Hey! Where is Sharon? It's been a week! Where's that well traveled rascallian. Her voice is sui generis! It has been missed.
I don't want to be overly ebullient, but... I'm dying to know.
Her stories about her gran baby, our tiny little cynosure. We want pictures. The stories will be mirabile dictu!
We've been waiting to hear about her peripatetic wanderings. How was the weather? How was the drive?
Our impressions remain inchoate.
I miss Sharon. I miss her writings. I miss her self. Her edge. Her humor and her wit.
sui generis unique
ebullient. enthusiastic cheerfully overflowing
cynosure, focal point center of attention
mirabile dictu wonderful to be told
peripatetic traveling from place to place
inchoate. unformed and indistinct, emerging.
sharon. priceless.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
hurt
i am feeling loss really heavily today. i am puzzling it out. i am morose and moody and feeling mean. i want to be around people. and i want to be alone.
i just left someone hanging. trying to make me feel better she made a joke at an inappropriate time. she realized it was inappropriate and apologized and tried to make it right and just sadly stepped all over herself. and while the compassionate, nice guy JC would have normally put her at ease and just took it all in stride.. this new JC.. the one who is looking more intensely at himself than ever before.. who is beginning to see who he really is.. with more clarity.. just logged out. left her mid-apology.. mid-stumble. normally, i would feel guilt. and although i felt no guilt for just leaving, i cant say i didnt feel sympathy. she is a nice girl.
im tired of the facade. normally i would just pretend to be happy.. to be the me that so many people think they know. i just want to be. and being me doesnt mean i want or need to be helped. the moment i drop the facade, most people assume i need help. im a grown man. i dont need help. i just need to be. damn assumptions. only a few people really know me well. i like to think they know who they are. :)
so i am feeling loss. and i am hurting.
im feeling alone. and trying to make peace with it.
living lonely is alright. accepting it.. is another story..
its a lump that is so hard to swallow..
the enormous jagged lump of reality.
it would surprise most people to find out that i dont like humans in general.
on the one hand, i find them fascinating.. otherwise, i find them to be disgusting and insufferable.. tiring.. boring.. predictable.. disappointing.
every once in a while though.... im surprised and delighted.
doesnt happen often.
happens less and less the older i get.
maybe because im just not as willing to let people in.
im just not as curious or interested in people as i used to be.
maybe because im just so damn tired of hurting.
its easier to push people away. than to let them in just so they can hurt me someday.
*****
why do we bother to connect
why do we bother to put energy into deep meaningful relationships
why do we need to feel understood
why do we need to feel at all
it only leads to pain
excruciating inner pain
i formed a bond with her.. one that was like no other. surreal
i let her in! and it was amazing and beautiful.. and we had something really special. but she left. and it cut me to the quick. she came back to pull out her roots. and i felt the empty.. again. and i replaced the empty with bitterness. with anger. with sorrow. and yet again, she came back because the roots.. they were so deep they snapped off.. and she dug and dug and pulled and pulled.. while i stood by. but she couldnt remove them, and found my roots as deep as hers. so she left them there, maybe hoping they would wither, then smiled, and said 'i love you', 'you shouldnt ever doubt my love'..
but i do
'til death'...
i lost my mom
i lost my lydia
i lost my son
i lost my brother
i lost my tina.. MY TINA..
i will soon lose my dad
i will lose close friends
and bax
with every loss i lose a little bit of me. and i reach out only to be snapped back into reality.
now. i. retreat.
Did you look in the Freezer?
I've been watching my husband for a while slip his gears a little like a tranny that needs to be rebuilt. We were at the restaurant last night and suddenly handling a credit card and paying a check was a bit too complicated for him. I remember the smooth way he used to pay the check. No thought to it. Hand the card out, calculate the tip, and slip the card back in the wallet and never stopping the conversation or looking down at it for more than a second. Not last night. First he looks at the check, then he reads it carefully. then he fishes for the card. and on the second try picks it out of his wallet. He stops to calculate the tip, his mouth moving with concentration and looks to me to see if I agree. Then he loses the credit card. It was there one second and gone from his hands like a magician palmed it. Impressive, but he wasn't in on the trick. He had pushed it out of view in the check holder pocket, while picking up the receipts. We shake our heads and laugh together as he fumbles with older fingers trying to coax it out of hiding.
We used to finish each other's sentences. Now we both get lost and have to go back and pick up the conversation. We don't remember names of shows we used to enjoy. We can't remember song lyrics like we used to. When we look through photo albums, he asks me. "who is that? I don't remember this one." Sometimes I do and sometimes I don't either.
He went outside to close up all the car windows from the downpour. I got out this am and there is a window all the way down. He looks at it, I look at it. We look at each other, and I give him a big hug in the driveway. We snuggle for a while in the soft falling rain. We were young once and rain was our favorite time together.
Going to leave for work is a flurry of 'where are my keys' Again with the keys? Twice in as many days? Last time they were in the glove compartment of the car. I don't get up. I'm comfortable. My sore legs are up on an ottoman. Okay second time through the house, if I don't help, he will lose more things looking for them. Up I go. Under his pillow? No. In the medicine cabinet? No. Let's see, this room is done, Off to the kitchen to look in cabinets.
He comes down the hall, presses them into my hands and smiles. They are ice cold. He also has two huge Ice Cream pops in hand. We sit down and eat together.
"Freezer?" Yup. It's not the first time the keys have ended up in the fridge. And these ice cream pops are great
I love him dearly and things will need to be a lot more simple before much longer. He's done with intricate complicated things. But he is perfect.
We used to finish each other's sentences. Now we both get lost and have to go back and pick up the conversation. We don't remember names of shows we used to enjoy. We can't remember song lyrics like we used to. When we look through photo albums, he asks me. "who is that? I don't remember this one." Sometimes I do and sometimes I don't either.
He went outside to close up all the car windows from the downpour. I got out this am and there is a window all the way down. He looks at it, I look at it. We look at each other, and I give him a big hug in the driveway. We snuggle for a while in the soft falling rain. We were young once and rain was our favorite time together.
Going to leave for work is a flurry of 'where are my keys' Again with the keys? Twice in as many days? Last time they were in the glove compartment of the car. I don't get up. I'm comfortable. My sore legs are up on an ottoman. Okay second time through the house, if I don't help, he will lose more things looking for them. Up I go. Under his pillow? No. In the medicine cabinet? No. Let's see, this room is done, Off to the kitchen to look in cabinets.
He comes down the hall, presses them into my hands and smiles. They are ice cold. He also has two huge Ice Cream pops in hand. We sit down and eat together.
"Freezer?" Yup. It's not the first time the keys have ended up in the fridge. And these ice cream pops are great
I love him dearly and things will need to be a lot more simple before much longer. He's done with intricate complicated things. But he is perfect.
my dad..
my dad was a telephone I&R man (installation and repair). he was the guy who came to your house to repair basically anything that went wrong with your telephone.. inside the house or out. he worked long hours. he worked in an industry that was constantly changing and constantly in upheaval. the job was both physically and mentally draining.. and he was good at it. he loved his job.
1972 - 1999
in '72 he worked on open wire party lines and crank phones. people resisted change. they updated to aerial lines and buried cable and clunky old rotary phones. and then, finally, they sent him to school for fiberoptics. the technology changed and my dad took it in stride. he took pride in his work. his was a blue collar job.. he could have half-assed.. but instead, he made sure each job was done right. he says his work was a challenge, because each job was a different situation. he had to be a detective and problem solve. he taught me work ethic.
i remember my 8th grade year in school.. because that was the year my dad thought he was going to lose his job. that was the year they de-regulated and busted up the ma bell monopoly.. and the telephone industry was ushered into a whole new era of technological change. but he didnt lose his job. he took a better, more stable job a couple towns over, which demanded more hours of overtime but made things more manageable financially. that was the year he got sick with CMV virus, Hystoplasmosis, and Mononucleosis all at once. i remember he didnt get off the couch for 2 weeks straight.. and he quit smoking. he worked until july of 1999 when he suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and ended up in the ICU for a month. he had stopped taking his blood pressure meds... my dad is a walking miracle.
my dad's a smart man. an intellectual. instilled a love of words in us. he was a stickler for correct pronunciation and usage of words. i would say he was fairly knowledgeable about a lot of different things. he was well read. he knew enough about any topic to contribute to conversation. he was inquisitive and introspective. i could always talk to him. his presence in my life was heroic in nature. both my parents were my heros. they were perfect.
my dad didnt want my mom to work. she complied. they struggled financially when we were little. but we never knew it. we had clothes on our backs, food in our mouths, a roof over our heads.. and love. it never occurred to us to play one parent against the other when we wanted something.. because they were always of one mind.
he is the reason i sing. i tell him this. he is humble, and disbelieving. each night, he would swing one of the 3 of us up onto his shoulders, hop up the stairs with the others close behind, plop us in bed.. my sister at his side.. and sing. sometimes he would read a book. but there was always song. beautiful brown eyes (the words changed to blue), if i had a hammer, elijah rock, you'll never walk alone, amazing grace, scarlet ribbons.. we sang a lot. we sang on the front porch during heat storms.. serenading the entire neighborhood. we sang in the garden. we sang in harmony around the kitchen table the day of grandpa's funeral.
if i close my eyes.. i can see him younger... my age. i can see him in his tan shirt and brown work pants, keys and change jingling in his pocket, tromping in his work boots.. taking a few minutes to play a little ball with us before the last bit of daylight is lost. i can see him behind the troybilt, cigarette dangling from his lip, tilling up and down row after row of our 2 acre garden. i remember jumping in his footsteps.. feet turned out like a duck. i can remember sitting at the dinner table and asking if the vegetables came from our garden.. or asking him a simple question, seeing the twinkle of mischief, and all 3 of us turning to look at ma.. my sister asking 'is that right ma?'.. dad just laughing. my brother and i have his nose, and that twinkle.. i pass a mirror and i see him out the corner of my eye.
now my dad sits in his easy chair all day watching television. he talks about working on the old truck my brother conned him into buying.. or the garden he is planning this year.. or ma. his ongoing war with the moles in his yard amuses me to no end.. i call him elmer, and then i hear a little smile in his voice.
i miss his smile. he doesnt laugh much anymore. the twinkle is gone.
1972 - 1999
in '72 he worked on open wire party lines and crank phones. people resisted change. they updated to aerial lines and buried cable and clunky old rotary phones. and then, finally, they sent him to school for fiberoptics. the technology changed and my dad took it in stride. he took pride in his work. his was a blue collar job.. he could have half-assed.. but instead, he made sure each job was done right. he says his work was a challenge, because each job was a different situation. he had to be a detective and problem solve. he taught me work ethic.
i remember my 8th grade year in school.. because that was the year my dad thought he was going to lose his job. that was the year they de-regulated and busted up the ma bell monopoly.. and the telephone industry was ushered into a whole new era of technological change. but he didnt lose his job. he took a better, more stable job a couple towns over, which demanded more hours of overtime but made things more manageable financially. that was the year he got sick with CMV virus, Hystoplasmosis, and Mononucleosis all at once. i remember he didnt get off the couch for 2 weeks straight.. and he quit smoking. he worked until july of 1999 when he suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and ended up in the ICU for a month. he had stopped taking his blood pressure meds... my dad is a walking miracle.
my dad's a smart man. an intellectual. instilled a love of words in us. he was a stickler for correct pronunciation and usage of words. i would say he was fairly knowledgeable about a lot of different things. he was well read. he knew enough about any topic to contribute to conversation. he was inquisitive and introspective. i could always talk to him. his presence in my life was heroic in nature. both my parents were my heros. they were perfect.
my dad didnt want my mom to work. she complied. they struggled financially when we were little. but we never knew it. we had clothes on our backs, food in our mouths, a roof over our heads.. and love. it never occurred to us to play one parent against the other when we wanted something.. because they were always of one mind.
he is the reason i sing. i tell him this. he is humble, and disbelieving. each night, he would swing one of the 3 of us up onto his shoulders, hop up the stairs with the others close behind, plop us in bed.. my sister at his side.. and sing. sometimes he would read a book. but there was always song. beautiful brown eyes (the words changed to blue), if i had a hammer, elijah rock, you'll never walk alone, amazing grace, scarlet ribbons.. we sang a lot. we sang on the front porch during heat storms.. serenading the entire neighborhood. we sang in the garden. we sang in harmony around the kitchen table the day of grandpa's funeral.
if i close my eyes.. i can see him younger... my age. i can see him in his tan shirt and brown work pants, keys and change jingling in his pocket, tromping in his work boots.. taking a few minutes to play a little ball with us before the last bit of daylight is lost. i can see him behind the troybilt, cigarette dangling from his lip, tilling up and down row after row of our 2 acre garden. i remember jumping in his footsteps.. feet turned out like a duck. i can remember sitting at the dinner table and asking if the vegetables came from our garden.. or asking him a simple question, seeing the twinkle of mischief, and all 3 of us turning to look at ma.. my sister asking 'is that right ma?'.. dad just laughing. my brother and i have his nose, and that twinkle.. i pass a mirror and i see him out the corner of my eye.
now my dad sits in his easy chair all day watching television. he talks about working on the old truck my brother conned him into buying.. or the garden he is planning this year.. or ma. his ongoing war with the moles in his yard amuses me to no end.. i call him elmer, and then i hear a little smile in his voice.
i miss his smile. he doesnt laugh much anymore. the twinkle is gone.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
I have the best friends...
xlll Rosie lllx: it had to happen, too much stress
JCMcLovin: yeah
xlll Rosie lllx: So you first.
xlll Rosie lllx: poem?
