So How Did I get Here from There?

I'm Dreaming of an Escape

2007-02-26T19:19:00.000-08:00

Funny thing happened this month.

Background - L&M's grandies are making their First Holy Communion this year. In preparation, I guess they have to go to confession. So their parents invited us to go to Church and witness this milestone in their lives. Their paternal grandmother, a woman I adore and wish I could hang with, came along, too.

Plot - we get to the church and as we usually do, the other granny (whom I'll call Dearie, because she is) and I sat together in a pew in back of the kids and grandies. L&M sat with us, too, but he doesn't pay attention much...so she and I usually sit together and giggle.

Well, I guess confession has changed a lot since we were young. I'm not Catholic and never will be, thank you very much, so I don't know this firsthand. But I guess there was some sort of God Box you had to go into and there was a screen and you told the priest your sins, yatta yatta...he exhorted you to say five Hail Marys and put money in the collection box, or something, and all your sins were forgiven. Or so, that's the way it looked to me from watching movies. As I said, no firsthand knowledge of this sort of thing. We Methodists love to hang onto our guilt and feel rotten about ourselves, so there's no really good purpose in unloading it to anyone else, now, is there??? No. I didn't think so.

I digress.

Nowadays, you go up to the front of the church for confession and face the priest and tell him what a rotten sinner you are. No kidding, they sit on two chairs, in plain view, at the front of the church!!! Talk about intimidating!! Not only do you have to look the priest in the eye, but you get to do it in front of the congregation!

Okay, so I'm thinking "Geez, what does a seven-year-old have to confess?" But there must have been SOMEthing because they all trooped up there and did it, one by one. L&M's granddaughter took the longest of all fifty kids making their communions this year. When she was done, the priest raised his hand to bless her and tell her to go forth and sin no more (as IF!), and as he's raising his hand, she gave him a high-five! That kid cracks me up. Not only does that particular seven-year-old have something to confess, she has more of it than any other kid in the place, and then congratulates the priest on sitting through it all.

I'm so proud...

Anyway...as we're sitting there, Dearie and I start to chatting, as always. And since they opened confession up to parents as well as the kids, it was taking a long time. Which is not good for us, because we can get into a lot of trouble, left to our own devices.

So I say to Dearie "Are you going up for confession?" She gives me an aghast look, and says "Hell, no! Are you?"

"I can't, I'm not Catholic..." I say, feigning a look of disappointment.

Dearie says "So what would you confess, if you were Catholic?"

I say "Probably that I keep wishing that my husband would run away with another woman!"

The giggles start...

And I say, amid my swallowed chortles "What would you confess, Dearie?"

And she says "Hell, that sometimes I wish I would run away with another woman!"

That was it. We were giggling so hard now that the pious parents were turning around and looking at us. L&M's kids were staring at us. L&M, bless his heart, was oblivious...and we just kept giggling so hard, the tears were running down our faces.

Ahhhhhh....good times. Who says you can't have fun in church????

Breif Ramblings...

2007-01-28T11:12:00.000-08:00

Saw the movie "The Pursuit of Happyness" last night. LONG time to get to the end. But inspiring. I shed a tear or two when Will Smith got the job. I'm afraid I'm a bit of a softie...

L&M is heading out to Indy tomorrow. He will be inspecting nursing homes. He will not be blowing up the Colts' practice dome with them in it, in direct rebuttal of my pleadings. Darn it...

Nephew #1 and his wife are expecting! I am so happy for them. This baby is indeed a miracle and proof that they do happen. So all my pals out there, needing miracles...keep the faith.

It finally turned to winter here in New England. Cold as a witch's kiss the last couple of days (and nights!) Woke up Saturday morning to the pipes almost-frozen in the upstairs bath. I really need to insulate that pipe chase on the north side of the house, where the upstairs bath pipes run in close quarters with a century-old cast iron soil pipe. The downstairs bath was, surprisingly, okay, despite it being built atop a crawl space with fieldstone foundation walls on the north side of the house. See? Miracles do happen!

L&M got a GPS for a combination birthday/Christmas present from his kids. True to my cautions to them, he can't operate it without calling me long distance from exotic places like Newport, Pennsylvania or Hyannis, Massachusetts. He tried it out early in January, when we were on vacation. We were in Maryland. He wanted to find BJ's (a couple of miles away) so I set up the address for him. He got there in ten minutes. Then he couldn't get it to take him back home. Twenty-four phone calls, and six and a half hours later, he got back. Missed three quarters of the San Diego game, too. Silly man...

Not much else is new. I actually left the house twice this week, a new record for the past 18 months!!!

Boy, do I know how to live, or what?

A New Wind For Massachusetts?

2007-01-04T04:11:00.000-08:00

(WARNING - this is a political essay from a truly non-political person, with no knowledge and only opinions. Read at your own risk!)

Well, well, well...

The will of the people will play itself out today as Governor-elect Deval Patrick is inaugurated.

All of those slick 'Yes We Can' campaign promises will be put to the test.

Can he do it?

Can he get anything done with the most stubborn, recalcitrant and destructive State Legislature in the country???

I have my doubts.

First of all, everything promised during the Patrick campaign has been tried before. By Republicans. With no success. Because the legislature would rather see the Commonwealth, my beloved Commonwealth, go down in flames than give an inch.

Second of all, he's already stated in a pre-inaugural speech last evening, to the citizens who elected him (which wouldn't be me) that the populace (paraphrased) should be patient because all the quick fixes he promised may take some time. He says he wants to build long-term fixes. People need to be patient. He's looked at the lay of the land and now, NOW, on the eve of his inauguration, he's already backpeddling.

Sounds to me like he's trying to set himself up for his NEXT run at Governor...'ya gotta give me more time, foks. Let me finish what I started!' Unless, of course, he secretly intends to be a one-term Gov, using the Massachusetts Executive Office as a launchpad for his Presidential hopes. There seems to be a lot of that going on. Not that Massachusetts politicians are all that successful at running for President...with the exception of JFK, who happened to be in the right place at the right time. But when you look at our other offerings - Dukakis, Kerry - in recent years, well, we should just about forget about getting a Massachusetts elected official into the Oval Office! We're far better at electing Senators who warm the seat for 40 years without accomplishing a single constructive thing except for authoritative finger-pointing... I think we should just give up our hopes of every having another Massachusetts-born President. (Sorry, Kal...but you really want to be Governor, anyway. You never said you wished to be President.)

Although, that does speak well for Mr. Patrick's chances...he is originally from Chicago.

I congratulate Mr. Patrick on winning the election. The tasks he faces with the representative core of our legislature is not an easy one. He has my sympathies, actually. The man hasn't even been sworn in yet, and the Legislature is already drawing its line in the sand. He's an affable guy, and seems sincere (although a little idealistic - but I'm a curmudgeon and you cannot take my view as reality, just MY reality). He speaks of being well-intended, and I hope that THAT is sincere and not just the stuff politicians avow when seeking election. I feel that he really does think he can be a positive force for Massachusetts, and I truly hope that he is.

I truly hope he can accomplish something for our fair Commonwealth, my beloved Massachusetts, as it lays dying from a sucking chest wound.

I'll have to wait and see. Truly, the proof is in the pudding. So far, we just have some milk curdling and a few eggs cracked. Maybe he can whip up something truly beautiful and tasty for Massachusetts that will have long-term, positive effects on the citizens whose lifeblood has been sucked dry for the vampirish needs of government...

I am talking about those common folk who work hard every day and diligently pay their taxes and do with less and less all the time, while more and more is given away.

I'm talking about the elderly, who have been in their homes for 50 years and face losing them to outrageous property taxes, while a new, rosy-colored-glass-wearing Governor-elect talks about giving illegal aliens free college tuition. Seems to me the elderly paid for their kids' tuition already. And now they could lose their homes to give an opportunity to educate folks who don't even think enough of this country to become legal citizens. What's up with that???

I'm talking about people whose homes have burned down because, even though there was a fire station two-tenths of a mile from their blazing homestead, there were local budget cuts that hit public safety expenses as a first course of action, and there were no firemen to man that station so that first response came from five miles, or another town, away.

THESE are the folks I need to see protected, supported, and nurtured.

Here's what I want to see Mr. Patick accomplish:

I want to see jobs coming back into this Commonwealth so that our young talent doesn't take off for California or wherever young talent goes nowadays.

I need to see some security for the elderly and their homes. If someone has been a loyal resident for 30 years, I think their real estate taxes should freeze at that level, as long as they are in their homes and do not take in scads of young family to drain the local treasury. This is probably self-serving, as I struggle on a fixed income to maintain the only home I've known for 35 years, and watch my real estate taxes (which were $900 a year in 1971, when I arrived in this home, and are now close to $4000 a year) continue to rise. But when you think about it, I'm just one person in this situation and have probably 20 more years coming to me, 20 more years of seeing my taxes rise and facing the loss of my home. Is that fair to any of us????

And I'd really really like to see some sort of supertax penalty imposed upon corporations that move their businesses to third-world countries to improve their profit-rape and bolster their stockholders' coffers. Yes, Texas Instruments, I'm talking about you. Better profits for you, and 20,000 Massachusetts jobs lost as you moved your industry to Mexico, Malaysia, and China (so they could steal your patents. Stupids!!!)

I need to see some improvement in the tax structure that takes more money from those who MAKE all the money, instead of giving them all the breaks so that the tired, hardworking common guy isn't supporting EVERYTHING that the Commonwealth, and its poorest citizenry, need, on his already-breaking back.

I truly hope Mr. Patrick can get all of his programs established, except that free tuition for illegal aliens thing. My son went to a flagship state school. He chose to go there. He was accepted at several high-caliber engineering schools throughout the country. But he chose our flagship state school (and a great choice it was, as one of its professors recently won a Nobel Prize. And he's not the first!) We, HE paid for his eduation. One line of my family came over on the Mayflower, so we've been here awhile. Yet despite a full-year scholarship, my son is still paying off student loans ten years later! The thought that he could have gotten that same education, for free, had I snuck him across some border, really boils my blood. It seems to be that connotation of "illegal" alien is just that - ILLEGAL! So we're rewarding illegal action with free education??? I don't get it. If people want, choose, to stay here and avail themselves of the opportunities this country provides, I'm all for it. But how hard is it to become a LEGAL alien?? Or a legal citizen, for that matter? They pay income taxes, anyway...why not just make themselves legitimate?

With the results of this election, I truly do hope that a fresh new wind has blown into Boston, upon the arrival of our first African American Governor (and only the second in the history of the nation). I frankly don't care if he's green with purple spots, his color means nothing to me. It's his actions and attitudes upon which he will be judged as our governor. And I will hold him to his "Yes We Can" campaign promises. It's time we held our elected officials accountable for their promises. And let them face voter recall, if they are proven to have blown smoke up our collective butts in order to secure their positions. Everyone else who works for a boss is subject to firing...why not our political officials?? Aren't WE their bosses?? Isn't that what a democratic society is all about???

But in order to accomplish his promised programs and changes, Mr. Patrick will need the skills of a snake-charmer with this bullheaded, pissing-contest legistlature of ours. I hope he can perform miracles ne'er-before seen in political annals with the status-quo "Legislature Supremus" attitude on Beacon Hill. I truly, TRULY, wish this. Because my beloved Massachusetts needs to change its name to "MESSachusetts". They don't call us Massholes for nothing!

But will this happen? I have my doubts.

I have a theory that we should begin electing doctors, instead of lawyers, into Massachusetts governmental positions. After all, they are accustomed to a 'healing' role, and are required to take the Hippocratic Oath on becoming physicians. And I love the opening line of that oath...

"First, do no harm."

Maybe that line should be incorporated as the opening statement of the Oath of Governor. Perhap it would serve as a guiding principal for our Commonwealth's highest office, a signpost to show the way for Government. Perhaps, then and only then, will we truly achieve what needs to be done as Massachusetts lay, dying.

But, honestly??? I have my doubts.

Krismuss Tag, Kourtesy of Kal

2007-01-01T14:36:00.000-08:00

Hey ho! It's ovah for another year! Hallelujah!!

Anyhoo, I got tagged by my Firstborn, and bein' a good sport (contrary to popular opinion, I really am a good sport...and damn hot for a grandmother!!!) here is my tag:

First, the rules:

1. Players start by listing three things he/she got for Christmas.

2. Then they list three things he/she definitely did not want to get for Christmas.

3. Then he/she tags five friends and lists their names.

4. The ones who get tagged write on their blogs about their Christmas wishes, and state the rules clearly.

5. Then tag five more victims. The tagger needs to leave the taggees a comment that says you have been Christmas tagged! and tell them to read the tagger's blog.

Don't expect pictures. You'll have to take my word for it!

1. Three things I got for Christmas

a) My tradtional, homemade Kal-endar. Complete with the usual great photos, funny captions, holidays and birthdays (printed for the wrong day, I think Kal's testing Mommy's mental faculties, here). A new twist added...he put coupons in. Remember I said he used to make me coupon books for gifts, and how I missed them? He must have read that because he gave me coupons in my Kal-endar. And I do love it so...

b) A WONderful blue plate from Europe which he sought out at an auction. It says "Chirstmas at Home" in Norse or Svensk, and it is dated 1971. It's cobalt blue, with a scene of a woman, sitting at the piano, with a little blond baby on her lap as she plays. There's a Christmas tree in the background, and people standing around singing. Remember my Mommygrinch post of early December? It's like he scoured the ends of the Earth to find a gift that would assure me that he hasn't forgotten our early Christmases, either. It was as if this plate were specifically made for me...the scene, exactly as I remember our days. And the date...the little blond baby... Kal was born in 1971. HE is the little blond baby on the woman's lap as she plays for others to sing. I opened it, and sobbed. In fact, just thinking about it, I'm sobbing now... Silly ol' Motherdear.

c) An ornament that has a little snow person on it, and says "Grandma's Little Flakes". And underneath it, three little snowflakes with the names of L&M's three grandbabies on them. Meaningful for me, really meaningful. You see, I am not their grandmother by blood, just by love. And they have never called me Grandma, I have a special name. But this was just so totally moving in that it shows me that grandmothers ARE made of love, not necessarily of blood, and that it is recognized by my stepdaughter and stepson-in-law. I can't tell you how good it makes me feel.

2. Three things I definitely did not want to get for Christmas:

a) Cancer. Again.

b) A call that something was wrong with my Dad or my Mom. (That came AFTER Christmas).

c) A Chia Pet. (I did get a Chia herb garden though...and I dearly love those!)

3. Now, for the tagging of five friends, and listing their names...

a) Bozette
b) Karamia
c) Labbie
d) Callie
e) Dani

I hope you all had a Merry Christmas, and have a wonderful, prosperous, healthy and HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!

ANOTHER 100 Things You Never Knew About Kal...

2006-12-19T08:16:00.000-08:00

...sorry, kid. HAD to do this...

1. He was born ten days late.

2. On the hottest day of the year.

3. And the longest, too.

4. He was 21 inches long when he was born (so you can imagine how tall he was!)

5. My first glimpse of him was blue legs, held up above the drapery.

6. My next glimpse of him was the most beautiful child I'd ever seen.

7. He had white hair at birth...

8. ...and the cutest nose. Thank God he got his nose from his grandmother, and not from his dad or me!

9. They put him in my arms, and I felt such total awe that it still makes my eyes well.

10. He was a perfect baby. Never cried. Always smiling.

11. He was a lousy nurser. Preferred sleeping to eating.

12. He gained four pounds in his first six weeks of life.

13. He rolled over at three days old. (REALLY!)

14. He was walking at 7 months. Nothing was safe after that.

15. He had a tendency toward croup and spent a lot of time in a mist tent we improvised with his windup swing and the vaporizer.

16. He never complained. As sick as he would get, all he would do is smile at you.

17. When he was 11 1/2 months old, the doc gave him a shot while he had a cold. Then the doc went on vacation. Within 24 hours, Kal's temp shot up to 108. He almost died.

18. The shot was the measles innoculation. He is not immune to measles and had to be very careful of it in college.

19. Kal has been one of my two best friends since I was 20. (The second is BG, since I was 23.)

20. He was the first grandchild on mom's side, and was totally adored by all.

21. He was also the first boy born in our family in 20 years.

22. He was very close to my mother and dad, who were excellent grandparents in his youth.

23. He loved to talk.

24. When he was 9 months old, he was standing on the couch, 'expounding'. Which basically means just plan jabbering in an authoritative manner. Satan's right-hand gal was over and said "Kal is going to be a politician!" in that voice which shattered glass and only dogs could hear when she was mad. I scoffed, said "Kal is NOT going to be a politician."

25. Damned if she wasn't right. Kal is a politician. (Must have been her deep connection with Satan which allowed her to determine his future...)

26. He was smart, but not the best student. Too interested in other things than to do homework.

27. He turned that around in college, and graduated Magna Cum Laude.

28. His football career was ended by a back injury. Silly Mommy wouldn't let him play through it (mostly because he couldn't walk and the doc said not to play through it.) It's my fault he didn't play for the Pats.

29. He is determined. He decided he was going to date a certain girl who wouldn't give him the time of day, and he ended up wooing her with his charm, wit, and losing a few pounds.

30. He ended up marrying her.

31. They were engaged at Christmastime in their sophomore year of college. They were 19.

32. Kal got his first political job with a senate candidate as a freshman in college by taking the initiative and faxing an article to the candidate's headquarters with a comment something like "Target voters???" The candidate found out who he was, called the house, and offered him a job as head of opposition research.

33. Kal was too honest to spy. He outed himself at the opponent's press conference.

34. The candidate lost the election, but not a friend.

35. Kal sings beautifully. No matter WHAT he says.

36. He sings at work. He's been stopped in the hallway by admiring fans.

37. I knew something was up when Kal and Wifey were visiting the Cape with L&M and I, and we went shell-combing on the shore. A special glance, a sweet touch...and I looked at them and knew I was going to be a grandmother.

38. Kal is the best dad I've ever seen, short of my own.

39. He is also the funniest dad I've ever seen, short of my own.

40. He is unafraid to show his feelings to those he loves. Even if they're not pleasant feelings.

41. But he never intentionally hurts anyone.

42. Kal harbors guilt better than anyone I know.

43. Which is ironic, for he is guilty of nothing.

44. Kal has been making me homemade cards since he was a kid, and continues to do it because they crack me up and I love them.

45. Every Christmas, Kal used to give me coupon books of things he could do for me, in lieu of a present. I wish he'd bring that back into vogue!!

46. Kal collected baseball and football cards. I have boxes of about 89,997 of them in the barn, waiting for him to come and get them.

47. He makes me a calendar every year, with photos of the family and funny holidays and expressions...

48. Kal wrote his first book in junior high school.

49. Kal would love to be a professional writer. I wish he would start. He's good enough to write professionally.

50. Kal used to do stand-up comedy in the lunchroom on Fridays.

51. He had a large audience base.

52. The show wasn't over until someone laughed so hard that milk came out his nose.

53. Every Friday, milk came out of someone's nose.

54. Kal and BG STILL go back-to-back to see who's taller whenever we get together.

55. Kal is still a tad taller.

56. Kal still has platinum blond hair.

57. His beard is red. (Thank your dad for that one, son.)

58. Kal's IQ was 142 when he was in fourth grade.

59. It's probably higher than that now. He did, after all, get into Harvard. (Oh, yeah, he didn't go. Gave up a scholarship and two years' job security. May I amend his IQ??? DUH!)

60. Kal is very artistic. He admits to playing guitar badly, but could do well if he practiced.

61. He doesn't mention the fact that he draws quite well.

62. And is surprisingly handy for a brainiac politician wordsmith. He renovated his first house's kitchen.

63. AND built The Boy's bed, which is a neat bunkbed thingie with a desk underneath, or space for it, or something...

64. He also likes to re-wire things. He's re-wired two lights for me. They actually work.

65. Kal can kill a car in 35 months or less.

66. He killed two of mine.

67. Kal, like his father before him, has never heard of 'preventive maintenance' on a car.

68. Kal had chickenpox three times.

69. The third time, he gave them to his brother.

70. Despite his protestations otherwise, Kal loves Rastacat.

71. Despite his protestations otherwise, Kal loves his family.

72. Kal's daughter is just like him.

73. Kal is just like me. Poor guy.

74. Kal is active in his community.

75. Kal ran for school committee once.

76. He didn't win. But he was going against a long-termer who was running one last time.

77. He did come in second, though. And there was a full field running for the seat.

78. Kal dreams of being governor one day.

79. Kal has held other town offices and served on a few boards.

80. Kal would have been my third child. Twin sisters before him, and two sisters between him and BG, died in utero.

81. Kal is named for his grandfather (my dad) and his dad.

82. Kal was sued once, at the age of six months old.

83. Kal is much admired by his brother.

84. Kal much admires his brother.

85. Kal gives the BEST hugs.

86. In the spirit of the true politician, Kal can tell you to go to hell in such a way that you look forward to the trip.

87. Kal did not get his political and diplomatic skills from his mother or his father.

88. Kal was elected to the Junior State Senate while in high school.

89. He won an award for Best Speaker.

90. He also won an award at graduation for Social Studies, in recognition of his avid interest in the subject.

91. He took every course offered in the discipline.

92. Kal and Wifey are wonderful hosts.

93. He has the most interesting recipe for French Toast.

94. Kal cannot be beat at Trivial Pursuit.

95. Kal makes friends for life. He is selective about his friends, but once friends, they're friends for life.

96. Kal's friend Diane died suddenly two years ago, and he still feels it.

97. He covers up his deepest feelings with a veneer of curmudgeonry.

98. Kal once caught a baby rattlesnake.

99. Kal saw our ghosts when he was little. He trained himself not to when he got bigger.

100. Kal is my son, in whom I am well pleased.

November went by so quick, we're already into Christmas

2006-12-12T05:36:00.000-08:00

..which is NOT my favorite holiday. I'm Ebenezer Scrooge's female incarnation, I'm afraid.

Why??? Because I married Ebenezer. I used to love holidays. Christmases at our old Victorian were wonderful affairs. My Precious and her husband would come over with their two boys, and it was wall-to-wall presents. My folks, who had moved to Tennesse in 1978 when the kids were little, would come up for the holiday. We had a blast. Christmas was family. Toys. Food. Celebration. Me playing Christmas Carols on the pianny and everyone else singing at the top of their lungs.

Then, The Mom and Daddy moved to Florida. My Precious divorced her kids' daddy and moved to Maryland with my two precious nephews. I divorced The Dad and married The Psycho Ex from Hell. And my entire family divorced me.

After five years with Psycho Ex, I set him free to torture someone else. The boys were happy. L&M came into the scene. Kal got married. BG was off to college, but home for Christmases. L&M's family started inviting BG and I to Christmas the second year L&M and I were going out. We became family again.

But it wasn't exactly my family. We were glomming onto L&M's family. And grateful that someone wanted us. Because Kal's definition of any holiday is to spend every single one of them with Wifeypooh's family. Every. Single. One.

I have not seen my older son on a holiday in 13 years. True, they 'get together' with us one Saturday before Christmas (one year it was on December 6th because they were busy all the other weekends, between their church obligations and Wifeypooh's family obligations.

I put up with it, let it happen, because I wasn't going to be a mother-in-law like The Dad's mother was a mother-in-law. When she died, she took her rightful place at the right hand of Satan. Bless her wicked, evil soul.

Meanwhile, my parents go from Florida to Maryland every year for six weeks so they can spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with My Precious. I miss them. All of them.

I miss my son. God bless BG, he makes sure Mommy doesn't get forgotten on holidays. He goes to L&M's family and loves them like his own. He spends Christmas Eve with us. One year, He and L&M and I went to a movie, and out to eat at Applebee's, on Christmas Eve. And he stayed over. Last year, we went to his house and spent Christmas Eve watching movies and chomping on some good food. He is a good son, and he knows that Christmas is one of those times that we have to hide all the sharp implements from Mommy so she doesn't end it all.

I hate the holidays. I know that when BG gets married, he will do the right thing and make sure that there's equal time for his mom. He won't become absorbed into his wife's family so deeply that I will cease to ever see him on a holiday.

Because like it or not, 'some Saturday before Christmas', even with the good food and the kids and presents, is NOT the same as having a holiday with your kid.

Bitter??? Yeah. I'm bitter. More and more as time goes on.

Angry??? Yeah. At myself for letting this happen and now not knowing one single way to stop it because it's their form of tradition. Trying to be fair an not 'make waves' will come back and bite you in the ass if no one on the other side is interested in anything other than getting whatever they want, whenever they want it.

Sad??? Yeah. I'm sad that I mean so little to my son that he won't stand up to The Powers That Be and say "Okay, time for a little 'equality' and spending time with MY family ON a holiday.

It ain't going to happen. I know that. He has to do what he has to do to make his life peaceful.

But you wonder how important you are to your own kid when there isn't one picture of his mother and his brother anywhere in their house. Especially when there are pictures of his wife's family prominently displayed on the mantle.

Can you see why I hate Christmas? I can't do enough to make it nice for BG, my one remaining hope of feeling 'family - my own' on Christmas. We've even stopped exchanging presents on Christmas. He's too generous and spends far too much on me, and I love him for it but feel guilty as hell. I live on a fixed income and have to provide gifts for Kal's group of four, and L&M's group of ten. And I send something nominal to The Mom and Daddy (usually late...but hey, I never told them to move to Heaven's Waiting Room. I don't get out much, especially to shop or mail gifts.)

Bah. Humbug. I hate Christmas.

I don't want, and don't need, any presents. Gift embarrass me. And make me feel guilty.

I just want some of their time. I just want to feel remembered in some way. I just want to go to L&M's family's house for a command-performance celebration without feeling the resentment from Sis-In-Law that she put out so much effort for us (even though she insists we go there and also demands that no one help her while we're there. Some martyr complex on that one!)

Is that too much to ask??

I guess it is. Everything changes. Everything. I need to give up the hope that someday before I die, there will be one last Christmas like we used to have, with my kids around me, and our kinds of food, and maybe a cobweb party, singing carols at the piano, and everyone bunking in so the tree is the last thing we see at night and the first thing we see in the morning, with wall-to-wall presents, just like in those wonderful old days when I had a family, nearby, who loved me.

I guess that's gone forever. Time to readjust the expectations, I guess.

Sorry to be a downer. Someday, it would not surprise me to become one of those Christmas statistics. I've come to loathe it so.

By the way, I've been reading your blogs. I just can't comment because most of you have changed over to some Beta thingie that won't let me comment without some sort of interaction with my anti-spam thingie. But I'm keeping up with you. All of you.

And I wish you all a Merry Christmas!

October's Post-Mortem

2006-11-05T05:50:00.000-08:00

October was spent in a frenzy.

We had an apartment that had laid empty for five months. Well, that is to say, L&M and his illustrious Li'l Bro, Unky R, had an apartment that had laid empty for five months...

Reason? Unky R wanted too much money for the damned thing. He chased out the last tenant with rent increases. He wasn't getting anywhere with the present asking price.

L&M and I convinced him, after four months, that with the competition of over 100 apartments in the paper, if he ever wished to return this particular unit into a revenue-generating prospect, perhaps he should lower his sights...

So convinced, he relented and I was finaly able to tell prospective tenants that it was now affordable.

I do all the screening, the inquiries, the showing. Unky R's wife, Sister Cranky, wants nothing to do with the apartment bizniss. I blame her not at all...I don't want anything to do with it, either.

However, Unky R and L&M seem to have a different opinion of what I want, and as is always the case, they are right and I am wrong. So I am into it, up to my neck.

I hate it. In case I haven't said that about the landlord bizniss before, trust me. It's the frickin' truth. I hate it. I was in the landlord biz years ago with The Dad and The Rents. And my nervous breakdown at the tender age of 22 over landlording convinced them that this was not The Biz for Motherdear. So we dumped it. Too. Damn. Much. Aggravation.

In the case of landlording with L&M and Unky R, you can add Too. Damn. Much. Work.

Long story short, I managed to rent the place. But it needed cleaning and painting. (The guys had a busy summer and neither one had the time or inclination to get the apartment tenant-ready.) So we faced Crunch Time.

Crunch Time came down to four weekends, nine hour days, of cleaning, and painting, and cleaning, and painting, and having carpets cleaned, and cleaning.

I did most of the cleaning while Unky R painted. I also painted woodwork. LOTs of woodwork. Unky R did the walls. L&M painted, too - the floors, the ceiling, the windows.

I mean the floors with carpet and Pergo. No paint was supposed to be there. L&M manages to get paint on every place it shouldn't go, and haphazardly puts it where it is supposed to go. He's paint-challenged.

The ceiling was painted white. Unfortunately, L&M was edging the walls when he started painting the ceiling...and the walls were beige. Did I manage that L&M is paint-challenged??? Ask BG, who had to replace carpets because L&M 'helped' when BG bought his townhouse three years ago...he'll back me up on this one.

So, needless to say, we had to touch up the ceilings after L&M was done 'helping'.

The windows...well, when I say he painted the windows, I mean he painted the glass. Lovely touch, but bad for light and vision...

Thank God for razor blades. After I was done scraping the windows, I tried to use them on my wrists. The guys stopped me (and they really had no choice, curse them. Had they let me finish the job, they would have had to do the cleaning themselves.)

In addition to the four weekend, nine hour days, I spent two days over there myself, alone, painting and cleaning, in the middle of two weeks. Two, long, nine-hour days with enough bleach fumes to put me into respiratory distress. For company, I had a radio that only played talk shows. I hate talk shows. They drive me buggy. I didn't even have a phone to call up the talk show and say "How many idiots does it take to make a decent talk show??? Can you find a few of them and start them up?"

It took me three hours to clean the tub and shower. Another four hours to clean the stove. An hour for the range hood. I scraped three years worth of urine and feces off the sides of the toilet and the back wall behind it. And how do people get pubies on a bathroom wall???

I kept saying "Pigs, pigs, pigs, pigs, PIGS!!!" over and over as I cleaned. L&M was getting pissed at me (probably because he knew I was right and he was feeling guilty about dragging me into this). But tough on him. I HAVE to clean it. When tenants get the keys to one of 'my' apartments, they get the rental in immaculate condition. That way, they can't leave it crappy and say it's 'normal wear and tear' and because I take pictures of every nook and cranny, I have finally convinced Unky R that I am entitled to have the guys keep money from the security deposit to have a professional cleaning service come in and clean up after the Pigs leave.

'Cuz homie ain't spending three hours cleaning someone else's filthy tub (and four days immobilized after the project!) any more. If I'm gonna cripple myself over a Pig bathroom, it'll be my own Pig bathroom, not cleaning up after anyone who's lived in their house and never wiped down a shower wall for three years!

Plus, tenants seem to steal. Theirs do, anyway...this one stole all the bins in the refrigerator. Easier to pack the fridge up to move, I guess... And now I'm trying to find replacement bins because the new tenants moved in on October 30th and they have their fridge stuff in shoeboxes in the space where the bins should be.

And of course, Whirlpool is telling me that there are no such things as refrigerator bins. I have to go to Best Buy and find a Whirlpool fridge that has the same kind of bins in the door because then I can give them a model number that they can cross reference.

Apparently the bins were an 'option' that the dealer put in, and didn't really go with this fridge. Know how old the fridge is??? Four years old. And Whirlpool already has moved on and doesn't admit this fridge ever existed.

Geesh...as if the cleaning wasn't bad enough!! I need this like a hole in my pointy little head!

In addition to my duties as rental agent, painter, and cleaner, I get to do the condition walkthroughs, take all the pictures, draw up and get the leases signed, and send out the final conditions statements after a final walkthrough when the tenant leaves. All of which is time-consuming and frustrating when you're fielding 100 phone calls and running credit checks on 20 potential tenants whenever a vacancy occurs.

I have to say, Unky R was quite impressed with the work that I did on this one. He offered to double my salary.

Of course, 2 x $0 = $0. CUTE!!!

There's no 'WIN' in my world.

But there seems to be a surplus of 'WhINe'!!!

Thanks for listening. I needed that!

Quickie

2006-10-07T04:07:00.000-07:00

Hey, dudes!!!

I'm here...it was a rough September. Spent most of it writhing in pain. October doesn't threaten to be much better. Change of seasons usually gives me a little 'hell time'.

What's new??? Not much on my end. I've become addicted to court shows on TV. Isn't that pathetic???

L&M is still struggling through his huge project.

So am I...

Haven't seen anyone in awhile. Kal and Fam, on September 9th. BG three weeks ago when he came over to change burned-out spotlights on the barn. Two Sundays at Bro-in-Law's, watching the Pats game on his big screen, in which I left the room after halftime because I can't find a comfortable seat there. (His couches are too soft. And the seat is too long. My legs stick straight out like I'm a four-year-old, sitting in my Daddy's chair!) The Pats managed to win those first two games. But not easily. The third game, they lost but it was a late game, so L&M and I watched it at home. Then, last Sunday, I stayed home (Back was too icky to try and risk the marshmallow furniture) and L&M went to Bro-in-Law's. The Pats won handily.

So now I've found the 2006 Magic Juju. He goes there, I stay home. Pats win. Big.

Had a colonoscopy on Thursday. Piece of cake. Never be afraid of it - the worst part is the prep. They removed four polyps to send to pathology, but Doc says they look quite benign, so I'm not worried. I have to go back in three years for another one (family history is rampant with colon cancer, so it's just a precaution.) If that one's okay, then I can go again five years after that.

Good thing about the prep - I lost six pounds. MD is getting skinny...

Okay. That's enough. L&M is up now, so I have to feed him and type at his computer.

Have a great weekend, everyone!!!!

Ludwig John Picarro

2006-09-10T07:44:00.000-07:00

Seldom is one blessed enough to meet an individual for an hour and remember that person for the rest of his life.

Lud Picarro was that kind of person. You met him, and his kindness, good humor and integrity so impressed you that you knew he was someone you'd never forget.

The fact that Lud died on September 11th in Tower Two is ironic. He didn't work there. He was employed across the street, at One Liberty Plaza, as Senior Vice President of Diversified Products for Zurich American Insurance. He had worked for The Zurich for 17 years. He just happened to be at a meeting with Aon, a premier insurance brokerage firm, on that fateful Tuesday morning when the plane hit Tower Two. Aon leased nine floors in that Tower and itself lost over five hundred employees in the disaster.

But our story is about Lud.

L&M worked for Aon until a fateful downsizing in April of 2001. His many friends and contacts in the insurance industry provided leads for other jobs, and one of them was an Underwriting position with the Zurich.

As the final part of the interview process, he had a meeting with Senior VP Lud Picarro. That is where L&M met this wonderful man. They interviewed for an hour or so, and when L&M returned home, he handed Lud's business card to me and said "Put this with my file. I doubt that I will get the job. But I've just met a good man and want to keep this."

L&M went on to describe Lud - "he's a big guy, must have played football or something in school. We talked about the job and then when he was done, asked about my family, talked about his. I've never felt so comfortable in an interview. The man is terrific. Just terrific."

Every so often in the following week, L&M would just smile. When I asked him what he was thinking about, he'd say "Lud Picarro is just such a good man."

L&M is not easily impressed with people. His ultimate compliment is that someone is a 'good man' or a 'good lady'. If I hear him say those words of someone, I know the person of whom he speaks is someone in line with L&M's own wonderful characteristics of extreme integrity and caring for others, for family-centeredness, for fairness, humility, and justice. Those are his core values and the criteria from which another can earn the designation of being a 'good man' or a 'good lady'. In most cases, the persons to whom L&M ascribes his ultimate compliment also have the gift of humor. L&M does not laugh easily or often. But those who can make him laugh deserve the title of 'good man' or 'good lady'. Hardworking, honest, caring, humble, honorable, and humorous - that's all you need to be added to the list.

No wonder few are so delegated, is it not? I myself have not made that list.

So I knew Lud Picarro was a gem, a 'keeper', and I filed his business card away in the 'Special' section of the Rolodex where I keep the 'good men' and 'good ladies'. The space reserved for special people. It's a very small section in the Rolodex, but one that is honored.

