I was thinking I was going to rename this blog.
I couldn't come up with a total new name, because it will still be the ranting of a wild woman who speaks to a select few. So, I left well enough alone.
But now it is time to turn my attention to other things. Mainly my fat self.
I was a sickly/skinny little kid. They used to give me vitamins and milkshakes to put a few pounds on my bones. I have been fat since July 1968. I was 7 years old, and I can tell you exactly how it happened.
Some know this story already. My grandfather (on my father's side) was a three shot a day diabetic with a heart condition. He knew that his remaining time on Earth was short, so he decided he wanted to see the country. He had a daughter (my aunt) that was two days younger than me, so he took me along too so that she would have some company. We left on July 1, 1968, I sat in the back of a Chevrolet station wagon, and for the next five weeks we Griswolded our way across these United States.
I get car sick, so there was very little I could eat that wouldn't be left on the side of the road. (I have had "protein spills" in about 35 states though) We found that Orange Crush, Grape Crush, Slush Puppies, Pancakes and grilled cheese stayed in me...
By Phoenix, my grandmother had to buy me new clothes.
Since then, I have been fighting a battle against the added pounds. I come from a family whose entire being revolves around food, we live to eat. Where just about every woman is at least 50 pounds overweight, and where everyone blames everyone else for why they are the way they are.
I blame me, while I have to eat to live, what I choose to put in my mouth is solely my own doing. No one is holding me down and forcing me to swallow, no one is injecting me with Crisco as I sleep. I could blame my family. I didn't have the best family situation growing up. I learned bad eating habits as a child, and old habits are hard to break. I could blame classmates who called me fat and sent me back into a solitude with a bowl of ice cream or a whole frozen pizza. I could blame Mother Nature, who I do believe has some part in the way I am. But I won't. I blame me. I am lazy when it comes to food. I eat whatever is easiest, and tastes the best.
Where has it all gotten me? It has gotten me to 215 at my heaviest. It has gotten me a diagnosis of borderline adult onset diabetes and fatty liver syndrome. It has gotten me to a place where I don't even do my hair in the morning because looking in the mirror is too painful.
Where am I now? Three weeks ago after the "Tampa Incident" I joined the gym. I have been going faithfully, and endure 30-45 minutes of cardio daily. I haven't lost any weight since joining (I AM down 6 pounds from the high though), but I am seeing it in my clothes.
I have a dear friend, I'll call her Terry, who somehow convinced me that I could do a 10K. As far as I know, SHE doesn't work with the FBI. The race is four weeks away...I am not ready.
So tomorrow morning, I set out on my own to walk a route from my house that will take me 6.2 miles closer to glory...or 6.2 miles closer to certain death.
Here's my route:
Picture Deleted to Avoid Stalkers and Rapists...
If you don't hear from me, send out reinforcements. Either I am dead alongside the road, bear lunch or in such pain that my fingers even hurt too much to type.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
You have the right to remain silent....
Did you ever wonder why people confess to crimes they did not commit?
How could that be possible? I tell you, it is!
I have this friend, I'll call him Bill. He is a police investigator and works with the FBI. He has been my friend for over 15 years, and has convinced me, against my wishes, to agree to do things I never wanted to do in the first place. Mind you, these things are all good, but his methods of persuasion are so smooth, that I have now realized that he could probably get me to agree that I was the mastermind behind the Lindburgh baby kidnapping, AND was somewhere on the grassy knoll in November 1962.
Why is this important?
I have always believed that should I be arrested and tried for a crime I did not commit, I would not want my fate decided by 12 people too stupid to get out of jury duty.
Serving on a trial jury is something none of us really want to do. We do whatever possible and use whatever explaination necessary to get excused. I was only called to jury duty once, and in my week of service, never got to the trial phase. I sat through two pre-screenings, and was picked for one trial, but was "dismissed" since the attorney of the defendant accused of DWI did not want someone who had a family member killed by a drunk driver on the jury. I don't know why.
After that day, I have been jury duty free for the last 15 or so years.
Until yesterday.
I have been selected for Grand Jury duty in the county where I live.
I had a 12:30 report time, and the room was filled with about 60 potential jurors. NYS law requires that a grand jury be 23 people, so some of us were going home.
The court clerk asked if the term of service would be impossible for anyone to do, and about 30 potential jurors raised their hands. As a self-employed person, I probably could have used that excuse, but if you opt out of the county pool, you get sent to the Federal pool. Most people don't know that. Shorter term, longer drive.
I had my legitimate ticket out...or so I thought.
My brother in law works for the District Attorney.
Off I go to the courtroom with the other 30 or so in my group to await questioning much like the questioning in the DWI case..."Do you have any family members in law enforcement?" "Do you know many criminal attorneys?" blah-blah-blah. The questions never came.
All I see is this hopper with little tickets in it. The first 23 tickets win. I was number 10.
Now, for the next TWO MONTHS, I am on the county grand jury. Deciding if the evidence presented is enough to bring indictment to the accused.
MY ticket out? The DA seemed to address that as if he was looking right at me. If my BIL is a witness in any particular case, then I am excused from that case. I'll be right back in there for the next one.
The hardest part of all of this is not going to be the two days of service per week for the next two months. It is not going to be the hours of testimony and deliberation. I believe in the jury system, and I believe it is my duty as an American to serve.
The hardest part of all of this is that I am not able to discuss any aspect, of any case, with ANYONE, EVER in my lifetime, without the possibility of FELONY prosecution!
So, I can't tell you about the cases, but there are 22 other jurors, a ton of attorneys and others who I am sure I will be ready to mock all too soon.
How could that be possible? I tell you, it is!
I have this friend, I'll call him Bill. He is a police investigator and works with the FBI. He has been my friend for over 15 years, and has convinced me, against my wishes, to agree to do things I never wanted to do in the first place. Mind you, these things are all good, but his methods of persuasion are so smooth, that I have now realized that he could probably get me to agree that I was the mastermind behind the Lindburgh baby kidnapping, AND was somewhere on the grassy knoll in November 1962.
Why is this important?
I have always believed that should I be arrested and tried for a crime I did not commit, I would not want my fate decided by 12 people too stupid to get out of jury duty.
Serving on a trial jury is something none of us really want to do. We do whatever possible and use whatever explaination necessary to get excused. I was only called to jury duty once, and in my week of service, never got to the trial phase. I sat through two pre-screenings, and was picked for one trial, but was "dismissed" since the attorney of the defendant accused of DWI did not want someone who had a family member killed by a drunk driver on the jury. I don't know why.
After that day, I have been jury duty free for the last 15 or so years.
Until yesterday.
I have been selected for Grand Jury duty in the county where I live.
I had a 12:30 report time, and the room was filled with about 60 potential jurors. NYS law requires that a grand jury be 23 people, so some of us were going home.
The court clerk asked if the term of service would be impossible for anyone to do, and about 30 potential jurors raised their hands. As a self-employed person, I probably could have used that excuse, but if you opt out of the county pool, you get sent to the Federal pool. Most people don't know that. Shorter term, longer drive.
I had my legitimate ticket out...or so I thought.
My brother in law works for the District Attorney.
Off I go to the courtroom with the other 30 or so in my group to await questioning much like the questioning in the DWI case..."Do you have any family members in law enforcement?" "Do you know many criminal attorneys?" blah-blah-blah. The questions never came.
All I see is this hopper with little tickets in it. The first 23 tickets win. I was number 10.
Now, for the next TWO MONTHS, I am on the county grand jury. Deciding if the evidence presented is enough to bring indictment to the accused.
MY ticket out? The DA seemed to address that as if he was looking right at me. If my BIL is a witness in any particular case, then I am excused from that case. I'll be right back in there for the next one.
The hardest part of all of this is not going to be the two days of service per week for the next two months. It is not going to be the hours of testimony and deliberation. I believe in the jury system, and I believe it is my duty as an American to serve.
The hardest part of all of this is that I am not able to discuss any aspect, of any case, with ANYONE, EVER in my lifetime, without the possibility of FELONY prosecution!
So, I can't tell you about the cases, but there are 22 other jurors, a ton of attorneys and others who I am sure I will be ready to mock all too soon.
Friday, May 02, 2008
I must be strong....and carry on....
I realized today that so many of my posts here are depressing. There are only a handful of people who know about this place, and well, it is sort of my refuge, the place where I can bare my soul.
Beyond the door
There's peace I'm sure.
And I know there'll be no more...
