2023, most of our family is still here!

 I've never been good at commitment, aside from my marriage, son, and pets.  I have a few other things I am committed to, but I tend to flow with the wind.  

It's been a rough few years since I've last checked in.  The world turned upside down.  It seems callous to say, but I really don't care. It's like watching a dumpster fire from across the street.  I see it burning, I know it's there, but there's literally nothing  I can do. I can't call 911, because they are already on the scene.  The problem is, they can't get through the milling bands of idiots protesting the dumpster fire polluting the environment, next to the people protesting that dumpster lives matter, with the people protesting that we don't know if it identifies as a dumpster or a bin, nearby are the people protesting that we can't know if it's a blaze or a fire, down the street are the people socially distancing from the dumpster,bin.blaze,fire calling it an inferno of lies.  Somewhere there's a corn dog vendor with vegan vegetable free corn dogs made from dry fallen leaves and fallen twigs because this week vegetables have souls, there's a merch vendor nearby selling everything imaginable but not one single fire extinguisher.  Amid all of this the fire department still can't even reach the dumpster, so now it's spread to the nearby tent commune....see, this is why it's hard to really put too much effort into staying  up on current events.  There are entirely too many layers of BS to cut through to even use a fire extinguisher before something becomes a major incident.  I'm somehow stuck in the stupidest timeline.  

If this post doesn't get me a slap on the wrist for offending the dumpster society of America or something else, I'm not sure what will.  

I also don't even think anyone aside from bots reads blogs anymore.  But I'm writing this anyway just to say that for now Blogger still exists, and so do I. 

Over the years of my blogging.  I often mentioned my cat, Kung Pao.  I mentioned his two friends Simon and Skippy Jon as well.  As it happens 2020 was a bad year for my cat family. Simon was fine and dandy in February.  Then one day I heard a few sneezes from a bush.  Simon popped out.  He seemed ok.  I figured I'd give him a day or so before I called the vet to see if it was just a one off.  I didn't hear anymore sneezing.  Then I really noticed how thin he looked and just how tired he looked in March.  I got him to the vet.  He was diagnosed with FIV. Apparently he'd been born with it.  I was advised to keep him separate from his friends.  Simon was about 17 and had been with Kung Pao since he was around 2. Simon had been with Skippy since he was about 4.  They were not biters, they were all older gents who were friends.  There was no way I was going to isolate him and break his heart and the other boys hearts for the last little bit of Simon's life.  He passed away one month after his diagnosis in April, 2020.  Skippy and Simon were the best of friends.  Skippy and Kung Pao did their death songs.  Later that year, the neighborhood chipmunk killing champion Skippy started to look thin and his coat was scraggly.  His eyes appeared to be sunken in.  We took him in to the vet.  He was 14, he had advanced kidney failure.  He never showed any signs at all that we could see.  We had to make the decision on October 31, 2020 to have him put to sleep.  His ashes stand on the mantle.  
In April of 2021, we finally decided it might be time to see if any other cats were in need.  We found two.  Big Al-9 years old (grey tabby) bonded to Skippy- 10 years old (marmalade).  They are in/out cats.  Their owner became too ill to take care of them.  We brought them home.  Our son informed us that "Skippy" was not allowed to remain "Skippy". Big Al is now Alvin, "Skippy" is now Julius.  These names just suit them much better too.  They responded right away.  
They were allowed to visit with Kung Pao, who at that time was quite elderly.  Kung Pao had gotten a clean bill of health at his physical on May and was just getting ready to celebrate his 19th birthday.  He'd been through chemo for lymphoma when he was 7, was misdiagnosed and had a constant nasal problem from the time he was 9, he had hyperthyroidism, arthritis, stress induced gastritis, but was still VERY much invested in life.  He still played like a maniac for short bursts, raced me up the stairs, enjoyed his catnip and singing the songs of his people late at night.  He did meet the other two, Alvin and Julius, all he had to do was turn his head to send them running away.  His birthday celebration in May was typical, his favorite fried chicken along with some macaroni and cheese.  He was predictably in heaven, we just didn't realize how soon he'd really be there.  

The problem started in August with two nights of horrible nose bleeding.  I really thought he was going to die.  I looked in his eyes and saw fear for the first time (aside from the fear of cars).  My husband and I were calling emergency vets, our son was holding his little brother/best friend (they'd been together since our son was 3 and Kung Pao was 2 months,  a lifetime).  No emergency vet would see us, the waits were too long. One did offer if we just wanted to have him put to sleep.  We were horrified, he was just a little bloody. After the second night we were able to get him in to see his regular vet.  We got him back later that same day.  He paced for at least an hour when he got home, he always did that after the vet.  There were no answers.    I took the day after off work to stay with him. He seemed to rally.  We were very excited.  He was eating well and playing some, while still building strength.  Something changed during the next week.  He seemed really tired, he wasn't very interested in food anymore, he seemed like he wanted to play but didn't have the energy.  He brightened up whenever we got near.  Sept 15, 2021 his breathing became very labored.  It was no better the morning of the 16th. I took him in for a chest X-ray.  His lungs were full of lesions and his abdomen was filling with fluid.  I still have no idea why there was nothing showing in his bloodwork a few months before.  I also don't know why there were no X-ray's taken when he went into the hospital for the day after the bleeding.  I was told to make him comfortable at home, spend time with him then bring him back within two days to have him put to sleep.  I could not do that to him.  He would die at home, where he belonged.  We found a hospice vet to come out September 17, 2021 to end the life of the largest little Siamese heart we knew.  He fought until the end.  He hopped over the coffee table to escape this new vet.  Then he laid down panting from the effort, just to prove how fine he was.  It was an absolutely awful day.  We sent him to be cremated with some of his things and a T-shirt from Daddy.  His ashes are at the opposite end of the mantle from Skippy.  Simon was buried.  

On July 11, 2022, this stray bundle of fur poofed onto the scene, his name is Chester.  He brings a certain level of light and chaos into our home.  We adopted him from an animal rescue, they said he was three, but he does seem younger.  We also don't believe he was really a true stray, he's entirely to used to heaters, air conditioners, litter boxes and toys.  

First set are the original boys. Kung Pao has the solo photo, Kung Pao and Skippy Jon were both Siamese, Simon was Russian Blue.

Alvin is the grey tabby, Julius the Orange, and Chester (his face fur is MUCH fuller now, is Balinese, to the best of our knowledge) 

Farewell friends

I’ve lost some dear friends,

Throughout my child hood, I grew up with Mrs. Butterworth’s, who is, or was white,  Aunt Jemima, Uncle Ben, The Brawny man, Mr. Clean, the Cream of Wheat chef and many other brand faces are now  marked as offensive sterotypes.  Growing up and in my early 20’s as I learned about product choices,  my beloved Aunt Jemima, Uncle Ben and my favorite morning chef The Cream of Wheat guy were the people and brands I trusted.  Now it seems they are all being written out of history.   How very progressive (regressive) that is. 

Why?  None of these figures ever caused me to feel whites had superiority over blacks, quite the opposite.  I felt I could trust Aunt Jemimah, Uncle Ben and the Cream of Wheat guy more because they were educated, skilled, had perfected a craft and were the bar that we as society must live up to in our own kitchens.  I don’t make pancakes from scratch because mine can’t hold a candle to Aunt Jemimah.  Malt-0-Meal is ok, but isn’t nearly as good as Cream of Wheat, rice mixes are ok, but Zatarain’s or Uncle Ben’s is who I trust.  I love and cherish those faces.  Race plays no part in it for me.  They are the kitchen wizards who raised me. 

The Brawny guy and Mr. Clean are also names I trust.  I want the men on the packages!  I want my son to know cleaning is indeed manly, as is cooking. 

Feminists and people trying to push racial inequality have destroyed the beauty of these people, undermined their incredible stories and are taking away what they mean to so many.  As a small girl I was very excited to see men depicting themselves doing typically “female” jobs.  Men could clean!  The Brawny guy said so and so did Mr. Clean, that told my child brain that it was 100% fine for men to do some cleaning.  Seeing Uncle Ben and the Cream of Wheat guy gave my son the cue that cooking is manly.  Redman chewing tobacco pays homage to the fact that Native American’s introduced the colonists to tobacco.  I don’t see it as degrading, just the way It was. 

Brands I respected because of the very positive way they portrayed black Americans, native Americans and men are now undermining my trust.  Are they saying that those people didn’t accomplish enough in their lifetime to warrant being a brand representative?  I find that highly offensive. 

