test
Posted on February 28, 2010 - Filed Under geeklife
ppI love ecto, but that goat lice post nearly broke it. I don’t know what the problem is. I’m taking this moment of relative calm in the yurt to see if I can do a little troubleshooting…./pbr /
ptest. test. test./p/p
pNow–see that? I upgraded to the new version of wordpress and now my beloved ecto isn’t working. It’s sticking in all this weird p /p on everything. It left the photos out altogether, along with chunks of text. This is not good./p
goat lice: shoot me now
Posted on February 25, 2010 - Filed Under goats, honeymilk farm
It all started when I noticed Lucy, one of my goats, had wet shoulders. What the heck? Was she dipping into the water bucket? Was one of the other goats peeing on her? I mean, goats can be weird like that. But no. She was wet because she was licking herself. It was goat spit. Eww. I gave her a brushing and man was she was all flaky and dandruffy and I thought, huh. She’s got dry skin?
But then I looked closer and found this:
Lice!
GROSS GROSS GROSS DISGUSTING HEEBIE JEEBIE OH THE SHAME OF IT ALL GIMME A SHOWER RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!!!!!!!
Let’s take a moment now to remember Lucy in her full furred glory.
Isn’t she pretty?
Okay.
First thing: you have to know that goat lice are species specific. That means they can’t live off the goat. Not on me, not on my kids. When I found that out, I calmed down quite a bit.
But wait, where did the lice come from? After scouring the possibilities, it comes down to three (I think): maybe when we bred one of our other goats a month ago (that means we took her on a chaperoned ‘date’ with her boyfriend, Cowboy), maybe she picked up some lice from him, and then transferred them to Lucy. Although Cowboy doesn’t appear to have lice, so, huh. But he has dates with other girl goats, so the possibility for lice transfer is there…. Or maybe my goats have always had a couple of lice and the extremely cold and wet weather this winter (weather that lice love, apparently, because the goats all huddle close together in the barn, so it’s moist and dark and the lice go crazy) caused a massive population increase. Could be. I’ve even heard that lice can come in on a batch of hay, although this seems unlikely, as google reports that lice can’t live off the goat for more than a few days, a week tops. But maybe?
There’s such a stigma on lice. It’s like, for shame you dirty person you! I found that if a goat owner’s goats had never had lice, they got that face when I mentioned my goat problem, that look of distaste, that suppression of a desire to take a step back from one of the unclean. If, on the other hand, the goat owner’s goats had had some lice experience, they were all, “Oh honey, it just happens. Here’s what I tried….” I guess some troubles just come with more baggage than others.
But after reading a million pages on lice, goat skin conditions, mange, treatments, pesticides, and after taking a couple more showers, I was totally confused. Lice are easy to kill. Lice are nearly impossible to get rid of. You can probably ignore them. They can kill your goat (the sucking kind) with anemia. Lice are no big deal. Burn the bedding and shave the goats. Put some Seven dust around. Use Diatomaceous Earth. A healthy goat won’t get lice. Most goats have a few lice. Use this injectable drug, but give it orally. Use this oral drug, but pour it on. Use this pour on, but inject it.
Meanwhile, Lucy was losing the fur on her shoulders and tailbone. I found lice on the other goats—if one goat has lice, then all the goats will, to some degree—but they didn’t seem to be suffering like Lucy. I decided to start with Diatomaceous Earth, recommended by several goat owners I spoke with. I dusted them all down, gave them clean bedding and dusted that, it was like a talcum powder storm in the barn for a bit. DE, in case you don’t know, is ground up fossilized sea critters. No, I’m not kidding. Supposedly the edges of each particle are razor sharp to tiny things like lice, and they cut up the lice bodies and dry them up. Sounds good to me. Kill those fuckers.
You know, I’m not sure if the scratching and licking was exclusively causing the hair loss, or whether the reaction of her skin to the lice bites was causing the hair to fall out. Maybe some of both? Because, look at this:
Sorry it’s not a better picture, but see how there is this thick layer of white, greasy, flaky stuff on her skin? YUCK YUCK, right? It was like snow drifts on her fur. Not normal goat skin at all. Maybe the hair just falls out when then skin is like this?
