-line of witches. When she was younger, her mother taught her how to control her powers and use them for good. She would heal injured birds and make beautiful flowers grow from dead bushes. Riley was a strong believer in natural magic, she never wanted to use sacrificial magic. She would usually tap into the power of her ancestors to get her fuel.

"You boys okay?" She asked, looking around.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're good." Sam nodded. "What about you?" Riley gave him a thumbs up.

"Can we get back to the bunker, please? I'm exhausted."

Sam pulled Riley to her feet, stumbling a bit. She had been feeling dizzy lately, and she had no idea why. Dean clapped her on the shoulder, giving her a smile. "Great work the spell, Riles. We couldn't have done it without you."

"Could you ever do anything without me?" She grinned. "You'd all be dead by now if it wasn't for me."

Dean didn't have a comeback for that statement, as it was fairly true. Riley had been hunting with the boys for six years now, ever since she had stumbled on the boys fighting a leviathan in an alleyway. Of course, the brothers were skeptical when they realized what she was. Hunters never really liked witches. Riley herself never particularly liked Hunters either, they were too cocky for her taste. Sam and Dean eventually warmed up to her over time, and even called on her to help them when they needed a witch.

After a while, Riley began to Hunt with them, as she didn't have anything left where she was at. Her mother was killed by a group of demons who were looking for some kind of spell for Crowley. Dean and Castiel became like brothers to Riley, while Sam was different. Whenever they would go out to the bar after a case, men would flirt with the young witch, and this irritated Sam greatly. After years of unrequited longing, the two finally got together.

The four limped their way back to the Impala, Sam and Riley taking the back seat while Castiel rode shotgun. The woman rested her head on Sam's shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut.

---

Riley doesn't remember being carried inside the bunker, but apparently she was, as she woke up in her shared bed with Sam. She gave him a sleepy smile. "Hey."

"Hey," He said, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear. "You slept for a while. Are you feeling okay?"

Riley nodded as she yawned. "I'm fine Sam. After doing a big spell my magic needs time to recover, meaning I like to sleep. A lot. And eat, I'm starving."

Sam chuckled. "Okay, what do you want to eat?"

"A veggie burger sounds great. Ooh, add extra pickles."

Sam raised an eyebrow at her. "You hate pickles." Riley shrugged in response. "Alright, I'll be back in a bit. I love you." He said, kissing her on the forehead.

"I love you too." Sam slipped on his shoes before walking out of the room, leaving Riley by herself. She decided to pick up one of her many unread books and started reading. Right now, everything felt calm; Lucifer was back in the cage, Sam and Dean were safe, and Mary was back. However, they were still searching for Kelly Kline.

Riley couldn't really blame her for running. If she was in the same situation as Kelly, she would have no idea how to handle it. She had never given much thought to having children, as her and Sam never really talked about it. She also didn't see how her and Sam could ever raise children with their 'occupation.'

Riley clutched her stomach as it rumbled. She slammed her book shut and ran to the bathroom. She hurled the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

"Hey, Riles, have you seen my-" Dean's voice sounded from the doorway. "Riley!" He rushed to the woman, pulling her hair back. He rubbed her back soothingly as she continued to vomit. Once she was finished, Dean gave her a glass of water. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Dean gave her a look, meaning he didn't quite believe her. He pressed his palm to her forehead, searching for signs of a fever. He furrowed his eyebrows when he realized that she was cool. "Well, you don't have a fever, so that rules out the flu. Food poisoning?" Dean suggested.

"Probably. After all, you always make us eat crappy fast food." Dean rolled his eyes at the woman.

"You might wanna brush your teeth, cuz your breath reeks." Riley shoved his shoulder, grinning as she stood up. "Anyways, have you seen my magazines anywhere?"

She rolled her eyes. "Get out." Dean nodded, making his way out the door.

Riley climbed back into bed, wrapping herself in blankets. She had no idea why she was still so tired; she had slept for hours.

When Sam got back, he found Riley curled up in one of his flannels, looking very comfortable. He handed her the bag of food as he climbed in bed next to her.

Riley happily ate her veggie burger and french fries, which she didn't ask for but Sam knew she loved them.