Tears in heaven
Over the last few years, I have buried many people that I love deeply. A constant procession of death and dying, and I have been comforted by the thought that my faith tells me that we will all be together again someday.
But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
On Monday, we received the call that Tom's Uncle Joe had passed away. Uncle Joe was 84, and had leukemia. He was my father-in-law's youngest brother. He was the polar opposite of the man my father-in-law is. Joe was a rebel. He was a hippie when hippies were not cool. For every straight laced, uptight position Grandpa holds, Uncle Joe was there to be different. Grandpa's mother died giving birth to Joe. At least that is what everyone thought for nearly 75 years. Tom, while doing some genealogy work, discovered that wasn't the case, and that she died some two weeks later of pneumonia. For 75 years, Grandpa lived with a chip on his shoulder, and Uncle Joe lived with guilt. The two were never close. I was instrumental in bringing them together. In the end, I am glad I stuck my nose in where it wasn't wanted.
I’ll be a sunbeam for Jesus;
I can if I but try;
Serving Him moment by moment,
Then live with Him on high.
In losing loved ones, I thought I understood loss and pain. That was until Tuesday morning.
Kathy and I were neighbors back in 1986. She was tattooed and fun loving. Her husband Sal was a rebel with a pony tail. Tom and I were Republican and uptight. We met each other while walking. We were both pregnant, and well, could use the exercise. We became fast friends.
We did things with two other friends from the neighborhood. Becky, tall, thin and also pregnant, and the other Kathy...fun loving, and a penchant for "christening" new cars she and her husband got all too often.
Life was perfect. As perfect as it could be for four twenty-somethings with homes and cars and mortgages.
Becky gave birth to a boy in January 10 1987. Kathy gave birth to a girl, Kara-Lynn on March 23rd. Katie was born on May 10th. The four couples enjoyed each others company and when the second round of babies came along three years later, we became like a family.
Monday night, in a pounding rainstorm, the car Kara-Lynn was riding in hydroplaned, went off the interstate, and into a grove of trees. Kara was alive when the police got there, and was rushed to the local hospital. The storm was too severe for the helicopters to fly, so as she was being transported to the local trauma center, she deteriorated on the way. She died in a hospital halfway from here to the trauma center.
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
While I have been acquainted with those who have lost children before, none have touched me as deeply as this one death has. This was a little girl I held shortly after her first breath, as I had my own daughter. She was a daily part of my life for the first five years of her and Katie's life. As the girls got older, they went to separate elementary schools and grew apart. We moved away from the old neighborhood. In High School the girls hung in different groups. Any time I would see Kara, she always had a big smile...even when putting extra pickles on my BMT with a wink.
Shout to the Lord, all the earth, let us sing
Power and Majesty, praise to the King;
Mountains bow down and the seas will roar
At the sound of Your name.
I sing for joy at the work of your hands,
Forever I'll love You, forever I'll stand
Nothing compares to the promise I have in You.
For the last four days I have been in a fog. I have alternating between total despair and thanks to God, knowing that in a heartbeat it could be my child. My question is, as a parent, how do you go on? How do you find the strength to face the day? Kathy and Sal have showed such incredible strength throughout it all. They had all Kara's organs harvested. Yesterday at the funeral home, they embraced the young lady who was driving the car, and had her sitting with them near the casket. They consoled others who should have been consoling them.
Today, under cloudy skies and a light rain, we buried this little girl. Only 21 years old and so much life to live. Three of us, who had shared the births of our children stood together, arms around each other, grieving for the life lost, and for her mother who will never be the same.
Please God, don't make me do this again.
Over time you’ve healed so much in me
And I am living proof
That although my darkest hour had come
Your light could still shine through
And though at times it’s just enough to castA shadow on the wall
Well, I am grateful that you shine your light on me at all
Who am I that you would love me so gently?
Who am I that you would recognize my name?
Lord, who am I that you would speak to me so softly
Conversation with the love most high
Who am I?
Beyond the door
There's peace I'm sure.
And I know there'll be no more...
Tears in heaven
Over the last few years, I have buried many people that I love deeply. A constant procession of death and dying, and I have been comforted by the thought that my faith tells me that we will all be together again someday.
But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
On Monday, we received the call that Tom's Uncle Joe had passed away. Uncle Joe was 84, and had leukemia. He was my father-in-law's youngest brother. He was the polar opposite of the man my father-in-law is. Joe was a rebel. He was a hippie when hippies were not cool. For every straight laced, uptight position Grandpa holds, Uncle Joe was there to be different. Grandpa's mother died giving birth to Joe. At least that is what everyone thought for nearly 75 years. Tom, while doing some genealogy work, discovered that wasn't the case, and that she died some two weeks later of pneumonia. For 75 years, Grandpa lived with a chip on his shoulder, and Uncle Joe lived with guilt. The two were never close. I was instrumental in bringing them together. In the end, I am glad I stuck my nose in where it wasn't wanted.
I’ll be a sunbeam for Jesus;
I can if I but try;
Serving Him moment by moment,
Then live with Him on high.
In losing loved ones, I thought I understood loss and pain. That was until Tuesday morning.
Kathy and I were neighbors back in 1986. She was tattooed and fun loving. Her husband Sal was a rebel with a pony tail. Tom and I were Republican and uptight. We met each other while walking. We were both pregnant, and well, could use the exercise. We became fast friends.
We did things with two other friends from the neighborhood. Becky, tall, thin and also pregnant, and the other Kathy...fun loving, and a penchant for "christening" new cars she and her husband got all too often.
Life was perfect. As perfect as it could be for four twenty-somethings with homes and cars and mortgages.
Becky gave birth to a boy in January 10 1987. Kathy gave birth to a girl, Kara-Lynn on March 23rd. Katie was born on May 10th. The four couples enjoyed each others company and when the second round of babies came along three years later, we became like a family.
Monday night, in a pounding rainstorm, the car Kara-Lynn was riding in hydroplaned, went off the interstate, and into a grove of trees. Kara was alive when the police got there, and was rushed to the local hospital. The storm was too severe for the helicopters to fly, so as she was being transported to the local trauma center, she deteriorated on the way. She died in a hospital halfway from here to the trauma center.
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
While I have been acquainted with those who have lost children before, none have touched me as deeply as this one death has. This was a little girl I held shortly after her first breath, as I had my own daughter. She was a daily part of my life for the first five years of her and Katie's life. As the girls got older, they went to separate elementary schools and grew apart. We moved away from the old neighborhood. In High School the girls hung in different groups. Any time I would see Kara, she always had a big smile...even when putting extra pickles on my BMT with a wink.
Shout to the Lord, all the earth, let us sing
Power and Majesty, praise to the King;
Mountains bow down and the seas will roar
At the sound of Your name.
I sing for joy at the work of your hands,
Forever I'll love You, forever I'll stand
Nothing compares to the promise I have in You.
For the last four days I have been in a fog. I have alternating between total despair and thanks to God, knowing that in a heartbeat it could be my child. My question is, as a parent, how do you go on? How do you find the strength to face the day? Kathy and Sal have showed such incredible strength throughout it all. They had all Kara's organs harvested. Yesterday at the funeral home, they embraced the young lady who was driving the car, and had her sitting with them near the casket. They consoled others who should have been consoling them.
Today, under cloudy skies and a light rain, we buried this little girl. Only 21 years old and so much life to live. Three of us, who had shared the births of our children stood together, arms around each other, grieving for the life lost, and for her mother who will never be the same.
Please God, don't make me do this again.
Over time you’ve healed so much in me
And I am living proof
That although my darkest hour had come
Your light could still shine through
And though at times it’s just enough to castA shadow on the wall
Well, I am grateful that you shine your light on me at all
Who am I that you would love me so gently?
Who am I that you would recognize my name?
Lord, who am I that you would speak to me so softly
Conversation with the love most high
Who am I?
Monday, December 24, 2007
Merry Christmas to All and to All....
December 24th.
Remember when you were little, Christmas Eve was the most exciting day of the year?
You could barely move with the anticipation of Christmas.
The weeks leading up to Christmas were beautiful music, leading up to a crescendo of magic and memories that only Christmas morning could bring.
Today, every Christmas Carol makes me cry. I teach a religion class where not ONE of 12 seventh graders could tell me the real Christmas Story.
When I was a little girl, Christmas eve was the wildest time you could ever see. Family from all over the globe (which then covered about 35 square miles I figure) came for dinner and through the smoke and spilled beer I learned a lot about dysfunction and love. I miss those Christmases.
