Give me a T… Give Me an M… Give me an I!

Disclaimer: This post is graphic and most likely not for people of the male persuasion. Unless they’re the overly-curious type. But I recommend they close this window and run screaming like a boy.

Secondary Husband Disclaimer: I let Rachel blog about my vasectomy, and this post is sort of similar, but girly. Seriously, this blog is chock full of uncensored period talk, blood and everything. Its just biology, but YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.


If God had hired me as a creation consultant, (which He did not, for the record,) I would have highly recommended – insisted upon even – a Lady Switch.

Ladies can turn the switch on at, say, 25 years old, or whenever they’re ready to have children. And they can turn the switch off at, say, 36 years old when they’re totally DONE with producing progeny.

It’d be even better if the switch could be used more than once. Switch it on at 25, off at 27, turn it back on at 29, and off for good at 32. Let a woman suffer through an average of 20 periods in her life. I promise, God, Sir, 20 of those things is plenty enough to Keep The Curse Alive.

But maybe that’s asking too much.

Since God did not ask me for my opinions regarding such matters, we all must work with what we were given. And what we have been given is entirely too much of our life spent bleeding like an executed swine hung up to drain.

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My particular situation is made more perilous, as Dysautonomia makes periods worse, and periods make Dysautonomia worse. One of the main problems with my particular stupid illness is low blood volume, and any change to that can cause dehydration and sudden onset faintness (I had to offer up two vials of blood at the doctor the other day and felt light-headed and nauseous until I was able to speed to Chick-Fil-A and buy a biscuit.) Also, a side effect of Dysautonomia can be extreme periods – in all the ways.

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2017 began a downward spiral in my well-being due to every month being worse than the last, and not recovering from last month before this month arrived. It was getting dire. I was spending 1-2 days in bed a month. And everything was suffering because of it.

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A couple of years ago, my doctor had offered to give me an ablation. At the time, though, he gave a pretty awful sales pitch for it. “It only works about 90% of the time, and even for those it does work for, it may not be complete.”

I turned him down. Since then, ablations have become The Thing, and many of my friends have partaken, followed by glowing reports of the easy procedure and its magical results.

So after yet another crushingly awful month, I called and made an appointment. I chided my Gynecologist for being such a horrid salesman the first go ‘round, and signed up right away to give this life-changing activity a try.

So. What is an ablation?

Well, in my gynecologist’s literary description, it’s the process of “turning your garden into a desert.”

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In more technical terms, they stick a magic wand up there, and the wand spits out a mesh net. The net expands to the size of your uterus, then “emits a radio frequency”, which is code for “it burns the freakin’ house down.” Or at least it toasts the inside of the house into a nice char-broil.

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The procedure, which I had at the beginning of October, seemed to go well.

The recovery room was a bit dicey, because my blood pressure dropped out and, according to the squealing nurses, I was turning green, whatever that means. And because of my unusual color, they wouldn’t give me any pain meds.

Pretty sure that was discriminatory.

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But after I shed my green patina and they drugged me up, I was fine, and had zero pain once I got home. I was rewarded with a day to lie around the house and read while Chris carefully watched over me, and then immediately got back to normal life.

However.

This supposedly blessed procedure that promised to be the simple access to The Lady Switch that I so desired…turned out to have opposite-worked.

Now, instead of just having bad periods, I was bleeding every day AND continuing to have bad periods.

For the first couple weeks, I chalked it up to recovery.

At my two week post-op visit, my doctor, upon sticking his telescope up into things, proclaimed excitedly “I see the end of your bleeding!!”

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He assured me things were almost done, that yes I’d bled longer than most (you’re only supposed to bleed for a couple days), but he definitely saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

(Wait what?? There’s not supposed to be a light up there!! Did you leave something behind, doc?)

Then things really ramped up.

Whatever light he’d seen up there most definitely got drowned out. My uterus was now eternally going to be a Stephen King sewer system in which Pennywise was inhabiting and killing his victims inside it. There was no other reasonable explanation.

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What followed was me calling in,
The nurse checking with my doctor,
Then reporting back that he said “You need to go on the birth control pill.”,
Me taking a deep breath and using that overly-calm voice to let the nurse know that I had surgery to avoid such torture and WOULD NOT be doing any such thing,

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The nurse quickly finding me an appointment,

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The doctor examining me,

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And surmising “This is super unusual and I have absolutely no idea why you’re bleeding, but it could be one of these two things, so let’s take both these pills here and see if one of ‘em will plug the leak.”