Once she was finished, she cuddled into Sam's side. She didn't know why, but she just wanted his attention. He ran his hand though her hair, which put the woman at ease. She eventually fell asleep again, which slightly worried Sam. He knew that she would get tired after preforming a strong spell, but she had been sleeping almost all day.

Riley turned over, trying to find a better sleeping position, which allowed Sam to quietly slip out of the room. He decided to go voice his concerns to his brother. "Hey," Sam said, leaning against the door frame of Dean's room. "Has Riley seemed off to you today?"

"Well, yeah. She was throwing up earlier." Dean shrugged. Seeing Sam's worried look, he added, "It's probably food poisoning." Sam nodded, releasing a breath of air. Even though Dean attempted to sooth Sam's woes, he was still concerned for Riley.

---

"Oh crap." Riley whispered. "This cannot be happening." She looked down at the three positive pregnancy tests. She closed her eyes, breathing in sharply. "Damnit!" She yelled, throwing the sticks at the wall.

Castiel came running into the bathroom, worried that she had hurt herself. "Riley? What's wrong?" The woman crouched down quickly picking up the pregnancy tests.

"Nothing's wrong, Cas, I'm fine." She choked on her tears.

"You're not fine, Riley. You're clearly upset. Why are you crying?" Castiel gently rested his hands on her arms. Her bottom lip wobbled as more tears streamed down her face. The angel frowned as he brought her in for a hug. "What's going on, Riley?"

She didn't answer for a few moments as she continued to sob. "I'm pregnant."

"Is that a bad thing?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know Cas!" Riley sniffed. "Sam and I never talked about it, we-we never even entertained the thought. We're Hunters, Castiel! We can't raise a baby. I mean we just locked Lucifer back up in the cage! What if someone is able to get him out again? I can't let a child be raised in this world where friggin' demons walk the earth pretending to be everyday people! I can't - I can't be a mother!"

"Riley, Riley, hey, I need you to calm down, okay. Just breath." She nodded, drying the tears from her face. "You need to talk to Sam about this, he'll want to know. Everything will be okay."

"W-what if I lose Sam? What if we want different things and we drift apart? I can't lose him, Cas. I love him so much."

"Riley, you're not going to lose him. I'm sure whatever you chose, Sam will back you up 100%, and if he doesn't, then he'll have me to deal with." Riley giggled at the thought of Castiel threatening Sam.

"Thanks, Cas. I really needed someone to talk to. I just don't have anyone to talk to about being a parent. My parents are dead, and none of us really have any clue how to raise a kid. Except for maybe Dean when he was with Ben and Lisa."

"And even then I wasn't Dad of the Year." A voice said from the doorway, causing Riley to jump. Dean. "Sorry, Riles. I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

She sighed as she looked at the man. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Most of it. Don't worry, I won't tell Sam." He assured her. "But you do need to tell him. And soon. Because if you keep it from him, it won't make things easier."

Riley nodded. "Where is he now?"

"At the store, stocking up of food." Dean informed her.

Riley was saddened to hear that Castiel had to leave, seeing as he was still searching for Kelly Kline. So that left her and Dean alone in the bunker. She voiced her concerns to the man about being a mother, and if Sam even wanted the baby.

"Riley, you are the most nurturing person I have ever met." Dean told her. "I know that if you and Sam do decide to keep the baby, you will be a great mother."

"I'm just so scared, Dean. We're Hunters, we could never give that up, and I don't want to leave this baby an orphan if something were to happen to us."

Dean gave her a small smile. "There is a friggin village here that will take care of them is something ever happens." Riley laughed, knowing it was true.

"Hey guys!" A voice said from the kitchen. "I'm back!" Riley suddenly tensed up at the sound of Sam's voice.

Dean rested a hand on her shoulder. "Everything's gonna be fine, Riles." Sam gave him a confused look as he appeared in the doorway. "If you upset her, I'll break your jaw." He said, patting his little brother on the back as he exited the room.

Sam's confusion deepened. "Riley, what's going on? Are you okay?"

"I guess that kinda depends on how you react to what I'm about to tell you." She mumbled, picking at her nails.

"You're kind of making me nervous, Riles. What is it?"

"I'm pregnant." Sam grew wide-eyed as he stared at his girlfriend. He stayed silent for a while. "Please say something." She pleaded.

Sam sat down next to Riley and grabbed her hand. "What do you want to do?" He asked. "Because whatever you decide, I will stand by your decision."