Anyway, as it turns out, L&M would have a second contact with Lud when he called L&M a few weeks later to say that they had gone with another candidate for the job. L&M was not offended. After all, he had no experience in Underwriting, although it was learnable. Lud seemed genuinely sorry that he did not award the position to L&M, but L&M knew he was just a good man doing the right thing for his company and applauded the integrity that he used to make tough decisions. They bid each other well, and said goodbye.

Again, L&M smiled for a week. Something about Lud just drew out the smiles in L&M. I bless him for that. L&M seldom is given an opportunity to smile.

As luck would have it, L&M did get another job in August, 2001, with a rival insurance company, and was on his very first onsite assignment on September 11th. It took us hours to reach him by phone to tell him that the Towers had been hit, his daughter finally getting through before I could. L&M was on the phone with me as I sobbed hsyterically, standing in front of the TV and watching Tower Two fall. He knew what it meant for his former employer. Neither of us knew until I read the message boards the next day that Lud was in Aon's space when that Tower fell, and what it would mean for the rest of our lives.

The look on his face when I told him about Lud is one I will never forget. He went pale. He looked like a mule had kicked him in the stomach. Even now, five years later, the fall of the Twin Towers is synonymous with "The Day We Lost A Good Man" - Lud Picarro.

So we choose to memorialize Lud not for the way he died, but for the way he lived for the forty-four years he graced this planet. I remember the messages left on the memorial message boards, those of family and friends, who mention his fierce love for and devotion to his beloved wife Susan (his ninth-grade sweetheart) and his two sons, Andrew and Matthew. Andrew was 15 and Matthew, nine, when their dad died. Lud was a dad who loved sports and had played football in high school (L&M was right!), made All-State Honors for High School Football in his native Pennsylvania in 1974 and earned a football scholarship to college. Lud was a dad who took his boys to professional games, and attended every one of their own games. Andrew is a football player, Matthew favors baseball. Lud scheduled his business meetings to always be home in Basking Ridge, New Jersey, whenever his boys had a game. And he'd be there, cheering them on, proud dad of two wonderful sons.

We choose also to remember the many references to this man's senses of humor and integrity. Those references came as no surprise to us, given L&M's brief-but-memorable acquaintance with Lud. Those special gifts, he shared openly with the world.

It causes me to wonder - if one job interview and one telephone call could create such lasting memories, how full are the memories of those who knew Lud in his every day life for a week, a year, a lifetime?

I have a sense that if Lud were reading those memorial posts, or even this one, it would come as quite a surprise to him that he left such an impact on so many people. Humility was another trait that he displayed in that brief encounter with L&M on a job interview. I can almost picture him, embarrassed by the accolades but honored by the awe. And not understanding most of it, because Lud just lived his values, and that's what good men do.

Some things, you just can't hide. "Goodness" is one of them. Lud was, and is still, a 'good man'.

I think his life was summed up best in a memorial post by friend Joseph Bertone -

"Always remembered...ever, alive."

It's ALIVE!!!

2006-09-08T16:05:00.000-07:00

Remember that old Frankenstein movie, where the doctor screams that line when his jolt of lightning enervates the monster into life? I love that line. I say it every morning when I look into the mirror after getting out of bed.

Been a weird, short week.

Monday - Labor Day. BBQ at brother-in-law's again. Had to watch the big screen TV, of course, and eat the obligatory fattening foods. What was on the TV? Sports. What else. Baseball. Then golf. For an added treat, we got to watch an Elvis DVD that L&M's seven year old grandson brought. It was a concert DVD, not even one of his very bad movies.

Let me just add that I'm not an Elvis fan.

It concerns L&M and I that said grandson is obsessive-compulsive about Elvis. He named his kitten Elvis, and has changed his career aspirations from being a clown in the Barnum and Bailey circus to being an Elvis impersonator when he grows up. I'm serious. Every time we see him, he dresses in his Elvis suit, complete with black wig, bushy sideburns, and sunglasses, and puts on a show.

Question...How many times can you watch an Elvis impersonator? Especially one who is seven years old? Answer...Once is enough. More than enough.

At least when he wanted to be a clown, we could save up for Clown College. Is there an Elvis College??? God help us...I hope not!

Tuesday - discovered that I was throwing up because I hadn't gone to the toidy in about two weeks. If someone tells you I'm full of it, you can believe it. So I downed a bottle of citrate of magnesia and spent the day alternating between giving birth and typing on L&M's computer. Not one of my favorite days in my many years, I'll tell ya!

Wednesday - More typing. Not at my computer, unfortunately. Still interspersed with runs to see my friend John all day.

Thursday - L&M was on the road so I tried to do some housework and then went back to typing. The trips to visit John were down to two. Then, we had to go to a wake. Unfortunately, L&M's aunt died early Tuesday morning, losing an eleven-month-long battle with cancer.

She will be missed. She was a great lady.

Friday - at the funeral home by 8 AM and then to the church and the cemetary. Then a nice lunch at a local restaurant after the funeral. The food was great, but the cause for everyone to get together was not. L&M was deeply saddened at the loss of his aunt. One of the nicest, kindest people you would ever want to meet. Never heard her say an unkind word about anyone, and there were many of whom an unkind word could have been spoken. I repeat, a GREAT lady and the last of that generation.

Which means L&M is now the Senior Citizen, the unofficial head, of his clan. The oldest of all the cousins. The Ancient One.

A sobering thought. My husband is the oldest of anyone bearing his last name.

It was a short week. And with every one that passes, at our ages, they get even shorter!!!

So what did you guys do this week???

Hokey Humor Labor Day

2006-09-04T06:28:00.000-07:00

What do you call a deer with no eyes?
No idea.

What do you call a deer with no eyes and no legs?
Still no idea.

What do you call a deer with no eyes and no legs,
chewing on a razor blade?
Still no bloody idea

What do you call a deer with no feet, legs, torso,
neck, or head?
A hat rack

HA! I kill me!!!!

New meme, thanx to Kal!

2006-08-16T18:06:00.000-07:00

Listening to the Sox lose to Detroit again...I was sitting here nicely minding my own bizniss, playing Mah Jongg, and they were winning. In comes L&M, turns the game on the radio, and the minute I listen, Tubbo gives up a two run homer and puts us behind. I blame my husband and whale-like aging pitchers.

Anyway, thought I'd do this since Kal had the sweetness to tag me!!!

1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet and current street name)

Tramp School

2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME: (grandfather/grandmother on your mom's side, your favorite candy)

Hazel Jordan Almonds

3. YOUR "FLY GIRL/GUY" NAME: (first initial of first name, first two or three letters of your middle name)

S... (I don't have a middle name!)

I'll change that to 'M Dea'

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)

Lavendar Kitty

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)

P'Tucky

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, first 2 letters of mom's maiden name and first 3 letters of the town you grew up in.)

Czesh McNor

7. Terrorist Name: (middle name spelled backwards, your mom's maiden name spelled backwards) -

What's this obsession with middle names??????

8. SUPERHERO NAME: (your favorite color, favorite drink)

Lavendar Sombrero

There, now, for the taggings:

Hmmmm...okay!

Callie, Lowkie, Dani, and how about my pal KaraMia????

Looking forward to your answers, kids!!

Stole This From duff

2006-08-11T06:00:00.000-07:00

Geez...I wasn't going to do this but I figured some of you might enjoy a history lesson. Title it Geeks R Us:

Body: Fill this out about your SENIOR year of high school! The longer ago it was, the more fun the answers will be. (Yeah, sez YOU!)

1. Who was your best friend(s)?
My Precious. Best School Friend - Dale Evans. (Seriously, her parents named her Dale! Isn't that mean?)

2.What sports did u play?
Couch Potato. No athlete, here!)

3. What kind of car did you drive?
1956 Buick Special. True. Mommy's car.

4. It's Friday night, where were you at?:
At home hanging out with The Fam and The Dad (we were engaged in my senior year)

5. Were you a party animal?
HA! You make me laugh. What's a 'party'?

6. Were you a considered a flirt?
Nope. Too shy. And traumatized by the one guy I told I liked him when I was a sophomore, who laughed in my face, walked away with the comment "This is embarassing" and then proceeded to tell the entire art class about it. Who all laughed because they were all football jocks in art class for the easy elective credit. I never talked to a boy in high school after that.

7. Ever skip school?
Once. Rode around in the car with The Dad and passed my mom on her way to work.

8. Were you a nerd?
Abso-tootly.

10. Did you get suspended/expelled?
Are you kidding? Of course not. I valued my life!!! Mom always threatened I wouldn't graduate with my class if I got a 'C'. Can you imagine her thoughts on suspension?

11. Can you sing the fight song?
We didn't have a fight song. We had an 'unconditional surrender' song.

12. Who was your favorite teacher?
Mr. Kelley - German

13. Favorite class?
German

14. What was your school's full name?:
North Attleboro (MA) High School

15. School mascot?
A Red Rocket. Seriously. A rocketship. How cornball!!! Can you imagine dressing up like a red rocket? You'd look like a penis with measles, and without a home. Que pathatique!

16. Did you go to Prom?
Nope. My husband wouldn't take me to either of my proms because he didn't want to be seen hanging around with a bunch of kids. (Say WHAT???)

17. If you could go back and do it over, would you?
Not on your life! Once was enough!

18. What do you remember most about graduation?
I was on my honeymoon, so I wasn't at graduation.

19. Favorite memory of your Senior Year?
Not a one...

20. Were you ever posted up on the senior wall?
We didn't have a Senior Wall. We did have a Senior Bathroom, though, and to the best of my knowledge, I was never on that wall.

21. Did you have a job your senior year?
Receptionist at a sleazebag motel. Then, bookkeeper for a sleazebag Toyota dealership.

23. Where did you go most often for lunch?
The cafeteria, when I actually ate lunch. Usually hung around in the music room.

24. Have you gained weight since then?
4 pounds lighter now than I was when I finished school.

25. What did you do after graduation?
Worked at the car dealership, took care of my husband.

26. When did you graduate?
1969

27. Where are most of your classmates?
Who knows??? Haven't seen any of them since June 6, 1969.

28. Ten year reunion, are you going?
Nope. Didn't hit the tenth. Or the twentieth. Or the thirtieth. Not exactly Miss School Spirit, was I?

29. Who was your home room teacher?
Mr. Sargent. He ws cool.

30. Who will repost this after you?
Nobody, I'm assuming. My friend are all leery of memes now!

PAINT!!!

2006-08-01T11:50:00.000-07:00

Yes, it was finished last week. I'm really thrilled with the results!

I tried to post the befores, but Blogger is not cooperating. But you know what it looked like before from the roofing pictures in the last two posts.

So I'll cut to the chase, and the Grand Unveiling. Ta-DAAAAAA~

Here's the front (and Mossy, I tried to get the pictures level!)

Now see what a thing of beauty the cupola is!

And the rear...

Now, for that bedroom peak that they roofers were looking into:

I guess I've run out of room or something for now, so I'll have to finish in another post!

PAINT!!! Part Deux

2006-08-01T11:28:00.000-07:00

Continuing the tour...

The West Peak, also over my bedroom. This hadn't seen a coat of paint in more than 50 years, so it's no wonder that it took six coats. It was down to bare wood and some of the original stain showed through. Peter the Painter was quite unhappy with me for waiting 35 years to hire a painter. I told him that had I not, there would have been more scraping, so shut UP!

The tower, from which I've always wanted to lean out and hang my golden locks, waiting for my prince to come and rescue me...

And finally, the front door on the small porch.

Does that say "HOME", or what?

I'm so lucky to have had this house in my life for so long. I don't intend to leave unless it's in a pine box.

And then, Kal and BG will have to decide what to do with it. My hope is that one of them will want to live in it.

But I doubt it...Kal loves it but is still creeped out by it. And BG does not get emotionally attached to possessions, a trait that I covet and wonder from whence it came (certainly not from ME)!

Well, at least I've provided them with something that they can sell and enjoy the cash, I guess. But I have warned them - if they sell the house to someone who will hack it up into 34 apartments, or remove even one stick of trim or *gasp* my floors...I WILL come back and haunt them.

Some things should never change. This house is one of those things.

Big Project, with Many Posts, But COMPLETED!

2006-07-20T07:46:00.000-07:00

Okay, I hope you aren't bored yet. Be sure to check out the "Befores" and progress through June 18th in the last two posts!

On July 1 (see, I saved you from a day-by-day progress photojournal! This thing took forever!!!)

The barn and cupola, finished!

House, front:

The backside, at the west end:

The kitchen ell, at the rear:

And the grand finale, an overview of the house at the west end (compare it to the "Befores"!):

And the east end:

(Yes, I live on a sloping lot, east to west. I was not inebriated when I took these.)

So there you have it. 16 days and $29,000 later, I have a roof. It's guaranteed for 30 years and should see me out in my pine box. The next roof will be Kal and BG's problem!

I think it looks great.

What do YOU think???

Next project...painting the trim.

Moving On...

2006-07-20T07:34:00.000-07:00

And the work continued on June 13th.

Rolling right along:

Now we jump to the progress made. June 17th:

Barn is done!

On the 18th - the tower, and main house roof, west end:

That's my bedroom window. No peaking, guys! (Get the pun? PEAK-ing???)

HA! I kill me...

As Promised...

2006-07-18T08:17:00.000-07:00

..the roofing process.

Before, June 13th:

Stripping starts - this is the side with the original cedar shakes beneath the roofing:

And we're off...more to come!

House, in 1907

2006-07-03T14:15:00.000-07:00

It was already almost 40 years old then, but still, it didn't look too bad for an old gal. Lots better than I did at 40, for sure!!!

See, Callie? No castles, just a lot of roofs and a big ol' house!

The new roof pics are forthcoming.

Geez, though, ain't she a beauty????

Before he gets back from a trip

2006-06-30T04:12:00.000-07:00

Write, MD! Quick! Soon he'll be back and your life will be his own, again!

Okay. Here we are, a Friday, and it rained (again) last night. I think we've had rain for about 20 of the last 30 days. Yes, we need the water. Overdevelopment has taxed our water resources to the point that we've been on a water ban for the last twelve years. So Mother Nature is providing us with some water to fill our empty cup. That's a good thing, right?

I just wish I could get over this feeling of dread that encompasses me every time it starts to pour, my newly-developing gill slits start expanding, and the two-by-two parade of animals starts across the front lawn. Although I must say the outcome won't be the same this time...this being Massachusetts, some of the animals are same-sex pairs.

Good news - the roof is finished. It took two weeks to get done. Why? Well, first off, there was this RAIN thing happening that put the start off for three days, then interrupted progress several times in between. Second, there were only nine different roofs to do. Nine. Want me to count them???

The simplest one was probably the barn. A big roof, but except for the steep pitch, probably a 'normal' roof.

The main house is actually five different roofs, but I counted it as one roof. There are four gables (the house is cross-shaped), with the same steep pitches, and a flat section leading to the tower.

The tower...now, that was a trip. It's a large roof, as in tall. Eight-sided. About a 75-degree pitch. They had to do that with a bucket (which I got a ride in! THAT was too cool!)

The front bay window. Small roof, about 70 square feet, and flat with a mansard. So it had to have EDPM mechanically-attached membrane put on the top, and shingles on the mansards. And extra flashing and special drip edge. That one little roof took two men about four hours to strip and shingle.

The kitchen roof - another, almost-flat roof with center ridge. EDPM attached membrane with rigid insulation. Same-material flashing up under the siding. About three rolls of lead flashing. Mansards, too, so there are shingles on the front and rear of it.

The downstairs bathroom, which used to be the pantry for the original kitchen. That was the little bugger that started the whole project. It had been leaking for years before we bought the place, and I've had it fixed about six times and no one ever effectively repaired it. I think these guys have. EDPM membrane, rigid insulation, drip edge, and self-flashed for about a foot up under the siding. So far, so good...

The cupola. About 8'x8' at the base. It, too has four gables. And an original copper weathervane on top. Which they took down to do the roof (this one they had to use the bucket for, too). And they put back up with the N arrow now facing southwest. Yeah, they gotta come back and fix that..."N" has been pointing true north for 150 years, and I want it to stay that way.

The safe. Yes, I have a wall safe. It's about four feet high and three feet deep. It's built into an addition off the kitchen wall in the back. It has a roof. It was also done.

The veranda. Runs around three sides of the west end of the house. I love that porch. Some day I'm going to get a chair and spend time on it! For now, it has a new roof and some new roof decking. Of course, to be interesting, it is pitched about 60 degrees from the house to the porch edge, and has a decorative peak about four feet high built into the west facade. Just can't do anything simply, could those Victorians...

So they're done. They replaced a lot of gutters, too. Some fascia, a little bit of soffit. Surprisingly, not much of the original roof deck had to be replaced! Some ledger board, here and there, but mostly, I still have my original roofing planks! And all this is mine for the one-time, low, low price of $29,000!!!

Interesting - when they stripped the barn, the east side had three layers of shingles - the white ones The Dad put on when Kal was nine months old, the green ones that the former owners put on in the early 1950s, when I was a kid...and the original cedar shakes. I saved a few of them, for posterity. And a piece of roof deck, too.

Okay, guess that's all the excitement you can stand for one day. If I ever get the pics off L&M's computer, I share them with you!

Be a great day, people!

Kal's a BRAT!

2006-06-22T08:25:00.000-07:00

He tagged me to drive me from my lassitude. Not because he really wants to know the answers to these questions!

Okay, kid. Consider this your birthday present. I'll return the Boxster.

1. Which curse word do you use the most?
I use them all without prejudice.

2. Do you own an iPod?
Do I own a *what*? What is an iPod?

3. What time is your alarm clock set for?
Whenever it needs to be to accommodate L&Ms reports or work schedule.

4. How many suitcases do you own?
534. Still have the one I took to the 7-11 parking lot that fateful night of the three winos...

5. Do you wear flip flops even when it's cold?
We used to call them Zori sandals. Haven't had a pair since I was 10.

6. Would you rather take the picture or be in the picture?
Snap the pic. I've broken many a camera in my day being IN the pic!

7. What was the last movie you watched?
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I know, I know...I need to get out more.

8. Do you or any of your friends have children?
I have two. My Precious has two. Penny and Mossy have two. Kal and Wifeypooh have two. That's all the friends that I have.

9. Has anyone ever called you lazy?
Never. Not to my face anyway...

10. Do you ever take medication to help you sleep?
Yup. Only can take three days of two hours' sleep before I need to intercede with a call to Dr. Drowz.

11. Which CD is currently in your CD player?
Car CD - Score from Mamma Mia.

12. Do you prefer regular or chocolate milk?
Chocolate anything is my preference.

13. Has anyone told you a secret this week?
They know better...

14. When was the last time someone hit on you?
1926

15. Can you whistle?
Yup. In harmony, too!

16. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?
L&M. I get panic calls about 20 times a day. So nice talking to ya, honey!

17. Do you think people talk about you behind your back?
I don't think I'm all that important that people have to waste their time talking about me behind my back.

18. Did you watch cartoons as a child?
Of course. Our TV had three channels and they all had cartoons from 4-5 PM on weekdays and 8-12 on Saturday mornings. And yes, Sunday was Davy and Goliath.

[question missing here]

20. Are you shy around the opposite sex?
I'm INVISIBLE around the opposite sex.

21. Which movie(s) do you know every line to?
An American President. My Cousin Vinnie. Maverick. The Wizard of Oz. Evita.

22. Do you own any band t-shirts?
One - but it's a band no one ever heard of and was a gift from my brother-in-law so I wear it to be supportive of his son's band. Their name is Desperate Measures. I offered a suggestion of "Constipated Justice". Somehow they rejected that...

23. What is your favorite salad dressing?
Honey Dijon

24. Who was the last person to make you mad?
My roofers.

25. Do you do your own dishes?
HA! do you think L&M knows how to do dishes??? Not that he's ever shown ME!!!

26. Ever cry in public?
Constantly

27. Are you on a desktop computer or a laptop?
Sony Vaio desktop

28. Are you currently wanting any piercings or tattoos?
Yes

29. Would you ever date someone covered in tattoos?
I'm married. If I weren't, no one would date me. If someone did want to date me, and he were covered in tatoos, it would depend on the person and not the fact that he's covered with tatoos. I relate to people, not artwork.

30. What did you do before this?
Threw stones at the American Embassy

31. When is the last time you slept on the floor?
Camping and slumber parties as a girl.

32. How many hours of sleep do you need to function?
3

33. Do you eat breakfast daily?
No, rarely eat breakfast. Rarely eat anything at all if it means I have to cook!

34. Are your days full and fast-paced?
Full, as in pressured because a report is due and someone didn't get all the info for me? Yes!

35. Do you pay attention to the calories on the package?
No. If I'm going to eat something, it's a rare thing and I don't worry about calories.

36. Do you use sarcasm?
Oh, give me a break...

37. How old will you be on your next birthday?
274

38. Are you picky about spelling and grammar?
Yes. Particularly about the confusion between "its" and "it's". The former is the possessive case. The second is a contraction for "it is". Hear me, people????

39. Have you ever been to Six Flags?
Yes, in Williamsburg VA. Highly recommend the Loch Ness Monster and the Big Bad Wolf. Worth the hour in line.

40. Do you get along better with the same sex or the opposite sex?
I make it a point never to get along with anybody! I'm not particular which sex they are.

41. Do you like mustard?
Not plain yellow mustard. Pah... Like honey mustard a ton, though.

42. Do you sleep on your side, stomach, or back?
Side, although stomach was my preferred postion before my back joined Attack Force Delta. Now can only sleep on my side with a pillow between my legs or else I spasm like a pretzel.

43. Do you watch the news?
Yes. And it's depressing.

44. One of your scars--how did you get it?
Just one scar, huh? Okay, I have a six-inch scar running vertically along my left butt cheek which came about from a motorbike accident in Bermuda in 1991 when the Psycho Ex dumped the motorbike over a mountainside and broke my leg. Hit some piece of glass in the road and that was the cause of my 'second crack'. Took six months to heal. The good news is, if we draw two horizontal lines along my rear end, we can play tic-tac-toe on my butt!!!

Okay. That's it. Hope Blogger doesn't eat this a second time because there will be no third try!!!!

In Honor of June 21st...

2006-06-20T08:08:00.000-07:00

...first day of summer.

First day of my first son's oxygen-breathing life, outside the protection of my body.

I thought I'd share the words to the song I wrote for him:

KAL'S SONG (The Moment That We Met)

Remembering the moment that we met,
Your fingers tight around mine, a touch I won't forget...
Your wrinkled face, so hopeful, with the wisdom of All Time,
And not a trace of sadness, or regret.

Remembering the day I brought you home,
So young and inexperienced,
I felt so all alone -
But the trust that shone from within your eyes
took me by complete surprise,
And gave to me a strength I'd never known!

And as I watched you grow in years,
bound your wounds, and dried your tears,
Shared your moments of great joy and searing pain...

...I was forced to recognize
you'd grown bigger - you'd grown wise!
And each day with you would never come again.

My warm, bright child, with hair of lightest gold,
You left me in your footfalls - grew up, while I grew old.
But I never will forget the first moment that we met
as my days grow short and winter, ever cold.

And on my final days, I will count up all the ways
That your courage kept me whole, and not 'in part'.
And when I'm finally laid to rest, with a rose upon my breast,
I'll be smiling, still be living, in your heart.

Of all the things I need to thank you for,
I'm most grateful for your kindness, it opened up the door
to a love that I have not known since, and had never known before...

...No, I'll not forget the moment that we met...
(c) SbC 2002

Happy birthday, Kal, you wonderful man.

It's been and honor, and a priviledge, to call you my son!

Hello!

2006-06-10T04:38:00.000-07:00

I've been catching some slack about not posting much from my dear son, Kal. I try to keep up with everyone, and leave a comment to let you guys know I've been 'in touch' even though I haven't been posting much. But last week, Blogger took a hissy and none of my comments were saving, so as far as you all know, I'm dead. Frankly, L&M's job has consumed my life and when he's on the road, I'm too exhausted to post anything. He doesn't go away for overnights any more, so it's a one-day break and then back to the grind. I know I still have it a lot better than you working folk out there, but I feel like a working folk myself. I'm grateful I'm not young anymore and my kids are grown and excellently on their own. I'd probably have a meltdown if I tried to keep up with a young family right now. But then again, there's something quite similar about having a husband with such great needs. But as the old saying goes, "Be careful of what you ask for - you just might get it!" I'm just working on gratitude that he has a job. At our ages, we're the first to go when they're trying to cut the bottom line and improve profits. So, that being said, hooray for this time-sucking, life-consuming job of his, I guess.

Hey, guess what?? They're supposed to start our new roof on Monday. They were originally going to start it on this past Tuesday, but since we've had so much rain (every day this week) it didn't happen. I have about $50 million in roofing materials on my front lawn. I've been watching the windows to make sure nothing gets stolen. But it's been too wet for anyone to try to steal my gutters and shingles and EDPM membrane. So, that being said, hooray for rain!

I did mention that I'm working on gratitude, right??

Today is The Girl's tenth birthday. Tomorrow is her party. Tomorrow is also L&M's granddaughter's ballet recital. So we will each attend our own granddaughters' functions. Kal told me on Thursday that her mom's parents and her maternal uncle won't be there because of other obligations, and that she was okay (although I'm sure, not happy) with that. But when he told her L&M wasn't going to be there, either, she started to cry. It broke my heart. He's been her paternal grandfather since she was born. L&M was at her parents' wedding so he has been the 'constant' male elder from our side of the family. It's sad that he can't be there. He feels badly about it, especially when he found out she was upset. But sometimes we have to make choices because of the 'blended family' thing. I will miss seeing his little dancer do her thing, she loves it and has such stage presence for a seven year old...but I wouldn't miss my Girl's birthday for the world. We're blessed with five wonderful grandkids between the two of us, so that being said, hooray for having to make choices because there's so many grandkids to love!

Okay, while it's still quiet and not raining too hard, and L&M is still asleep, I'm going to play a game of MahJongg tiles before he wakes up and I have to start writing reports again. That being said, hooray for exhaustion!

A Moment Alone

2006-05-28T03:21:00.000-07:00

While L&M is still asleep, before his agenda awakens to rule my day, I thought I'd post something.

Had a great birthday. Turned into an entire weekend. Precious called me early on the day, and had sent a lovely present (she does everything to perfection, up to wrapping gifts) and since I had waited to open the present until my actual birthday, I was able to open it with her on the phone with me. She sent me a lovely white cotton camisole top, with pretty lace (I like delicate things, even though 90% of my wardrobe consists of the boys' hand-me-downs from high school). And there was a beautiful navy blue hooded cotton jersey to go over it, with a zip front. I'm wearing it today to L&M's brother's barbecue. The best part - she made a card, and on the front is a snapshot of the two of us when I was five and she was three months old. It was a studio picture, so we're both dressed up in cute little-girl-of-the-fifties dresses. I'm sitting there with my chubby arm wrapped around her, holding her close. She's smiling that totally joy-filled toothless baby grin that they all have at three months. But she smiles with her eyes, too. One look at her eyes, and I always know how Precious is feeling and what she's thinking. The more I look at her at three months old, the more I see my granddaughter. They have the same eyes. I love that, seeing pieces of one generation passed down to another.

I, on the other hand, am not smiling with sheer joy and abandon in this picture. I'm half-smiling and my eyes are cautious. Could be I'm uncomfortable because I never liked having my picture taken. And it could be that I made it my life's ambition, when she was born, to love and protect her with all of my being. That's how I look, to me...my expression says "Yeah, make her laugh, take her picture...but don't come too close to my baby." And inside the card, she recognizes and acknowledges that. With extreme gratitude. I cried as I read it, of course. Sobbed. She is, was, and ever will be the wind beneath my wings.

Anyway, in the picture, she has peach fuzz on her sweet little head. I have this stupid Dutch cut hairdo (my mom never had my hair cut professionally until I was in the fourth grade, she always cut it herself with the chicken boning shears). And my bangs are cut up to my hairline. I looked like a platinum blond Moe Stooge, with no bangs...

The caption read "Hey girl, who the hell cut your bangs??? And where the hell are mine????"

She cracks me up. The girl's an absolute delight.

We have always kidded around that our distant future will be the four boys getting together and putting us in 'the home' together. We are looking forward to an irascible old age. We will sit side-by-side in the rocking chairs. I will whack people with my cane as they walk by. She will take out her teeth and scare them. Heh heh...nobody's gonna mess with US!

But I can't think of any better way to spend my end days than raising hell with My Precious. Face it, we both have only sons. They're great sons. But we probably won't be seeing much of them, as they have lives and important things going on within them. We know they love us and will come to visit when they can. But honestly...it would be really cool to end my life the way it started, spending every day with My Precious.

But that's years away, and knowing us, our husbands will be old, sickly, crochety men who will require our every moment. For both of us, it seems we are drawn to men for whom it is 'all about them'. They're good men, don't get me wrong...and we love them with utter abandon. But there's no way either of them is going to grow out of their neediness, especially as they get older. As they take their last breaths, we'll probably keel over and die of exhaustion from caring for their many, many needs for so many, many years!

I want to thank you all for a wonderful birthday this year!! All your wishes (and congrats that I made it this far, heh heh) were sincere joys to me. My birthday lunch with BG was wonderful. Watching The Boy's Little League game, then having pizza and my favorite cake with Kal, Wifeypooh, The Boy and The Girl, and L&M and BG (who had just seen me the day before, poor guy) was awesome. Wifeypooh made the cake (the girl can COOK!). She also gave me an originally-designed necklace and earrings to match the bracelet she made me for Mother's Day. (Kal and Wifeypooh are both artists, despite their professions in other disciplines.) I was so touched. First, the fact that she found the time to create something especially for me, was so special. Second, that she honored my boys and my grandkids by incorporating them into her design was truly touching. She did not include herself, and I told her that I wish she had. But that wasn't a criticism, it was just that I wanted her to know that she is a daughter of my heart, if not of my body. She doesn't have to feel the same way, that's okay. It's just important to me that I feel and enjoy it.

So that's the story. I'm another year older, but no wiser. No closer to running a 5K than I was when I was 20, but able to walk and get back up when I fall down. Every day is filled with pain, and I can't move most days. But I can get along fairly well on others, so I'm ahead of the game. I'm not a size 5 anymore, but I'm tolerable at a 10. I still love with all my heart, and am blessed to have people to love in my life. I'm not young, but not old. I have the additional blessing of watching my sons, daughter-in-law, and grandkids enjoy every day. And my oldest relationship, that with My Precious sister, gets deeper and stronger every day.

Does it get any better than that???

Report from the Front

2006-04-30T05:37:00.000-07:00

All is well. I have survived another month.

My birthday is in 19 days (mark your calendars and everyone send me a razzberry in my comments, would you?) and I will be 55. Okay. I am still technically middle-aged, but only for another five years. 60 is the start of old age, did you know that? "Early Old Age", as I recall from my Developmental Psych class. Don't know why that's the only thing I remember from Developmental Psych, but it is.

So, in December, L&M will enter Early Old Age. Can you imagine? I'm going to be married to someone in Early Old Age. HA! That's a kick in the pants, huh?

One thing about 55 - it's the old speed limit from the gas crunch of the 70s (which we may see reinstated if things don't change soon in the world of fuel oil price-gouging.)

So, in my mindset, as I told My Precious, "I think this means this is as far and as fast as I'm ever going to go!"

Scary thought.

Especially since 'where I'm at' (sorry, old 60s expressions creep in all the time...) ain't such a purty place to be, most of the time.

So I decided to be proactive.

I bought myself an early birthday present. It's called the "Change Your Life Challenge", a 70-day program for women to get themselves 'together' and motivate them to make the changes in their lives that will result in happier living. Hell, if I've got, say, five more years of being middle-aged, I had better enjoy it before Early Old Age creeps in like those 60s expressions!

But of course, since misery loves company (and for some reason, I can't stay motivated to do anything for my own benefit for very long, I always need the threat of disappointing someone I love dearly to keep me on track), I bought My Precious the same program. We are doing it together. She will be my partner in change, like she's been my partner in everything else I ever had to do that was difficult for me to get through. She is The Wind Beneath My Wings on stuff like this. And to be truthful, she doesn't need to change anything, she's already perfect. (Okay, she needs to change the fact that her husband needs a job, but that's more HIS challenge which so far hasn't spurred him too far, and she's been supporting them for the past six or seven years and working like Kunta Kinte whilst he trolls the River of Employment with dental floss and a safety pin...)

So, I'll keep you posted on my challenges and assignments. I think decluttering is part of this program (at least, it had better be!) so Kal and BG might be getting calls to finally come and take their stuff out of my house. I've been the 'free storage repository' for my family, exes, even my parents who left New England in 1978, since...forever. If these folks had paid storage fees for their square footage, I'd be a rich woman instead of someone who stays awake nightly, trying to figure out how she's going to pay for a new roof before the house falls in from water damage! (Make that eight new roofs...there's a lot of roof surface in this house. I think we're going to have to do this in stages...)

So, okay, I'm alive. I don't get to MY computer often, but when I do, I'm checking in with you all on your blogs!!!! I hope one of my challenges is to keep up with my friends. That's one area of my life that is the Sahara Desert - broad, empty, and dry!!!

Hugs, everyone!

Since I'm Asking For Opinions...

2006-03-31T08:21:00.000-08:00

...what do you think on this one?

I've always loved this (supposed) photograph of rocks praying. (Just tilt your head onto your left shoulder if you can't see it.)

so, do you think it is really a painting? Or a photo? And if it IS a photo, has it been retouched????

The Angst of the Moment

2006-03-26T05:14:00.000-08:00

I don't get it.

I don't get a lot, but I really don't get THIS...

Okay, I see a lot of wonderful young men out there today with a lot to offer. I'm thinking of three of them, right now. Cute as buttons, fit as fiddles, and very successful. Quiet men who love their friends, love to laugh and have a good time. Who don't play games. Who treat women like gold. Whose lives' ambitions are to be happily married and raise a family. (True. There are plenty of young men out there who want this.) They would make a wicked pissah dads.

So why does every woman they attract need either a straight-jacket, or a spanking and change of diapers? The better they treat them, the crappier these women are to them. These women vie for them, die for them, until they get them. Then, the horns and tails and claws and evil come out of these gals like stink comes out of five-day-old fish. W*T*F????????

Why are women like this? Women of MY generation were not like this. We did not like the game (men were the gamers then, not the women.) We just wanted to be able to give our hearts to someone who would cherish us, cradle us, and our hearts and our children, with love and care. We wanted to be with the person we chose, forever. If a lot of the women of my generation had access to men with the kindness and forthrightness of theses three young men, we would have been married to them forever. And thank God nightly for the priviledge.

So tell me...why are the gals in the 25-35 age group such 'projects'??? Please don't tell me that they like the challenge of a 'Bad Boy'. I can't handle that. To tell me that would prove that they have the maturity of a three-year-old. Which may be the case. But geesh, at some point, ONE of them will need to grow up and realize that the 'Bad Boys' get that reputation for a reason!!!

Somehow, I feel like my generation of women raised sons who were sensitive and caring (as we would have liked to have 'owned') and daughters who were predators and demanding, self-centered bitches from Hell. (I am not including you, Penny, or Callie, or any of my young female friends here. I'm just talking about what's out there right now, prowling for their next meal.) I think our generation of moms, because of the sexual revolution of the sixties, where we demanded equal rights and equal pay and equal everything, made sure our daughters were not oppressed, and our sons were not oppressors. Many of the women of my generation bought into this. I know I did. I married a oppressor (who was only doing what he had been taught to do by his WWII-generation, Children of the Depression parents). And I did what I was taught to do - serve, work my butt off, and be grateful that someone would even want me. And along the way, being an adolescent of the sixties and young wife and mother of the seventies, I picked up on the 'NOW' thing and had to 'become' something in addition to being a wife and mother, in order to prove to my gender that I was a worthwhile human being. It was my downfall. And I know it affected the way I raised my two sons, and how my Precious sister raised her two sons as well.

The two very successful young marriages I see in my immediate range are of two sets of high school sweethearts who 'made it' to the next level and married each other. They are very close couples. Perhaps in growing up together, all the games got played out early, before marriage and children were even an issue. I think that takes a lot of patience, and I applaud these young couples for being able to work out the kinks young in life, and not putting themselves through the horror show that seems to be the 'search for a mate, or even a date' out there now. I love their levels of communication. Sometimes, no words need be spoken. A look will do.