Now, they don't sell Rheingold beer any more, and almost every person in every Christmas memory of my youth are celebrating at a table that I have not yet been asked to join. The adult table in heaven I guess you would call it.
So, I try to make memories for my family. Traditions that hopefully they will carry on with their children, and that day, I will sit back and smile...a little.
For the day that the Lord calls me to join his table, joy will fill my heart. And the ones still here will remember me at Christmas.
Do you remember me?
I sat upon your knee
I wrote to you with childhood fantasies.
Well, I'm all grown-up now,
And still need help somehow.
I'm not a child,
But my heart still can dream.
So here's my lifelong wish,
My grown-up Christmas list.
Not for myself, but for a world in need.
No more lives torn apart,
That wars would never start,
And time would heal all hearts.
And everyone would have a friend,
And right would always win,
And love would never end.
This is my grown-up Christmas list.
As children we believed
The grandest sight to see
Was something lovely wrapped beneath our tree.
Well heaven surely knows
That packages and bows
Can never heal a hurting human soul.
What is this illusion called the innocence of youth?
Maybe only in our blind belief can we ever find the truth.
Remember when you were little, Christmas Eve was the most exciting day of the year?
You could barely move with the anticipation of Christmas.
The weeks leading up to Christmas were beautiful music, leading up to a crescendo of magic and memories that only Christmas morning could bring.
Today, every Christmas Carol makes me cry. I teach a religion class where not ONE of 12 seventh graders could tell me the real Christmas Story.
When I was a little girl, Christmas eve was the wildest time you could ever see. Family from all over the globe (which then covered about 35 square miles I figure) came for dinner and through the smoke and spilled beer I learned a lot about dysfunction and love. I miss those Christmases.
Now, they don't sell Rheingold beer any more, and almost every person in every Christmas memory of my youth are celebrating at a table that I have not yet been asked to join. The adult table in heaven I guess you would call it.
So, I try to make memories for my family. Traditions that hopefully they will carry on with their children, and that day, I will sit back and smile...a little.
For the day that the Lord calls me to join his table, joy will fill my heart. And the ones still here will remember me at Christmas.
Do you remember me?
I sat upon your knee
I wrote to you with childhood fantasies.
Well, I'm all grown-up now,
And still need help somehow.
I'm not a child,
But my heart still can dream.
So here's my lifelong wish,
My grown-up Christmas list.
Not for myself, but for a world in need.
No more lives torn apart,
That wars would never start,
And time would heal all hearts.
And everyone would have a friend,
And right would always win,
And love would never end.
This is my grown-up Christmas list.
As children we believed
The grandest sight to see
Was something lovely wrapped beneath our tree.
Well heaven surely knows
That packages and bows
Can never heal a hurting human soul.
What is this illusion called the innocence of youth?
Maybe only in our blind belief can we ever find the truth.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
TV for Everybody
If you know me, you know my love of the wierd...the quirky...the outright stupid.
I love the stuff you can't make up.
I love stuff that just makes you shake your head.
I love put downs like this:
"Good luck with your suitcases not catching on fire!" (whatever the hell that meant Emmy!)
And it is with that deep love that I share with you my joy with the new television season....
I am in love with the new show "Pushing Daisies"
That being said - it made me throw up in my mouth just a little bit...
You see, Pushing Daisies made me think of the short lived series "Wonderfalls" which was a little show about a girl in a Niagara Falls gift shop who the souveniers talked to.
That made me think of a number between five and seven.
That made me think of novel ways to make money if you don't want a job.
That made me think of online live porn.
That made me throw up a little.
But back to the show...
If you haven't watched already, you must start. But before you do, you must go to ABC.com and watch the two you have missed. Both the Pie-lette and the second show lay the groundwork for what you are watching.
Basically, Ned touches people, brings them back to life for one minute, finds out who killed them, then touches them again and they stay dead. But it is much more than that.
It is what Lemony Snicket would be like if his characters ever had a good day.
It is Willy Wonka without that freakish boat scene.
It it Tim Burton, and Danny Elfman without Jack and Sally.
It is the best show of the new fall season...
Watch it. Or Else. It's on in 1 Day, 8 hours and 53 minutes!
Oh yeah, I will be dedicating this blog to television for the next few posts. Unless I see something stupid in the meantime.
Literary Masterpieces (or when McGraw/Hill meant quality)
I'm an eclectic sort of music lover.
My (nameless)I-pod has music from all genrés. From Willie Nelson to Led Zeppelin from Jimmy Dorsey to Nickelback.
Remember the days when you could quote a love song and make it yours? Lyrics were like poetry. I loved listening to music, and the words were as good as any Emily Bronté novel. Listening to music could take me away from the place I was. It is through this love of music lyrics that my new XM radio has brought me to new heights of literary disaster.
T-Pain says:
"Oooo she made us drinks, to drink We drunk 'em, (Got drunk)
Tim McGraw and Faith Hill tell me:
So I need you...Like a needle needs a vein...
Like the father and the son need the Holy Ghost
Yep, nothing says love to me like a guy who needs a shot of whiskey, a cigarette and a hit of smack before he loves me. I won't even go into the religion lesson about how the Father and Son ARE the Holy Ghost...
Now I just can't let McGraw & Hill off the hook that easily...they have also brought us this literary masterpiece: If I could grant you one wish I’d wish you could see the way you kiss...Sorry, that is just freakish! (sort of like Kerri's avatar)
Of course, bad songs are nothing new...remember this one?
I've been alive forever...And I wrote the very first song....I put the words and the melodies together...I am music, and I write the songs.
Saw Barry on TV the other night - he IS as old as dirt! Might actually have written the first song.
I could go on forever...but I would like to leave you all with these ditties
- Hip Hop Marmalade...spic And span...met you one summer and it all began...
- This is why I’m hot...Catch me on the block...Every other day... Another bitch another drop
- I Got Your Slippers,Your Dinner,Your Dessert,And So Much More..Anything You Want,I Want To Cater to you
Have to Admit I like this one though...
We got along until you did that...Now all I want is just my stuff back...Do you get that?
So, what are your worst song lyrics of all time? Let me know, it will tell me soooooooooo much about you (hee hee)
Next Time - how one quirky new TV show made me throw up in my mouth (a little bit)
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Password Protected and ready to rumble
9 AM on a Sunday morning, and I am looking at life with a set of eyes that I haven't used in a very long time.
I think about the last time I updated this thing. My life was in turmoil. I was dealing with a lot of things, and handling none of them well. Looking back, I have to say it was one of my darkest winters.
I have learned not to say that things cannot get worse, because they can and do. I have to thank God that they have not.
During the period that my grandmother was dying, I was having a tough time with my mother. For 45 years, I have been the rope in a tug of war battle between two weak women. One who loved out of necessity, the other who loved out of convenience. Each one, needing to be the center of attention, one for the love labor that she took on, the other for the love that she gave up, albeit willingly.
An argument ensued that really should have never happened. When my Grandfather died in 2003, the obituary was written that said he had 4 children, including the grandaughter he raised. It was ok, that is what he wanted. Here we were, four years later, and now it became a problem. Same wording. I made a decision that this was a situation that I did not create, therefore I would not attempt to fix. I knew the love that my grandparents had for me, and that love meant more than whatever would be printed in some newspaper.
As my grandmother took her last breaths, I realized that my life has been shaped by a battle that no one can win. I have been molded by a situation that was not in my control, yet I am the one who has survived. Way more normal than I have any right to be.
For the last 6 weeks I have been going at a pace that would make most women weary. In the last 30 days I have slept in my own bed a grand total of 8 days. And I have thought a lot about my life.
I am married to a man who through it all has loved me with all his heart. To say we don't have our moments would be an understatement, but he is the first one who I want to tell anything, and the last one who I want to talk to before I go to sleep. He loves his children, and is 1000 times more involved in the lives of his children than his father before him.
I have three children who have a love for each other that I don't see in a lot of families I know. They want to celebrate each other's successes, and they want to be there for each other in a time of crisis.
I have friends who I may not see every day, but I believe would come to my rescue in times of trouble.
When my father left, his mother stayed very involved in my life. One of her last good days before she died I asked her how she was that day. Her answer is the life I choose to live.
"I woke up this morning and saw the sun. God has blessed me. It is a great day."
Now it is off to Church for the first full weekend of our new pastor. He's 41 and looks exactly like Steve Carrell. Yes, the 40 year old virgin jokes have already been made.
I still remember the password for this crazy blog, and I am back. And ready to rumble....