"I-I want to keep the baby." She told him.

Sam's smile grew wide as he tackled Riley in a hug. She squealed in surprise. "We're having a baby!" Sam said as he kissed her. "I'm so happy." Riley could see tears welling up in his eyes.

"Oh, Sammy." She whispered as she wiped away a tear. "I love you so much."

Sam mumbled and 'I love you,' as he buried his head in the crook of her neck. Riley felt tears on her skin.

"So you guys are keeping the baby then?" Dean asked from the doorway. He always seemed to be lurking around the bunker.

"We are." Riley confirmed.

Dean clapped his hands together, a wide smile in his face. "I'm gonna be an uncle!" He looked over to his little brother. "And you're gonna be a dad. How are you feeling, Sammy?"

"How's he feeling?" Riley asked incredulously. "I'm the one that has to carry the baby around for nine months." The men cracked a smile at that.

"Okay, I'll bite." Sam said. "How are you feeling?"

"Nauseous. Definitely nauseous."

[themodernsouthernpolytheist]

What is your absolute favorite part of living in the South, or a list of them if need be? Have a wonderful day! 💛

What’s my favorite part?! Idk that I can name a specific favorite, but these are a few of my favorite things.

• Our Food. I mean, come on. Say what you will about the South, but our food is ballin. All of it. And it’s not monolithic. The fried green tomatoes of the Mississippi Delta aren’t the same as the flavors of Louisiana étouffée are t the same as the profiles of Lowcountry shrimp & grits you’ll find in South Carolina. And then there’s the chow chow, the cornbread, pickled pigs feet, chitterlings, you name it. As a region, we’re far more connected to each other now than we have been in the past, but we still maintain our subcultural distinctness in many ways. And most all of this rest heavily on the backs of African slaves and Native Peoples that were forced to come here or who lived here first. You can’t properly eat a Southern meal without thankin those folks, but also knowin the hardships and tragedy led to the creation of our staple foods.

• Our Accents. I love that within a few seconds, I can tell if someone is from East, Middle, or West Tennessee. Or that I can pinpoint that certain twang that’s distinct to only Marshall County, Mississippi. And then to contrast it to the draw of folks from Jackson and the cadence of Charleston? The history in the hard “r” of our Scots-Irish ancestors in Southern Appalachia? Love it. And don’t forget my love for the look on folks faces when I code switch into a very Memphis dialect around my friends from home! It marks us as “other,” both internally and externally. Like food, our language is a vehicle for our culture, our past, and our future.

• Our Space. I love that even in a city like Atlanta, drive 20 minutes away from downtown and you’re often in the most backwoods sticks you could’ve ever imagined. Our cities often have pockets of nature preserved in them that remind us of the land we inhabit.

• Our Weather. I love the heat. I love the humidity. We might complain about it, but go without it for a while and I feel sick for it.

• Our Past. I know this one sounds odd. And obviously, there’s much about the South that’s somewhere between regretful and appalling, but it’s part of us. We have a history of resistance and resilience. Though the Civil War was fought on the grounds of slavery and I’m glad the Union won, they then enacted penalties on the South that we’re still recovering from. But it also made us face our past in many ways. Sure, there are Racists™ everywhere, wrapped in their “Confederate” flags and screamin about “erasin history,” but we’re seein these conversations happen in ways they simply couldn’t happen in otherwise. We grow up in the shadows of Robert E. Lee, Jefferson Davis, and Nathan Bedford Forrest, which requires us to confront those ugly figures. We can’t pretend it doesn’t exist or pretend that racism is somethin endemic to other parts of the country. Even many of the (misguided) folks hat would rather see these monuments remain will wholeheartedly say and believe that racism is wrong; we’ve just got some work left to do to make them realize just how far that bigotry permeates.

And lastly, for the purposes of this ask anyway, lol, I love

• Our Culture. I love our Southern Hospitality. While it pains me to see it violated in many ways, I can’t help but smile at the child that says “yes ma'am” to the cashier or “thank you” to the person holdin the door. We’ve got some work to do to figure out some of those binary gendered things, but we’re tryin. I truly think the emphasis on Hospitality that transcends my lived and religious culture in Gaelic Polytheism is what held me here when I was so lost. I value that on a spiritual level and always will. Sure, things need to modernize sometimes, but that doesn’t mean abandoning them.