JCMcLovin: oh no im fine
JCMcLovin: mhm
xlll Rosie lllx: arctic winds.
xlll Rosie lllx: man cold visuals
JCMcLovin: felt a chill in the air i guess and it seized me up and spit me out
JCMcLovin: and im fine now that i got it out of my system
xlll Rosie lllx: shivers
JCMcLovin: im thankful for our blog
JCMcLovin: soo thankful
xlll Rosie lllx: me too.
xlll Rosie lllx: It got pretty bad last night huh?
JCMcLovin: so as long as you all dont mind me falling apart every now and then and let me just spew.. out the poison..
xlll Rosie lllx: I don't mind.
xlll Rosie lllx: that is why we have the word 'wow'
JCMcLovin: lol yeah
JCMcLovin: i hope i didnt hurt jini any
xlll Rosie lllx: I quoted her too
xlll Rosie lllx: wow
xlll Rosie lllx: no, wow doesn't imply any damage
xlll Rosie lllx: she reacted just the way I would have
xlll Rosie lllx: mini me.
xlll Rosie lllx: lol
JCMcLovin: :)
xlll Rosie lllx: jini mini me
xlll Rosie lllx: So now me?
JCMcLovin: mhm
JCMcLovin: all ears
xlll Rosie lllx: okay. so I was getting increasingly upset.
xlll Rosie lllx: and physically miserable.
xlll Rosie lllx: So I talked to dan
xlll Rosie lllx: and we decided to just go to bed early and watch a favorite movie
xlll Rosie lllx: which we did.
xlll Rosie lllx: it seemed to help some.
xlll Rosie lllx: we held hands
xlll Rosie lllx: and enjoyed the perfect writing in pride and prejudice which by now, we both know by heart.
xlll Rosie lllx: he chuckled at the right times.
xlll Rosie lllx: as if it was the first time we had seen it.
xlll Rosie lllx: it was refreshing and we connected.
xlll Rosie lllx: we need to rebuild our lives together again.
xlll Rosie lllx: So then we slept.
xlll Rosie lllx: and it was a bit tough but then it was ...
xlll Rosie lllx: time to get up.
xlll Rosie lllx: and he got son up to go to school.
xlll Rosie lllx: i stayed in bed because I am stressed, stressed out with son.
xlll Rosie lllx: dan comes back to the room shaken.
xlll Rosie lllx: his voice in tatters.
xlll Rosie lllx: I said did he leave?
xlll Rosie lllx: he said that he was extremely angry and that dan was scared.
xlll Rosie lllx: I said. welcome to my world.
xlll Rosie lllx: :(
xlll Rosie lllx: dan was shook
JCMcLovin: he hasnt seen him quite that bad?
xlll Rosie lllx: No.
JCMcLovin: ah
JCMcLovin: but you have.
xlll Rosie lllx: he hasn't. except for once.
xlll Rosie lllx: oh yes I have many times.
JCMcLovin: mhm
xlll Rosie lllx: he had to hold his hand and talk soothingly to him.
xlll Rosie lllx: he was saying he wanted to kill columbians?
xlll Rosie lllx: wtf?
JCMcLovin: well it is good he is in good hands at school.
xlll Rosie lllx: so i had dan come back to bed
xlll Rosie lllx: and we snuggled some more
xlll Rosie lllx: till he had to go to work
xlll Rosie lllx: then I slept till now
xlll Rosie lllx: and got up and read your poem.
xlll Rosie lllx: wow
JCMcLovin: well today should have been a cheery poem for you.
JCMcLovin: bad timing on my part
xlll Rosire lllx: no it was fine.
xlll Rosie lllx: intenses and attention gripping.
xlll Rosie lllx: you don't time your moods.
xlll Rosie lllx: gee, if we just could
JCMcLovin: thats for sure
JCMcLovin: i just know i was playing pool and everyone was having fun and i was getting very aggravated and left
xlll Rosie lllx: aw.
xlll Rosie lllx: I know the feeling.
xlll Rosie lllx: :(
xlll Rosie lllx: i so know that feeling.
JCMcLovin: mhm
xlll Rosie lllx: enforced gaiety I call it.
JCMcLovin: i can do it most times
JCMcLovin: last night
JCMcLovin: i couldnt
xlll Rosie lllx: understood.
xlll Rosie lllx: totally understand that.
JCMcLovin: yep
10:23 AM
JCMcLovin: my friends daughter is having surgery. im fairly close to her and have been trying to help her.. she made a decision i think is deeply regrettable
xlll Rosie lllx: what is that?
xlll Rosie lllx: is it elective surgery?
JCMcLovin: she is a heavy girl.
JCMcLovin: yes
xlll Rosie lllx: oh no.
JCMcLovin: mhm
xlll Rosie lllx: i hope it's the reversible kind.
JCMcLovin: i dont know all the details because she doesnt want to talk to me or her father about it.
xlll Rosie lllx: how old is she?
JCMcLovin: 22
xlll Rosie lllx: I vote surgery.
xlll Rosie lllx: sorry.
xlll Rosie lllx: let me cap this chat to help me write it on the blog.
xlll Rosie lllx: then we can move to chat room.
xlll Rosie lllx: so reese can hear.
JCMcLovin: oh ok
ReeseMarie: morning rosie
ReeseMarie: are you feeling better?
xlll Rosie lllx: morning reese.
ReeseMarie: missed you last night....missed over 2k @ bingo last night too. All I needed was B2....
xlll Rosie lllx: oh man.
ReeseMarie: I was only on last night for a couple minutes, then grandson was on his way here and had to get ready for him. He brought me a gift...
ReeseMarie: my gift was.........................
xlll Rosie lllx: wut/ wut?
ReeseMarie: the whole rugby teams uniforms to be washed!
xlll Rosie lllx: aw geez.
ReeseMarie: wasn't that sweet???
xlll Rosie lllx: darling
xlll Rosie lllx: stinky guys uniforms
10:17 AM
Logged in at 10:17 AM
xlll Rosie lllx: reese I kinda had a breakdown last night.
xlll Rosie lllx: and went to bed early.
ReeseMarie: oh...sorry
ReeseMarie: are you better now?
xlll Rosie lllx: a bit better, not much.
ReeseMarie: need to see a dr?
xlll Rosie lllx: i wrote it out. telling Jc.
xlll Rosie lllx: i will post it on the blog, okay?
ReeseMarie: ok
xlll Rosie lllx: now my nose running.
ReeseMarie: You want to talk...I'm here!
xlll Rosie lllx: yeah i do in chat room in a bit
ReeseMarie: You want to game...I'm here!
xlll Rosie lllx: cool
ReeseMarie: You want me to just listen...I'm here!
ReeseMarie: You want to just do nothing, I can do that too....I am with you!
xlll Rosie lllx: you are so sweet
ReeseMarie: i am in chat...but when your ready!
10:27 AM
JCMcLovin: yeah
xlll Rosie lllx: So you first.
xlll Rosie lllx: poem?
JCMcLovin: oh no im fine
JCMcLovin: mhm
xlll Rosie lllx: arctic winds.
xlll Rosie lllx: man cold visuals
JCMcLovin: felt a chill in the air i guess and it seized me up and spit me out
JCMcLovin: and im fine now that i got it out of my system
xlll Rosie lllx: shivers
JCMcLovin: im thankful for our blog
JCMcLovin: soo thankful
xlll Rosie lllx: me too.
xlll Rosie lllx: It got pretty bad last night huh?
JCMcLovin: so as long as you all dont mind me falling apart every now and then and let me just spew.. out the poison..
xlll Rosie lllx: I don't mind.
xlll Rosie lllx: that is why we have the word 'wow'
JCMcLovin: lol yeah
JCMcLovin: i hope i didnt hurt jini any
xlll Rosie lllx: I quoted her too
xlll Rosie lllx: wow
xlll Rosie lllx: no, wow doesn't imply any damage
xlll Rosie lllx: she reacted just the way I would have
xlll Rosie lllx: mini me.
xlll Rosie lllx: lol
JCMcLovin: :)
xlll Rosie lllx: jini mini me
xlll Rosie lllx: So now me?
JCMcLovin: mhm
JCMcLovin: all ears
xlll Rosie lllx: okay. so I was getting increasingly upset.
xlll Rosie lllx: and physically miserable.
xlll Rosie lllx: So I talked to dan
xlll Rosie lllx: and we decided to just go to bed early and watch a favorite movie
xlll Rosie lllx: which we did.
xlll Rosie lllx: it seemed to help some.
xlll Rosie lllx: we held hands
xlll Rosie lllx: and enjoyed the perfect writing in pride and prejudice which by now, we both know by heart.
xlll Rosie lllx: he chuckled at the right times.
xlll Rosie lllx: as if it was the first time we had seen it.
xlll Rosie lllx: it was refreshing and we connected.
xlll Rosie lllx: we need to rebuild our lives together again.
xlll Rosie lllx: So then we slept.
xlll Rosie lllx: and it was a bit tough but then it was ...
xlll Rosie lllx: time to get up.
xlll Rosie lllx: and he got son up to go to school.
xlll Rosie lllx: i stayed in bed because I am stressed, stressed out with son.
xlll Rosie lllx: dan comes back to the room shaken.
xlll Rosie lllx: his voice in tatters.
xlll Rosie lllx: I said did he leave?
xlll Rosie lllx: he said that he was extremely angry and that dan was scared.
xlll Rosie lllx: I said. welcome to my world.
xlll Rosie lllx: :(
xlll Rosie lllx: dan was shook
JCMcLovin: he hasnt seen him quite that bad?
xlll Rosie lllx: No.
JCMcLovin: ah
JCMcLovin: but you have.
xlll Rosie lllx: he hasn't. except for once.
xlll Rosie lllx: oh yes I have many times.
JCMcLovin: mhm
xlll Rosie lllx: he had to hold his hand and talk soothingly to him.
xlll Rosie lllx: he was saying he wanted to kill columbians?
xlll Rosie lllx: wtf?
JCMcLovin: well it is good he is in good hands at school.
xlll Rosie lllx: so i had dan come back to bed
xlll Rosie lllx: and we snuggled some more
xlll Rosie lllx: till he had to go to work
xlll Rosie lllx: then I slept till now
xlll Rosie lllx: and got up and read your poem.
xlll Rosie lllx: wow
JCMcLovin: well today should have been a cheery poem for you.
JCMcLovin: bad timing on my part
xlll Rosire lllx: no it was fine.
xlll Rosie lllx: intenses and attention gripping.
xlll Rosie lllx: you don't time your moods.
xlll Rosie lllx: gee, if we just could
JCMcLovin: thats for sure
JCMcLovin: i just know i was playing pool and everyone was having fun and i was getting very aggravated and left
xlll Rosie lllx: aw.
xlll Rosie lllx: I know the feeling.
xlll Rosie lllx: :(
xlll Rosie lllx: i so know that feeling.
JCMcLovin: mhm
xlll Rosie lllx: enforced gaiety I call it.
JCMcLovin: i can do it most times
JCMcLovin: last night
JCMcLovin: i couldnt
xlll Rosie lllx: understood.
xlll Rosie lllx: totally understand that.
JCMcLovin: yep
10:23 AM
JCMcLovin: my friends daughter is having surgery. im fairly close to her and have been trying to help her.. she made a decision i think is deeply regrettable
xlll Rosie lllx: what is that?
xlll Rosie lllx: is it elective surgery?
JCMcLovin: she is a heavy girl.
JCMcLovin: yes
xlll Rosie lllx: oh no.
JCMcLovin: mhm
xlll Rosie lllx: i hope it's the reversible kind.
JCMcLovin: i dont know all the details because she doesnt want to talk to me or her father about it.
xlll Rosie lllx: how old is she?
JCMcLovin: 22
xlll Rosie lllx: I vote surgery.
xlll Rosie lllx: sorry.
xlll Rosie lllx: let me cap this chat to help me write it on the blog.
xlll Rosie lllx: then we can move to chat room.
xlll Rosie lllx: so reese can hear.
JCMcLovin: oh ok
ReeseMarie: morning rosie
ReeseMarie: are you feeling better?
xlll Rosie lllx: morning reese.
ReeseMarie: missed you last night....missed over 2k @ bingo last night too. All I needed was B2....
xlll Rosie lllx: oh man.
ReeseMarie: I was only on last night for a couple minutes, then grandson was on his way here and had to get ready for him. He brought me a gift...
ReeseMarie: my gift was.........................
xlll Rosie lllx: wut/ wut?
ReeseMarie: the whole rugby teams uniforms to be washed!
xlll Rosie lllx: aw geez.
ReeseMarie: wasn't that sweet???
xlll Rosie lllx: darling
xlll Rosie lllx: stinky guys uniforms
10:17 AM
Logged in at 10:17 AM
xlll Rosie lllx: reese I kinda had a breakdown last night.
xlll Rosie lllx: and went to bed early.
ReeseMarie: oh...sorry
ReeseMarie: are you better now?
xlll Rosie lllx: a bit better, not much.
ReeseMarie: need to see a dr?
xlll Rosie lllx: i wrote it out. telling Jc.
xlll Rosie lllx: i will post it on the blog, okay?
ReeseMarie: ok
xlll Rosie lllx: now my nose running.
ReeseMarie: You want to talk...I'm here!
xlll Rosie lllx: yeah i do in chat room in a bit
ReeseMarie: You want to game...I'm here!
xlll Rosie lllx: cool
ReeseMarie: You want me to just listen...I'm here!
ReeseMarie: You want to just do nothing, I can do that too....I am with you!
xlll Rosie lllx: you are so sweet
ReeseMarie: i am in chat...but when your ready!
