The time when Mojo begs you to go sponsor her Favorite Brother at AWNY. (That's AIDS Walk New York for those who are easily confused by acronyms.)  MORE Mojo! »

Well, after getting rid of our respective sicknesses, Mojo and her Favorite Husband have decided to instead transfer their whammy-sickness curse onto their respective vehicles. Which makes you feel better physically, until you get the bill and realize there is no health insurance for cars.  MORE Mojo! »

Every year my Favorite Brother does the AIDS Walk New York, aka "AWNY". He estimates, in the 10+ years he's been walking, he has raised around $20,000 for the cause. Not too shabby for a ne'er-do-well relative of the Queen of Ne'er-do-wells!  MORE Mojo! »

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Rosie, our Golden Retriever, is the nicest dog on the planet. She is also the biggest sissy I have ever met. So much so that the tiniest thing will traumatize her for days. Such as the cruelty I inflicted this weekend.  MORE Mojo! »

Not HERE, that's for certain.

Mojo has lived in New England for most of her life, and she still gets her mighty heart broken this time of year. You'd think she'd learn by now, but, well, Mojo is one of those special children who doesn't quite get that whole cause 'n' effect doohickie. It's about forecasters forecasting lots 'n' lots of snow, and then we get nuffin.

Yeah, I know, insert your favorite weather-forecasters-are-always-wrong motif here. And of course this *IS*, after all, New England, and Favorite Adopted Son Mark Twain himself had some very famous sayings about our weather, since he gave a whole speech about it, at least once. His most famous, of course, is "If you don't like the weather in New England, just wait a few minutes." but my new favorite thanks to Wikiquotes is "One of the brightest gems in the New England weather is the dazzling uncertainty of it." Mojo can indeed vouch for that; the one time she and her Favorite Husband suffered from what in retrospect I would describe as a life-threatening (and serious lesson-learning!) situation regarding rain and hypothermia happened in the middle of August. Indeed, one of our arguments while debating whether or not we should strike camp in the middle of a pouring rain was, "It's the middle of August--how cold can it possibly get?" Answer: very. Luckily we walked about six miles to a country store with a public phone (these were the days before cell phones) and got a ride home, but the damage had been done. We were shivering uncontrollably for DAYS after that, with the wood stove going and everything. Ahh, youth!  MORE Mojo! »

Mojo has not always been the tired, embittered fool you see before you now. No, at one time in her life, all dewy-eyed and pigtailed, full of girlish dreams, she was once happy and care free.

Not. Any. More.

What drove Mojo from skipping girlhood to the monstrous shell of a human being she has become? Well, I wouldn't tell just anyone, mind you, but just between you and me, kind random internet stranger, I will reveal the source of my sorrow.  MORE Mojo! »

Yep, today marks eighteen years of wedded bliss. Not that we're doing anything special. Just marking it on the blog so that people can send me lavish gifts.

Every time I think about any sort of anniversary I am reminded of, back when I was a teen, the minister of our church marked some sort of ministerial milestone--I think it was his 25th anniversary with the church. And there was a party in the big get-together hall, and all the Sunday School kids had drawn up all these crayon-colored posters to commemorate the Big Event. And the one big one that I will never forget is some second or third grader writing something along the lines of, "Happy 25th Anniversary Father J! Here's hoping you make it to 26!!!"

So every time I think "Happy Eighteenth Anniversary, Mojo!" there's a little part of my brain that adds, "Here's hoping you make it to 19!"

Yesterday (meaning Sunday the 17th) happens to be the fifth anniversary of gay marriage in the state of Massachusetts. So I happen to share this happy time of year with many gay friends, known and unknown, about the state. So many years of happiness to all of them, as well.

Mojo

I was going to comment about how this time of year always reminds me of my Great Aunt Polly, whose real name was Flora, and how she was a professional botanical illustrator type artist person, and how this time of year, when the trees develop that thin haze of swelling buds and tiny leaves, she always said the trees displayed a muted pastel version of what color the leaves would be in the fall.

Which DOES make some sense, in retrospect, since the leaves HAVE that color the entire time, but it does not become evident when the leaves are in full leafiness of summer because the green chlorophyll takes over under the sun and hides the real leaf color. So it makes SOME sense that, perhaps, when they first come out and before they unfurl and grow big and green--meaning before they become tireless chlorophyll factories--they probably WOULD have their fall color on display.

Which I realize is more than anyone ever wants to hear about romantic autumn leaves, but leave it to Mojo (ha!) to start dissecting a miracle. That's why she's Such Fun at Parties. For heaven's sake, don't leave her alone with your child or she will start pinching it to see how it works. And getting annoyed at you if it starts squalling.

Anyway, I was going to blog about Aunt Polly and how we found the ruins of the greenhouses she used to work for when my Younger Sister was Giving Birth and Hence Not the Most Scintillating of Hostesses, the Selfish Jerk. And it all started to sound familiar.... too familiar. So I searched my blog for "Polly" and along with the dreadful movie Along Came Polly I found THIS:

http://www.mojocrap.com/craptacular/node/79

So, what I said a couple of years ago. Yeah.

Mojo

If you have been paying attention and you've been dutifully sitting around watching Mojo's YouTube selections over and over instead of doing something more productive and worthy of your life, then you know what Mojo is referring to, over and above her continued practice of crafting sentences that end with prepositions. If not, then maybe this picture of forsythia swiped from Wikipedia will get through your skull. Assuming you bother to pay attention to Pwetty Fwowers and Other Gwowing Fings Awound You.

If you DON'T pay attention to such things, well, you are a miserable, pathetic person and Mojo really doesn't want to have all that much to do with you. I was always a big Zappa fan when I was younger (I still like him, though he's been superceded by Ella Fitzgerald, and the ribaldry that entertained me in my teens is sort of tiresome now, but luckily despite the public's assumptions it's actually a VERY SMALL PERCENTAGE of his prodigious output, so I can still enjoy much of his stuff anyway, but I digress) but I admit I was rather disappointed when he once wrote something along the lines of, "Nature is something I must get through on my way from the house to the car." People who don't appreciate the growing riot of life, especially around this time of year, are sad people indeed, in Mojo's eyes. And as we all know by now, Mojo is something akin to a Goddess in her right-thinking proclamations.  MORE Mojo! »

Being the first weekend I've had totally OFF for ages, so I spent it wisely. Saturday with the inlaws, suffering through what had to be the worst calzone I have ever had in my life (It was very flat and sort of looked like it had been deep-fat fried), and Sunday morning with most of *my* family, going to a local sugar house for French toast and coffee. Which was nice since even though we live within driving distance I haven't seen many of them since somewhere around Christmas. (Why?  MORE Mojo! »