Are men too good to clean, is that really woman’s work as it’s now being portrayed?  That’s very offensive to me and not the way we do things in my home.  Are black people not worthy, skillful or accomplished enough to be a brand icon?  How racist is that?  Mrs Butterworth’s was a white woman from all I knew.  How did she get mixed up in this?  Is syrup not white but rice, pancakes and cream of wheat white all are?  What about all of the other brand representatives who are people of color?  Are they somehow lacking in skills and respect to be considered the ultimate authority in their products?  What of Famous Amos?  Is Chef Boyardee (Boiardi) now going by the wayside? 

This is all just such utter bull!  None of this is racist, nor is it meant to be.  I was raised in the rural South.  All of our most respected and loved lunch ladies were black.  Their food was impeccable.  Were they capable of being more than cooks in a public school?  Absolutely!  They were very intelligent, very kind women.  They worked those jobs because they were out of school when their kids were, they could keep an eye on their kids and watch out for rapscallions.  Not one person went hungry with that cafeteria staff.  I worked a community event with the ladies and the supervisor, who was white ( she saw herself no different from her coworkers)  I learned the best and fastest way to separate eggs, how to break them so you didn’t ruin your batch of eggs, how to smile when your feet are killing you, how to smile in the face of lunacy, and many other skills.   

I’m outraged that the left who assumes insults for people who aren’t even insulted are the people calling the shots. 

Did we all know that Duncan Hines was a male travelling salesman, or is this new knowledge too?  I’ve read about the story, behind the story for many of these people.  They deserve this recognition.

I don’t know where our country is going, I can see where it’s been, I don’t like history, but I know enough to know that what you put out there in goodwill comes back to you.  I also know I don’t want to be anywhere near these people when the lightening strikes.  To whitewash and feminize all of our products does no one any favors. Let's just roll back the dial a few hundred years, when cleaning was women's work, black americans were give no voice or face on widespread products and no one aside from men could be featured on products.  

What an utter disgrace!! 

I hope this was coherent, I took my evening medication early. 

Tune in to FM

FM

Frequency module?  Funny man? Furry mutt?  The definitions could go on for days.  What I mean when I say FM is, Futures Matter.

Did you know in the USA any teen over the age of 16 charged with a drug crime is ineligible for financial aid for college?  Did you know these kids can't get any form of grant or loan from the FAFSA?  Did you know these kids who can't attend college often end up on the street, dealing drugs, on public assistance or in jail?  Did you know that if you, as a parent or guardian pay for their schooling, if they have a drug crime you can't take advantage of any tax breaks for this student? 

I don't know how much this costs to stay on top of the crimes these children are likely to commit or the lifestyle they are likely to lead.  I do know that  housing one inmate for four years costs more than a four year tuition, room and board at a public university, and well more than a 2 year community college degree or certificate.

We need to do something.  These are not bad kids with no futures.  We sentence them to lives on the edge by taking away that ray of hope; education.  I don't believe any teenager wakes up dreaming of going to prison, selling drugs, prostitution, living on the streets or so many more horrible things.  I believe ever single child, every single one matters.  I believe that futures matter.

We as a nation need to take a strong stance on drug crimes for teens and young adults up to 25 with no prior degree or certificate.

These kids deserve a chance.  Just because Jeffy had marijuana in his backpack at school does not mean it was his.  Maybe Jeffy is a bit nerdy, he's been helping the star football player, Tony with homework.  Jeffy is an outstanding student.  The star football player has a full ride scholarship lined up, things are coming up roses.  Things are great, until the day the drug dogs come to the school.  Tony knows he will get busted for that bag of weed in his backpack, he sits next to Jeffy and drops it in his backpack.  Jeffy gets caught.  Jeffy comes from the projects, his parents barely scrape by, they can't afford a lawyer, they can't afford the court fees, they can't afford the court ordered drug tests, they can't afford the fees and fines.  Jeffy suffers.  Jeffy now has the light out of his life because he was 17 and just caught drug charges.  No one has his back.

Later on Jeffy wants to go to school to become a computer programmer, he's filling out the FAFSA, then he hits the line where they ask about drug crimes.  Just drug crimes.  Not rape, not assault, nothing violent.  Only drug charges are covered.  Jeffy realizes he has no future and gives up.  Jeffy now costs the tax payers thousands of dollars per month.  Why not let Jeffy get a grant or a scholarship, invest in Jeffy.  Let Jeffy become part of the working class, let Jeffy feel his worth.

I think we need to start a movement to remove that question from the FAFSA.  I think all people under the age of 25 who are not serious repeat offenders deserve a chance.  I would rather my tax dollars to to get Jeffy a diploma or certificate for a good career.  I would rather Jeffy have self worth, be a tax payer and feel pride that his past didn't hold him back.


True, some of these kids do buy, sell and use drugs, but not all of them do.  Some of them are victims of convenience and circumstance.  Some of them may have had one weak moment, or maybe they gave a ride home to the wrong person, with this person planting drugs in the car out of spite.  This happens.  We need reform for things that matter.  We need reform for the future of our children, who are the future of our nation.  Too many people are in jail for drug crimes, because that's all they've ever had, they couldn't break out.  Too many young people lose it all in one stupid moment.

If we can keep kids in school, off the streets and out of the welfare cycle, doesn't it benefit all of us?

I am the biggest slacker

I promise I'll call you right back.  Yes, I would love to go out with you again.  Of course we can go shopping!  We will definitely keep in touch.  It's been over 30 years.  I think I may have a problem when it comes to follow through.  I make plans, I really do plan to do them.  I really did plan to write more often last year, and the year before.  I did plan to enter NaNoWriMo in November and actually complete all of camp in June.  I really failed! 

I have so much going on in my head, it's hard to actually get it nailed down to write about anything when I have the time to write.  Usually when I have down time I'm doing one of a hundred other things that could also technically wait until later.  The only hard and fast thing that must be done is feeding the guys.  The feline guy is the most demanding.  (little man is 15) I automate the bills, I do have to grocery shop, and make excuses for things I either didn't or won't do.  I do have a very important date with season four of Supersize vs Superskinny on the computer.  We don't get that over here in the US on any station that I know of.  The series also ended well before I even realized it existed.  I've been very busy binge watching them in bed at the end of a long day. 

I won't make any promises to myself but I do plan to write more this year.  It's really therapeutic for me, it makes me think, it also gives me some sort of creative focus, in other words...it's good for me. 

He's an Adult

Years ago when I started this blog, I had more time on my hands.  My hands were also more messed up and needed to work on typing.  My mind was reeling and I needed a mental occupation as I healed physically.  Way back then in 2011, our son was 12/13 and in his first year of middle school.  There was a lot going on, but I had time to share my struggles and triumphs in silly ways.  I had time to write it out.

My writing time slowly started to change, then it rapidly changed.  Before I knew it months would pass before I even remembered I had a blog.  I logically knew it was there, I just had other things to do.  I volunteered as a team mom during football and lacrosse.  I worked with a good friend or two administrating an online support group.  I became much more committed to educating people about spinal stenosis and different types of walking spinal cord injuries. I became occupied with helping our son through the trials and tribulations of middle school and then high school.  I became insane with rage at some injustices he was made to suffer.  I also loudly made a total jerk and spectacle of myself one day, just to alleviate some of the blowback he was sure to suffer the next day.  I figured if they were talking about how absolutely batty I was, they'd have more to discuss than him and the unfair treatment he had endured.  Nonplussed (old definition) was the only way to describe our emotions concerning the disparity at his old school.  We made the decision to change his school before he lost his mind and his personality.  

Our child learned to drive, I went back to work.  I discovered I had other talents and gifts.  I discovered I can still be pretty effective and I could still physically handle some work.  I found new physical and inner strength.  One day I woke up and he was 18.  One day he forwarded me a message "Congratulations! You have been accepted to Notgonnanameithere College"  Great!  Wait! What!?  College?  Now?

I was hit with the reality that our son was soon going to no longer be attending public school in a compulsory education setting.  I also realized the schools he'd talked about for years weren't even mentioned.  They weren't even mentioned because he didn't even apply!  When I asked him about this, his answer knocked my socks off.  He chose Notgonnanameithere College because of;

1.) Cost
2.) Distance
3.) Culinary Program
4.) Transfer-ability of credits

Delving further into his new found thought center, he shared with me that he doesn't want to graduate with debt if he can avoid it.  He wants to go slowly and think about all his interests.  He found out through years of chatting with me, his Dad and teachers (Oh my, he listened to parents too?!) that any core classes done at any community college were usually very transferable and were far less in cost than a 4 year institution.  This college has begun a few 4 year degree programs, it's filled with certificates he can get as he's working toward his major in whatever field he chooses.