10:27 AM
the brink
his calm demeanor
deceptive serenity
in the eye of the storm
one tiny grain of sand
blows across the endless tide of the smooth desert landscape
breath caught
as the brisk arctic wind cuts across flushed cheek
everywhere they speak in tones of silence
with bitter blackened tongue
and the scream it has no name..
alone in a room filled with people laughing
he wants to jump into the swollen gaping chasm
the one thats always waiting
beckoning
taunting
leering
jump
whats the worst that could happen
maybe he will finally hit bottom
but he knows it leads nowhere
and he will fall short
unsatisfied.
only one thing will quiet the scream
and shut the chasm down
..no
deceptive serenity
in the eye of the storm
one tiny grain of sand
blows across the endless tide of the smooth desert landscape
breath caught
as the brisk arctic wind cuts across flushed cheek
everywhere they speak in tones of silence
with bitter blackened tongue
and the scream it has no name..
alone in a room filled with people laughing
he wants to jump into the swollen gaping chasm
the one thats always waiting
beckoning
taunting
leering
jump
whats the worst that could happen
maybe he will finally hit bottom
but he knows it leads nowhere
and he will fall short
unsatisfied.
only one thing will quiet the scream
and shut the chasm down
..no
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
superstitions...
13
You don’t want to be #13
You don’t want to sleep or work on the 13th floor
(goes from 12 to 14….skipping 13)
Beware of Friday the 13th…
Dad’s birthday is on the 13th.
Mom and dad married on the 13th.
Mom dies on the 13th.
Thirteen months and thirteen days later, dad has a stroke.
Dad dies on the 12th.
So, is thirteen lucky or unlucky???!!!...
superstitions
here's a weird one
ruby told me once that if i kept pouting with my lip out.. a rooster would land on it and peck my eyes out. i was 4. i was afraid to go near the chickens on my great grandma's farm just for that reason.
i still havent figured out which side of the bed is the wrong one. doesnt seem to matter which side i hop up out of.. im groggy.. shadow box down the hallway the same way every morning.. growl at myself in the mirror, just like i always do.. and my days end up pretty much the same.
i dont walk under ladders.. that's dangerous
i avoid cats, doesnt matter whether they are black or not. when i was a kid, we had a neighbor lady who had a psycho calico that roamed our neighborhood. i went to pet him one day and he damn near took my face off. i have had an aversion ever since.
used to hold my breath as we passed cemeteries in the car. that was funny, but i always cheated.
used to spit on a new baseball bat.. but it didnt ever make me any luckier. at least not that i noticed.
..opened an umbrella indoors.. didnt make me unlucky
..found ladybugs in my bedroom.. still not any luckier
..blew out all the candles on my birthday cake.. still didnt get my .22 maybe cuz my bro was blowing too.
cows lying down in a field.. means rain.. bullshit
step on a crack and break your momma's back.. never tried it.. i loved my ma
i could go on.. but superstitions are.. bunk ;)
ruby told me once that if i kept pouting with my lip out.. a rooster would land on it and peck my eyes out. i was 4. i was afraid to go near the chickens on my great grandma's farm just for that reason.
i still havent figured out which side of the bed is the wrong one. doesnt seem to matter which side i hop up out of.. im groggy.. shadow box down the hallway the same way every morning.. growl at myself in the mirror, just like i always do.. and my days end up pretty much the same.
i dont walk under ladders.. that's dangerous
i avoid cats, doesnt matter whether they are black or not. when i was a kid, we had a neighbor lady who had a psycho calico that roamed our neighborhood. i went to pet him one day and he damn near took my face off. i have had an aversion ever since.
used to hold my breath as we passed cemeteries in the car. that was funny, but i always cheated.
used to spit on a new baseball bat.. but it didnt ever make me any luckier. at least not that i noticed.
..opened an umbrella indoors.. didnt make me unlucky
..found ladybugs in my bedroom.. still not any luckier
..blew out all the candles on my birthday cake.. still didnt get my .22 maybe cuz my bro was blowing too.
cows lying down in a field.. means rain.. bullshit
step on a crack and break your momma's back.. never tried it.. i loved my ma
i could go on.. but superstitions are.. bunk ;)
superstitions
It's bad luck to put a hat on a bed. I heard that one growing up. We sure never even got close to putting a hat on our bed. It wasn't going to happen. Hats off the bed. Got it.
Why , how would that have occurred. Lice from the hat? A guy coming into your bedroom? What supernatural powers do hats have off of heads? Might you sit on them?
No opening umbrellas in the house. That one made sense! We opened our umbrellas on the porch going out the door. When you live in 3 small room, you don't have room to open umbrellas up. Those umbrellas stayed on the porch hanging up in a row.
Never take a broom along when you move. Throw it out and buy a new one. Yes! We obeyed that one too. My mother made a point of doing that. Leaving the broom behind. I do that too. I left my broom behind, and bought a new one. Just makes perfect sense to me, never questioned it.
It is bad luck to light three cigarettes with the same match. I remember that one! My grandmother told me that came from the foxholes in WW1. If you lit matches for too long, the enemy could get a fix on you and shoot. I found that comforting to know as a child. Some inside knowledge that would help me when I grew up, in case I ran into trench warfare in my time.
It is bad luck to kill a ladybug. I was taught that one too. Bad luck to kill spiders too. My grandmother said t is because they eat bad bugs and mosquitoes. We didn't kill spiders we took them outside on pieces of paper. And we brought crickets onto the porch because crickets in the house brought you good luck.
You sleep best with your head to the north and your feet to the south. My husband believes this one. We set our beds up this way, long before there was something called Feng Shui. You have to reverse it in the southern hemisphere.
A watermelon will grow in your stomach if you swallow a watermelon seed. Our grandpa told us that one. We ate a lot of watermelon and worried about the seeds endlessly. :)
Why , how would that have occurred. Lice from the hat? A guy coming into your bedroom? What supernatural powers do hats have off of heads? Might you sit on them?
No opening umbrellas in the house. That one made sense! We opened our umbrellas on the porch going out the door. When you live in 3 small room, you don't have room to open umbrellas up. Those umbrellas stayed on the porch hanging up in a row.
Never take a broom along when you move. Throw it out and buy a new one. Yes! We obeyed that one too. My mother made a point of doing that. Leaving the broom behind. I do that too. I left my broom behind, and bought a new one. Just makes perfect sense to me, never questioned it.
It is bad luck to light three cigarettes with the same match. I remember that one! My grandmother told me that came from the foxholes in WW1. If you lit matches for too long, the enemy could get a fix on you and shoot. I found that comforting to know as a child. Some inside knowledge that would help me when I grew up, in case I ran into trench warfare in my time.
It is bad luck to kill a ladybug. I was taught that one too. Bad luck to kill spiders too. My grandmother said t is because they eat bad bugs and mosquitoes. We didn't kill spiders we took them outside on pieces of paper. And we brought crickets onto the porch because crickets in the house brought you good luck.
You sleep best with your head to the north and your feet to the south. My husband believes this one. We set our beds up this way, long before there was something called Feng Shui. You have to reverse it in the southern hemisphere.
A watermelon will grow in your stomach if you swallow a watermelon seed. Our grandpa told us that one. We ate a lot of watermelon and worried about the seeds endlessly. :)
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Friendship
I have just one friend. So this should be pretty easy.
I haven’t spoken to her for one month now. Not one word. No texts, no Facebook pokes, nothing.
We go to Uni together. She is what makes my college bearable for me. Before that, she made school bearable. Hopefully, she’ll make some shitty work place bearable some day.
I am not a very social person. It’s not that I don’t have people being friendly to me. It’s not that I find it difficult to open up to people. I just find it difficult to socialize. Always have. I can’t follow social norms. Or rather, I can, but refuse to. I don’t like gossiping. I don’t like bitching. I don’t like meeting up in cafes, all dressed up, and making eyes at cute guys. I don’t like the endless stream of posing and Facebook-profile-mobile-photo sessions. I absolutely detest being fake. I don’t like nailpolish and fairness creams and hair irons and….you get the drift.
However, we don’t always get what we like. So since I was 3, I was best friends with this girl who was the complete embodiment of all of the above. We were in the same class and our parents were friends. So lots of exposure to each other. I grew up with the knowledge that girls HAVE to gossip, manipulate, and back-stab.
When I was in the tenth grade, Nim joined my school. She was the daughter of my father’s college best friend. She was kinda weird. Different from all the other girls my age. And proud of it. Her dad traveled a lot. She only stayed in my school for 6 months before being shipped off to Delhi. Those six months, however, changed my life.
I learnt from her that it was ok to be myself around others. That it was ok to maybe read a book in the corner during lunch break, rather than participate in the gossip sessions. That I could, perhaps, direct my camera towards other things, rather than those which so obviously made me hate it. That I should stand up for myself and my beliefs rather than partake in such ridiculous hypocrisy. And hypocrisy, I definitely don’t like. In my little hometown, whose rules I knew to be law, she showed me change.
And I did.
This is not the reason I continued to be friends with her after she left for Delhi though. Nor the reason we somehow both needed up in the same crappy college in Kolkata. This is just what I am most grateful to her for. That and the anime.
Eleventh and twelfth grade was a revelation to both of us. I flexed my new wings amidst old territory. She gingerly stepped on the rocky precipe of having an unrequitable crush. We talked 5 to 6 hours a day. We laughed and we cried and we choked while trying to do both. We missed each other terribly. We met once both those years, and we went nuts. We had fun. That was our mission throughout, and I’m proud to say we are still sticking by it.
So, is friendship really about opening your heart and soul? Is it about support through thick and thin? Is it about constantly keeping in touch? To some people, maybe. Perhaps because of the family I was brought up in, I never looked for those things in all the people I looked at as friends. Which is good, because I never found them either. To me, friendship is having someone I can laugh at and laugh with. Someone I can be so complete comfortable with that I can go a month without talking to her and know that when I come back, we’ll go back to whining about exams. And sneaking off for film festivals and plays. And tramping about the city we love. And having an obscene amount of fun. And being happy.
On second thoughts, this wasn’t as easy as I expected it to be. Huh.
Friendship
So. I am a quiet person. Quit laughing, I am! A silent person, introspective and not shy, just reserved and stand-offish. I'll never get this done, if you don't stop laughing. :)
So being introverted and going my own way most of the time, I prefer to make a few good friends, rather than know a lot of people superficially. If I don't trust you, and I trust almost no one, then I can't relax around you and I come home more exhausted from the effort than if I had stayed home alone.
So most of my life, I've had a series of one really good friend or two at the most. When I was very young, I didn't have any, but that would change.
In elementary school, I was an odd duck on so many levels. Our school was tiny. One small class per grade. When it first got started, there was even a grade with no kids in it. Because we didn't go to church, and because I didn't say Grace before lunch like the little pious girls did, and because I wore pinafores with a sash in the back for quite a few years, and no one else did, and for a few dozen other reasons, like living in the country and not playing in town after school and some other stuff I ain't gonna talk about, I didn't have a naturally occurring like minded friend in the early grades. My mom didn't mix with the other moms. We kept to ourselves.
Oh and I was pulled out of class on occasions and tested special, because of some screening that had been done in First Grade and again in Third. They made special accommodations to give me books to read from the upper grades collections and when I had read all the books in the school, they brought me in special ones from the library in town. So there was lots of whispers when I got extra attention from the staff and strangers coming in.
Our gradeschool was taking part in special ongoing psychological projects as part of a government program based at the Air Force base near our village. One of the things they did was a social web.
You had to answer some questions about who you would tell your troubles to, who do you play with at recess, who do you dislike in your class. I was a smart cookie and did some quick checking around and realized that no one had written my name down on any of the positive friendship questions.
The researcher drew a quick diagram of what a social web looked like. It had lines going from person to person with arrows. Some were only one way arrows and some were two way arrows. And then there was the cheese that stood alone, as Reese likes to call it. I had failed the test!
So they were coming back in a bit to see if relationships had changed over time. I got to work and went through my class to see if I could find a girl who I could connect to. I thought about the social ties, and tried to imagine how people become friends by shared experiences, and proximity to each other. I took each girl into consideration and mapped out the social web for myself on a piece of paper. I was looking for a loose girl I could tap into.
Etta May! She lived on a farm. She was nice. She was best friends with Pamela who wasn't very nice to her some of the time. She played jacks with me. I started to court her. I asked her questions. I listened to her to complain about her brothers being mean to her. I gave her my chocolate milk at milk time. I lent her my best eraser. Pretty soon, some of the time she would seek me out. Pamela wasn't happy, but it was mostly when Pam was sick or busy with something else. She was careful and I was not demanding.
Three months went by. The same guy shows up. I fill out my questionaire and then afterwards I ask Etta who she had put. She whispers that she had put ME down as the one classmate who she could talk to the best.
YES! Success!
So being introverted and going my own way most of the time, I prefer to make a few good friends, rather than know a lot of people superficially. If I don't trust you, and I trust almost no one, then I can't relax around you and I come home more exhausted from the effort than if I had stayed home alone.
So most of my life, I've had a series of one really good friend or two at the most. When I was very young, I didn't have any, but that would change.
In elementary school, I was an odd duck on so many levels. Our school was tiny. One small class per grade. When it first got started, there was even a grade with no kids in it. Because we didn't go to church, and because I didn't say Grace before lunch like the little pious girls did, and because I wore pinafores with a sash in the back for quite a few years, and no one else did, and for a few dozen other reasons, like living in the country and not playing in town after school and some other stuff I ain't gonna talk about, I didn't have a naturally occurring like minded friend in the early grades. My mom didn't mix with the other moms. We kept to ourselves.
Oh and I was pulled out of class on occasions and tested special, because of some screening that had been done in First Grade and again in Third. They made special accommodations to give me books to read from the upper grades collections and when I had read all the books in the school, they brought me in special ones from the library in town. So there was lots of whispers when I got extra attention from the staff and strangers coming in.
Our gradeschool was taking part in special ongoing psychological projects as part of a government program based at the Air Force base near our village. One of the things they did was a social web.
You had to answer some questions about who you would tell your troubles to, who do you play with at recess, who do you dislike in your class. I was a smart cookie and did some quick checking around and realized that no one had written my name down on any of the positive friendship questions.
