Oh For Heck's Sake

Blogging again. Of course.

I was taught to believe that the definition of a miracle is that which is impossible but happens anyway. Growing up is an avid student of science, I couldn't believe in miracles. Because impossible is a word that has meaning.

Now I'm over 50 and I've seen a lot of miracles. But now I define miracle differently.

A miracle is that which is wildly improbable but happens anyway at precisely the right time to do the most good. It's possible. But not very plausible.

I wish this were a more widespread viewpoint. And I wish people were on the lookout more for the miracles that happen all the time. And share them and appreciate them.

I'll delete this later.

I'm thinking today about people who are raised as boys. I think maybe they struggle with identity in a different way than those who are raised as girls. They seem to look at their fathers and ask, “Am I like him?”

Maybe my memory is faulty, but I don't remember asking that about me and my mother. I do remember swearing not to be like her.

My children's father seems to be a self hater who lashes out at everyone else. Inconsistent. Rageful. Pontificating. Insecure. Craves authority and makes a complete mess of it every time he gets some.

He also lights up on everyone's gaydar but adamantly proclaims he's hetero.

And he tried to raise my children “right” – impose his values and identity on them through controlling their behavior. Disastrously.

I've watched my children, raised as boys, struggle with these. They still struggle well into adulthood.

I wonder if we'd had AFAB children instead, would they have been so tortured. I think not, because the model of maleness my ex follows doesn't invest its own identity in how girls turn out, but instead in how well they are protected. They would have been expected to follow my pattern instead of his.

My pattern is its own hot mess. A different hot mess.

So maybe, yes, they would still have big struggles, just a different set.

You were right, van lifers, tiny house people, homesteaders, and wilderness enthusiasts.

Content warning for toilets and the stuff that they handle.


On an orange shelf in front of an open window, a 100 watt portable power station shines its flashlight into a bottle of rubbing alcohol, which glows brilliantly in all directions; clipped to the shelf is a small DC fan which is plugged into the power station.

Honest, there really were plans to install an entire alternating current electrical system in the tiny house. Like all those other tiny house people do.


“Oh for fuck's sake!” I thought, after several thoughts occurred in a fraction of a second.

I had dropped the keys while hanging them up, and they fell into my boot. Without thinking I reached into the boot.

“No, don't!”

“Stop! Are you crazy?!?!”

I pulled the keys out quickly, it being far too late.

“There could have been scorpions in there!!!”


“We don't even have scorpions here.”

I guess this is what happens when you live a lot of places. I'll be accumulated habits and warnings sort of blur together don't they?

When we talk about using people's pronouns, we usually mean third person pronouns. The ones we use to talk about people.

I recently interacted with someone with preferences for second and first person pronouns. That was new.

Obviously, first person pronouns are entirely within that person's control. But second person pronouns are in-your-face, so to speak. This was a fun and interesting challenge!

This person's pronouns are it/its.

So a conversation might go...

Person: It would prefer you use its pronouns for second person too.

Me: Thank it for sharing this.

I do have oppositional feelings about using “it” for a living being, but guess what? That's not my place to enforce. I don't get to pick that. The other person does.

On top of a wooden chest lie a roll of window screen, a plastic package of spline, and a spline tool - a handle with wheels of different thicknesses on each end; a Chihuahua pug looks on.

Oh yay! I found my screen, my spline, and my spline tool, all of them in different places. This thanks to multiple moves. I bought these like 3 years ago.

Oh wait, no. I take it back. These are the ones I bought 5 years ago. The ones I bought 3 years ago remain missing.

Now I can go fix the screen door.

I've had a lot of uncomfortable showers in my lifetime, but the one I just took wins the prize.

I mixed the temperature as normal, turned on the spray, and got lathered up. And then the temperature went haywire.

I don't know what my roommates were doing in the other bathroom, but it meant a wild swing to freezing that lasted long enough to require a remix. Then a wild swing to scalding, again long lasting enough to make me readjust.

I'd step out of the stream the way you do when someone flushes a toilet in a dorm or barracks, but each change went on much longer, only to swing once more once I was getting wet again.

I would have just got out. But I was all lathered up. And my scalp really needed a treatment. It could not wait.

Thankfully I have a CON of about 16. So it's ultimately okay.

I read a bunch of recipes about how to make ribs using a pressure cooker and adapted them to my own purposes.

My multicooker has a bake function and an air fry function, so I was able to transform the step where the recipes say to use an oven or grill.

Pictures below of meat. Don't look if that's a problem.