Our child also voted in his first election.  He has been a steadfast defender of logical political discussions, he makes salient points, he can argue his own with well thought out reasons and is open to new information.  He was actively working to have a three party system a long with some of his other young friends.  I watched him grow into a well rounded, well spoken young man in a flash.  He's still given to his regular 18 year old "I'm a nitwit" posts, but for the most part, he makes good points and argues well without pot shots.

The new school did all of this and taught him a love for creative writing.  He's again enjoying the pursuit of knowledge.  I can't praise this public charter school enough.  They had college application days, applications were free or lower cost on those days.  He could have applied to any, but he chose only the one.

Time to get serious.

Time to quit my part time job because my husband changed jobs.

Time to become a housewife and Mom again.

So where is all this boring stuff going?  It's going here.  He's an adult in age, he's an adult in some thoughts and ways, but he's still the little guy who needs me to put my special oil healing blend on his arm.

I love my son.  I'm proud of my son.  My son will do wonderful things as long as he pursues what he loves in life.

I also may have more time to write here after I finish Camp NaNoWriMo.

A complicated road trip

It was all supposed to be so simple.  Head to WV, KY, TN, VA then home.  This route was going to allow us to see a friend I hadn't seen since perhaps 1993.  First the order got changed and I missed seeing a friend in TN.  We did however, add in a jaunt to see my Mama, Daddy, Great Grandma and Great Grandpa.  We of course took photos for the book of the dead.  We always take cemetery photos of our loved ones.  We recreated a photo we took when our son was 5 months old.  He was sitting atop his Great Grandparents (Mama and Daddy) double headstone while we held him.  This time he was 18 and sat on top with my husband next to him.  I'm sure that Mama and Daddy enjoyed holding their first great grandchild at 5 months and at 18 years.  The Great Great Grandparents didn't participate in the holding.

We missed my friend, but we learned that Gatlinburg should probably be renamed Cracklinburg owing to the sheer number of crack pipes and crack bongs they had on the main drag.  We have no proof, but we are guessing this is why they are called the Smokey Mountains.  There was a fair amount of cheap knives, badly done Chinese art and several sex shops.  The moonshine was ok.  There was a place with outstanding fries.

Our son, though born southern, has lost all connection to and concept of conquering a buffet.  We were saddened.  We nearly disowned him when he disparaged biscuits.  We have failed in some fundamental way if he can bash a biscuit.

The guys shot machine guns and I bought cast iron after a trip to the amusement park for those liking sharp objects, Smokey Mountain Knife Works. We spent a day at Wonderworks, spent time at Bush's beans and got lost up a mountain on a great drive.

Virginia was great and we really want to hit Richmond again.  There was so much we didn't finish doing.  We did make a quick jaunt to DC and one of the Smithsonian museums.  We could have spent a week in each location and not seen all there was to see.

On the way home we stopped at Tudor's Biscuit World.  Again we nearly disowned our son.  The cretin ordered a cheeseburger and once again denounced biscuits with a nasty sneer worthy of a Frenchman taking an American's order for coffee.

We learned that we pack like we are maniacs, we never have enough charging cables, but we do a lot of things on the spur of the moment, like the entire DC trip.  Totally spur of the moment.

We planned next to nothing.  We had a lot of fun finding things to do, but the snarcastic teen was a bit trying at times.  I also had PMS.  Not a good mix with husband and son who enjoy picking on people just to piss them off, it's apparently very fun to piss off Mommy.

We got home safe and sound to our kitty who also was safe and sound.  We got home on Good Friday.  We also learned that some idiots think Easter is the birth of Jesus.  They are supposed to be Christians.  We wonder now.

Losing friends..oh my!

When I first started this blog I was a lot more diligent about posting.  I set up several pages and had some links to some really good places.  I had a link to a great place.  Apparelyzed.com.  We've recently learned that as of December 15th, all of that will be gone.  Apparelyzed simply will no longer be.  Thousands of pages of advice, posts, friends, posts from friends who'd moved on, and some no longer living.  All of it gone in the blink of an eye.

There was always a game to play, a post to groan over, a plot to be hatched and a friend to be made.  We were the school yard of misfits hanging by the swings or slides, we were the jocks and the preppy kids, we were the nerds.  We were the modern day Breakfast Club.  We were a bunch of unlikely people all blended together due to a common cause.  An injury bound us all regardless of how affected or unaffected we were by the injuries.  On that site we found others who could understand the complex feelings and thoughts we locked away inside.  With one or two words hundreds of people could read between the lines and know our hearts.

Sure, there are other sites out there dedicated to the same conditions, but no site will ever be like that site.  No friends will ever mesh the way many of us meshed there.  There were differences of opinion, we didn't see eye to eye, We often argued, sometimes it got nasty, but it was just something that happend in a family.  I felt a sense of community there that I've not found in any other place including groups I've started.  There was something about "that place" something about the people.  That site was a testament to our growth, it was a tissue for our tears, the popcorn for our laughter and hundreds of friends all waiting to give advice, a shoulder to cry on or a kick in the pants when needed.

A wonderful man, a very kind and generous man created that site out of nothing over 10 years ago.  He saw a need and without much, if any, question he jumped in and started filling that gap with his own emotional, physical and financial investments.  The place took an enormous amount of time and energy.  I could see in the 5 years I was there how much it was taking away from him and his enjoyment.  It was a labor of love.

There are times when all good things come to an end, it's sad this is one of those things, but that's the way life is.  It's a series of loves, losses and growth.  I've grown from my time there.  I've grown in ways I'd never imagined.  I know people now I never would have met before.  We've shared our details and have started to make our way in the world.  Our "Boss" has pushed us from the nest and we're hoping we soar.

Maybe one day another brave and kind soul will take a seed from one of us and create a new safe haven to shelter and nurture those who need community.  Maybe one day there will be others like us nurturing, wise cracking and loving each other in their own twisted ways.  Maybe one day we will see the new garden or the nest that will rise from the past and forge a new path.

I am thankful I had my time there, I am so grateful for the people I've met and bonded with.  I'm grateful for the brothers and sisters I've met, loved, lost and kept.  With rose tinted glasses I will look into the past and remember only the good times because what use do I have for bad times?  With rose tinted glasses I will greet the future, but I may move them aside for healthy skepticism and trolls....oh those trolls!!

I don't make good choices when I'm sick

I've been accused of not taking care of myself before.  I've been told that getting the flu isn't a good thing.  I decided I'd take care of myself and do the "adult" thing.  I got a flu shot.  I am now sick.  I have a cold.  While I can't directly blame the flu shot, I can't rule it out.  I can't rule anything out especially things that might not be so good at this point.

Take tonight.  I was sitting around feeling horrible.  I saw a photo of some Italian Wedding Bean soup.  I thought, "Oh my, that would be wonderful tomorrow.  I shall make some"  I probably didn't think the word shall, it's not something I'd normally say, but the recipe my illness addled mind concocted is nothing I'd ever come up with on a normal day.

Beans-check
Meat-check
Greens-check
Broth-check
Pasta-check


What it should look like is a lovely light bowl of soup with tiny little meat balls, white beans, maybe some small pasta like orzo, pearl couscous, or pearl barley.  All lightness and delicate flavors in a soothing warm soup, easy on the tummy, packed with love, feel good and vitamins.

What my mind concocted was something far darker.  It's something no mind should ever contemplate, no crock-pot should be forced to hold or bear witness to and something no child or sick person should ever have to eat.  What my mind concocted was this...

Beans---hellz to the yeah!  Cannelli beans, Kidney beans and Black beans!! right on  (evil mind!!)
Meat--- I got you man!!  Turkey friggin hot dogs man!! No?  Bun length regular hot dogs!  Aight!!??
Greens---Like totally! Right on, there's like 3 pounds of kale or something like that in the fridge, kale is fun, it sounds like snail...kale...
Broth---oh like yeah I have some of that!!  It's in the box in the thing where the spices are!! I have some chicken broth totally!  It's not even out of date yet!!
Pasta---I got some spaghetti, some orzo, some pastina, some campanelle, you name it I got it!  I've even got.....spaghetti-o's!  YAY Spaghetti-O's!!!!
Tomatoes----OMG that would be like so totally cool to add some tomatoes, this will be so friggin healthy.

My husband stopped me.  We have something in the crock-pot.  I know there is garlic, chicken broth, some dry beans and some kale slowly crock-potting.  I have gnocchi on the counter waiting its turn tomorrow and I'm sure that someone sane will think for me when it comes to adding spices and things that make food good and stuff.

Oh heavens I can't think.  I think i still want soup with hot dogs, spaghetti-o's, kale and maybe some blueberries.

It's 3 am, cold medicine has left my mind a feeble little mass crying out for guidance and sleep.  While my mind's darker more sinister core keeps telling me to go add the hotdogs (I don't even like hot dogs!!) to the innocent soup.  It's a good thing I can't walk down stairs very well or that soup would be so screwed right now.