But if you're unattached out there, it seems that if you're a nice guy, you do finish last. Why is this??? I don't get it...

Could someone explain? I'd love to understand this new relationship phenomenon. I'd love to understand when the balance of power shifted totally into the female arena. I'd love to understand why women won't date, or if they do date, will mistreat the men who are already the husbands they want to end up having.

I must be getting old. Because I just don't get it...

How will I be defined in the dictionary????

2006-03-15T07:46:00.000-08:00

Motherdear --

[adjective]:

Tastes like fried chicken

'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Okay....WHO TALKED??????

This is ME, all over!!!

2006-03-14T05:26:00.000-08:00

Shew Knew If She Tagged Me, I'd HAVE to Post!!!

2006-03-04T05:13:00.000-08:00

Ah, my sweet daughter of the spirit...you know how to get your ol' Ma of her dead butt, doncha! Hugs, honey!!!

My Sweet Penny has tagged me. She knows I love tags. She knows I've been held captive by the Evil Overlord. So she tagged me to shock me off my hamster treadmill.

She's a good daughter, my Penny.

Okay, here it is...
1. Thank the person that tagged you.
2. List 5 random/strange/weird things about you.
3. Tag 5 other people

1. Thank you, sweetness! Thank you for being you!

2. Only five? Ha! Okay...
1) I'm going to be 55 this year. The speed limit. Does this mean that my current state is as fast and as far as I'll ever go??? Sad, to see that you peaked at 38!

2) I'm not going to watch The Oscars on Sunday night. I haven't seen any of the films, so it doesn't matter to me, all that much. Although I'd like to see Felicity Hoffman win, just because I like her. And Philip Seymour Hoffman. He is one of the best actors in the history of acting. I love him! He and his college roommate, while watching the Oscars one year, agreed that if either of them ever got one, they would give their presentation speeches in dog barks. Just seeing that would be worth voting him in, don't you think???

3) I'm a life preserver. L&M is always grabbing me to save him from drowning in the miasma of the evils of ComputerLand. Did you know that computers were invented just for the sheer joy of torturing my poor husband? They were. It is a proven fact. Ask him, he'll tell you!

4) I really love my kids. I love them so much that I miss them like amputated limbs. Sometimes I think I should just sell this old crumbling house because everywhere I turn, there is a memory of them, and I feel their absence as a gaping maw of a black hole in my life. I know this is part of life, that you can only give your children two gifts (one being roots, the other being wings). And I know your children are only yours on loan. My head knows that. But my heart still hears their voices as they play a game of Candy Land, or stage battles with their Star Wars figures and machines. I still remember the dragon we made in Cub Scouts for a skit. I remember the Christmases with the pretty tree and presents flowing out to the middle of the living room. I still have their 'walls of fame' up from high school graduation. I miss them. Hugely.

5) I am a lousy judge of partners. I either find men who are incredibly bossy, or incredibly needy. I even found one who was depressingly needy, but pedantic and intensely imperious over how I was going to fill his needs!!!! He's dead now. I didn't kill him. Not that I didn't want to...

3. Now I'm supposed to tag five people. Since I haven't blogged in sixty years or so, my audience is sadly dwindled. So I will pick five people and if they read this, they read it. And if they don't, no fault, no foul.

How about Labbie, Mystic, Lowkie, Gordy, and Danny? (And you get to decide for yourselves whether they are incredibly bossy, or incredibly needy. They have to be one or the other, if I picked them!!!)

Have a good weekend, everyone!

This is APT!!!

2006-02-23T07:26:00.000-08:00

Wolf

What Is Your Animal Personality?
brought to you by Quizilla

Okay, how can they figure out the true me, and misspell "You're" and "truly"???

It's a miracle!

A Bad Day at Black Rock

2006-02-22T01:25:00.000-08:00

Last Year, I started what I hoped would be a yearly tradition...I invited my one-and-only Girl to come and spend a few days at my house during her school vacation. I blogged about it after she went home, marveling about her wit and charm and warmth and intelligence, her ever-ready sense of humor, her childlike joie de vivre. She seemed excited about coming this year, as well.

Originally, she was to come on Sunday afternoon. I had to put her off a day because Saturday night was so cold that it took a whole day to get the temperature in the house from 61 to 67. So, instead, she came on Monday afternoon. (It was supposed to be Monday morning after breakfast, but she had to clean her room first. I'm surprised she got here at all. Girl loves a messy room!) But after having lunch with The Girl and her Dad, we had wonderful time. We watched Kindergarten Cop. We looked at the Barbies I had collected and she hadn't seen yet. We talked about maybe cataloguing them together. We made and ate pasta for dinner. We watched a Survivor All-Stars Marathon. I tucked her in at 9:00 PM, and she fell asleep promptly in her dad's old room, in her dad's old bed.

L&M came home from a day-long site visit in Michigan around midnight. I went to bed, myself.

I awoke around 4:30 AM, as I usually do, stared at the ceiling until 6, and got up. The Girl was up by 7. L&M got up, too. It was a report-writing day for him. The Girl greeted me at the top of the stairs, and she talked with me while I made the morning coffee and she set her doughnuts onto a plate.

Somewhere in the next three hours, it was plain she wasn't having fun. She is one of those little girls who is quite sensitive to others' needs and feelings. But she will not express her own needs, especially if she thinks it will hurt your feelings. She won't tell you she's cold, she'll start telling you stories about being a snowman, in hopes that you will say "Girl, are you cold?" Then she will look at you, gratefully, for guessing and smile like you're the best grandparent in the world when you get her a blanket.

I was, unfortunately, interrupted several times during the day (about 15) with The Everyday Traumas Of the Adorable Black Hole of Need. (He knows who he is, and so do most of you!) Every time he whined me away, I saw a little disappointment in her face. If I asked her if she was okay, she'd just smile and say "Yeah! I'm okay!"

Well, her Dad called to check on her sometime around 10:30 AM. She had sneaked up to his old room, while I was attending to some ridiculous thing for L&M. I spoke to her Dad, and said, "I don't think she's having a good time." I thought she might be feeling uncomfortable about my not being able to spend unbroken time with her. Her Dad said "Let me talk to her" so I put her on the phone and returned to L&M's desk to pull his head out of his monitor and give her a little privacy...

Suddenly, all I can hear from the den is her crying. She is sobbing on the phone to her Dad, saying she wants to go home. Her Dad tried to console her. A call to her Mom after Dad hung up resulted in the same conversation, the same tears, the same conviction. She Wanted To Go Home.

Long story short, she went home. I had the joy of her being here with me, close at hand, for 36 hours, ten of which she was asleep.

Since that about equals the amount of time I get to spend with her in a year (at birthdays and Christmas), I guess I shouldn't be feeling as I do, like I've lost her. I shouldn't be feeling the anger I do that I cannot even have a few days with my granddaughter without serving emotional indentured servitude to my beloved. I should be feeling gratitude, instead of this palpable, gnawing sadness that I, my home, my time, made my Girl upset enough to return home and spend an entire school vacation with her brother!

Well, I guess nine-year-olds get homesick, especially if they're feeling neglected. I hope it's better when they're ten years old, because next year, if she'll come, we're going walkabout to visit Auntie Precious.

It's Toad Hollow Appreciation Day!

2006-01-26T08:50:00.000-08:00

In the immortal words of Squiggy -

"HELL-OW!"

Okay, I issued a challenge that we honor Toad Hollow Appreciation Day and issue a brief appreciation post. Ironically, this is occurring right in the middle of a time when I am appreciating very little and vomiting anxiety all over the house. (Literally. I'm physically sick from my current anxiety. It is not even my issue. And it's making me sick.)

But I do appreciate something on a conscious level...my family.

I love my parents and appreciate that they did the best they could for me with what they had for resources, both physical and emotional. I love that they didn't judge my second divorce and my third marriage, like they did my first divorce and my second marriage.

I love my only sister, and appreciate her for the outstanding woman that she is. She's my younger sister, but so much older and wiser than I. I wish I were half the woman she is.

I love my boys. They are the most outstanding, loving men, and I appreciate their unquestioning love of me, tempered with their no-nonsense limits on my bull-oney. I appreciate it when they chide me with love.

I love my daughter-in-law, and appreciate that she takes such good care of my son and my grandkids. And I wish for her the job of her dreams. She will be a kickass teacher. Likewise, I appreciate BG's best friend and love, who is giving him such joy. I hope he is caring for her as well as he was taught. If he is, she'll be a happy girl.

I love my grandkids. They are SOOOOO wonderful. So beautiful. So smart. So funny. Getting so big, so fast. I appreciate the way The Girl looks at me and sometimes makes me feel like a goddess. And I love the way The Boy looks at with disdain and sometimes makes me feel like a troll. I need both of those feelings...

I love my husband. I appreciate his sweet, adorable self. I am grateful for the day he came into my life and hope we get to continue our journey together through eternity.

I also appreciate my kids' dad, for loaning me his part of what created those sons of ours, and giving them the pieces of himself and his heritage that they honed and polished to a shining brilliance, in compliment to my contributions. They are a beautiful, finely-woven tapestry from the ragged threads of our two lives...

Okay, who's game??? Your turn.

What I'm Reading, What's nearby...

2006-01-24T08:43:00.000-08:00

Bozette has tagged me! She loves me, she really loves me.
Instructions:

1. Grab the nearest book. Don't search around and look for the "coolest" book you can find. Do what's actually next to you
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Tag 3 friends

Okay, the book is Dr. Andrew Weil's Spontaneous Healing, a gift from my spiritual mentor and new-age healer in California - my oldest friend besides Auntie Precious and my boys - Barb. I love you, Barb!

The sentence:

"Today she is a healed woman, who tries to inspire others to overcome life-threatening diseases."

What it means to me:

One, I think that the woman this is talking about (Eva, a woman who was cured of cancer fourteen years ago) and I have much in common. We're both female, we're both cancer survivors. We both want to help others (as any RN will tell you. Not saying that Eva is an RN, I don't know that. But I know that I am, and got into the profession to help others because I couldn't help the ones around me, or myself!)

I also look at the phrase "She is a healed woman." And I think that her healing is deeper than mine. Hers was a physical, emotional, and mental healing. Unlike Eva, although I am physically scarred, and am physically healed, I still bear wounds of a psychological nature. ("No, REALLY?" I hear you thinking. Okay, I know it. That's valid. Everything I think and feel is right there hanging out in front of me, as anyone who knows me for two minutes can tell. Always been like that, and maybe always will be. At 54, it's possible to change. It just takes a lot more time.)

But I am inspired by Eva's story. I try every day to heal in every way. I take one step forward, and two steps back some days. And I know I'm too highly reactive to others' feelings and needs, owning them instead of owning my own responses to them.

So maybe, if I work hard enough, I can get my act together. It seems like a truly impossible uphill battle most days. But I have to stay positive. After all, without that, the bad juju takes hold and shakes you around like a rag doll in the powerful jaws of a playful pit bull. The pit bull is having a great time, but the doll is left shredded, with its stuffing hanging out all over the room.

So I have to work on 'framing', seeing things in a positive way, choosing my responses as 'proaction' instead of 'reaction'. Yup. That's what this means to me.

I have so much to be grateful for...and yet, at times, I let the reality of my everyday existence obsure the reality of my life. Dumb, huh??? It has to stop. Before it's too late and I run out of time to enjoy that one-and-only life.

Wow! All that from a single sentence??? Good thing the instructions didn't ask me to quote a whole paragraph!!!

Thanks, Bo. I don't think I would have realized this today if you hadn't tagged me. I've written it on my calendar..."Appreciate today". Keep it in the minute. Stop reacting.

Conincidentally and ironically, did you know that Thursday is Toad Hollow Day of Appreciation? Yup. It says so on my Kal-endar!!!

So instead of tagging three friends (most of whom have already been tagged), I am going to issue a challenge for everyone to post an Appreciation Post on Thursday. Just a short list of a couple of things you appreciate. Or one item that you would like to tell the world you recognize and appreciate. Or something like that.

Who's game for a Motherdear Challenge????

In Honor of Gordy and Lorraine

2006-01-20T05:43:00.000-08:00

Hi, guys! One of our peeps is getting married on February 18th. Gordon and Lorraine will tie the knot in The Windy City, and broadcast it live on webcam, 7 PM EST, 6 PM CST, 5 PM MST, and 4 PM Pacific. Gordy will provide a ilnk on his site.

I've got it marked on my calendar and am planning to e-attend. I think this is the coolest thing ever. Gordon will be in full Scottish dress tartan... I will wear my dress pajamas, probably... But can't wait to see these two 'jump the broom'. I'm so happy for the two of them.

Anyhoo, I was wondering if anyone would be interested in going in with me on a gift for them? They're registered in some very practical places (having a household already established.) I'm going to give them one myself, anyway, but wondered if any of the original "Brilliants" knew Gord well enough and wanted to be included in a gift from all of us.

Just let me know, and we can discuss the options!

The Fluff Chronicles

2006-01-18T15:14:00.000-08:00

My dear ltlfriend filled us with hilarity the other day, relating a delightful, sweet, totally HUMAN story about passing gas and elevators. If you've not read it, follow my link at the right to her site, and give it a look-see. I guarantee that if you don't at least have hearty giggles over this story, you are a stone carving with no sense of humanity or humor at all!

So, in the comments, many related that they had had similar experiences with the passing of gas. As indelicate as the topic may be, you have to admit fart stories can be really, really funny...

So, anyway...I am challenging everyone to post a gas story. I happen to have two of them...but I've lived longer than most of you.

Many, many years ago (like about 1976...), I was young and cute. I also had a nervous stomach. And a mom and sister who lived nearby. And my mom usually made my stomach really nervous.

Well, dear sis decided that for her birthday, she and I take mommy out to dinner and shopping at the only big mall we had around at the time. It had a lovely department store called "Jordan Marsh" - kinda classy, but not too expensive.

Sis thought shopping at Jordan's would be fun after buying mommy dinner at the Red Coach Grille, a local chain with that neat 70's English Tavern ambience.

We picked up mommy, sis drove, and off we go. Mommy had had a bad day. Every day, she tried to be mad at someone, and I guess she decided it was going to be my day.

We get to the Red Coach, and our table isn't ready, so we go into the bar, have a glass of wine and some "derves". Mom nagged and spewed at me. Finally, blessedly, we were called to our table.

I don't remember what I ate. All I remember was that I had quite a few glasses of wine because it was mommy's birthday and all she really wanted me to give her was a taget butt to chew for some imagined slight or sin. I started shoveling the food and drinking really quickly because I wanted to get dinner over with and get to Jordan's, and then go home. I was hoping the shopping would divert her attention.

Cue the nervous stomach. Fast eating plus wine plus excess acid. Not good. I felt sick, stuffed, and bloated.

We paid, left the restaurant, and drove down the street to Jordan's. My stomach really started to rumble and gurgle as mommy ragged on me nonstop. I was NOT feeling tip-top, to say the least. I tried to hang back from sis and mommy as we walked across the parking lot, but mommy wasn't done rearranging my ego, so I just clenched my butt, and walked into the store with them. The two of them immediately put on the "Oh, I shop at Jordan's ALL the time, I belong here!" airs, while I slunk around, surreptitiously trying to find a private space or a bathroom...

Nag, nag, nag, blah blah...stomach roiling...pressure building....I had to do something fast.

I managed to give them the slip in the coat section. I hid between two racks of maxi-coats, and after a quick check around, just let it fall. If it had been visible, it would have been a pea green cloud, heavy and oily, with a fruity wine bouquet and the pungent aroma of a hurriedly-digested Caear salad...

I slipped out from behind the coats and walked about sixteen feet up the aisle, busying as I went myself with innocently looking at coats. Meanwhile, were it visible, I would have seen my oily green cloud following me like a pet, rising into the nasal atmosphere as it sought out its mama.

I heard sissy and mommy, coming up behind me, prancing down the aisle like the Van AsterHorses of Snootville...on track to land right in the path of my stink bomb's vapor trail...

Suddenly, sis stops dead in her tracks. She wrinkles her nose, and in a loud voice, turns to mommy and says "Ewww, mother...someone FAHHHHH - ted!" in her best Bostonian accent, reserved for those times when she was putting on airs. Mommy takes a delicate sniff and says "Oh, my my my...yes. Someone did indeed FAHHHHT!" And they share an incredulous look, and proceed down the aisle close to me.

Well, just then sis and I make eye contact, and the look on sissy's face, her nose all wrinkled, looking like Prunella from Disney's Cinderella, made me laugh hysterically. She took one look at me, read my eyes, and with sheer horror on her face, she points to me, an yells "It was YOU!!" Picture the pod people pointing at the one human being left in town, and shrieking "EEEEEEEE!" and you come close to what sissy did in the middle of Jordan's. To me. The non-pod person. With the vapor trail.

At this point, all I could do was double over in laughter. I was hysterical. Tears were running down my face...and with every laugh, I release a little more noxious fumery. Guffaw, fluff, guffaw... a horrible chain of events that took a full minute to subside. Meanwhile, sissy is pointing at me, shrieking "EEEEEEEE!", as the rest of the pod people gather around...

Some days, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed. That was one of them.

My second story actually stars L&M...

My delightful hubby has no problems at all passing gas. He doesn't do it noisily. He and his butt are the best of friends. He is a very natural person. But again, he is very blessed by the fact that he never makes a sound.

Early in our relationship, we went Christmas shopping at Wal-Mart. We were standing in line for the checkout counter, when he suddenly says "Hey, I think I'll go over there and see what they're getting for a carton of cigarettes!" So off he toddles.

Well, as I'm holding our place in line, I notice that someone in the queue has passed gas. Must be the people in front of me, I thought, because they seemed to want to move forward quickly. HA! Trying to escape! I smile knowingly...

Three or four young girls were standing behind me, when suddenly, one of them starts to giggle and another starts to go "EWWWWWW! That's GROSS!" I knew they were talking about the gas, that it had reached them. It was vile. We kept moving up in line, and the girls in back of me kept giggling and commenting. I wanted to turn around and giggle too, but I just stood there, silently, waiting for L&M to return.

Which he finally does, sees the girls giggling, and then looks at me with a quizzical "What's their problem" question on his face.

I leaned into him and whispered "They're in stitches because someone in line passed gas!"

He looked down at me, and with a smile and wink, said "I know!!!!"

And I can't tell you HOW MANY times he has done that to me in a store in the past 14 years!

The Big Girl Learns to Fly (Part Four)

2006-01-10T08:04:00.000-08:00

Elise popped into the tent quickly, and The Big Girl scurried after Serena.

"Wait up, Reenie. I need to talk to you!" she cried.

Serena and Dion had already reached the edge of the promontory, and were making their way down the little slope of its edge, into the even rows of rich green cornstalks. The stalks were tall, had grown way over their heads, and some of the golden tassels were hanging down, making gently-waving motions as the warm wind of a starry summer night blew through them.

"Reenie....PLEASE!" The Big Girl begged.

With a heavy sigh, Serena dropped Dion's hand and walked over to where the The Big Girl was standing, with exasperation and some unfamiliar sultry emotion seething beneath the surface of her annoyed face. "WHAT?!?! Why don't you just go back to the tent. I'll be fine. I'm going to go for a mooonlight walk with Dion and Ralphie in the cornfield."

"You'll get lost, silly. Please. Come back to the tent and go to sleep. Ask Dion to come back tomorrow for scrambled mess...he can hang around all he wants to!" The big Girl pleaded.

"No, he can't. He's got to go to his grandmother's house tomorrow. His parents are going away on a trip for two weeks and Dion is going to his Granny Belanger's house. And I won't see him for Sixteen Whole Days, Vonnie. SIXTEEN days!" Serena looked like she was just at the brink of tears, so The Big Girl put her arm around the younger girl's shoulders and said "Oh, I'm sorry. I know..." even though she had never had a boyfriend in her life, let alone one who left her lonely and brokenhearted for sixteen days...

"That's why he wanted to come tonight, he had to see me. And I had to see him, because he told me that stupid cow Brenda with the big bubbies is going to be staying with her grandmother who lives next door to Granny B, too. And he loves big bubbies and I just want him to remember how much I love him before he leaves!"

"Reenie, two weeks will go by fast. You can come to my house and we'll...build a fort in my woods. And then we can climb my trees. I'll even let you climb my apple tree..." she offered, lamely. Serena shot her an 'are you out of your mind?' look.

Then Serena smiled at her, recognizing The Big Girl's efforts for what they were - the hand of friendship, offering help when she was in need. "Thanks, Vonnie, really...thanks. But I need to spend some time with Dion tonight. My mom has been on the warpath since I pierced my ears last week, and she won't let me and Dion go out together any more. She says he's a bad influence on me. So that's why I wanted to see him tonight..." Siobhann suddenly understood - Serena had planned the whole campout, with Elise's conspirational assistance, in order to provide the two young lovebirds with a place and opportunity to tryst... She was a little shocked. Shocked at Serena, and shocked at Elise for going along with it.

With that, Serena turned on her heel and headed back down into the corn. She disappeared, instantly.

The Big Girl didn't know what to do. She didn't want to leave Serena out here with the animals, or the four-legged critters, either...she looked quickly back to the tent, illuminated from within by the girls playing 'movie' with their flashlights and talking about their adventure at being 'raided'. She turned back to look for Serena for a brief moment, and she was nowhere to be found between the nearest rows of tall, green stalks. She couldn't leave her there; The Big Girl took a deep breath, grabbed her flashlight, and plunged into the corn, turning frequently to keep an eye on the tent as she walked the corn rows in the dark.

After ten or fifteen mintues of wandering around, The Big Girl finally came upong Serena and Dion. They were sitting in the corn stalks, and Dion had removed Serena's blouse and had taken off his own shirt. They were kissing passionately, and he had run his hands beneath her bra, onto the tender flesh below. The Big Girl was only twelve, and Serena not quite twelve...The Big Girl had no idea what was going on, why he would want her to have her shirt off. But she knew instinctively, it must be icky, because it made her stomach lurch.

"Serena, stop it. Come inside now. We need to get back to the others or Elise will run back to the farm and fetch her dad. And Mr. Darwin has that rifle he uses to kill the cows when they're sick...." She threw a stony glare in Dion's direction. She was hoping he was scared of Mr. Darwin. He just sneered at her.

Dion sighed and stood up. His fly was undone and he had a pointy object protruding from it. It strained at his underwear, lookiing like a wild thing trying to escape.

"Go AWAY, Siobhann. Or I'm going to beat the smack outta you, I swear. Git! Now!" he said, in his most-threatening fourteen-year-old voice.

"No, Dion, you know I can't. Reenie is my friend and I'm not leaving her here with you by herself." The Big Girl replied, through gritted teeth, sounding much less afraid than she did determined. She was hoping that would convince him, and that he would give up, hand Serena her shirt, and the girls could return to the tent.

Dion said "Then sit down and shut up. We aren't done yet saying goodbye yet. Turn your head and look at the moon, or something..." and he sat back down with his bulging spike, and started kissing Serena again, with long, sloppy, slurpy kisses and soft, low moans erupting from both of them as he plunged his hands beneath her bra again and she rubbed his pokey-thing through his underwear.

Suddenly, not an inch from her ear, a deep voice whispered "Hey, Lush-ous...wanna join them???"

She wheeled around and saw Ralph standing there. Thank GOD he was fully clothed. But his face bore a lazy, leering expression as he reached over to The Big Girl and took her into his arms.

She fought against his strong arms and muscular chest and yelled "Get OFF me, Ralph. Who do you think you are???" He kept trying to kiss her. She didn't like this fighting, this trying to get control of what was happening to her. It reminded her of something very, very uncomfortable but she did not quite know what, or why...just that she knew she must keep fighting.

Just as she was getting ready to scream, she stomped down, hard, on his instep with her sneakered foot. He grunted and backed off a couple of steps. "Man, what the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded to know. "I am a full four years older than you are, I should be throwing you over, not you telling me off! You know what you are? You're a cockteaser!" he yelled.

She had no idea what a cockteaser was, but she didn't like the sound of it and was darn sure she wasn't one and was going to make darn sure that he left. She reached down and picked up a huge clod of dirt. She threw it at him and it landed straight in his face. Ralphie pulled a rapier-like blade of cornleaf from a nearby stalk and started whipping her about the head and below her butt with it. It made a whipping noise and its sharp edges took fine slices in the exposed flesh of her face, arms, and legs. It didn't hurt as much as The Momma's spankings, but it wasn't pleasant, kind of stung, and she found it very degrading to be treated so when you were someone who had turned twelve not a month ago! All she was trying to do was get her friend back into the tent. What was wrong with everyone? Why were they acting so crazy??? She kept picking up rocks and dirt and everything her hands could find to throw at Ralphie, as he continued to whale on her with the cornshock.

Meanwhile, as The Big Girl and Ralphie were fighting, Dion had pushed Serena down in the soil, and started to remove the rest of her clothing, and his own.

The Big Girl turned just in time to see her best friend lying there, in the dirt of a cornfield, well past midnight, nearly naked, confused, but somehow, driven...and she was ashamed for her, afraid for her, and outraged. Somehow, even though she knew nothing about what was happening on a conscious level, she knew that Serena was about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

"NO! Serena, NO! You'll never be able to take this back. When you're older you'll go with someone who loves you!!! It could be ruined if you do this tonight!" The Big Girl cried. She was upset. She started to sob. All she could picture was her young friend, lost to her forever, crossing a doorway into a foreign land in which The Big Girl had no ticket to travel...

Siobhann sobbed as her heart broke into pieces. She couldn't help it. Ralphie, seeing how genuinely distraught she was, said "Oh, come on, now. It's their decision. They're old enough!"

The Big Girl looked at him through her tears, and said, "Ralphie, she's not even twelve until next week. She doesn't know what she's doing. I don't know what she's doing. You're probably the only one who knows what she's doing because you're the oldest one, and you're the age that girls try to have you like us. Is this something you want us to try and live up to?? Is this the right thing for someone who isn't even twelve years old to do?" With that, The Big Girl crumpled into a heap in the soil between the corn rows, and buried her face in her hands. Her mind kept flashing to scenes of them in Girl Scouts, making finger puppets...of Serena coming over with her brand new puppy, and playing with David and her with the little dog for hours, when she first got him. And then she remembered when she had showed up at their door, with tears streaming down her face, when her father tried to kill her and Alicea. When her mother had cracked her father's skull open with the frying pan and he disappeared, and Serena was so confused and felt like she caused it. The time Serena felt like she no longer mattered because her mother sold Serena's bicycle so she could buy food that week. And when Silversides, her Husky puppy, was run over by a car just two weeks after she got him. Siobhann sat there and cried. She just couldn't stop.

"Hey, hey...it's going to be all right...trust me..." Ralphie tried awkwardly to soothe her. He moved a step closer, hunkering down, and pushed some hair out of her face. "Hey, she'll be okay. I know Dion has protection with him. I gave it to him myself. She won't get pregnant, or anyhing. He loves her. He really does." Ralphie said, trying to justify what was happening behind The Big Girl's back.

She looked up at him through her tears. And she was the saddest, most delicate-looking thing he had ever seen. She looked like she would blow apart, in a million shards of glass, if a simple breeze blew on her skin. This was probably the only time in his life he would witness this kind of friendship and kinship between two young people. The Big Girl 'got it'. What was happening was a turning point in Serena's young life, one that could never be undone, and one that would shape the rest of her days. Ralph felt so sorry for her pain that he put his forehead against hers, and whispered "You can't fix everyone. You can't save everyone. It isn't your fault. She's lucky that you love her."

"Ralphie, you're a good guy. But you can't make me believe that this isn't going to ruin her life. She isn't even twelve yet..." Siobhann croaked. Then she remembered something her father said frequently..."There are some decisions in life that we're just too young to make, and should put off deciding until we're old enough. I think this is one of those decisions, Ralphie." And she sobbed, her forehead pressed against his, as he stroked her hair.

Just then, she heard a loud whimper and a muffled sob from Serena. Pain. She was in pain. She heard Ralphie sigh, and say "Well, she's past the point of deciding, now..."

Siobhann could take no more. She was filled with rage. She wanted to rip Dion's head from his body and eat it.

She arose and strode over to Dion. "Dion, if you don't get the hell off my friend right now, I'm going to crown you with the biggest rock I can find. And then, I'm going to tell my parents and Serena's mom and the police just what you did tonight because I've seen it all. I think there are laws to protect eleven year old girls from big boys with no kindness or love in them. You might be very, very sorry you came here tonight." Siobhann kept rattling off as many ridiculous and scary threats that she could think of, and Dion kept ignoring her and thrusting his hips deeper into her bewildered friend, who was lying in the dirt and moaning like a wounded animal, tears coursing down her cheeks. Finally, she said "You'll go to jail and my daddy says that big mean fat smelly guys with stinky butts like bad young boys and will treat you like a girlfriend and you'll be just like Reenie is right now...crying and hurting. and wanting to die rather than say so!"

With that, he stopped. Reenie's face was all screwed up with tension and tears, red with the effort of trying not to scream out... Dion did something to disengage himself, like a squirrel backing out of a trap, and he turned his back to The Big Girl and pulled his pants back up to his waist from around his ankles. He spat a single word at her, with his back turned. "BITCH!"

The Big Girl grabbed Serena's clothes and put her blouse over her shoulders, and then helped her get her legs into her shorts. Reenie had a hard time standing up. There was blood streaming down her legs and she moved as if he had cut her open with knives. She whimpered, cried softly. The Big Girl just steadied her for a minute, trying to hold her up, putting her arms around her, letting her cry into her shoulder (and crying as loudly as Serena was). Finally, she said "Reenie, let's go back to the tent. Say goodnight to Ralph and your boyfriend." She spat the word with disdain and pure hatred.

Serena started to cry again. Dion had just walked away, left her there, in The Big Girl's care. Ralph, to his credit, stayed with them. And when Serena tried to walk, she cried so loudly that Ralph picked her up in his strong farmer's arms, and carried her through the cornfield to the edge of the promontory like she was a bag of feathers from the newly killed chickens, waiting to go to the washer and sorter for pillow stuffing. He set her down, gently, at the edge of the promontory and put Serena's arm around The Big Girl's shoulder.

"Do you need any more help with her???" he asked, a look of true concern on his face. Just then, everything that Serena had eaten for the last six hours erupted all over the front of her. She spewed like a geyser, missing little of her own, or of The Big Girl's, clothing and shoes.

"Ralph, I got it. We'll just wash up at the stream and go to bed. Thank you." And for some reason, she started to cry, again. It was probably the look of pain in his face. He had helped plan this. He knew it. And he was starting to realize the consequences of his actions.

Serena and The Big Girl walked over to the stream, about 100 yards or so away. Serena walked with great difficulty, but felt much better when she just sat in the bottom of the stream, clothing and all, and let the chilly water run through and over her, up to her waist. Every once in awhile, she would look down at her lap and hiccup with silent tears and screams. Meanwhile, The Big Girl washed Serena's face with her sock.

After twenty minutes, the two of them got out of the stream and walked back to the tent. Elise opened the flaps for them. No one talked to them. David sat in their sleeping bag, his eyes as big as saucers. God only knew what the others had been saying.

The Big Girl knew that this was not going to be good. Not at all. She and Serena climbed into the sleeping bag with David between them. David turned to her and said "Why are you all wet?"

"We went for a swim, David. Now go to sleep, okay?" The Big Girl said, soothingly. She spent the next half hour smoothing his hair off his face until he started to sleep deeply. Then she looked over at Serena, whose deep blue eyes were rimmed with red and about to overflow with tears as they looked back into The Big Girl's.

"Shhh", The Big Girl whispered, very low. And shook her head as if to say 'No, you can't cry now. We'll all have plenty of time to cry tomorrow.' Then, she reached over David and took her friend's hand, and they fell asleep like that, two young friends, one horrible secret, and a trusting little boy lying sweetly and innocently asleep between them.

Pa-CHING!

2006-01-06T15:50:00.000-08:00

Ltlfriend got me! (Thanks, sweetie!)

Here's a neat taggery item, perhaps a bit revealing in my case, but I have been tagged and am bound by the Code of the Meme!

"The first player of this game starts with the topic "five weird habits of yourself," and people who get tagged need to write an entry about their five weird habits as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next five people to be tagged and link to their web journals. Don't forget to leave a comment in their blog or journal that says "You are tagged" (assuming they take comments) and tell them to read yours."

Okay. Five Weird Habits. (Only five??? Harumph...)

1. Nailbiter. Not weird exactly. A lot of people are nailbiters. But I do it weird. I leave them alone for a month at a time, and then when they start to get long, I gnaw like a rat until I have bloody stumps at the ends of my hands. Don't know why. If I notice it's there, I gotta chew it off. I hate it. I wish I could stop. I've been doing it since I was four and can remember the day I started it. Truly weird.

2. Football juju. I know, we all have rituals. But I have Football Juju the likes of which any obsessive compulsive would call BEYOND obsessive compulsive. And it has to change every year. Depends on the season, and what I was doing last time the Pats won. First year, we started with the first Superbowl banner on my den wall. I had to rub it three times left to right, then three time, right to left. And I had to say "We're gonna win this game". Three times. Then, if things were going bad, I had to get up and repeat it. Then came the Pats sweatshirts. L&M and I had sweatshirts that BG bought us the year we won the first SuperBowl. We had to wear them every game, and I could only wash them if we lost. Believe me, we went through a stretch where they didn't get washed for quite awhile.

This year I added a sprig of Christmas Tree from brother-in-law's house. It broke off while he was putting his choo-choo under the tree, so I held it all through a tough game after Thanksgiving, and brother-in-law teased me about it...until we won. Now, he won't let me in the house to watch the games unless I bring JuJu with me.

3. I'm a collector. Weird stuff. And lots of it. I collect things like scrapbooking equipment, tools, paper, books, embellishments, etc. etc. etc. I've probably bought about $3000 worth of scrapbooking supplies in the last two or three years. Now, you say, you have a friend, neighbor, cousin or mom who does the same thing. Maybe you do. But the weird part of it is that I've never scrapped a page. But boy, will I be ready to do it when I figure it out!!!

4. I do not balance my checkbook. I can, I know how. But I haven't done it since 1992. Why??? Because I didn't get to do it one month because I was going to school and working my butt off, and if I can't get it to balance to the penny, I won't do it. Again, the OCD thing kicking in. With a hefty dose of perfectionism thrown in. Thank God for online banking...

5. I will not buy clothes. If I don't get them for gifts, I do not buy them. I wear a lot of the boys' hand-me-downs...Kal's from Junior High School (yes, they are a bit dated) and BG's from high school (yes, they are a bit dated as well.) I do have a few dresses that L&M bought for me for special occasions (like weddings) and a really gorgeous size 5 mother-of-the groom dress that I bought myself for Kal's wedding in 1994...that I will be able to wear again someday if I take a chain saw and cleave myself in two...but other than a couple pair of jeans and six turtlenecks jerseys (my winter wardrobe), I have not bought an outfit since, oh, 1996 when I started my final job. The weirdest past of all - I have clothing that goes back to the late 70's, early 80's. I also have nursing uniforms from when I graduated from nursing school in 1980 (when we still wore nursing uniforms and not scrubs). Yeah, they are a little dated. But hey, they're still good, right? Some day, the Society of Ancient Nurses is going to want one of them to put in the History of Nursing Museum...

Okay, I could think of more. But I hear you all out there whispering about having the guys with the net come and get me and put me in the nice new apartment with the padded walls and locked doors. So that's all the disclosure you're getting out of me today, thank you, very much!!!

Now I have to tag five people...let me see...

Bozette, Kal (of course), Mystic, JoeFish, and Labbie!!!

The Big Girl Learns To Fly (Part Three)

2005-12-28T01:58:00.000-08:00

Hide 'n' Seek on The Promontory was always fun. Lots of trees to hide behind. There was a general rule that you couldn't go more than fifty feet from the tent (there were some old, rusted, barbed wire fences separating the wooded Promontory from the scrub brush lining the cow field about 100 yards away...best to avoid it, especially at night, when it couldn't be seen at all).

