Well, they say that bad things happen in sets of 3, and if that's true (And it's sure living up to that so far), then I've already hit my quota of bad happening to me for the whole of the year.
I count my mother's death as the first one. The second would be the suicide of my favorite uncle. The third is probably a far worse blow to me than the second.
The words 'Napalm Gel' bring anything to mind? Yea, well, Google it....or the Anarchist Handbook. I should NEVER know what the recipe is for Napalm Gel, nor the name of the 'cookbook' that holds the recipe for it. And yet, here I am, knowing what both of those things are. Ignorance REALLY is bliss.
The story that brings such knowledge to yours truly is a sordid one, I'd have to say. And it's told with a great deal of sardonic irony, sarcasm, and humor. I'm told it's bloody hilarious. Believe me, it wasn't so funny as it was happening to me. And yet, I digress..
Picture it, January 24, 2011, a lovely clear, sunny, cold, crisp day in Eastern England. My oldest child's 15th birthday. I walk to work, as we have only one car, and Ziggy takes Her Highess the Princess MiniMachine to daycare in it. Well, I am walking out of the building I work in, when I see the figure of my oldest child sprinting across the parking lot towards me. The thoughts going through my head are of teh general birthday variety. He's running towards me because he got something cool for his birthday, a great grade on an exam (it was examsweek at the high school), ANYTHING except what he said to me.
Fire. In my house. Yea, not what I was thinking was going to come out of his mouth. I did the motherly thing of freaking out promptly. My next actions I have been ridiculed and condemned for. I called 911. Comments as to my taking that act have ranged from 'Don't you love your son? Why would you call 911?' to 'Damn, you're a mean mother!' with a 'If there were parental controls on his computer, this wouldn't have happened.' thrown in for good measure. We'll get to my reaction to that last one a little later.
So I called 911, and was told that the fire trucks would be on their way to my house immediately. My son is rambling his version (we'll get to the truth later) as we are speed walking, then running to the house in order to beat the fire trucks to the door. The Deputy Fire Chief, bless him, had only been on station a total of 3 weeks, and looked like he was old enough to be my son's classmate at school. Literally. Anywho, the story my son has told me is that something caught fire in his room, on the floor, randomly. I was born at night, but it wasn't last night. Well, the fire department on base didn't buy that line of bull either. (Mom, 1 point.....kid, -20) They take him upstairs and show him the marks on the floor, the residue of the fire extingusher and they tell him....you're fulla crap, and we know it. They give him the opportunity to change his tune. He sticks with his random combustion story. For now.
Well, we go outside and look at the items that were on fire, and in the garbage bin. The fire guys go to leave and the kid looks at me and says, 'Mom, you promise not to beat me?' Yea, how'd I know that was coming????? So I ask him what he lit on fire. And the words Napalm Gel enter my vocabulary. Apparently he'd googled it, set out to build it, and it went horribly wrong horribly fast. He assembled the ingredients in a cookie tin he'd gotten from Christmas and lit the contents on fire, seeking the find out how the 'gel' was made. It caught flame rather quick, grew rapidly and then he went to get the fire extinguisher and put it out. Then he took the items down to the garbage bin, and aired out the house. The carpet in his room was burned, as was the ironing board.
At that point I demand he go tell the deputy fire chief this information. And then ensues the madness that has been my last 3 weeks. The British have graciously decided not to prosecute him for bombmaking. However the base that Ziggy is assigned to is doing a review to setermine whether or not to ban him fromt he base, and kick him out of the country. I half hope they do it.
Meanwhile the kid is now Ziggy's personal bitch. And he's even slacking at that. He appears to have no comprehension of what he's done, nor the consequences. as evidenced by his tweaking of the actions he took (while thinking out loud in front of a British cop that's recording his utterances, I might add). Yea.....not helping the image there, kid.
So, yea.....it's been an eventful few weeks.
Conversely, I picked up a book at the shoppette the other day that had my attention as soon as I read the title. See, I'd heard utterances of the military dabbling into the psychic research, and other paranormal type things, but had never read anything was considered legitimate. I dig the paranormal, by the way. Not so much the aliens side of stuff, but the remote viewing, psychic ability, clairvyant stuff I lap up like milk. Love it. Why? Well....I don't know any of you well enough to tell you that, sorry. Hell, Ziggy looks at me like I have 3 heads whenever it's mentioned, so I tend to keep quiet. But just know I get into it. It's by Major Edward A Dames, he's a retired Army military intelligence officer (legit creds to me) and well, it's called "Tell Me What You See". A real page turner. I'm loving it. So toss that onto your reading stack, courtesy of yours truly.
Bullrder, I hope you're still reading. And I hope you'll understand the reason for my lacking post over the last few weeks. I am trying to do better. But yea...it's been busy.