I think about the last time I updated this thing. My life was in turmoil. I was dealing with a lot of things, and handling none of them well. Looking back, I have to say it was one of my darkest winters.
I have learned not to say that things cannot get worse, because they can and do. I have to thank God that they have not.
During the period that my grandmother was dying, I was having a tough time with my mother. For 45 years, I have been the rope in a tug of war battle between two weak women. One who loved out of necessity, the other who loved out of convenience. Each one, needing to be the center of attention, one for the love labor that she took on, the other for the love that she gave up, albeit willingly.
An argument ensued that really should have never happened. When my Grandfather died in 2003, the obituary was written that said he had 4 children, including the grandaughter he raised. It was ok, that is what he wanted. Here we were, four years later, and now it became a problem. Same wording. I made a decision that this was a situation that I did not create, therefore I would not attempt to fix. I knew the love that my grandparents had for me, and that love meant more than whatever would be printed in some newspaper.
As my grandmother took her last breaths, I realized that my life has been shaped by a battle that no one can win. I have been molded by a situation that was not in my control, yet I am the one who has survived. Way more normal than I have any right to be.
For the last 6 weeks I have been going at a pace that would make most women weary. In the last 30 days I have slept in my own bed a grand total of 8 days. And I have thought a lot about my life.
I am married to a man who through it all has loved me with all his heart. To say we don't have our moments would be an understatement, but he is the first one who I want to tell anything, and the last one who I want to talk to before I go to sleep. He loves his children, and is 1000 times more involved in the lives of his children than his father before him.
I have three children who have a love for each other that I don't see in a lot of families I know. They want to celebrate each other's successes, and they want to be there for each other in a time of crisis.
I have friends who I may not see every day, but I believe would come to my rescue in times of trouble.
When my father left, his mother stayed very involved in my life. One of her last good days before she died I asked her how she was that day. Her answer is the life I choose to live.
"I woke up this morning and saw the sun. God has blessed me. It is a great day."
Now it is off to Church for the first full weekend of our new pastor. He's 41 and looks exactly like Steve Carrell. Yes, the 40 year old virgin jokes have already been made.
I still remember the password for this crazy blog, and I am back. And ready to rumble....
Saturday, March 03, 2007
March comes in like a lion
I know, I know...
For Christmas, I made a video for the family out of all of the old pictures I found in my Grandmother's apartment when I cleaned it out. Added music, special effects, and had the premiere at my house Christmas Eve. Not a dry eye I tell you, and it was neat that my Grandmother, who doesn't communicate much anymore, looked at the screen and told us the story of one picture when someone asked where the shot was taken. An Ellis Grey moment of lucidity.
February was a blur with work and work and basketball and baseball and cheerleading and more work. I missed Katie more than I imagined I would, and although she is having a great time, and living large, I haven't reached the place in my life where I am used to the chicks being out of the nest. I figure I have 5 1/2 years to get my shit together.
It has been forever since I last updated this blasted thing, I know, but time flies when you are having fun. Actually not much is happening, and I don't feel very funny, so I just didn't update.
December was crazy with preparations for Christmas, and vacation, and working to get my Grandmother's Medicaid application complete and approved.
For Christmas, I made a video for the family out of all of the old pictures I found in my Grandmother's apartment when I cleaned it out. Added music, special effects, and had the premiere at my house Christmas Eve. Not a dry eye I tell you, and it was neat that my Grandmother, who doesn't communicate much anymore, looked at the screen and told us the story of one picture when someone asked where the shot was taken. An Ellis Grey moment of lucidity.Remember I told you she fell BEFORE THANKSGIVING - look at her face - still all bruised.
This is the full size Boop quilt the kids made her for Christmas. She loves how toasty it makes her feel - she has it on her bed in the nursing home.
December ended with fun and merriment and vacation at Vero Beach.
January started off with a bang. We returned from Vacation on the 1st (really the 2nd by the time we got back in the house), and Katie and I left again on the 5th for her job at Disney. Tax Season started in earnest as soon as I got home, and FINALLY on the 26th, I found out that the Medicaid application had been approved. Baseball registrations, tryouts, basketball games and cheerleading competitions...leave little time for much else.
My Grandmother's health continues to fail, and the nursing home was sold to the outfit that owns the one Tom's dad is in. Hopefully a move for the better. A new doctor came in, and took her off some of her medications. One was an antidepressant, which caused her to sleep all the time. What replaced the sleep is a dementia related paranoia. She is a mess, and we began fighting to get her back on the medication.
What is happening to my grandmother is incredibly sad. She is lost in a world where we can't reach her. When we visit, she tells us she has to tell us something, but just cant, and begins to cry. It happens every visit. I can no longer bring the children, it's too frightening for them to hear her. Something happened to her a long time ago. Something that she would never discuss, and when you suggested it, she would become furious. It happened to her sisters, it happened to her nieces, and we all know what it is. She refuses to admit it to us or her psychologist (who is a childhood friend of mine and who has full authority to tell me what she says).
Or else it never did happen, and she is dealing with some sort of issue where, in a warped way, she wonders why she wasn't good enough for him.
February was a blur with work and work and basketball and baseball and cheerleading and more work. I missed Katie more than I imagined I would, and although she is having a great time, and living large, I haven't reached the place in my life where I am used to the chicks being out of the nest. I figure I have 5 1/2 years to get my shit together.I ended the month with a visit to Katie. And waited for March.
So March is here, and yes, it came in like a lion. Not the weather mind you, but the storm is brewing.
In a 24 hour period starting March 1, the following things happened:
- The nursing home called and let me know that my grandmother has lost her ability to swallow. I know what this means, I went through this with Tom's mom. Some appointments next week will let us know if this is something medical, or a progression in her deterioration. I am working to make sure all her directives are carried out.
- Katie's car died. She called me, we called a tow, and it is at Gateway Ford in Kissimmee and hopefully they can look at it on Monday. She has all breakfast shifts scheduled, and she has to be to work before the first bus runs.
- Maggie missed making the Honor society by .o32. Yup - you need a 92 average, and she got 91.968. No rounding.
- Katie got hurt at work. Some big guy wrapped his arm around Mickey, and BAM, got it caught on his ear, and pulled him down, and the little person inside ended up with a wrenched shoulder. She is out of costume for a week, so at least the breakfast shift/car issue is gone. Busy work for the next week.
And you wonder why I don't update...but I will post some pics :)
Monday, November 27, 2006
Looking at the Glass Half Baked
Workout Boop for gramma in a wheelchair, that sounds kind of... well, funny, to be honest. - Holly
Why does all the crazy stuff always happen to you? - Amber
Someday we'll look back on this and it will all seem funny - Bruce
Pessimists look at the glass half empty.
Optimists look at the glass half full.
I look at the glass half baked.
I've always been the kind of person to find humor in the wierdest things. I laugh a funerals. Really.
My favorite old Aunt died in May of 1988. Her sister died six weeks later. At the second funeral in 1988, I found a dime on the floor. I threw it in the casket. Now you have to know that this was an Italian funeral, complete with hired mourners. People looked at me like I was some sort of loon. My Grandfather asked me why I would do such a thing. I just said, " You know when Aunt Jo gets where she's going, she's gonna have to call Aunt Sadie"
I think it's funny that tonight on HBO, Brokeback Mountain is being followed by "The Nativity:First Look"
I find it crazy that Kate's friend was distressed because she couldn't find any "Baby's First Hanukkah" ornaments.
I love stuff that makes you say "You can't make this stuff up!"
It started out as a coping mechanism as a little kid, and just evolved into a really warped sense of humor. Funny stuff happens in our worlds every day, but usually we are too angry to see the humor in it all. Usually I keep it to myself, but sometimes I just can't.
And yesterday, I brought my warped sense of humor to the Dutchess County Department of Social Services to apply for Medicaid for my grandmother.
When got there, I had to fill out the application, wait on a Disneyland style line to hand it in, and then sit on the Group W bench with Mother Rapers, Father Stabbers, Father Rapers.....well, you get the idea. I had to sit and wait until I was called to review the application with a public service employee.
Somewhere this is where it all went south....
Behind me sat 5 twenty somethings whose conversation revealed that they were unable to work because they were depressed. I couldn't help thinking that if they got a job they would be less depressed. Now I understand depression. I have a bi-polar sister. But she feels better when she is in a manic state and she has money to spend.
I started to judge people as they walked in. I made up stories in my head about everyone that came and went in the hour and 10 minutes that I waited for my name to be called. Who was a crack whore, who was the man who heard voices, who was the welfare mom with baby #9 (that was easy...I can count)
And then it hit me.