[thomasreedtn]

Lyme Book, Gardening and Other Updates

First, a Writing Update

I haven’t given a progress update in awhile, so I thought I’d share some recent developments with my Lyme books. Yes, that’s books, plural!

The Metaphysics of Lyme Disease has over 102,000 words and counting, written primarily by me, but also including wisdom, examples and inspiration from many Lyme savvy colleagues and survivors. I’m so grateful for their contributions, and I cannot believe how much I have grown along with the book. When I couldn’t find an astrologer to write the most important patterns I see again and again in the charts of Lyme clients, I formalized 12 years of armchair astrology, under the perfect-for-me mentorship of my dear friend Ann Kreilkamp.

Now I find another need to branch out, as I would love to offer one, primary, hands-on resource for guided journaling, self-assessment, and timeline shifts related to Lyme disease. I currently have about 30 additional books people would need to read and then discern which aspects and and how to tweak them for healing Lyme. If I add all those exercises and questions into The Metaphysics of Lyme Disease, then the flow stops and starts, switching gears and losing the important sense of a larger, interconnected picture. Plus, it would become an even longer book and require major editing to create a cohesive text with all the contributors, my explanations and much more hands-on guidance. I originally wanted to release my Lyme book by the end of 2018, but the project has grown — and deepened — so much that trying to rush for an arbitrary deadline feels wrong.

But I do feel led to release a Lyme book this year!

Last Friday, inspiration struck. As in permaculture, I reminded myself, “The problem is the solution.” I realized I not only could, but should release two Lyme books. They will be standalone books; however, they’ll work well together. Without giving away too much of the surprise, the first, which I do believe I can release in 2018, will bring some fun and creativity into the mix, for me, as well as readers. It will be much more interactive, a kind of step-by-step guide. The second book (The Metaphysics of Lyme Disease) will explain the overarching patterns, the more general “why” of Lyme, as well as give larger context for a highly personal disease. Since Lyme is so individual, complex, and tricky to treat, both books can benefit anyone interested in spiritual initiation, soul blueprints, medical intuition, astrology, and the nexus of mind-body-emotions-spirit. Both books will deepen and inform the other.

This new book will challenge me in several ways, including the need to learn new software. I’m still researching if it can do everything I think it will allow me to do. If so, then this hands-on book will also include some original artwork by me. If not, it will still serve like a pocket “me” coaching people through the Lyme journey in ways I’ve not seen or heard elsewhere. I feel great relief and excitement with this development. It also makes use of a fiction project I started but decided to table last October. In this new form, the fiction will work and play well. I’ll keep you posted as I get closer to completion and release. This shift will likely speed along the metaphysics book, as it becomes easier to organize and unify.

Thank you for your continued interest and encouragement.

Garden Updates:

As we anticipate our late first frost this coming Wednesday, I spent yesterday afternoon cleaning up the garden, harvesting herbs, and planting 62 spring bulbs. I still have 51 to go. David helped me dig 6″ deep holes for 12 giant hyacinths visible from our front window, and I planted 50 light blue early snow glories to naturalize in our front yard. I still have 50 to go, plus a Madonna lily that hasn’t yet told me her preferred location.

Meanwhile, pineapple sage puts on a magnificent display:

I also hope that the cleared space will give this slow developer collard enough light to get growing!

In garden related news, although these are not our cucumbers, we’ve got some new pickling accoutrements called Pickle Pipes and Easy Weight lids. These both turn any sized wide mouth Mason jar into one of the easiest fermenting vessels we’ve found. We have tried many, from large Amish crocks to the Perfect Pickler. This combo is the simplest yet:

Other Updates:

We continue to enjoy our Instant Pot, but I broke out my homemade Wonder Oven last Wednesday to keep a huge pot of soup warm for our out of town dinner guests. That remains one of my favorite off-grid cooking and temperature controlling methods. On tonight’s menu, Sweet Potato Spinach Lasagna with a cauliflower-based bechamel sauce, recipes from the Forks Over Knives cookbook. Cooler weather has us back in the creative vegan cooking swing of things, and we’re really enjoying the variety afforded by library books and some new vegan air fryer and Instant Pot cookbooks. Although we’re not 100% vegan anymore, we still prefer vegan food most of the time.

