Filed Under: IMPORTANT: Cookie Monster Is Not Becoming Veggie Monster

OK. So I was mid blog about symbolism... maybe we'll get back to that next Tuesday...when PengBlue, wielding her mega bubble wand as she fed BabyBoy, announced, "Cookie monster is not Cookie Monster any more. Now he's Veggie Monster."

Of course the deafening silence that followed would have made a dropped pin sound like a bomb going off. What black magic f***ery is this?! Pardon my language, but really??? REALLY???

I was incensed at the mere mention of this. How? How! How could Sesame Street do this unthinkable deed?!

But wait! BabyBoyBlue had been watching a new episode of the new season just this morning. Now granted, I trust Sesame Street's content and feel I know the show well, what with having been a child myself once. Not to mention I sat in a four year time vacuum incubating the first three of my chicks, which was an endless loop of Teletubbies, Barney, whiny - @$$ - Caillou, and of course, copious hours of Sesame Street. (TrueRaleyBlue Fun Fact: KatBlue's first words were, "Sesame Street." And then she growled like a bear....) So, if the truth be known, I only spot check BabyBoy's viewing. But I do check in, and earlier this morning, I saw Cookie Monster on screen with a *collective GASP, I guess is order for this day in age?* COOKIE. And he ATE it.

So defiantly, I turned from my blogging, whipping my hair in a fashion that would defy the gravity of little Willow Smith.

Me: What? No! I saw him eat a cookie just this morning.

BabyBoy: Mmmhmm. *big smile*

Peng: *catching a huge bubble on her mega wand and slobbering, blowing it bigger, releasing it and replying in a super-dreamy-la,la,la-whatever-ish-tone* Well you must have seen a rerun. They do that, you know? Sometimes I see old segments from when you were a little child. *She ends with a pointed look that says, "which was before the dark ages and your T.V. was still running on dinosaur poop." And then pops the huge bubble sending soap all over the dinner table, the unpaid electric bill and my freshly shined punch bowl.*

Me: *in short frustrated annoyed bursts* Well. Maybe. Not today. New season. Started. Last week. *finally just letting it fly* And I'm telling you, I saw him eat a cookie!

Peng: *looking extremely bored, popping yet another giant bubble. BabyBoy screeches in delight* Come on, Mom, he never really eats it, he just crumbles it up in his puppety mouth.

Me: Well there you have it. No need for him to eat veggies. He like a puparexic or something.

(*RaleyBlueNote: Eating disorders are not funny in real life. Aunty Raley has gone through them with a dear friend and a close family member. There is hope. If you need help, please reach out. <3 I love you and I'm not the only one. I promise.)

Peng: I'm telling you, everybody at school knows this. Cookie Monster is becoming Veggie Monster because of the Obesity Epidemic.

Me: *Sighing. Because of the Obesity Epidemic. Just a note: I hate the word: obese. I'm a big lady, and I'm fine, with big, large, full-figured, and fat. But there's just something about that word.* OK, let's google.

BabyBoy: Google. Yay. Peng. Cookie? *holds out hand for frosted mini-wheat*

So we did.

And here's what we found. A link to a video with C.M. and some bird-thing singing to the tune of Porgy and Bess's A Woman Is a Sometimes Thing (gota love S.S.'s little nods to culture), his own little ditty, A Cookie Is a Sometimes Thing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iH9IO6iMO78

*insert PengBlue and Me exchanging extreme looks of horror. BabyBoyBlue has one eyebrow raised. Axl walks in and mutters, "what the h*** is this sh**...)

And a link to Snopes which assures us that Cookie Monster is just cleaning up his eating habits a little bit.
http://www.snopes.com/radiotv/tv/veggie.asp

An then there's this, which I'm hesitant to even link here because it's yet another article about how the author believes we need better parents in this world. (yeah, real original, dude. I so, so, sooooooo hate these people who generalize parents. First we're self absorbed me-me'ers, then helicopters, now we just don't care and feed our kids lard right from a spoon... I digress ;) ) But I am posting it because the pic that accompanies it is priceless. You really should take a peek. (For I shall not borrow pictures and get my @$$ sued. I am a responsible blogger... and parent... dammit.)

http://www.businesspundit.com/cookie-monster-hasnt-turned-into-veggie-monster-but-he-does-eat-a-balanced-diet/

Well, now, I think I speak for all of us when I say, Thank God, this insanity isn't true! I mean this kind of crap could knock the world off its axis. You can hate media and advertising all you want, but at the end of the day, this is our world. Why my very first trip to WalMart, when I was four-years-old, I bought a Cookie Monster place mat. True story! *say that last bit in a Gingy voice. ;) suck that, marketers, oh wait,.. what?*

(Big shout out to my MomMom who took me to the brand new WalMart that finally came to our town in 1979. Love to you and the Fabs! (esp. Clieah, who I know is up early waiting for this blog to go live.)  X <3 X <3 X <3 Raley)

                                        <3 From Me2U Love Raley Blue <3

ALL I REALLY KNOW FOR SURE IS THAT MY BUNAD IS FROM STAVANGER

I may very well live in the reddest state in the Union. Most definitely the reddest of communities. Thankfully, the Internet machine has made it possible for me to connect with others who may not have had such a decidedly conservative upbringing... of course here we just call it "wholesome."

(Yes, that's right, G-d lives just next door and comes over for dinner regularly. Actually, I don't mind G-d. He's a good friend of the family. It's some of his fan club that get on my nerves.)

But my point is that if you'd told me 10, even 5 years ago, that I would have more interest in a world that only exists for me on a computer screen, I would have been shocked. Would have probably laughed at you and said, "You just don't know the real me."

It's interesting, Young Lovers, how we think we know who we are, try to be so consciously aware of it. When maybe it isn't something static? Maybe we are in constant flux?

I like to think I'm an artistic, open minded, kind hearted human being. I like to think I appreciate people, no matter their circumstances and walk of life. But some days......

Well here's some of what I've encountered in my real life community over the weekend...

THE FESTIVAL

Our town does this thing on the first Friday night of the month. It got delayed due to bad weather this time, and was actually last Friday night. Alas, Young Lovers, Raley Blue is not a highly social creature. True, I'm fun, I like people, I'm talkative if we're talking, but on the main, I tend to be quite shy and retiring. Especially in crowds. I am the girl in sequins with the sparkly headband sitting quietly in the corner with her drink at the fabulous party. I most likely will not engage you unless you come sit by me. Of course then... watch out! ;) But obviously, you can guess that going to the First Friday Fest is not marked in red on the calendar.

