It's been too long...

Good night, I need to update this more.  Maybe then I'd get more traffic.  And maybe I'd start writing again.  And after that would come writing Christmas letters again.
Ah, well.
For those of you who don't know (which is probably a good chunk of you), we've been battling Year Two of a very nasty drought here in the mid-mid-west (and the mid-west and other parts that aren't so mid as they are just west).  If any of you have ever experienced this before, you know that it is incredibly possible to fry an egg on the side walk, your car dashboard, and a park bench.  Temperatures have been in the high 90s, low(ish) 100s for well over a month now.  Of course, I've always said summer is the worst part of the year, mainly because you can only strip down so much.  Many people would probably prefer you not to strip down past the red long johns, but sometimes it's necessary to be buck-nekkid (even though this still isn't a reprieve from the brain-cooking temps).
Anywho, back on track here.
One of the worst things about drought (other that the heat and the irritability of the present company) is the lack of water.  Heck, that's what drought is, an absence of water.  Cows, horses, chickens, trees, gardens, they all need water.  Apparently, so do the bugs.  Ants especially.
We started having the problem last year.  I had just moved into town with my Beau.  I was a couple months pregnant, it was starting to really get searing outside, and I had just started working full(ish) time at the oil office.  All-in-all, I was one grumpy mama bear.  I had two cats when I was living out on the farm, and they came along with me to town (since the Beau frowned upon raising a baker's dozen of chickens, a young billy goat, and three wonderfully crazy found dogs in the garage).  Being pregnant, I couldn't clean the litter boxes (drats), so it was my duty to feed and water the prissy girls every day, twice a day.  That morning, after getting all 'dolled' up to head into the big city, I went back into the washroom to take care of the cats.  That's when I saw it, or should I say them.  A trail of tiny, yellow-reddish ants were marching around in the girls' food bowl as if they owned the joint.  At this point in my pregnancy, I was already a bit squeamish (it soon passed, thankfully).  I yelped, scuttled back out of the room (taking care to not step on any of the ants for fear they'd swarm all over me, much like that scene in The Mummy Returns.).  By this time, Beau had already been out of the house for an hour, so I decided that if the Motley and GirlCat (the cats) were hungry enough, they could scramble an egg or something, for I was not touching that food dish.
That year, after much pesticide spraying, cleaning, and general cussing, it finally got cool again and rained.
The ants left.
'Whew,' we thought.  'Finally.'
What we didn't realize was that after one year of drought, there was most likely going to be a next.
Which brings us up to now.  By happy accident, we've found out that a few cups of water, a tablespoon or two of peppermint castile soap, and a spray bottle are devastating to the local ant populating that has decided to take up residence in the bathroom and on the kitchen counter.  I just mix up about three cups of distilled or purified water and twoish tablespoons of peppermint castile soap (peppermint is a great ant deterrent), spray it on the little buggers, and watch gleefully as they seize up and die.  Yes, I may be sick in the head, but you'd have to be to live in this area.
The only downside that we've found so far that is if you let the dead ants and soap dry on the counter, when you wipe it off with a rag, you get crispy, minty dead ants all over your hands.
The process still needs some tweaking, but hopefully by this time next year, the new owners will have to deal with the uninvited guests.
And it'll rain.

Everyday Toxic Matter

Happy fourth of July to those of you who happen upon my very lonely and disorganized blog.

Several years ago after meeting my now-ex-college boyfriend's dad, I discovered the world of holistic medicine.  Ex-b's brother had several medical concerns, and so the family sought out alternative remedies to help him.  Thus began my interest in things not-mainstream.
Fast-forward a few years, a few pounds, and one baby.  I began working at the local herb shop in our small town, mostly because I was (again) interested in alternative medicines, and also because I was looking for another vocation.  In the hall that leads to the back of the shop, there's several bookshelves filled to the brim with all sorts of guides, cookbooks, and manuals on how to better your life whilst bettering nature.  I've read a handful of these books and have enjoyed the learning experience.  Until last weekend.
As I browsed the stacks, I noticed a bright, happy cover with the title 'The Hundred Year Lie.'  I grabbed it, plunked down on the bar stool, and began reading.  The cover was incredibly misleading.  This was no sugar-coated guide to healthy living.  I shuddered as I realized that my family and I were poisoning ourselves by accident.
Which led to Monday's little adventure with a close friend and the county's Noxious Weed Department.  My friend helped (well, more like stood and watched) me empty both kitchen and bathroom sink cabinets of their chemical treasures, toss them into a bucket, and load it into the back of the truck.  We then got my little Poopmonster and made way to the NWD where a nice lady helped unload our encumbrance and reload the empty buckets (NO ONE can have my buckets!).
And then there was today.  I was doing a little surfing on the 'net, looking up a reason why my castille soap hair washing wasn't going well.  I came upon a blog that solved a few of my problems, and then led to some more for my Beau.  After an hour or so of reading and researching, I gathered ingredients to make my own deodorant, all-purpose cleaner, and dishwasher suds.  I also fixed my no 'poo problem (hopefully).  I call that a pretty darn productive day, even if the Beau didn't think so.