Back in Goshen, we had very few dining options, and so we perfected from scratch vegan comfort food that we grew, prepared and served ourselves and dozens of dinner guests over the course of 5 years. We took a well earned break after moving to Kalamazoo in June 2017, but it feels good and nurturing to return to much more DIY meals again.

In keeping with this hands-on nurturing, I’ve also been spending more time on hair, body care, and creative outfits. It might seem silly, but I find the variety and creativity both grounding and joyful. The Freckled Fox is my new favorite hair inspiration. I don’t have her super long locks, but I’ve tried some hairstyles just for the fun of it. The fishtail braid (left) and combo Dutch braid/rope braid (right) take me back to long ago waitress days when I enjoyed creating funky hairstyles to keep my hair from getting in everybody’s food! The center was my first attempt with a curling iron since I was about 12 years old. LOL, it went crazy wild, but the curls then waves lasted for days.

I debated including this last part, but I think it’s important to remind people that little things can add life and fun, especially when you’re working hard on other things. Reinventing yourself for an afternoon can shift stuck projects and open new ways of seeing “ordinary” life. Allowing yourself some creative nurturing also tells your body, face and hair, “You matter. You’re important to me.” With all my airy Gemini and Aquarius placements, I’m trying to do more to honor my Taurus Midheaven, Virgo Rising and Capricorn North Node.

Oddly enough, this hair and body care has both of my deceased grandmothers much more around! My Capricorn Grandma Van always joked, “Your grandfather used to call me Multiplicity.” That was her way of explaining so many different coats, shoes, dolls and more. Now granted, Grandma Van overdid the Capricorn a bit, but her stubborn grit took her to a joyful 101 years old reading romance novels and eating sweets until one week before she passed. I consider Grandma Van my direct ancestor for animal communication. She could call wild birds to land on her finger. My Gramma Irene couldn’t call songbirds to her, but she sang like one. She was also a beautiful woman who aged well. Born on the cusp of Aquarius, I know she must have had a lot of Capricorn in her chart, because she, too, had a goat-like determination, iron will and love of sweets. Both grandmothers loved their desserts!

I had planned to include this photo anyway, but I just noticed the crazy hairdos, compliments of Gramma Irene. Above you can see from left to right: me, Gramma Irene, my brother Craig, Grandma Van, and sister Erica. I don’t know what happened to my little Indian girl dark skin and brown hair! When I moved to Monterey, CA in 2007, my skin went pale and my hair turned red. In any case, I find it fascinating that as I embrace my Capricorn North Node in a variety of ways, both grandmothers seem tangibly present and supportive. Everything interconnects, and I feel grateful for support from all quarters.

How has everyday magic infused your own life? Has the changing light of this season changed your focus?

from Thomas Reed https://laurabruno.wordpress.com/2018/10/15/lyme-book-gardening-and-other-updates/

[jrusoloward-blog]

Food:  Does it Divide or Unite?

My sister will often say that we were raised like Italian immigrants.  Although our parents were born and raised in the US (we even have one grandmother who was born in Boston), I tend to agree with her, especially where food is concerned.

My mother didn’t believe in meals out of a box.  If she made it, she made it from scratch.  There were no Betty Crocker cake mixes or Kraft macaroni and cheese boxes in our pantry.  If she didn’t have time to make it or buy it from a local bakery or mom and pop restaurant, we didn’t eat it.  Keep in mind that we were raised in the 1970s and 1980s - the era of Hamburger Helper and its ilk – not in the age of helicopter parenting and organic everything, so this was considered odd.

In the winter, my mother would buy seasonal fruits and vegetables from a local vendor.  In the spring summer, and fall my father would provide most of our (and the neighbors’) fruit and vegetables from his garden in our backyard.  No mean feat since the backyard was about 100 square feet.  I’m talking string beans, tomatoes, zucchini (and zucchini flowers – yum), cucumbers, lettuce, spinach, swiss chard, eggplant, basil, parsley, peaches, plums, apricots, figs, and berries.  My mother would send us into the garden with a list of things to harvest for the evenings meal.