The Big Girl was "It" first. She counted to 100, and set about finding everyone before they could race her back to the "ghoul", which in Old Yankee slang meant "Goal" and yell "MY GHOUL, ONE, TWO, THREE" and set everyone else free and set her to another round of being "It". Sometimes, she spent all night being "It".

The first one she found was David. "I got you, David!" She yelled! He yelled out "No, you didn't! It's not me! It's Cami!" Which made about five of the nearest hiders laugh enough so that she could find them quite quickly. But Elise was an expert hider. Finding her was always tough. She knew these woods so well...

It took The Big Girl about ten minutes to locate Elise, who stretched out the fifty feet to closer to fifty yards. But at least, being found, Elise surrendered and volunteered to take David's turn at being "It". David was a terrible "It". He had a short attention span and when he didn't find anyone within two minutes (which he never did), he'd get bored and just make 'light pictures' with his flashlight. The Momma was always upset with him for burning out the batteries on the flashlights so quickly, and never knew how he did it. The Big Girl could have enlightened her, but what good would that do? It would just get them both in trouble - him, for being wasteful ("Batteries aren't FREE, you know, David...your Daddy has to work long hard hours to pay for those!" The Momma would yell), and The Big Girl would be in trouble for letting him enjoy himself making light pictures. So she would usually let him burn down his own flashlight, then share hers, so that The Momma didn't notice his was completely out until much later.

After a few rounds of Hide 'N' Seek, they tired of the game. Little did they know that not five feet from where Elise had been hiding, two sets of eyes had been watching them from behind the trees.

They doused the fire for the night and went into the tent, where their sleeping bags had already been set up. They 'clumped off' in little groups of three or four. Elise slept with her younger sisters close by. The Big Girl and David usually zipped their sleeping bags together to make a 'double', and slept in the same big bag. Sometimes, one of the other girls would get too cold just using blankets (Serena didn't have a sleeping bag. She always made some excuse about forgetting it, but everyone knew her mother was trying to support her and her little sister on minimum wage, and she just couldn't afford one). Serena usually ended up cuddled in with David and The Big Girl in their big bag. Elise would jokingly call David "The Jam in an S and S Sandwich". And three bodies in a sleeping bag were so much warmer than two...

They joked around for awhile (no ghost stories without Mr. Darwin there, though...somehow, it didn't seem as safe in the tent, telling ghost stories in the dark, without Mr. Darwin.)

Serena was probably the closest to The Big Girl than anyone else in the tent that night, except for David. She had a similar life. Although he mother was now divorced, her father had been alcoholic and heavily abused her mother. He had tried to beat up Serena and Alicea, her little sister, on one occasion, but Serena's mother had hit him on the head with a frying pan, and when he was unconscious, threw him and his keys (minus his house key) out of the house, and locked and barricaded the doors. When he came to, he drove himself to the hospital and wasn't seen again. Serena also had a horrible, similar secret to The Big Girl's, although neither of them knew that. Somehow, though, they were drawn to one another and seemed to look out for each other in an unspoken agreement of "I've got your back, you get mine". It wasn't like they were the best of friends. But they held the best trust in one another and somehow, each sensed the basic truth of the other.

They were almost asleep when they heard the rustling outside of the tent. At first, in a half doze, everyone thought it was the wind. Then, the snap of branches. Unmistakably, the sound of footsteps coming nearer and nearer to The Big Top. Then, something brushed against the canvas on the outside.

The Big Girl, not wanting to scare David, whispered to Serena "Animal?" Serena whispered back, through gritted teeth "I...don't...think...so..."

The tent flap had been secured from the inside with canvas ties. They should have been fine.

But the tent had no built-in floor that was an integral part of the structure. It was pegged to the ground, but there were gaps. The sidewall flaps had been tied down for the night, but they tied from the outside.

Someone was outside the tent now, they could all hear it. And they were untying the sidewall ties, which would have left them exposed to whatever was out there, protected only by the screening.

They all sat up, listening to the stealthy untying outside. The Big Girl grabbed her flashlight and eased quietly out of the sleeping bag. Serena did the same. They made their way silently to each side of the tent flap.

Cami started to wail. "It's the Man from The Flusher!" She wailed.

The Flusher, as they called it, was short from Flushington Sanitarium, a privately-owned psychiatric hospital not two miles from the spot. As kids, they never thought much about it, much as children who grow up with power lines buzzing in their backyards do not give it much thought. After all, most of the people who were admitted to The Flusher were bored, rich housewives in need of a spa more than a sanitarium. But they did have their occasional murderer whose rich families bought them permanent private care in the locked unit, rather than see them waste away in the state penal system, supposedly locked tightly within the walls of Flushington. So there was always an urban myth of a rich, young, homicidal maniac escaping from The Flusher who was going to come and get them in their beds some night if they didn't do their homework or pay attention to their parents...

On Cami's wailing, the scrabbling sounds at the sidewall ties stopped. Everyone held their breath, almost collectively. The Big Girl and Serena were poised at the sides of the tent flaps with their flashlights, ready to bash the head of anyone daring to poke it through a slit in the canvas. Suddenly, Cackle screamed...The Big Girl turned her light on and directed it to the sound, and saw that a man's hand had reached under the canvas just where Cackle's head had been as she laid in her sleeping bag with it pulled up over her eyes. He had grabbed her hair, and was pulling it. She screamed like her hair was being torn out by the roots and her scalp along with it. Thinking quickly, Elise lit a wooden match from the box she brought to start the campfires, and put it out on the hand.

"AAAIIIIEEEE!" a voice screamed...a young voice. The hand withdrew, releasing the hysterical Cackle's hair.

"Stay here, you guys. Cami and Cackle, round up the little ones in the middle of the tent!" Elise ordered. Quickly, Serena and The Big Girl untied the tent flap, and Elise joined them. They silently counted "One, Two, Three" with lip sync and head bobs, and burst through the door. Cami quickly gathered the flap back and tied it in place.

There they stood, in the dark, outside the tent. Their backs to one another, they were a triangular fortress in front of the tent flap. Off to the right, they could see a shadowy figure no taller than The Big Girl. At once, they turned toward it and bathed it with lights from their flashlights...

It was Serena's boyfriend, Dion. He was holding his hand and jumping up and down. "Goddam! Who did that?" he cried at their general direction.

Elise repliced "I did it, Dion. And if I'd had my frickin' knife with me, you'd be minus that hand. You moron. What the heck are you doing here at this time! You KNOW I called a campout for tonight! When my Dad finds out about this, he's going to beat you to a bloody pulp. He's going to ban you from working in the barn. He's going to go back and beat what's left of you to a bloodier pulp, and then, he's going to tell your parents. You are a bonehead...BONEHEAD!"

Dion replied "I knew Serena was coming. I just wanted to see her."

The Big Girl replied "Well, do it the right way, stupid. Go to her house and see her there. Don't come sneaking up on us in the middle of the night! My God in heaven, there are little kids in there who think you're The Man from The Flusher! They'll have nightmares all night and we'll be up with them. You're such a turd!"

Suddenly, from behind them, another, older, deeper voice said "And what would the little kids think I was?"

Startled, the three girls and their flashlight beams turned as one. Fully emblazoned in their glare was a sixteen year old with chiseled good looks, a tall, muscular frame, and deep, piercing eyes. The Big Girl had never seen him before. He was attractive and frightening, all at the same time. He looked...dangerous, somehow.

"Oh, Ralphie. They'd think you were the Easter Bunny," Serena replied. And suddenly, she, Dion, and Ralph were laughing. Elise relaxed, too. The Big Girl looked at Elise and said "You know him?" and Elise nodded. "He's okay." That's was their code word for 'safe'.

"Can we come in the tent?" Dion asked.

"No, you can't come in the tent, stupid," Elise said. "No boys in the tent when the girls have called a campout. You know that!"

"Yeah, well, Fatty has her little turd brother with her..." Dion argued, lamely.

"David doesn't count. He's not really a boy. He's a little boy. That's different and you know it, " Serena said. "And beside, don't call Siobhann "Fatty" or I'll never talk to you again." she added.

The deep voice said "No, she's far from fat. She's...lush." The Big Girl blushed. Somehow, what he said made her very uncomfortable, like she'd been dunked in an oil slick.

"Okay, you guys git, now. We've got to calm down the little kids and try to get everyone asleep. And I swear, if you try anything else stupid tonight, I WILL cut off your hand or any other part of you I can find. You KNOW I know how..." Elise's quick and accurate hand with a razor at castration time was reknowned.

Serena said "I'm going to walk them to the edge of the cornfield." And with that, she walked off with Dion, holding hands...

"Ladies...until we meet again!" Ralph said, following behind them.

"Elise, I'm not happy with this. She's so stupid when it comes to boys. She shouldn't be out there alone with those two." The Big Girl said, worried.

"Well, go get her, then." And with that, Elise yelled "Cami, untie the flap. Everything is all right. I'm coming back in."

The Big Girl Learns To Fly (Part Two)

2005-12-12T05:08:00.000-08:00

David and The Big Girl were all excited about the campout at Elise's. There were strict rules, handed down from Elise's father that there would be no mixed-gender campouts if there were other people's children in his tent. He took his parental responsibilities very seriously. The only times boys and girls slept in the tent together were when his own eight children, five girls, three boys, decided to give their parents a quiet night at home alone, and slept in the tent by themselves. Since they ranged in ages from sixteen to two, the older ones took care of the younger ones. Being farm kids, they were born hard workers and sensible, reality-based kids, and Mr. and Mrs. Darwin were completely at ease with their children's responsibility to one another.

One time, there had been a mixup and Mr. Darwin's boys had called a campout on the same night that Elise had called one. It was mass confusion - there were twelve kids there, about five boys, seven girls...and no one wanted to go home. Sid, the oldest Darwin, ran home to tell his dad. Understanding that a collection of boys and girls from nine to sixteen years old was not a good idea, Mr. Darwin decided that everyone should just rearrange their schedules and the smaller group would have to come back another night. But when he went to tell them himself, the looks of disappointment on ALL the kids faces just crushed him. So he volunteered to chaperone and sleep out with the kids. It was the best campout The Big Girl had ever attended. The girls were sweet, the boyss were actually helpful with the hobo stew and the cleanup, and they ended up, all of them, telling ghost stories until two in the morning. Mr. Darwin, for all his parental responsibility, was the biggest kid of all, and led in a singalong where everyone had to make up a line of a song. It was hilarious. The Big Girl always hoped they'd have another mix-up and Mr. Darwin would join them again. But it never happened.

David, although he was a boy and the only one, was going to be able to stay with the girls. He spent so much time at The Big Girl's heel that Mr. Darwin called him her shadow. David just sort of 'slid in' with her friends. They never really noticed him, no one thought of him as his own entity within The Big Girl's group. He was at all the Girl Scout meetings because The Momma was the leader. He was at all the troop campouts at Camp Dewy Knoll In The Tall Trees, the local Girl Scout camp...he was just...DAVID. That his presence as a boy would be an issue was not an issue.

They packed up their mess kits, their sleeping bags, a change of clothes (which would only get used if they got wet...one of the best parts of camping out was not having to take a bath and wearing your clothes all night and half the next day, like some sort of colonist or pioneer or street derelict...) They also brought their bathing suits so they could swim in the cowpond. After they raided the soup cupboard and David picked out two cans of Chicken Noodle (his favorite) to add to the hobo stew, The Big Girl grabbed a can of evaporated milk, four eggs and eight slices of bread. Then she grabbed a small jar of peanut butter and wrapped it in her clothes so it wouldn't break. They filled their canteens from the tap, and set off.

The Big Girl brought her house key, tied to a string around her neck, so that they could get back into the house the next day. As they walked the half mile to Elise's house, they sang. They were always singing. You never saw them walking or riding in the car when they weren't singing. They even sang on the school bus, now that David was on the same busses as The Big Girl.

He liked to hike with a stick. He had a big sturdy one he was bringing along, using as his 'hike pike'. Problem was, it was a heavy stick. So he foisted half his gear off on The Big Girl, who was already carrying his sleeping bag and his mess kit and all the food, along with her own gear. Bottom line, David most liked walking along the street and then the trail with his canteen and his hike pike. She looked at him next to her, walking along jauntily, singing at the top of his lungs with his beautiful clear voice, always on key...and her heart just burst with pride. He was her little treasure. He looked like a miniature Johnny Appleseed...she was tempted to take one of the pots from his mess kit and put it on his head...

When they got to Elise's, eleven kids were present. Elise, her sisters Camille, Laura and Hilde, their school friends and fellow girl scouts Candace, Serena and Shawna, and neighborhood kids Cathy ("Cackle", they called her, for her laugh) and Joanie. Cackle and Joanie were friends of Camille's and Laura's. As with her own situation, Elise was more or less glued to her younger sibs, too, and often had to take them AND their friends with them wherever she went. That's just how you did it in the country. The older ones took care of the younger ones.

They counted heads, made sure everyone brought a can of soup for the hobo stew, some eggs and bread and canned milk for the scrambled mess for breakfast, and pretty much left lunch on everyone's own devices. Cackle had a small metal box with her that held ice cubes. In it, she had put baloney to put into the hobo stew and also to have for her lunch the next day, if it survived... Everyone had their gear (even Hilde's special pillow, since she was allergic to everything under the sun), and they took off.

The Promontory was a quarter mile from the house, roughly. They trod through the rows of corn, which they were very careful not to break because it was the Darwins' lifeblood. They could not even see the tent until they were almost on top of it, the corn was so high. If they hadn't known these fields like the backs of their hands, it would be quite easy for them to get lost in them for hours at a time. But they were country kids. They were fine out here in the tall corn.

When they finally reached the stream that cut through the fields, they knew it was not much further. The banks rose about three feet higher than the top of the water, and at its narrowest portion, it was only three feet wide, so they often just threw their gear over and jumped the stream. With David there, The Big Girl didn't want to risk him getting all wet or getting drowned (visions of him disappearing over the edge of the WPA wall from the past winter still haunted her). So she took off her sneakers and socks and stepped down into the water, which was knee-high on her) and passed the gear from one side to the other. Then she grabbed David, carried him across and put him on the bank, and told him to take the gear and move it away so the others would have room to jump. Since Elise couldn't jump with little Hilde on her back, The Big Girl also carried Hilde across. Then Laura decided she'd rather be carried. When Camille tried the same trick, The Big Girl put her foot down. Cami was a fat child and weighed more than The Big Girl. And she was a nasty, unpleasant kid, to boot. So The Big Girl told her she needed to jump or walk across like she was doing. Cami wasn't particularly fond of the water, and wasn't particularly energetic and would have preferred to be carried over, so she decided to take a running leap at the stream. She waited until The Big Girl was almost scrambled up the embankment on the other side. Then she made her move. She ran, jumped, and landed flat on top of The Big Girl just as she was pulling herself up to the level ground.

The Big Girl had the wind knocked out of her and laid there like a dead fish, half in and half out of the water. David started to shriek. "YOU KILLED MY SISTER, YOU COW!" and he ran at Cami, landing his little balled fist right into her flabby stomach. The Big Girl just laid there, trying to breathe, certain she was dying, while David and Cami started scuffling on the ground. The fact that Cami was four years older than David didn't matter to Cami, she was trying to punch his lights out. But he was a terrible force to be reckoned with when upset. Cami was too bloated and lazy to be an efficient fighting machine. David, on the other hand, had enough of his mother in him to come out on top of any physical altercation. He ended up on top of Cami, punching her any way he could.

Serena was agile and athletic, and made the jump over the stream quite easily. She first pulled The Big Girl fully onto the corn field, and rolled her over to make sure she was starting to breathe. Then, she grabbed David, still flailing, off the top of Cami, who was blubbering like a baby whale who had lost its mother.

"David, no more. She's all right. Siobhann is going to be all right. So you just calm down right now." Serena admonished. She went over to Cami, checked out that nothing but her pride was bruised, and then went to Siobhann, still trying to push air into her partially collapsed lung.

The rest came across, one by one, some of them hopping the stream, others walking through like The Big Girl had. They all sat in the soil between the corn rows, all in a line, gathering their wits.

"David should go home. He's a terror. He punched me for no reason. Little turd..." Cami said.

"David was only protecting his sister. You jumped right on top of her and you did it on purpose!" Elise said.

"It was an accident!" Cami lied. "Beside, she carried everyone else, she could have carried me, too."

"Cami, I couldn't carry you. You weigh more than I do. Give me a break!" The Big Girl said. "Look, if everyone wants, I'll just take David and I home and you guys have a great campout. It's no big deal. I'll just come another time. This isn't Summer Wrap."

"No, I want you to stay. I want everyone to stay," Elise said. "But maybe we need to have a trial tonight at the fire."

Everyone was really excited about the idea of a trial. They weren't quite sure who was going to be 'on trial', or for what, or what would happen if the accused was found to be guilty, but The Big Girl really didn't want to go home and she was pretty sure that David didn't, either. She also knew why. She could just imagine them trying to explain why they came back home earlier than expected, and what The Momma would do with the story. And how they'd either both get punished because David started a fight, or how she would attack the Darwins and it would end her campouts forever...no, they'd stay. Whomever was on trial at the campfire was going to be able to handle it. She had a feeling it would either be David or her. Maybe both. They were used to it at home, so maybe it would be fine.

They chattered the rest of the way to the Big Top, as they called it. They opened the flaps, aired it out, swept out the pine needles and started clearing a circle for the fire. They gathered wood in the treest around the promontory and beyond, and The Big Girl dug a latrine, just like they did at Camp Dewy Knoll ("Campy Dew", they had nicknamed it.) She had forgotten their toilet paper, but luckily, Shawna had brough a whole roll, which they just hung on a short branch at the nearest tree.

They played hide and seek until it was time to make the hobo stew. Basically, they threw everyone's soup into a pot and added some water. Sometimes, it was a disaster. But this time, it was quite tasty, a combination of chicken noodle, tomato, vegetable, and minestrone. They called it "Toma-Vege-Mine-Noodle" and finished the entire pot.

After the messkits were all washed up and put on tree limbs to dry, they sat on the logs around the fire and roasted some marshmallows that Cackle had brought. Then Cami said "Hey, isn't it time we put David on trial for trying to kill me?"

Elise looked at her sibling, and said "I don't know about anyone else, but I'm thinking YOU should go on trial for trying to kill Siobhann!" David startd to say something, but one sharp lookf from The Big Girl shut him up right quick. He needed to learn how to quit when he was ahead...

Shawna offered to be the judge, and Candace was the prosecuting attorney. Elise said that she would defend her sister, although her heart wasn't in it, but Cami preferred that Cackle do the honors. It was a swift, merciful trial, in which Cami finally pleaded guilty to a lesser charge of reckless puddle-jumping, and was sentenced to apologize to The Big Girl and clean up the dishes after scrambled mess for breakfast. She didn't like either of these conditions, but grudgingly said "Sorry" to The Big Girl. The trial over with, apologies offered and accepted, they set about playing a game of hide-and-seek-in-the-dark, which meant they'd be using their flashlights to do the seeking....

Me, me me me MEME....

2005-12-10T17:18:00.000-08:00

Per Kal's taggery...

I followed his instructions and searched my archives for my 23rd post. (Is that like The 23rd Psalm?) It took me seven months to write 23 posts. And about 23 millions words....

Then I found the fifth sentence (it took five paragraphs. I AM verbose, aren't I?)

Here it is:

"Pale skin, dirty blonde hair, dark brown eyes...I got to really notice the parts of her that were her father, then parts of her that were her mom."

I was writing about a four-day visit from my Granddaughter, Firstborn of Kal and Wifeypooh, who spent some of her February vacation with me this year. I hope we get to repeat it next year...

Now, I am to seek meaning, subtext, hidden agendas...

Clearly, I adore this child. She is my first grandchild, and the first girl born in our family in 40 years. She is the oldest great-grandchild. I remember knowing INSTANTLY that she was going to join us. Her mother wasn't even two months pregnant, and I knew. I just knew. (I have this weird pregnancy detection thing going on, but never stronger than with my dear daughter-in-law.)

There could be no subtext in this. I admire the heck out of my girl. She astounds and amazes me. She speaks as one who is 42 going on 25. She takes after her dad in that. He always talked a blue streak. She also reminds me of her mom a lot, physically, except that she has the beautiful almond-shaped eyes of her Great-Auntie Precious. She is going to be tall, already past my eyes, at nine. And Auntie Precious has a bit of length to her, too. So sometimes when she looks at me, I see so many people smiling back. Kal. Wifeypooh. Precious. Never myself, but that's only the physical part.

She is much like her dad (who is much like I was), so there are always behavioural manifestations that almost make me cringe at times, because I know the kind of drama her life will be if she does not listen to someone similarly afflicted, and try to change bad habits now. She is a procrastinator, and she is a dreamer, and she is disorganized. She gets all of this from me. But she is also very artistic and very feeling and incredibly tolerant. I was like that at her age, as well.

I hope that I can always look at her and see all the positive things her parents have donated to her gene pool. I dread the day I look at her and see her eyes lie to me, like her father's did from time to time. Or the day she witholds love from me for not doing her bidding, as her mother has done with me as well. I want her to be herself, but all of her wonderful self. I want her to be free to feel loved and accepted as she stands. I want her to feel so happy with her life that she NEEDS no one else to fill it, but just desires another there to make her happiness more complete.

I guess that's the hidden agenda. I want her to make her own mistakes, and not be taught them from the paths of others. I want her to claim her own joys, and not have to live vicariously. And most of all, I want her to never, ever stop telling me those wonderful stories of how it is to be living in her world.

She's a blessing and I hope she always knows that. And I hope she'll always feel like we all know it, too.

The Big Girl Learns To Fly (Part One)

2005-12-07T04:28:00.000-08:00

Summers were particularly nice where The Big Girl and David lived. The Momma would go to work, and she and David would have the house to themselves all day. They'd rush through the housework in the morning, and then had the day to themselves until 4:00, when it was time to start supper. Although eating dinner together and doing the dishes were the absolute end to her obligations for the day, The Big Girl always dreaded dinnertime. She never knew what kind of evening it would be. A lot depended on the sort of day The Momma had. She prayed, every morning, that The Momma would have a good day.

The Momma had a habit of 'smacking'. She would reach out and just 'smack' The Big Girl with her hand, or whatever object was in it, across the face. The Big Girl grew into a flincher. One time, The Momma reached out to push a stray lock of The Big Girl's hair back into place, and The Big Girl flinched. The Momma was shocked..."Why did you do that?" she asked.

"I thought you were going to hit me" The Big Girl replied.

"Oh, you poor thing..." she started out. Then it dawned on her what the 'flinch' actually meant, and was insulted. "Ohhh, so every time I reach out it's to hit you?" The Momma snapped. And with that, she 'smacked' The Big Girl for making The Momma feel badly.

She knew she couldn't win. She stopped trying. She just tried to be happy where she could. In school, in Scouts, in a tree...just a few minutes, here and there, got her through the day.

One thing that The Big Girl loved to do in the summer was go camping. Her friend Elise's family owned a dairy farm. On the land that they rented, about 30 acres with an old, crumbling mansion and row upon row of corn for the cows, there was a wooded promontory which inserted itself bravely into the rear of one of the fields. Elise's dad had bought a 20' x 20' Army surplus troop tent, one with screening on the inside walls and flaps you could tie up. There were trees all around it - pine and oak and maple, birch, aspen...it was a veritable haven for The Big Girl.

Elise would call up all their school friends about once a week and see who was game for a campout. For some reason, The Momma never stopped The Big Girl from attending these informal, spur-of-the-moment camping events. Perhaps it was because the girls invited were all Elise's sisters and the members of their Girl Scout Troop...which The Momma had taken over and become troop leader. You had to hand it to The Momma, she was a great Scout Leader. She had a great deal of discipline and was eager to do the job. She also was tough, but fair, with the girls. All except her own daughter, who had to do everything twice as good as the others in order to be half as respected by their Troop Leader.

The Momma was very, very bright. She managed to become an accomplished camper in a very short time. Growing up in a tenement house in the poorer parts of the neighboring city, she was born for camping. She could build a great fire, sing songs, cook out, manage KP, and pitch a tent with the best of them. They even made a reflector ovens and baked gingerbread with The Momma at the helm. It was surprising, actually.

Elise worked on the farm. Elise had been driving a tractor since she was eight and could put the milking machine onto twenty cows in less than ten minutes. Every day is a work day on a farm, even for the kids. So, when Elise would call up and say "Hey, I've got tomorrow off. I'm calling a campout. Are you in???" The Big Girl knew she could get away from the house for 24 hours as long as someone was home to take David. She managed to work out an arrangement that, if dinner were made and in the oven on 'low', and she took David with her until The Momma got home, then everyone was happy.

The Big Girl was able to attend about five or six of these campouts every summer. They were the high spot of her time away from school. Even more so than their family vacation. It was time she had to herself, with her own friends.

When she was twelve, Elise called for a campout. The Big Girl called The Momma at work and asked if she could attend. Supper would be made and in the oven. She'd take David with her and meet The Momma with David at the road at the appointed time, and walk back into the woods through the field after The Momma retrieved him.

The Momma surprised her..."No, I'll tell you what. This is good timing, actually. You take David with you. Don't make supper. Daddy has school tonight, and I was invited out to dinner with the girls, but I wasn't going to go because I didn't want to leave you two alone. Now you can campout, David will get a treat, and I'll go out to dinner with the girls. I'll call Daddy at work and tell him. You go ahead. Have fun, be careful!"

The Big Girl was in shock. She didn't have to make supper, and she didn't have to bring her watch so she could meet The Momma. Oh boy! "Thank you, Momma! Thank you, thank you!" she effused, and hung up

She went to the back door and called David inside...(Hey! What was he doing in her apple tree???)

"David, get out of my tree right now. That's MY tree, you only go in there when invited, remember!? Geeeeezzzz...and come inside, Monkey. I've got a surprise for you!" she yelled through the screen door.

David slowly climbed out of her tree (he was a lousy tree climber, poor kid). And his bright little face, shining in anticipation of a surprise, made her smile. "What? What's my surprise?" he said, breathlessly.

"Elise is having a campout and you and I are going to go. The Momma said I should keep you with me tonight! We don't have to walk you back to the road for her to pick you up. You can sleep in the tent with us and cook hobo stew on the campfire, and have scrambled mess for breakfast and peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, and we'll go for a swim in the cow pond. How's that tickle your fancy, kiddo?" The Big Girl said. She was doing her best to sell this. David was more inclined to like to lay on the couch and watch TV all day. He could queer the deal for her if he got itchy about being outdoors all night.

But David was a good kid, and wanted The Big Girl to be happy. And he could tell by the look on her face that she would be happy if they could do this.

"Okay. But I get to pick the soup we're adding to the hobo stew. I hate it when you make creama t'mater soup all the time."

"Deal. Monkey..." she laughed and mussed his hair. He took a fake punch at her.

Yes, she thought...this is going to be fun...

Five is the Magic Number

2005-11-26T04:27:00.000-08:00

Penny tagged me!!! Yay!!!!

What I was doing ten years ago:
1995...November...I was getting ready to bcome a grandmother for the very first time. I was scared out of my wits that my grandbaby wasn't going to get to know me or love me. But certain that I was going to love him or her to within an inch of my life.

What I was doing five years ago:
November, 2000 - getting ready to have my second surgery. Scared (but not witless, just a prickle of fear underlying my stupid jokes) that I wasn't going to make it to the next five year mark.

What I was doing one year ago:
November, 2004 - getting ready for another Christmas, sad that stepson was moving to New Orleans (we get along well), sad that it was another Christmas that I wouldn't see my family. Sad about a lot of things...but not scared.

What I did yesterday:
Called the plumber to find out if he got the replacement part for my furnace (a gas valve, which was ordered as an LP valve and we have natural gas, and he didn't catch it until the day after it was installed. And of course, no one has the valve we need in stock...just another way to drive up the price, methinks...) It wasn't in, so we went to lunch with The Steps. Then L&M spent the night nasty with me over my ex-husband. Go figure...like I tell him how to deal with his ex-wife. Men! Can't live with 'em, can't cook 'em and eat 'em! (You guys, please forego the comment you're about to make on that one, and move on...)

Five snacks I enjoy:
1. Pepperidge Farms Pirouette cookies
2. Ranch Doritos
3. Baby carrots and maple dijon dipping sauce (salad dressing)
4. Act III microwave popcorn
5. French Fries with cheese

Five Songs to which I know all the words:
1. The Star Spangled Banner
2. Ave Maria
3. American Pie - Don MacLean
4. MacArthur Park - Dumbledore (Okay, Kal, shut up!)
5. Yesterday - the Beatles

Five Things I would do with $100 Million:
1. Pay off mortgages - mine, Kal's, BG's, Auntie Precious', Bro-in-Law, The Steps, the Neph's
2. Set up college funds for all the grandkids
3. Set up annuities for Kal and BG, the steps, Auntie Precious and Bro-in-Law
4. Set up scholarships at my boys' high school for Stonehill, UMass, Northeastern, and Bryant College
5. Fix up House and return it to its original splendor

Five Places to run away:
1. Auntie Precious'
2. Scotland
3. Scotland
4. Scotland
5. England

Five bad habits that I have (only five?):
1. I say the "F" word. Learned it in nursing school.
2. I bite my nails
3. I am a great starter and a lousy finisher (I can just hear my mother's voice when I write that)
4. I talk to strangers
5. I am funny (hilarious, actually) but only 0.1% of the population 'gets' my humor, and yet, I continue to make jokes that KILL me, and make everyone else look at me like I have two heads...

Five things I like doing:
1. Give and Receive hugs (but it is more blessed to give than to receive)
2. Hide inside my house
3. Spend time with my boys. They're so funny!!!
4. Spend time with My Precious. She's funny, too!!!
5. Crochet, read, play with my toys (see below)

Five things I would never wear:
1. A size 2
2. Leather
3. Anything skin-tight
4. Wool (allergic to it)
5. Fur

Five Favorite TV Shows:
1. Starting Over
2. Survivor
3. CSI (the original - I hate the Miami one, actors on that show are as animated as The Living Dead. Never seen CSI New York.)
4. Rome (now that Six Feet Under is six feet under...*sob*)
5. Desperate Housewives

Five Biggest Joys In My Life:
1. My family - just spending a little time with them is wonderful
2. My blogfamily - you'll never know what you guys mean to me
3. Days that I only need Motrin to get through
4. L&M's site visit days
5. Sitting in my recliner, with a cat in my lap, watching TV or listening to music

Five Favorite Toys
1. The TV remote
2. My crochet hooks, thread, and Paradise Doll books
3. All Things Anna Griffin
4. All Things Donna Dewberry
5. My Sony Viao

Long list...I'm going to tag Lab Guy, just to see if he's still checking in here.

Thanks, Penny. And Kal - shut UP about MacArthur Park, for criminy's sake!!!

The Big Girl Makes A Big Mistake

2005-11-08T15:57:00.000-08:00

David healed up nicely from his run-in with Linda's artfully-chucked rock. He even developed a romantic story about how he was a foreign prince, and in the night, his real family had come from miles away to confer their royal mark on him in his sleep. He would grow to be a king, because he had the royal mark...

When you're in kindergarten, the kids around you half-believe these little stories. So David was treated a little more 'specially' for awhile. Until, at least, they forgot about his star-shaped scar when Tommy Devine broke both legs and one hip in a car accident, and used to come to school in a special gurney.

Tommy could have had a tutor at home. After all, it was just kindergarten. But his mother, who barely escaped having had to enroll him in a Montessori school because his brilliant father insisted that Montessori schools were the ONLY way a child could learn, decided Tommy needed to get back there right away before her bargain to try one year of public school before Montessori took over the child's life expired in front of her eyes.

Anyway, whatever the politics in the Devine family ("That Bob Devine is such an EGGhead...talking down to us all the time like we're plebians!" The Momma would say. Momma did not like anyone talking down to her; even if she did pronounce it PLEE-be-yins, she was damn sure she wasn't one!)

So David's royal standing only lasted a few months. That was fine...he was getting tired of it, anyway. He really wanted to focus on something else. Like figuring out how to get Linda Schneider back for giving him the scar in the first place. He spent many days hatching elaborate plans to embarrass her in the school lunchroom. He would dump a bowl of spaghetti on her head. He would pee in her milk. He would throw a banana peel down just under her foot so she slipped and her lunch would go flying and maybe land on the principal and Mr. Regan would send her home with a suspension for getting macaroni and cheese all over his already-cheesy suit...

Of course, David never acted on any of these plans. He'd try them out on the The Big Girl first, and she'd explain the logistical realities of the fact that kindergartners didn't go to lunch. So he'd have to wait a year until first grade, and by then, no one would know what it was all about...

She was taking care of David again. After the Linda-and-the-rock episode, she was practically chained to his side. His favorite cry, when she would ask him to play a quiet game with him instead of his preferred 'try to bean your sister with the hardball' or 'ride you bicycles in circles til you puke' game, would be "MOMMA! Siobhann won't play with me!" Whereupon, The Momma would yell at her "Siobhann. Play a game with your brother!" Of course, they ended up playing the same game that Siobhann had originally offered as a peaceful compromise to being beaned with the hardball...but with The Momma dictating she play it with him, it became David's victory.

In many ways, David's time studying The Momma's tactics became useful to his ability to maneuver people. It enhanced his natural skills at 'management'.

The fall passed into winter. Winters were beautiful out in the country. The Big Girl and David would spend hours outside, building snow forts and skating on the ice that formed in the corn field next to them when it flooded in the fall... There was always something to do. And when it got too cold and too dark to be outside, they would come in, warm up (The Momma kept the house at 85 degrees), and do their homework.

The Momma had gotten a job at a local retail chain. It was a discount chain which allowed her an additional discount for her purchases. That fit nicely into their budget, because in those times, The Daddy didn't make a lot of money. It meant that The Big Girl took on extra responsibilities, though. She had to cook supper. One of the things that The Daddy demanded was that his supper be on the table when he got home from work at night. When The Momma was home, it seemed a reasonable expectation. It was her job. She was The Momma.

Once The Momma went to work and The Big Girl became the 'after school mom' to David, she had to learn to cook, and cook quickly, because The Momma and The Daddy were both home within two hours of their arrival home from school. That meant that she had to get both of them changed out of their school clothes and into their house clothes, make sure they both got their homework done, and get dinner made, the table set, and the house chores done. She was eleven years old.

She made a couple of bad meals, but luckily, because The Momma only cooked one or two things that were 'fresh foods', the fare didn't change much from when The Momma was home. She burned the canned beans once when they had beans and franks. She was punished for that. Then, one time, she forgot about the frozen French fries in the oven and helped David finish his homework because he was wigging out about his first grade math problems. The fries dried out and inedible by the time her parents got home. It didn't matter...she had to eat them anyway. All of them. Just to show her how her mistakes impacted other people.

"Your judgment affects everyone around you," The Daddy would say. Then The Momma would add "Like the time you had to go to Sally's and ride that damn horse and your brother almost got killed."

The Big Girl wanted to say, in the very worst way "Well, if I could have gone by myself, as was the original plan, it wouldn't have happened, would it? And if he hadn't been ignoring Linda Schneider, it wouldn't have happened." But she couldn't say that. She was well on the way to developing a sense of hyper-responsibility.

It would get ugly sometimes during dinner. If one of 'You Three', as The Momma called The Daddy, the Big Girl, and David, had evoked her anger or even irritation, suppertime would be a continuous tirade where The Momma would start with the offending party, berating him or her first, flaying the flesh from the bones verbally, while the other two ate in silence. The Momma wouldn't eat...she'd sit there with her plate empty and smoking her cigarette, the only active foodstuff in front of her a glass of beer. And when she was done with the one who had inspired her mood, she started moving around the table, reading a litany of sins which could have occurred within the last year or so, for the remaining two. You knew it was going to be your turn in the barrel. When she would start on one of the three, the other two would shovel food into their mouths so fast, in order to be excused and perhaps escape, that they looked like cartoon figures with rotary arms, hand and fork going from plate to mouth and back with such speed that the motion blurred.