I decided to move up to the next level. I got a permethrin based dust and doused them all with it. Permethrin is a pesticide based on the constituents of chrysanthemums and breathing just a bit gave me a headache. I HATED putting that stuff on my girls. I tend to do everything organically, herbally, etc. But I did it. “Sorry, goats!” I said as I rubbed it in.
I think this dust helped the other goats, because I haven’t seen a louse on any of them since that. But poor Lucy, she started losing the hair in her armpits (do goats have armpits?) and on her rump. I gave it a couple of days, redusted her, a couple more days, no change.
I started thinking about why Lucy, why not the other goats. Maybe she was under stress? A stressed goat is supposedly more susceptible. Maybe she had worms? All goats have some worms—goats are meant to be on the move, leaving their droppings, with their worm eggs, behind them. But in a pasture, the worm eggs hang around and get reinjested—isn’t this a lovely topic of conversation? Anyway, most goats have some worms. I’ve had mine on an herbal wormer for years. But maybe it wasn’t doing the trick?
Or worse, maybe Lucy had mange, a burrowing mite—oh god, oh god, yuck—in addition to the lice?
The treatment for mange and worms is the same, lots of ivermectin, a big time poison. I read some more. Finally I found this article which helped me make sense of all the off-lable (that means drugs labeled only for cows or sheep or swine, but used on goats anyway—the FDA testing isn’t done for goats because goat populations are so small, so the label can’t legally say goats) advice. I decided I’d give her a dose of 1% ivomec orally (called a drench), and see. If that didn’t work, I’d call a vet.
Three days later, no change. And in addition to her hair loss, she looked…dull. Unhappy.
Time to throw in the towel and call. It’s a hundred bucks just to get the vet out here, plus the charge for whatever they do, thus the emphasis on home remedies. But it was time to admit defeat. Get her cured, stop her suffering. She was standing there itching as I thought all this.
What would I be doing if it were me?
I would be doing major organic skin treatments, herbal ointments and tea tree oil. Neem oil. Olive oil to smother the nits. Maybe shave my head. No way I would take major drugs for lice. Maybe not even for mange (which can get on humans, but dies quickly without the fur).
Well, none of that would hurt a goat. I could do all of that and still call the vet. And it might help her not itch.
To the kitchen! I found a bottle of rosemary olive oil that had gone just a bit rancid before being used up. I had about a cup left. To that I added a bunch of tea tree oil and lavender oil. Then I went back to the barn and rubbed the stuff in to the places that were the worst, her shoulders and tail bone. I did another batch at the nighttime milking (throwing out all her beautiful milk because of the ivomec, I hate that).
And look what I found in the morning:
Healthy pink skin! And no lice! Maybe a little too pink, like the skin is still raw, but hey, NO WEIRD WHITE FLAKY PASTE! Hooray!
I went out and bought a half gallon of cheapo olive oil, mixed it up with tea tree oil and lavender oil. I added rosemary and clove oil after finding this page—sorry people, I couldn’t buy your product, too expensive for me—and I poured it on Lucy, a cup at a time, scrubbing it in with my hands until she was just slick. Then again that night. I’m telling you, wherever I put the oil, her skin returned to NORMAL. And after two days, I saw new hairs growing in. It was working!!
Maybe the ivomec just took a while to kick in. Maybe the lice were already dead from the powder, but the skin condition was lingering. Maybe Lucy just has a stronger allergic reaction to lice than the other goats. Maybe the oil finally did the trick. I don’t know. I do know Lucy is finally getting better. And here is the main thing:
I wish I had done this first! Maybe I wouldn’t have had to use any of those poisons at all.
Here she is, all oiled up:
At first she hated it. Now she holds her legs out for me to get under them, lifts her ears for me to get around them. I figure I’ll keep her oiled for at least a week. I want all those nits dead. I want them dead and gone, smothered beyond all hope of life, KILL KILL KILL.
Meanwhile, the other goats all seem fine. Emma, Lucy’s daughter, is all greasy too, because they cuddle at night. I really like NOT having my goats covered in poison.
I figure I’ll keep her oiled for a week and then give her a bath with some neem soap.
Update to come….
birthdays of the future
Posted on February 23, 2010 - Filed Under kiddo life, mayalife
Yesterday I turned 39. Today, Sophie turns 6. Six years ago, she was, by far, the best birthday present I have ever gotten. Or probably ever will.