The things that appeared on our dinner table would vary, but we were not allowed to reject any food. Of course, there was the normal fair. Chicken (cutlet, roasted, etc.), veal, fish, beef, and pork (sausages, roasted), pasta (sometimes homemade, sometimes not).  However, there was tripe, kidney, sheep’s head, pickled pig’s feet, liver, eels, and snails.  I’m sure there are things that I’ve forgotten – or blocked, depending on your perspective.

Whenever the family got together, there would always be a mini feast.  Whoever was hosting would lay out the antipasto that would contain, at a minimum, prosciutto, dried sweet sausage, capicola, pickled vegetables, roasted peppers, marinated artichokes, olives, cheeses.

I’m grateful I was exposed to such a wide variety of food growing up.  I never realized how different it was from how other people ate until I went to college.  I had one friend who liked to visit me during break to enjoy the “ethnic” food she would get at my house.  To this day, I can’t convince her that swiss chard and bok choy are not the same vegetable.

My upbringing has made me an adventurous eater. I’ll try almost anything (I will not eat a bug, no way, no how, not on purpose).  And my eclectic tastes have worked to my benefit when I began my career in international banking and started traveling abroad.  Colleagues and clients alike were surprised when they didn’t have to find something the American would eat.  I’m been to Asia, Australia, and Europe and never turned my nose at the local cuisine.  I can brag that I never sought out the local McDonalds.  There was always a food stand or a mom and pop restaurant featuring the local fare, which exposed me to some great dishes, and have bonded with a great many people over the joy of food.

I try to give my children the same opportunities I had growing up.   Don’t misunderstand, you will find macaroni and cheese in my pantry, but it’s not a staple, more of a treat.  In 2017, the food I enjoyed as a child isn’t exotic and more parents realize the value of cooking from scratch.  I must do this so my kids will fit in.  At least, that’s what I thought.

My middle son would get mocked in elementary school because of the homemade lunchable we’d make for lunch. Nothing too odd.  Capicola, provolone (not the type you get from the deli counter, but hand cut from a wedge), sliced Italian bread, grapes, and nuts. He was told his lunch smelled and looked funny.  He was asked how he could eat such weird food.  Fortunately, the boy is thick skinned.  He would tell them, “My ancestors came from Italy.  What smells gross to you smells delicious to an Italian nose.”

My daughter had her friends over for dinner.  I made something safe:  spaghetti and meatballs.  During the meal, one friend holds up a meatball with her fork, and said, “Something is wrong with my meatball.  It’s deformed.”  My daughter looks at her and asks what she thought a meatball looked like. Apparently, her parents buy frozen meatballs, which are perfectly round.  She never had a hand formed meatball before.  It opened the door to a conversation about food and how it’s prepared. Her parents are busy and prefer to buy things premade.  That’s Ok. However, I felt bad because I don’t think she was convinced that we didn’t give her the rejected meatball.

I went to an event and brought pizzelles.  If you’ve never had a pizzelle, try one.  They’re an Italian cookie made with a special pizzelle iron.  They are flavored with anise extract and anise seeds.  You can only make two cookies at a time and they are an expensive cookie to make.  A woman picked up a cookie to and bit into it.  Her faced dropped when she felt something crunchy.  She asked what was in the cookie because she was allergic to nuts. I said, they’re made with anise. She spits the cookie out and goes digging in her purse for her EpiPen, thinking anise is a type of nut.  Before she injected the epinephrine, I explained that anise was not in the nut family.  I even managed not to comment (come on, if you have a nut allergy, you ask what you’re eating before putting it in your mouth, and you should really know whether something is a nut).

I can’t even escape the differences at family gatherings.  My husband’s family isn’t Italian.  The kids’ have cousins who are grossed out by olives and don’t understand why I would ever serve them.  I can’t make a Caprese salad because we like it made with fresh mozzarella and everyone else likes it with Polly-O (we love their string cheese, and I use it when I make lasagna, just not in Caprese salads).  Fish can’t be served because no one eats it.  I once made broccoli rabe and they were surprised that the kids ate it, despite the somewhat bitter flavor.

I also get weird looks from other people over what we don’t eat.  For example, the only peanut butter I keep in my house is for my husband.   The kids and I don’t eat it.  It’s not that we dislike it.  It’s just not something we crave.  The same can be said for pot roast, hot dogs, hamburgers, potatoes. They don’t play a major role in what we eat.  My son went to a friend’s house and had Oscar Myer bologna when he was in kindergarten and had to have it for a while because it was so unusual.