There I sat, on the Group W bench, in a Brown Geoffrey Beene Skirt, Lime Green Geoffrey Beene sweater, London Fog Suede jacket, Nine West Shoes, Kate Spade sunglasses holding a Coach Purse, and I realized that I was the freak. I was probably making these people nervous, maybe I heard voices, carried a gun, was a crack whore...
Then I started laughing, and people moved away from me, afraid for their lives.
Lucky for them, Mr Grunch (his real name, HONEST) called me into his super secret office.
I could hear a sigh of relief as I left the room.
Monday, November 13, 2006
The week that was....
Since I have been accused of being too introspective of late, I'll try to make this more less so. It just won't be funny. Bad stuff did happen this week, and I have to touch on that, but for the most part it was an upbeat week.
On Wednesday, Mags turned 16. She got her permit, her dad let her drive. Plink, Plink...
We got a call that one of the parents we volunteer with lost his son to a heroin overdose. Been to rehab...straightening out...graduating from college...getting married...dead. Nuff said. This sucks.
Then later on, I got a call that my grandmother had tried to get from the wheelchair to the bed in the nursing home and fell. My aunt met her at the ER, and I was told she was bruised...but I never expected this. She said that the aide was helping her, and she slipped through her hands. They say that she did it on her own. We don't know what to believe since she mixes up stuff all the time.
Friday morning, Kate and I left for Orlando for the big audition weekend. We were really hungry when we got to the airport, but couldn't get soup at Quiznos because we aren't allowed to take it through security. TSA is handing out 1 quart ziploc baggies so you can put your 3 oz containers of stuff in it.
We got to Orlando at 2:30, rented a car from Enterprise and headed to Lake Buena Vista, where I had Hotwired a room for the night. I have only stayed offsite one time in the last 15 years...and unless it's Super Soap Weekend again...won't again.
We stayed at a Radisson on 192 up near the Gaylord Palms. It was adequate. When I checked in, they charged me and additonal $10 resort fee for use of the pool and fitness center and internet. I didn't swim, I didn't exercise, and I didn't log on the internet. What a frickin racket.
We went to Downtown for dinner, and ate at Wolfgang Pucks. We shared an appetizer of artichoke and cheese dip, I had a grilled chicken Caesar, and Kate had what we lovingly call Spaghetti and Meat Loaf. Make a fist. That was the size of the meatball.
We took the boat from downtown to Saratoga Springs to check out the digs for our April Trip. We were too late for the cookies in the welcome center, but were offered some ice cream which we declined being too full from dinner... The boat captain was from NJ, and since we were the only ones on the boat we were laughing the whole way...On our trip back to downtown, we had the same captain, and people on the boat looked at us wierd when we said "Honey - did you miss us" and all three of us started cracking up.
We tried to go shopping, but in addition to being super soap, it was Festival of the Masters, and everything was packed. I was going to pick up my AP at guest services, but learned that if I picked it up at 9PM 11/10 it would expire 11/10 even thought it was too late to go to a park. So, I decided to wait until the next day. I wonder if that was such a good idea......
Saturday Morning up with the Lark....
I don't think I slept a wink Friday night. I was too nervous we'd get up late and Kate would miss the audition. We had scouted out where we needed to be on Friday night (make a mental image of me driving the wrong way out of the Animal Kingdom entrance) and were ready to go by 8:15. We drove around for about 20 minutes trying to find a Dunkin Donuts without a 35 person line, and ended up in a grocery buying grapes and Evian for breakfast.
Disney had told the applicants to arrive 1 hour before the 10AM audition, and we got there at 8:45 and there were already 20 people ahead of her. After I checked she had everything she needed, I headed to the Animal Kingdom (in the right driving direction) and wanted to play. I paid $10 for parking, and immediately regretted not picking up my AP Friday night. I got to the ticket booth to pick up the AP and lo and behold..they cannot find me in the computer. A supervisor walks off with my Amex card, drivers license and DVC card, and comes back 15 minutes later AP in hand. Some sort of glitch. Next time I better ask for Amber....
I rode Dinosaurs, Everest, and window shopped since Kate should have been done around 11. At 11 I went to the AK rehearsal facility, Kate called at 11:10 to say she was done, but they needed to talk to her, and I waited, and waited...in the hot sun...for what seemed like an eternity. I found another parent (a grandmother) to hang with, and we watched the proceedings from the outside...
You know how in American Idol they come out of the room...crying, happy, carrying yellow papers. It was just like that. Only the papers were orange. The first group that came out was about 15, and pardon me saying so, did not look like individuals Disney would hire in entertainment. Then, over the course of the next HOUR, they came out the door...one, two, three at a time, some happy, some sad, some with orange papers.
At about 12:30, Kate came out, and I could see on her face she was happy. She was offered a position as a Show and Parade performer, and they were pleased to tell her she was in the "Mouse" height catagory. I guess that is like at Hershey Park where you have to be a Twizzler to ride the best rides.
We headed over and parked at the TTC with grand plans of Food and Wine and Pirates. Only one problem...when I got to the gate with the one day hopper I have been carrying around for TWO YEARS, they said it didn't work and sent me to guest services, where the line was 35 people long (just like Dunkin!)
Flamingo Tom rescued us though, and offered a front gate from his work pass. So, after waiting on line to get in (again), gettting our bags checked (again) Tom put his ticket in, and IT WOULDN'T WORK!!! We waited for a supervisor for about 15 minutes, and then the lady at the front gate said...Just go. So, since we didn't use a front gate from Tom's ticket, we didn't head to MK.
Food and wine was OK, but not as good as I remember it from the convention. We ate Spanikopita from Greece, Salmon and Cheddar soup from Canada, Trifle from Ireland, Some eggplant thing from Italy that burned our throats, some chicken from China and quesadillas and tortillas from Mexico. Tom chose the desserts which luckily did not put those 40 pounds he had lost back on...he looks good by the way, and only smoked two cigarettes the whole day...
We rode Nemo (which was cute) and went to see Alice at GF because she had to work a double. At 6:30, Kate hit the wall, and we headed to the hotel.
Our flight was 8:30 Sunday morning, and TSA made Kate throw away her Cliniqué lip gloss because it wasn't in a ziploc bag. Now I see the purpose of limiting liquids, but I don't know why the ziploc bag makes it safer than just putting it in a little dish. Of course the lady next to us was allowed to keep her nail clippers.
The flight home was choppy, and my grandmother's therapist sat right behind us, so I was able to show him a picture of her on my cell phone....
On Wednesday, Mags turned 16. She got her permit, her dad let her drive. Plink, Plink...
We got a call that one of the parents we volunteer with lost his son to a heroin overdose. Been to rehab...straightening out...graduating from college...getting married...dead. Nuff said. This sucks.
Then later on, I got a call that my grandmother had tried to get from the wheelchair to the bed in the nursing home and fell. My aunt met her at the ER, and I was told she was bruised...but I never expected this. She said that the aide was helping her, and she slipped through her hands. They say that she did it on her own. We don't know what to believe since she mixes up stuff all the time.Friday morning, Kate and I left for Orlando for the big audition weekend. We were really hungry when we got to the airport, but couldn't get soup at Quiznos because we aren't allowed to take it through security. TSA is handing out 1 quart ziploc baggies so you can put your 3 oz containers of stuff in it.
We got to Orlando at 2:30, rented a car from Enterprise and headed to Lake Buena Vista, where I had Hotwired a room for the night. I have only stayed offsite one time in the last 15 years...and unless it's Super Soap Weekend again...won't again.
We stayed at a Radisson on 192 up near the Gaylord Palms. It was adequate. When I checked in, they charged me and additonal $10 resort fee for use of the pool and fitness center and internet. I didn't swim, I didn't exercise, and I didn't log on the internet. What a frickin racket.
We went to Downtown for dinner, and ate at Wolfgang Pucks. We shared an appetizer of artichoke and cheese dip, I had a grilled chicken Caesar, and Kate had what we lovingly call Spaghetti and Meat Loaf. Make a fist. That was the size of the meatball.
We took the boat from downtown to Saratoga Springs to check out the digs for our April Trip. We were too late for the cookies in the welcome center, but were offered some ice cream which we declined being too full from dinner... The boat captain was from NJ, and since we were the only ones on the boat we were laughing the whole way...On our trip back to downtown, we had the same captain, and people on the boat looked at us wierd when we said "Honey - did you miss us" and all three of us started cracking up.