But wow, hey, forty is looming, right? 364 days away. A friend asked me how I was doing facing it, and oddly, I realized I really feel okay about forty. I have often, for whatever reason, had friends who were older than I, and so have known many wonderful, amazing, talented, smoking hawt, 40 year old women, blazing the trail in my mind for 40 as Not An Age To Be Feared. Women come alive at forty. I’ve seen it happen. So I’m good with forty. Today anyway, right? Ask me again in 364 days.
And, honestly, it would be a different story if I didn’t have Sophie and Luc. I would be hearing The Clock clanging and feeling something I have always wanted to do—have a baby—slipping away. So, no doubt, I’m feeling fine as 40 approaches because I’ve got my two kiddos running circles around me. Baby—check, check. People do ask me about a third, and technically, the factory is still open. In theory it could happen. I wouldn’t turn another soul down if he or she made a surprise visit. But pregnancy is hard. Really, really hard. I’m okay to let the count stand at two.
We hung out at our aunt’s house a lot this weekend with out of town birthday guests (grandma, great-grandma, aunt, cousins). On one aunt’s trampoline (thus the static, see photos below), the kids and I had this great conversation that resulted in making some lists of what we want to do with the coming year. We imagined being on that same trampoline in one year, looking back…what would we be pleased we had accomplished? The kids Ideas were pretty cool, I thought.
Sophie’s things to do list for being six:
*Learn to ride a bike without training wheels.
*Learn to write.
*Learn to use chopsticks.
*Paint more “real looking things.”
Luc’s list for being 4, although he has been four since October, he still wanted to make a list:
*Be able to push himself on the swing.
*Be able to do puzzles with pieces “this tiny” (holding thumb and forefinger up to his eye and peeking through.
*Moonwalk like zombie Michael Jackson
I thought that last one was pretty funny. But after watching “Thriller,” Luc is quite taken with Michael.
Maya’s list for being 39:
*Freestanding, comfortable backbend. And maybe lotus.
*Finish novel #7. Begin novel #8.
*Be a kinder person.
This picture has the amazing strawberry cake our baker cousin made for Sophie, and the amazing cheesecake my Mom made. We are blessed by bakers in this family! Just a small family party this time. After being snowed in so much of this winter, I couldn’t face the work required to clean the yurt for a real party. Thanks to Aunt Nettie for hosting!
And to Aunt Carroll for having this terrific climbing tree:
Climb as high as you want and have fun—that’s a motto to live by, if you ask me.
meet sky!
Posted on February 21, 2010 - Filed Under kiddo life, making things
Sky likes flying, eating blueberries and cotton candy, and brushing her long white hair (it’s made of clouds, or so I hear). Welcome to the family, Sky.
Design & name by Luc. Backdrop & photography by Sophie. Grunt work (embroidery, wrapping, etc) by Maya. Oh, and also transport. I have become the official Fairy and Fairy Supplies Roadie. And Clean Up Crew. And Snacks. Can’t forget Fairy Snacks. Very important.
it’s a thrilllllleeeerrrr, thriller night!
Posted on February 17, 2010 - Filed Under kiddo life
I have written before of our love of the game Plants Vs. Zombies. Well, I recently wiped the drive on our game machine and upgraded to Windows 7, which meant reinstalling, and rediscovering, a bunch of games we hadn’t played in a while. Plants Vs Zombies in particular has gotten a lot of replay this last week. The game really has a great sense of humor. For example, one of the types of zombies that start shambling across your lawn is the Dancer Zombie, instantly recognizable as Michael Jackson. He has the power to summon Backup Dancer Zombies repeatedly, and is, therefore, a particularly dangerous zombie. He even has his own spotlight and theme song.
So, yesterday, I’m bustling about the yurt, Luc is playing the game, and Sophie starts doing a perfect version of Dancer Zombie’s dance, which is, of course, directly from Michael’s famous dance moves in the Thriller video. You know the part with the claw-hands up on each side, the march, the up-on-the-toes move, moonwalking… I was laughing so hard—she has a remarkable physical-mimicry ability. I started doing my own pitiful version and singing, “Thriller! Thriller night!” But she, having only seen the game, didn’t know the song.
What? How could she not know that song? I mean, of course she doesn’t know that song, she’s five years old, for heaven’s sake, but that song, and its video, was so HUGE when I was growing up! I was in the eighth grade and I remember looking at a friend’s copy of the album (albums! made with vinyl!) with the double spread of Michael in that white suit. Whatever happened to him later in his life/career—at that moment in time, I thought he was just terrific.