And just when you thought you had made it, she would turn and look at you. You'd feel the icy stare, the sweat would start on the back of your neck, and you'd hear the words....."And YOU!" punctuated with the glowing cigarette. At that point, you closed your eyes and just nodded and said "I'm sorry" repeatedly. It didn't matter what she was saying, you just closed your eyes, your ears, your heart, and your mind, and just apologized.

One week had been particularly cold. The snow had fallen to a depth of over two feet, followed by a freezing rain which crusted over the snow and allowed it to hold the weight of someone up to 100 pounds! The ice was so thick, the streets were impassable. School was called off. The Momma and The Daddy could not get into work.

"Take your brother outside and play with him!" The Momma demanded. Even though it was cold, The Big Girl knew better than to argue.

David and she bundled up, and went outside, at first seeing how far they could walk before they broke through the snow. They could have walked to the moon, it was so thick...so they easily tired of that game. Then, they decided, let's see if we can skate on the top of the snow!

They dragged their skates out of the entry closet, and sitting on the icy steps (where she was sure they were going to get 'piles' from sitting on cement - The Momma always threatened them with that one!) they fastened their ice skates. David's were double blades that fit over his boots. The Big Girl tied them on. Hers were The Momma's old skates. They were too big, and she could only skate on the sides of her ankles with them. But at least they were skates.

Because David kept falling, and The Big Girl's ankles were getting sore, she decided they should try the flying saucers. These were large aluminum 'lids' that had handles on the side to hang onto. You sat in them and went spinning down a hill...great fun, in the snow.

They had a large hill across the street from the house. There was a fifty foot decline down to the bottom. At the bottom, were trees, a river, and on each side, there was a beautiful WPA-project stone wall with huge, thick walls. They were level with the land, so she knew that they wouldn't go crashing into them.

She and David took their saucers across the street and sat on the top of the hill on them, each looking at the other with excitement. "Race Ya! Last one to the bottom is a rotten egg!" said David.

"Oh yeah??? See ya in the funny papers!" The Big Girl replied. And they pushed off.

Down they spun. Whirling, circling, laughing, flying, straight for the branches of the trees over the ice-coated snow.

Suddenly, The Big Girl realized that David was going faster than she. He was lighter, his saucer smaller. Less drag on the already-slick icy surface.

"David - put your feet out, make some brakes. You're going too fast!!!" she yelled.

David just laughed. He was flying...

...and he flew right to the end of the land, over the stone wall, his metal saucer making sparks, and out into the trees lining the rushing river five feet below.

"DAVID!" she screamed. He had disappeared.

She rolled off her saucer and slid on her stomach to the bottom of the hill until she reached the stone wall. "DAVID!" she screamed again. She looked out on the water and saw the silver saucer floating on the top of it momentarily. Then, it disappeared under some ice.

"DAVID!!!" She screamed, she sobbed. "DAVID, ANSWER ME!" She started to try to lower herself down the trees to the edge of the ice. She was going in after him.

"WOOOOOOO....that was the best thing I ever did!" She looked down. He was suspended by pieces of his coat, stuck in broken branches of the trees, his feet barely touching the thin icy layer lining the side of the river, near the wall. "Help me up, stupid!"

She reached down, grabbed one of his mittened hands, but her own slipped off. So she threw them both off, pulled herself closer to the edge so that she hung over from the waist up, and finally was able to grab his coat collar. She pulled him up, inch by inch, until she could get him even with her.

She rested (he was heavy with all those clothes), and just looked into his beautiful almond-shaped eyes...realizing, suddenly, that she had almost lost him. She had almost hurt him again. That he could have died.

He looked at her for a long moment, and said "Why do you have ice running down your face from your eyes?"

At that moment, she realized that she had been crying hysterically, so consumed with fear and grief that her little brother might be dead... She pulled him up, over the edge, and just hugged him and sobbed some more.

Exposure...

2005-11-06T10:15:00.000-08:00

Living in the void between two eternal sleeps -
The time before I came, and the time beyond my time -
I breathe the ragged, jagged breaths of Life's demands.

Remembering old times that made me laugh,
laugh hard, and long, so hard and long that I cried...
Remembering, remembering...and wishing I were back there once again

But I am not. I am here, right now,
with the Life I've somewhat chosen, and somewhat have had
thrust inside my door.

I didn't have to open it, one might say.
I could have hid while Life leaned on the bell.
But I was home. Afraid to miss something real.

And so I did. I let Life in.

And it has hated me since.

Sometimes, I wonder "what cruel trick of fate
decided I be born, so that pain could find a home
too interesting to leave?"

And then I remember, and remember again-
the thrill of their wee cries, the tiny fingers
and perfect mouths and sweetness of their smiles.

Those were the easy times. The times I knew who they were,
the times I felt who I was.
The time I tasted just how sweet Life should be.

Everything goes round, yields yet another
example. Too old for youth, too young for death.
But abundantly in place to feel the pain.

Ah, well...in the Life that I've somewhat chosen,
I am home. I could have hid until Life tired of the wait
and moved away.

But I, and only I, opened the door...

(c) SbC 11-2005

A plea, scratched in blood, on the cellar wall

2005-11-01T08:19:00.000-08:00

Don't know why it's happening, but I think Recondo has something to do with it. I cannot get into most of your blogs, and am having trouble getting into my own!!!

At any rate, the little plastic dictator is cruisin' for a bruisin'...I am in secret contact with Kal, who unbeknownst to Recondo, has secreted a laptop away in the cellar, hiding under a couch pillow. He can j-u-s-t reach it with one hand and laboriously typed out an email to me.

Conditions for him are horrible. At first, when Recondo posted Wifeypooh's victim on Kal's World this morning (I will never give in to it being Recondo's World...), I feared it was Kal's demise we had witnessed. My heart skipped a beat, my heart was in my throat...but upon hearing from Kal, I felt a little better.

Unless, of course, it is Recondo posturing as Kal to lull me into a false sense of security.

I have not received any offers of help from anyone other than ltlme (a woman of strength and honor) to rescue Kal. At this point, I am hoping I will not be too late.

If you can help me, have any ideas, I need to hear them.

FREE KAL!!!

Don't forget to vote over at The Order. There were not a lot of nominations this month...but several of out little troupe have been nominated and deserve our support.

Okay, my time here is short. I live in a short existential span sandwiched between two dictators...Recondo, he of the Plastic Purpose, and L&M, he of the Physical Proximity.

At least L&M doesn't threaten to hit me with my own cane...bad Recondo. Evil Recondo. Give me back my son...

FREE KAL!

I Promised ltlfriend...

2005-10-23T04:40:00.000-07:00

...and I try to keep my promises. It's Sunday, the report is in (probably all wrong, but in)...and L&M is still asleep so I have a chance at doing something of 'my own' for a few minutes...

The Googly-Image Meme, by Motherdear

Name of the town I grew up in:

Funny story - the actual images of where I grew up were from a website that wouldn't share them. But I found this, which is just what my growing-up was like, from an art contest in Sudbury, Ontario. Apparently they had a village named "Adamsdale", too! So I borrowed it, and am grateful that the kids that Sudbury's Adamsdale are able to draw pictures of their tree swings and tree houses. There ain't nuthin' like a tree...and it looks like Adamsdale is a feeling, not just a place, shared by all who find one!

The town where I live now ("NOW" meaning the last 34 years...you can probably say this town is also where I grew up, since I lived here for five years when I was a kid, too):

That's our town hall. It was the police/fire station when I first moved here...you can still see the bays where the trucks were housed. Good old Dullsville...

My name (real):
No match.

My name (blog):

Heh-heh...I love it.

My two grandmothers:

Yes, that's right - Motherdear's Mother Dear was named after her own Mother-Dearest.

Daddy's mum used to call me "Lambie". She was a sweet, simple soul.

My favorite food:

Yum........

My favorite drink:

Three guesses what that is!!!

My favorite song:

Kal will get it...and promise me he'll play it at my funeral!

My favorite smell:

My dad always said I was a throwback to his grandmother...

My favorite sound:

I think that's a lot of people's favorite sound...

Here's another one, just for them...and to make up for not having a name.

Thanks, ltlfriend, for tagging me. This was interesting. And a lot of work. And frustrating until I figured out how to get the pictures in. And mostly, it was fun!!! Hope my answers didn't disappoint you!

On the Subject of Names...

2005-10-21T05:21:00.000-07:00

A dear friend sent an email to me yesterday whilst L&M was visiting New Jersey for another site visit. It tells you the definition of your real name...

...so, you know me, I played....

Here's the site, if you want to try it:
Welcome to Boston UK

And just type in your own name, and it will come back with a description of "the real you".

And here's what it said about me (and please, someone else try this so I can see if this is the One Standard Greeting everyone who clicks on this will get):

"With an altruistic and crusading spirit you desire to make the world a better place for everyone. You are generous, sympathetic and always prepared to give help when it is required. Although you feel things deeply your strength and well balanced emotions allow you to remain objective. You have a creative and intuitive mind which may find an outlet through art. You are loved by all for your selfless nature and inspirational character."

Altruistic? Probably, at times. Crusading...oooh, you should have seen me when I was younger!
Desire to make the world a better place? Yeah. Guilty.
Generous, sympathetic and prepared to help? Yeah, often when it is not wanted or needed.
Feel things deeply? Ya think???
"Strength and well-balanced emotions"????? HA! I almost piddled myself when I read that one! "Well-balanced" would hardly be a description I would think fit me! OR my emotions!
Objective??? Hardly...
Creative and Intuitive mind...yep. True, dat. Seeking an outlet through art? Yes, it's been known to happen. Art, music, sewing, needlearts...all that good 70's stuff.

Here's the killer..."You are loved by all for your selfless nature and inspirational character." Bwaaa-haaahaaaahaaaaaaa~this one kills me.

Loved by all? Hardly...No, maybe a truer statement would read "You irritate all with your martyred integrity and your incessant whining." But hey, I yam what I yam, said Popeye the Sailor.

He was onto something.

Anyway, if you feel like kicking a few moments around, give it a try. But me being 'selfless' and all that, I'm going to tag fifteen of you and challenge you to try this:

Okay, Kal, ltlme, Penny, Callie, bozette, Lab Guy, Lowk, Mossy, Larry, Mystic, Digi, MarriedMan, duff, Tranquility Base, Gordy - give her a try!!!! I wonder how many of us are exactly alike. And anyone else who tries it - let me know what it said about your name in my comments!

Thanks for stopping by, guys.

Just for Fun and a Break from The Big Girl

2005-10-18T08:29:00.000-07:00

I've seen this in an email before and it gave me a lot of laughs...so I was happy to see it in my inbox this morning. You've probably seen it, too. But I'm just curious as to the different names we come up with. Anyone wanna play???

Here it is:

The following in excerpted from a children's book, "Captain Underpants And the Perilous Plot Professor Poopypants" by Dave Pilkey, in which the evil Professor forces everyone to assume new names...

1. Use the third letter of your first name to determine your new first name.
a = snickle
b = doombah
c = goober
d = cheesey
e = crusty
f = greasy
g = dumbo
h = farcus
i = dorky
j = doofus
k = funky
l = boobie
m =sleezy
n = sloopy
o = fluffy
p = stinky
q = slimy
r = dorfus
s = snooty
t = tootsie
u = dipsy
v = sneezy
w = liver
x = skippy
y = dinky
z = zippy

2 Use the second letter of your last name to determine the first half of your new last name:
a = dippin
b = feather
c = batty
d = burger
e = chicken
f = barffy
g = lizard
h = waffle
i = farkle
j = monkey
k = flippin
l = fricken
m = bubble
n = rhino
o = potty
p = hamster
q = buckle
r = gizzard
s = lickin
t = snickle
u = chuckle
v = pickle
w = hubble
x = dingle
y = gorilla
z = girdle

3. Use the third letter of your last name to determine the second half of your new last name:
a = butt
b = boob
c = face
d = nose
e = hump
f = breath
g = pants
h = shorts
i = lips
j = honker
k = head
l = tush
m = chunks
n = dunkin
o = brains
p = biscuits
q = toes
r = doodle
s = fanny
t = sniffer
u = sprinkles
v = frack
w = squirt
x = humperdinck
y = hiney
z = juice

Thus, for example, George W. Bush's new name is Fluffy Chucklefanny. (And Motherdear's new Blogname is Tootsie Chickenbutt. My new real name is Crusty Girdlehump. Eeeee-yewww!!!)

Anyway, have fun. The WonderTwins, Kidlet, Munchkin, The Boy and The Girl will enjoy this...

WHO ARE YOU? OOO-OOO, OOO-OOO! I REALLY WANNA KNOW!!!

The Big Girl and David Visit a Neighbor

2005-10-15T06:52:00.000-07:00

If there was one thing that The Big Girl loved with a passion, beside her trees and her baby brother, it was horses. She loved the size and power of them. She especially loved the beauty of them. She was one of those wacky girls who would run around at recess with a bunch of the other horse-crazy girls, jumping over the benches and racing from one end of the playground to the other, pretending they were riding their horses...the wind in their hair, the sound of hoofbeats thundering in their ears, the feeling of flight, surrounding them.

It was easy to see why The Big Girl would be in love with horses.

One of the things that she hoped her parents might decide, in all her youth and foolishness, was that she deserved a horse of her own. They had five acres - plenty of room for a small stable and paddock. Plenty of room to ride and never leave her own property. And a ton of apple trees that any horse could munch from until he developed colic...

Unfortunately, because she had never been given an allowance and never had any money unless it was given to her for birthday presents from grandparents, a dollar or two at a time, she didn't understand the sheer overwhelming financial burden of owning a horse. So she would ask for one every year for her birthday and Christmas and every chance she got...but knew, in her heart, it was just a well-stated wish because the answer she received was always the same. "We can't afford any God damned horse."

There were horses in the neighborhood. Other children's parents had more money that hers did, although they had less land, and they were able to keep horses. One of these girls lived right next door to the little church The Big Girl and her family attended. She also waited for the school bus at that church every morning. So while the others milled around, she went over to the horse stabled next to the church parking lot, and would talk to him and give him a piece of purloined fruit or a carrot, if he was out of his barn. She repeated it when she got off the bus after school. She loved this horse. He wasn't much to look at. But he was a HORSE! And he was accessible.

She became semi-friendly with the girl who owned him. Sally was a few years older than The Big Girl, and she was a little on the 'wild' side...but she was nice. They would talk about things, mostly about the horse, if The Big Girl could get away with it, and after awhile, she got up the courage to ask Sally if someday, she might come up and visit. And maybe take a riding lesson from Sally.

Sally's response was "SURE! Come by after four o'clock today. I'll have my homework done and I can give you a lesson for an hour in his paddock."

The Big Girl was so excited that she didn't hear a thing in school that entire day. She got off the bus, still not hearing anything...her main thought was "I'm going to get to ride Blackie!" David was in the morning session of kindergarten, so he was already home. She didn't have to drag him, dillying and dallying, all the way to her house. She just had to run home (and run she did!), do her homework, and change her clothes.

Oh...and talk her mother into letting her leave the yard and go to Sally's house. Yeah, there was that...

When she arrived home, she put did her homework and after-school chores immediately. She changed into her play clothes, hung up her school clothes, set the table for supper...and then she set to the task of convincing The Momma to let her leave the yard.

"Momma, I was talking to Sally today..." she began.

"Sally! She's a little trollop! What were you talking to Sally about?" The Momma responded. (Any girl The Big Girl talked to was a 'little trollop' according to The Momma.)

"Well, you know...about Blackie." The Big Girl continued. She started to get red in the face.

"What about Blackie?? I've told you a thousand times, you are NOT getting a horse! If Sally is selling that damn thing, she can sell it to the dog food factory for all of me because YOU are not getting it!" The Momma replied.

"I know, I know...he's a good horse. She is not selling him. But she said if I came at four today, she would give me a riding lesson in his paddock." There. She said it. The cards were all out on the table.

"WHAT? You'll get trampled! Horses are BIG, ya know!" The Momma yelled.

"I know. I'll be careful, and it's only for an hour. Sally will have to make dinner and everything. Just an hour, Momma. An hour. One riding lesson." The Big Girl was begging. She had no choice.

"Well, okay, but only for half an hour, and you have to take David with you" The Momma shot back. Always having to have some control over every situation, even the mildest capitulation was replete with conditions and consequences.

The Big Girl groaned. She was with David every second of her at-home time unless she could be up in a tree. She loved her little brother, but absence does make the heart grow fonder. And he was in that annoying "nyah nyah, nyah NYAH nyah" stage...

Anything, she decided. I'll do anything. Cut the lesson in half. Take David with me. Just God, please, get me on the back of that magnificent beast!

"Okay, we'll be back at 4:30. I'll go through the apple orchard and the church ballfield so we don't have to take the road, okay?" The Big Girl knew better than to whine for more latitude than this. The terms of the contract were agreeable...less than hoped for, but not unlivable...

"And you'd better WATCH him!" The Momma yelled.

At ten minutes to four, The Big Girl grabbed David by the hand and tried to hurry him through their orchard and the ball field in order to get to Sally's right at four P.M. Of course, he dillied and dallied and made every second of the trip a living hell for her.

They finally arrived, at three minutes past four. Sally stuck her head out of the back door and said "I'll be out in a few minutes, I'm on the phone." Sally had a lot of older boyfriends and she was on the phone to one of them at the moment. That was okay. Some of David's little friends from kindergarten lived right across the street, saw him there, and ran over to play with him in the church ballfield. He was safe, laughing, having fun. The Big Girl just contented herself with rubbing Blackie's muzzle until Sally was through with her conversation.

It was about twenty past four when she finally emerged from the back door. "I have to be home by 4:30", The Big Girl offered disconsolately.

Sally was unimpressed. She said "Okay, well, you can just ride him bareback for a few minutes and we'll do a full lesson another time, okay?" She seemed to be more than happy that she didn't have to spend much time with The Big Girl. Truth be known, she had more or less outgrown the horse phase of her life, now that boys with fast cars had entered it. Blackie didn't get ridden most days. Some days, he never even got into his paddock. So he was happy to just be 'out', getting his muzzle rubbed by this frequent visitor from the church parking lot.

Just as The Big Girl was slipping between the paddock rails, she heard some angry words, and a scream. She immediately turned toward the noise and saw David running toward her, wailing at the top of his lungs, his face and the front of his coat covered comletely in a sheet of bright red blood.

Both Sally and The Big Girl started talking at once. "What happened, David - tell me what happened!" David screamed "I turned around to yell something to Linda, and she threw a rock at me!" Linda not only threw it at him, she hit him with it with deadly accuracy!

Linda was a little unstable. David had been teasing her. Linda, a rather homely, not intelligent little girl, liked David but resented the fact that he didn't know she existed. So she threw a rock at him, like David himself facing Goliath...

The Big Girl took off her sweater and held it to David's head to see if she could wipe away the blood and see the wound. She did. There was a gaping hole the size of a half dollar, dead center, in his forehead, not more than a half inch above his nose.

Sally yelled "The woman across the street is a nurse. Go over there!" So a stream of about ten children all ran to the house as The Big Girl knocked on the door, one hand on the sweater and one poised to knock again, if needed...

The woman came to the door, took one look at David, and said "Wait, let me get a facecloth". She took the sweater off, more blood flowed from the wound in David's forehead as he continued to wail...she cleaned it briefly and said "I can't help you. He needs stitches."

The Big Girl knew that her father had the car at work today. She said "Oh, my gosh...how will we get there? Is there a doctor close by?" But there was not, she knew...

Luckily, at that point, one of her friends from school had run next door to get his mother. She came and said "Come over with us. My husband will take you to the doctor's and I'll call you mother and take her in my car."

The Big Girl, still holding the lady's facecloth to David's head (it was well-saturated by now) carried him up to the next house where her friend's father was just getting home. He drove a cesspool-pumping truck for a living. The friend got in the front seat of the truck, in the middle, with The Big Girl near the door. David laid across their laps with The Big Girl applying pressure to his head. They drove the four miles to the Sanchez family's doctor. The trip seemed to last an hour. David was crying and bleeding, soaking her lap, upset and inconsolable.

Ten minutes later, Mrs. Sanches arrived, with The Momma, looking very distressed. She was wearing one black loafer, and a red fuzzy slipper. To say she left the house in a hurry when Mrs. Sanchez called is an understatement.

Dr. Izadori could do nothing - he dispatched them to the local hospital Emergency Room, with Mrs. Sanchez driving like a madwoman, The Momma in the front seat with David on her lap, and all five Sanches children, plus The Big Girl, in the back seat.

When they got to the Emergency Room, David had quieted down. It took four stitches to close the wound and he bore a star-shaped scar on his forehead for the rest of his life.

After Mrs. Sanchez dropped The Momma, David, and The Big Girl back home, The Momma was too exhausted to take out her anger on The Big Girl. Suffice it to say that she didn't leave the yard again, except to go to school, church, Girl Scouts, Rainbow, and family outings, until she started dating.

She never did get the riding lessons from Sally. Sally went on to sell Blackie not three months later. She then proceeded to earn herself a nasty reputation for her, uh, extracurricular activities. She died of cancer by the time she was 30. It was very sad. She was always nice to The Big Girl, and it was appreciated.

Aside from the horror of seeing her little brother awash in his own blood, in pain, frightenend out of his wits, and her own powerlessness to have prevented or fix what happened to him, The Big Girl got a secondary horror show out of it. One of the worst parts of the event for her was that when The Daddy got home from work and saw his little boy, asleep on the couch with his head swaddled in bandages, he wept. He then heard the story from The Momma, and without asking her one word from her about her actions and her side of the story, he judged her as being selfish and irresponsible. He looked at The Big Girl like she was the biggest disappointment in his life. He forgot that she had been mini-mothering this boy since she was four years old, loved him with all her heart and soul, and would rather have taken a rock to the skull herself than watch him in pain for one minute. The Daddy judged her, she was selfish, irresponsibile. Once The Daddy rendered a judgement, it was final. She knew this. She saw this. He took a lot to come to that point, but when he was 'shut', his heart was 'shut'. She knew this. Her heart sank, felt as if it were being compressed by the heavy weight of a truck landing on her chest. She didn't want to breathe...and she couldn't. She was devastated. She never forgot that look.

And never forgot the feeling it gave her. As long as she lived with him, she would catch just a piece of that look from him at some point during the day. Every day.

The message was clear. And burned deeply, for the rest of her days.

Honorable Mention Winner for October - Best Series

The Big Girl and David Move to the Country

2005-10-08T17:32:00.000-07:00

Since first grade had started, The Big Girl looked forward to attendng because she could see new people and try and make friends. Unfortunately, she really didn't know how to do this. Her only real friend was David. She had tried to make friends with Louisa and Louis, but that had ended in disaster. She had gotten a beating, and Louisa and Louis' mother had forbid them to talk to her because, well, because... She never really knew why she couldn't be friends with Louisa and Louis any more, but it did occur to her that perhaps, it had more to do with The Momma than it did with her. Whenever she thought about it, she would shake her head sadly and sigh. She wondered when she could be free to have a friend, one that The Momma wouldn't threaten to slap, or beat up the friend's mother...

She really wanted a friend. It's not that David wasn't enough. She just wanted to talk to someone her own age.

So, when she started school, she established a pattern that would last for most of her life. She would become agreeable, acquiescent, and change whatever interests and likes she had in order to please someone else and make them like her. She tried this tactic with The Momma, but decided at a very young age that she would never be able to please The Momma. So she gave up trying, and learned to take her lumps, in whatever form the rejection was to occur. But she found it hard to take rejection from her school peers. Unfortunately, the harder The Big Girl tried, the more people rejected her. Many times in her life, she would think back on how the image of the pathetic little puppy at the pound, wanting to be loved and adopted, would actually fit her. After awhile, she came to symbolize herself in that fashion. She would always base her friends on whomever would accept her, rather than on whomever she would like to have as a friend. The pattern pervaded her life. But she was desperate for acceptance. Desperation leads children to lower their expectations of themselves and others, considerably... In The Big Girl's case, however, it pained her as considerably that she could not, and would never, live up to the standards that she wanted to set for herself.

David was another story...David, now left alone with The Momma all day whle Siobhann was in school, had to learn how to work his way around the Momma's moods. Luckily for David, he was as cute as a button. Plus, he was the baby. That was a huge bonus for him. And the skills he learned 'maneuvering' what he and Siobhann would call "The Momma System" would serve him well in life. David could adapt to any situation without much pain. He had more friends than he could shake a stick at. And because he was so adorable, funny, and compliant, life was easier for him, on the surface, than it was for his sister.

David's biggest asset was that he was a boy. The Momma didn't have to compete with a boy for The Daddy's affections. The Big Girl was another story. She was doomed from the git-go. The Momma didn't like competition.

David started working on The Momma as soon as Siobhann left for school. He was a smart, handsome boy. He watched, very carefully, all the things The Daddy said or did that calmed her down. He noticed the patterns of when The Momma was more susceptible to rages. He learned early on how to act in the exact right way at the exact right time. He never admitted to any beatings while The Big Girl was at school. But she saw occasional bruises, and she had her suspicions. However, David would have denied the beatings, anyway. The very last thing he would do was to worry The Big Girl. As much as he was learning to 'handle' The Momma, he was learning to 'manage' The Big Girl. She had a streak of "Intolerance to Injustice" that often served her badly in The Momma System. If The Big Girl knew something wasn't right (where David was concerned), she made the mistake of saying so. That got her a lot of extra manhandling. One did not question the judgment or the authority of The Momma, no matter how irrational Teh Momma's thinking at that moment.

David was a lot like his Daddy in many respects. One of those respects was the possession of a protective streak a mile wide. And by the tender age of three, he knew how to protect The Momma, AND The Big Girl.

See, The Momma never really liked The Big Girl. She was an oldest child herself. There was only one boy in her family of origin, and he was the youngest. She saw the extra love and attention that he got from his parents, the same love and attention that she craved. So, in her own way, The Momma looked at The Big Girl and felt disappointment. She was disappointed that she had failed to give her husband a son. The Daddy was never disappointed - it was all in The Momma's mind that every man needed to have a son. But she came by this belief honestly. Her own father had told her on repeated occasions that The Momma was a bitter disapointment because she was his firstborn, and she was NOT a boy. The Momma's father made her mother have six children before she was finally able to give him the son he HAD to have in order to prove his 'manhood'. He ruled the roost, so no one questioned him or defied him.

Meanwhle, The Momma had been relegated to the Chief Cook, Bottlewasher, Child-care provider and subsitute mother to the four younger girls, because her father never worked. He was either drunk, or sick. Her mother worked like a dog. She wanted nice things, and the only way to get them was to work for it because that lazy-good-for-nothing man of hers couldn't provide it! She didn't mind the work. In fact, she liked being out of the house and wearing the 'breadwinner' hat. She also loved the martyrdom of being the wife of a scurrilous drunken good-for-nothing. Besides, The Momma had things well in hand at home. Nothing like a good 'right hand man', as she would often call The Momma.

So, when The Momma gave birth to her first child, a daughter, The Big Girl, one of the first things her own mother said to her was "You'd better have a boy next time out or you're going to end up just like me, with six or seven kids, until you have one. Every man needs a son." In a way, The Momma's disapointment in having a daughter was also somewhat based on the fact that the older daughter's life was harder (at least, from her experience, it was.) So she felt guilt not only for failing her husband, but for failing her child. Instead of taking responsibility for this guilt, and tossing it aside, she decided instead to blame The Big Girl for being born a girl. "It's her own fault. If she had been a boy, life would have been easier for her. But she was a girl. Oh, well!"

When David was born, The Momma had a special glow. She was now successful. The fact that she was mentally ill escaped a lot of people. During the fifties, you just didn't talk about things like that or act on them. You just dealt with them, and then, cleaned up the messes in the aftermath. So her illness persisted, untreated, for many years without therapy or medication, until she started medicating herself with alcohol when The Girl was about fourteen and David was around ten.

Siobhann was off to school, and David was home with The Momma. He could tell as soon as she got out of bed if it was going to be a good day or not. If it wasn't, he played quietly in his bedroom, and gave her a wide berth. He was already toilet trained at three. He could dress himself. And The Big Girl always made sure he had cereal in a bowl on the table. She left a glass of milk in the refrigerator so he could pour it on his cereal. He could climb in and out of his crib without falling and smashing his little head on the asphalt-tiled cement floors. Siobhann had given him some good independence skills. He had picked up many on his own. He was a smart little cookie.

As well, The Big Girl had learned to get herself off to school by the end of the first grade. She had missed half of that first year (she had no kindergarten where she started school) and most of the problem of getting off to school with The Momma still in bed was her hair. She had very long, waist-length hair, which she could not braid herself. But she could take out any braids and comb it out so that it hung, long and wavy, behind her. She picked out her own clothing. She learned how to make a simple peanut-butter sandwich so she would have a lunch for school. Sometimes, although it was risky, she would grab a quarter from her mother's pocketbook if they were having some of her favorites for lunch - macaroni and cheese, Welsh rarebit, baked beans, and her very very dear-sweetest favorite dessert of her life, the Sunshine Cup. It was nothing more than orange sherbet in a paper cup. But she adored it, and it was not something they ever had at home.

By the time The Big Girl was getting ready to go into the fourth grade, their life at the Post-WWII-GI Bill-Tract house development had been shattered by The Momma's making enemies of most of the neighbors, and those who didn't know her, knew of her, and she was shunned. Of course, that meant The Big Girl was also Mean, Crazy, and Nasty by association. Hence, she didn't make any friends in that school. What she did do, what she knew to do best, was to become a favorite of her teachers. School was the one place that she had an even chance at not being called stupid. She was, instead, very clever and very artistic. She was also well-behaved, so teachers loved her. Unfortunately, she loved them as well and separating from them was anxiety-provoking at the end of every school year.

Just at the time that David was about to enter kindergarten age, The Daddy and The Momma moved them. They left their little town, and moved to the country. It was the start of a real life for The Big Girl, and a little unsettling for David. But as usual, he adapted, with some minor adjustments...

David became anxious in the new home. It was a big old farmhouse, with a dirt cellar and a bulkhead. It had big rooms (he had one of his very own!) and it was not right next door to the next house. David felt dwarfed by the size of their land (five acres) and their house. He felt lonely with The Big Girl in school and The Momma concentrating on wallpapering and painting the new house. His confidence was shattered, as his world was a different world now, and he had to redefine himself...

David dealt with his anxiety by constantly needing to keep The Momma within eyesight. She thought this was adorable, and didn't recognize the poor child's need. She fed his dependence, making herself feel important. Strangely enough, at a time when her well-adapted, well-adjusted child became shaky within himself, she grew stronger. Yes, she thought, moving to the country was a good idea.

Meanwhile, The Big Girl dealt with the reality that she knew no one in her new school. She became The New Girl. As usual, there was the 'trying out' by the kids who had been there since kindergarten. They wanted to sit next to her to see if she could read as fast as they could, or draw as well as they could, or do the math questions as well as they could. Did she top anyone? Susie was the best speller...would The New Girl take over that???? Cindy was the class artist...would The New Girl take the honors there??? Debbie was the fastest reader (although she cheated - her mother was a teacher and had taught her speed reading by the time she was four) - would The New Girl be faster???? The competition was also fueled by the fact that The Momma insisted that she return to her old school for Brownies so she could fly up to Girl Scouts with her troop. It was a strange year for Siobhann - feeling disconnected with both of her worlds, trying to make her way through the mine field she called "life".

After school, when the battle of being The New Girl was over for the day, she would come home to David who would drape himself all over her like a wool scarf. He missed her terribly, now needing ALL of his connections in order to make himself feel safe and secure. The Momma was changing, growing new confidence, starting over in a new place where she wasn't The Mean Crazy Lady Who Beat Her Kids. David's former skills had to be readjusted. Just in time, he started Kindergarten. Of course, he adapted well...everyone loved him. Cute little bugger...you HAD to love him.

What David loved most about school (beside the fact that he was absolutely brilliant and had been given a hand up by The Big Girl, playing 'homework' with her all those years) was the fact that he now had his own world. He could come home and talk about his new friends and what they were learning in school, and how the other kids were acting, and best of all, he could tell The Momma and The Daddy all about anything he heard about The Big Girl in school that day...

Life has its strange turns, doesn't it???

With David now established in his own little world, and not really knowing where she fit in her own, The Big Girl began to isolate. Her favorite spot (she had long ago left the mountaintop because David had needed her present in the physical sense, at all times) was actually a real one! Lucky for her, their five acres was filled with trees. The Big Girl, surprisingly to herself and everyone around her, was a natural tree climber. She began climbing any tree she could find. She was searching for a replacement mountaintop. She found it in two places...one, a huge, hundred-foot-tall maple in the side yard. She could climb within ten feet of the top before the branches got too small to hold her. And she would do that, every day, at least once, and sit up there and look down at her parents' property, her home, and feel at peace.

The other tree she loved was a big apple tree in the backyard, with spreading branches. It had one section where the limbs forked and formed a perfect "V" with room to support her behind, and her arms...she could bring a book up there with her and read for hours at a time. David didn't like climbing trees, so she was alone.

David didn't need her, The Momma didn't want her, and she still had no friends...so it was The Big Girl, her books, and the trees.

She became her own best friend in that year, loving her solitude and relishing the escape of literature and Nature. In later years, The Momma would tell her "you were a snob when you were a kid...you never made many friends because no one lived up to your high standards. And you never said a word, like the rest of us wouldn't understand you because you were too smart for us."

The Momma never really did 'get it'. But The Big Girl wasn't about to argue. Momma had abandoned the yardstick, but had found the hairbrush was a suitable instrument of punishment, when in the mood or feeling the need to punish someone who was, you felt, so deserving...

Honorable Mention Winner for October - Best Series

The Big Girl Has Her First Anxiety Attack

2005-10-07T08:38:00.000-07:00

It was summer, and she had just turned six. All Momma could talk about was the fact that IT would be SOON. School. The Big Girl would be starting first grade. The Big Girl felt nervous about it, though. She was going to go to school, and she couldn't even read! One day, she burst into tears, the pressure of going to school soon looming heavily on her heart and mind. She had never been to any school of any kind before.

"What are you crying about?" The Momma asked, aggravated.

"I have to start school, and I don't know anything! I can't even read!" The Big Girl wailed...she sobbed, disconsolately, terrified of the fear of failure!

"Stupid! That's why you're going there! So they can teach you how to read! God, you can be so dumb...."

The Big Girl thought of David, and knew her time alone with him was coming to an end, so she had concentrated on David, on seeing him grow, watching him learn new things every day. She learned how to change diapers. He started to drink from a cup. She helped him learn to walk. She lived to make him smile. He would "Goo" up at her with his beautiful, almond-shaped hazel eyes. She adored him. He lit up when she entered the room. Of course, she hardly ever left the room he was in...she couldn't protect him if she was far away from him. But when he would go down for his naps, sometimes, The Momma would lay down, too. And she could sit and color, by herself. She liked coloring. She like making pictures. Mostly, they were of The Big Girl, and David, holding hands, standing on the mountaintop. But at times, her pictures would show The Momma with a frown, or with teeth showing, and David crying out of confusion and fear. She always drew herself standing over him, her arms like an umbrella.

One time, The Daddy came home while The Momma and David were still taking their nap. "Whatcha doin', kiddo?" he asked. "Just drawin', Daddy." she answered.

"Let me see what you have there, kid." Daddy took the picture and looked at it. A frown knit his brows. It was one of The Momma's bad days. She had not hit The Big Girl with the yardstick since the neighbor lady had called. But she had used her hands aplenty, and hadn't let her out of the house, either. She never really got to see Louisa or Louis again. She mostly stayed in the house. That was okay...she could watch David better from inside. And he could see her, and give her those wonderful toothless grins... On this particular day, she had had a 'bad phone day'. Someone on the phone had upset her. She didn't know who it was. But The Momma had hung up the phone again, and she spent the next four hours telling The Big Girl how bad and ugly and stupid she was. That was okay...The Big Girl could go to David and play with him, while Momma was yelling. It didn't stop The Momma, but it gave The Big Girl something else to think about. "Grab David. Wrap him up. Take him away. Find the mountaintop." she would think. The picture she drew on this day was one of the 'umbrella arms' pictures. Momma's face looked like a hungry lion's.