This is a cardboard cut-out of a Traditional Norwegian Bunad. It was made by my very own KatBlue in her art class for an assignment that was supposed to reflect her own cultural heritage. She would like me to note that this is a Hardanger Bunad and not a Stavanger Buanad, which is our actual ancestral bunad. She could not find a pic of the Stavanger to work from, so she had to make do. See how she suffers for her art? I'm so proud. ;) And it's lovely too, isn't it?

Her ART teacher thought so as well and put it in a display in conjunction with a local industry that wanted to display young people's artwork as a way of interacting with the community. Ok, fellow artist, creative, introvert types, are you starting to feel my hell, yet?

So, yes, of course, I went to First Friday. This hell was compounded by the fact that I was in Day 2 of a particularly virulent cold virus that had practically laid my bod to waste. But this is my girl, and I love and support her 1,000,000%, so I doped it up and off we went. I also gave my mom a call to let her know her grandkiddo was doing something cool and that she might wanna make an appearance.

Well, we got there and the local paper editor's garage band was in full swing. The local vendors were doing their thing. Duck is very popular here. There was duck on a cracker. Seriously. There were also live pigs. Sonny met up with a few of his friends and chased a pig around the courthouse square.

You think I'm kidding don't you?

Oh, but I'm not. This is my town. It boasts a population of about 14,000 in town, proper. It's the biggest thing for 50 miles in any direction. This is it, folks. This is as good as it gets. My head hurt so much (possibly due to the cough medicine), that I just gave up and sat down on a bench with BabyBoy and watched the hijinks ensue.

Kat and Peng spotted TheNannyGranny across the square and took off with her for a while. Axl found some BBQ pig he could eat with his hands. The band played Mustang Sally with a jazz element. That was it for me. I was done.

But TheNannyGranny appeared and snatched BabyBoy to run off and dance. "We can't leave now, there's a band!"

I tried to warn her. She doesn't read the paper. She had no idea what she was in for. Until it was too late.

"Wait! You're Republicans?!" It was a moment heard all over the square and echoed down the brick street.

Yes, we still have brick streets here. Original. Brick. Streets. Sounds idyllic, I know.

And you don't even know about the two, yes, two Google-able book burnings that have occurred in the last 90 years. One was as recent as the 70's. For realz. One by the Library trustees, who found a former citizen's work to be leftist and obscene. The other by a local senior citizens group, who burned a book in what they called a divine rejection of teachings that may lead to a pro choice, hedonistic approach to morality. There is no funny business tolerated in this town.

OK, so if you've been following this blog at all, I'm sure you can see why someone as RAINBOWLICIOUSLYGLITTERIFFIC as myself, is not exactly considered a municipal treasure. It's a little hard for me to fit in because I am a dreamer, a believer that our world can be a kinder gentler place, kinda *whispers* liberal. But then, I look around me and see that this is the kindest, gentlest place I could find to raise my kids. If this town wasn't the way it is, they wouldn't get those benefits. So there goes all that stuff about who I think I am.

Kinda funny isn't it?

Tell me in the comments what you know for certain about yourself and why? I think I may need some guidance....

                                <3 FROM ME 2 YOU, LOVE, RALEY BLUE  <3

PART 2 OF THE LITTLE STORY...you got's to comment if you likes and I'll give you more :)

OCTOPUS’S GARDEN (Part 2 Like Dynamite) 
by Aurelia Blue




"Tally? Hey Tally! Wake up!

I open my eyes to a totals groovy and very concerned looking atheist boy.

"Wh- " I rub the back of my head which is paining and knotty. "What happened?"

"I think you fainted."

Oh, I didn't! But one look at the pants and I'm on again with the wooziness and flushing. I feel my eyes beginning to roll back... oh wait, a cool hand strokes my temple and the fog clears. But my heart does double time as I realize that hand is attached to Sam, the mega sexy atheist camp counselor!

"Bloody hell, Sam!" I sit up gasping and trying to steady myself. He has to help. (Ooh, more sparks!) "What happened to you? The bloody unicorn didn't gore you, then, did it!" 

I've completely forgotten my sexy voice and am screeching along in my naturally high pitched, tinkles like a bell voice. Which at this decibel, sounds like a bat on crack cocaine.

"Unicorn?" His voice is all steady like his hands as he helps me to my feet. "Wow, Tally, you really hit your head hard."

I dare a furtive glance at his lower half. At the oozy looking hole in his pants leg that is caked with blood. He's obvs been attacked to make a hole like that!

"What was it then? A bullet? Not leeches!" I feel the thickness coming back into my head. Damn it, I never survive that scene in Stand By Me.

"No, no," Sam says calmly, "It's not really blood. It's just special effects makeup."

"What?"

"You see we had a film party last night and we let the kids dress up and mess around with props and makeup. And well, my group is the Twelves and they, being mostly normal twelve-year-olds, managed to smuggle some of this stuff back to our cabin. Of course they were all riled up with excitement and wouldn't settle down for hours and I dozed off still in my uniform and that's when they got me."

"They stabbed you?"

Sam gives a mirthful little chuckle. "Wow, you're a really anxious girl, Tally. But no, they didn't stab me, just did me up with a fake bullet hole."

It's Tallurah, and why in blazes would they do that?" I am sitting on the counter now with my head in my hands. I pause to wonder if I shouldn't just faint again because I know I'm being a totals idiot sitting here. This is really not sexy. I look up again but catch a glimpse of the ooziness of the wound through his kaki shorts.

"Whoa," Sam says steadying me again. "Why do kids do anything? They're just kids. But my uniform is clearly ruined, and I believe your dad keeps a supply here at his store?"

"What? Yes. We're a distributor for most of the camps 'round here," I say with my voice tinkling on. It sounds more like a badger with his nads caught in a wood jam now.

"Calm down, Tally. I'm not hurt and this isn't real blood."

"No?" I say now as I take a really deep breath and look at his pants again. They still look pretty wretched but I can see now that the ooze does actually look more like corn starch than actual guts.

"No," Sam says all reassuringly. "Now about those replacements?"

"Right," I say as calmly as I can, and trying desperately to get my sexy voice back. It comes out like a bleating deer with it's hooves through your windshield. Bugger. "Right, your replacements. Yes, we keep them up in the attic. I'll just be a minute," I say stumbling on my feet toward the back stairs.