So, it simply wasn’t possible for Sophie to not know Thriller. “Girl,” I said, “I’ve got something you have to see.”
Ten seconds later, we’re youtubing “Thriller” and there is super-young Michael with the movie-within-a-movie bit, and that crazy red jacket. Sophie says, “Hey, his jacket is just like Dancer Zombie’s jacket!”
“No, dollface. Dancer Zombie’s jacket is just like Michael’s. Michael came first.” I tell her about my pre-teen friends and I singing “Thriller” and “Beat it” and doing the moves, watching the videos, making our hair big, wearing shoulder-pads…those were the days, right?
Then, on the laptop, Vincent starts his monologue and the zombies start crawling out of the graves, and at first it’s hilarious because it’s just like the game. But then, wow, I had forgotten how freaky they looked, how gross the make-up, how piercing the girl’s screams…. woops. Too late now. “Um, is this too scary?”
“No!” says Sophie, but Luc, who had come over to see what this was all about, is looking nervous.
“When this came out,” I said, “everyone was amazed at the make-up, how real and scary it looked. I wonder what it was like to be one of those actors they hired to play a zombie and to get all that weird make-up put on?” And I’m watching them, Luc particularly, to see if he’s getting too spooked. He looks fascinated, but a ten-car pile up is fascinating, too, and maybe you don’t need to see that when you’re four, right?
“But how do they make it look like blood is running out of their mouths?” says Sophie.
“I don’t know, must be something that doesn’t taste too bad to the actor.”
“I bet it’s chocolate,” says Luc, watching, thoughtful. “Chocolate looks like that if you leave it in your mouth until it melts.”
Gross. But true. “They came up with how to put on this zombie make-up and they made rubber bits and glued them onto the actor’s faces to make it look like they have those lumpy faces and they put them in old muddy clothes—”
“It’s all make-up?” says Sophie.
“Yes. The actors look like normal people when they wash it all off.”
Shocked, Luc says, “It washes off?!”
He’s so relieved! “Yep.” I figure, take the scare-power away by revealing the illusion, the man behind the curtain. Also, the pause button helps.
We all watch some more.
Then here comes the zombie who’s arm falls off, remember him? “Look! His arm fell off, just like in the game!” says Sophie.
“If there were zombies in our yard,” says Luc, “I would use a Hypnoshroom on them.” That’s a weapon from the game.
“Good,” says I. “Got to have a zombie contingency plan.”
“The zombies are slow,” says Sophie, “why don’t Michael and the girl run away? Why do they just stand there and wait for the zombies to get them?”
“Good question. You know, I think the idea of zombies is kind of scarier because they’re slow.”
Luc says, “Well, the Michael zombie seems faster. If you hypno the Michael zombie, then all his back-up zombies get hypnoed, too. I’d put them back into their graves with a hypno and then I’d put a zombie watch-dog to guard it.”
But then Michael and the dancers start doing the dance—that famous dance!—and the kids go nuts! Sophie jumps up, copying the moves, Luc is jumping up and down on the bed. “It’s the dance! It’s just like the game!”
Pause button again. This required immediate costumes.
Paul’s tie, an old t-shirt, one shoe (zombie’s always have one shoe), and of course, the claw-hand up on the side dance move.
Luc decided he would be a zombie fighter. Sophie ran to get him a helmet, “Because zombies are only interested in your brains. So that’s the thing you need to protect.”
See his Whammer Hammer? Good for whacking zombies. I love how they work out whatever they are thinking about, by playing it through. A good life strategy.
Sophie says, “I’m trying not to blink because zombies don’t need to blink because they are already dead.”
Luc says, “Sophie, I wack you in slow-motion and you die.” He wacks her. She falls slowly to the floor, and he says, “I hit you and you died. You fall down and stick your tongue out.” Sophie sticks her tongue out.
I turn the video back on and we watch the conclusion where the girl is all scared, but then, psyche! it’s all a dream…or is it?
Luc looks worried again. “Do you think he was really a zombie, Mommy? Or was it a dream?”
“I think the writers of this zombie story meant for it to be unclear. They make you feel all safe when Michael wakes the girl up and everything is normal, but then they scare you again with the freaky yellow eye thing. I guess they thought that was a better ending, more spooky.”