The researcher drew a quick diagram of what a social web looked like. It had lines going from person to person with arrows. Some were only one way arrows and some were two way arrows. And then there was the cheese that stood alone, as Reese likes to call it. I had failed the test!
So they were coming back in a bit to see if relationships had changed over time. I got to work and went through my class to see if I could find a girl who I could connect to. I thought about the social ties, and tried to imagine how people become friends by shared experiences, and proximity to each other. I took each girl into consideration and mapped out the social web for myself on a piece of paper. I was looking for a loose girl I could tap into.
Etta May! She lived on a farm. She was nice. She was best friends with Pamela who wasn't very nice to her some of the time. She played jacks with me. I started to court her. I asked her questions. I listened to her to complain about her brothers being mean to her. I gave her my chocolate milk at milk time. I lent her my best eraser. Pretty soon, some of the time she would seek me out. Pamela wasn't happy, but it was mostly when Pam was sick or busy with something else. She was careful and I was not demanding.
Three months went by. The same guy shows up. I fill out my questionaire and then afterwards I ask Etta who she had put. She whispers that she had put ME down as the one classmate who she could talk to the best.
YES! Success!
friendship
i have a lot of friends. and as i sit here contemplating what i want to write about, i realize how many i have left behind. i realize how many different layers there are to friendships. i realize how many different kinds of friendships there are and the many different purposes they serve. or maybe i dont. maybe i dont have any of this figured out. just like to think i do ;)
i like to think i am a good friend. a great friend. someone people want to be around.
i have left so many people behind. not forgotten.. well some.. wow
i had this conversation with my neighbor a few years back. i shared that there were a lot of people in my life i had just walked away from and never made an effort to reconnect. he implied i was the type of person who thought he was better than others. i forget his exact words. but they stung.. hmm he may have been right.
i think about those friends. they served a purpose in my life at that moment in time.. and when i didnt need them anymore i walked away. my word was i outgrew them.. he assumes i am a snob.
not that i care. i have compartmentalized him as one of the bros.. a specific kind of friend that one does things with.. but doesnt connect with on a deeper level. i have a lot of bros.
i have learned from every person i have come in contact with.. something important. often the lesson doesnt come clear until i have walked away.
in order to have true friends. you have to be one. some friendships come easy. some take work. those are the ones i walk away from. it isnt work if you are having fun and enjoying each other. give and take freely. when it becomes a chore.. well, that isnt friendship.
used to think that not making an effort made me a bad person. a bad friend. as a matter of fact.. at the beginning of writing this, i thought that. you probably can tell. but i dont think i am a bad person for walking away from people who have drained me and dont have anything to offer. recognizing this.. well.. i should pat myself on the back for some self-preservation! i deserve to be happy. i deserve to be surrounded by people i want to be around. i am worthy. the people who are my friends, i give freely to and receive so much more. they are a reflection of who i am. and i can be proud of who i am.. because my friends are awesome.
and you know who you are.
i like to think i am a good friend. a great friend. someone people want to be around.
i have left so many people behind. not forgotten.. well some.. wow
i had this conversation with my neighbor a few years back. i shared that there were a lot of people in my life i had just walked away from and never made an effort to reconnect. he implied i was the type of person who thought he was better than others. i forget his exact words. but they stung.. hmm he may have been right.
i think about those friends. they served a purpose in my life at that moment in time.. and when i didnt need them anymore i walked away. my word was i outgrew them.. he assumes i am a snob.
not that i care. i have compartmentalized him as one of the bros.. a specific kind of friend that one does things with.. but doesnt connect with on a deeper level. i have a lot of bros.
i have learned from every person i have come in contact with.. something important. often the lesson doesnt come clear until i have walked away.
in order to have true friends. you have to be one. some friendships come easy. some take work. those are the ones i walk away from. it isnt work if you are having fun and enjoying each other. give and take freely. when it becomes a chore.. well, that isnt friendship.
used to think that not making an effort made me a bad person. a bad friend. as a matter of fact.. at the beginning of writing this, i thought that. you probably can tell. but i dont think i am a bad person for walking away from people who have drained me and dont have anything to offer. recognizing this.. well.. i should pat myself on the back for some self-preservation! i deserve to be happy. i deserve to be surrounded by people i want to be around. i am worthy. the people who are my friends, i give freely to and receive so much more. they are a reflection of who i am. and i can be proud of who i am.. because my friends are awesome.
and you know who you are.
Monday, April 23, 2012
hidden talents
hidden talents: i know how to
make one finger on one hand spin clockwise while one finger on the other hand spins counterclockwise! takes a lot of practice and concentration.. and it's a lot harder than patting your head and rubbing your belly at the same time. most people i show this little trick to.. cannot do it!
pick up basically any instrument and learn to play it in a month or less.. proficiently
all i need is a beginner book and a little free time
make my eyes wiggle back and forth super fast!
make homemade playdoh.. c. flour, c. boiling water, couple tblsp. cream of tartar, 1/2 tsp. salt, tblsp. oil and food coloring.. and voila!!
make a rainstick with a cardboard tube, a bunch of screws, beans, and yep.. duct tape
make it appear as if i pulled a string through my fingers and a few other magic tricks
read palms (and knuckles) .. great way to get a pretty girl to hold your hand :P
knit hats, mittens, scarves, dog sweaters, slippers.. mostly easy stuff. i can felt slippers and hats too.
i can whip up a gourmet meal in 30 mins or less. i make carbonara that melts in your mouth.. filet mignon wrapped in bacon with goat cheese that makes me drool.. and my hot wings are the talk of the neighborhood. and i can cater a party up to 100ppl for less than $300.
make one finger on one hand spin clockwise while one finger on the other hand spins counterclockwise! takes a lot of practice and concentration.. and it's a lot harder than patting your head and rubbing your belly at the same time. most people i show this little trick to.. cannot do it!
pick up basically any instrument and learn to play it in a month or less.. proficiently
all i need is a beginner book and a little free time
make my eyes wiggle back and forth super fast!
make homemade playdoh.. c. flour, c. boiling water, couple tblsp. cream of tartar, 1/2 tsp. salt, tblsp. oil and food coloring.. and voila!!
make a rainstick with a cardboard tube, a bunch of screws, beans, and yep.. duct tape
make it appear as if i pulled a string through my fingers and a few other magic tricks
read palms (and knuckles) .. great way to get a pretty girl to hold your hand :P
knit hats, mittens, scarves, dog sweaters, slippers.. mostly easy stuff. i can felt slippers and hats too.
i can whip up a gourmet meal in 30 mins or less. i make carbonara that melts in your mouth.. filet mignon wrapped in bacon with goat cheese that makes me drool.. and my hot wings are the talk of the neighborhood. and i can cater a party up to 100ppl for less than $300.
Hidden Talents.
I know how to...
I know how to take a tick off a person's butt after hiking. I know that they love to hide in crevices and skin folds and I will find them, no matter where.
I know how to fill water balloons without getting myself wet. The secret is to turn the water on gently, and hold on the balloon so it doesn't pop off or squirt back to you.
I know how to make sewing patterns. I can both draft them from a sloper or drape them on a dummy. I am very good with making adjustments for large bosoms, small backs, stooped shoulders and butts with odd shapes and big or flat tummies. I don't do men's suit jackets, they are a mystery to me, and require separate training.
I can sew anything you can draw or give me a photo to. I worked at a costume shop for a rep theater and we did all our stuff from scratch drawings. I loved it. I can make cartridge pleated gowns by the dozen, as I did for one show, or fairy costumes for Midsummer Night Dreams. I do okay with prop making, but falter at shoes and boots. I can make bras, corsets, panties and what nots. I worked as a sample maker for Playtex international and can sew exactly within a 1/32 inch tolerance. Or i could. when i had good eyesight.
I know how to make jam and jellies. Peach, strawberry, watermelon rinds, cherries, grape and apple butter.
I can can but I dont' like it. It is a hot and tiresome chore. Freezing things taste better and goes quicker. But I do know how to get jars to properly seal.
I know how to train dogs for obedience trials. I took lessons with our Akita for a year with a professional trainer, and we went up to advanced. We could not train a trustworthy recall to him off leash. Akitas don't come when called unless they want to, and they never do. You have to get very determined and it's often impossible. They also don't retrieve well. Other than that, he was rock solid.
I can change a poopy diaper without getting my hands dirty in it. I got very fast at diaper changing.
I can soothe a scared child, even a stranger to me. I volunteered at the hospital and learned a few tricks. Hold the baby facing out from you, they calm down quicker if you are a stranger than if you hold them towards your chest.
I know how to fold a paper airplane that will fly. I know a lot of paper cutting and paper folding tricks. Give me scissors.
I know how to make cloth dolls that look like the child I am going to give them to. And I can make tiny little things to go with them.
I know how to entertain and keep orderly an entire cub scout troup for 20 minutes while the other leaders have a meeting. I would not do it again for any amount of accolades or money. The meeting went 30 minutes and I don't care to talk about the last 10.
I know how to take a tick off a person's butt after hiking. I know that they love to hide in crevices and skin folds and I will find them, no matter where.
I know how to fill water balloons without getting myself wet. The secret is to turn the water on gently, and hold on the balloon so it doesn't pop off or squirt back to you.
I know how to make sewing patterns. I can both draft them from a sloper or drape them on a dummy. I am very good with making adjustments for large bosoms, small backs, stooped shoulders and butts with odd shapes and big or flat tummies. I don't do men's suit jackets, they are a mystery to me, and require separate training.
I can sew anything you can draw or give me a photo to. I worked at a costume shop for a rep theater and we did all our stuff from scratch drawings. I loved it. I can make cartridge pleated gowns by the dozen, as I did for one show, or fairy costumes for Midsummer Night Dreams. I do okay with prop making, but falter at shoes and boots. I can make bras, corsets, panties and what nots. I worked as a sample maker for Playtex international and can sew exactly within a 1/32 inch tolerance. Or i could. when i had good eyesight.
I know how to make jam and jellies. Peach, strawberry, watermelon rinds, cherries, grape and apple butter.
I can can but I dont' like it. It is a hot and tiresome chore. Freezing things taste better and goes quicker. But I do know how to get jars to properly seal.
I know how to train dogs for obedience trials. I took lessons with our Akita for a year with a professional trainer, and we went up to advanced. We could not train a trustworthy recall to him off leash. Akitas don't come when called unless they want to, and they never do. You have to get very determined and it's often impossible. They also don't retrieve well. Other than that, he was rock solid.
I can change a poopy diaper without getting my hands dirty in it. I got very fast at diaper changing.
I can soothe a scared child, even a stranger to me. I volunteered at the hospital and learned a few tricks. Hold the baby facing out from you, they calm down quicker if you are a stranger than if you hold them towards your chest.
I know how to fold a paper airplane that will fly. I know a lot of paper cutting and paper folding tricks. Give me scissors.
I know how to make cloth dolls that look like the child I am going to give them to. And I can make tiny little things to go with them.
I know how to entertain and keep orderly an entire cub scout troup for 20 minutes while the other leaders have a meeting. I would not do it again for any amount of accolades or money. The meeting went 30 minutes and I don't care to talk about the last 10.
Blog Manifesto
This blog is dedicated, as the title would suggest, to the qualities of being young. We are young writers. We are playful and sensitive, fluid and changing. We are unashamed with our art.
We wonder at the world, puzzle over the meanings of things and twirl in delight at images and ideas that float by, grabbing at them as they pass. We are curious and constantly inquiring and prying concepts open and taking assumptions apart.
We are on the ground, close to the earth. We have bare feet and wiggle our toes into nature. We carry our blankies still and wrap up cozy and comfy with each other and tell ghost stories and shiver at creepy things.
We laugh and we cry and we take a lot of naps, drained from our outings and exertions.
We write as gifts to each other, tying them up in ribbon and leaving them around for each other to find, hiding and waiting for the person to wake up and read. Surprise!
We weave our stories together to create a bond. One writes, then the other. then another again. We have a shared reality that we have crafted, bit by piece by patch, by string.
We write simple, honest authentic things, with our unique voices. You can tell each one of us from the other, without knowing who wrote what. Our voices are clear and gentle and original. We whisper and our personalities roar!
Like children, our feeling are strong, our passion for what we write shakes us. We are moved and sometimes left breathless, by our own words or the words of each other.
We cannonball into each others spaces. We fall backward into each others writing, like into a pile of leaves or a soft bed. We gobble and grin and ask for more. (footnote kudos to Jc)
Then we go to bed, wake up to a new day and do it all over again!
To Save a Life
My son wasn't getting up this morning to go to school. The transportation driver came. She was outside. He doesn't like school, he doesn't like Mondays. He had a tough weekend, he had fought a large beefy girl and had a skinned knee and sores and bruises here, here and there. He had lost/had stolen/sold his bike last night and we were not amused with him.
He wouldn't get up. I thought about some parenting book I had read decades ago about handling difficult situations with children. It said. If they will obey you sometimes, and not others, what's the difference in how you handle it? An example was made, showing that when you think it's important enough, you find a way to do it.
So there was my dead weight son, not going to school. Full of excuses. "My knee is swollen, I can't walk"
This is a life saving moment. He has to go to drug rehab and school. He just has to. I repeated this to him and nothing else. You have to go to school. I was a broken record.
I took a deep breath and grabbed some of that adrenaline moms reserve for lifting cars off their children and I pulled hard. I dumped him off his mattress and removed the mattress from the house. Out it went into the front porch. He's still clinging to his box spring. I took another deep breath. Box springs goes up too. and now he is on the floor.
You have to go to school. He has his blankie wrapped around him. I poke him with a broom a few times and decide not to go the smacking route just yet. I grab his blankie and start pulling him out of his room with it.