We tried to go shopping, but in addition to being super soap, it was Festival of the Masters, and everything was packed. I was going to pick up my AP at guest services, but learned that if I picked it up at 9PM 11/10 it would expire 11/10 even thought it was too late to go to a park. So, I decided to wait until the next day. I wonder if that was such a good idea......
Saturday Morning up with the Lark....
I don't think I slept a wink Friday night. I was too nervous we'd get up late and Kate would miss the audition. We had scouted out where we needed to be on Friday night (make a mental image of me driving the wrong way out of the Animal Kingdom entrance) and were ready to go by 8:15. We drove around for about 20 minutes trying to find a Dunkin Donuts without a 35 person line, and ended up in a grocery buying grapes and Evian for breakfast.
Disney had told the applicants to arrive 1 hour before the 10AM audition, and we got there at 8:45 and there were already 20 people ahead of her. After I checked she had everything she needed, I headed to the Animal Kingdom (in the right driving direction) and wanted to play. I paid $10 for parking, and immediately regretted not picking up my AP Friday night. I got to the ticket booth to pick up the AP and lo and behold..they cannot find me in the computer. A supervisor walks off with my Amex card, drivers license and DVC card, and comes back 15 minutes later AP in hand. Some sort of glitch. Next time I better ask for Amber....
I rode Dinosaurs, Everest, and window shopped since Kate should have been done around 11. At 11 I went to the AK rehearsal facility, Kate called at 11:10 to say she was done, but they needed to talk to her, and I waited, and waited...in the hot sun...for what seemed like an eternity. I found another parent (a grandmother) to hang with, and we watched the proceedings from the outside...
You know how in American Idol they come out of the room...crying, happy, carrying yellow papers. It was just like that. Only the papers were orange. The first group that came out was about 15, and pardon me saying so, did not look like individuals Disney would hire in entertainment. Then, over the course of the next HOUR, they came out the door...one, two, three at a time, some happy, some sad, some with orange papers.
At about 12:30, Kate came out, and I could see on her face she was happy. She was offered a position as a Show and Parade performer, and they were pleased to tell her she was in the "Mouse" height catagory. I guess that is like at Hershey Park where you have to be a Twizzler to ride the best rides.
We headed over and parked at the TTC with grand plans of Food and Wine and Pirates. Only one problem...when I got to the gate with the one day hopper I have been carrying around for TWO YEARS, they said it didn't work and sent me to guest services, where the line was 35 people long (just like Dunkin!)
Flamingo Tom rescued us though, and offered a front gate from his work pass. So, after waiting on line to get in (again), gettting our bags checked (again) Tom put his ticket in, and IT WOULDN'T WORK!!! We waited for a supervisor for about 15 minutes, and then the lady at the front gate said...Just go. So, since we didn't use a front gate from Tom's ticket, we didn't head to MK.
Food and wine was OK, but not as good as I remember it from the convention. We ate Spanikopita from Greece, Salmon and Cheddar soup from Canada, Trifle from Ireland, Some eggplant thing from Italy that burned our throats, some chicken from China and quesadillas and tortillas from Mexico. Tom chose the desserts which luckily did not put those 40 pounds he had lost back on...he looks good by the way, and only smoked two cigarettes the whole day...
We rode Nemo (which was cute) and went to see Alice at GF because she had to work a double. At 6:30, Kate hit the wall, and we headed to the hotel.
Our flight was 8:30 Sunday morning, and TSA made Kate throw away her Cliniqué lip gloss because it wasn't in a ziploc bag. Now I see the purpose of limiting liquids, but I don't know why the ziploc bag makes it safer than just putting it in a little dish. Of course the lady next to us was allowed to keep her nail clippers.
The flight home was choppy, and my grandmother's therapist sat right behind us, so I was able to show him a picture of her on my cell phone....
Monday, November 06, 2006
Lord! Make me the person my dog thinks I am.
I've learned a lot in the last month.
I've learned how to turn out a really cool Blogger page.
I've learned that someone in China can make anything you want.
I've learned that people are kind and generous.
In the month since Tyler's accident, I have been deeply involved with a tireless group of individuals. Our mission, to give love and support to Tyler and his family for as long as they need it. Meals are cooked, bills are covertly paid, fuel tanks filled...whatever it takes for as long as it takes.
We sent out an appeal for money. A mailing to the members of the community whose lives we know Tyler has touched. I must admit, I was skeptical and did not really think that we would receive much. I have been overwhelmed.
The local newspaper ran a short article about Tyler and his accident. From just that one article, in the sports pages we have received hundreds, if not thousands of dollars. One woman with small children, whose husband was killed not one month before in the same type of accident, gave $500. People who never met Tyler are sending notes with crisp $20 bills enclosed. One man, who has a severe developmental disability gave us $6. I know it was all he had. All summer at the basketball program. I let him "help" me clean up the returnable soda cans, and he can return them for the deposits.
I think of the woman in the bible. You know the one who could only give two cents...
And all of this has made me wonder.
I look at the list of those who have given, and wonder how many times my name was not on lists like that.
I ask myself if I have been the kind of friend who, if this was one of my children, would I receive the same treatment.
I understand the power of friendship. I know my true friends (internet or not ;) ) are not just friends, they are family. I would go to the ends of the earth for them, I would raise their children if need be, I might even give them a kidney if they asked nice.
A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter; he who finds one finds a treasure.
A faithful friend is beyond price, no sum can balance his worth.
A faithful friend is the medicine of life; and they that fear the Lord shall find him.
I've learned how to turn out a really cool Blogger page.
I've learned that someone in China can make anything you want.
I've learned that people are kind and generous.
In the month since Tyler's accident, I have been deeply involved with a tireless group of individuals. Our mission, to give love and support to Tyler and his family for as long as they need it. Meals are cooked, bills are covertly paid, fuel tanks filled...whatever it takes for as long as it takes.
We sent out an appeal for money. A mailing to the members of the community whose lives we know Tyler has touched. I must admit, I was skeptical and did not really think that we would receive much. I have been overwhelmed.
The local newspaper ran a short article about Tyler and his accident. From just that one article, in the sports pages we have received hundreds, if not thousands of dollars. One woman with small children, whose husband was killed not one month before in the same type of accident, gave $500. People who never met Tyler are sending notes with crisp $20 bills enclosed. One man, who has a severe developmental disability gave us $6. I know it was all he had. All summer at the basketball program. I let him "help" me clean up the returnable soda cans, and he can return them for the deposits.
I think of the woman in the bible. You know the one who could only give two cents...
And all of this has made me wonder.
I look at the list of those who have given, and wonder how many times my name was not on lists like that.
I ask myself if I have been the kind of friend who, if this was one of my children, would I receive the same treatment.
I understand the power of friendship. I know my true friends (internet or not ;) ) are not just friends, they are family. I would go to the ends of the earth for them, I would raise their children if need be, I might even give them a kidney if they asked nice.
A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter; he who finds one finds a treasure.
A faithful friend is beyond price, no sum can balance his worth.
A faithful friend is the medicine of life; and they that fear the Lord shall find him.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Taking a minute to remember what is important
So, I was feeling guilty about not updating, but looking around me, I was not alone.
I probably shouldn't have updated anyway, because the rant would have turned into a whine and by then I would have turned off anyone who was reading this anyway.
And when I was finished, I probably would have ended up singing verses of "You're so vain" and then Mick Jagger and Warren Beatty could argue over who I was talking about.
So, I was thinking about the person who got me so worked up that I was about to spit...and updating my blog...
And then the phone rang, and in an instant, I remembered what was important.
Jay and Lori have been our friends for 15 years. Maybe longer. Jay and Tom went to elementary school together. Jay's twin brother John was Tom's roomate in college. Jay and Tom coached little league together. Jay is one of the dads who we run the summer basketball program with.
Jay and Lori's oldest son, Justin, and Katie went to school together. Justin was born on my birthday.
On Monday, Justin was riding his motor bike and crashed it. His parents rushed him to the hospital. He broke his collar bone.
While at the hospital with Justin, they got a phone call. Their middle son Tyler crashed his motor bike too. He was being airlifted to the nearest Trauma Center.
Now Tyler lies in the hospital, punctured lung, broken back, spinal damage and no feeling below his waist. He's in a drug induced coma, and on a ventilator. He's an accomplished musician (google Skawaiian Punch) He's a senior in high school. And he's the kind of boy everyone likes. He's a nice boy. No one can tell them how extensive the damage is. No one can tell them that he will walk again. No one can tell them that he is going to live.
