IT'S STILL CHRISTMAS, DARN IT!

I know that I swore I would put something up on Christmas, so...IT'S STILL CHRISTMAS SEASON! I AM UPHOLDING MY PROMISE!
Also, do you know how hard it is to update on Christmas, when you have your - ahem - netherquarters handed to you?
Yes, it was exhausing. And I don't have any abstract shorts to give you.
I apologize.
Anyway, I didn't say what I would post, did I?

Keep checking, guys, I will post something else eventually.
And goodness gracious, do you know how much I love my Aunt and Uncle Awesome?
The whole time I was posting, I was also stuffing myself on Wonka's Frosty Nerds and some Pop Rocks.
Merry Christmas, readers!

Regulus and Lady

Dear readers: Ew.
Being born is a dirty process.
Nonetheless, the calf was born safely and is a wonderful little bull.
I call him Regulus and everyone else calls him Tri-Tip. Because he's probably going to Freezer Camp next year.
Pictures!

Some weird girl who was there...

Half-an-hour after it happened.

Enjoying the sunlight

That weird girl milking Lady. 

Regulus and Lady.

Update

Dear readers: I'm a terrible person. I know I promised that I wouldn't leave you in the loop for a month, so here are some old writings of mine I found in an old journal.
TAKE THEM! TAKE ALL OF THEM! BE HAPPY!
I might not post again until Christmas, but I swear on my wings I will find time to post something for a Christmas update.
I barely was able to post today, because...well, a baby is being born. A baby calf.
I will post some pictures once it is finished being born.
And I love you all.
~Ivey Vine

Forever Lost

I hate the feeling of being lost, even if I’m not at the moment. I quietly slip through the doors, making sure that they won’t creak when I close them. I have three hours, three beautiful, cold, starry hours until the sun awakens Reality and I am once more caught in the web of social pleasantries. I’m glad I brought a sweater; it hugs me and keeps me from knowing the nightly terrors that that might make me afraid to go on. The smoky suburban air catches at my throat; I frown and it clears away to reveal where he stands in the cold street light, his breath making the air dance in mute delight. We walk on, watching light dance on water, watching fire try to escape, watching each other. I try to talk, but there’s something in my mind that tells me it’s a bad idea. He speaks instead, painting the sky with what could be stars, with what could be sparkling diamonds too beautiful to turn into jewelry, or maybe rips in the very fabric of whatever this world is made of. We walk back in silence, waiting until the very last moment to decide. The sky is lightening as we choose to be together, and just as our lips touch, the sun appears. 

Forgotten Dreams

The stars shone above us as I heard him laugh. He has a quiet laugh, a laugh full of meaning. Why won’t he be here forever? The moon gave us a celestial wink as it watched us. Crickets can chirp, but they can’t sing. I believe that the ugliest worm could become a glistening snake if it touched a star. Can a dress be made out of moonlight? No, but his clothes are, his jeans and shirt and shoes. I want to waltz on the pool with him, and he agrees. He doesn’t know how to waltz, though; he only knows how to tango. I teach him to waltz, and the surface of the pool turns into a silver mirror, the stars into dance lights, the moon shedding a single beam upon us. His clothes turn into something like a tuxedo, but with a more elegant name. My plain skirt and shirt turn into a ball gown, with the glistening snake as a necklace. Cinderella dropped her ball and made a crystal cavern, a cricket-chirping concert hall. The bats and owls swerve around our heads, and as I look into his eyes, I suddenly know that it’s a dream. 

Lovely Freedom

When do colors cease? Where does music fade? These questions have been hovering over my head like so many troublesome flies on a hot July day. I jump into my mind, so like a cool, underground lake in the misty passages inside of my colossal imagination. I swim slowly to the shore, pausing often to look at the liquid under me, where the lake seems to have no bottom. Finally, I climb onto the soft, phosphorescent sand, tired, wet, and happy. I wave a hand, and all of everything around me disappeared, to be replaced by a quietly flowing river, where I lay on the grass above the bank, shaded by some stately old elm tree that watches me like I am some errant, wayward child, to be recaptured by the butler and escorted home for afternoon tea. My Victorian dress dries slowly in this shade, but finally I leap up and grab my vintage hat, then run over to where he stands above me. When he spins me around, I laugh at the sight of his coat-tails flying behind him; he is so well dressed and proper, so dapper, that I make him stand still as I circle him and admire his finery, then I grab his hand and we run, we run forever, to eternity, to where the colors cease, to where the music fades; until there are only two young people left, dancing to the sound of their heartbeats. 

A Beautiful Thing

A quiet noise. It is soft, persistent, unworthy of notice, like background music in a silent room, the volume too low to hear, the song not worth listening to. It is almost a sound that cancels noise, intensifying the silence. Then the color, and shape. It is a slight gray like the floor of a subway, or a sweater that a man wears as he walks through the morning that begins the rest of his life. The shape is a first a small circle, but then extends into small, vertical lines, just like static you might see on a screen. The smell slowly asserts itself; a damp, old smell, but that has the promise of freshness in it, like old compost that has been spread in the garden. And as you tilt your head up, you can taste it, feel it running off your face. Rain.

A Lasting Love

Why are there so many kinds of love? You can love someone or you can be in love with someone, and it all gets mixed up, because my mind isn’t what it used to be. If you listen to a song, chances are it’s going to be about love. There is brotherly love and sisterly love and parental love and romantic love. I love so many people, all in different ways. But not romantically. If I ever do love someone like that, I hope that romantic love will just be a phase, something that will pass away and leave something much more lasting. What I want is a steady love, burning bright, someone who will understand me as a friend and care for me as a woman and provide for me as a wife. I want someone who doesn’t measure love in kisses, but in the little acts that show that I care for them: cleaning the house and the kitchen, cooking, making the bed in the morning. Because kisses are something cheap, that can be given away to anyone. A warm embrace, however, makes me feel safe, warm, like someone is there to take care of me. And that kind of love, you can’t find in a highschool romance. You can’t find it in a “friends with benefits” relationship. You can’t find it in a one night stand. And you most certainly won’t find it in some high-school hunk. No, you will find it in the patience of waiting, waiting to be certain that he is the right man, that he will never go back on his word. You will find it in his quiet acceptance of caring for you. You will know that he is the right man when he is content to stoop to even the lowest, humblest task at one word from you. Because that is the love that will last till death do you part.