I think I need professional help.  Campbell's soup??

My biggest regret in life

While sitting here pondering my life and thinking back over the years, the mistakes I've made, the chances not taken, words left unsaid; I've realized I don't have too many regrets.  Of course there are a few regrets, a few more chances I'd take, more I'd have said, less I'd have said or done, but one of my biggest regrets centers around two friends and a night of drunkenness.

It had to have been around 1996.  We were young and crazy.  We were in the SCA, a medieval recreation group.  My husband was a fighter, and I was an unbridled mischief maker and, at times, soldier for truth and transparency.  Above all, I enjoyed the revels.  We were at this huge event, Gulf Wars, people from all over the US come to Gulf Wars.  Every so often I get misty eyed and wish on the one  hand that we were still in the SCA and still doing the event circuit with friends.  So much time has passed, so many friends have passed or moved along.  I think this is where part of the regret stems from.  I never had another chance to mischief make with these friends on this level, that was the last Gulf Wars we attended and the last time I saw a great many friends and beloved acquaintances.  We soon after left the SCA and left many of those friends behind, some of us not speaking for years.  Some we never got the chance to speak to ever again.  Gulf Wars has grown into a much larger event than it used to be, granted we only went for the weekend usually, but I don't recall it being as large or as long in the early 90's as it now is. 

Our household was called the Bluebonnets.  We were a Scottish clan, though my persona was German and my husband's persona had been Mongol.  We were loud, proud and so very annoying at times to those with more delicate sensibilities and people who were in it solely for arts, crafts and the history aspect.  We were in it for the fighting, revelry, and camaraderie.  Some of our fringe members wore table cloths as kilts because they spent their money on armor not garb.  We just teased them a bit and didn't care that they weren't "proper".  Our leader "Big Nasty" would usually be blowing his cow horn and yelling or something.  We often used the horn to stir the Bluebonnet Plague drink we created.  Our household had our huge tent city going, my husband and I had spaghetti-o's and plenty of water.  We learned over the years that dehydration and hunger could really get the better of you.  I normally toted around some Boone's Farm and Kit Kats along with several packs of cigarettes.  I had my priorities.  We arrived on a Friday afternoon, late.  Our friends were looking like starving refugees, as they came to greet us, they still had yet to learn the importance of water and food.  They had gotten there a day or two before to select a campsite for us and to start setting up the party tent and stake our area out. 

I did my own thing during the scheduled fighting, shopping on merchant’s row with friends, hanging out with some of the merchants I knew well, gossiping with friends I’d not seen in months, I did sit on the sidelines and watch the battles.  I loved the social aspect so much.  These large events were wonderful when it came to connecting with friends who’d moved to other kingdoms (regions).  We made friendships at these events with people from other kingdoms and might only see them that one weekend per year.  When we saw them, it was like no time had passed. 

Now the regret. My husband always left the partying earlier than most.  I was a bit bitchy that evening, there was a whiny girl dating one of our household members, she was such a whiny snot…really couldn’t stand the girl after the first few times we hung out.  I threw my cotton hat to a friend sitting near whiny girl and it happened to miss and hit whiny girl, she claimed I hit her on purpose…with a cotton sunhat!  I can’t hit the side of a barn door with instructions.  Naturally I burst into gales of laughter at this haughty accusation of my tossing prowess and the supposed damage my floppy cotton sunhat must have done.  It did have that hellish ring of bells tied on the band, those could surely have put an eye out!  In my defense, other people were laughing too, it really was hilarious.  She stormed off.  The evening was looking like a huge success.  Then, Hobiskit, a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time sidled up next to me and we took off amid giggles.  Her husband Nor the Cobbler(now ex) took one…ONE of my finger cymbals because I was obviously way too happy with both of them.  I still only have one of them to this day.  It stares at me balefully from the top of one of our wooden chests.

As the evening progressed we party hopped.  Hobiski, Nor and I parted ways at some point in the evening.  I met up with two friends I’d also not seen in a long while, Ananda and Flounder.  The three of us attended a party at an encampment called Asgard.  We’d been partying with that group for years.  This year, however, they had spared no expense and had this nifty cool gate/bridge you had to use in order to enter.  It had the name Asgard on a sign attached to what would have been the keystone in a regular arch.  Theirs was cut from wood.  It was a fantastic entrance.  The arch was the main gate, but they had gone all out and made a plexiglass rainbow that actually lit up with the rainbow colors.  The plexiglass was kind of frosted.  So, these two impressive arches were the sides of the bridge.  The idea was to cross (pass under) the rainbow bridge to Asgard.  Some of our drunk fringe members tried climbing across the rainbow bridge, but the angle was too steep so they kept sliding down.  They wobbled off drunk somewhere.  We were chatting up various friends at the household party and having a good time.  I got cornered by a chatty drunk friend who went on and on, gushing about the bridge and how it was made.  We left the party when the music stopped and they started boasting a tad too much.  Flounder, Ananda and I found a porch at the main building (this was the main building of the camp and is a year round wooden structure, the SCA rents out sites for events) we were lounging there passing around a few bottles of wine or mead while talking.  Then I noticed something truly amazing.  The porta-potties!  The porta-potties were named “Pot o’ Gold”  I got this wicked feeling and probably a mischievous look to go with it.  I blurted out.  “Guys, GUYS!  What’s at the end of a rainbow?”  They answered a pot of gold.  I said EXACTLY and pointed to the porta-potty nearest us.  We hatched a plan to wait until the party was largely dead, then we’d make our move near dawn.  We were going to grab a porta-potty and put it at the end of the rainbow!  We chatted, giggled, sung and reminisced.  Then the rain started.  Not a gentle rain…a down pour.  In that one moment, we lost a chance we’d never get back. We lost the chance to right things with the world, to release the leprechauns so they could protect their gold, we lost the chance to place a pot o’ gold at the end of the rainbow.  Alas, the ground turned to slushy mud and we’d have fallen.  Plus it was already being used by many drunken souls.  We didn’t want to drop a “used” porta-potty on ourselves.  They don’t smell bad at all when fresh, but mix in a weekend of bad food and too much booze…yuck.  We left one another's company at dawn, feeling hollow about the rainbow and the pot o’ gold, but probably would do it the next year. That is my biggest regret.  I never got to have shenanigans with those friends, a pot o’ gold porta-potty and the rainbow bridge.  

Catty, honest or bitchy?

(none of these names are real)

I was under the impression that my pointed comments, teasing friends about faux pas with snarky or cutting comments was catty. I expect catty banter back and forth with friends of either sex. Maybe I don’t really understand what catty is. I can be catty (provided I understand it) when discussing someone I really do not like, but I don’t show false friendship to them either.  I keep my distance from them and don’t pretend to be friends.  I will have a pleasant exchange with them but won’t really hang out with them.  I can’t in good conscience not respect someone that I spend time with.   I am catty when people say “I have great attention to detail and I’m a fast learner” when half the words on a form are misspelled and no care was taken.    

So, in my special little world, this thing is going on.  A few of us are all attempting to do the same thing.  More specifically a few of us are all interviewing for the same job.  We are in a small office, and we agreed not to be catty about it, actually our manager told us not to be catty about it.  We agreed to go have a drink after the decision is made to celebrate the person who gets it or to plan pranks if it’s an outsider.  Perhaps I don’t understand the “real girl” meaning of the word catty.  I don’t tend to spend a lot of time with other women because I don’t get the mind games.  I assumed those games were part of being catty.  I’m too old for those games. I’m a bit older than the manager, and about 15 years older than each of the other ladies interviewing.  I honestly don’t even want the position anymore. I just want to keep doing what I’m doing, helping people, supporting, and enjoying the work.  At first I really did want the job, until I learned there was a bit more to it than what was actually written on the paper…..like another job entirely came along with the one listed, I feel very misled. When I learned that, I lost interest, but now I’m locked into this interview.