"Take your time," says my gorgey atheist counselor boy with a broad smile, with a little cas' shrug and a hint of a wink. God, he's hot.

And it's hot on the stairs too as I ascend into the storehouse above. The rising heat seems to have to taken up residence with Purvis up here.

I find Purvis and Matt sitting at a makeshift table fashioned from a huge wooden spool left over from some sort of industrial wire. They are chatting contentedly over a game of checkers.

"Oh, hey, ho," Purvis says congenially.

"Hi, Lurrie," says Matt.

"Hello, Mathew," I answer, and then acknowledging Purvis with a little nod in his general direction, "Skank."

"Whoa-O," says Purvis, "watch it with the names, beyotch."

"Yes, well who called whom, ‘ho‘, slutszoid? Huh?" Really, he does so torment me.

"Hey, now," Matt says, "easy, Lurrie, that's my sweetie you're talking about." He pats my hand and then takes Purvis's. "Play nice, Faeries. Uncle Matty doesn't want to have to go home. Again."

"No! Don't go, love," Purvis implores Matt. "Lurrie, you misunderstood. I was just saying hellos. You know, like, 'oh, hey-o?' Not the other one," he finishes with a subtle little raise of his eyebrow that only I catch. "Why, what did you think I meant?"

Oh, how I hate him. 

Sighing, I say, "No, please don't trouble yourself, Mathew. I didn't come up here to break up your little game of Wanker, Wanker, Arsehat. No, I really have much more pressing business to attend to." I sigh again and head back amongst the stock boxes, searching out the ones that contain camp uniforms.

"Wanker, Wanker, Arsehat?" Purvis asks aloud as Matt questions with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Yes, you know," I say locating the box and rifling through it, "like Duck, Duck, Goose, but only with a couple of wankers, and well," I glance dismissively at Purvis, "an arsehat."

"I say!" Purvis is on his feet, indignant.

"Now, now," Matt says taking his arm firmly, trying to force him to sit back down, "she's just trying to get a rise out of you, hon. You know how she is." He says all soothingly. "Rise above it," he adds still stroking Purvis's arm. "I'm sure she's just having fun, Lurrie loves you, she's family, isn't that right?" He reaches out to me with his other hand. "Come, Lurrie, join our game?"

Honestly, Matt is so nice, it is truly disgusting. He's always trying to make peace. He's a brilliant Sociology major over at Hope College, and with his big blue eyes, blonde hair and soft Alabama accent, all the girls 'round town swoon over him. Guys too. He revolts me with his adorablescency, though. Always sticking up for bloody Purvis, while trying to butter me up.

"No, thank you," I retort, "I have a shop to mind. I really don't have time for games today."

"Oh sit, Lurrie, just for a minute," Matt replies. "The store will be OK for a few minutes. 'Sides you'll hear the bell if anyone comes in. Be sociable. You'll be a senior in the fall, now's a good time to start learning how to interact with adults," he says all fatherly.

"Heavens sake, you two are only one year into university, hardly adults! And as for me, I do in fact have a customer waiting downstairs. A mature gentleman one at that!" I whirl 
on my heel toward the stairs, but not before Purvis leaps at me grabbing the uniforms from under my arm.

"Wait, wait," he says inspecting them, "Oi, these are for the atheist camp! Is it him then?"

"I wouldn't know whom you mean in the slightest," I answer sniffing my nose up and holding my hand out expectantly.

Purvis hugs the clothes tighter to his chest, "You do too, know! Gorgey Admiral Atheist, hiself, isn't it! Oh, I want to see him for meself!" He hops over his chair charging past me for the stairs.

I jump after him grabbing at his shirttail only to find Matt's hands clamping around my waist thoroughly immobilizing me.

"Go on, Pur! I've got her!" He shouts after Purvis as I struggle.

Purvis gives a yelpy, "Yippee," as he bounds down the stairs.

"Dammit, Matt! Let me go!"

"No," he says patiently as I struggle against him, "now settle down, Lurrie, I'm on your side, you know."

"Rubbish and bollocks," I yell, "The only side you're ever on is Purvis's!"

"Not true, sweetheart. Not at all. I'm helping you. You know Pur isn't going sit by quietly, so we'll just let him have his fun for a second, then we'll come in and you'll introduce us and get on with," he furrows his brow at me and winks, "whatever it was you were up too. And I'll do PDC duty."

"What's PDC?" I ask mid struggle.

"Purvis Damage Control." He smiles knowingly.

" Oh God," I say going limp, "let's go!"

He turns me loose and genteelly catches me up by the hand. "Gently, gracefully, now, don't want to startle off the nice atheist."

We waltz down the stairs as if it's everyday normal, only to be startled ourselves by a gigantuous crash and the not unsexy, if urgent, moans of a surprised atheist boy! I shrug off Matt and break into a full run, determined to kill Purvis for whatever he's done or might be doing to my gorgey man of the hour. 

Has he no restraint or respect for me, his own flesh and blood? He knows that's my man!

I come up short as I nearly run into a motionless Purvis who is staring on in disbelief as a very disheveled Sam is shoving up off the floor dragging with him an even more disheveled Tirzah! She is patting her bosoms back down into a little green top that would make even Tinkerbelle blush.

"Tirzah! What are you doing here?" I'm back to the badger shriek.

"Oh, hi, Tallurah," she says looking surprised to see me. "I just came over to see if you wanted to go for a swim with me when you get off work, and then I met Sam here and I was just so surprised to see his horrific wound that I stumbled a little and tripped right into him, and quite lost me girls in the process. I'm so embarrassed, really!"

A quick glance at Sam confirms his embarrassment as well, as he is now carefully averting his eyes away from Tirzah's upper torso reconfigurement. A slight blush coloring high into his cheekbones. I glare directly at her.

She shoots back a sly little smile and gives me the double wink, to show she's on a mission with a plan and to not be alarmed. But I'm too annoyed to care. How dare she? Really!

It's Purvis who breaks the awkward silence.

"Well alright then, Sam is it? Hello," he says offering his hand to Sam who takes it cordially. " I'm Purvis, senior store clerk, and manager of wardrobes, Tallurah here, says you're in the market for a new pair of kakis?"

"Um yes," Sam answers smiling pleasantly at Purvis. Tirzah shoots me a quick glance, her eyebrows arching like question marks.