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Shockingly, neither worked.

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After 60 days of my Lady Switch being completely jammed, my doctor announced that it was time to move to plan C: Goodbye, Uterus.

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After all she’s put me through lately, I know it seems like it should be more of one of these goodbyes,

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But we also created humans together. So I won’t deny a bit of sentimental attachment.

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I never wanted to have a Hysterectomy. I’ve been pretty against the idea for, like, forever. I’ve let go of a lot of body parts (a foot bone, a gall bladder, both tonsils, and two parasites now known as children), and was open to the idea of dismissing my appendix if it ever went rogue.

But my uterus – I really planned on us going out together.

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But after three days of being confined to bed due to the havoc my not-so-Cuterus was playing on my Dysautonomia, I was finally ready to break up the band. And resign myself to being a hollow shell of a human with nothing left but a lonely appendix.

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And so my doctor explained to me what would go down.

He would enter my body through my belly button (I guess my Dad was right after all – belly buttons do unbutton if you’re not careful,)

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(But my Dad’s horror stories about what would happen if you unbuttoned your belly button pale in comparison to reality…)

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Because he (the doctor, not Dad) would then use a very special tool with a very special name – A Morcellator – to grind up my uterus into hamburger steak,

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To make it easily removable through aforementioned belly button.

…Which brings me to wonder: does ground Uterus fry up as well as Placenta? And would you use ketchup or ranch to bring out its natural flavorings? Also, is mine a tastier variety since it’s no longer utero sashimi, but a nice medium-rare, compliments of my prior ablation?

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After removing all my newly formed uterine morsels, he promised that I would be a new woman, finally healed of all that ails me.

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And so I’ll be taking part in this groundbreaking Uterine Rave on Thursday. And it’s guaranteed to be the trendiest way to spend Early December.

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There will be a night in the hospital, two weeks of recovery, Uterus Sloppy Joes for everyone, and then I will hopefully never feel anything in my Uterus ever, ever again.

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Now Accepting: Book, Netflix, and Amazon Prime recommendations, Sarcastic wishes of “Merry Christmas to YOU!”, gifs and Memes, chocolate, and tacos.

No Longer Accepting: Secondhand Hysterectomy Horror Stories, Firsthand Hysterectomy Horror Stories, preventative Essential Oil recommendations, and raw ground beef anonymously mailed to my doorstep.

Oops, Alabama Did It Again…

Hi y’all. It’s time for your straight-from-the-state-where-it-happened political commentary on Judge Roy Moore. Because I’m here to make sure that you’re informed.

I know, I know – you’re all like,

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You’re welcome.

But by the end of this post, you may feel more like this.

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So this all picks up where our dear old Luv Guv left off. If you need a minute to refresh your memory as to that lovely highlight of 2017 Alabama politics, please do, as I provided you this fairytale guide earlier this year.

But here are the people you need to know for today’s story:

Grandpa Gov – our Viagra-flinging ex-governor.
New Gov – Kay Ivey, Grandpa Gov’s replacement, after we all read his vom-worthy texts with his girlfriend.
Strange – why do you need a nickname when your last name is strange? Oh but he does – he prefers to be called “Big Luther.” So let’s go with that.
Sesh – Good Ole’ Jeff Sessions – lest you forgot that all the delightfully crazy politicians came from Alabama.
And…..Ol’ Roy, who we will be discussing today.

Grandpa Gov, in an effort to escape from impeachment due to his nefarious activities related to his affair, promoted the state Attorney General Big Luther into the US Senate seat when Alabama’s Keebler Elf Senator Sesh got promoted to US Attorney General.

When Grandpa Gov resigned anyway (right before his impeachment and right right before his mugshot), New Gov said “You know what? Big Luther smells a bit too much like Grandpa Gov’s grubby boob-grabbing fingers. Let’s redo that whole Senate situation”, and called a special election so that the informed and intelligent voters of Alabama could choose their own senator.

Although I do not in any way think it was New Gov’s intention, this timing could not have been more perfect for Ol’ Roy. Because he had just gotten removed from his position of Chief Justice of the Alabama Supreme Court, for the second time, for defying a higher court ruling, for the second time.