Now, the catty, bitchy or honest part…..When asked, and repeatedly asked who told me to do something, who gave me something, how did I get this..I finally said “I don’t want to throw anyone under the bus, we are all a team, but I got if from Alisa”.  Then the questions started, the manager feigned shock.  Marcia, the other lady in the office had my back as we sought to clarify exactly what Alisa’s role is in the office and if we can ask her for help.  We were, and still are, a bit unclear.  I met with the manager on an earlier day, because I am a very literal person when it comes to procedures and work.  I want to know exactly the direction things are progressing, exactly what our order of importance is, the exact steps we are to follow in the day to day structure, and the backup plan on days that are chaotic.  We need to operate within the law.  The rules change on a daily basis or at times even hourly.  I need to have clarification so I can refer to that when demands are made.  Things have to stay on some sort of track moving in some logical form of order or really important things can get lost in the shuffle making us look bad, getting us caught in a legal bind and potentially could cost us clients or a lawsuit. I shared the details of my meeting with Marcia because I think she got the wrong idea and the info was useful, I made copies of my notes for her.  I am very open, usually very honest and often very transparent.  I don’t do secrecy unless it’s a harmless secret or something hurtful.  If people entrust me with something, I don’t share it unless it’s very clear that I can share it.  If it’s something I can’t share but I need advice on, I will approach a close friend in another state who has no connection to the parties involved. I do not kiss and tell for lack of a better phrase. 

I overheard today, that we are apparently “being catty”.  I really have no idea how seeking clarification on procedures and divulging a name under duress can be construed as catty.  I was literally being hit with rapid fire questions and was badgered into answering.  I said I didn’t know who, I don’t remember, It wasn’t me, I tried to avoid answering because it really wasn’t important who did what, it was only important that my part was done correctly because my part dealt with the legality of something.  I don’t know how clarifying our roles is catty or being pumped for information by the boss is catty when it’s clear neither of us wants to get the other girl in trouble with the boss, we just want to know if we can ask her to help with parts of our processes and what her processes are. We need a team approach. 

I really don’t know if that’s catty, honest or what…but I can tell you it’s making me quite bitchy at this point.  There is no room for spite, conflict or backstabbing.  We have got to work as a team.  From all I’ve seen it would appear that our boss is trying to create strife rather than help build a winning team.  This is a management style I am not used to or comfortable with.  I will not play those games.  She can lead me to the Yahtzee cup but she can’t make me shake it.  

undeserved angels

Life makes no sense.  The time we have on Earth is not as cut and dried as it seems.  When people die, we lose the ability to touch them and feel them, to speak with them and have them answer, to challenge them to hot sauce tests and win, we lose the physicality of them.

When they die they pass on from our physical world but then they become so much more, hey are very much still with us.  A lot of people believe the spirits we interact with aren't the spirits of loved one but something darker.  I know the people who've touched my life, I also know people with incredible darkness in their lives who've been part of my world and their energy feels very different from a loving friend or family member.  Maybe the friends and family who stayed have permission or have different beliefs and expectations about the afterlife.  Maybe heaven for them is staying close to us until we can all be together again in the beyond.

I have a friend who pops up at the oddest of times, he popped up today and all day I've been rehashing certain things in my mind.  I contacted his widow only to find out that he has been very active lately, even going so far as to pull her mother from a serious car accident.  We reminisced about some of the ways he's reached out and it's 100% him.

I don't know the reason, or the rhyme, I don't care what anyone says to me, I know what I feel and I know what I know and I know the people who care about me still watch over me.  I can see so many things I shouldn't have walked away from but did.  I see so much of my life has been a gift and a miracle, I took it all for granted until 2011.  I am blessed, yet I feel such guilt because not everyone has this same level of blessing.  I''m not special, I didn't save children, puppies or kittens from burning orphanages, I am snarky, I'm a smart ass, I'm not even that great of an example of humanity and I'm certainly not the best example of a Christian, I have a short temper and don't see it changing anytime soon.  I'm just an average person and I don't deserve the angels/spirits sent to watch over me.  I love them, I love that they have watched out for me and that they have gotten me out of some terrible scrapes.

I can use all the help I can get to make it in life and do my best to spread more good than bad in an effort to honor those who've passed on before me, especially those who still help protect me.

I Know Nothing

What I have learned about parenting a gifted child is that I desperately need stronger anti anxiety medications, a steady supply of cinnamon bourbon, perhaps a week in a high quality asylum and at least a degree in hostage or contract negotiations.  Deep pockets, a sound proof padded room and a straight jacket might also help, but those would be more for subduing the child in question.

Child in question is a perfect mishmash of both my husband and me.  The arrogance, the stubbornness, the intelligence, the fear of failure, the procrastination, the abstract ideas, the overwhelming ability to walk past something 15 times and not notice it, the lovely habit of putting things in perfectly logical areas with zero recall of where those places are.  He's just as afraid of trying and not succeeding as I am.  He promises himself he will do his work and concentrate on it, just like I did only to reach the same blocks I reached back in 1987 when I too was 17.  He has the cocky arrogance born of insecurity that my husband has.  He has every negative quality both of us have, they might even be slightly magnified.

He has so many wonderful qualities that few people ever see;  his keen sense of humor, his masterful arguing a point, his empathy with others, his need to connect and help others feel welcome and secure.  Some of those traits have gotten him made fun of over the years.  He's been called so many names because he comforts those in need or in despair.  He wants to be the person people count on (aside from his parents and teachers).  He really is a remarkable child in his sense of wrong and right and his inability to watch suffering.  He'd give his last dollar to a hungry person without thought.  He almost got suspended from school for giving his friends lunch money.  The administration accused him of purchasing drugs when he was literally only giving his friends lunch money for the day.  I intervened and supplied the proof that my son was clean.  His sense of right and wrong won't allow him to watch another be bullied, (good natured teasing among friends is fine) He argues points for other people.  I'd swear that he'd make an excellent trial lawyer if  he could only spend his time arguing cases without doing the legwork.  Then there's the whole commitment to going to school for years that he's not very enthused about.  The word filibuster should have his photograph in the dictionary with the definition.

I have learned that I know exactly nothing when it comes to raising my son because it's like raising me or my husband.  I can identify with certain aspects of his personality, my husband the other parts.  Both of us are at a total disadvantage when it comes to actually convincing him to do what we'd like him to do.  I realized the parenting books were excellent fodder for the compost bin.  Our first lesson in that was pretty straight forward.  Give your child a choice between two acceptable items.

 (please hear these words in dreamy disney princess detached voice with vacant eyes)

Teaching your growing toddler to make decisions is easy!  With gentle direction they will do as you ask while still retaining control.  Give your child a choice between two approved items such as:

Do you want to wear the yellow shirt or the blue shirt?
Would you like oatmeal or eggs for breakfast?

Your child will choose from two healthy safe choices and feel more grown up!  You will get what you need without the fight. Just keep reminding them what the choices are calmly.

The reality???

(said in the closest to vacant voice I could muster)

Honey, do you want to wear the blue shirt or the red shirt?

NEIDER of DEM!

(this went on for an unreasonable amount of time before I just let him wear the same filthy pumpkin sweat shirt he'd been wearing for weeks on end.  Fail on trial one.

Dear, would you like scrambled eggs or boiled eggs?

NONE of DEM!!

(this too went on for a really long time)

Eventually he had either bologna and pickles or perhaps grits.

Anything was met with his immediate and strong refusal to choose either thing even when the choices involved his favorite things. He wanted to argue for a different outcome as early as 2 or so.

His development is asymmetric meaning he's much more advanced in some areas than others.  That's a total ball of fun there.  Sadly it's also very much like his parents.  I can't count the number of teacher's who've called home because this tiny dictator had the ability to take over the entire class room and reroute the teacher's lesson to one he wanted.  I'd warned them to never ever argue with him, never to enter into a debate and never answer a question not directly related to the material at hand.  Not one of them listened.  Poor saps. One day an entire hour long Algebra lesson turned from actual Algebra and devolved into a discussion about why we use  Arabic numerals than Roman numerals.  The call home about that one was the same. Teacher felt he deserved an answer so she started down that long and winding detour to avoid the work he didn't want to do.  In that regard he's pretty mature and calculating.  At the same time he believes everyone tells the truth which is a pretty immature attitude to have especially when he's seen that isn't the case.

For all of you parenting or dealing in any way with a gifted child please understand, all gifted children are different and they don't automatically translate into the educational superstars you'd think they would be, gifted doesn't mean " all A's"  Gifted children actually struggle and fall through the cracks limping along at barely passing while basking in under achievement.  They are often dreamers and make plans that they know won't come through just to avoid having that opportunity then failing or facing mediocrity.  They hate to fail publicly.  Their development will never progress at the same rate as that of their peers.  Each child is totally unique and they must find their own motivation.  My son is intrinsically motivated.  The surest way to get him to dig his heels in and not do the work is to offer a reward, extrinsic factors do not work on him even if it's something he truly wants.

All I can do is try to identify trouble spots before they become too hard to get out of and work with him to find the best way to finish his tasks.  There is a wealth of information online, but don't count on any teacher taking the time to read it and work with your gifted child.  They do not have the time.  This is your job and your child's job.  Many of these kids get a label slapped on them that doesn't fit.  They do it for extra funding, they rarely label them as gifted, their go to words are "AD/HD" "OCD" or the new catchall "high functioning autistic".  The schools get extra funding for these classifications yet they still don't work to reach your child because there is no one system to learn that works for all kids in this boat.