"Very good," Purvis says holding up a pair of new shorts. "you can just hop back into our storeroom behind the counter and slip into these. If they don't fit absolutely perfectly, it's alright, because I am also a consummate tailor. You are in good hands here at Octopus's Garden."

"Um, okay," Sam says with a genuinely good natured smile and tone, as he quickly disappears into the backroom.

"Tailor, my arse," I hiss under my breath.

"Shh. Don't want him to hear you," Purvis trills back under his breath all singsongy.

Sam returns in a mere minute all outfitted in the new pants. And may I add, filling them out perfectly. He casually dumps his old pair into the bin by the counter.

"Don't need these anymore," he says, "and looks like we have a perfect fit, thanks, Purvis."

"Oh my pleasure," Purvis says in his most sexy voice, "And here I have two more pairs and an extra set of polo shirts emblazoned with your organization's name," he tots them all out on the counter in front of Sam, "That is, if you are interested. Oh and this," he looks quizzically at a behemothly long cranberry and taupe stripety woolen scarf that he still holds in his hands. 

Bloody hell, I must have inadvertently grabbed one of the ski camper unies! 

But Purvis is unfazed, as he whips the scarf up over Sam's head and looping it three times around his neck. He finishes with a flourish and pats it against Sam's chest. "There we go, all set. We can ring you up now, if you're ready."

I shoot Matt an oh no look, and he gracefully steps in.

"Uh, Pur? This is really, Lurrie's sale, perhaps we should let her finish up? Besides, I still want to have time to demolish you at our game of checkers before you have to start your regular shift." He pats Purvis's shoulder and much to my relief, Purvis seems to melt into the touch and remember who his boyfriend is.

"Oh, yes, yes! We should away, Matt, my dear. Plus, we certainly want to get in a round or two of Wanker, Wanker, Arsehat now too, don't we," he says sweetly, beginning to sweep along toward the stairs and causing me to cringe inwardly. 

"Lovely to have met you, Sam, don’t' be a stranger now!" He smiles cordially again at Sam, who returns an equally friendly and polite smile.

"Very nice to have met you too, Purvis. Thanks again. And you, too?" He says now looking to Matt.

"Oh, yes, I'm Matt, associate to Mr. Purvis," Matt drawls as he shakes Sam's hand, quickly unlooping the scarf and leaving it just resting over Sam's shoulders, "delighted of course to make your acquaintance. Y'all have a nice day, then." And he too is gone in a flourish up the stairs.

I give a quick skip behind the counter and begin to total up his purchases.

"Right then, do you want all three shorts and the polos as well?"

"Yes," Sam says with a warm smile, "I think I do. And this too, of course," he takes one end of the scarf and whips it around his neck, letting the end slide gently over his opposite shoulder. He glances into a mirror set up on the counter. "Yes, that's good, I like that." He smiles again and winks right at me!

Tirzah on the other hand, shoots me a knowing aha kind of look from her post by the tourist tee shirt table. I glare at her again and she just shrugs.

"Well," says Sam as he tucks his change into the pocket of his new shorts, "Thanks for everything, Tally. I appreciate it." He takes my hand in his when he says it and electricity shoots through my entire arm and straight into my brain!

"Pleasure," I say now in a deep lingering voice, not at all sure whether I'm making polite conversation or a statement regarding my physicality.

And he is gone. Bags looped around one wrist and bike lock around the other as he pedals off.

"Oh, Tirzah!" I screech in windshield deer bravado. "What were you doing?"

"Calm down, Tallurah, I was just doing a little recognizance for you." She flounces to the counter and plops down on it, her little chiffon skirt flouncing out around her demurely.

"With your breasts?" I snort indignantly.

"Well, not intentionally," she says looking kinda hurt. "Well mostly not, anyway."

"Mostly not? Looked to me like it was all intentional. What are you wearing?"

"I just thought we could sort the sexuality question out right quick and then you could know whether or not it was you he's not into, or just girls he's into, that's all," she pouts.

"Well?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Not a glance. And not a twitch."

"Twitch?"

"When I fell on him. Nothing. Flat as a pancake."

"Well, what else would you expect? He was completely waylaid by you literally flopping on top of him," I snark at her, not bothering to cover my annoyance.

"Well, truthfully I was hoping, for your sake," she says looking at me pointedly, "that I'd feel just a little more wood than the planks of the floor." A high blush deepens across her cheeks.

"God, you didn't!"

"No, I didn't. Nothing. I'm sorry. And you saw how well he interacted with Pur and Matt. Really Tallurah, I think you may have to just let this one go." She squeezes my hand sympathetically.

"Well," I splutter, "Maybe he's just a gentleman. Yes, that would explain all of it. He was a guest in our store, and you were obvs my mate that he wouldn't want to treat pervily. And Purvis, obvs my relation, he was just being mannerly. That doesn't make him an automatic homosexual. Really, Tirzah!"

"No, no, of course not," Tirzah soothes. "You're absolutely right. We simply need more recognizance before we make up our minds, that's all." She rubs my arm comfortingly.

"How'd you recommend we go about that?"

"We have to go to his place."

"The bloody atheist camp?"

"Well, 'course. It's where he lives."

"And under what pretense?"

"Wanker!" We hear Purvis shouting and shuffling across the upstairs floor.

"Unicorn hunting, 'course," Tirzah states matter of factly.

"Say what, now?" I am truly baffled by her sometimes.

"Well it's not like you and I haven't got vast experience in trapping them."

"But Matt says it's allegorical or something. Maybe not even real."

"Arsehat!" Matt's voice rings out overhead, followed by a shriek from Purvis and tons of giggles.

"Maybe not," Tirzah says winking as we both glance up overhead, "but maybe so. And just think, if we catch it and present it to the camp, just how impressed your Sam might be!"

I have to admit this just might be a totals brill idea after all.

"Blimey, Tirzah, you do beat all, but how will we do it?"

"Tonight, after dark. We'll sneak in. That way if we don't catch it tonight, we can go back again, and no one will be the wiser."

"Stealth mission then?"

"Yes, just you and me, Tirzah and Tallurah, T 'N' T. Just like dynamite!"

Yes, just like dynamite and doubles the crazy. But what else?

A LITTLE STORY: OCTOPUS'S GARDEN part1

OCTOPUS'S GARDEN
BY AURELIA BLUE 



So you might as well know, Vampires don't sparkle when they see me. And if one did happen to bite me, I'd be one dead shitehead just like anyone else. Or a zombie person. Make that a zombie faery in my case.