So clearly he was the ideal candidate to represent the fine people of Alabama in Washington DC. Think House of Cards while wearing a cowboy hat (which he wore, while riding a horse, to vote for himself in the primaries.)

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With me so far?

Alabama Senate Drama

Good.

Let’s back up a bit and talk about Ol’ Roy’s removals from office.

Ol’ Roy was elected the first time to Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Alabama in 2001. He immediately began plans to build a giant ten commandments monument in the rotunda of the courthouse. He’d had a mere wooden plaque in his former days as a Circuit Court (and had gotten sued over that), so a 5,280 pound block made out of tombstone guts seemed like an appropriate upgrade for his new digs.

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Now. I love Jesus, but this monument is cray. It’s like he asked the designer to fit every possible religious or patriotic tag line possible on it, including the National Anthem, the Declaration of Independence, quotes from the founding fathers, and of course, the Ten Commandments.

It’s basically the A.J. McCarron tattoo of monuments.

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(Non-Bama peeps: A.J. McCarron was a quarterback at Alabama. He married a supermodel. She obviously makes him keep his shirt on at all times.)

Please take a moment to read the amalgam of words on his chest. You won’t regret it – we can come back to Ol’ Roy when you’re done. Or better yet, read it like a second grader’s poetry assignment.

Bama Boy
Home Team
Ma, Pops
God – MVP – In Control
Gag
McCarron

I feel like I may be misreading one line in there but..I did my best.

Back to Ol’ Roy.

So two years pass with lawsuits, rulings, blah blah, Supreme Court of the United States, blah, appeals, blah, everyone agrees – Roy, you need to put that monument somewhere else. Not where everyone who enters the courthouse has to walk around it.

Basically, “AJ, I’m glad you love God and Ma and them, but for the love of all that is holy please put your shirt on.”

And, as one does, Moore announced his intention to defy the order. Because God. And why should he be a good example of respecting the rule of law to the people. He’s just the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Alabama.

But his brave stand against the evil courts created rallies and supports and speeches and doors being blockaded (as if someone was going to go in there and simply drag the two-ton monstrosity off.)

Now. Regardless of where you stand on the removal of monuments for various reasons, please remember – this is not some historical monument that has been happily and quietly sitting around for 200 years and is all of a sudden being condemned – this is Ol’ Roy’s very own unilaterally chosen two-and-a-half year old toddler monument.

But this is the hill he will die on – at least with the first of his many lives.

So finally, because he just defied The Supreme Court and the Appeals ruling and all that, they have no choice but to remove him from his seat.

So Ol’ Roy was out of a job.

He ran twice for Governor, both unsuccessfully. After losing in the primaries to Bob Riley, Ol’ Roy told supporters that “God’s will has been done”, but he wouldn’t call Riley to concede and refused to support Riley in the general election. But hey – who among us hasn’t pouted about God’s Will every now and then.

(p.s. – Riley was like the only Governor of Alabama’s that is not currently in jail or mugshotted. So he was like the best.)

After the whole Governor gig didn’t work out for him, Ol’ Roy ran again for Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.

And we voted him in again.

And it didn’t take him long to find his new Monument to stand on. After the US Supreme Court ruling on Same-Sex Marriage, Ol’ Roy sent letters out to all of the judges of Alabama, ordering them to disregard the ruling and enforce the state’s ban under threat of legal action.

…Which got him his second removal from office. For…

– Disregarding a federal injunction.
– Demonstrated unwillingness to follow clear law.
– Abuse of administrative authority.
– Substituting his judgment for the judgment of the entire Alabama Supreme Court, including failure to abstain from public comment about a pending proceeding in his own court.
– Interference with legal process and remedies in the United States District Court and/or Alabama Supreme Court related to proceedings in which Alabama probate judges were involved.
– Failure to recuse himself from pending proceedings in the Alabama Supreme Court after making public comment and placing his impartiality into question

Minor points, minor points.

He refused to clean out his office, and appealed. And lost.

BUT BACK TO THE PERFECT TIMING!!!

Thanks the New Gov saying “Hey, let’s vote on that Senate thang!”, six days following the court’s ruling removing him from office again, Ol’ Roy resigned from the Alabama Supreme Court and announced he would be running for the United States Senate.

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Because those who can’t follow the law, make the law.