I'm along for the ride and hoping that he reaches something in his life that helps him feel rewarded, keeps food on the table and a roof over his head while still allowing him to retain his own uniqueness.

So at 45,,,,I must admit that I know absolutely nothing because the rules keep changing and the arguments are endless circular logic paths.

The hundred dollar donut

$100 donut

I heard about this donut this morning as I was sitting on the sofa, trying to hold my rowdy cat, sipping coffee and wondering if I should brush my hair before work.  I asked myself if I had all the money I wanted and could spend it on anything I wanted would I buy the hundred dollar donut.  I cursed a bit as I noticed the ink line on my shirt, I had no time to change it so I decided to ponder more on the donut as I gave up on trying to tame the Siamese lion on my lap.

If I could just toss money about without a care, I don't know that I'd buy a hundred dollar donut.  If it were a regular donut and the hundred dollars went to a reputable charity I would be very likely to buy one, but to actually eat a purple yam donut covered in gold, with champagne icing deems a bit weird to me.  When I was a teenager I'd have been all over trying it.  Now I just think what else I could do with a hundred dollars.  I could buy A LOT of coffee and donuts.  I could buy enough coffee and donuts to make it a few weeks of treating myself daily.  I forget to eat, but I never forget my coffee.

Coffee...I don't think I could drink the cat poop coffee (Kopi Luwak) despite my love for both cats (yes I know civets aren't really cats) and coffee.  I've watched a few videos and listened to the comments people make about the civet coffee, noticeably different, tastes like paper, and horrible

Best Coffee Taste Test

Then there's the question of how they get the beans (stones, seeds).  I know this is a growing trend and I've seen some videos showing the palm civets in cages pacing around, trying to escape.  I think that all the little civets should be free to frolic in the trees eating as many coffee berries as they desire then seeking out a carb laden treat to go with the morning joe.

I wonder how the hundred dollar donut would taste when paired with the Kopi Luwak?  I wonder if this has been or will be done?  I wonder if there will be a cervil uprising with brave little civets, over throwing the evil coffee barons?  If the hundred dollar donuts were being sold to stop civet unrest and over throw the coffee capos thereby creating civet freedom and peace I would definitely buy the hundred dollar donut.  I would like to share it with a civet.

That's a wrap!

It's all over now, 2015 that is.  It seemed like it alternated between running away like a speeding train and dragging on forever.  It really wasn't such a great year for me in many respects, but in others it was a year of learning and accomplishment.

I reentered the work force as an office temp and now it seems I may have a job.  The job is great.  I love what I do, so far.  I started down one path, I really did have a plan to see it through and start a new direction in December, but then the temp slot opened up in early December, one thing led to another and my path got diverted.  No one can change the flow of a river without some losses.  I've had to delay the classes I was taking, and I had to change my deadline promise to myself.  It's a promise I intend to keep, but I'm using the longer date range.  I guess that just goes to show me, that no matter how clear the road map seems, there can always be a detour and often a very lovely one at that.  For now, I'm embracing my detour with open mind, open heart and open arms.

Our son is growing up, he's making changes, he's making mistakes (often fairly big mistakes) which I hope he's learning from, he's learning to communicate as a young adult.  We need to work together to help him set some realistic goals for 2016.  This year we learned that a bachelor's degree may no longer make fiscal sense.  I was attempting to show him that teachers do make a fairly decent wage, "look son, see, they do make more than you thought but you will probably want to have a wife who also works.  See, these are two year degrees and look how little they make..." the words died on my lips as we saw those associate's degrees pay more for entry level than a teacher with a master's degree would make.  Our son is now trying to decide which path would make the most sense for him.  We are all coming to terms with the face of the workplace today.

Our cat had his 13th birthday last May.  He got a new sofa, new carpet, and a climbing tree this year.  He trusts none of that stuff.  He is not as afraid to touch the sofa and has been diligently clawing one corner of the sofa to keep it in check while demonstrating his dominance over all furniture and soft things.  He sometimes will drag a piece of meat onto the carpet so it knows the pecking order too.  He got the climbing thing for Christmas, he is still regarding it with suspicion.

One thing led to another and we ended up having to donate the first new car we've ever bought back in July/August.  It appears a national chain tire shop lied to us about the damage.  We found out, only after we'd bought another car.  We got a gently used 2014 Cruze LTZ with less than 18k miles on it.  We do love the new (to us) car but we do miss our L300.  We got the full blue book price as a deduction because our car did sell, and rather quickly too.  Our son felt terrible about the L300, that was the first car he really remembers riding in and it became his car after he got his license.  We bought her brand new back in 2004 in TX.  He's since acquired our 2003 Vue.  He doesn't like it as much as he liked his car, but he is adapting.  He did the only thing he could do, to avoid an accident.  He didn't lock up the brakes, he started braking and steered toward the curb to avoid an accident.  His instincts are great when it comes to driving.  A pick-up truck pulled out right in front of him on a busy road.  The other drivers scare me, his driving doesn't scare me.

I lost a lot of people I cared about this past year.  The worst of the losses was a friend's son.  Nothing causes a Mother and Father to cling to their child and overlook some things their child does than the death of another child.  After that death I hovered a lot and am still a bit clingy.

I cut some negative people out of my life and feel liberated.

I learned that some people are a lot more monstrous and depraved than I had ever imagined.  I did get angry with God and question him.  I know that's not likely to produce answers, but it felt like unburdening to me.  I still believe, I still pray, but I wonder why some things are allowed to happen.  I know, the whole "free will" thing.  I think some actions are beyond "free will" and that certain people should probably just be exterminated.

My goals for the coming year are modest....hold on for the ride and hope for the best.

I hope that you have a healthy, happy year ahead of you.

Thank you for reading my wordy ramblings

Bliss

Raising a teenager is a really rocky road.  It's usually rocky because they're having tantrums and throwing the rocks much like they did at two, the differences are they're bigger now, won't take naps, can't be controlled with sippy cups, blankies or a favorite toy.

The past few days have been bliss.  My husband has been on vacation from work.  Our son has been on vacation from school and I'm taking the week off my online class.  Monday and Tuesday mornings our son crawled in bed with us to snack and watch YouTube videos with us and our cat Kung Pao.  He's been really polite and helpful.  He vocally admitted that since he decided to mind more he's been given more freedom just like we promised him.  That revelation was on Tuesday the 24th.  He showed wisdom, I also got some encouraging news on the 24th.  The 24th also happened to be my late daddy's 99th birthday.

Today I was out at a store.  I went down one aisle after I found exactly what I'd been looking for but forgot a few months ago.  When I turned a corner I was facing a headless mannequin the same size, shape and height as my late mama.  She passed away the day before Thanksgiving (27th) in 1985.  The mannequin was even dressed in an outfit she absolutely would have worn paired with a necklace my late mother-in-law would have worn.  When I walked behind the mannequin the sweater was even raised in the same place Mama's shirts always raised.  I smiled for quite a while

All I can do is smile and feel the love and the legacy they left behind.  I feel them (Daddy and Mama) in the choices I make and the words I say.  Sometimes they're hurtful words, sometimes they're kind words, sometimes I chastise, sometimes I praise.  I know they're gone, but the gifts they gave me have carried me through some difficult times.  I see things that remind me of them and feel a closeness.  We speak of them with love and smiles.  I see certain aspects of my mother-in-law in my husband.  I see traits of all of them in our Son.

I have no idea how our parents coped.  My husband's mom was born in 1944.  She was young enough in the 1970's and 1980's to go with the flow.  My mama was born in 1915 and my daddy was born in 1916.  They were not as easily adapted.  Daddy was very much into learning, I think he'd enjoy the technology.  Mama was not as open minded.  She truly believed that in a storm you had to put the cat out of the house because they drew lighting, so did hand sewing, using scissors or anything else metal.  Mama passed away when I was 15.  There was a huge generational gap.

I have absolutely no idea how she would have handled me at 17.  My son is so much like me, we constantly butt heads.  I was "stubborn as a mule!" and "would argee (argue)  with a sign post!"  I still am to a degree, but I'm learning to bend.  We are all learning to bend.

These past few days have been bliss.  He's acting like the Son I know him to be.  This change of heart started on the 19th.  I'm holding my breath, hoping for the best, trying to prepare for the worst and at this moment I am enjoying this ride so much!   :)

What to say.....?

I don't know what to say, so I'll just blurt out what's on my mind....