And I am thinking about what really is important.
I can't have time for people who are so wrapped up in their own self importance that they forget who their friends were in the first place.
I only have time for prayer for the little boy with the bright smile.
I only have time to pray that he will grow up to be the man we all expected he would be.
The rest is unimportant.
I probably shouldn't have updated anyway, because the rant would have turned into a whine and by then I would have turned off anyone who was reading this anyway.
And when I was finished, I probably would have ended up singing verses of "You're so vain" and then Mick Jagger and Warren Beatty could argue over who I was talking about.
So, I was thinking about the person who got me so worked up that I was about to spit...and updating my blog...
And then the phone rang, and in an instant, I remembered what was important.
Jay and Lori have been our friends for 15 years. Maybe longer. Jay and Tom went to elementary school together. Jay's twin brother John was Tom's roomate in college. Jay and Tom coached little league together. Jay is one of the dads who we run the summer basketball program with.
Jay and Lori's oldest son, Justin, and Katie went to school together. Justin was born on my birthday.
On Monday, Justin was riding his motor bike and crashed it. His parents rushed him to the hospital. He broke his collar bone.
While at the hospital with Justin, they got a phone call. Their middle son Tyler crashed his motor bike too. He was being airlifted to the nearest Trauma Center.
Now Tyler lies in the hospital, punctured lung, broken back, spinal damage and no feeling below his waist. He's in a drug induced coma, and on a ventilator. He's an accomplished musician (google Skawaiian Punch) He's a senior in high school. And he's the kind of boy everyone likes. He's a nice boy. No one can tell them how extensive the damage is. No one can tell them that he will walk again. No one can tell them that he is going to live.
And I am thinking about what really is important.
I can't have time for people who are so wrapped up in their own self importance that they forget who their friends were in the first place.
I only have time for prayer for the little boy with the bright smile.
I only have time to pray that he will grow up to be the man we all expected he would be.
The rest is unimportant.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Funeral for a Friend
Today, I buried my friend.
He had only been my friend for a few years, but I miss him more than I thought I would.
Fred came into my world at a time I really needed a friend.
He was always happy, never really asked for much, and never complained.
He had been sick for the last year, and even in his last days when he couldn't see, and had trouble eating, I would sit for as long as it took to hand feed him.
His funeral was simple, yet dignified. Just like he would have wanted.
We've already cleaned out his house, and it is presently available to rent.
I miss you Freddy.
You were a good Betta.
He had only been my friend for a few years, but I miss him more than I thought I would.
Fred came into my world at a time I really needed a friend.
He was always happy, never really asked for much, and never complained.
He had been sick for the last year, and even in his last days when he couldn't see, and had trouble eating, I would sit for as long as it took to hand feed him.
His funeral was simple, yet dignified. Just like he would have wanted.
We've already cleaned out his house, and it is presently available to rent.
I miss you Freddy.
You were a good Betta.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Just Some Pictures
Just a few pictures...no reason. Just to see if they can work.
I love comics. Pearls before Swine is probably my favorite, even though we don't get it in our local paper. Here is one for yesterday...you have to click on it to make it big enough to read.
I just liked this one...used without permission of course :)
When we were on vacation, this Tur-duck-en thing flew up on the railing and went after TJ's lunch. Scared the crap put of him.
I love comics. Pearls before Swine is probably my favorite, even though we don't get it in our local paper. Here is one for yesterday...you have to click on it to make it big enough to read.
I just liked this one...used without permission of course :)
When we were on vacation, this Tur-duck-en thing flew up on the railing and went after TJ's lunch. Scared the crap put of him.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Where were you....
Yes. I know what the date is.
How could anyone not know what the date is.
The sky is just as blue as it was that day.
There is a touch of crisp of the fall to come in the air, but it is still the kind of day that you could live with all year.
Yes I know what the date is.
And I know exactly where I was when it happened.
Growing up, I was always amused when the old folks around me would talk about knowing where they were when Pearl Harbor was attacked, or when Kennedy was shot. They would speak of the day with such deep feeling, that I would found it odd that they would be able to remember such minute details.
We mark time by memories of tragedy in our lives.
I remember where I was, the summer between second and third grade, I learned that my best friend Lisa and much of her family had been killed in an automobile accident on her way to the Jersey shore for a weeks vacation. I remember where I was when in fourth grade I learned my beloved grandfather had died. I remember every detail of coming home from school and seeing my great-grandfather's house burning to the ground.
But we do not only remember the details of the tragedy we face.
We remember the details of the joyous times that we celebrate.
I remember my first day of Kindergarten, heading off in that same great-grandfathers 1955 Green Chevy Pickup. I remember where I was when Bucky Dent hit that ball to the green monster. I remember the day I met my husband, and the day he asked me to marry him. I remember where I was when Bill Buckner let that ball go through his legs. I remember every detail of every day each of my children were born.
I remember where I was on September 11, 2001.
The date is only a date.
The reminders are with me every day.
And so are the memories.
So how do I plan to spend this day?
I plan to think again today, like I do every day, about those who were lost and those who were left behind. I plan to think about how our lives have been changed forever. I plan to think about how my children's lives have been changed in ways they will never understand, just by the things that to them are normal daily activities. I plan to call my friend Becky, who is starting out her newly single life, and who is worried about her little boy, celebrating his 20th birthday in Bagdhad.
And I plan to hold my children a little bit closer when they get home from school.
How could anyone not know what the date is.
The sky is just as blue as it was that day.
There is a touch of crisp of the fall to come in the air, but it is still the kind of day that you could live with all year.
Yes I know what the date is.
And I know exactly where I was when it happened.
Growing up, I was always amused when the old folks around me would talk about knowing where they were when Pearl Harbor was attacked, or when Kennedy was shot. They would speak of the day with such deep feeling, that I would found it odd that they would be able to remember such minute details.
We mark time by memories of tragedy in our lives.
I remember where I was, the summer between second and third grade, I learned that my best friend Lisa and much of her family had been killed in an automobile accident on her way to the Jersey shore for a weeks vacation. I remember where I was when in fourth grade I learned my beloved grandfather had died. I remember every detail of coming home from school and seeing my great-grandfather's house burning to the ground.
But we do not only remember the details of the tragedy we face.
We remember the details of the joyous times that we celebrate.
I remember my first day of Kindergarten, heading off in that same great-grandfathers 1955 Green Chevy Pickup. I remember where I was when Bucky Dent hit that ball to the green monster. I remember the day I met my husband, and the day he asked me to marry him. I remember where I was when Bill Buckner let that ball go through his legs. I remember every detail of every day each of my children were born.
I remember where I was on September 11, 2001.
The date is only a date.
The reminders are with me every day.
And so are the memories.
So how do I plan to spend this day?
I plan to think again today, like I do every day, about those who were lost and those who were left behind. I plan to think about how our lives have been changed forever. I plan to think about how my children's lives have been changed in ways they will never understand, just by the things that to them are normal daily activities. I plan to call my friend Becky, who is starting out her newly single life, and who is worried about her little boy, celebrating his 20th birthday in Bagdhad.
And I plan to hold my children a little bit closer when they get home from school.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Is this Heaven? No, this is Cooperstown.
This is my corn. You people are guests in my corn!
You know we just don't recognize the most significant moments of our lives while they're happening. Back then I thought, well, there'll be other days. I didn't realize that that was the only day.
Okay...Okay...Okay... I now return to your previously scheduled update.
I have friends who LOVE football, I have friends who LOVE Basketball, I have friends who LOVE Nascar.
Me, I love baseball.
I love to play. Growing up in the sticks, we didn't have enough kids for a real game, but with the help of ghost runners, we played from when the sun came up until it became too dark to see the ball.
I love to watch. One of my fondest memories of my pregnancy with Kate? Watching Bill Buckner let the ball go through his legs to allow Mookie Wilson on base and the Mets win the 1986 World Series.
I love to watch kids play baseball.
In the era of big salaried major league players, there is something special about sitting on the bleachers watching eighteen, twelve year old boys out in the field playing ball solely for their love of the game.
What more could a baseball fan ask than a week of Little League baseball in Cooperstown. That is what I got for my summer vacation.
Cooperstown Dreams Park is a private summer camp for twelve year old baseball players. While the boys stay there and eat there and play baseball there just like regular summer camp, the difference is the camp is an organized baseball tournament, and parents can go watch.