I can pull 140 lbs of resisting teen, it turns out. Because of my determination and the fact that I had the phone in my hand to call the police, because we were about to have a domestic disturbance, he got up and found that indeed he could walk.
He wouldn't get up. I thought about some parenting book I had read decades ago about handling difficult situations with children. It said. If they will obey you sometimes, and not others, what's the difference in how you handle it? An example was made, showing that when you think it's important enough, you find a way to do it.
So there was my dead weight son, not going to school. Full of excuses. "My knee is swollen, I can't walk"
This is a life saving moment. He has to go to drug rehab and school. He just has to. I repeated this to him and nothing else. You have to go to school. I was a broken record.
I took a deep breath and grabbed some of that adrenaline moms reserve for lifting cars off their children and I pulled hard. I dumped him off his mattress and removed the mattress from the house. Out it went into the front porch. He's still clinging to his box spring. I took another deep breath. Box springs goes up too. and now he is on the floor.
You have to go to school. He has his blankie wrapped around him. I poke him with a broom a few times and decide not to go the smacking route just yet. I grab his blankie and start pulling him out of his room with it.
I can pull 140 lbs of resisting teen, it turns out. Because of my determination and the fact that I had the phone in my hand to call the police, because we were about to have a domestic disturbance, he got up and found that indeed he could walk.
delicious
he digs his fork in and quickly twirls
the occasional 'a', 'an', or 'the' flying wildly to the side..
in his haste to get in the very first bite
no expectation.. just delight
he devours adjective, adverb, verb, and noun..
gulping down each sentence and phrase
and then
he slows..
his voracious appetite in check,
now savoring every last ingredient
every texture and layer
every sentiment and thought
flavor and scent mingling.. teasing the palate
words flow and the story unfolds
rolling easily now over his tongue
his plate clean..
temporarily sated
this glutton grins
and asks for.. more!
the occasional 'a', 'an', or 'the' flying wildly to the side..
in his haste to get in the very first bite
no expectation.. just delight
he devours adjective, adverb, verb, and noun..
gulping down each sentence and phrase
and then
he slows..
his voracious appetite in check,
now savoring every last ingredient
every texture and layer
every sentiment and thought
flavor and scent mingling.. teasing the palate
words flow and the story unfolds
rolling easily now over his tongue
his plate clean..
temporarily sated
this glutton grins
and asks for.. more!
The Woman
Janu took off her glasses and lay down, eyes open, facing her three birthday cards. She had been sixteen for a whole minute now. She had stopped being a virgin for ten. She could hear the breathing of the Woman behind her. Rough, low, interspersed with a hint of a snore. Janu could tell she was awake though. She shivered and drew her blanket closer. Still the same star speckled blanket. Wrapped around a new Janu. And a Woman. Janu peeked over her shoulder. She was lying in utter ease. She had put her white slip back on. Her lipstick was smudged. Red. Her black curls spilled over the pillow. One tickled her back. She turned away again. Her back was tingling where the Woman’s hair touched it. Slowly that sensation spread across. The nape of her neck grew hot. The tingling invaded her, brushing aside the numbness that had been in its place just moments ago. Her heart was racing again. She willed it to calm down. She willed her mind to stop acting befuddled. She willed the situation to start making sense. But then again, there is just so much will power can do.
Janu turned and faced her. She reached out and pulled at the wandering lock. The Woman smiled. Beautiful. Like a mystery wrapped around an enigma. Unveiling itself slowly, vulnerably. Janu had only known her for the past half hour. But she was already in love. This was someone she knew she would spend the rest of her life with. She winded her fingers around the Woman’s hair and closed in till the tips of their noses were touching. A pair of piercingly bright eyes stared back. She backed up a bit. Masses of black hair offsetting a dusky complexion. Skin blemished with marks. High cheekbones. A roman nose. Slight dark circles under the eyes. Small, serious lips, cracked from lack of moisture. A mole slightly above them. The Woman was gorgeous. Janu bent down to kiss her. Enveloped in her beautiful fragrance, she felt at peace.
Hands roamed about her body. One clenched at her breast. Round, perky, perfect. Fingernails dug into her back. Skin against skin. The bite of the sharp January wind. Heat. She ran her hand up the side of her body. Down her back. Touching. Feeling. Knowing. Down her stomach. Between her legs. Moisture. Pleasure.
Love.
The phone rang. “Hello?”
“Hey girl! Happy birthday!”
“Haha thanks!”
“I just remembered. Omg you’re sixteen now!!”
“Yeaaah!”
“Woah. We need a party.”
“Mhmm totally. I’ll call the guys tomorrow.”
“Awesome! Oh wait. What time is it? Crap. I didn’t realise it was this late. You weren’t sleeping were you? Did I wake you up?”
“Haha don’t worry. I was awake.”
“Oh cool. What were you doing?”
“Nothing much…just looking at myself. In the mirror.”
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Walk With Me
Reese always has the best word pictures and metaphors at her fingertips. She is so clever.
Keep pace with me. Don't walk a few steps faster. Walk WITH me.
When we talk, take a turn, stop for breath. Listen to what I have to say. It's all about pace. Don't formulate what you need to say before I am done talking. Don't rush me. I don't rush you.
I try not to rush you. I get excited. I might talk a bit in your turn. I just don't want to forget it. oooh oooh.
But for the most part. I'm listening. I'm soaking it in. Try to do the same for me.
Say do you want to -------? No don't do it for me, I really want to know if you want to.
Naw, not right now, I'm cross. I'm tired. I don't want to pretend with you. Squirm in my seat and suppress a yawn.
We owe each other honesty. Gentle, tender honesty smoothed on like butter. I want you to find your pace, but I hope it matches mine, at least some of the time.
Walk with me.
Keep pace with me. Don't walk a few steps faster. Walk WITH me.
When we talk, take a turn, stop for breath. Listen to what I have to say. It's all about pace. Don't formulate what you need to say before I am done talking. Don't rush me. I don't rush you.
I try not to rush you. I get excited. I might talk a bit in your turn. I just don't want to forget it. oooh oooh.
But for the most part. I'm listening. I'm soaking it in. Try to do the same for me.
Say do you want to -------? No don't do it for me, I really want to know if you want to.
Naw, not right now, I'm cross. I'm tired. I don't want to pretend with you. Squirm in my seat and suppress a yawn.
We owe each other honesty. Gentle, tender honesty smoothed on like butter. I want you to find your pace, but I hope it matches mine, at least some of the time.
Walk with me.
walk with me..
He speaks and the sound of His voice,
is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
and the melody that He gave to me
within my heart is ringing.
And He walks with me,
and He talks with me,
and He tells me I am His own;
and the joy we share as we tarry there,
none other has ever known.
my grandma's favorite hymn.. in the garden
*****
i am at odds
until now, i had wiped my hands clean of my brother
i havent made a move in one direction or the other concerning him
just kept on keepin' on
ignoring his existance
reminding my dad not to mention him in our conversations
if i dont think about him, i dont get mad or.. wistful
i am working on myself
and i need a lot of work
my thoughts drift back to him
i look in the mirror.. and i think
maybe
so the topic 'walk with me comes up'
and the only thing i can think of
is the only person i know.. who is missing a leg.
who has a stilted walk..
who's back is bent..
who's burden is loathsome..
my brother.
when we were kids
nothing kept him down
now.. even i cannot lift him up
his life is stilted and halting
i feel compassion
for the first time in years
and i ask myself.. am i ready to forgive him
am i ready to ask him to walk with me again
as brothers
as men
or is he the lost cause i have feared all along..
is he too far gone..
are we twins.. destined to walk.. alone?
Walk with me…
Come walk with me,
Side by Side-
If you’re 2 steps ahead,
Decrease your stride!
Come game with me,
We’ll keep the bet low-
My coins build up,
While yours seem to go!
Come talk with me,
And do be my friend-
We can laugh and we can cry,
A shoulder I can lend!
Come walk with me,
Side by Side-
If you’re 2 steps ahead,
I’ll increase my stride!
I’d walk a mile to be with my friends!!!
You say “how will this be possible? I would start out slow, step by step…sitting on grass & leaning up against trees when my legs will take me no more. It may take me a long long time, but I would walk that mile. I would finish it for my friends. I know they would do the same for me…so, come walk with me…
innocent looking draft
hi sharon.. its me, JC.. invading :D ~grins
Rosie here.
So this is what sharon's mind looks like inside. Wow it is floor to ceiling with memories! and doilies!
im back.. (JC) ah.. nice n cozy in here.. ~ sits back and props up his feet. oooo i fit so nicely juxtaposed between jacquard and juggernaut
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: You aren't in the J''s jc, she has you filed in the S's under smart ass
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: guess everyone has me pegged
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: :P
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: She has me pegged, look at that effigy.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: ouch.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: oof
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: I've been pegged
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: ow ow
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: I HAVE TO PEE.. is there a bathroom up in here?
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: Reese, are you looking round Sharon's space?
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: I see you dusting.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: JC use your camel back.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: lifts his feet
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: We might need the liquid later.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: it's a bit dry.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: Use the Eustachion tube. it drains i am told.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: smh
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: lol
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: EW
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: i was thinking i could just leave the sink running..
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: :P
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: after i wash up
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: Look at all the wonderful books up in here. I got that one! and that one. and that one you are sitting on.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: hand me that Doonsebury.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: That one is rare.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: here.. wow its heavy
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: i think i got it a little wet .. didnt dry my hands
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: the humor is dry, it will be fine in a minute
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: lol
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: REESE!!
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: oh gosh she's climbed down into sharon's subconscious.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: lol
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: oh gawd.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: i was considering exploring the ID :P
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: So anyway, I wanted to leave Sharon a note letting her know we care for her.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: the id.?
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: is it ID, superID and ego?
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: mhm
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: lol
ReeseMarie: i am laggin mega
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: aw
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: or is it the ID the KID AND THE sQUID.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: grins
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: lagggin in Sharon's mind?
ReeseMarie: brb
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: or in chat here?
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: winks.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: lol
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: it's id, ego and superego.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: another wink.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: lol
http://www.dummies.com/how-to/content/understanding-the-id-ego-and-superego-in-psycholog.html
Happy trip Sharon. Drive safely.
Reese here:
Have a safe trip Sharon...Enjoy your time with your family!!! Read you in a week!
Rosie here.
So this is what sharon's mind looks like inside. Wow it is floor to ceiling with memories! and doilies!
im back.. (JC) ah.. nice n cozy in here.. ~ sits back and props up his feet. oooo i fit so nicely juxtaposed between jacquard and juggernaut
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: You aren't in the J''s jc, she has you filed in the S's under smart ass
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: guess everyone has me pegged
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: :P
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: She has me pegged, look at that effigy.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: ouch.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: oof
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: I've been pegged
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: ow ow
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: I HAVE TO PEE.. is there a bathroom up in here?
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: Reese, are you looking round Sharon's space?
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: I see you dusting.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: JC use your camel back.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: lifts his feet
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: We might need the liquid later.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: it's a bit dry.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: Use the Eustachion tube. it drains i am told.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: smh
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: lol
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: EW
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: i was thinking i could just leave the sink running..
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: :P
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: after i wash up
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: Look at all the wonderful books up in here. I got that one! and that one. and that one you are sitting on.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: hand me that Doonsebury.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: That one is rare.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: here.. wow its heavy
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: i think i got it a little wet .. didnt dry my hands
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: the humor is dry, it will be fine in a minute
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: lol
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: REESE!!
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: oh gosh she's climbed down into sharon's subconscious.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: lol
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: oh gawd.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: i was considering exploring the ID :P
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: So anyway, I wanted to leave Sharon a note letting her know we care for her.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: the id.?
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: is it ID, superID and ego?
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: mhm
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: lol
ReeseMarie: i am laggin mega
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: aw
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: or is it the ID the KID AND THE sQUID.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: grins
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: lagggin in Sharon's mind?
ReeseMarie: brb
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: or in chat here?
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: winks.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: lol
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: it's id, ego and superego.
xlll Rosie lllx [Scamp]: another wink.
JCMcLovin [scamp ;)]: lol
http://www.dummies.com/how-to/content/understanding-the-id-ego-and-superego-in-psycholog.html
Happy trip Sharon. Drive safely.
Reese here:
Have a safe trip Sharon...Enjoy your time with your family!!! Read you in a week!
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Listening In
Our house is really never quiet. There is just the three of us and we all use headphones, but the something is always on.
Son is connected via Team Speak to his Army Command center. Exciting right? Nope. It's several guys endlessly talking about databases and PHP 3.0 and moving people over, cobbled code and permission levels.
They are doing an activity purge, so do attach your rank shoulder plate. or you will be gone!
I love geeks. Stupid Wealthy White people. they just called themselves. They are planning way into July, the organization is complicated and this is a group of leaders who need to wrangle platoons. 400 members.
Great enlisted action, I might burst a gut. LOL. My son made this meeting, but he wasn't here. I was. :)
Okay you have no idea what I mean. and that's cool.
Son is connected via Team Speak to his Army Command center. Exciting right? Nope. It's several guys endlessly talking about databases and PHP 3.0 and moving people over, cobbled code and permission levels.
They are doing an activity purge, so do attach your rank shoulder plate. or you will be gone!
I love geeks. Stupid Wealthy White people. they just called themselves. They are planning way into July, the organization is complicated and this is a group of leaders who need to wrangle platoons. 400 members.
Great enlisted action, I might burst a gut. LOL. My son made this meeting, but he wasn't here. I was. :)
Okay you have no idea what I mean. and that's cool.
special events house
Their jaws dropped when they actually saw the house..
‘This place is gorgeous, baby!’ she exclaimed with glee.
‘Only the best for my girl.’
They walked hand-in-hand up the path, to the old-fashioned wrap around porch.
They sat on the porch swing and the nicest red haired woman served them lemonade before dinner.