When Daddy was done looking at the picture, he said to her "Did Momma have a bad day? Were you all right here today?" She could see worry in his face. She knew he was concerned that Momma might beat her again with the yardstick. Momma made a good story the last time about how The Big Girl was stupid and clumsy and fell while running around the living room, which Momma TOLD her not to do... It explained away the bruises enough that Daddy just let it go. Although, at night, she could hear Daddy talking to the Momma about 'seeing someone'. Momma would get mad and keep him up all night. Daddy had to stop talking about it. He had to find his own mountaintop, she guessed. Momma could chew a mad to death.

"It was an okay day, Daddy. Did YOU have a good day at work?" She had heard The Momma ask him that question sometimes when she was in a good mood. He seemed to like it. So she asked him.

Daddy smiled. "I had a good day, kiddo. Thanks for asking."

The two of them enjoyed about a half hour of quiet time, him talking to her about David and how fast he was growing, about how much he loved them all, and asking her again what she wanted to be when she grew up.

Lulled into a false sense of security and feeling a 'special moment' between them, she let her guard down. "I want to be a Mommy and have my own house and six boy babies like David, and I want a husband who is nice, and I can make him smile. And I won't ever tell him he's stupid and I won't ever tell my babies they are stupid and I will never, never hit them..." and she stopped herself. Standing in the living room door was The Momma. She had awakened. She had David in her arms. Momma's look was one of steely anger. So The Big Girl stopped talking, quickly...she had already said too much.

"Hi, Ralph. What are you doing home so early?" Momma said, with a little edge to her voice.

"I'm not early. You guys must have napped a little later. I was just catching up with Siobhann, here. She wants to be a Mommy when she grows up...a GOOD Mommy...did you see her picture?" And Daddy handed over the drawing to The Momma, who took it with one hand while she passed David off to his Daddy. A funny look passed between them. The Big Girl couldn't tell what it meant. All she could feel was that she was in trouble again. She crowded closer to Daddy, next to David. She put her hand up to touch David's yellow blanket. David could feel her touch, and searched the room until he looked downa nd found The Big Girl, and he let out a gurgle and a big toothless grin.

The Momma scanned the picture for a few minutes, then crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. "She has been talking about lions and tigers a lot lately. Someone in the neighborhood must have gone to Ringling's or something, and old to her about it. You know what an active imagination she has." Momma smiled at The Big Girl with a hugely menacing smile, a lot of big teeth ready to leap out of her face and bite The Big Girl in half.

The Daddy said "Well, she'll be going to school very soon, so it'll be nice for the two of you. You'll get a break, with just David and the house to manage. She'll be able to meet new kids, and make some more friends. She needs friends her own age."

Momma interjected "She has plenty of friends. She's outside all of the time. She is friends with the twins across the street, but I think they're too old for her. And there's Katherine in the back yard, she's only a couple of years older, but she's in the same grade. They're inseparable" The Big Girl thought it was funny that The Momma was telling Daddy all about the friends that she had, when she had never met Katherine, and The Momma wouldn't let her even talk to Louisa and Louis since they took their walk... Momma was shooting her a glance that said "Don't you dare open your mouth right now. Don't you DARE."

Daddy looked down at Siobhann and said "Sho, is that true? Are you having fun playing with the twins and with Katherine?" Daddy had taught her it was very, very wrong to lie. Momma had shown her it was something that was done all the time to keep yourself out of trouble. The Big Girl looked down at her shoes and said "I played with Louisa and Louis. I liked them. I...like David, best, though." She hoped this would make everyone happy.

There was another meaningful exchange between her parents. The Momma started screaming at her "Why are you lying? You're always lying!!! Tell Daddy how often you play with Katherine!!! Why, didn't the twins come over just the other day and finger paint? Tell Daddy!"

Daddy looked down at her, and said "It's okay, honey...just tell Daddy the truth. Have you been playing with Katherine, too? Maybe you just forgot about it. How about the fingerpainting?? That was fun, huh???"

The Big Girl didn't know what to do. She couldn't speak. She felt her heart pounding out of her chest. She couldn't breathe. No matter what she said, someone was in trouble. And it was usually her. The air wasn't coming in, she was getting lightheaded and ready to faint. Her heart was pouding right through her chest. Her hands and forehead broke out into a cold sweat.

The best way to do this....what was the best way?????

Her eyes wild, her head pounding as if an explosion were about to erupt, and boxed into a corner, she looked out the window and looked at the road. She stared at it, hard...and suddenly, she was there, on top of her mountain again. Ah...the cool breezes and the solid rocks beneath her feet...She was alone. No one could see her, way up here! She could breathe the cool air, and her heart calmed its ragged beat.

David's screams brought her back, quickly. Momma was trying to wrestle David from Daddy's arms. Daddy was yelling at her to stop, she would hurt him. David was confused by the noise, the jostling...Momma was shrieking that Daddy didn't trust her and it was all because of The Big Girl. She was putting on an act and poisoning Daddy's mind against her!!!

Daddy sent The Big Girl to her room. She ran in and hid under the crib again. Daddy followed shortly thereafter, and put a screaming David in his crib. Then he shut their bedroom door. The Big Girl crawled out from under the crib, and climbed into it with David. They lied down together, both of them crying, hiccuping between sobs, as she held the dear little boy closely to her, and stroked his head. He eventually stopped sobbing, grabbed her thumb, and held onto it for dear life. The Big Girl whispered of their voyage on a silver boat to a land far away, where they would get on a golden horse and ride for days into the mountain. It would be just the two of them. They would live happily ever after on the top of a mountain.

The yelling outside of their bedroom ceased when The Daddy took The Momma and threw her into a cold shower. She shrieked for five minutes, then stopped. He let her out of the shower, and threw a towel around her and held her tightly. She then walked into the kitchen, grabbed a pot of hot coffee, and threw it on him. He reached for the phone and made a call.

People came to take The Momma to 'a special hotel' for a few days. When she returned, she slept, a lot. School started, and The Big Girl missed half of her first year because she couldn't get ready in time for the bus because The Momma was asleep. Luckily for her, she was a very bright child and managed to do very well, despite the absences.

Little David grew taller. He grew smarter. He was wiser than The Big Girl. At times, it was a tossup as to who was taking care of whom. Meanwhle, The Momma either slept or shrieked. The Daddy worked and worried.

The Big Girl hated going to school because she didn't know if David wouldn't be safe without her there. Later, when they would talk of these days, he would tell her that he never would have been all right if she hadn't gone to school, he had come to depend on her so for his happiness, his safety, and his love. With her gone all day, he had to learn how to make his own way around their family system. So, in a way, school had been a blessing for him. And when Siobhann came home from school, she would involve him in her homework and teaching him all the new and exciting things she learned that day. The Momma only ranted once a week or so, now. She had more or less forgotten about being a wife, mother, and homemaker. She just did what she needed to through a day. Her relationship with The Daddy suffered. The Momma got herself a part-time job at night, and with that, he was the night-time caretaker. He, the Big Girl, and David would make cakes at night after supper. They would play games. They would read the newspapers. They laughed a lot and made silly jokes. He taught them chess. The Big Girl was very bad at chess, but David excelled at it. The two of them played chess nightly whenever Momma worked. Meanwhile, the Big Girl would go into the kitchen and do the supper dishes. The Momma didn't like coming home to a sinkful of dirty dishes...

The Big Girl began wondering why they needed The Momma. With each passing year, she became stranger and stranger, and less involved in their lives.

But the more The Momma detached, the less The Big Girl needed to escape to her mountaintop with David and his yellow blanket.

The Big Girl took on more and more of the role of David's mentor, mother, caretaker, best friend, and sister. And she developed a small but stalwart base of friends from school, outside of her house. They were only friends IN school, The Momma would allow no socializing outside of the house, except for friends of hers or The Daddy's, from work. There were few of those, but they were good friends. The Momma began to settle down somewhat. She was still eccentric and theatrical, and still quick to hit Siobhann with something. Her favorite trick was to slap her sharply acros the face with whatever was in her hand...a bare hand, a spatula, a hairbrush. She never overcame her quick temper and the physical violence that was the hallmark of her own upbringing.

The Girl chalked this up as "She was doing the best she could with what she had to work with." She tried to forget it, because that would be the same as forgiving it. David's recollections of their Momma's behaviours was less violent. He did not recieve as much of the quick, non-thinking lashing-out retribution that The Big Girl did. So his memories were a big kinder.

They were fortunate, this Momma and Daddy, that these two children survived this episode of their lives.

The children, however, were not as fortunate. Their troubles were just beginning..,

Honorable Mention winner for October - Best Series

The Big Girl Meets Some Neighbors

2005-10-06T09:41:00.000-07:00

"Why is David still crying? He's always crying?" the Big Girl said. She was trying to soothe him. He usually responded, but not now. He just wanted to cry.

The problem was that he had been crying for three days and nights. Everyone in the house was exhausted. David, most of all. But he was 'wound up', and as he would prove at many times throughout his life, once he got 'wound up' he was 'up' until he 'wound down'...

Yet, David was her baby. The Big Girl wasn't going to stop trying to soothe him.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud! I don't know why he's crying! He's just crying! I can't stand him crying, and you asking me questions. Just leave him alone and get outside and play." The Momma was a little 'wound up', herself. There was no way she was going to 'wind down' until she was ready. The Big Girl obeyed The Momma and headed out the side door. Fast...

Once she was outside, she could still hear David crying, through the walls. It was a soft April afternoon. She wanted to bring him out and let the sun warm him, but The Momma said he was way too new to go outside right now. So instead of listening to her baby brother cry, and feeling her heart tearing into pieces with each of his little sobs, she decided to walk around their yard.

The house was a fifties tract house, ranch style, with two bedrooms and one bath. It was their first house. I looked like half of the other houses in 'the development', as Momma called it. The other half were the 'better' houses that had a third bedroom tacked on somewhere in the floor plan. The entire development had been created out of an old pasture, with funding provided by the GI bill. The Daddy had been reluctant to buy this house. It was $55 down, $55 a month (The Big Girl knew every bit of this, she had heard The Momma bragging to her family about it so many times. Nobody in The Momma's family had every owned their own house. They were always tenant farmers, or tenement lace mill workers. And The Daddy's people had owned their own farm, but his aunts had sold it off when his grandmother died in 1943. So, in effect, this was the first house owned by someone in both families, for quite a while.)

As she walked around her yard, a good-sized yard, with all the same houses on either side, she noticed that new people had moved in across the street. There was a girl and a boy. She walked to the end of her driveway to see if they would come over and talk to her. They kept looking at her. But they were very busy trying to look like they weren't looking at her. She did a little jumpy dance. And they giggled a little. But they didn't come over. She started singing her own version of 'The Star-Strangled Banter'. They giggled some more. But they didn't cross the road.

Since she wasn't able to cross the street, being only four and therefor certain to be crushed by an oncoming tractor-trailer truck out looking for little girls to kill (on this quiet, suburban street), she just stood there.

After awhile, she knew that they weren't going to come over and say hello. She decided to try something to attract their attention. "HEY! YOU GUYS!" she yelled. Both the boy and girl across the street looked at her, and whispered. Then, they went into the house.

She stood at the edge of her driveway, alone. She could hear David wailing in the house, and her heart ached. She was about to turn back toward her front door, when the two children across the street came out, crossed the street, and handed her a cookie. It was chocolate chip. It was her first homemade chocolate chip cookie...it was the best thing she had ever tasted.

"Thank you!!" The Big Girl said, between chews of yummy chocolate. "This is the best cookie in my life!" The boy and girl both laughed. The boy had a funny way of talking. He sounded like a duck, sort of quacky. He said "Hey, how old are you?" And The Big Girl said "I am four. But I am going to be five."

The other girl said "My name is Louisa. This is my brother Louis. What is your name?" The Big Girl shyly said "Siobhann."

Both Louisa and Louis started to laugh. Louis had the funniest laugh The Big Girl had ever hear. "Shove-on? That's a funny name!" The Big Girl was enjoying their laughter so much (especially Louis' quack..."wah, wah, wahhhh", like a duck) that she didn't mind. She laughed right along with them.

Louisa said "We were going to take a walk around the block. Do you want to go with us?" With hopes that they might bring out more cookies for sustenance along the journey, Shove-on said "Yeah...lemme ask Momma if I can."

Siobhann raced to the side door and opened it, and yelled inside "Momma, c'n I go for a walk?" Over David's screaming, she could hear her mother scream "GET OUT! JUST STAY OUTSIDE!! I DON'T CARE!" Davide screamed, louder...

She shut the door, ran toward Louisa, and said "She said it's okay." And with Louisa taking one of her hands, and Louis the other, the three of them started down the neighborhood street.

They must have walked around for an hour. They asked Shove-on all about her Momma and Daddy, and told her that they were both seven. Shove-on couldn't understand how they could both be the same age, but Louisa explained they were 'twins'. Shove-on had never heard of twins. They didn't have those in her family.

They eventually made their way, chatting and laughing, to a place at the end of the development, the outer road. There was a stream with a cool bridge over it that someone had made out of an old bedspring. They wanted her to cross it and go over the other side, but she was afraid to fall. There were about ten feet between the old mattress spring and the surface of the stream. It was only a foot or two deep. But the ten foot potential fall scared her just a little. So Siobhann stood by the side of the road and watched them pick their way over the stream and further in to the woods beyond. She was standing there, alone, looking for them, when she felt a hand on her shoulder ripping her around to face the opposite direction.

It was Momma. Her face was purple. She was angry, so angry that her eyes popped out and the vein in her temple was throbbing.

"You little bitch! What the hell do you think you're doing wandering out here alone like this?" She screamed. Louisa and Louis heard her, and started running back to the mattress-spring footbridge. Shove-on could only look at her mother in terror. She didn't say a word.

"No, no, she asked you if she could go. We saw her. She yelled in from the door and you told her to get out! We heard you!" Louisa said, pleading for her new friend.

Momma lifted her steadfast gaze from Siobhann's face to Louisa's. "Shut UP! Am I talking to you? And where do you live? I am going to tell your mothers!"

Louis started to quack back "You go ahead and tell OUR mother. We live across the street. She knew we were taking a walk and she knew Shove-on was coming with us. Go ahead, you Mean Lady!"

Momma pulled her hand back as if to smack Louis across the face, but restrained herself when he narrowed his eyes and just dared her to do it with an iron gaze. "Wow", thought The Big Girl..."that's a neat trick."

Instead of striking Louis, Momma turned her attention back to Siobhann. "You, get home, right now" she spat, between gritted teeth. And she pulled Siobhann by the arm, her feet barely touching the ground, six streets over to their front door.

"Get IN there" she yelled. The Big Girl did not hear David crying.

"Is David okay now?" she said, half hoping to divert Momma's attention.

"He's asleep" Momma again snarled through her teeth. Momma was looking in the coat closet next to the front door for something. She found it. The yardstick.

The Big Girl knew that that meant. She was going to get a whipping again.

Momma grasped the yardstick firmly at the one-foot mark and started flailing. She didn't particularly care which part of The Big Girl she hit - she smacked her on top of the head, on the arms and hands, on the face, once across the left eye, several times about her ears, her buttocks, her legs...The Big Girl was dancing around, trying to put up defensive positions to save herself...but nothing was working. There was no way to escape. So she stopped moving, hoping that whatever place Momma thought she should beat into submission would be present and stand up to the attack, and the rest of her could be spared.

Abruptly, the telephone rang. Mercifully, Momma stopped to answer it. The Big Girl just stood in front of the picture window, and looked at the street. She wanted to be under the street right now. She wanted to take David and run away.

She could hear Momma's side of the conversation:

"Hello....who IS this?"

"Yeah, well, what right do you have to tell me how to treat my kid? If it wasn't for your two brats, she wouldn't be in trouble."

"Well, I think you should mind your own damn business...and stop looking through my picture window..."

"Yes, you go ahead and call the cops. And if you do, I'm coming across the streak and beat the hell out of you! How do you like that, Mrs. Butinsky???"

With that, Momma slammed down the phone. The Big Girl closed her eyes. Momma slammed the phone down alot. And it usually meant she would need someone to be mad at for a little while. She stood there and waited for her mountaintop to come to her. "I want to be Anywhere, just not here. I want to be There, I can be safe. No one is going to hurt me there. No one can. It's my safe place..."

While her eyes were still closed, she could hear Momma drawing the drapes on the picture window. And she braced herself, waiting, for Momma to vent the rest of her anger on her with the yardstick. She could feel Momma coming closer...she could feel her bend over, her mouth close to The Big Girl's ear...

"Get out of my sight", she hissed. "Don't let me look at your for at least an hour. And don't you say a thing to your Daddy about this. Now, GO!" And with that, she pushed The Big Girl forward.

The Big Girl wasn't expecting it. She lost her balance and fell forward, hitting her face on the coffee table. It hurt. But she knew better than to cry. She got up, quickly ran into the bedroom she shared with David.

She looked at the sweet little boy in his crib, finally asleep after three days of wailing. He was exhauseted.

"Someday, David, you and I will run away and we will be safe. We can join the circus, if you want. I will take care of you and you will be safe. Don't worry, little David. The Big Girl will not let anything happen to you."

She crawled under his crib, where she could see if The Momma came into the room. She needed to be near her baby brother, just in case The Momma got mad again. She closed her eys and started to cry, the relief of surviving another of Momma's rages fresh in her mind, and the stored up adrenalin finally letting her systems return to normal. Trembling, silently sobbing, she fell asleep, and dreamed of herself, with David in her arms, wrapped in his yellow blanket, on top of the mountain. They were safe there. Nothing could hurt them there. They would be safe. And alone.

Honorable Mention Winner for October - Best Series

The Big Girl

2005-10-05T04:19:00.000-07:00

She didn't understand why she had to go and visit Aunt Grace. Just because Momma was having the baby? Well, she could stay home alone. She was four. Eveybody kept telling her it was time to be The Big Girl.

So why, then, did they treat her like a baby, and make her go to Aunt Grace's???

She didn't like it there. There was Pat. He was a pest and a year younger than she was. And he made her mad because he followed her everywhere.

Daddy was dropping her off at Aunt Grace's because he had to go to work. Momma was in the hospital with the new baby. So she just stared out of the window as they drove along. Daddy might come by for lunch. But he might go visit the baby and the Momma, instead. That was okay. She was The Big Girl now. Baby needed Daddy more. He was just a baby...

That was the last day of her life, as she knew it. It was the day that everything changed.

**********************************

When they got to Aunt Grace's, she said "I have a doctor's appointment today and Horace is going to take me. We will drop the kids off at my mother's for a few hours...I have been having trouble with my eyes..." and she went on and on about having headaches again. Aunt Grace was an albino. Perfectly white. Her hair, her skin...and her eyes were pink. She was almost transparent. But she loved The Big Girl very much, and she was The Momma's favorite aunt. So even though she was a little scary, The Girl couldn't help but love and trust her. She was a kind person, a good person. She had seen her share of cruelty in life. She needed people to love her. And The Momma and The Girl did.

As soon they got to Aunt Grace's mother's house, just a mile or so away, Aunt Grace and Uncle Horace dropped off Pat and The Girl, and headed off to the doctor's office. Great-Granny immediately said "I'm taking Pat to the park in the stroller. Grace doesn't get him out enough. He's going to be a ghost just like her if he doesn't get some sun. You keep That Thing with you..." Great-Granny was talking to Great-Grampy. And she was talking about The Girl.

The Girl was only four, but she knew that she didn't like being around Great-Grampy. He liked her to sit on his lap. And she didn't like to. He smelled old. He had fake teeth. But The Momma loved him. So The Girl did, too. She had to. She always did what they told her to do, and they told her to love and respect Great-Granny and Great-Grampy. Even though, she could sense it, neither of them really liked her all that much.

*****************************************

Great-Granny headed off to the park with Pat in the stroller. She watched them go, through the window. She wondered why she couldn't go, too. She could sense Great-Grampy coming up behind her and knew he was going to grab her to sit on his lap again.

"C'mere, sit on my lap. I want to show you something..." he said.

She sighed, and turned away from the window to look at him.

Great-Grampy wasn't wearing any pants... She tried to run. He caught her.

*******************************************

An hour later, she was lying on the kitchen table, in shock. She was hearing words that did not register, yet, they did....

"Your parents don't love you. If they did, they wouldn't need another baby, would they? They practiced with you so they could have a good baby, a perfect baby. A BOY baby..."

"I'm the only one who loves you. See??? I'm the only one who loves you!"

"If you tell anyone, they won't believe you. They'll spank you for being a very bad girl and they'll take you away and put you in the Bad Girl Place. And you'll never see your Momma and Daddy again."

She was lying on the table, staring at the ceiling...trying to understand...trying to make sense of something, ANYthing. She turned her head and looked out the window toward the park...

...and that's when she saw Great-Granny looking back in the window at her, making eye contact. Grinning, from ear to ear.

At that point, something in her mind snapped, and she sealed over. She was far, far away. On a mountain top. Nothing else was real. She could feel the cold air. She could feel the rocks beneath her feet. She just couldn't feel anything else. Nothing else. Nothing is here. Nothing is happening.

I am alone. I am on the mountaintop, alone. No one can find me here. No one can touch me, here.

I am alone...

**************************************

Two days later, The Daddy was mad at her because she was 'brooding'. She was a 'moody child', according to The Momma. The Daddy just said she was 'sensitive'. That was until the baby was born...now he agreed with The Momma. She's changed, she's moody. And selfish. She is not getting all the attention any more. She is a bad, moody child. I'm so glad we have the new baby...

She felt like she lost The Daddy. She didn't know what happened. She knew something did. The Momma went away and had the new baby, and The Daddy loved her up until the new baby was born...and she couldn't figure out why he stopped.

It was okay. She could always go to her mountaintop. That was her place to be safe. Alone, but safe.

They were riding to the hospital to pick up The Momma and the new baby and bring them home. The Daddy left her alone in the car while he went in to get them. "You can't come into the hospital. You are too young. You just sit here and be quiet." They never really had to tell her to be quiet. She was always quiet. Too quiet. But they told her anyway. She guessed they needed to say it...so she just sat there and waited, and stared out of the window.

After what seemed like hours and hours, The Momma and The Daddy came out with a lady pushing The Momma in a big chair with wheels. There was a bundle of blankets in The Momma's arms. She handed the bundle to the lady as she got into the car. Then, as soon as she was seated, the lady handed her the bundle, took the funny chair and went away. The Daddy fussed with The Momma and the bundle for a minute, and then shut the door. He was smiling, happy. He looked over the back of the front seat to her, sitting, alone, in the middle of the car. He stopped smiling.

"Momma, Momma, I missed you!" The Girl said, trying to get closer to the back of The Momma's head and put her arms around her neck. She knew she needed Momma right that minute, and she needed Momma to know she loved her. She didn't know why. She just needed to connect with Momma.

The Momma snapped "Be careful! You'll hurt the baby!" So The Girl sat back in the big car seat, and looked out of the window. She could hear The Momma and The Daddy talking about her 'brooding' again. She didn't care. She just stared out of the window. Soon, she was on her mountain top. She was safe, and alone. Nothing could hurt her there.

Once she got home, The Big Girl finally got her first look at her new little baby. He was a beautiful baby, with hazel eyes and a pretty little mouth, and the tiniest hands and feet. He cried a lot, but she liked him, immediately. And she knew he liked her. She could tell. He didn't think she was moody. He looked right into her eyes, and she knew he liked her. When he got a little bigger, he gave her the BEST smiles. She spent hours looking at him, watching over him, growing to love him so deeply that no other love she ever felt would be as pure, honest, and total as her love for him.

And she vowed that no one would ever hurt him. Not unless they killed her first, would anyone ever hurt him. He was her gift. She never figured out what great thing she did to deserve him. But he was the only thing that kept her from going to the mountaintop, and living there forever.

No matter what happened, she would protect him. No one would ever hurt him. Because she was The Big Girl.

Honorable Mention for October - Best Series

May I Recommend...

2005-10-03T08:13:00.000-07:00

...to all my friends, of all national origins, a blog that I have found and expect to someday be named to the blogging Hall of Fame???

It is named Tranquility Base and it is one of the most visually beautiful blogs I've ever seen. If is a photoblogsite, and the ideas presented are so upbeat and joyous, that it is glorious to read. When I'm feeling down, and someone's life is in danger from my mood, I go to Tranquility Base and find something there to be happy about.

Well, this blog is owned by a lady named Lj. I believe she is an Australian. But rare in this day and age, she loves Americans!!!

She has created a simple photoseries out of the song "America the Beautiful". I highly recommend it to all of us Americans who are feeling a little down about ourselves, our country, our politics, how the world is kicking us right now when we are trying to bring democracy to a subjugated race...

Please, please, go and visit Tranquility Base, and say hello...especially, please at least read the series America the Beautiful. And feel proud, once again, of what our forefathers dreamed up 225 years ago. We have one Australian who loves us that much, to have taken the time to create this work of art.

We can, at least, honor her work by visiting, and if you are so moved, vote for her on The Order. She is nominated for Best Photoblogsite.

I don't usually campaign. But I need to express my gratitude to her for all her hard (and beautiful) work.

God bless you, Lj.

Thank you, one and all...

In the year 1969

2005-09-29T11:47:00.000-07:00

I am shamelessly stealing duff, Penny and Mossy's ideas here and going for the music thing. Now, you must remember one thing...all of this music is probably more in my recent than past memory because the car of L&M (the Buick LeSabre, God forbid we get anything more sporty than a hearse!) is stuck on the oldies channel. Which means all I ever get to listen to is "oldies". Even the 70's stuff is new territory for me.

In the 60's, I was studying hard to be the next Pablo Picasso. I really wanted to be a hairdresser and use my creativity to become the next Vidal Sassoon. However, my mother and husband (then boyfriend) both decided I was not temporarily suited to becoming a hairdresser as I took my work so seriously, so therefor, I would become an art teacher. Of course, once I was a junior, my mother decided all channels of effort would be centered around securing a husband, because God forbid I wasn't married by 18 and chained to being an old maid...that then I should learn a skill so I could work and help my husband until I became a stay-at-home mom.

College was out of the question for me - then. I was deemed to be married two days before high school graduation (thus missing out on everything I had worked for over four years). I would be honeymooning in Dingman's Ferry, PA, whilst my class was a) graduating, b) celebrating, and c) getting drunk and losing their virginity. Since I did not get to my senior prom (The Dad wouldn't take me), I was planning on losing it on graduation night. Instead I lost it two days earlier on my wedding night. It sucked. What a cruel way to throw a kid into adult life!

Anyway, back to the music. I will cross out the ones I hated. Underline the ones I loved. And probably have a commment for all the others, since God knows, even when I have nothing to say, I must open my mouth and say so!!! (I thik they wrote that under my yearbook picture...no, wait, it was 'take everyone's advice and then do as you please.' Hmmmmm - they had me pegged, didn't they!

Okay. the list:

Top 100 Hits of 1969 / Top 100 Songs of 1969
1. Aquarius, Fifth Dimension
2. Sugar, Sugar, Archies played this a lot in my first home with The Dad
3. I Can't Get Next To You, Temptations
4. Honky Tonk Women, Rolling Stones - can't remember it offhand. Need the tune
5. Build Me Up Buttercup, FoundationsDon't you let me down...
6. Dizzy, Tommy Roe HUH???
7. Hot Fun In The Summertime, Sly and The Family Stone
8. I'll Never Fall In Love Again, Tom Jones(thought it was true, too)
9. Everyday People, Sly and The Family Stone
10. Get Together, Youngbloods Need the tune - If it's the one I think it is, it's cool!"'mon people, now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, got to love one another, right now!
11. One, Three Dog Night ONE is the loneliest number you will ever know...NUMBER!
12. Crystal Blue Persuasion, Tommy James and The Shondell
13. Hair, CowsillsThey didn't live far from us - Newport RI!
14. Too Busy Thinking About My Baby, Marvin Gaye Hmmm...Need the tune.
15. Love Theme From Romeo And Juliet, Henry Mancini and His Orch. OMG, I love this so much I learned to play it on the piano and cried every time I played it...I can still quote most of the album from memory!
16. Crimson And Clover, Tommy James and The ShondellsGREAT reverb work
17. Grazin' In The Grass, Friends Of Distinction Huh???
18. Suspicious Minds, Elvis Presley Aanother one that came out and I played in our first apartment. I loved the "OOOO, OOeeoo-oooEEEE" part...
19. Proud Mary, Creedence Clearwater RevivalLearned this one of the guitar. A classic.
20. What Does It Take (To Win Your Love), Jr. Walker and The All Stars Huh???
21. It's Your Thing, Isley Brothers Huh??? Is this the one that starts 'It's your thing do what you wanna do....
22. Sweet Caroline, Neil Diamond We play this at all the Sox games. "Uh, uh, uh..."
23. Jean, OliverCome into my arms, bonnie Jean...good movie, too, from The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie)
24. Bad Moon Rising, Creedence Clearwater Revival CCR is Da Bomb
25. Get Back, The BeatlesThe Beatles are Da Bigger Bomb
26. In The Year 2525, Zager and EvansShit, yeah, no self-respecting hippie could show their face without learning this song!!
27. Spinning Wheel, Blood, Sweat and Tears'What goes up, must come down'...cue the horns... GREAT horns...
28. Baby, I Love You, Andy Kim need the tune!
29. Going In Circles, Friends Of Distinction Need the tune here, too!
30. Hurt So Bad, Lettermen "and I'm beggin' ya, please....." COOL song!
31. Green River, Creedence Clearwater Revival Hmmmm. CCR snuck one by me?
32. My Cherie Amour, Stevie Wonder 'Lovely as a summer' day....'
33. Easy To Be Hard, Three Dog Night ???????
34. Baby It's You, Smith 'BAY-BEEEE...., It's you....' (Kal, note the name of the group!
35. In The Ghetto, Elvis Presley One of his best ever
36. A Boy Named Sue, Johnny Cash And I'm the sonufa BLEEP who named you SUE!
37. Baby, Baby Don't Cry, Smokey Robinson and The Miracles smoooooooth.....sexy
38. Only The Strong Survive, Jerry Butler ??????? Need the tune on this one
39. Time Of The Season, Zombies 'It's the time, of the season of loving!!' Good harmonies.
40. Wedding Bell Blues, Fifth Dimension Funny story goes with this one!!!! Precious figures into it. Maybe I'll tell you about it someday!!! "Bill, I love you so, I always will..."
41. Little Woman, Bobby Sherman Nope. Maybe if I heard the tune...
42. Love (Can Make You Happy), Mercy Huh????
43. Good Morning Starshine, Oliver An award for the best use of 'la la la la la, la la la...'as filler material.
44. These Eyes, The Guess Who Amazing sexy song...
45. You've Made Me So Very Happy, Blood, Sweat and Tears "I'm so glad you came into my life.." Another classic.
46. Put A Little Love In Your Heart, Jackie DeShannon
47. Do Your Thing, Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band need the music...
48. I'd Wait A Million Years, The Grass Roots Nope, don't ring a bell
49. Touch Me, The Doors Wasn't a Doors fan. Don't remember this one.
50. More Today Than Yesterday, Spiral Starecase "but not as much as tomorrow..."
51. I've Gotta Be Me, Sammy Davis Jr."Who else can I be, but what I am...." good life lesson song (or a great copout song...)
52. Lay Lady Lay, Bob Dylan Hate Bob Dylan's voice, but love this song.
53. Atlantis, Donovan Amnesia on this one
54. Traces, Dennis Yost and The Classics IV "Traces of love in the night, that things will turn out right....our traces of love, with me, tonight...." Great sad love song.
55. It's Getting Better, Mama Cass Elliot Strong beat, good melody, I give it an 85
56. This Magic Moment, Jay and The AmericansThis song seems much older than 1969 to me!
57. Run Away Child, Running Wild, Temptations no immediate recall
58. Hawaii Five-O, Ventures good instrumental! Book'em, Dano!
59. Galveston, Glen Campbell Confession time- I learned to play 12-string guitar just so I could play all of Glen Campbell's music...
60. I'm Gonna Make You Mine, Lou Christie ???
61. Gitarzan, Ray Stevens ??? Maybe with some music...
62. Can I Change My Mind, Tyrone Davis ?????
63. Time Is Tight, Booker T and The MG's ????
64. This Girl's In Love With You, Dionne Warwick
65. Color Him Father, Winstons ???? What, the priest stood in for kindergarten CCD class?
66. Black Pearl, Sonny Charles and The Checkmates, Ltd. Nope. No clue.
67. Indian Giver, 1910 Fruitgum Company Another one-hit wonder?
68. Mother Popcorn (Part I), James Brown HATE the Father of Soul...HAH!
69. Twenty-five Miles, Edwin Starr nope
70. Things I'd Like To Say, New Colony Six nope again!
71. When I Die, Motherlode
72. That's The Way Love Is, Marvin Gaye I'm sure I know this, with the music
73. Everybody's Talkin', Nilsson Theme from Midnight Cowboy
74. Worst That Could Happen, Brooklyn Bridge Great song.
75. Chokin' Kind, Joe Simon No bells ringing...
76. Smile A Little Smile For Me, Flying Machine Rose Marie, what's the use in cryin'??? In a little while, you'll see, Rose Mary, there's no use in sighin'....I know that he hurt you bad....I know that he made you sad, but Smile a Little Smile for me, Rose Marie, Rose Marie!!!"
77. Polk Salad Annie, Tony Joe White Nope, but wish I remembered it. There's a Poke salad Annie at one of my favorite saloons, and I always wondered where they got the name from!
78. Ruby, Don't Take Your Love To Town, Kenny Rogers and The First Edition Aw, ggez, was there anyone sexier than Kenny Rogers in the sixties??? I don't think so...
79. Games People Play, Joe South "Every night and every day, now...never meaning way they say, now...never saying what they mean!" Great song.
80. You Showed Me, Turtles Great Turtles fan, but can't seem to recall this one!
81. Come Together, The Beatles "Right now, over me..."
82. Oh, What A Night, Dells "Late December, back in '64"
83. Something, The Beatles ...in the way she moves, attracts me like no other lover!!! Something in the way she grooves me. I don't wanna lost her now, I know I believe, and how!!!" ANOTHER classic by the one and only Beatles!!!
84. This Girl Is A Woman Now, Gary Puckett and The Union Gap But let me say that I hate the song because it celebrates the deflowering of a virgin like it's a great gift to society. Bah...
85. Tracy, Cuff Links Nope. Need Music.
86. Mr. Sun, Mr. Moon, Paul Revere and The Raiders Don't ring a bell...
87. I'm Gonna Make You Love Me, Diana Ross and The Supremes "Yes, I will, Yes I wi-illl..."
88. I Heard It Through The Grapevine, Marvin Gaye Okay, any who has seen the Big Chill or the Dancin' California Raisins know this one!!!
89. Gimme Gimme Good Lovin', Crazy Elephant
90. Hang 'Em High, Booker T and The MG's ?????
91. Your Good Thing (Is About To End), Lou Rawls Nope. Know most of Lou's stuff, too! Did you know he had a case of amnesia that lasted about 11 years and he suddenly snapped out of it one night while performing? Cool story.
92. Baby I'm For Real, Originals Not to me, you ain't!
93. You Showed Me, Turtles What, was I afraid of turtles in 1969???
94. Love Me Tonight, Tom Jones I wasn't afraid of Tom Jones, though *wink*
95. Ramblin' Gamblin' Man Bob, Seger System
96. Laughing, The Guess Who need a tune on this one
97. My Whole World Ended (The Moment You Left Me), David Ruffin gee, baby, mine just began...
98. Soul Deep, Box Tops Too deep for my soul, cuz I never found you!
99. Hooked On A Feeling, B.J. Thomas BJ Thomas got his start with the theme for Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid...Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head. Didja know that?
100. Sweet Cream Ladies, Box Tops There are those box tops again...hid from me. Guess I didn't eat the right cereal in 1969....