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People vote for different reasons. Some people vote for character, or the party line, or the candidate’s views on issues, or their voting record, or their IMDB catalog, or their last name, or their physical attributes, Twitter history, or any number of other things. The American system allows you to choose not only who you vote for, but why you vote for them, which factors you emphasize or ignore in that reasoning, etc. But theoretically, on some level, as a voter, you are making some sort of informed, rational choice based on something.

Voters haven’t always shown a knack for the subtleties between genuineness and hypocrisy, or between those who believe in their values and those who are manipulating their values to get votes, but regardless, this particular voting opportunity was a lose/lose.

Because in the Republican primary, there was:

– Ol’ Roy.
– Big Luther, who still had the Luv Gov’s film of slime covering him,
Mary Maxwell, a woman who moved from Australia to Alabama to run for Senate. Her qualifications include writing books on mind control, political treason, natural cancer cures and teen etiquette.
– A few other low-level politicians with absolutely no chance of winning.

(Let’s be clear: Mary didn’t have a chance, either, but she’s worth mentioning because Australia? Really? But hey – we appreciate you sending over a reasonable candidate.)

Shockingly, Mary’s knowledge of mind control did not help her win, and Ol’ Roy took the primaries.

And New Gov (who created this mess) was all like,

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The special election was set: December 12, Ol’ Roy versus Doug Jones, a democrat (which, in the language of  Alabamian, the definition of Democrat is… (n.) – a person whose political beliefs are so heinous that even if his opponent is sleeping with your wife and also a serial killer of the clergy, the Democrat will always be the most sinful choice.)

(This definition, by the way, is how we ended up with Republicans like Grandpa Gov who say and do whatever they want, because Alabama is like that parent that doesn’t offer any actual consequences for disobedience, but then is flummoxed when their four-year-old acts like a raging demon.)

…And then things got weird.

On November 9, The Washington Post broke the story that also broke the dam.

When Ol’ Roy was the not-so-fresh age of 32 and the Assistant District Attorney, he allegedly targeted a 14-year-old girl whose parents were divorcing, asked for her phone number, manipulated her into “dating” him, and sexually assaulted her.

Three other women also testified to him pursuing them, dating them, and/or buying them alcohol when they were underage and he was in his 30s.

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Ol’ Roy quickly played his favorite card – The God Card. He denied it all, calling it spiritual warfare and a political witch hunt, pointing out the suspect timing of these things being brought up.

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But as we all know thanks to Bill Clinton, if you deny it and you’re an actual dirty dirty dirtbag, more women will come forward.

(Also learned from Bill: It still may not mean your career is over.)

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What followed was another accuser, who said that he violently assaulted her as a teenager after offering to give her a ride home from the restaurant where she worked. She claimed he threatened her to not tell anyone, and said “You are a child. I am the District Attorney of Etowah County. If you tell anyone about this, no one will believe you.”

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She also had a yearbook that he allegedly signed (which, honestly, is so weird that a 34-year-old man would have signed a waitress’ year book in December that it is in doubt for its authenticity. But it’s almost so random that why would you choose that to forge?), which Ol’ Roy’s lawyer has demanded access to so he can examine the inconsistency of fonts used, and carbon date the ink to the appropriate SNL cast.

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Ol’ Roy denied it, and “didn’t remember” dating teenagers, but conceded that he could have dated teenagers. Whatever happened to morally dubious politicians owning it hard like Alexander Hamilton dropping The Reynolds Pamphlet?

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(It’s pertinent to note here that Ol’ Roy married when he was 38 and his wife was 24.)

In the midst of this election, one of his professors and many of his classmates came out and gave us a disturbing window into Moore’s school days, where one professor had to abandon the Socratic method just to get Ol’ Roy to shut up, and another professor nicknamed him “Fruit Salad” because he was so mixed up and made no sense.

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And THEN, all of Gadsden, his hometown and where all of these teenage incidents allegedly occurred, began offering interviews and telling their stories about how Ol’ Roy would troll the newly-built mall every weekend for teenage girls, harass the young store clerks, was known by every mall employee as a SuperCreep, was placed on a mall watch list for being a complete Ick, and eventually was possibly banned from the mall.

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Even the National Chapter of Dirty Old Men began to be disgusted.

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I totally get why the women who had been assaulted hadn’t come forward. Most of us women have been sexually harassed and/or assaulted at some point, and if we all came forward, the world would dissolve into nothing but women calling out their assaulters.