‘Haha! what a thrill. I trust everything is in order… and there is no chance we will be caught?’
‘No worries.’ said Joseph, with a sinister smile.
Dinner was served. The loin was especially tender. The young couple quickly adjourned to the bedroom. They were on their honeymoon, and not wasting any of the precious time they had together.
Rachel paused as she passed the room. The lights were low and the couple could be heard giggling and talking low. It was time for the special event.
‘This is a voyeur’s paradise.’ the guest murmured as Rachel handed him his second double shot of B&B.
He turned to watch the couple through the vanity mirror. His fly down. A lascivious grin pasted on his grizzled face. As his hand reached down, he felt the cold point of a blade on his neck… and heard the ripping sound of… duct tape.
‘This place is gorgeous, baby!’ she exclaimed with glee.
‘Only the best for my girl.’
They walked hand-in-hand up the path, to the old-fashioned wrap around porch.
They sat on the porch swing and the nicest red haired woman served them lemonade before dinner.
‘Haha! what a thrill. I trust everything is in order… and there is no chance we will be caught?’
‘No worries.’ said Joseph, with a sinister smile.
Dinner was served. The loin was especially tender. The young couple quickly adjourned to the bedroom. They were on their honeymoon, and not wasting any of the precious time they had together.
Rachel paused as she passed the room. The lights were low and the couple could be heard giggling and talking low. It was time for the special event.
‘This is a voyeur’s paradise.’ the guest murmured as Rachel handed him his second double shot of B&B.
He turned to watch the couple through the vanity mirror. His fly down. A lascivious grin pasted on his grizzled face. As his hand reached down, he felt the cold point of a blade on his neck… and heard the ripping sound of… duct tape.
Special Event House
Ten years ago my sister sold her ranch in California and brought the money to Washington on the lookout for a retirement home for herself. It was going to be something she could decorate and update, a place with room for her collections...dolls, barbed wire, hats, paintings, old farm implements, family pictures, pottery, Indian artifacts, board games, loom spools, antique furniture. Most of these things had been in storage for many years as she had downsized to a trailer when she moved from the ranch.
She ended up in my father's hometown and bought the largest house we remember as kids visiting there. It sits on a majestic hill three blocks up from the main highway, old 101, on Main St. right across from the oldest County Court House in the State, and the Court House's ugly 1980 addition, the County Jail! What do they say? Location, location, location!
For ten years she has spent the school year in California and every summer in Washington working on the house. It was built in 1903 by a lumber baron. He had money and spent it on this house. Over the years, however, after it passed out of that family it was owned by a dentist, a rehabilitation outreach, a gay couple of directors from Hollywood, and finally, Denise. It is called the Hubble House after the original builder.
For ten years each detail of the home was upgraded, refurbished, renewed or improved. It is now better and bigger than ever before. She lives in what used to be the carriage house while the main house is the museum. Besides her own collections many townspeople have presented her with items original to the house when the Hubbles occupied it. It is a showpiece. So far in the year it has been open to the public, there have been three weddings, four birthday and anniversary parties, one book signing and a couple of company celebrations. We have organized tours twice a year and it is available for drop-in tours at five dollars a head. I really enjoy it...
So, the other day my sister comes to me and says... I don't think I like to work with the public! There's a lot of stress getting things ready for an event. I'm getting older and I want to just go away and live in Kentucky in my trailer. ....
Is she crazy? I've devoted the last five years of my life to this project! Is she sick? Maybe the thyroid thing is acting up...I better get her to the doctor again. Really? She's going to walk away from her collections (can't take them in a trailer). Maybe she's just tired. Geez, the panic...my panic, sets in. I moved here to help her and now she's hightailing it? What's going on?
She explains...she wants to live debt free. She wants to simplify. She doesn't want to be so occupied with other people's problems. She loves to show off the house but it's not paying off like she hoped.
I say, you haven't given it a chance. You haven't done any marketing. In this town they don't understand what you're offering here. Don't give up. You will be bored without this project. I can see her dilemma. And, I can see mine. I moved here. She leaves and I'm alone. Well, I guess it's time to grow up. I can live life without her. After all, I have my friends on DMT and on Forever Young. Am I kidding myself? Nope, I can accept what comes. Will she stay or will she go. I really will be fine.
Ten years ago my sister sold her ranch in California and brought the money to Washington on the lookout for a retirement home for herself. It was going to be something she could decorate and update, a place with room for her collections...dolls, barbed wire, hats, paintings, old farm implements, family pictures, pottery, Indian artifacts, board games, loom spools, antique furniture. Most of these things had been in storage for many years as she had downsized to a trailer when she moved from the ranch.
She ended up in my father's hometown and bought the largest house we remember as kids visiting there. It sits on a majestic hill three blocks up from the main highway, old 101, on Main St. right across from the oldest County Court House in the State, and the Court House's ugly 1980 addition, the County Jail! What do they say? Location, location, location!
For ten years she has spent the school year in California and every summer in Washington working on the house. It was built in 1903 by a lumber baron. He had money and spent it on this house. Over the years, however, after it passed out of that family it was owned by a dentist, a rehabilitation outreach, a gay couple of directors from Hollywood, and finally, Denise. It is called the Hubble House after the original builder.
For ten years each detail of the home was upgraded, refurbished, renewed or improved. It is now better and bigger than ever before. She lives in what used to be the carriage house while the main house is the museum. Besides her own collections many townspeople have presented her with items original to the house when the Hubbles occupied it. It is a showpiece. So far in the year it has been open to the public, there have been three weddings, four birthday and anniversary parties, one book signing and a couple of company celebrations. We have organized tours twice a year and it is available for drop-in tours at five dollars a head. I really enjoy it...
So, the other day my sister comes to me and says... I don't think I like to work with the public! There's a lot of stress getting things ready for an event. I'm getting older and I want to just go away and live in Kentucky in my trailer. ....
Is she crazy? I've devoted the last five years of my life to this project! Is she sick? Maybe the thyroid thing is acting up...I better get her to the doctor again. Really? She's going to walk away from her collections (can't take them in a trailer). Maybe she's just tired. Geez, the panic...my panic, sets in. I moved here to help her and now she's hightailing it? What's going on?
She explains...she wants to live debt free. She wants to simplify. She doesn't want to be so occupied with other people's problems. She loves to show off the house but it's not paying off like she hoped.
I say, you haven't given it a chance. You haven't done any marketing. In this town they don't understand what you're offering here. Don't give up. You will be bored without this project. I can see her dilemma. And, I can see mine. I moved here. She leaves and I'm alone. Well, I guess it's time to grow up. I can live life without her. After all, I have my friends on DMT and on Forever Young. Am I kidding myself? Nope, I can accept what comes. Will she stay or will she go. I really will be fine.
Special Events House
Oh, you need directions to the Hanley House? You must be from out of town. Let me walk with you aways. It's easier to get to via the garden cut through.
No, I don't mind. I like to look at the flowers. Prettiest flowers in town, The spinsters Hanley always kept the gardener busy with the plantings. They hired a landscaper from England to come over here and reproduce the Hanley Gardens of Tollington, London,, where the Baronet Hanley had his notorious estate.
There was a time when being a Hanley in this town meant something. This house saw some of the best society and not just anyone could get an invite, No, by hank, they couldn't. Old General Hanley would not put up with new Money.
Over this way, through the arches.
Are you in for the Medical Marijuana convention? I thought so. There are a lot of people coming in this week for that. Hanley House was inherited two years ago by the remaining great nephew and turned into a Special Events House. Viola Hanley would turn over in her grave if she could see the riff raff tromping through her house, pulling on the curtains. peeking in the cupboards, sitting down on her furniture like they owned the place.
I heard tell from one of the maids there, that the last renters had brought in lights and produced a specialty porn flick, Debbie Does Diarrhea. She said the director was a method actor and gave the actors and models as they like to call them, senekot and let them go at it. She said they also had to take up the floor boards in the dining room because of his vision.
Don't let it worry you none, the smell of marijuana covers up most of the remaining odor. They've got the Miss Marijuana pageant there tomorrow out on the veranda. I'll be by for the smoke off. I wouldn't miss it.
Let me get the door for you. Knock knock, knock.
No, I don't mind. I like to look at the flowers. Prettiest flowers in town, The spinsters Hanley always kept the gardener busy with the plantings. They hired a landscaper from England to come over here and reproduce the Hanley Gardens of Tollington, London,, where the Baronet Hanley had his notorious estate.
There was a time when being a Hanley in this town meant something. This house saw some of the best society and not just anyone could get an invite, No, by hank, they couldn't. Old General Hanley would not put up with new Money.
Over this way, through the arches.
Are you in for the Medical Marijuana convention? I thought so. There are a lot of people coming in this week for that. Hanley House was inherited two years ago by the remaining great nephew and turned into a Special Events House. Viola Hanley would turn over in her grave if she could see the riff raff tromping through her house, pulling on the curtains. peeking in the cupboards, sitting down on her furniture like they owned the place.
I heard tell from one of the maids there, that the last renters had brought in lights and produced a specialty porn flick, Debbie Does Diarrhea. She said the director was a method actor and gave the actors and models as they like to call them, senekot and let them go at it. She said they also had to take up the floor boards in the dining room because of his vision.
Don't let it worry you none, the smell of marijuana covers up most of the remaining odor. They've got the Miss Marijuana pageant there tomorrow out on the veranda. I'll be by for the smoke off. I wouldn't miss it.
Let me get the door for you. Knock knock, knock.
Friday, April 20, 2012
I think this is appropriate for the 'family' portion of our blog. When I tried to include it in the comment area it was too long. So, I'll stick it here. It is a review of a movie about Family by Roger Ebert.
I don't want to Clog the Blog but I felt the need to share it.
In the Family
A father who deserves his son
"In the Family" centers on one of the notable performances I've seen — if, indeed, it is a performance. Perhaps Patrick Wang is exactly like that. Then he must be a very good man. He wrote, directed and stars in the film, but it's not a one-man show. It is about the meaning of "family." This is his first feature, and may signal the opening of an important career.
Wang plays Joey Williams, a Chinese-American man who has been living happily for about five years with Cody Hines (Trevor St. John) and Cody's 6-year-old son, Chip (Sebastian Banes). Chip's mother died in childbirth. Some months after that, to his own surprise, Cody fell in love with Joey, and they're raising Chip. This household is given enough screen time to establish it as a happy, healthy place.
Then Cody is killed in an accident. Chip stays with Joey, whose treatment of him is a study in wisdom and love. The boy is so irrepressibly joyous that we sense what a happy life he has led. But Cody's sister Eileen (Kelly McAndrew) reveals that her brother left a will years ago, granting her all of his property and custody of his child. This will, written after the death of Cody's wife and before he met Joey, has never been updated.
On Thanksgiving Day, Joey drops the boy off at the sister's house and never sees him again. A lawyer in his Tennessee town tells him flatly he doesn't have a child custody case, and no judge in the state will rule in his favor. Neither this lawyer nor anyone else ever uses the words "homosexual" or "gay." It isn't in any sense a "gay rights" film, nor is it an "Asian-American" film. It is about a father and son who have been separated against their wishes.
Its objectivity in these terms is possible because of Wang's extraordinary performance. I've been unable to discover any details about him, but he speaks in a relaxed, natural Tennessee accent and creates Joey as a particularly convincing character, a contractor who drives a red pickup truck. (Cody was a schoolteacher.) His own parents died when he was very young. He was adopted by foster parents, who gave him their name, and who died when he was a teenager. As a man of Asian birth who has been raised apart from other Asians, as an orphan and a foster child who for years had no family, we sense how important stability and continuity are to him.
And there is something else. Without ever making a point of it, he has been treated as an outsider. Wang, as director, indicates this by several scenes with the back of the character's head to the camera, so that we see the other characters from his POV, instead of seeing Joey mixed in visually. He is not a hothead, not neurotic, not psychologically damaged, but in this crisis, the entire basis of his being has been challenged. Having seen Cody, we can feel certain he would have granted custody to Joey if he had ever made another will. Cody's sister doesn't see it that way. What does she think about homosexuality? She never says.
Joey's case looks hopeless. Friends try to console him, but helplessly. He's working on a house for a local attorney who has an ornate law library, and he reveals his skills in bookbinding — an art learned from his foster father. This attorney, Paul Hawks (the authoritative and wise Brian Murray), offers his help and observes there may be no help within the court system but there may be a more human path around it.
Then follows a scene of legal depositions, during which Patrick Wang's performance, in long takes that feel entirely spontaneous, recounts his life story. Joey's response to the offensively hostile attorney for the other side is masterful: He humiliates the other man simply by being a good person and telling the truth.
"In the Family" is a long film, and truth to tell, could have been made shorter. (One dimly lit confrontation between Joey and a key participant seems unnecessary.) That said, I was completely absorbed from beginning to end. What a courageous first feature this is, a film that sidesteps shopworn stereotypes and tells a quiet, firm, deeply humanist story about doing the right thing. It is a film that avoids any message or statement and simply shows us, with infinite sympathy, how the life of a completely original character can help us lead our own.
I don't want to Clog the Blog but I felt the need to share it.
In the Family
A father who deserves his son
"In the Family" centers on one of the notable performances I've seen — if, indeed, it is a performance. Perhaps Patrick Wang is exactly like that. Then he must be a very good man. He wrote, directed and stars in the film, but it's not a one-man show. It is about the meaning of "family." This is his first feature, and may signal the opening of an important career.
Wang plays Joey Williams, a Chinese-American man who has been living happily for about five years with Cody Hines (Trevor St. John) and Cody's 6-year-old son, Chip (Sebastian Banes). Chip's mother died in childbirth. Some months after that, to his own surprise, Cody fell in love with Joey, and they're raising Chip. This household is given enough screen time to establish it as a happy, healthy place.