Oh right, I know you didn't think that we have real faeries here in Michigan. Well we do of course, just like everywhere else in the world. I'm actually British. No not really, but me Mum is and since we live for hundreds of years and aren't apt to change our ways, I've been raised her way all me life and love bangers and mash and speak with the Surrey on Avon Hill accent that all us faeries from there use.

"Yeah, about that," my best mate, Tirzah, butts in on the line," Why are you speaking in that ridiculous Rimmel London advert sorta way? You sound like a husky bloke with a mouthful of marbles."

As if she'd know. She's originally from Chelsea. As in the one by the sea, not the totals cool one in NYC.

"It's my sexy accent, ‘course! And I do not sound like some husky bloke with marbles in his mouth. I sound sultry. It's way better than tinkling on like a wood faery. It's alluring. Dangerous."

"Dangerous?!" And she drops her phone with all the laughing she's doing on her end.

Either that or she's finally bludgeoned her stupid cracked skull with it and fallen down hysterical and can't get up. Is it bad of me to rather hope for that last bit? I don't really mean it. It's just this has been such a frustrating day.

Because apparently, I not only lack the capacity to make vampires sparkling and ravenous, but I seem not to have any affect on atheists either. Sadly. And of that, I lament.

"So he's really gorgey then, is he Tallurah?" Tirzah is back on the line now.

"Yeah. Super. Totals. Gorgey."

"And you're sure he's an atheist?"

"Well, yeah, totals. I mean he's a counselor over at the camp."

"Oh, the atheist camp then, for the atheist kids?"

"Well totals duh. Why else would he be there?"

"Needs money?"

"I really don't think, Tirzah, that people as serious as atheists would hire some random bloke who could be apt to spew Christianicity or Hinduisms at their precious children who they send to their special atheist summer camp for atheist kids so's they have a place all's there own to enjoy the summer camp experience without fear of any religious indoctrination. I mean being atheist isn't akin to being amoral."

"Spew Christianicity or Hinduisms?" And she's back to the laughing. Maybe she will really do herself in this time. "Well then he'd better stay out your dad's store then. 'Twix the two of your parents, that's 'bout all he'd find, ha ha." And the laugh fest continues. I swear I can actually hear her rolling around on the floor.

My dad runs a little convenience mart here in Allegan. It's called Octopus's Garden because of all the surrounding little lakes, not to mention the gargantuan great one just an hour due west. And of course I work here because child labor, especially when it's your own child, is cheap. Okay, Dad pays me a little stipend for doing it. But it's thankless I tell you.

I mean the abuse alone. Patrons always coming in and complaining about the price of this and that as if we are just doing this as a hobby. How do they think the delivery system works getting it from the farm to them? And then there are the downright heinous folks who call us names. Me dad and mum met in jolly old England. But he was originally from India. Faery migrations are as common as human migrations. After all, if you didn't know we were faeries, we'd never tell and you'd never know it to look at us. But our cradle o'civilization complexions are hard to miss. Yet apparently even harder to properly identify.

"Really," a disgusted grumpy old man is saying now as he thrusts his money at me, "Paki Saks are a dime a dozen 'round here, you all might remember that!"

I smile and say, "Thank you, come again," as I silently flip him off under the counter. But such is life.

And life can be so good. Especially when there's a handsome young counselor from the atheist camp in town for the summer. Although you wouldn't have known it this morning when said gorgey hunk was in for a coffee and two gallons of milk.

He walked all through the store sipping that cuppa like he was looking for something way more than milk. And who am I if not a consummate sales clerk, so I'm following him 'round offering my assistance and telling him if he needs anything just ask for Tallurah, 'cause that's me. And he just gives a little grin and keeps right on sipping and looking about with me subtly trailing as I pretend to straighten the stock or take inventory so he doesn't think I'm an outright stalker. For five minutes. Five whole bloody minutes!

Then he comes to the counter with just the two milks and his empty cup and gives me a tenner.

"Keep the change, Talea," he says and when our hands touch, it's like magic. I am so charmed off my feet, I forget to even correct him about my name. And then he's gone.

"Bloke can't even remember your name? I'd say bollocks to him then," says Tirzah through the phone.

"Well maybe he was just as stoked by the electricity running through our touch as I was, and he wasn't thinking straight."

"Or he just didn't care enough to take proper note. Perhaps he fancies a nice atheist girl back at the camp then?"

"Well I don't know, I was being my most alluring! After all I tucked my apron at the waist to give meself a figure and my hair is down. Oh, and I used my sexy dangerous voice."

"Oh God, that's probs what done it!" Tirzah is in a fit of giggles again. Really, she is just too much.

"And perhaps he is a visual learner and not so verbal," I continue, "Maybe my sexyanity was overwhelming. I can be a handful you know."

"Yes, but were his hands on you?"

"I told you! The hand brush with the tenner!"

"Right. Yes. Well. That is curious then."

"As I said."

"Yes, you did," she says all seriously, but I know she is just moments away from another laugh fit.

"Well, I did also happen to think that he might be batting for the other team," I add cautiously waiting for the cacophony of giggles to take over again. Thankfully they don't.

"Really?" Tirzah is really serious now.

"Well yeah. Possibly. I mean he did resist my every charm."

"Hmmm," says Tirzah.
"Yeah," I say.

I did actually entertain the thought, although the only eligible bach I know that I might set him up with is my creepy cousin Purvis who lives in the attic over Octopus's Garden and likes to torment me regulars.

"But I thought Purvis has himself a boyfriend," Tirzah comes on the line again.

"Oh bloody hell, I'd forgotten all about Matt," I say, "you're right. He was the one who told me about the pink unicorn thing."

"The what?"

"At the atheist camp. They say they have a bloody pink unicorn living there on the grounds. And they say it exists, 'cause they say it does, and no one can prove or disprove it, so that makes it that. It's some kind of anti-religious statement."

"But a unicorn is the symbol of the Holy Christ, himself," Tirzah says with such awe I can almost hear her crossing herself.

"I know, rights? Atheists are kinda funny aren't they? Oh speaking of which," I breathe excitedly into the phone, "gotta go, guess who just rode up on his bike?"

"Sexy Atheist Boy?"

"Yes!"

"Oh what's he doing now?"

"Tying the bike lock."

"And now?"

"Walking in!" I am shriek whispering into the receiver now, " Got to go!"

"Maybe you should glow for him."

"What!" I speak now in my normal voice only about eight decibels louder. "Are you serious? This ain't a bloody blue moon!"