On Sunday night, I started this rosy post about how lucky I am to have a wonderful Husband who provides for us so well, for having a smart Son who usually makes good decisions, for my Son being able to play a Jr. football halftime scrimmage years ago on Ford Field during a Lions pre-season game, I was going to write about how we've done things we consider normal that are part of people's bucket lists.  We've seen NHL, NFL and MLB games....the tickets were either free or low in price.  I took it for granted that everyone must have been to a pro game.  We aren't even sports fans.  We enjoy a game when we go, but don't seek them out.  What brought all this on was my Husband feeling too bad to go the Lion's game someone gave him tickets for.  I told the ladies at work (I had to put in a few hours on Sunday) that he was deciding not to go and planning to give the tickets away.  All of them said that was on their bucket list.  We've been to New Zealand, most of the 50 states and to a few provinces in Canada. There are some people I know who've never even been on an airplane, or seen a metropolis. It hit me then that we are blessed.  We have lived a lot of people's dreams.   I worry and fret about money, we struggle to make ends meet and have a tad of overlap.  We are like everyone else.

On Monday I sent my Husband a text telling him I love him, thanking him for being a great provider, keeping us safe and despite our mutual mediocre parenting that he is a great Father and that our Son was lucky to have him and so am I.  Monday I nagged my son in texts but failed to say I love you in any of them because his friends read them sometimes.  Today...I don't care. I will tell him I love him in texts because of Tuesday.

On Tuesday my "Pollyanna" outlook died. My Son sent me one of the worst texts I've ever gotten.  He told me to contact my friend "Lucy"  because her son "Will" committed suicide on Monday.  I thought it was a macabre game that Will was playing with his friends, it being so close to Halloween and all.  I went to my friend's facebook page.  It was horrible and ugly because it was true.

I sent her a text, she responded with thanks.

Will is my son's age, they spent time together as three of us Mom's yapped after school when we went to pick them up.  They rough housed with each other, Will, his little brother, my Son and another friend's son.  Will and my Son were in one class together.  That was enough for the poor teachers at their middle school.  The boys moved on to HS and we Mom's didn't hang out waiting for them anymore, they had after-school activities.  In other words we drifted and I am filled with "I meant to's".

Thursday we went to his viewing.  It was gut wrenching.  To look upon the face of a young man I had known, who was friends with my son was terrible. Will was all over the room.  Photos of Will as a baby, him in his various activities, him growing up, his family, his brother, his baby book, photo albums. his baby shoes and at the foot of the coffin, his empty hunting boots.  Lucy was holding up as well as she could.  I've never seen Lucy not be Lucy, but her spark was gone.  Will's brother is filled with hate.  He blames Lucy for it all.  I know he has to blame someone.  I know in time he will blame Will and be angry with him, but it's much too soon for that.  He's lost his courage.  Will was the "devil may care...push the limits" guy and his brother is a reserved methodical person.  Will was a helium balloon whereas his brother was his tether.  They were good for each other.

Friday, we went to the funeral.  We were there in time to get seats.  It filled up two chapels, standing room only.  I heard Lucy break and I saw Will's brother break.  Neither one went to the other.  Lucy has lost both son's for all intents and purposes.  Time will heal part of this, but not all of it.  Nothing will ever heal all of it.  The ceremony honored Will's life.  My Son sat with me and let me hold his hand a lot.

I seem to be crying at the drop of a hat.  I am so sad the family is so fractured.  I know they need each other to heal but they may never truly come together to support one another.  The parents are divorced and remarried.  The divorce was over 10 years ago and remarriages happened at least 10 years ago, so it wasn't a catalyst.  No one, aside from Will, truly knows why he felt this was the best or only option.

People often turn to God only in times of need or despair.  I pray when I think of a person.  I thank him when I look around at my life and the people I know.  We don't go to church but we do believe, we are saved, our Son is dedicated and is currently questioning and searching like most teens.  I keep hearing God heals all wounds.  I believe that he does, but only if the people are willing to accept that guidance and help.  When deep wounds heal the scar tissue is always tender for a very long time and can easily tear.  When people are trying to heal it seems they tend to tear at the scab or the new skin to rehash and open healing wounds.  I've seen it and I've lived it.  Very few people can seek and accept that healing guidance and move forward with a small scar, I failed that test.  There won't be any small scar with this wound, this is a gaping hole.

I am thankful for so much, my Husband, my life, our pets, but most of all my Son.  I just want to hold him and never let him go.

If anyone reading this has a teenager in their lives, make time for them.  Even when they are behaving like idiots, driving you to drink, causing you worry and fear, make time for them and think of how much you love about them.  Tell them.  If, by chance, a teenager is reading this.  Know that no matter how insignificant and unloved you feel, you aren't.  I don't care who you are, or what you've done.  Someone cares very deeply for you.  You've sent out ripples that will impact people you don't even know.  When people tease you, make fun of you, tear you down and try to ruin your reputation, remember, it's only a few years.  You just have to make it to college, you just have to hold on until then.

Get help.  I know teens won't rat on each other, I know that parents can't fight those battles like we did in elementary school.  It kills us to watch you hurting inside.  We, as parents and former teens, want to help.  If you can't turn to your parents, go to a teacher you like and just talk.  Let it out.  Don't hold on to the crap people say and do.  Know that they have more serious problems than you do.  They hurt people because they are mean, spiteful, rude kids who never learned a lesson on life.  Trust in fate and know that what they dish out will come back on them, it may take years, but they will get exactly what they've dished out somehow.

 If your parents or a person in charge (teacher, principal) is hurting you emotionally or physically, call a teen helpline, go to a shelter, turn to a friend's parents or a trusted Teacher or Preacher.  Help yourself with their guidance.  Live for yourself.  Live to spite them if that's what motivates you.  There are better ways to get revenge on a person (even a parent who's hurt you), revenge is moving on, not having them in your life by your choice then living the best life you can, the life that makes you happy, the life that allows you to reach your dreams.

High school is hard!  The idiot who said "these are the best years of your life" was a delusional maniac.  They are only good because you have no bills to pay and you don't have to support yourself financially.  These are some of the worst years you will ever have.  Years sound like forever to teenagers, take it hour by hour, day by day. All you have to do is take it one step at a time, one day at a time.  I have felt unloved, I've been the joke at school, I've been the weirdo.  I chose to act and dress the way I did because that way I controlled what they made fun of.  I never let them in far enough to find out what my real problems were.  Put up a mask if you have to, in order to protect yourself.  If you have one good friend who knows you, the real you, then you are truly blessed.  Very few people keep in touch after high school.  When high school is over your real life starts.  There is a light at the end of the dark tunnel and it won't always be a train.  Sometimes it's just the end of the tunnel where the world opens up. You just have to get through that tunnel.

If you made it to the end of this entry....kudos because it was long and very personal.

Ditzy Friends are the Best!

Ditz-as defined by Merriam-Webster’s online dictionary is a silly person who often forgets things.

Ditz – as defined by the Urban Dictionary equates us with Valley Girls…I’m like so totally cool with that!  Like ya know??

Ditz- as defined by The Free Dictionary is a scatterbrained eccentric person

I agree for the most part with these definitions.  Airhead also comes to mind as does distracted from trying to train a husband and teenager to act as mature as the cat.  I come by my ditzy moments honestly.  I was often a ditz as a teenager out of necessity.  There were people I didn’t really want to hang out with, who would be joining our group on an excursion or to a party.  “I like totally forgot!!” about the party or excursion so many times when an annoying person was to be joining us.  I also acted scatterbrained to get out of certain chores or to avoid other unpleasantries.   Being a semi-ditz at times was detrimental because there were some fun things that I genuinely forgot about because my mind was all over the place. 

Having a ditz as a friend is an excellent friend indeed.  We can be your excuse for not wanting to go places too.  Blame it on the ditz!  Chances are we won’t care, won’t get wind of it or will totally forget it in a few minutes. 

Everyone should have at least one ditz as a friend, unless of course you are a ditz, then you want to cut that right the heck out!  One can’t have two ditzes in the same social group.  The meeting would possibly trigger a blackhole or some other unimaginable physical horror.  When ditz’s collide nothing good can come of it.    

Ditziness is also great for gift giving.  I can go Christmas shopping with my husband in July or August.  Pick out a few things, watch him buy them, then he hides them and I totally forget about them until Christmas morning!  We did that one year with purses.  I vaguely recalled from time to time looking at purses but couldn’t remember if I’d purchased one or not.  Turns out it was two of them.  I used to have a thing for shoes, now I have a thing for purses.  I tend to stick to the same few pairs of shoes because I need more sole stability now.  I do miss high heels but will survive. 