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But as for the whole city of Gadsden keeping the whole mall thing under wraps, I’m with Cameron…

Then a lady came forward who claimed assault in 1992, the first accuser in the era of Ol’ Roy’s post-marriage days, and even more ladies came forward and said that Ol’ Roy had tried to hit on them, pick them up, and/or assault them when they were teens and he was in his 30s. The numbers of accusers, of corroborators, and of common Gadsden knowledge is quite enough to overcome any doubts due to the timing of this avalanche.

After all this, national Republicans ran from him as fast as they could.

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And Ol’ Roy was all like “Seriously Guys I didn’t do it!”

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All while state republican leaders doubled down and threatened anyone with political murder if anyone dared defy him, run against him, or speak out against him.

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Everyone had to get their opinion in.

Rush Limbaugh excused him by saying “Well, he was a democrat when he did all that, so…”

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And his supporters rallied on Facebook in support of him, while the rest of us wondered in our heads, “How many women would it take for you to take a hot minute and consider whether it could possibly be true that Ol’ Roy’s a hypocrite who has been using you and your values?”

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But the winner of Moore defenders was Jim Zeigler, state auditor, who said,

“Take Joseph and Mary. Mary was a teenager and Joseph was an adult carpenter. They became parents of Jesus. There’s just nothing immoral or illegal here. Maybe just a little bit unusual.”

Jim:

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Me and the rest of Alabama:

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In his analysis, Jim missed:
a) Ol’ Roy’s actions were allegedly nonconsensual. Yeah, that’s illegal.
b) Even if they weren’t nonconsensual (which they were – see point a), age of consent in Alabama is set by the actual Alabama law, not the ages that we guess people were in A.D. 0 when life expectancy was today’s legal drinking age.
c) Mary and Joseph and Jesus and God….I’m not even going to try to explain all that to Jim. But let’s just all agree he got it wronger than Kanye attempting to explain advanced trig, and people like Jim are why Alabamians and Christians and especially Christian Alabamians look like idiots in the national news.

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So that’s the story of this week’s crazy Alabama.

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…And all of this is because Grandpa Gov’s oozy, icky office romance (and the texts that went with it) continue to ripple consequences in moldy, skeezy concentric circles.

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I don’t think that blessing stuck.

A Tale of Two Muses.

I tend to be a dichotomous person. I sometimes exhibit characteristics that seem diametrically opposed, such as having purple hair and being a homeschool mom. And writing extensively on the internet but never mentioning politics (in a serious manner, anyway.)

Opposites make me extraordinarily balanced. Right?

Because of that extreme personality balance, I take photos of sunsets and seek out the most beautiful vistas, and I take photos of roadkill (after giving them props of course, because roadkill-only pictures would just be downright lazy.)

I appreciate the beauty in both – the most lovely of scenery and the most deranged of humor.

And this year, you, too, can remember whichever one you want – all year long. Because I have them BOTH available in calendar form.

Calendar 2018 Choices[4]

It’s kind of like a personality test. Which calendar brings you happiness? A reminder that the beauties of fall will come again,

2018 Calendar October161114c-Playing-by-the-River[15]

or inspiring quotes to remind you that New Year’s Resolutions will kill you?

Calendar January 2018 web[10]
Which do want to gaze listlessly at during a stressful work day? A glittering view of Birmingham during ice skating and the holidays,

2018 Calendar December161202-Ice-Skating-at-Railroad-Park[13]

or a possum reminding you that the right oils can cure anything?

Calendar November 2018 web[9]

Do you need more poetic views in your life,

2018 Calendar April170602 Sunset at Railroad Park _MG_9334 s[16]

Or an uptick in poetic mice?

Calendar February 2018 web[9]

Both calendars support great causes – 100% of the profits of the Roadkill calendars are donated to The WellHouse (who rescues and cares for victims of human trafficking), and all of the profits of the Birmingham calendar are split between The WellHouse and Mission Birmingham (who works with local businesses and government to support the transformation of Birmingham and caring for its resident’s needs.)

So whether you find your most joyful place from Cahaba Lilies in a rushing river,

2018 Calendar May170429 Cahaba Lily_MG_8544_2405[16]

or from a chipmunk reimagined as a massive terror,

Calendar October 2018 web[8]

you will be helping others.

They’re both five dollars off through the end of the week, and either are perfect for wedding presents, Dirty Santa gifts, and baby showers. Or even in lieu of flowers at funerals, depending on the personality of the deceased. Or maybe not funerals.