"Well no, but I hear there's one in two weeks," says a startled looking gorgey atheist boy who has just stepped through the door of Octopus's Garden.

"Oh God," I gasp as Tirzah dissolves into giggles hanging up.

I turn to replace the receiver on the wall.

"Well, I don't know about God," he says with that same smile from this morning, "Why don't you just call me Sam?"

"Right then, Sam. Hello Sam. Sam of the Atheist camp, is it?"

He eyes me curiously.

I strike a seductive pose as I lean back against the counter with my left rump and hip, as I extend my right hand.

"Well, yeah, I guess I am," he says taking my hand (ooh sparks!), "And you are Talea of the Octopus's Garden?"

"Tallurah," I correct, desperately wishing my dad had been cool enough to name this place something edgier like The Severed Unicorn Head, like they have over in Ypsi.

"Tallurah," he repeats, "Well Tallurah, I was wondering if you can help me find a new pair of pants," he says motioning downward toward his waist.

And as I follow with my eyes, I faint dead away at what I see.

THE DAY THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

I really wish that September 11 didn't fall on a Tuesday. I feel all wrong celebrating AureliaBluesDay Tuesday today. I feel all wrong talking about this day for the most part. Those of you who know me from Facebook may have chatted with me and heard my "where were you" story. And I have referenced this day being the start of my 70's nostalgia therapy in this blog before. But I really do shy away from actually talking about it on the whole.

I thought a long time about this blog post last night. I thought maybe this would be the year I could do it. Talk about my feelings. Share my experience. But here in the cold hard light of day, I'm finding it harder and harder by the minute. Maybe I'll just try...

I should start by telling you that I wasn't in NYC that day. I live in the Great Lakes/ Midwest. I hope it doesn't seem like I'm diminishing your feelings or grief if you were there by telling my story. If it does, I'm sorry. But the day is part of my history too.  And if you love me at all, you'll understand this day changed everything for me too. Call it survivor's guilt if you want to. 

Call me a bitch too, if you want to.

 I probably even deserve it. 

Because I couldn't have cared any less about any other human being on earth that morning more than I cared about myself. 

PengBlue was a beautiful six week old little girl. And she was dying. She wasn't born early. She wasn't born with any disease. There was no birth trauma. But she failed to thrive. Our nearly 10 pound baby girl was a mere 8 pounds, 2 ounces on September 11, 2001. She just couldn't eat enough to live. She didn't nurse well.  She wouldn't take a bottle. The only way I could get any sustenance into her body was with an eye dropper and even that didn't go well. She was a cuddly sweet girl. She smiled all the time. But she was growing weaker and weaker. The doctors were all mystified. 

Everyone had suggestions. None of them good. Like, "Put lemon juice in her mouth so she'll want to drink and then she'll nurse to get rid of the taste." 

I couldn't do it. 

Referral after referral was handed to us. I had a enough appointment cards to fill a Rolodex. We live in a state that boasts not one, but two of the finest children's hospitals in the world. 

And nothin'.

The night of September 10, 2001, as we lay in bed saying our prayers together, praying Peng wouldn't have to be hospitalized and given IV nutrition, Axl dejectedly announced he was tired of watching his daughter die and wanted us to start praying for God to take her since He obviously wasn't going to heal her. 

I f*cking hated him.

How dare he pray my baby dead! How dare he give up on the child I had made for him! How dare he even say that out loud to me! I have never hated another human being so much in my life, Young Lovers. And hating someone you love more than life itself, with that kind of intensity, rips your soul apart.

I got up the next morning with nothing left inside.  I couldn't take one more damned thing.

It was too bad for me though, because like every day since I'd come home from the hospital after my c-section, we had a calendar full of appointments. We had only one car. We had three kids under the age of 4 and Axl worked second shift 50 miles away. So I had to get moving. 

I woke Kat and Sonny as gently as I could at 5 o'clock in the morning. Made sure their pants were clean. Filled sippy cups with apple juice and snuggled them into their car seats with quilts so they could go back to sleep. 

At 5:25, I found Axl's sweats and made him a To-Go cup of coffee for later. He stumbled about bleary eyed trying to get his shoes on.

At 5:30 on the dot, Peng woke up crying with hunger. But she forced the dropper out of her mouth with her tongue and spat out what little milk I managed to get into it. 

By 5:50, tears should have been streaming down my face as I carried all the car seats out to the car. But I felt nothing. All I could think was, I WILL NOT LET THIS CHILD DIE. So I dragged Axl out the door and guided him to the front passenger seat of our 1988 Crown Victoria, plopped myself in the driver's seat and burned rubber. 

Axl had presurgical labs for his vasectomy at 6:15, which meant I had about 25 minutes to do a 35 minute drive. All three babies were crying. Axl was passed out asleep, snoring. I turned on the radio and closed my ears, looking straight down the highway. 

Thank God Crown Vic's were made for cops. I was going 70mph. I just kept thinking, THERE HAS GOT TO BE A WAY. 

6:17: Axl had a blood draw.

6:45: I checked in across town for my 6week postpartum check-up with the nurse-midwife and got thoroughly reamed out about never giving up on a breast feeding infant. I'm the type who cries if you look at me funny. I just looked at her funny.

7:29: Pediatrician's waiting room for an hour, only to be told the doctor was in an emergency c-section and needed to reschedule.

8:42: McDonald's drive through line with crying kids and faint-y Axl.

8:56: Speeding down the State hwy trying to make a 9:00 meeting of nursing mothers at another community hospital 30 miles away.

All the while, I'm telling myself, YOU CAN NOT LET THIS BABY F***ING DIE.

At about 9:25, I ditched Axl and the older kids in the backseat with a bag of Legos and bolted for the maternity classroom with Peng literally under my arm. As I burst into the room the first thing I saw was a giant TV screen showing a chopper flying over NYC and smoke rising off one of the Twin Towers. I was breathing so hard and trying to get myself in nursing mode, I didn't even think this was odd. After all, one of the tricks to relaxing enough to allow your milk to let down and not stress your baby with your own anxiety, is to watch television. The Today show logo was in the corner of the screen. Seemed typical enough. Aren't there always fires in big cities?

So I settled in with a fussy Peng who was arching her back as she death-gripped my nipple in her gums and trying to suck and squeal at the same time. I closed my eyes for one brief moment and inhaled the deepest breath I could possibly manage. I had no idea that would be the last breath I'd ever take in the world as I knew it.

