As I blog hop and google around in the evenings, I come across some really fun shit. Not by accident, I’m not that good, nor diligent. I visit places I know and like, monitoring favorite writers, checking in with friends, and sometimes making sure my library books aren’t over-due. Last night I went over to peek at Glynis and found this. Go look, it’s way interesting (her stuff always is, we’ll wait, go ahead, check it out). Thanks for sharing again (or allowing me to steal borrow so freely) Mrs X, you are most generous. (And oh so wise.)
One of the reasons I found this fascinating was because I wanted to share a few more things about my dad, and my early life. Because you must know by now, I didn’t simply spring this way out of a turnip. For one to end up this peculiar, a very special type of nurturing must be there at the beginning. The reason my father had a job with a title until I was 9, and not after, was due to the fact that we moved here, to Odd Town USA that year. We started off staying with friends for a week or so, then went on to a rental house. Immediately right after that is where it starts to go horribly horribly off the tracks.
My parents purchased a house that had been taken back after a bank foreclosure (we later speculated that the original folks got the last laugh). When my siblings and I first went there, we cried. Seriously, we broke down in tears and said, “people can’t live here!” Wrong, or partially. Normal people certainly couldn’t live there, but hey… WE could! And did. For another decade, or close to it.
There was so much water under the foundation that we constantly had sump pumps running below the floors (or what passed as floors in those rooms that DID have floors). Everything, walls, ceilings, floors, inside/outside was plywood. Now, I understand that not all of you grew up in a construction site, learning the difference between wall board, sheet rock, plywood, particle board, tar paper, and laminate. But you DO know that an entire house should NOT be built of plywood!
The bathroom walls (over the plywood) were covered in a thick and prickly plaster, with pokey bits and shards that stuck out into the room. Decoratively placed amongst the swirls and protrusions were pieces of metal, and glass, and sparkly rocks. Most of it was a truly foul shade of puke green, but there were spots that were also slightly darker, like think mold grey (because yes, that would be rot showing through the verdant hues).
While we lived in one room, my dad would work on others, we all helped. I have installed electric wiring, hung closet doors (which I promptly took down), demolished walls, and plumbed all manner of water-related fixtures and basins. It was really not that bad, we were never in danger, we were always fed, and we were loved. (As a pre-teen, and later, I was constantly inconvenienced and in a bad mood, but I think I would have been anyway, regardless of the living arrangements.) We were also inundated with language. Bad language, building focused language, creative language, musical language (from Libby’s house mostly, but still), Hawaiian language (that I would bring home with me every summer), and just simply conversational language. We talked, all the damn time.
Rebuilding and repairing that house, with hardly any money, but much family support, reinforced my passion for words. So when I saw that some could be lost, I had to share the link.
Another thing I need to share, and I only wish I could REALLY share with you all, as in, hand some to you across the interwebs somehow, is this. 
I tweeted my distress last night. My home was entirely void of all cookies. It was atrocious, and I was supremely unhappy. I remedied this today, because I never want to be caught in such a frightening predicament again. (Not even sure how I let THAT one creep up on me.) And one more quick thing, then on to our draw ‘o the day from our ever inspirational card altar. 
My “view” as I got up today. Go back and look at what it was just a few days ago, I just did this, it’s sort of impressive.
When we got to this particular guy, back at the start of this silliness, I could not hardly describe the illustration as well as I had wanted. No need now, gaze at it your own wee selves. The depth of these illustrations is one of my favorite things about this deck, this one practically sings off the paper. 
“The Desert Prince ~ survival, or false promises.
When you stumble upon the Desert Prince, you receive a gift. The plant life that exists in the desert environment is well defended, tough, and succulent even though it gets little or no water. In spite of external conditions, extraordinary life can form and thrive.
Be tough, have courage, and dare to dream no matter what the circumstances. It may seem to be a hard time, but not only will you survive, but you will thrive. In spite of conditions, you will succeed. Dry spells are also true tests of faith and courage. Expect nothing less than what is in your most precious dreams and watch miracles happen.”