Then Cody is killed in an accident. Chip stays with Joey, whose treatment of him is a study in wisdom and love. The boy is so irrepressibly joyous that we sense what a happy life he has led. But Cody's sister Eileen (Kelly McAndrew) reveals that her brother left a will years ago, granting her all of his property and custody of his child. This will, written after the death of Cody's wife and before he met Joey, has never been updated.
On Thanksgiving Day, Joey drops the boy off at the sister's house and never sees him again. A lawyer in his Tennessee town tells him flatly he doesn't have a child custody case, and no judge in the state will rule in his favor. Neither this lawyer nor anyone else ever uses the words "homosexual" or "gay." It isn't in any sense a "gay rights" film, nor is it an "Asian-American" film. It is about a father and son who have been separated against their wishes.
Its objectivity in these terms is possible because of Wang's extraordinary performance. I've been unable to discover any details about him, but he speaks in a relaxed, natural Tennessee accent and creates Joey as a particularly convincing character, a contractor who drives a red pickup truck. (Cody was a schoolteacher.) His own parents died when he was very young. He was adopted by foster parents, who gave him their name, and who died when he was a teenager. As a man of Asian birth who has been raised apart from other Asians, as an orphan and a foster child who for years had no family, we sense how important stability and continuity are to him.
And there is something else. Without ever making a point of it, he has been treated as an outsider. Wang, as director, indicates this by several scenes with the back of the character's head to the camera, so that we see the other characters from his POV, instead of seeing Joey mixed in visually. He is not a hothead, not neurotic, not psychologically damaged, but in this crisis, the entire basis of his being has been challenged. Having seen Cody, we can feel certain he would have granted custody to Joey if he had ever made another will. Cody's sister doesn't see it that way. What does she think about homosexuality? She never says.
Joey's case looks hopeless. Friends try to console him, but helplessly. He's working on a house for a local attorney who has an ornate law library, and he reveals his skills in bookbinding — an art learned from his foster father. This attorney, Paul Hawks (the authoritative and wise Brian Murray), offers his help and observes there may be no help within the court system but there may be a more human path around it.
Then follows a scene of legal depositions, during which Patrick Wang's performance, in long takes that feel entirely spontaneous, recounts his life story. Joey's response to the offensively hostile attorney for the other side is masterful: He humiliates the other man simply by being a good person and telling the truth.
"In the Family" is a long film, and truth to tell, could have been made shorter. (One dimly lit confrontation between Joey and a key participant seems unnecessary.) That said, I was completely absorbed from beginning to end. What a courageous first feature this is, a film that sidesteps shopworn stereotypes and tells a quiet, firm, deeply humanist story about doing the right thing. It is a film that avoids any message or statement and simply shows us, with infinite sympathy, how the life of a completely original character can help us lead our own.
Family
My cousin is the last of his family. His dead brother's wife has two boys so I guess he has nephews. But, his mother, my aunt Bea, died of complications from diabetes. I imagine he looks at me and remembers her struggles, especially if I'm complaining about my aches and pains. His mother's mother died of the disease, too, only much later after ten years in a coma caused by a stroke caused by the diabetes. I believe he thinks of her when I mention how cheerful and fun I try to be around my grandson. She was my grandmother.
Due to estrangement in his family he does not see his nephews. He does not see his mother's sister. She called him queer once and he won't forgive her. She is my Aunt. I see my Aunt around town and she reminds me of my grandmother. She looks like her as I remember her when I was a child. My cousin and I can both remember my grandmother as she was, full of life, healthy and laughing. We share memories.
My cousin was the middle child and he spent his years caring for his mother in her illness. His older brother was a broken bum consumed by alcoholism . His younger brother was the fairest and brightest of the clan. He was the star of his High School, strong in Sports, handsome. A college scholarship and professional baseball career were ended with the onset of schizophrenia when he was twenty-two. His life was troubled and tragic.
My cousin and I spend time together. He's helping me clean my garage, fix a fence, and add molding to my ceilings. He has lived the last ten years alone after his mom died. He prides himself on living off the grid in a cabin on fifty acres up in the forest with no electricity, It's his land although he worries he might lose it because he sometimes has to let the taxes slide into the next year. He is beholden to no one and proud.
When I first came here six years ago he was a hermit. He never came to town and had few acquaintances. My sister and I visited him and his dog. He talked slowly and quietly while we were more animated and intrusive. We worried that he had no cell phone to call for help. 'No service up here anyway', he'd say.
Melvin, can you help us with the roof, the car, the trim in the kitchen? Yes, he always replied. Yes, although his truck could barely make the trip and the money we could afford to pay him barely covered the gas for it. Yes, he'd come down unless he was snowed in. Laconic, taciturn, he would stand and await instruction. He was ready to be molded into whatever we needed.
My sister and I fretted over him. How could we help him? What did he need? Was he really happy? We devoted long talks between ourselves about what we could do to help Melvin. He began to come in more regularly to help with projects. Monday and Tuesday he'd be in. Wednesday he had the Food Bank so he wasn't available. Thursdays and Fridays he'd be at the door by 10 and leave at 4:30 so he could be home before dark.
In the winter we'd struggle up the mountain to make sure he hadn't succumbed to the cold. His solar panels didn't work too good when it was overcast. It was hard to tell if he was happy to see us. His scraggly beard did not allow a glimpse of a smile, or frown. Sometimes he just stood and we weren't sure if we were intruding. Then, he would start to talk and share the old stories. Our childhood stories, clamming at the beach, killing chickens for Grandma's Sunday dinner, listening to the old radio in her kitchen.
We share those stories. Sometimes his eyes light up and he smiles. There are details he knows that we don't. Remember the big Rhodies at the top of Baseball Hill? They're over one hundred years old. Remember the garden Grandma planted in back of the laundry? And, the two hundred hens she bought that summer from the hatchery. Her trees had the best Sour Cherries ever. remember? And, we do.
Mel? I say, I'm really glad I came to live here. Sharon, he says quietly, if you hadn't come, I'd be dead now.
I'm quiet, waiting...
"After Mom died I was so alone, and I guess depressed. I didn't call it that but it hurt awfully bad. When I sold her house I had enough money to buy my place, so I did. It was a dream of mine to live off the grid. I had what I wanted,or what I thought I wanted. But, I felt suicidal. I was counting on not being around very much longer. And, then you came, and kept coming up to see me. You two worried about me. Me? I didn't ask for you to get in my life but I can see it is better now. In fact, I resented it. Now, look at me. Five years later and we had my birthday, ate Thanksgiving together, and we're planning a trip. It's really a big change. And, you stuck with it even though I wasn't very happy at first."
Of course we did, Mel. We're family.
Due to estrangement in his family he does not see his nephews. He does not see his mother's sister. She called him queer once and he won't forgive her. She is my Aunt. I see my Aunt around town and she reminds me of my grandmother. She looks like her as I remember her when I was a child. My cousin and I can both remember my grandmother as she was, full of life, healthy and laughing. We share memories.
My cousin was the middle child and he spent his years caring for his mother in her illness. His older brother was a broken bum consumed by alcoholism . His younger brother was the fairest and brightest of the clan. He was the star of his High School, strong in Sports, handsome. A college scholarship and professional baseball career were ended with the onset of schizophrenia when he was twenty-two. His life was troubled and tragic.
My cousin and I spend time together. He's helping me clean my garage, fix a fence, and add molding to my ceilings. He has lived the last ten years alone after his mom died. He prides himself on living off the grid in a cabin on fifty acres up in the forest with no electricity, It's his land although he worries he might lose it because he sometimes has to let the taxes slide into the next year. He is beholden to no one and proud.
When I first came here six years ago he was a hermit. He never came to town and had few acquaintances. My sister and I visited him and his dog. He talked slowly and quietly while we were more animated and intrusive. We worried that he had no cell phone to call for help. 'No service up here anyway', he'd say.
Melvin, can you help us with the roof, the car, the trim in the kitchen? Yes, he always replied. Yes, although his truck could barely make the trip and the money we could afford to pay him barely covered the gas for it. Yes, he'd come down unless he was snowed in. Laconic, taciturn, he would stand and await instruction. He was ready to be molded into whatever we needed.
My sister and I fretted over him. How could we help him? What did he need? Was he really happy? We devoted long talks between ourselves about what we could do to help Melvin. He began to come in more regularly to help with projects. Monday and Tuesday he'd be in. Wednesday he had the Food Bank so he wasn't available. Thursdays and Fridays he'd be at the door by 10 and leave at 4:30 so he could be home before dark.
In the winter we'd struggle up the mountain to make sure he hadn't succumbed to the cold. His solar panels didn't work too good when it was overcast. It was hard to tell if he was happy to see us. His scraggly beard did not allow a glimpse of a smile, or frown. Sometimes he just stood and we weren't sure if we were intruding. Then, he would start to talk and share the old stories. Our childhood stories, clamming at the beach, killing chickens for Grandma's Sunday dinner, listening to the old radio in her kitchen.
We share those stories. Sometimes his eyes light up and he smiles. There are details he knows that we don't. Remember the big Rhodies at the top of Baseball Hill? They're over one hundred years old. Remember the garden Grandma planted in back of the laundry? And, the two hundred hens she bought that summer from the hatchery. Her trees had the best Sour Cherries ever. remember? And, we do.
Mel? I say, I'm really glad I came to live here. Sharon, he says quietly, if you hadn't come, I'd be dead now.
I'm quiet, waiting...
"After Mom died I was so alone, and I guess depressed. I didn't call it that but it hurt awfully bad. When I sold her house I had enough money to buy my place, so I did. It was a dream of mine to live off the grid. I had what I wanted,or what I thought I wanted. But, I felt suicidal. I was counting on not being around very much longer. And, then you came, and kept coming up to see me. You two worried about me. Me? I didn't ask for you to get in my life but I can see it is better now. In fact, I resented it. Now, look at me. Five years later and we had my birthday, ate Thanksgiving together, and we're planning a trip. It's really a big change. And, you stuck with it even though I wasn't very happy at first."
Of course we did, Mel. We're family.
Faith
A few days back when I was on the brink of losing a friend, I asked Rosie about faith. She said I would find mine eventually and it would come on its own. To give it time. Well, a day after that I asked my dad what his version of faith was like. And he described it. And I realized I had already found my faith….a long time ago.
He said his faith was like a great big hand cheering him on for his every rise. Cushioning him in his every fall. Always there, sometimes, the only thing there. Giving him strength to face everyday. I always thought my dad was admirable in the way he handled everything alone and took charge of his responsibilities facing grave pressure; now I know he wasn’t alone. God was with him.
Despite being Indian, my family has always had a rather lax and cavalier (and oh so cool) approach towards religion. My father performs his own private prayers every morning. My mother is into Buddhism and has chanting sessions with a large group every Sunday. My brother…I don’t even know what my brother believes. But I know he does. And me, the agnostic. We all do regular routine Indian ceremonies and all. But that is custom and tradition, not actual religion for any of us. Maybe that is why I grew up with a screwed up sense of what faith was. My father set me straight.
No, I still don’t believe in god. Or the existence of a higher power. But I do have faith. I have something that gives me the strength to face everyday. I have something that cushions my every fall and cheers me on always. And I always know I am not alone. I have my family.
So I have faith in…..my FAMILY? Sounds kind of ridiculous when you think about it. Not to mention juvenile. But the moment dad described his faith to me, it just clicked. My mother, father and brother to me aren’t just those titles. They are more, oh so much more! All three of them, individually are three of the most incredible people I have ever had the opportunity to get to know.
My parents faced a great deal of hardship when I was a kid. I know this because I was told later. I was told at one point, after my dad lost his business, we were poor enough not to be able to afford milk. I was told that my dad spent a night in jail after a couple of goons from his business came after him subsequent to his company’s failure and beat him up. I was told that they came and took all of my mother’s beautiful wedding jewelry; not to mention our TV, car, AC, and everything else of worth in the house. I was told all this because they didn’t let me feel a thing. Not one thing! They took loans and kept me and my brother in our ridiculously expensive private school. They borrowed from our relatives to keep the house. They begged favors from friends and we still got our toys and dresses and everything else. They begged and they pleaded and they borrowed to keep our lives the same. And 10 years later, my father is still paying those debts. All in order to keep our tender childhood unmarred by sorrow of any sort and our studies unaffected. My father bore the brunt his burden by himself. My mother…well I can’t even begin to describe what my mother did.
My mother made up in creativity what we lacked in funds. My birthday parties were the BEST in town. Period. Girls who weren’t invited used to die of envy. There were richer girls who threw huge expensive bashes with expensive watches and imported toys as return gifts. But they were floored by the gifts my mom made. My mom made personalized masks. They were so pretty, covered with sequins and feathers. Some were of animals. All of them were completely tailored to fit the tastes of the kids attending. Mine was a tiara. She made handmade gifts, which cost nearly nothing, but were everyone’s prized possession. She decorated our dead and decaying house to make it look like a castle. She made all sorts of goodies; golguppas, dahi vada and of course her famous chicken sandwiches. My favorites. She made me feel like a princess always. She still does. And she did all this for every single event that came our way. She adored me and my brother to death. It is a miracle we didn’t end up utterly spoilt brats.
I remember this one Christmas; she was with me on our Verandah when Santa Clause came. We lived in a Christian-Muslim locality. All around us lived Christians. On Christmas Eve, nearly every house would have that telltale star hanging in front of it, signifying to Santa that this was a house worth his time. There were tons of visiting Santa’s who would drop by these houses with gifts and songs and well, happiness. That was a particularly depressing Christmas for my mother because that was the year those goons had come and taken everything away. But that’s not why it was depressing; it was depressing because now she didn’t have a vehicle to drive us around town and show us the lights. So when Santa came next door, I remember her getting up and running downstairs. She had told me to wait. She went to our neighbor’s gate and approached the guy. I could see them talking. I sneaked downstairs and hid behind a tree and eavesdropped. My mother was asking Santa to come visit our home for a little while and play with her children. No she wasn’t asking, she was BEGGING. I stood behind that tree and I heard my mother beg this random stranger dressed in a red suit to come say hi to me, to make my day a little brighter than it already was. I could hear the desperation in her voice, he could too. He snubbed her with disdain. I was 10 I think. I cried. I cried for my mother and for how much she loved me and my brother. When I think of that night, I still do. I don’t know why.