When I exhaled and opened my eyes, there was the Pentagon with a gaping burning hole. At first, my head was filled with rational thoughts. Crash landings aren't really that rare in D.C. I'd flown into "National" myself once. You wind down the Potomac on your way in. Planes miss the tarmac and end in the river sometimes. Then I started mentally calculating the distance and trajectory of the Pentagon and the Potomac. My brain was turning so slowly as my eyes took in way more than it could process before my mouth just fell open.

"A plane actually went all the way into the Pentagon?" I said the words out loud as I was still manufacturing the full picture.

And then, THE most annoying, aggravating thing I have ever experienced in my life, happened. One of the other mothers shrieked, "Don't you know what's happening!!!!!!!!!"

I can still see her face. I still hear her over the decade. I still hate, hate, hate, HATE to think of it.

In that moment, I was so angry, I wanted to kill.

Not the mom, not the terrorists, not even bloody sodding Axl. But God, himself!

I don't really remember much of the rest of Peng's and my time in the hospital that morning. I only vaguely remember getting in the car and Axl was listening to the radio, pounding on the dashboard. He seemed to think "we'd been bombed."

We got home around 11AM. I laid Peng in the bassinet, put Kat and Sonny in the bathroom on step stools so they could wash up under the guise of "floating boats," and found Axl's work clothes.

While he was getting dressed, I started opening cans of ravioli. It felt so good to tear open metal with metal.

"I won't go in," Axl said quietly behind me.

"I want you too."

"No, you don't."

"Yes."

Just then the phone rang. Neither of us gave it much notice. Everyone who knew us was aware the noon hour was when I made our hot meal and Axl got ready for his commute and the next ten to sixteen hours at work.

The answering machine clicked on and Axl's best friend and co-worker, Jeb, started talking.

"Axe. Jeb. Hey, brother, if you're coming in, you better leave now, they're going to declare a state of emergency for our county and the next over at noon. I don't know about where the plant is, but I'm already here and they're setting up cots for Thirds that worked over and Firsts to stay. They say you can go home, but any work you miss will count against you in spite of the state of emergency. Billie was just up here from HR and she said to 'plan to stay or plan to stay away. Permanently.' I don't know how they can do that, but she was dead serious. I'd get here if you can. Tell the cops, if they stop you...sh*t... I don't know what you tell 'em. Just get in your car little brother."

Our eyes met as the machine clicked off.

"Go," I said.

I laid the can opener down and pulled open the fridge while Axl pulled on his shoes. I slapped six slices of bread across the edge of the top of the fridge door and followed them with three squirts of strawberry jelly and three smears of peanut butter. I held up three fingers for Sonny, who had toddled into the fray, and he pulled three apples out of the crisper.

"Give Daddy the whole bag of pretzels."

He tossed it and the apples into the little red igloo cooler as I whipped waxed paper around the sandwiches and dropped them in on top. I dumped my purse and handed Axl all the change I had for him to buy pop, and the last of my cash, a fiver, for whatever.

"I'll call," he said as he kissed each kid's head and was out the door.

It's funny. I remember all this detail, but I have never remembered whether or not he kissed me. In those days, we never left the house without kissing. Usually making out. We were young. Twenty-six. It would have been strange if we hadn't kissed. We probably did. But I don't remember.

As soon as I heard the car pull away, I exhaled for the first time all day. And then I saw all the kids.

What have I done, I asked myself, giving you all this life? In this world?

I scooped all three of them up and piled them in our bed. I don't know why. I guess I somehow thought they'd be safer there? And then I took their picture. I couldn't, for the life of me, tell you why. Maybe to remember life as it was?

I turned the news on. I sat on the edge of the bed feeding the kids goldfish crackers as I watched the images playing over and over again. I became afraid to turn it off lest I miss some important new development. The national news was discombobulated. Local news was non-existent other than a running script at the bottom of the screen declaring states of emergency, grounded air traffic and warning the citizenry to stay out of government buildings.

Why? I wondered. Was every statehouse in every state under siege? I sort of recalled the nurse that lead the breastfeeding group saying no one knew for sure. A panic gripped me so hard, my chest hurt.

I shook it off. The phone was ringing again.

It was my friend Nonny.

"Hey Raley, I was just sitting here thinking how I never brought you those baby clothes. Would it be alright if  I just bring them now?"

I told her, yes, even though I couldn't see any point in securing clothes for a future that didn't extend beyond today in my mind.

Nonny was at my door within fifteen minutes. We sat on my couch staring at the muted TV. I don't know how long it actually was, but the sun began to go down. We didn't speak much. And if we never speak again in this life, it doesn't matter, we are bonded for life because of those precious moments.

The moments Axl was gone for good as far as I was concerned. The moments I couldn't see the beautiful blue sky, "September blue," they colloquialize it here. The moments neither of my  or Axl's parents called to make sure we were ok.

For the time Nonny was in my house, I wasn't alone. I didn't have to think as she held my baby and handed cookies to my older kids. I was free to not feel and the world wasn't my responsibility. I needed that break more than anything I have ever needed in the whole world. So you see, Young Lovers, I had to divorce myself from it. Not permanently, but for those brief hours.

I remember lying down in the bed with all the sleeping kids that night and feeling absolutely nothing. I wasn't numb. I wasn't empty. I wasn't scared. I wasn't sad. I was truly nothing.

I would hold Axl close when he slipped in around 3AM. I would keep making appointments and knocking down doors in the medical community until later that month I'd discover the words, Sensory Processing Disorder. And I would finally cry ten days later when I lit candles in the dark room and watched Wyclef Jean  sing Bob Marley on TV...  http://youtu.be/THxjw9pX0WQ

And I would get shivers down my spine when Sonny would call out to Kat, "Come quick, little Kitty, it's happening again," and they would stand, holding hands, in front of the pictures of the towers falling. Four-year-old Sonny saying, "That's it. It's all gone." And two-year-old Kat replying, "A day of impany."

I would lament in sadness when one of my best girlfriends from school would call from another part of the world to see how I was coping and remark in passing that a whole generation of children would now be growing up in time of war. She didn't have any children. I had three. I had done this to them.

I would shake my head as the first babies conceived in the days following September Eleventh, as it became known, were born, wondering why anyone would bring still more children into this hateful insane world.

For a long time after that moment of nothing, I felt no hope. I just slogged through the days waking people, feeding them, and putting them to bed. In my spare time, I did therapy with Peng. I taught her to eat. She grew. They all did.