Now he looks thoughtful again. “I don’t think, in that zombie story, that the zombies can get on the roof.” Which they can do in the game.
“I think you’re right.”
“If I was writing a zombie story, I’d have Michael be a normal person in the end.”
How cool that he keeps giving himself power over the zombies! First by being a zombie fighter, then by killing a Sophie-zombie, then by rewriting the story so it ended the way he wanted it to end. “Sounds good,” I say. “I like that ending.”
Sophie says, “I’m not a zombie, but I am going to perform as a zombie on tv. Mom, I need make-up. And chocolate.”
And Luc says, “Can we watch it again?”
spammers suck
Posted on February 16, 2010 - Filed Under geeklife
There’s been some problem at my webhost, massive spamming or something, and their servers are all clogged up, thus preventing me from getting into my control panel and stopping Akismet, the spamblocker on my blog’s comment section, from working. So I’ve been getting gobs of spam, masquerading as comments, to weed through every day. God, who are these people? I really don’t get the point of these messages. ‘mayalasster you made my day with that post. I really like your theme,’ attached to the webaddress rawspanking.com, give me a break. Or what’s with the ones that are just gobbledygook? Or the ones that are all question marks? “???? ??????? ??????” and a couple of ip addresses? What is that? Why do they do this? What it the motivation? I’d guess money, but I don’t get it. Does anyone anywhere ever actually click on these links?
signing off,
mystified in yurtland
happy valentine’s day!
Posted on February 14, 2010 - Filed Under kiddo life, making things
Someone set off a Valentine Bomb on our dining table!
We’d clean it up, but we’re too busy eating chocolate hearts. Maybe later.
snow To Do List
Posted on February 13, 2010 - Filed Under adventures, kiddo life
For god’s sake, we just got another ton of snow! We haven’t had this much snow in a decade. But it has given the kids another chance to check off all the snow related items from their lists. These things are all old hat for you Northerners, I’m sure, but they still retain novelty value around here.
I covered Make a Snow Angel here.
In addition, the kids have:
Run Screaming From the Yurt in Excitement, in One’s Pajamas:
Roll Down a Hill:
…multiple times. Until One Loses One’s Boots:
Catch a Snowflake On One’s Tongue:
And the related, but separate, Taste An Icicle:
They’ve covered Have A Snowball Fight. Several times.
And the very important, Go Sledding:
No that’s not really a sled. It’s the lid to an old sandbox. But it worked.
Ta Da!
Okay, this isn’t really an item on the Snow To Do list, but aren’t the holly leaf shadows pretty on the snow?
Back to business. Hold a Snowman’s Hand:
I think the snowman liked it.
Have we left anything out?
guruji pays me a visit
Posted on February 9, 2010 - Filed Under mayalife, yoga
Listen to this. I dreamed last night that I went…somewhere, I don’t know, this sunny room with big, square, terra-cotta tiles on the floor and a peaceful breeze. I was doing some yoga. There were some other people doing the same. And then, Lo, Sri. K. Pattabhi Jois came over to help me! I was so happy—I said to him that I thought I had missed my chance to ever meet him and I was so glad to be wrong. He smiled and nodded, and assisted me in some pose, I don’t know what. As I came out, I touched his head, my whole hand, palm to his skin. The sensation of it is still in my hand this morning. He kept smiling and patted me, seemed happy that I was there in his class. Then he moved on to the next person and I woke up.
What a cool dream!
In other news….
A friend of mine read my blog yesterday and called me up to set the record straight. “You have so meditated before. You were not a meditation virgin.”
“What?” says I. “When?”
“Well, there was that class you took at that center in Virginia. You bought a zafu. It had angels on it.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember that zafu. I wonder what happened to it?”
“You sat on it, you tried it.”
“Sitting on a zafu is not meditation. Besides, I remember that now. It was hopeless. I couldn’t bear it for more than a minute.”
“Still. It’s meditation.”
“No way. That’s like saying making out in the car is the same as intercourse.”
“And then there was that other time, you were reading a bunch of books on Buddhism. You said meditation messed up your chakras. So you must have tried it.”
“I said that?”
“Yes. You said you felt like you were suffocating and your chakras were turning inside out.”
“I did not say that. And how do you remember this stuff? Besides. Reading about Buddhism is not the same as meditating. It falls under the category of reading books about working-out while sitting on the sofa, eating potato chips.”