My brother, now that is a whole other ballgame altogether. He was my best friend. He was my mentor. He was my hero. Ah screw the ‘was’es. He still is. I always hero-worshipped him. We were like equals though. He told me his secrets, I told him mine. We went through thick and thin together. The four years age difference between us never made much difference. There was never any jealousy between us or rivalry for our parent’s affection. Not that we needed to fight over that; that was provided to us aplenty.
All my life I have known the worth of my family. All my life I have seen them as the strongest and most powerful force in my existence. For me, they are a religion. For me, this is faith; knowing that there is somebody out there for you no matter what you do. Holding your hand tight as you try and figure life out. Never letting go.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
family
oh i have cousins in texas
cousins in florida
cousins in california
the rest are in ohio
im out here on the east coast
by myself
the way i like it
i talk to my dad every thursday
my sister, less often
my brother, never..
my aunts and uncle i see when i'm home.. sometimes.
my great uncle sib and aunt marthie i should make more of an effort to see. they aren't going to be around forever.
i'm not really all that close to my family
i cut my ties.
my friends here all have families.
i hear them say 'family is everything'
i look at them curiously
and they think i'm strange
i don't complain one iota about my family..
most of them know my ma has passed
my dad had a stroke at a young age
i have an older sister and a twin i don't care for.
nieces and a nephew.. those little pumpkin heads
what's interesting is that.. all my friends complain about these much cherished families.
and they think i'm strange.
if i had a family.
would i be complaining too?
i watch in wonder the grandpas and grandmas that drop off their precious cargo at my studio.
i shake my head at the mothers with 4 and 5 kids who are always running late..
there's one woman.. hats off to her.. 4 boys. wow. and her kid never misses a lesson.
there's the tuesday girls.. who drive me absolutely batty with their lack of attention.
there's troy who fights with me.. because he cant stand to make a mistake.
andre who takes lessons in a direction i never knew possible.. and I'M the teacher.
anna and kellie and christine and robert.. always prepared, respectful, and funny!!
helena, my little star
gabby and alexis my winners
charlie..
the list goes on
my students and a very few choice friends...
they are my family. and i'm kinda attached to them.. each and every one.
cousins in florida
cousins in california
the rest are in ohio
im out here on the east coast
by myself
the way i like it
i talk to my dad every thursday
my sister, less often
my brother, never..
my aunts and uncle i see when i'm home.. sometimes.
my great uncle sib and aunt marthie i should make more of an effort to see. they aren't going to be around forever.
i'm not really all that close to my family
i cut my ties.
my friends here all have families.
i hear them say 'family is everything'
i look at them curiously
and they think i'm strange
i don't complain one iota about my family..
most of them know my ma has passed
my dad had a stroke at a young age
i have an older sister and a twin i don't care for.
nieces and a nephew.. those little pumpkin heads
what's interesting is that.. all my friends complain about these much cherished families.
and they think i'm strange.
if i had a family.
would i be complaining too?
i watch in wonder the grandpas and grandmas that drop off their precious cargo at my studio.
i shake my head at the mothers with 4 and 5 kids who are always running late..
there's one woman.. hats off to her.. 4 boys. wow. and her kid never misses a lesson.
there's the tuesday girls.. who drive me absolutely batty with their lack of attention.
there's troy who fights with me.. because he cant stand to make a mistake.
andre who takes lessons in a direction i never knew possible.. and I'M the teacher.
anna and kellie and christine and robert.. always prepared, respectful, and funny!!
helena, my little star
gabby and alexis my winners
charlie..
the list goes on
my students and a very few choice friends...
they are my family. and i'm kinda attached to them.. each and every one.
Family
I knew this essay about family was coming. JC and I had talked it over last week and wondered aloud about what family is.
I guess my grandfather digging the foundation for the addition to his house and taking in his daughter and her kids is as good a definition as family gets.
When my mother committed suicide, they had trouble placing my little sister. No one wanted to take her in. She ended up living with a boyfriend and his family. but they had put her out. We had heard of the death late, because we were out of town. I tracked her down and went and got her and brought her home to our house.
She was beside herself in grief and troubles and I couldn't connect with her, even though we were blood kin. We enrolled her in school, she refused to go. I spent $1000 to put her in a special school that had individualized programs, much like my son is in now. She ran away.
I had to let her go. She was a stranger to me. There was a desire to connect but not a way.
The day she left to live with yet another guy, I went out in the lawn and pulled out dandelions till the sun went down and my fingers were raw.
I hid that feeling of loss and went on.
You can choose people to add to and be your family. I choose my journal buddies as my brother and sisters.
I got my hubby and son, a small family that does not need a whole thanksgiving turkey. Son is growing up and transitioning to adulthood. He gets mad and says. "YOU aren't my MOM!" thanks kid love you too.
We may not be blood kin, but we ARE family.
I guess my grandfather digging the foundation for the addition to his house and taking in his daughter and her kids is as good a definition as family gets.
When my mother committed suicide, they had trouble placing my little sister. No one wanted to take her in. She ended up living with a boyfriend and his family. but they had put her out. We had heard of the death late, because we were out of town. I tracked her down and went and got her and brought her home to our house.
She was beside herself in grief and troubles and I couldn't connect with her, even though we were blood kin. We enrolled her in school, she refused to go. I spent $1000 to put her in a special school that had individualized programs, much like my son is in now. She ran away.
I had to let her go. She was a stranger to me. There was a desire to connect but not a way.
The day she left to live with yet another guy, I went out in the lawn and pulled out dandelions till the sun went down and my fingers were raw.
I hid that feeling of loss and went on.
You can choose people to add to and be your family. I choose my journal buddies as my brother and sisters.
I got my hubby and son, a small family that does not need a whole thanksgiving turkey. Son is growing up and transitioning to adulthood. He gets mad and says. "YOU aren't my MOM!" thanks kid love you too.
We may not be blood kin, but we ARE family.
The Plaque
In light of recent reports about Marine misbehavior, I offer this story...It is an explanation of how my son happened to end up with an official Nigerian Embassy Plaque about the size of a manhole cover made of wood and painted in silver. It hung proudly in his bedroom from the time he was fourteen until he packed it to move when he was twenty-one.
As a dependent of a US Government employee working overseas, fourteen year old Rajan was allowed to visit his father once a year, expenses paid by the US. He came back with the plaque which, I had always heard, Marines had taken from the old Embassy when the new one was under construction. Because they liked Rajan, and he enjoyed hanging out with them, they gave it to him. Somehow, I had always figured they must have been a little tipsy to even get the idea to take something so clearly not theirs! But, my daughter sent this explanation recently when I came upon the plaque. I quote:
The Marines weren't drunk. They wouldn't have risked that, if they were. They were bored, which can be even worse. A few of then got dressed up in their night fatigues with black face paint, and went over to the Nigerian governmental building. It was located several blocks from the Marine house and right next door to the US Embassy. It was the middle of the night, like three in the morning. The Nigerian Embassy was always guarded by several heavily armed Nigerian Police. Machine guns, that kind of heavily armed! And, the Marines ran up to the front of the building and pulled the plaque off the exterior wall of the front gates. They were just screwing around, but probably also testing their skills and perhaps making a point to the Nigerians; that they could do that and not be detected by the guards.
This happened just after the time that the Nigerian Government had held a big ceremony, complete with a cheering (obviously paid ) crowd of Nigerians, to rename the street that the US Embassy was on, from the Ileki Crescent to Louis Farraken Crescent. Farraken was an anti-Semite critic of the United States Government. So, this was perceived as a "f-you US" statement to which the US Embassy released a communique thanking the Nigerian government for the honor of naming the street after an American. I guess the Marines felt like adding a little "F-you" back at them. At any rate, it definitely was not an approved or official operation. I'm not sure their sergeant knew about it afterwards, or if he would have cared, if he had known. Raj thought it extremely cool that they pulled off that manuever and they gave him the plaque a couple of days after they did it.
This little story is enlightening because you can see these trained soldiers for what they are...bored humans who feel they've been slighted. And, you can see the governments act as they do under the guise of politeness (and a lot of F-You). It's sad I'm not sure who are more petty , the soldiers or the governments. It is of note that by giving this 'treasure' to my adoring son they managed to get all evidence of the crime removed from their barracks to behind the safety of the embassy and, eventually, to my son's wall back in the States!
As a dependent of a US Government employee working overseas, fourteen year old Rajan was allowed to visit his father once a year, expenses paid by the US. He came back with the plaque which, I had always heard, Marines had taken from the old Embassy when the new one was under construction. Because they liked Rajan, and he enjoyed hanging out with them, they gave it to him. Somehow, I had always figured they must have been a little tipsy to even get the idea to take something so clearly not theirs! But, my daughter sent this explanation recently when I came upon the plaque. I quote:
The Marines weren't drunk. They wouldn't have risked that, if they were. They were bored, which can be even worse. A few of then got dressed up in their night fatigues with black face paint, and went over to the Nigerian governmental building. It was located several blocks from the Marine house and right next door to the US Embassy. It was the middle of the night, like three in the morning. The Nigerian Embassy was always guarded by several heavily armed Nigerian Police. Machine guns, that kind of heavily armed! And, the Marines ran up to the front of the building and pulled the plaque off the exterior wall of the front gates. They were just screwing around, but probably also testing their skills and perhaps making a point to the Nigerians; that they could do that and not be detected by the guards.
This happened just after the time that the Nigerian Government had held a big ceremony, complete with a cheering (obviously paid ) crowd of Nigerians, to rename the street that the US Embassy was on, from the Ileki Crescent to Louis Farraken Crescent. Farraken was an anti-Semite critic of the United States Government. So, this was perceived as a "f-you US" statement to which the US Embassy released a communique thanking the Nigerian government for the honor of naming the street after an American. I guess the Marines felt like adding a little "F-you" back at them. At any rate, it definitely was not an approved or official operation. I'm not sure their sergeant knew about it afterwards, or if he would have cared, if he had known. Raj thought it extremely cool that they pulled off that manuever and they gave him the plaque a couple of days after they did it.
This little story is enlightening because you can see these trained soldiers for what they are...bored humans who feel they've been slighted. And, you can see the governments act as they do under the guise of politeness (and a lot of F-You). It's sad I'm not sure who are more petty , the soldiers or the governments. It is of note that by giving this 'treasure' to my adoring son they managed to get all evidence of the crime removed from their barracks to behind the safety of the embassy and, eventually, to my son's wall back in the States!
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Happiness Is...
This afternoon I was asked to pick the topic for tonights writing.
I don't like being in charge unless I am in my vehicle....then I like to be leader of the pack. But for the most of it, I like to just sit back and I guess be lazy and let everyone else do all the hard work and I just follow.
I attended bingo tonight. I kept thinking...what should we write on? Trying to think back of our other writings, I didn't want to do a repeat...although if we did it quite some time ago, we may have a different perspective on things. I in a loss, went out for a smoke with a lady friend. Actually, I just go out and keep her company while she puffs away. Someday she hopes to quit, but I say when you are ready, you will do it.
I mentioned to her that I am in a journaling group. Hard to explain because people look at me with a caution look. You hear stories of people luring others in and getting information that they are not suppose to be dishing out. They don't understand our click...my family is understanding more of what I am experiencing.
So, Tootie said the word she would pick would be "happy-happiness-what is happy?"
Hmmm....I thought ok...but not really what I was searching for. Then i asked an elderly couple sitting next to me. Well, they are in their 60's. She was a hairdresser and he a factory worker. I asked them the same question I asked Tootie. I do not know their names but her word was "lilac" ... I looked at him and he said "sleep". Oh boy!!!
Next...I asked big Steve whom I graduated with and he just finished a college course. I wrote on a sheet of paper "If you were writing a journal tonight, what would your topic be"...he replied back by writing "fishing".
Ok...fishing??? then he mentioned some other word that went right over my head....forget it!!!
After bingo, a girl named Gail who used to live 2 houses away from me as we were growing up, went to grade school and graduated together stopped and chatted a bit. I asked her the same question I asked Tootie, the elderly couple & Steve and Gail's words were "housework, how I hate housework"...or "bingo...how I lost at bingo". None of these were really what I was looking for as our topic...
But, when I had to make a decision, I thought happiness would be a cheery one and what a way to end the night.
Here is my Happiness Is...
Sunday night my hubby was in bed still not up to par as he had been sick with the chills and fever over the weekend. BJ was upstairs in her room and I was sitting on the couch watching a movie. All of a sudden i heard a strange groan coming from the bedroom. I listened, thoughts went racing through my head and sat still listening for more. A few seconds later, another groan....now I get up to see what is the matter. I immediately thought of my hubby possibly having a stroke and can't get his speech out to be calling for me. I rushed into the bedroom, I turned on the ceiling light which is very bright and he always wakes up with it when turned on but this time he did not wake up. I went to my side of the bed. He has no covers on...I shake his arm and it is cold...very cold ... he still does not wake up. Has my hubby, my companion, my lover died on me??? Nooooo....I shake him harder and he opens his eyes. Whew!!! I told him he was making very strange sounds and he said he was dreaming...but could not remember of what. I was relieved and I told him to look at Reese...she had her head on my pillow and covered up to her neck with my blankets.
This is what Happiness Is...all about!!!
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