Boy, that was fun!!! I knew more of those than I thought. When was Happy Together, 1968???? That was one of my absolute favorites, ever ever ever!!!

Back from MD

2005-09-26T06:53:00.000-07:00

Hi, guys, missed y'all!!!!

Interesting times. Auntie Precious is recovering. A lot of pyschological healing will need to follow the medical healing. Surgery that changes how you look needs a period of adjustment. It's like your personality was surgically removed with the bad pieces. For women, this seems especially true.

But she's maintaining her sense of humor. Our 'sick' humor has taken us through many a trying time. It's how we cope.

Accordingly....here are a few gems to spark the testosterone/estrogen debate!!

He said . . . I don't know why you wear a bra; you've got nothing to put in it.
She said . . . You wear pants, don't you?

He said . . . Shall we try swapping positions tonight?
She said. . . That's a good idea - you stand by the ironing board while I sit on the sofa and fart!

He said . . . What have you been doing with all the grocery money I gave you?
She said . . .Turn sideways and look in the mirror!

He said . . .How many men does it take to change a roll of toilet paper?
She said . . .We don't know; it has never happened.

He said . . Why is it difficult to find men who are sensitive, caring and good- looking?
She said . . .They already have boyfriends.

She said. . .What do you call a women who knows where her husband is every night?
He said . . . A widow.

He said . . . Why are married women heavier than single women?
She said . . . Single women come home, see what's in the fridge and go to bed. Married women come home, see what's in bed and go to the fridge.

Now laugh, guys. These were meant for fun!!!

Glad to be home. But I do miss Auntie Precious...no one knows you or loves you like your little sister. No ever could, or ever will.

Hope everyone behaved whilst I was away!

I Found the Secret!

2005-09-18T19:24:00.000-07:00

The trick is to blog short, and comment long!!!! And if that fails, put up a mugshot of yourself. Okay, so that isn't really me...it's my evil-looking twin. But she has less jowls than I do, so she got the duty.

So, just wanted to give you all a reprieve. I am heading out to be with My Precious, my one and only sib and baby sister, whom I ADORE!!!! She's having some surgery on Tuesday, and since she lives with only men, she wanted to have a sympathetic female ear around. I don't know why she picked me...but she did and I'm there!

So I'll be taking off with BG tomorrow morning at 5:45 AM to catch a plane out of Providence Airport. (Nice little airport. If you ever come up our way, be sure to try to go through Providence. It has Boston beat by a ton as far as convenience and ease to navigate. Of course, I'm usually driven to the gate in one of those 'beeep beeep' things they drive old and infirm people around in at airports... So maybe I'm a tad spoiled. Still, Southwest and PVD take good care of me, always. And PVD IS a kindler, gentler airport...

So, tomorrow morning, BG will pick me up with my lttle bag and introduce himself to everyone at the ticket counter as "Motherdear's son, El Burro"... poor guy has about 9 million pieces of his own luggage, but always manages to schlep mine around, too. That Bowflex must be paying off. He could bench press a Buick.

So, I hope you'll miss me a little, 'cuz I'll miss the heck outta you guys!!!!! I'll be back next Saturday night, and if I can get a connection at My Precious' house, maybe she'll check into your blogs, with me, and get to meet y'all. She's so funny. Y'all would love Auntie Precious. Just ask Kal. She's a scream. Next to her, I'm the quiet one in the family.

Before I go, I just want to say Happy Birthday to my Mom. She's 75 years old today, God love her. She's remarkable in her own way. Her parents were married 10 months when she was born, and were separated (Gramps was a drunk. Gram was a teatotaller. What a match made in hell! 37 years of constant fighting!) And because she was living with her mother, and had no money, my grandmother decided to deliver my mom at home.

Well, the doc was the town drunk too (I think he was a friend of Gramps...) and he showed up in his cups when mom was about to make her entrance. Something went wrong with the birth, and in an effort to get my mom out quick, Good Ol' Doc pulled her out by her right shoulder. He severed all the nerves in her brachial plexus, and her right arm just hung there, useless, for the next 75 years. To him, it didn't matter if he ruined her arm, because she was 'born black' and was left for dead as he tended my grandmother. And dead she was. No breathing at all for three minutes.

Luckily, my great-grandmother was a stubborn old Yankee whose foks were descended from William White, the Pilgrim - resourceful farming folk who never gave up on an animal born not breathing because it meant the difference between meat for a night, or milk for a decade, if they could get it up and running. So Great-Grandmotherdear pulled out all her tricks, including pushing a spoonful of whiskey down my poor baby mom's throat, and got her breathing.

So, if it weren't for Great-Grandmotherdear, Mom wouldn't be 75 today (and I wouldn't be here and Kal and BG wouldn't be here and The Boy and The Girl wouldn't, either.)

Strange how things turn out, isn't it???

Okay, kids, behave while I'm gone!!!! I'll be watching you when you least expect it, so don't make me come up there!!!!

See ya in the funny papers!

Finally, a short post!

2005-09-11T04:55:00.000-07:00

DON'T

MAKE

COME

THERE!

I Have Dream...

2005-09-08T04:59:00.000-07:00

...or at least, I USED to...

Just recently, my beloved blogdaughter Penny went through a 'slump'. That's what we call it when things just don't seem to 'fit' anymore. It's like you go to bed one night as your usual self, and wake up the next morning to find that you either shrunk to the size of a six-year-old during your sleep, or some wise-guy came in and replaced all your clothes and furniture with stuff that is meant for a child's life.

You just feel out of sorts. There's nothing realy WRONG...you can't put your finger on it. You can't tell anyone how to help you, and you can't fix it without their help. Up seems like down and down seems like sideways and through it all, there are meals to cook and people to love and guinea pigs who need a clean cage...

And here you are, tripping over pants legs that are about ten inches too long, having to roll up your sleeves so they don't fall into the dishwater. Your life suddenly seems to big for you to wear.

That's a' slump'.

Women get 'slumps'. We get them at certain points in our lives. And they are, technically, called 'periodic dysthymia', which is a low-level depression caused by a depletion of serotonin in the brain. Serotonin is a neurotransmitter which gives us the 'peace-and-quiet-all's-right-with-the-world' feeling that keeps things "OKAY" for us. We only have a certain amout of it in our brains, so it kind of lives in the ends of the neurons, floats across the synaptic gulf like commuters on the Staten Island Ferry, goes to its receptor site on the next neuron in the chain, does its job, and commutes back home. That's basically what neurotransmitters do. They each have a job, so they commute to work and then go back home when the work is done. They eat, sleep, get up and go to work again.

Our brains mimic our lives. Or vice versa...

Anyway. We produce neurotransmitters very slowly. They take a long time (months) to be replenished. So when we deplete them in any way, it takes longer for their work to be done until we get more made up. When serotonin is depleted a little, we go into a state of periodic dysthymia. If we deplete them a lot, we enter depression.

So there is a chemical reason why we get the slumps. Men, this is a public service announcement:

WHEN SEROTONIN IS DEPLETED, DO NOT TRY TO 'FIX' THE PROBLEM. IT WILL FIX ITSELF IN TIME. JUST BE SUPPORTIVE AND HAND OUT FREQUENT QUANTITIES OF TISSUES AND HUGS. BUY DINNER OUT. TELL US WE'RE BEAUTIFUL EVEN IF WE LOOK LIKE LILY MUNSTER WITHOUT THE TOOTHY SMILE. AND FOR PETE'S SAKES, FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY AND THAT OF YOUR FAVORITE TOYS AND FUTURE SEX LIFE, DO *NOT* TELL US TO 'SNAP OUT OF IT' WHEN YOU ARE BORED WITH OUR SLUMP. IT WILL NOT FOLLOW YOUR TIME SCHEDULE NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU WANT IT TO AND THREATS WILL GET YOU NOWHERE!!!

You heard it here first, guys...

Okay, so back to having a dream. (It will relate to the 'slump' if you hang in there. I promise.)

When I was younger, all I wanted to be was a housewife and a mom. I knew exactly what kind of Mom and housewife I would be because I had been taking notes (literally) of everything my mother ever did wrong from the time I was about eight years old. I knew the words that I hated the most (e.g. "I don't care what all the other kids are doing. I'm not their mother!" and "If you get a 'C' on your report card, you are not going to graduate with your class!") and I vowed not to say those to my kids, if I should be lucky enough to get them. I also knew that chaining children to cleaning a house all day Saturday, when they had been at school all week long (and the Saturday cartoons were only on until noontime and you didn't finish cleaning until 3 PM) was a definite cause for resentment and mommycidal ideation in said children. So I knew I wasn't going to do that, either!! There was a list of things that I was going to do and be and make our lives together something akin to The Sound of Music Meets Maple Syrup. Oh, I wanted six kids, too. Yeah, six. I was going to be Mother Earth, bountiful, nursing my young as I grew my own vegetables and made my own bread.

Now enter REALITY....the slut...

It never happened like that. It was NEVER what I thought it was going to be. Why? Well, I couldn't have the six kids. The four girls died on me, and BG tried to do the same, but managed to pull through by sheer grit and determination. (BG confirmed for me that God is Real.)

I never grew the vegetables. Didn't know how. Didn't have help. Didn't happen.

Made the bread. It was good, too.

But the Women's Movement changed everthing. It changed how I was perceived. It changed how I was to live my life, and how my children were raised. I didn't have the strength to NOT Be Something in addition to a housewife and mother because I had such little self-confidence (thanks to my mother and The Dad) that I didn't realize I was fine, right where I stood. I was not measuring up to society's standards for young women in the 70s. I had to "BE" something. It didn't matter that I was already "SOMETHING" and it was an important something. My dad tried to tell me that. But he was the only one who did. My mother and The Dad just said "You are a wife and mother because I said so and that's what you will stay."

Okay, the only thing that ticks me off worse than being ignored or patronized is being told what I can and can't do on a local level. It's like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

So I had to, HAD to, "BE" something. I chose to be a nurse, against all odds and a lot of opposition. My Precious was the only supportive voice I heard.

Eventually, I got there. But it was arduous and painful.

Now that I had totally derailed 'the plan' in order to meet society's needs, I thought "Well, this is a good thing. I will use the money from this profession to put aside money for the boys' college, since The Dad doesn't believe in college unless you pay for it yourself. And I will pay off the mortgage sooner. And I will put aside money for repairs on the house that he won't make, even though he's highly capable. And I'll save for a vacation. A REAL vacation. One where I don't have to stay with relatives and cross my legs for 1500 miles while we drive nonstop except for gas."

So I was thrilled that I got to "BE" something for a definitive purpose. A purpose of my choosing...

WRONG! The Dad quit his job on my last day of nursing classes, before finals. I came home from class, and there he was. He told me he quit and I had a job lined up, so now I could support him for awhile. (Odd, isn't it??? He insisted all those years that I be a stay-at-home mom and wife, yet secretly resented me for it. I guess this was my payback.) So I did. I supported us all. On $6 an hour as a graduate nurse. And I continued to support us for the next two years, and then permanently, when I divorced him five years after.

POOF! Another dream, shot in the butt, like Digi's cartoon duck. Instead of the nice life I had envisioned, he assured that I would work my butt off to be poor for the rest of my life.

Okay, from that point on, I had to make specific goals and work toward them. My life had spun out of control. I couldn't put any vague focusless dream out there. I needed something to work toward. I needed that for myself. Why? Because society said I should.

Every year, on my birthday, I would take out my mental roadmap. I had plotted my life course as a youngster, and there were detours. And I kept replotting from new positions. And there were more detours. And whenever I was tired and seemed to be treading mud instead of water, I would think about where I was and what I was doing, and I would get depressed because no matter how hard I tried, there were always these roadblocks and detours and sometimes, the "THEY" out there, the gods of pointless change, would just plain steal my map and give me someone else's.

The last time I did a 'map check' was on my 47th birthday. I wasn't pleased with where I was at. But it was workable and I could formulate a new plan and replot.

Nine days later, I had an accident at work that changed my life and ended my career.

Replot, replan...

Surprise twist - I got married.

Okay, new change, new plan...life together, forever...

Six months later, I was diagnosed with cancer.

Okay, new change, new plan, plot again...surgeries, new body, learn to be myself all over agains because this is not the "ME" I knew.

New changes, new plan, plot again...focus on survival, enjoying whatever you can.

Okay, we're cured! Do I want to, need to, change anything????

The point is that women spend a lot of time working toward goals. They are not always conscious and stated goals. In fact, unless we're terrifically organized and write them down, we just sort of steer our lives according to the mental chart we've devised. Think about it. Even when you see a woman on a beach, on vacation, who looks totally relaxed and at peace, if you were to say to her "So what are you thinking right now?" - nine times out of ten she will respond "I'm just wondering if the kids are having as much fun at mom's house as I am right now" or "I'm thinking about where we're going for dinner" or "I'm planning to rip all your clothes off and take you to the mats, naked, as soon as we get back to the room!" Women, although they look it, are not being 'quiet'. We are NEVER mentally "quiet".

And we are very seldom, if ever, 'selfish' about what we're thinking, even though or thought may be unconsciously about our 'stuff'. Our lives, our responsibilities, our choices, they are ours. We own them, we live them, we let no one else carry them for us. They are, proudly, stubbornly, and in spite of ourselves at times, OURS.

Okay, now where do the 'slumps' come in???

Well, sometimes we reach a state of 'incongruence'. We reach the state where what we hoped, planned, dreamed, worked for, isn't exactly what was scripted originally or what we got in the end. We know that. We expect it to a certain degree. But when we're low on serotonin and our minds won't shut up at night and we just keep running scripts through our heads, we can't sleep. The more we can't sleep, the less serotonin we make. The less serotonin, the more we run the scripts when our minds are quiet and we can't shut them off with our daily activities and the business of life. And we enter into a vicious cycle of sleeplessness = overthinking = frustration = more sleeplessness = more overthinking = more frustration... You get the drift of it.

So how to fix this???

One way is to "Work like a fireman". Fireman do whatever work they can do when it's quiet, because there's never any time to do it when they're busy. They have to be ready to go at a moment's notice. Backtracking and catching up are not always an option. So if we stay on top of the little things, they won't become big things. This will cause less worry, keep the neurotransmitters stable, and basically help us feel at ease.

Another way is to stop making ridiculous perfectionist demands of ourselves. We women are our own worst critics. The more self-critical we are, the more fodder we give the little head-monster who tries to nag us all night long. The wretched thing...we need to stop feeding it by realizing that WE ARE ALL RIGHT, RIGHT HERE WHERE WE STAND!

A third thing to do is to stop taking our own inventories. Yes, our lives will get too big for our bodies, and our minds!!! Life is HUGE! Think about it! Think about the circle around you, and how complex it is. The millions of interactions of minute parts, the corresponding parts of adjacent triangles, whatever way it makes sense to you...but think about the complexity of one human life. Sometimes, I feel like a spider living in a web, and I have my inner circle of web, and then the next circle out, then the next...and if I pull this string over here, THAT part of the web moves! And my life is simple!! I can't imagine how large the lives of young parents out there feels now, where the world is so much more complex!!!

Another thing we need to do - simplify our lives. I'm more guilty of this one than anyone on the face of the earth. But things are just that - things! If one makes you feel good, fine. But don't have any more of a thing than you can file, dust, wash, feed, fold, fluff, and find a place for. The more stuff we own, the more of our oxygen it takes up until it suffocates us...(choke, gasp, huge inhale)

Throw away the chart. Burn the scripts. Form simple goals to work toward, like "get the kids through school", "get the kids to college", "move to X" "pay off the mortgage" and work toward those. But throw away the charts, or if you insist on keeping them, then expect to alter them frequently, because life can change in a heartbeat. Someone once said "The unexamined life is not worth living" (who said that, you experts out there?) Well, I would add "The overexamined life is not even livable!"

We do not have to control our lives. We just need to control our behaviours, and our responses to our lives and those who are in it.

Our job is just to enjoy the ride. Before it's too late.

And we never know when that will be...so enjoy, now, today...

Before it's too late.

Yup. If Everyone Jumped Off A Bridge, I'd go, too!

2005-09-01T16:47:00.000-07:00

Bless me, children, for I have sinned. It's been a lifetime since my last confession...actually, it's been a lifetime since a LOT of stuff!!!! But I an going to break the rules a bit and just put down the ones I've actually done or have comments to. (That should be most of them, right?)

Here we go:
[x] I've run away from home. (Not really, but disappeared for six hours once.)
[x] I shut others out when I'm sad. (A universal truth)
[x] I open up to others easily. (Too easily.)
[x] I am keeping a secret from the world. (Another universal truth.)
(x) I watch the news sometimes. (Every night. It's sandwiched between Judge Judy and Dr. Phil.)
[x] I love Disney movies. (I really do.)
[x] I curse regularly. (One of the three things you learn in nursing school - the "F" word just isn't strong enough. We need to invent another word.)
[x] I bake well. (I make great bread.)
[x] I am in love with someone. (My soulmate. Still wanna kill him sometimes, though.)
[x] I am guilty of tYpInG lIkE tHiS (MOre LIke THis, THough.)
[x] I am self conscious. (Hoo boy, am I! And egocentric at the same time! A deadly combination!)
[x] I like to laugh. (I LOVE to laugh...you guys make me laugh!)
[x] I have many scars. (Added them up once - there were over six feet of scars on my body.)
[x]I've been out of this country (Caribbean, Bermuda, Canada. Still haven't been to Mexico. Lab Boy's gonna take me, aren't you Lab Boy!?)
[x] I believe in ghosts. (Lived with two of them for 34 years, with a new visitor lately.)
[x] I love chocolate. (Actually - white chocolate Lindt Truffles in the gold wrapper.)
[x] I bite my nails. (Since I was four. I can still remember the day I started, too.)
[ ] I am comfortable with being me. (Not really, but I don't have a lot of choices now, do I?)
[x]Gotten lost in the city. (I've gotten lost any time I go somewhere with L&M. He could get lost in a paper bag.)
[x] I had a serious Surgery. (Not too serious...nine hours.)
[x] I have kissed a stranger. (Once, in a parking lot of a local watering hole when I was in college. And drunk.)
[x] Hugged a stranger. (Lots of them. I spent 20 years working with alcoholics and addicts. They and their family members cry alot. Many hugs were needed and given.)
[x] Laughed and had milk/soda come out of your nose. (Coca cola. Stung like hell.)
[x] Made out in an elevator. (Not actually made out, but L&M kissed me for the first time in an elevator at work.)
[x] Kicked a guy where it hurts. (Sorta. Gave him The Knee. He pulled a knife on me at my locker. He wanted something I wasn't going to give him. He blocked most of the knee. Then he kissed me, and gave me mono.)
[] Been bungee jumping. (Never, but I want to. I think, with my back, it would be a 'kill me or cure me' thing and I'm getting AWFULLY sick of this back and don't care which option prevails!)
[x] Broken a bone. (Left leg.)
[x] Gotten stitches (Probably about a thousand of those!)
[x] Bitten someone. (I was a biter when I was a kid. So was Kal.)
[x] Gotten the Chicken Pox (A RAGING case when I was seven.)
[ ] Crashed into a car (Not really...but got rearended by someone else.)
[x] Ridden in a taxi. (Hate taxis. Feel stupid.)
[x] Been fired.
[x] had feelings for someone who didn't have them back.
[x] Had a crush on a teacher/coach. (Mr. Kelly. High School German.)
[x] Been married. (Yes, I am a serial bride.)
[x] Gotten divorced. (But only as an alternative to murder.)
[x] Saw someone dying. (Repeat - 20 years in the medical profession.)
[x] Driven over 400 miles in one day.
[x] Been to Canada.
[x] Been on a plane.
[x] Eaten Sushi. (Vegetable sushi.)
[x] Been skiing.
[x] Been ice skating.
[x] Met someone in person from the internet.
[x] Going to or have gone to college. (Three times!)
[x] Taken painkillers. (Pretty much daily.)

Feel free to steal this in its entirety if you want the full range of experiences. I just cut out the things I felt underpriviledged about not doing!! :-D

At the Risk of Sounding Like Your Mother...

2005-08-31T06:30:00.000-07:00

...or Kal's Mother, whom I assume to be a horrible and obnoxious creature, judging by his comments to and about her...

I am the Order of Brilliant Blogs Moderator for this month. I have been given this job by Motherdear, since she is so stupid with computers!!

(Please believe me, it's really me, manifesting one of my many weirder personalities. It's just that this one has more experience with HTML tags, limited as it is. So I had to trust her to come out and do the right thing.)

Hey, you! Get back in there. It's MY turn to talk!!!

(Oh, geez, she's such a pushy broad. Give her access to a blog and just WATCH the power issues come out...I was just introducing you, is all. HEY! *smoof..argghh...nffttttt*)

AHEM!!!! Okay now, that's better. Motherdear is back under wraps. BWAAAA-HAAA-haa-ha-ha...

As I was saying before I was so RUDELY interrupted....

(Somebody help me!!!! She's got me wrapped up in duct tape in here, and it's dark!)

Shad-DUP, YOU! Here. This duct tape across your mouth should help! *ZZZIPPP*

(NO! Please, no! I'll mfmmffmm....)

Heh heh heh...now back to MY order of business...

Okay, for those of you who haven't visited, I have created this LOVELY site called "The Order of Brilliant Bloggers". The link is on the sidebar, called "Get Your Awards Here" or some such silliness that The Twit created. But The Order is MY creation, hear me??? MINE, MINE, MINE! Bwaaa ha hah... Hmmm...Why does tht sound so familiar????

Anyway, I just want to remind everyone that nominations for "August's Bests" Brilliants can be made up until 11:59:59 tonight (EST). And tomorrow, September 1st, the voting will officially begin. If you have voted already - yes, yes, you know who you are - I have your votes in my email program, going onto a spreadsheet that Motherdear will create. Voting will end on September 5th at 11:59:59 (EST) - don't you LOVE my attention to detail? That is why that poor sod of a brainless twit that usually writes in this post has put me in charge of the Brilliants. She said it is FAR TOO IMPORTANT to trust to her and her flightiness... You should see her! She can only do something for fifteen minutes at a time, and then she has to stop and whine about her back...lalalalala. What a bore!!!

All right, my job here is done! I AM the Order of Brilliant Bloggers August Moderator!!! I'll just take care of one little thing here before I go... *rrrrrrrrrr-IIIIIPPPP*

(YOW! YOU WITCH! THAT WAS MY FREAKIN' UPPER LIP YOU JUST RIPPED OFF! COME BACK HERE AND UNTAPE THE REST OF ME!!!)

BWAAAA-hahahahaaaaaa... see you in the funny papers, kids!!!

A Progressive Story - Walking into Darkness

2005-08-24T16:44:00.000-07:00

Struck by Digi's Fat Indian Bitch series, I doss a UDDER idear!

A progressive story - one that someone starts in their blog, writes a portion, then tags someone to write the next portion, putting their section in their own blog. That person then tags the next...and so on. It'll be interesting to see where this takes us. The style of writing will vary because we all have different styles. But I think we all tend to stimulate each other's imagination. So let's experiment. To be fair, let's let two or more tags elapse before re-tagging someone.

**************************************************
WALKING INTO DARKNESS - Part One

I sat on the train, seeing the inside of a passenger car for the first time in a very long time. It must have been right before the war, the last time I felt these poorly-padded naugahyde seats beneath me. I thought to myself, these seats haven't changed...not in all these years. I can still remember this harsh, bumpy, bone-crunching ride with sickening clarity.

There were about two hundred people crammed into this same car, and a hundred more in each car on either side of it. That was all any train held any more...three cars. There wasn't enough diesel fuel to run the twenty-car passenger trains of the days before the war. Even the commuter rail trains were five times the length of this pitiful train to certain doom.

As we chugged to a start, I vaguely remembered my life back then, remembered that we rode the trains to get back and forth to work rather than drive our cars into the city and pay for gas and parking. What a hassle commuting had been! Bumper-to-bumper traffic, cars overheating in the summer months because idiots drove with their AC going full blast while traffic was snarled to a standstill - it was all so annoying. Engines would quit, and stalled cars added blockage to already-clogged traffic arteries. Insanity!!!! I just preferred to ride the train. I could just pay for my ticket, get into this hot train car with the lousy seat, and sit and read my paper. I didn't need to do a full day's work getting into the city in order to do another full day's work on top of it!

But that was before the war. Before the city disappeared, and all the jobs with it. Before music stopped and movies ended and television became as extinct as the dinosuar. Before freedom stopped. Before we woke up daily, wishing our hearts had stopped in our sleep.

I remembered all these things, riding the smelly, hot, overcrowded once-a-week three-car train to Lockland.

Ah...Lockland. What I would find when I arrived was anyone's guess, and I really didn't care to ponder on it much, myself. I just knew that I needed to get there. It took me three months to save up enough favors and pull enough jobs to get a seat on the once-weekly, 3-car train to Lockland. I was on it now, and there was no turning back...

...and nothing waiting for me, in either direction. Anything that was going to happen, was going to have to happen in Lockland.

(Copyright 2005 - Motherdear)
**************************************************

Stay tuned to Part Two - by ltlme

I'm It!!! Someone loves me!!!

2005-08-24T05:23:00.000-07:00

I've been tagged by my ltlfriend (big hugs, ltlfriend...you know I love you, right?)
So I'll do this and then, hmmmmmmm....let you see who I tagged at the end.

1. Name as it appears on birth certificate: Squigglebertha Obnoxia Blagsac (Really!)
2. Nicknames: Motherdear, Squiggie, Fresh Kid (from Daddy)
3. Place of Birth: Pawtucket RI
4. Favorite food: Salad with honey mustard dressing
5. Ever been to Africa: Nope
6. Love someone so much it hurts: Yeah, my boys, my grandkids, and my soulmate
7. Been in a car accident: Yes, one.
8. Croutons or bacon bits: Croutons
9. Favorite day of the week: Whatever day Survivor is on. Otherwise, none.
10. Favorite restaurant: The Olive Garden (I don't get out much.)
11. Favorite sport to watch: Are you kidding??? I live in New England! Football!!! But I love my Red Sox too...
12. Favorite drink for summer: Fruit2O
13. Favorite ice cream: Not a huge fan of ice cream
14. Disney or Warner Bros. Who did Finding Nemo and Lion King? Disney?
15. Favorite fast food restaurant: Don't do fast foods.
16. What Color is your bedroom carpet: Sorry - no carpets in my house. Hardwoods.
17. How many times did you fail your driver's test: I flunked the first written (permit) test (got it done in 20 seconds, then threw up in the wastebasket. I was nervous.) Passed the second just fine, and passed my first road test.
18. Before this one, from whom did you get your last e-mail: An out-of-the-blue one-liner from my uncle asking if I was off line or just ignoring him and my aunt. Whom I never write to....maybe SOMEone's getting senile besides me!?!? (I didn't answer him. I'm ignoring him, pretending I'm offline...heh heh...)
19. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card: Michael's or JoAnn's
20. What do you do most often when you are bored: Read, blog, read people’s blogs
21. What time is Bedtime: Depends - when L&M is home, whenever he says (usually around 11 PM). When he's on the road - 3 am, 4am, sometimes I don't even go to bed!
24. Favorite TV shows: Well, I can’t say Six Feet Under since that’s over now (like ltlfriend). Survivor, when it's on; Judge Judy (she's so RUDE!) and Dr. Phil
25. Last person/s you went to dinner with: L&M
26. Ford or Chevy: Neither right now since I don't own a car. But before I gave up driving, I had a Ford for 13 years. I LOVED that car. Kal killed it! *sniff*
27. What are you listening to right now: L&M telling me to get off my computer and help him with his
28. What is your favorite color: Blue. Or Green. Or Purple. Depends on my mood.
29. Lake, ocean or river: River
30. How many tattoos do you have? 1
31. Have you ever run out of gas: No. Came close a couple of times and coasted in the station at the bottom of the hill near my house, though...since I met L&M, there was never less than half a tank in my car.

Okay, now let's see...whom shall I tag???? Okay - KAL (of course!), PETE (as soon as you're able to - you have that project), and Lj!!!

Have fun, kids!!! And thanks, ltlfriend!!!

Loved this!!!

2005-08-19T18:31:00.000-07:00

There's Dani, with the rest of the gang. And she's saying "you're all Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine....

And we hope we are, kitten!!!!

Have a joyous weekend, everyone!!!

Gallows Humour

2005-08-18T05:07:00.000-07:00

Okay, my ltlfriend posted two stories today from the news, true stories that were horribly hilarious. I send my sympathies to the family of the Polish fisherman, lured to his death by the pole-stealing piscatorial bandit. And also, send my sympathies to the gentlemen whose friend beat him with his own wooden leg.

But I'm sad to say, I did laugh at that one.

And these stories reminded me of a couple of real-life experiences of my own...Here's one of them.

We used to camp for the summer season at a local campground when the boys were little. We had a 25-foot bunkhouse camping trailer (a 1976 Wilderness) which as I have mentioned, had a nicer bathroom than the two in my home...

One of the fun parts of seasonal camping is getting to know other seasonal campers from other towns, and weekly campers from other states. Well, one of the seasonal campers from a town about 45 miles from us was a family I will call the Smiths. Howie and Linda Smith, and their 26 kids, all spent the summer in our local campground in an ancient motor home not really large enough to fit six people with any degree of comfort. The 13 boys slept outside of the motorhome in a tent or in hammocks strung from trees (sometimes overlapping into a neighbor's campsite!) Their big black mutt, Bozo, slept outside with the boys, unless it rained. Then Howie would insist that Bozo climb into the motorhome with him. (The boys, however, slept in the car when it rained.)

They were a lovely, close family, they didn't have much, but their kids were healthy and well-fed. Linda was a large, loving woamn. Howie was tall and skinny, worked like a dog, and liked his Jack Daniels. He'd go off to work in the morning in their car, and Linda would take care of the kids and clean the motor home (which usually consisted of making sure the paper plates and empty potato chip bags were tossed out. There wasn't much room for 'house', let alone 'housework'.) But they had fun. They were the laughingest bunch of people I think I've ever met.

Well, when Howie got home at the end of a long day, he looked forward to nothing more than eating a hot dog or six, and relaxing in his hammock with his bottle of JD and his trusty dog tied to the tree next to him. The man didn't ask much else, except that the kids be a little quieter. They were a rambunctious group. Not ill-behaved, just full of life. They were happy kids. Their parents gave them a loving home. The dog, Bozo, was just as loving. He spent a lot of time with his head in Howie's lap, and never met a stranger he didn't love to lick to death.

This one summer day had been particularly horrid for Howie. Traffic jams up the giggie, a long, hard day at work, and about 100 degrees in the shade. Howie got home, took a quick shower at the public baths, and wolfed down his hotdog. He limited it to one because he needed to get straight to the JD, it had been that bad a day.

Well, Howie might have been more fatigued than he thought. Maybe it was the heat, or having just one hot dog. But Howie only had two drinks, and fell sound asleep. (Howie was a championship snorer, by the way. Absolutely sublime timbre and incredible stamina. Howie also had a lovely set of false teeth which added a lot to the reverberation of Howie's snoring. He could be heard snoring half a campground away.)

So after he finished his second JD that fateful day, Howie was lying in his hammock, mouth open, snoring away. And he rolled over onto his side and with one loud "SNORKTFTFZZZZZZZZ". his teeth popped out of his mouth. Linda and four of the 26 kids were seated in lawn chairs nearby, and looked over in time to see the teeth bounce on the edge of the hammock and land on the ground below.

Before any of them could get out of their chairs and retrieve them, Bozo leapt up and snagged the choppers. Yup. Grabbed Howie's false teeth. In his jaws. The dog stood there, big dumb, sweet, black thing that he was, and turned and looked at Linda and the kids with Howie's teeth in his jaws, just PERFECTLY placed, and grinned back at them.

The kids started to howl. Linda was laughing so hard, people came running over...soon, half of the campground was standing at the perimeter of their campsite, with Howie "SNRKTFZZZZZ"ing in his hammock, the kids rolling on the ground, Linda jiggling mightily, her purple face streaked with tears...and Bozo, standing there quietly, wagging his tail with joy at all this attention, with this grotesquely huge and white human grin in his snout. There was nothing the rest of us could do but laugh. Loudly. Bozo would look from one to the other of us, his head snapping back and forth, and he must have enjoyed the appreciation, because his tail kept wagging faster and faster.

The noise of hysterical laughter awoke Howie. He raised his head, seeing us through one bleary eye, and said "whad da...." Then, his eyes came to rest on Bozo, tail wagging furiously, grinning from ear to ear at Howie, with Howie's own teeth, his ears perked up and just waiting for Howie, his beloved master, to laugh and praise him, too.

Howie saw the dog, and after a second of quizzical "What's wrong with this picture?" emblazoned across his face, noticed Bozo's grin and realied the dog had Howie's teeth in his mouth. He shot out of the hammock, yelling "BOTHO, YOU THUM BITH!!! GIMME BA' MY GOTHAM THEETH!"

This, of course, startled the hell out of Botho...I mean Bozo. He backed away and turned tail, running like a jackrabbit. He broke his little clothesline rope and started running, Howie-grin still intact in his mouth.

Howie was quick, though, and inside of a couple of long-legged strides, he had caught up to Bozo and wrestled the poor confused animal to the ground. He reached in to get his teeth, yelling "GIMME THOTH THEETH, YOU THUMBITH. GIMME!" Howie started to grab the teeth, and Bozo relaxed his jaws just enough for Howie to get one finger into the dog's mouth.

Instinct must have taken over. Bozo clamped down. He bit Howie, soundly, with Howie's own teeth.

******************************

Howie was a good sport. Six stitches and a tetanus shot later, he had his teeth back. Linda had boiled them for him, and they had a couple of rough places where Bozo's sharp incisors had 'dented' them a little when he clamped down. But Howie sanded them off and continued to wear them. He even proudly told the story to anyone who would listen, affectionately running his hands through Bozo's fur as he told it. Good guy that he was, Howie was able to laugh at himself as loudly as any of us laughed at the situation as it unfolded. I thought Howie was a champ for that. And Linda went the entire summer, spontaneously bursting into gales of laughter, whenever she thought about it.

As long as I live, I'll never forget the sight of Bozo, grinning at us, proudly, tail wagging, with Howie's big white teeth in his mouth.

It Needs a Home of Its Own

2005-08-15T06:38:00.000-07:00

Hello, everyone!

I've been getting a bunch of recommendations for the awards. Thank you, everyone, for your recommendations, and keep looking for those posts you want to recommend, if you haven't already!!

I understand (thank you, Pete, for letting me know) that there is already a "Bloggie Award" out there, so I asked for recommendations on a name for our own awards. Lab Boy kindly provided us with the following suggestions, which are BRILLIANT (sorry, Larry).

"The Blogscars"? Like the Oscars, get it?
"The Bloggel Prize"? Like the Nobel Prize...
"The Blog Cup"? Like the World Cup?

I'd like everyone's input on what to name our awards, and if you have suggestions on your own, throw them in and we can vote on those, too.

I'd like to get the separate blog set up for our nominations and such so that we don't have to keep hunting down the nomination posts in my blog here, since God knows, I love to wax wordy!!! And there's so much to rant about.

So, please, give me your opinions on what to call the awards. I'll then set up the blog and let you know what it is called so you can make your nominations, if you haven't already.

I'd also like to consider one change for the nominations - many of you are recommending entire blogsites for categories. Others are recommending individual posts for nomination. So perhaps we should include one award for an individual post, and one for a blog, in the categories such as Serious and Comedic blog/post. (Photoblog, Comment Trails, Series Blog and Historic blogs seem to be more individually post-oriented.)

I think I will be putting a comment on each of the individual blogs we've recommended for nomination, to let the authors know that their blogs/posts have been recommended for an award. If you are recommending someone, please feel free to inform the author in a comment to one of their posts.

Okay, our tasks -
1. vote for a name for the award
2. if you haven't recommended any indiviual posts in the categories of Photoblog, Comment Trails, and Historic posts, feel free to add them!

See you in the funny papers!