“You love to do that.”
“I do not.”
“And there was the time you were learning how to lucid dream.”
“Okay, that was NOT meditating. That was like…guided napping.”
“You are so full of it.”
“Poetic license!”
“Exaggerator!”
“Literalist!”
Um, anyway, I’m here to set the record straight, lest anyone think I may be misleading all seven of my loyal readers. I may have dabbled in meditation prior to having children, prior to sitting on the bank of my creek a couple of days ago, back when I had free time and disposable income for such things as angel-covered zafus and recreational spiritual-ish classes. But that was another life. I can’t possibly be held responsible for anything that occurred back then. I mean, except in a karmic sense. But definitely not for blog purposes. So there.
in which i pop my meditation cherry
Posted on February 8, 2010 - Filed Under mayalife, yoga
I know, right? What am I thinking? I’m Ms. “I like my fantasy life, thank you very much,” what am I going to do with being mindful of the present moment? I mean, reality can be so disappointing. But I’ve been reading a stack of Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras and its all dhyana (meditation) this and samadhi (bliss) that, and shoot. A girl gets curious.
So, while sitting outside while the kids ran wild in the woods, I thought…how about now?
Sure. Why not.
I figured I would stack the deck in my favor, so I picked this…
…as my meditation spot. Well, not IN the creek. Imagine me sitting on the bank, looking contemplative.
And I also figured I’d best not set myself up for failure by taking on more than I could chew, so I figured I’d give it, oh, five minutes.
That ought to do it.
Then I did what any good 2010 technogeek girl would do, and I pulled out my ipod touch and surfed over to the app store, because you know there’s an app for that.
A couple minutes later, I’m downloading ‘Zen Timer’ a clock thingy that will alert me to the end of my allotted five minutes with a nice tibetan bell sound. Because it isn’t meditation if you aren’t roused by a tibetan bell.
Okay, timer set, creek bubbling nicely beside me, kids climbing a death-trap fallen tree in my peripheral vision—yep, I’m good to go.
I actually did okay with the whole ‘follow the breath’ part. I guess all this ashtanga yoga with the Darth Vader breathing has gotten me used to listening to myself breathe. I could hang with the inhale, and hang with the exhale, hey, mom, look at me, I’m meditating!
But no ujyai breathing here, and apparently my normal breathing has a loooooong pause after the exhale. With no breath to follow for what feels like years…OH the places I an go in such a pause! Galaxies can be crossed! Novel plot points can be worked out! Fantasies lie in wait to grab me and spirit me away to never-neverland in that tiny, but deliciously spacious, pause.
Still, you just keep bringing your attention back, that’s the instruction, so that’s what I did, hauling my ass back from Alpha Centauri at the start of each next inhalation.
I think to myself: I can do this. See? I’m doing it already.
At some point the kids (and cat) tore by, screaming.
At some later point the kids tore by, screaming, but going the other direction.
My back started to hurt a little.
My breathing started to look a lot more boring than my inner story life.
And just as I got fed up, certain I had forgotten to activate my little timer, the bell chimed.
Five grueling minutes had passed. Try meditation. Check.
But what mom doesn’t want to sit and do nothing for five minutes? It was nice, even with the hurty back. Can a person have a small formal mediation practice of five minutes? Is there anything to gain from such an endeavor—and, I know, I’ve already blown it by looking for gain. Arg! Maybe I should stick with chocolate as a spiritual practice.
Still, I thought I’d give it a try. Even I should be able to commit to five freaking minutes a day. I decided right then that I’d do it again the next day.
And then I completely forgot about this decision.
For a week.
So, you know, I’m not enlightened yet.
But I’m trying.
P.S. Ever since typing in the title of this post, I’ve had Joan Jett singing Ch-ch-ch-ch-CherryBOMB! in my head. Along with the song is the picture of Ms. Jett herself, playing an immortal pretending to suicide off a high rise, on a first season ep of “Highlander” (There can be only one!) while Cherrybomb plays, and WOW did she have a bad French accent, what were they thinking giving her a flashback in France? But who cares, right? I love Joan Jett. And I hear she’s got a biopic coming out.
And it’s just this sort of scintillating inner dialogue that I have to give up, to some degree, if I’m ever going to be a meditator.
This project may be doomed.
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