There are still differences in what people eat, yet, we’re able to get together at the dinner table and enjoy the company and conversation.  Perhaps Ben Franklin was right when he wrote in his autobiography, “[My father] turned our attention to what was good, just and prudent in the conduct of life, and little or no notice was ever taken of what related to the victuals on the table, whether it was well or ill dressed, in or out of season, or good or bad flavor, preferable or inferior to this or that other thing of the kind; so that I was brought up in such a perfect inattention to those matters as to be quite indifferent what kind of food was set before me.”

[diaryofarollmop]

1.

I’m bad at this. Actually, no. I’m bloody awful at this. There will be moments of verbal diarrhoea - when I’ll write and write and write, possessed by my shitty prose and/or caffeine and (new for 2017) alcohol (or both - also new for 2017). Then there will undoubtedly be points in time when I actually forget about writing at all, as though I’m regressing to the part of my brain where one of my ancestors is in a cave somewhere blowing ochre on his hand to make pretty pictures against the limestone. I digress though. This will happen a lot. I’ll just apologise about it now and be done with it. But I’m sure I’ll forget that I’ve apologised and apologise later on too. 

Ok, so what’s this all about then? I don’t know. Jeez man, stop asking all the big questions already. I got to thinking tonight about just how amazingly weird my life is. And it’s not just weird. It’s convoluted, with twists and turns and all sorts of amazing little bits and bobs that tend to float across my consciousness at random moments (not unlike those weird floaty bits you see when you stare up into the sky). But the coolest bit? I realised how freaking amazing it all is.

I also realise just how much there is to tell. And how much is absolute crap which will bore every last one of you senseless. Plus the fact that my brain is totally not linear in regards to time, so stories and things will pop up what will seem like a completely random way. 

But that’s what makes it fun. Or at least that’s what I’m saying.

So, this is me, in written form. Sloppy english and all sorts of nonsense, wrapped up in a piece of pickled herring and delicately held together by a toothpick in a jar of brine. 

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Life is an amazingly fucked up thing. I can’t help but think about what one of my friends said to me last year when she took residence on my red couch in the hotbox of a flat I had:

“Whenever I see a person, I wonder what has happened in their lives to get them right there, in front of me, at that very point in time. Like, are they having a good day? How often have things gone well for them? Or has it all been shit? Then I realise that I’ll probably never know, and that makes me sad.”

When I think about the past weekend - what I’ve done and who I’ve spent time with and then probe deeper, I realise just how complex things become in a very short time. Ponder for a moment more and I come to the conclusion that I foster unique, individual relationships with every single person I know. None have stayed constant (in regards to what the relationship started out as), and they’re continually adapting as new variables are introduced (which, considering the complex nature of all this stuff, is always happening). 

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It’s hot. So hot, in fact, that I’ve switched from drinking coffee to tea. Here’s a fun fact for you - I have both beverages the same way, that is with milk and no sugar. I also like to drink a lot of both of them, so an oversized mug is usually something often in close proximity. 

So, where was I - ah yes, writing a blog about stuff and things. My name (for the purpose of this adventure) is Rollmop. No, it’s not my real name, and it’s been such a long time since I’ve eaten one that I couldn’t describe the taste if I had a gun pointed at my head. I am thirty years old. I live in a small rural city somewhere in the antipodes, where I’ve spent most of my life. I currently share a house with a fifty year old Scottish PhD student and his dog.

One of my close friends is transgender and is currently not talking to me because I had a strong opinion about a video game. Another of my close friends has decided she needs a relationship to survive and is currently being wooed by a 65 year old African man who wants to whisk her back to the home country. I spent this morning making sure a son didn't see his father (at the son's request and thanks to a tipoff by my ex), and I think I might be ever so slightly in love with a German girl who I saw again for the first time in a long time today.

This is the tip of the iceberg. I haven’t even started about my family yet. 

Regardless of all the negativity in the world today, I’m finding that being open, present and loving of all the people I see is making for a much happier existence (although I don’t tend to get anywhere near as much sleep as I used to). There’s so much to tell you. We’re going to have such an amazing time.

Until the next post,

Rollmop xoxo