Then one day, about two years later, I stopped and realized that buzzing sound outside wasn't F-16's flying over but a bright blue 1970 Barracuda going down the street. And somehow I saw it. I mean really saw it. It reminded me of when Axl and I used to skip school to go to car shows. And I realized what a gift life is. What a treasure to have September blue skies, and growing babies! What joy to know life was short and that's what made it sweet.

I grew up. I became the woman I wanted to be. I started writing with purpose. I stopped hating. I let love Be.

Every day. I wake up. I do it again. It's all a process, and we are all connected, Young Lovers. I know that now.

I've opened myself up to the possibility of miracles as my bestie has come back from her mission abroad and we each gave birth to healthy baby boys last summer. Axl and I, as well as Sonny, Kat, and big sister, Peng, can't imagine a world without BabyBoyBlue. We may not be able to control his world, but we can fill it with love. And of course we must remember to "let go and let God." Isn't that the whole point?

THIS IS MY BOYFRIEND'S BUTT

YAY!!!! IT'S TUESDAY... AND NOT JUST ANY TUESDAY, BUT AureliaBluesDay TUESDAY!!!! 

I've missed you all sooooooooo much, Young Lovers! I've also been busy thinking of new ways to make this blog even better and more awesome than usual. I have to say though that finding out my Tweep, Roni Loren @RoniLoren   was actually involved in legal "stuff" over the innocent use of borrowed images for her blog has been a major buzz kill. (btw, Roni is an awesome writer. She writes grown-up stuff, but if you are grown-up or have your grown-up's permission (Auntie Raley does not endorse censorship of any kind, nor does she endorse young folks looking at inappropriate web material, so if you don't meet those criteria, she just laid forth; you are on your own and she is looking the other way) you might want to check her out:  
http://www.roniloren.com/


So in the wake of the controversy over bloggers using google images or other borrowed images and then possibly getting sued, I offer you a picture of my boyfriend's butt.

My boyfriend's butt belongs to me, ergo this image is mine. This fact is further exemplified by the fact that it appears with the DVD's of The Mexican and Jerry Maguire. These are my own copies of these films and therefore I retain the right to take pics of them and use them as my own images for blogging purposes, right?

(Also, I must proffer my mega thanks to Axl for his help. Yes, Young Lover's, his only response was, "Will I be wearing pants or not?" And he asked that matter-of-factly, hand on fly. Yeah, he's a trooper. ;) )

I mean I did buy them both out of the 5$ bin at Walmart. The fact that Axl the boyLovey is physically incapable of not rhythmically mutter-singing "el camino, el camino..." every time he passes one on the highway, surely further implies I have a right to use these images, esp. in conjunction with a photo of his butt. But (but, hee hee... a little Threesome with Laura Flynn Boyle, Stephen Balwin and Josh Charles humor, for your enjoyment there... ;) ) if you require further evidence, Jerry Maguire is of course a Blue household staple ever since Axl told SuperFlyCuz he loved it so much he cried. Without batting an eyelash. Even as SuperFlyCuz looked visibly freaked and not so stealthily moved his rear end in the opposite direction.

*RaleyBlueNote: Clearly SuperFlyCuz has issues with his own masculinity. ;)


For your further perusal and verification here is a picture of PengBlue holding a copy of Polish Wedding. She is also making me a delicious over-sized campfire marshmallow, which of course verifies this too, is my own image.

And here we have picture of KatBlue holding the very ancient VHS copy of The Emerald Forest that I stole, um.. I mean, permanently borrowed.... from my mom's house, which makes it mine. Not to mention the giant kitty face belongs to Kat's extensive kitty cat tee collection. Kat clearly belongs to me until she is 18 or able to feed and shelter herself. So this is clearly my image. You would agree right?

And of course here's Ironman, SonnyBlue holding my copy of Top Gun. As evidenced by his shirt, he often feels the need, the need for speed. He does not however, particularly love the 80's. In fact he doesn't really even remember them. But I do. So that of course proves this image is mine. I mean really it's so simple. People, why are we fighting? As Billy says in The War, why can't we all share the fort?

Not to be outdone, BabyBoyBlue has chosen to pose with my copy of Avatar. We thought it would be a nice touch for him to wear his blue blankey thing in keeping with the blue theme. Nice isn't it? This display of artistry should of course trigger your recognition of a true Raley Blue Original and therefore be referenced as my own original image. It should not however be used as a prophylactic. I speak from experience as it was the movie I saw with Axl the night I conceived BabyBoy... oh wait, SonnyBoy just reminded me it came out in '09... I must be thinking of another Thanksgiving... Yeah so use it at your own risk, I guess, lol, but remember, this image is mine.

But you can borrow it.

If you want to.

In fact, you can borrow any of my images just as long as you don't go around saying my cute kids and my cute boyfriend's butt are your own. Then I'd be really mad.

But as long as you're just using them for good clean blogging fun, have at it! In fact I'm going to make this process less complicated and more user friendly.

This is my bedspread. I got it as my very special Mother's Day prezzie from my children last year. They have dropped food on it, bled on it, and made forts across the living room with it. That makes it mine. I have a right to photograph it and let you borrow it.

This, friends, is my Uni-Duck. Obviously, only Raley Blue would take a pic of her Uni-Duck on her kid blooded, fort bedspread. So you can rest assured it is my own image.

NOW FOR THE REAL MAGIC:

 In the immortal word most hated by literary agents everywhere: VOILA!!!!!!!!!! Images that are certifiably Aurelia Blue Originals. Now you never need to fear the picture police will get you as long as you make sure the images you borrow have the Raley Blue self-proclaimed-patented Uni-Duck Bloody Bedspread Setup. 

And just for fun and added blogging purposes:

IT  WORKS GREAT WITH BOOKS TOO. Special thanks to SonnyBlue for the use of his book as well as for enlightening me of the fact that Mon Motha was the last survivor of the old Republic... or something.... I kinda tuned out there... I just wanted the image so I could write, "many Bothan's died to bring us this information..." But anyway, special thanks to him for caring about my intergalactic knowledge base. I do appreciate the effort. I also appreciate my Uni-Duck taking Force advice from Obi-Wan... but I digress.

Anyhoo, glad to be back to celebrating AureliaBluesdayTuesday with you again, Young Lovers! And as ever,
                              <3 FROM ME 2 YOU, LOVE RALEY BLUE <3