byproducts.

some people hate having their picture taken.

my ma is one of 'em.

i doubt it's a spiritual soul-stealin' reason,

at least i hope it isn't,

because i snapped this sure shot of her hands anyway.....

she and her friend arlene took off this mornin',
after a whirlwind visit,
more akin to a layover than a drawn-out get-together.
quality over quantity, i guess,
although too much of a good thing is actually almost always a great thing,
eleven-type sh!t, an' that.
at least we got to cook up some eats and share a cup of tea or two in the same space at the same time...
it was nice to see my ma.
the woodsly goodness poured down a purifying pattering of water-baby rinsin',
which curiously stopped as soon as the connecticut license plates left the driveway.

family is a curious thing.
it's like mixing the same ingredients to make a bunch of different treats.
but maybe not all of 'em are the same amount of delicious.
and let's be honest,
a jar of peanut butter with some chocolate chips in it just is NOT the same as a peanut butter cup.
that's why it's so important to baste your booty in barbarian bouillon;
to accurately accentuate the flavor.

honestly, though,
when is it no longer considered bad sportsmanship to get irritated with quirks, jerks,
and all the other works?
i mean,
little things can really add up quickly.
for example:
how hard is it to not bring cheese and butter into a vegan house?
seriously.
since when is b.y.o.d. a legitimate method of hangin' out?
bring your own dairy?
c'mon.
gross.
i'm just sayin'.
48 hours without milk will not kill you,
although it probably won't make you stronger either.
i'm not sure if i'm the most delicious combination of ingredients, or the least,
but i am clearly combined catastrophically contrary to the rest of the rock clan.

that said,
those hands up there could be my own.
i never realized how spidery my mama bear's mitts are.
or how much like mine they look.
a frankenstein's monster of assorted parts...
that's pretty much how kids get described by their relatives.
my ma's hands, my father's nose, etc.;
except in this version of mary shelley,
they replaced the criminal brain with a warrior poet's,
and the heart with a half-empty hornet's nest.
when life hands you a fermented flagon-full of equal portions piss and vinegar,
you owe it to yourself to make a urine vinaigrette...
because that's the best way dress the shi!t-salad sandwiches
 that make up the lion's share of each calender line...

my ol' man planted me,
my ma grew me,
but hot fire and woodsly goodness made me, ya'll.
i'm grateful in equal amounts to each and every one in turn,
and for the time i have been given,
never quiet, never soft...