Musings on Lab Boy's Posting

2005-08-13T04:53:00.000-07:00

This morning, Lab Boy posted a long and impassioned plea for public support to ply government representatives to pass legislation favoring the dedication of funding for the proper treatment of Addiction. His fervor was sparked by the attitude of a speaker at a conference he attended, who basically said (very roughly paraphrased) "Why should the public put good money into treatment for alcoholics and addicts??? It was their choice to take drugs / drink. Maybe they should go to jail and think about it..." (I would have loved to have seen whether this was an overweight smoker, since she then went on to advocate that a cure for lung cancer and weight loss products be paid for by the government. Whereupon Lab Boy, to his great credit, jumped up and responded "why should my tax dollars go to pay for treatment for the overweight and those with lung cancer? They choose to stuff their faces, to smoke that cigarette!!!" Which is again, roughly paraphrased, as there was so much more to what he said. At any rate, he states his comments nearly got him removed from the conference. You GO, Lab Boy GO!!!)

I began a response to what he had written since, as I told him, the treatment of addicited and alcoholic individuals (adults and children) comprised 20 years of my life experience. Living with an alcoholic comprised 90% of my life. So you can see, I'm a tad inured to the issue.

I worked in public and private detoxes for nearly all of my career, as a nurse providing physical and emotional care, as an educator of patients and families, and at the end of my career, as the director of a 26-bed public detox program. Most of the people I worked with, the other employees, were themselves addicts or alcoholics in recovery. I have been provided me with a RICH background of experiences and viewpoints from which to draw my own conclusions and form my own feelings. I have also experienced the ravages of alcoholism firsthand, as I had three (of four) alcoholic grandparents, one alcoholic parent, and two acoholic husbands. One of them went into recovery and stayed there, one is still in denial. Although my boys and I are not alcoholic or addicted, we have lived in the shadow of it for most of our lives. (Addiction and Alcoholism are family diseases...not one person in the family has it, the whole family is affected, by virtue of having to live their lives in an 'addicted system'.)

Lab Boy's post is about marshalling our forces to assure that treatment for addictions (and I'm going to include alcoholism in there, because it is addiction to alcohol) gets proper government attention. I believe the gist of his crusade is to make sure that government funding is applied, but I would add my own crusade to his, to assure that governmental standards of care for addictions are devised and firmly enforced. There are many detoxes out there (although they are growing less in number), and not all of them do it right! A standard of care would assure that they at least need to TRY to do it right.

Lab Boy also based a small part of his argument on the supposition that marijuana is as dangerous to the lungs as cigarettes, and as such, has every right to be considered as important as smoking cessation to the prevention and treatment of lung cancer. (I think there is a renewed interest in the cure for lung cancer because of Peter Jennings' and Barbara Bel Geddes' deaths, and the recent diagnosis of Dana Reeve. There's nothing like a celebrity death or illness to push a medical issue into the foreground!) Actually, marijuana is anywhere from six to twenty times more carcinogenic to the lungs, depending on how much you smoke, and how you smoke it. It's unfilitered, unregulated, and is held in the lungs much longer, thereby increasing the effect on tissue, mucosa and circulatory structures. Plus, there are at least 412 identified chemicals in cannabis sativa (arsenic among them), and only one (THC) gets you high. The other 411+ sit in your body and find some sort of mischief to get into. But Lab Boy's point is well taken. How can we justify putting additional funding into the search for a cure for lung cancer, knowing that 90% of it is caused by smoking, and not think about trying to find a cure for the root causes, whether they are cigarette smoking or marijuana smoking???

Addiction is a physical, psychological, moral, and social disease, as it causes disturbance, disruption, and 'death' in all of those areas of life. Dependence is both psychological and phsycial. But the two go hand in hand. Addcition starts with psychological dependence, which progresses to physical dependence, which then interrupts social and moral growth and connectivity. Dependence only becomes addiction when the drug (or drink) becomes the Object of Living, when there is no phsyical, emotional, moral or (however limited) social life, without it. When one spends his/her timing planning their use, getting their drug, hiding it, playing their elaborate social games in order to use...that's addiction. Sometimes, procuring the drug becomes its own addiction. I've had many addicts who have told me that just touching their works gives them a rush.

Addiction needs to be treated with a combination of therapies - medically, for the physical addction, emotionally and cognitively, for the psychological addiction, and with adjuntive methods to reintegrate (and sometimes, resocialize) the addict into an 'acceptable social and moral mindset'. As one who worked in addictions medicine, this subject is close to my heart. I have found that over the years, the funds applied for the treatment of addiction, both from government grants and from private insurance, has dwindled from a mighty ocean to a babbling brook. Part of this is the fault of the treatment industry itself...back in the 1970s and 1980s, addictions treatment was new and in vogue, and became the 'cash cow' of healthcare. Any faltering hospital would slap up a 5-bed 'detox' or 'addictions unit' wherever they could find the space, and improve their bottom line. Unfortuntately, just saying you are something doesn't make it so, it takes MUCH more to do this job effectively than to just say you can do it. I can throw a lampshade on my head and say I'm a lamp, but it doesn't make me any brighter... It's a very specialized area of medicine and needs to be approached with its own expertise.

But the approach to treatment must be multipronged, and just throwing money at the problem is not the answer. There must be total understanding on the parts of those doing the treatment in oder to understand and effectively perform the 'what', and 'why', of treatment. There must be standards of practice which will allow the GREATEST chance of success. There is a 90% recidivism rate in Addictions. They have experimented with 'cures' and none have worked. Why? Because the disease of Addicitons (which has been accepted as a medical disease by the AMA for over 25 years now) cannot be cured, it can only be treated. It's like losing your virginity...once it's gone, it's gone...it doesn't grow back. Well, once one crosses the line into addiction, one can only enter Recovery. There is no cure for Addiction. There is TREATMENT, there is HOPE, there is SUPPORT, but there is no cure... For years, heroin addicts have used the 'sleeping monkey' as a simile for their addiction, and it's 100% true...you can be in recovery for 20 years, and pick up at any time. The monkey never dies, it just goes to sleep, and it's always there, ALWAYS there... The expression for alcoholics is "The farther you are from your last drink the closer you are to your next." Think about it. Complacency is death for recovery. Recovery is a daily effort, and a daily choice. It may grow to be a subconscious choice...but it is still a choice nonetheless, because the monkey could just wake up at any time. If you have the disease of addiction, you WILL have it for all of your life. If you lived with it, you will die with it. But you do not need to die FROM it.

So, in support of Lab Boy and his impassioned plea for addictions treatment, yes, I agree wholeheartedly and feel that we, as a society, are only as healthy as our sickest member. Compassion need not die just because the actions of addicts and alcoholics do not meet with social and moral standards. That is akin to judging people who develop heart disease and strokes, or the parents of children born with spina bifida. No child starts out saying "I want to be an alcoholic when I grow up!" People do not CHOOSE to become alcoholics or addicts. It is something that happens, kind of like being hit by a car as you cross the road. You know the danger's there...but you chose to cross the road!!! You just never thought it would happen to you...

I must tell you honestly - I have never met an alcoholic or an addict who was not basically, down deep and in his or her heart, soul, and core of their Being, one of the kindest, sweetest, most sensitive individuals on the planet. They are, in my estimation, perhaps too kind, feeling, giving, and loving - and the disappointment of what life can offer them probably is at the root of the addiction. They are just too tender to survive in the world without artificial cover and courage. Of course, I was probably fooled by a few of them; lying becomes a way of survival (and one of the reason society hates them so), and I'm a gullible twit, wanting to believe the best...but I will stand by my statement and tell you that if I had the choice of asking for help from an actively recovering alcoholic or a person to whom addiction has no meaning, I would choose the recovering alcoholic, in a heartbeat...with my life, my home, and all that I own.

I dedicated my professional life to serving the needs of the addicted, to giving them care, giving them hope, giving them help. To teaching them, and their families, about how to help themselves. To fighting for their rights in a Public Health System. To fighting for their treatment with private industry. To teaching college students and professors about addictions, how to recognize it, how to get help for its victims, how to approach them with safety for all concerned. And I remain firmly convicted that there, but for the grace of God, go any one of us. And that judgment is not ours, but belongs to the guy upstairs.

Great post, Lab Boy. I didn't realize that I still had so much fire in my belly on this topic. When you get to be Secretary of Health and Human Services, please call on me at any time to help you with whatever I can!

Recommendations for August Bloggie Awards!

2005-08-12T16:16:00.000-07:00

Okay, gang, here we go. The categories are:

1. Best Dramatic Blog - a blog you liked because of its sensitivity, its serious subject matter, its ability to convey its point to the audience. Can be truth or fiction, but definitely provokes an emotional response from the reader.
2. Best Comedic Blog - the blog you laughed at, the one that made you happy that you read it. The one you would probably recommend to a friend who was 'down'.
3. Best Historic Blog - The blog that you would like to nominate for an award, but wasn't written in the month we are assessing. Can be of any category, just not written this month!
4. Best Photoblog - may have no more than six pictures, can be written for serious, humourous, or artistic purposes.
5. Best Series Blogs - a collection of two or more blogs by the same author in the same month, pertaining to a continuing theme. Serious, comedic, artistic in nature.
6. Best Comment Trail - when the Comments took on a life of their own, and the discussion was either so fascinating or so funny that they eclipsed the original blog themselves. (This is a Group Bloggie Award, since many contributors will be honored.)

Rules for nomination -

1. Nominations are open up to the last day of the month.
2. Nominations limited to 3 per category for each recommendor (a total of 18 nominations for each of us).
3. Nominations will go into the BLOGGIE NOMINATION post comments which I will put up on the first of every month.
4. You cannot nominate yourself, but you can nominate anyone else you would like to nominate. There's no rule against nepotism in Bloggie Nominations. Admiration and respect know no such artificial boundaries as 'relationship'. Good writing is good writing.
5. Top three nominees in each category will be listed in a separate blog on the thirtieth of the month in a post entitled "AND THE NOMINEES ARE..."
6. Everyone votes in the comments, and the votes will be tallied on the evening of the 6th of the next month.
7. Winners will be announced in a post entitled "THE ENVELOPE, PLEASE..."

Please nominate your blogs in the Comments for this blog. I (this month's Moderator) will keep a running tally!!!

Everyone, happy reading, and good luck! You're ALL winners, and it's wonderful that you wish to tell each other how much you appreciate each other's writing, photography, storytelling, honesty, and emotional output.

To be fair, as 'Moderator' for this month, I am not eligible to be a nominee in any category. However, the 'Moderator' will be free to make nominations.

If anyone wishes to rotate Bloggie Moderator duties, I think it is a superb idea!

Bonne chance, one and all!!!! Happy recommendations!

Love,
Motherdear

I Doss a Idear

2005-08-12T07:26:00.000-07:00

That's what Kal used to say when he was little. In Kalspeak, that was "I have an idea, Motherdear..." Kal always had an idea. He was a bright kid. Brother Goodson, too. Way smarter than I, by the time they were, oh, six.

Anyway, I have an idea, see what you think of it.

I've been thoroughly enjoying everyone's blogs. They've been amazing. And I'd like to propose that we honor these amazing blogs in some way.

So, I think we should give a "Bloggie" award. One for Best Dramatic (aka 'serious') Blog of the month. One for Best Comedic Blog. One for Best Photoblog of the month. One for Best Historical Blog (one that wasn't written in the month we're voting, but you found it and can't believe how good it is.) And one for the Worst Drivel Ever Written. (It takes a lot of time, energy, and lack of talent to write Drivel! It should be rewarded, a la the Fickle Finger of Fate Award conferred weekly by Rowan and Martin on Laugh-In back in the 60's and early 70's.) I'm open to more categories, if you guys are really interested in this.

I will set up a post each month for nominations (place them in the comments) and we can read them and each confer a vote in each of the categories. You can make as many nominations as you would like, limited to three in each category.

Simple rules:
1. Nominations are open up to the last day of the month.
2. Nominations limited to 3 per category for each blogger.
3. Nominations will go into the BLOGGIE NOMINATION post comments which I will put up on the first of every month.
4. You cannot nominate yourself, but you can nominate anyone else you would like to nominate.
5. Top three nominees in each category will be listed in a separate blog on the third of the month in a post entitled "AND THE NOMINEES ARE..."
6. Everyone votes in the comments, and the votes will be tallied on the evening of the 6th.
7. Winners will be announced in a post entitled "THE ENVELOPE, PLEASE..."

If one of you bright and talented young people can figure out an avatar or some way to confer a concrete designation for the BLOGGIE award winners in the different categories, that would be cool!!! I'm too dumb for that sort of stuff. I barely figure out LINKS!

Perhaps we could start another blog dedicated to the winners, so that the winning blogs could be moved to one blog for everyone to read in one place. But I'll take your lead on that, based on your interest and your suggestions.

What do you think????

Diversion, on a day when the neighbors are fighting...

2005-08-11T06:29:00.000-07:00

I have to thank George Carlin for this...I needed some pointed political humor today, trying to evade the sound of neighbors at my rear (the side of the house that we actually live in, especially in the hot summer) as they fight loudly. (I have a screen in the window right behind me. I have no air conditioning. I have a fan in that window. I have a right to be cool, and have that window open. I've lived here 34 years, they've lived here two months. And they're screaming in the yard. It's not like I'm eavesdropping.)

She: "You don't love me, XXXX! You can't say you love someone one day and hit them the next!"
He: Mumble mumble mumble
She: "The one day I want you to part of my life, you can't...you chip away, chip away, chip away...you don't work half the time...I'm done. I'm all done."
Dog (tied to MY tree) "Yip! Yip, yip yip yip!"
He; Mumble mumble mumble
She: "Yeah, well, you better take the dog with you then because I'm working today, you're not!"
Dog: (still tied to MY tree): "YIP!!! YIP YIP YIP YIP YIP!!!"
He: Drives off in his green SUV with a rabbit-like takeoff and a cloud of dirt from the driveway.
She, running out and unleashing the dog from MY tree: "Go get him! Go get him!!!!"
Kid, running out of house, hysterical: "NO, Mom! Don't let him go! He'll get hit by a car!!! Booby, Booby!!!! MOM, YOU'RE SUCH A RETARD!"

XXXX is long gone, Booby runs around in circles in the yard, She has gone back into the house, Kid is yelling and crying and ordering her mother around that she had better come out and get that dog (who is a nice old Chespaeake Bay or Golden Lab, and thus, dumb as a box of rocks) continues to run around in circles, yipping with glee 'cuz he's free of my tree!
She (to Kid): "Get back in the house, or I'm calling the police."
Kid catches dog, brings him back in the house: "You're a REtard!"

I'm not sure what to do about the 'hit someone' comment. I am hoping that I may not have heard it correctly through Booby's yips. Otherwise, as a mandated reporter, I would have to inform the police because a child lives in the house, at least part time.

I do have concerns about a) the hitting comment and b) the fact that Kid feels free to name-call her mother and there is no apparent retribution on it, not even that updated idle "so what?" threat of a time out??? But this is not my business and I mind my own...when people scream 50 feet away from me and my window is open, I cannot help but hear it, as much as I don't want to.

But I must say honestly what is on my mind, since I've been dragged into this unwillingly...I don't think this relationship has legs on it. Flagrant supposition: He has a tootsie somewhere (or hates her friends / relatives and is making excuses not to attend an affair with her. I've seen that one happen.) Either way, he's making reasons not to go with her someplace. I'm leaning heavily toward the Tootsie theory.

I think he actually picked a fight, knowing full well what sort of issue would tick her off so he could take off and visit Toots. (He was talking on his cellphone under my window prior to telling her he wasn't going wherever it was she wanted him to go, so maybe, just maybe, that's connected...)

I hate the way sound travels on my block. I seem to live in a black hole for sound retention. Things that happen within 100 yards of my house sound like they're happening under the Magic Window. I frankly have no interest in any of it, and if you knew me, you'd know that I would be happiest with a ten foot concrete wall with crushed glass on top and armed guard towers in the corners, surrounding my property. I have NO neighborliness in me at all. Something about being the only single famly house for two blocks, I guess...but I value my privacy and would love to safeguard it, and my neighbors', at all costs.

Arrggghhhh....I should have bought that house and burned it down when I had the chance!

Okay, now for George Carlin, who renders the Carlinesque viewpoint on:

COWS
"Is it just me, or does anyone else find it amazing that our government can
track a cow born in Canada almost three years ago, right to the stall where
it sleeps in the state of Washington, and they tracked the calves from this
cow to their stalls as well. But they are unable to locate 11 million illegal
aliens wandering around our country.

Maybe we should give them all a cow."

The CONSTITUTION
"They keep talking about drafting a Constitution for Iraq. Why don't we just
give them ours? It was written by a lot of really smart guys, it's worked
for over 200 years and we're not using it anymore."

The TEN COMMANDMENTS
"The real reason that we can't have the Ten Commandments in a Courthouse?
You cannot post 'Thou Shalt Not Steal', 'Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery' and
'Thou Shall Not Lie' in a building full of lawyers, judges and politicians! It creates a hostile work environment!"

(My apologies to any attorneys out there...)

Okay...I'll let you know if the cops arrive next door.

I SERIOUSLY need a fence. SERIOUSLY.

A Universal Question

2005-08-10T17:00:00.000-07:00

Okay, guys, here is one I would like serious input on from you wonderful, bright, lovely folks. I asked this of Gordy in his interview, and am wondering how you guys feel about it.

Background - I've always had this theory that people don't always like their names. I hated mine! Ugliest name ever. And I'm not sure my boys liked theirs, either. But say you were able to be assigned a number until you were 21, and then for your 21st birthday, you got not only the chance to legally buy and drink liquor, but also had a naming ceremony, whereby you picked your own name.

Question - Here it is at last, your 21st birthday!!!! What name have you picked for yourself, and why? What does the name represent to you, why did you choose it? It can be any name you want, common or exotic, standard or created...

So, 8274S9K, what is your new name???

I'm It!!! I'm it!!!!

2005-08-10T04:32:00.000-07:00

I got tagged by Lab Boy today (read his blog - a WONDERFUL, touching tribute to his dad on his birthday!) This is my first-ever tag, I'm flushed with excitement. So here goes:

“List ten songs that you are currently digging ... it doesn't matter what genre they are from, whether they have words, or even if they're no good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying right now. Post these instructions, the artists, and the ten songs in your blog. Then tag five other people to see what they're listening to."

Okay, now, no laughing at the old broad...

1. ABBA - the entire score from "Mama Mia". Love it! Upbeat and happy
2. Jethro Tull - "Bouree", "Elegy", "Secret Language of Birds", "Jack In The Green"
3. Boyz II Men - "Mamma"
4. Sting and the London Symphony Orchestra - score from the movie "The Mighty"
5. Emmylou Harris - "Barbara Allen" from the score for the movie "Songcatcher"
6. Linda Eder - "Vienna"
7. Counting Crows - "Counting Crows"
8. Dan Fogelberg - "Longer", "Leader of the Band", Run for the Roses, "Make Love Stay"
9. Pachelbel - "Canon in D"
10. Johann Sebastian Bach - Everything! Especially the Brandenburg Concertos, "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring", and the "Toccata and Fugue in D minor"

Now I get to tag five people!!!

Okay, you're it - Kal, Penny, Callie, Dani and Gypsy!

This was fun!!! Thank you, Lab Boy!

The MossMan Prophesy

2005-08-10T03:58:00.000-07:00

Okay, I know that makes no sense. It was more of a 'challenge' with no prophetic prowess claimed or displayed. Just thought it was a catchy blogtitle, playing off the name of a VERY GOOD book and movie.

So, here I is, in all my glory. The scrapbook that Mom made me says I was six weeks old at the time this was taken. I think that might have been a little too young to have this kind of smiling. At six weeks, a baby's smile is often the result of gas, not of recognition and happiness. So I was probably two, three months old when this was taken. Unless Mom was force-feeding me cabbage and broccoli...

Okay, have fun. By the way, one of the cutest things on Kal is his nose. I thank God he got his grandmother's nose, and not the ones sported by either of his parents!!!

In Honor of our Long and Luscious Callie

2005-08-09T13:49:00.000-07:00

Hi, all!

Okay, Callie made a reference today about chubby babies and how she loved them (since I confessed being an infant bowling ball with little limbs and a lot of blonde hair...) She also shared that she was long and lean as a baby, as well as now. And I told Callie that her statement reminded me of a joke (which Larry might like, actually, now that I think on it) and that I would post it.

This is my dad's joke and goes back to my grade school years, so it's probably as old as I am. As Kal would say, it probably first appeared in hieroglyphic form when they opened Tut's tomb. So here goes...

A lady is planning on taking a trip with her new baby to show him off to her parents, who live several states away. She packs up, calls a cab, and as she is getting into the cab, the driver looks at the baby, gasps, and says "Oh, my Gosh...that has to be the ugliest baby I've ever seen!" He immediately feels badly, but honest, it is a really homely kid.

The woman hits him with her pocketbook, glowers at him in the mirror the whole time, and at the end of the ride, pays the fare but stiffs him on the tip. She is MAD!

She gets inside the terminal and goes to the desk to check in, and the man behind the counter takes care of her, very businesslike, and then looks up just in time to see her pulling off the baby's bonnet. He lets out a shriek like a little girl, and says "Omigod, that's one ugly baby!" The woman starts to whimper...her poor baby. How could that man be so rude???

She finally gets to board the plane, and as she is settling in her seat, still quite distressed, she is sniveling. The woman sitting next to her says "What's the problem, dear?" The mother says "Everyone keeps telling me what an ugly baby I have. And he's such a good, sweet little guy, it makes me feel so bad..."

The other passenger says "Oh my dear, I'm sure they're all just jealous. May I hold the little love for you while you strap in?" And the mother, grateful for a lovely, sympathetic ear, hands her little bundle of joy over to the seatmate.

The other woman takes the baby and starts unwrapping his blankets, speaking in soothing tones to both mom and baby as she is unwrapping him. She finally gets his blankets undone, and gets a good look at his face. In spite of herself, she says "Holy SHIT!", a look of pure shock on her face.

The young mother grabs her son back and is now crying furiously. She is weeping and wailing so loudly that the head stewardess runs over to her seat and tries to calm her, as she is disturbing the other passengers. The young mother is just clutching the child to her, sobbing hysterically, but the stew is a warm and compassionate person who finally calms the young mom down a bit. She relaxes, and just lays the baby down on her lap while she tries to find a tissue to dab at her eyes.

The stewardess looks down and says "Now, now, dear, that's better!! Why don't you just sit and relax, and I'll go fetch you a nice cup of tea, and while I'm in the kitchen, I think I may have a banana back there for your monkey..."

Okay, I didn't say it reminded me of a GOOD joke...Long lean babies are beautiful, and I hope I didn't offend anyone!!! (Kal was long and lean. BG wasn't particularly long, but he was quite lean.) I happen to think ALL babies are beautiful.

Anyway, that's the baby joke. Sick, huh? Gee, I thought it was funny when I was ten.

But I think I'll smack my dad next time I see him. Maybe he was trying to tell me something!!! "-D

Me, in photographic splendour

2005-08-07T12:18:00.000-07:00

Okay, I decided to show you what I look like...

Taken in 1955. I was four. This was the first house my parents owned. In fact, it was the first house anyone in our family had owned (on both sides) since the 1800s.

Funny looking kid, huh???

Well, at leat you know where Kal got his platinum blonde hair!

I Asked, Kal Found It...

2005-08-06T07:26:00.000-07:00

You are Schroeder!

Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

And the silly thing is, we match characters....again!!!

I think these tests are more effective than DNA testing! :-D

In case you ever wondered what I did for a living...

2005-08-05T07:32:00.000-07:00

My first job was working in an orange juice factory, but I got canned ... just couldn't concentrate.

Then I worked in the woods as a lumberjack, but I just couldn't hack it, so they gave me the axe.

After that I tried to be a tailor, but I just wasn't suited for it ... mainly because it was a so-so job.

Next I tried working in at Midas Muffler, but that was too exhausting.

Then I tried to be a chef -- figured it would add a little spice to my life, but I just didn't have the thyme.

I really wanted to enjoy my next job in a deli, but any way I sliced it, I couldn't cut the mustard.

My best job was being a musician, but eventually I found I wasn't noteworthy.

I studied a long time to become a doctor, but quit because I just didn't have the patience.

Next was a job in a shoe factory; hard as I tried, I just didn't fit in.

I next became a professional fisherman, but discovered that I couldn't live on my net income.

I managed to get a good job working for a pool maintenance company, but the work was just too draining...

So then I got a job in a workout center, but they let me go because I wasn't fit for the job.

After many years of trying to find steady work I finally got a job as a historian. Then, I realized there was no future in it.

My last job was working at Starbucks, but I had to quit because it was always the same old grind.

SO I RETIRED AND I FOUND I AM PERFECT FOR THE JOB!

(Yes, it's a cheesy joke email, transplanted to blog form. I just thought it was cute!)

"Get this Walking Carpet Out of My Way!"

2005-08-05T04:40:00.000-07:00

And the best part of all of this? I get to make out with Harrison Ford!!!!!!

Heh heh....

Shamelessly lacking all originality...

2005-08-04T04:26:00.000-07:00

I am addicted to these memes. I think they're so much fun.

Okay, so I ran into this on my Penny's blog...and then found it again on Larry's. And I said I would put it up so they could get back at me...uh, I mean, answer for me, if they cared to. So here goes...

1- Who are you?
2- How long have you known me?
3- Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
4- Describe me in one word.
5- What reminds you of me?
6- If you could give me anything what would it be?
7- Ever wanted to tell me something you couldn’t?
8- Are you going to put this on your blog and see what i can say about you?
9- What do you love like a kid loves cake?
10- What makes you come back here?

Have at it, kids!!!

Status Change

2005-08-02T14:48:00.000-07:00

Okay. So L&M needed to get out of the house today but wouldn't go unless I went with him because I've been nursing a really good case of agoraphobia. He said "Just shopping for some needful things..." I really didn't want to go, but it's beastly hot here and the car has AC and the house does not.

Okay. In the car we go, doing the "here a stop, there a stop, everywhere a stop stop" thingie that I used to love when I was alone and choosing the stops, but since I can't drive and need to passenge, puts me at the mercy of yon driver.

Okay. So whilst we're "oot & aboot", L&M decides he wants to take me to lunch. We were already at Office Max, and rather than troupe up a half mile and then back on the four-lane highway to get to the Ruby Tuesday across the street, I said "Why not try the Longhorn Steak House. We've never been there." Besides, it's right next door.

Okay. So y'all know I'm a vegetarian, have been for 30 years. L&M does not understand this, he who was brought up to eat a cow a week. (And I'M the one with high cholesterol...go figger.) But he is somewhat conscious of my need to occasionally take sustenance, and is concerned that there will be nothing for a veggie-terrible at the Longhorn Steak House. I reassure him (for the 999th time in 13 years) that I can always find something to eat, in any restaurant.

Okay. So we go into the Longhorn, and it's adorable. And cool. And I sit down to read the menu and the cute little waiter guy comes over and we order virgin Madrases. And I order my garden salad with Honey Mustard Dressing, and the Loaded Baked Potato, without the bacon. He orders a cheddar burger or some such thing. I never pay attention to what he orders. It's a cow, that's all I know.

Okay. So we're sitting there, and I look up at the back wall, and there are two moo cows looking at me. Heads of Giant Moo Cows, one big brown one, and one big tan one. They got the fuzzy little ears and the long horns and the pretty big brown eyes, and they're staring right at me. Two big head (without the rest of the moo cow), sitting on the wall, looking at ME. All I can picture is the back of them on the other side of the wall, being hacked to pieces as someone orders a prime rib, someone else orders a mignon, some else orders a delmonico...

Okay. So I get sad. I get wicked sad. And I can't look. Moo cows are by nature, gentle creatures. And last I checked, they don't put stuffed human heads on their walls and stare at them while they eat. So I say a little prayer of forgiveness to the cows, for us humans not only sacrificing them to the Longhorn Restaurant for salable raw materials AND wall decor. And I look away, to my right, and what do I see??? A Frickin' BEEFALO HEAD on the wall. Staring at me with the big brown eyes and the horns and the curly fur, and the cute little fuzzy ears.

Okay. So I jump. I'm in shock. And L&M says "Whatsamattah, you??" And I tell him "I gots moo cows staring at me from over there, and a Beefalo staring at me from over there." And tears are starting to form in my eyes. And he says "Yeah...SOOOO?"

Okay. So I figure, he's seated facing my direction, and I've got my back to a wall. So I say, really meekly and distressed-like..."Will you PLEASE change places with me?" I figure he's gonna eat the frickin' cow...he should at least be able to admire it while he snarfs the sucker down his gullet!!!

Okay. So he looks at me, and the SOB says "NO! Grow up!!!" And keeps his fat arse right where it is. And I spend my lunch picking at my salad while the moo cows and the Beefalo are staring at me. I swear they were covetous...they're vegetarians, too.

Okay. So I sat there, and I toughed it out, despite their big brown eyes staring at me. I could feel them watching me...I just couldn't watch them watch me. But I swear, had I a sharp knife, L&M would have had a status change from "soulmate" to "filet-of-soulmate."

Okay. That's it. Had to vent. Thank you for listening.

How About Those Ghosts???

2005-08-02T04:50:00.000-07:00

A couple of my new friends have asked to hear about my ghosts. Okay...here goes...

It all started the night before we passed papers on our house. This house, the one I've been living in for 34 years. Firstborn's Dad and I saw it and made an offer on it when I was still pregnant with him. By the time we closed, he was three months old. Don't know why it took so long, something about buying it FHA, I guess. We got a good deal. It needed a paint job. They wanted $26K, The Dad offered $21K, and they said they'd take $22K, if we didn't make them paint it. Sold...enter one rambling Victorian with attached two-story-with basement barn, badly in need of paint, into our lives.

So, the night before we closed, a Tuesday night, our first floor tenant (we were living on the third floor of a 3-family we owned with my parents) wanted to see it. I left Firstborn with his father for the ten-minute ride to the new house, and took my friend to see what would be our first single family house.

We didn't have the keys yet, so she and I just pulled into the driveway and were staring up at the house. She was aaahing and oooohing over the old place(gratuitously, I thought...but found it terrible supportive and coming from the viewpoint that she and her husband had been married for 12 years and never owned a home of their own, I think she was genuinely happy for us.)

As we were sitting there, both of us happened to see a movement in the hallway windows on the second floor. These are large windows, side by side, 23 inches wide and 72 inches long. And you can see a LOT in them, and from them. It was early enough in September that the sun was still high enough in the sky to see in those windows. And there, staring back at us, was the shape of a slim woman in an old fashioned dress, her hair piled on top of her head, a lace-edged collar at her neck, with long leg-o-mutton sleeves. She was watching us. We watched each other, for about two or three minutes, and then I said "I think we should go", and pulled out of the driveway and left.

The next morning, as we met the old owners, who had vacated the house two years prior and moved to the Cape. It had laid vacant for a year, and then had been broken into by some neighborhood kids, who inadvertently turned off the power to the furnace so that the pipes froze and had to be replaced. To avoid that from happening again, the owners had rented it out to a family of German immigrants. I said to the owners, "I went by the house last night to just show it to my friend, and the tenant was upstairs playing dress-up." The wife said "Impossible. They moved out two weeks ago." I said "Well, they must have kept a key or something, because a dark-haired woman was in the hallway upstairs, watching us." And the wife said "I know you only met them once, but Mrs. H**** is blonde."

True. She was blond. I didn't see Mrs. H**** in my new house.

So I said "Okay, who else had a key? Because I'd like to know if someone is going to come back into my house after I move in." And the owners, a lovely older couple, just shared knowing glances, and said "Don't worry about it. No one else has a key."

The Dad stopped me from going further, wanting to just get the closing over and done, so we proceeded. But I made up my mind that we should probaably just change the locks, anyway.

The owner told us that the house had been built in 1863, and the barn in 1865. (I have come to doubt that figure is accurate, but for now, we'll assume it's close. It was definitely built around the time of the Civil War, or shortly thereafter. It is present in the 1870 census, to the best of my knowledge and belief. So at the latest, I think it may have been built in the late 1860s.) He also told me that it had been built by a wealthy business owner in town, and that it once had a pipe organ in the house which was removed at some time before 1858, when they bought it, because the original owner of the house had a) built the First Methodist Church in our town, and b) had a daughter who was church organist, so they put a smaller version of the church pipe organ in the house so she could practice. He told me their names. He told me that he loved the house and wanted to stay there until he died. (I think his wife was the one who wanted to move them to Cape Cod.)

Anyway, back to the ghosts.

After we closed, we went and picked up my mom, who was watching the baby, and we took a ride back to the house. We opened the door, walked in, and I suddenly felt a rush of warmth and belonging. I peeled off by myself, with the baby in my arms, and as I did, I thought I heard my mother and The Dad talking, I could hear their voices. I thought they were a room or two away. I went upstairs, into my new bedroom, showing the baby the little tower off our bedroom that would be his bedroom until he was bigger...and I could still hear voices a room or two behind me. Then I looked down from one of the four windows in the tower, and saw my mother and The Dad walking around outside. Yet, I could still hear the voices a room or two away.

Thinking that perhaps my sister and her boyfriend had come to visit (even though she was still in high school and should have been there at that time), I walked to the other bedrooms. The voices stopped. No one was there, in the house, but me. The Dad was still outside with my mother, walking the front lawn.

Skip to the day we moved in. I saw my first ghost.

As The Dad and his friends were hoisting our meager possessions through the door, I was 'placing them' in the rooms. The Dad had built my cedar chest for my 17th birthday, and it was my prize possession. It was huge, and heavy, and we had designed it ourselves. A nice piece. As they brought it in, I had them place it under two windows in the room that is now our office, the original 'formal parlor'. These windows are on the North side of the room (the room takes up one entire end of the house, has nine windows, facing three directions, with a wonderful wraparound porch running all around its outside.) The men put the cedar chest down, and walked out. I watched them leave the room, and turned around again, and saw her.

The dark-haired woman, the one I had seen in the window, was standing there. Same lace-edged collar, same dress. Slightly built, hair on top of her head. She was standing next to the cedar chest with her arms crossed, glaring at me, tapping her foot. I got the sense (as the hair stood up on the back of my neck) that she didn't like my cedar chest in front of those windows.

When the men came back in with a chair, I asked them to please move the cedar chest to the bay window, and put the chair by the windows that the cedar chest had been in. They argued with me, offering their decorating advice. I caved. When they left the room, she was back, this time pacing back and forth.

I called the men back in and had them move the cedar chest. I put it in the West-facing bay windows, and the chair by north-facing double windows. They grumbled at me, but did it. When they left the room to get the bedroom set, she reappeared, and sat on the cedar chest, smiling. I guess she liked the room better that way.

It went like that through the whole house. There wasn't much furniture to place (thank goodness), but she suggested where every bit of it would go. I thought it best to take her lead. I wanted to get along.

At the end of that day, after Firstborn was safely put to sleep in his crib in the tower, which fit perfectly along the near wall (and my ghost heartily approved of its setting), after The Dad had left to go to work, I left on the hallway light upstairs before getting dressed for bed, because I didn't want my bedroom light to awaken my sleeping three-month old. I brushed my teeth, went into my bedroom, changed my clothing, and was brushing out my long hair. I could see her silhouetted against the door to my bedroom, illuminated from behind. She floated up behind me...I froze, not knowing her intentions, brush in mid air...I could see her face, suddenly illuminated almost from within. She was old, by my standards, probably as old as 35 or so (I myself was a mere 20 at this time, so she seemed older to me). And she just looked into my eyes, smiled, placing a slim, transparent hand upon my shoulder. And poof, she was gone.

I knew that we would be all right in this house, because I was open to the spirit of it. I had no trouble sharing my new home with my ghost, and no problem with feeling grateful that she was sharing her old home with me. I have never felt alone in this house, and I have never felt in danger. It has always been a haven of rescue and safety for me, even when it was shared with a psycho lunatic for seven years. As unsafe as I may have felt with him, or with myself at times, I have never, ever felt anything but loved by this house and those who remain from another time.

So ends the first rendering...more will follow.