She's Baaa-aaa-aack . . .

Digital Hairshirt here. Didja miss me?

It has been a while since I actively blogged here. Last summer, I was getting disgusted with popular culture and politcs enough to where I started treating my blog as a photography one solely, with occasional commentary on the pictures.

But that was then and this is now. I find that I back at offering commentary through Facebook, but the space is limited. Plus, there have been some major changes in my life, to wit:

Relocation from California to Tennessee. My husband I finally did it, sold Casa Mas Rico in Santa Ana, CA and relocated to the greater Knoxville area in Eastern Tennessee. The picture above is the home we purchased, and I won't insult any of the folks I left behind in California by telling you its price (it's far, far less than anything comparable in SoCal). 3100 square feet and sitting on five acres, about four of which is wooded. The back sidesof the property abuts an easement for the local utility, which means only grass can grow there, which means my husband wants to put in a little 3-par golf course for him and neighbor men to play.

Do I miss California? No. The state is circling the drain and if La Raza wants a reconquista, they can have it. Simply put, the cost of living has compromised the quality of life to the point where it is time to leave. Sacramento wants to make everyone happy except the people who will wind up paying for the expense of doing so. If you're mega-rich, it is a fine place to practice your Scientology/Kabbalah/est with some ocean-front property and I hope you someday find the real you, I really do. If you're middle class, however, you've got a siphon on your wallet that just won't stop.

Middle-class Californian preparing their annual state income tax return

I will miss, however, certain people they still live in California. Most are from my former parish St. Joseph, five of which are very special ladies with whom I formed a clique and one, well, he calls me "sister", and I love him dearly, but I have a feeling that family dysfunction and absence will prove too strong for the relationship to survive. Tant pis pour lui. I am trying very hard to convince my younger sister, Liar (aka Dude), to become a reverse wetback as I did and swim the Colorado. I think she and Rock Star are deserving of a life away from the Inland Empire, hell hole that it is. Gabe and family, Bill and Anna - they are the blood relations that matter in Cali. Come east! And I am happy to be living nearer to the East Coast

Diagnosis. I have always suffered from a roller coaster mind, and when suicidal thoughts were becoming too strong, I decided I needed help. Lo and behold, I am bipolar. I am bipolar and it is managed by medication, thank God. If I look at my family history, there are occurrences of mental disorders which make my diagnosis actually unsurprising. I am thinking more clearly and the change of atmosphere to a decidedly slower and simpler one is a balm for my soul. I find walking in the evenings down and up Mount Muthuhfuckah (okay, it's Dogwood Glen Circle but the grade on it is wicked!) with the Cumberlands in the backdrop and talking to God while doing so sets my mind at rest. I won't kid myself and stop taking the Seroquel, but I will enjoy the peace.

So, here I am, a damn Yankee (because a Yankee comes to visit and a damn Yankee comes to stay), starting a new chapter in Eastern Tennessee. I will be back again with my usual snark and fun, as well as putting up pictures once more of the craziness that comes before my lens.

I'm back in the saddle again.