I’m not a ditz all the time.  Just when I’m tired of thinking, tired of being a grown up or just plain tired in general.  Not to brag, but I’m actually fairly intelligent.  I just choose to allocate that intelligence as needed then hide behind masks such as sarcasm, ditziness (It can be hard work to act vacuous or vapid) or churlishness.  I’ve been taken advantage of many times it’s easier when people think I’m far too dim witted to do something to be of use to them.  I don’t want people in my life who want to use me and abuse me.   I want people in my life who value me, who can put up with all my masks and allow me to drop the masks at times.  I like being able to be counted on by friends with whom I share a mutual respect.  I don’t act ditzy at work either.  I have done this in the past to avoid crappy shifts at a crappy job when I was a teenager. 

The song Because I’m a Blonde could, at times, be my anthem (aside from the fact that I’m not blonde). A certain level of ditziness can help mask pain too; both emotional and physical.  When I’m spending time with certain people I hide behind a wall of stupidity.  It’s easier to have them become angry because they think I’m an idiot, than it is to allow them to take out their usual hateful aggression on me simply because I’m around.  I can hear the clucking now.  I have indeed told these people I don’t like being treated the way they treat me.  I have stood up for myself a countless number of times, all to no avail.  I choose my battles and battling once again for mutual respect isn’t worth it to me.  I’d rather just cower for a few days in abject stupidity pondering when the next basket weaving class might form up.  There is no escaping spending some amount of time with these people, otherwise I’d be all over it!  The  people who mistake me for stupid often show how ignorant they truly are, thus leading to a lot of hilarity when their own idiocy trips them up in public.  Every so often I enjoy popping off with a level of knowledge they don’t think I possess.  The look on their faces is priceless. 

Having a ditz or a pseudo-ditz in your life is a must.  I have had ditzes in my life and I’ve been the ditz.  I am of course totally stupid, and an absolute ditz and quite possibly the worst parent on the planet at the moment, for I have a teenaged child.  I have been assured by other people who seem reasonably smart and fairly reliable that by the time he’s 25 or so, I will become less stupid and he will actually ask my advice.  I am hoping this is true and not a fairy tale told to give me a false sense of hope.  If it’s true then I am gonna be pretty darn ditzy for a really long time then! 

Let them eat cake

Or pie...pie is good too...oh but so are cookies and some ice-cream and other frozen desserts....

Well, it’s finally happened.  My son is 17.  I am 25 again.  We’ve survived another year of birthdays, anniversaries, and all those celebrations involving cake as we head into the holidays.  Everyone loves Christmas or Easter, a lot of people love Thanksgiving or the 4^th of July.  Memorial day and labor day picnics are a must for most people.  We are not most people.  I am not most people.  I prefer a nice shady dark cool corner somewhere.  I must have been a spider or other cool, dark corner dweller.  Perhaps I was a resident of the desert with no rain and approximately 20 hours of sunlight with temps in the low 200’s.  At any rate, in our household cake season is on hold from June to Oct.  Thusly I have decided to relocate my birthday to a more acceptable month in order to spread out cakery. 

I am thinking August. 

In June we have Annibirfather’s day  (anniversary, Husband’s birthday (yes someone was crazy enough to marry me) and Father’s day)  One year I forgot what day it was and failed to wish my husband a happy birthday upon first sight.  He looked crushed and said “Well??”  I was all like “What?”  Then he told me it was his birthday.  I proudly announced No, your birthday is tomorrow.  He asked me the date of his birthday (yep I knew it) I told him and he said “that’s today” again in airhead mode I was all like “Omg it’s so totally not!”  I’ll check my phone.  That damn backstabbing piece of technology agreed with him about the date!  That jerky phone!  Warranty my butt.  I turned on the news, looked at a paper…I pulled out all the stops.  Everything  in the world had banded together with him in some wicked “fool the wife” prank leaving me totally confused.  I meekly wished him a happy birthday and scuttled off to make or procure a cake.  Since June is very cake heavy with Anniversary, followed one week later by birthday, then Father’s day about a week after that.  I get one cake for the target birthdate, unless we are jonesing for frosting, then I use the earlier date.  If other desserts have entered our lives I may go all wild and post pone it until Father’s day.  

Then boom…….dearth of cake.

July is a berryish month with cookies and halva or something else kind of light and or frozen

August is frozen confections, sherbet, ice cream, fruit bars, fresh fruit, cookies 

September is back to school drown your teenage tears in this lovely cake, but don’t cry on my side of the frosting.

October my son and I have birthdates one day apart.  His is literally the next day.  He likes one kind of frosting, I like another.

November is pieish

December is every dessert not nailed down

January, still mopping up desserts from December

February is Valentine’s day cake

March or April is Easter cake, the other is whatever cake I end up making

May is Mother’s day cake and Kitty’s birthday.  Pao doesn’t really eat cake, but he does like real whipped cream and likes cakes made of his favorite food with a pup-peroni  stuck in the top.

That eventually returns us to the fact that there is a stretch from July through August seriously devoid of cake.  I must sacrifice my birthday for the greater good of cake-kind..  There will be frosting roses in August and they will be mine, mine, all mine!!  Until I cut the first slice then share it around.  I’m not a total cake hog! 

Well, I’m another year older, I’d like to say wiser but I’m not sure.  According to recent research conducted by my son on a bad day I am “senseless and irresponsible” because I did something to upset young master tyrant.  I have also been told just how often I’m ruining his life…which seems to be whenever I utter the word “No”.  I have learned a few new things this year, such as temping is a lot of fun in the right environment.  I think I prefer temping to actual full time employment status.  Temping allows me to say no if I’m having a bad run of things.  I’m also learning new things at everyplace and refreshing my skills.  I have learned that cat bites don’t infect if properly bled and then licked by said biter.  In his defense he was chewing his own nails and mine got in the way.  He decided it was high time I learn to chew my nails like a proper cat.  I’ve totally digressed….

So my new birthday is in August.  I am not yet sure of the day but I may float the day based on what desserts we have on hand.  I must plan ahead!  Cake is serious business and not to be purchased or made frivolously! 

Rage Against the Machine(s)

There are some days I just know, without a doubt, that if I touch something things will go horribly awry.  My powers of fuckupitedness can also rub off on others should they touch any machine after I’ve used it on one of “those” days.  I’m not sure if my hands are too cold, if my case of bitchy resting face, my lack of machine competence or my fear of the monster that lives in the printer rubs off on the machine and is picked up like a virus by others, or if I somehow place a hex on the machines after I touch one.   There are days I don’t even have to touch a machine, the mere suggestion of it is enough to make the poor thing start spewing out gibberish and die before I even send document one to a printer. 

There are times I know, without a doubt I’ve sent one copy of one document only to a printer only to have the thing give me 5 copies of a different document, one that isn’t even open.  I’ve sent one test label to the label printer only to have it print out on the normal printer.  I have no idea how that happened.  After a printer mishap I go back to my computer to look at my logical progression, of events but this answers no questions and often leads me to hold myself and say “why, why, why?”

I tried literally 9 times to print one label a few days ago.  I could not get one scan off it.  Labels must pass with an A, B or C grade.  When I did get an accidental scan it was an F.  Another person, the printer whisperer, got my labels to print from her computer with perfect A’s?!  We both used the same settings.  I had her come over to lay hands on my computer in hopes that she could exorcise the demon that surely must be camped out inside there a long with the little guy who runs the bytes of data back and forth on slow days.   Even her powers of perfection were no match for my anti-machine powers.  I had the manager come over to complain at my computer, berate it and reset the margins.  It worked for her and for me too.  I even got one A.  Then the next batch of labels came time to be printed.  Once again the computer possession was in full force.  I’m not saying that it was speaking in demonic voices or anything but I’m certain that if there is print work to be done in hell that a manual I must have written will be there to instruct all the machines on proper etiquette.   I think I heard the scanner laugh as I approached it with the labels then utter a “None Shall Pass”. None didst pass.  I gamely followed the written margins the printer whisper gave me despite being told that we should never have to change the margins.  

It worked….then the printer ran out of labels.  I learned how to change the labels.  Later that same day, it ran out of ribbon.  Then it decided to skip a few labels.  As the day progressed the printer started taking in papers in a staggered manner printing one page over the span of two because two sheets were being sucked in with a staggered space.  I took out the drawer, reset the paper and went on.  Then it got a two tray one door paper jam.  I fixed that.  At that point I was simply daring the master of machines to strike me down with toner aplenty and douse me in shredded bits of misprinted paper.  I did not care, I had reached a document with 666 in the title and figured that was my best and only chance to zap the demons from the machines and really get them where it hurt.  I would successfully print a group of documents with the currently accepted mark of the beast and dare the printers and computer to harm me.  They printed out fine.