Rootballs

This is me. I am a mostly domesticated tomboy raising kids (& myself) on a small urban farmstead in an old block farmhouse on the edge of beautiful SLC. That's Utah people. We have deserts and mountains, a smattering of lakes & rivers, and a few good wild hot pots left. 

I wear many hats around here they include but are not limited to: SAHM, part-time cruse director (aka receptionist) at my little ninja's gymnastics gym, homeschool facilitator for one, contributing writer to our local community paper, occasionally an accidental activist, trained as an evo-biologist, hiker-runner-camper-trouble finder, not a biker. If you see me coming on my bike you should move the hell out of my way.

My natural environment is hot water, literally & metaphorically.

Likes: coffee.

Dislikes: no coffee

Fears: highway patrol, spiders, hummingbirds (yes, hummingbirds are still scary!).

The man of the house is BC. He has many hats too: contractor, green-builder, farmer, dumpster-diver, GSL surfer, flat tire changer, conspiracy theorist, quarter-time resident of Moab, and map reader.

From a prior I have 2 nearly-growns, the twenty-somethings. My son has a beautiful young wife and they have a kid of their own. BC brought one child with him when he signed-up to be my trusty-rusty sidekick. Then we upped the ante by having a kid together. That was 12 years ago. 
 

At any given moment there can be a small flock of highly trained gymnastic ninjas running about, their siblings & parents, a few non-gym friends from the olden days (before we joined a gym-cult), and enough animals to run a lame but lively petting zoo.

In case you were wondering this space is mine. Mine, mine, mine. All mine. And I am going to write the shit out of it because that’s what keeps me sane and my friends laughing. 

I view life as a series of colorful pictures waiting to be framed by words. I find nearly everything deep and meaningful, that is until I find it funny. I live intentionally. I believe heavily in kindness and empathy. It hasn't always been so. I had a reputation of being a sweet, caring child but by 28 I was pretty surly & full of myself. It took the death of my older sister to get me to remove the sardonic facade I had spent my whole adulthood crafting. 

And since I am now incredibly nice & helpful (always helpful) I will offer this: Nobody is forcing you to read my blog. If someone is, you have bigger problems than me offending you. If you find yourself not enjoying being offended by me, stop reading what I write. See. Helpful.

It has taken years of deconstruction to get to this point today. I am shamelessly brave about voicing, even reveling in issues of depression and mental illness. I will not apologize for taking head on such taboos. Although I know by the time of sister's death her alcoholism was center stage, it was the shame of an untreated mental illness that played the leading role in her demise.

Along with bad grammar, artfully random punctuation, & hopefully less of "classic Misty" poor editing habits, there will be true stories of life here on 10th West. Some you might not believe, probably best if you don't. But crazier still than my real life, I intend to include other writings of mine. Works of fiction that might make you wonder even more than the true stuff does!

You might know/remember, I had another blog but BC’s ex wife kindly informed me I was sharing my inner most “private” thoughts where anyone could find them and I was obviously doing it for attention….Y.E.S. I’m pretty sure that is what the PUBLISH button is for. 

However, her insight was enlighten. Of course not in the way she meant it to be but it helped me to realized how much more I could be doing with my lack of filter and flare for finding inappropriateness everywhere I turn.

So I am taking my inner most private thoughts & stories that anyone could stumble on and I am starting a new journey of attention seeking with them. It pretty much picks-up where the old one ended: me on a farm, in the middle of a city, on a day where nothing unusual happens at all...