Here are a few pictures:
These are my babies enjoying the closing ceremonies at Dreams park. Red just seemed to be the color of the day. There was no memo.
Holy Cow! At the Hall of Fame
I have a bizillion other pictures, but I can not get Blogger to let me post them. GRRRR
And now I've lost my train of thought.
You know we just don't recognize the most significant moments of our lives while they're happening. Back then I thought, well, there'll be other days. I didn't realize that that was the only day.
Okay...Okay...Okay... I now return to your previously scheduled update.
I have friends who LOVE football, I have friends who LOVE Basketball, I have friends who LOVE Nascar.
Me, I love baseball.
I love to play. Growing up in the sticks, we didn't have enough kids for a real game, but with the help of ghost runners, we played from when the sun came up until it became too dark to see the ball.
I love to watch. One of my fondest memories of my pregnancy with Kate? Watching Bill Buckner let the ball go through his legs to allow Mookie Wilson on base and the Mets win the 1986 World Series.
I love to watch kids play baseball.
In the era of big salaried major league players, there is something special about sitting on the bleachers watching eighteen, twelve year old boys out in the field playing ball solely for their love of the game.
What more could a baseball fan ask than a week of Little League baseball in Cooperstown. That is what I got for my summer vacation.
Cooperstown Dreams Park is a private summer camp for twelve year old baseball players. While the boys stay there and eat there and play baseball there just like regular summer camp, the difference is the camp is an organized baseball tournament, and parents can go watch.
Here are a few pictures:
These are my babies enjoying the closing ceremonies at Dreams park. Red just seemed to be the color of the day. There was no memo.
Holy Cow! At the Hall of Fame
I have a bizillion other pictures, but I can not get Blogger to let me post them. GRRRR
And now I've lost my train of thought.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
I am Rhodium - Hear me roar
You know you're old when you go to an antiques auction, and people bid - on YOU!
I've been thinking a lot about this birthday.
45 seems so much older than 40 ever did. It is the number of age.
45 is the number of books in the OLD testament. Every 45 seconds, someone in America has a stroke. If you're shot by a Colt 45, you probaby will die. 45 is the speed of the records that I played in my youth.
When I think about 45, I think about things that make me realize how old I really am.
When My mother was 45, I had been married 5 years. When my grandmother was 45, I was 7 years old. I have been married to my husband more than half my life.
I think about people who say that this is middle age. No one in my family has ever lived to age 90, so with each passing day, I am closer to death than the day before.
You may think that all this talk of 45 means that I am saddened by this birthday, but I'm not.
I think of those before me, who allowed 45 to be the beginning of the end, and allowed age to creep in and make them old.
I refuse to do that. The child in me has not given up.
You don't stop playing because you get old, you get old because you stop playing.
I've been thinking a lot about this birthday.
45 seems so much older than 40 ever did. It is the number of age.
45 is the number of books in the OLD testament. Every 45 seconds, someone in America has a stroke. If you're shot by a Colt 45, you probaby will die. 45 is the speed of the records that I played in my youth.
When I think about 45, I think about things that make me realize how old I really am.
When My mother was 45, I had been married 5 years. When my grandmother was 45, I was 7 years old. I have been married to my husband more than half my life.
I think about people who say that this is middle age. No one in my family has ever lived to age 90, so with each passing day, I am closer to death than the day before.
You may think that all this talk of 45 means that I am saddened by this birthday, but I'm not.
I think of those before me, who allowed 45 to be the beginning of the end, and allowed age to creep in and make them old.
I refuse to do that. The child in me has not given up.
You don't stop playing because you get old, you get old because you stop playing.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Embarassing things you may not know
OK...enough with the emotional and on with the fun.
The only crying I want around here is the laughing type.
Here are some things about me (in no particular order)
1. As a kid, I used to swim with my shorts on so my bathing suit wouldn't get wet.
2. My grandfather once let me sip his beer so much I got drunk and closed my hair in my bedroom window (I was about 12)
3. In college, I got so drunk I took the garbage out in my underwear.
4. I met my husband in a toll booth, he was a toll collector, I was a green Camaro.
5. Almost all of my ex boyfriends are dead, or have had a life threatening disease.
6. I am so far sighted that I can't see my meal when I eat if I don't wear my glasses.
7. I grow hairs on my chin and lip faster than the speed of sound. If I tweeze or wax, there are new ones before I leave the salon.
8. I am a pack rat.
9. Folk Singer Pete Seeger was my next door neighbor growing up. He saved my great grandfather from a fire in his house when I was 8.
10. The man who owns the single largest collection of Mickey Mouse memoriabilia in the world is a close friend of the family. I blame him for my addiction.
11. I've always found men with very short beards very sexy. My husband refuses to grow one.
12. I am a reality TV show addict.
13. I have a very short attention span.
14. I had arthritis as a child and was never expected to walk.
15. A rattlesnake once slithered across my foot.
16. I would starve to death before I ate a banana.
There you have it...exciting, huh.
The only crying I want around here is the laughing type.
Here are some things about me (in no particular order)
1. As a kid, I used to swim with my shorts on so my bathing suit wouldn't get wet.
2. My grandfather once let me sip his beer so much I got drunk and closed my hair in my bedroom window (I was about 12)
3. In college, I got so drunk I took the garbage out in my underwear.
4. I met my husband in a toll booth, he was a toll collector, I was a green Camaro.
5. Almost all of my ex boyfriends are dead, or have had a life threatening disease.
6. I am so far sighted that I can't see my meal when I eat if I don't wear my glasses.
7. I grow hairs on my chin and lip faster than the speed of sound. If I tweeze or wax, there are new ones before I leave the salon.
8. I am a pack rat.
9. Folk Singer Pete Seeger was my next door neighbor growing up. He saved my great grandfather from a fire in his house when I was 8.
10. The man who owns the single largest collection of Mickey Mouse memoriabilia in the world is a close friend of the family. I blame him for my addiction.
11. I've always found men with very short beards very sexy. My husband refuses to grow one.
12. I am a reality TV show addict.
13. I have a very short attention span.
14. I had arthritis as a child and was never expected to walk.
15. A rattlesnake once slithered across my foot.
16. I would starve to death before I ate a banana.
There you have it...exciting, huh.
Monday, July 10, 2006
The Psychology of Cleaning
I am not a clean freak.
Clean for me comes in levels.
As long as the floors are not sticky, there are no dust bunnies rolling along the floor like tumbleweeds, and I'm not embarassed to have a surprise visitor into my house, I am happy. I live in a world of clean, organized, clutter.
Sometimes cleaning makes me happy.
Other times it makes me sad.
When someone dies, and you do the final cleaning out, it becomes part of the process of closing the final chapter. You marvel over every little item as you hold it in your hands, and you treat everything as a gift from the beyond.
The memories that this type of cleaning invokes are powerful, gut wrenching and cathartic.
When you have to go through that process for someone who is still living, well, the emotions are quite different.
This week, it was determined that my grandmother will never be able to live alone. Because everyone still living here has to work during the day, she will have to stay in the nursing home she has been in since they found her unconscious in her apartment in April.
Although we have been paying her rent faithfully since then, we now understand that we have been fooling ourselves about her ever going back to her apartment. And now, we have determined that it is time to clean out.
We spent a few hours in there yesterday, going through things, and realizing where the pack rat nature in all of us came from.
In preparation for her death, she has been spending the time putting together scrapbooks for all of us. She has kept everything. She has the letter from the local school district giving her permission to enroll me in the school where she lived, and not the one where my mother lived. She has the card I left on her dresser the morning I got married. She has every mother's day card I ever gave her. Invitiations, pictures, report cards. All there, in a book in her closet.
She has a box for my young niece in FL, a child who should have died, and didn't. In this box are
mementos of her and my grandfather, notes attached to each one. And in this box is the stub of a holy candle that was lit every night by Alicia's picture, until one day, an ultrasound showed that the holes in her heart were closed. My grandmother believes it was a miracle.
There is an envelope that says "DO NOT OPEN UNTIL ?" (It was empty)
We have found things that will need to be carefully preserved for future generations, so that they will always know that this incredibly annoying, overbearing, insecure, crazy woman loved all of us with every ounce of her being.
If she does make a full recovery, she is going to be really pissed at us for going through her things.
But then again, if she makes a full recovery, she'll get over it.
Clean for me comes in levels.
As long as the floors are not sticky, there are no dust bunnies rolling along the floor like tumbleweeds, and I'm not embarassed to have a surprise visitor into my house, I am happy. I live in a world of clean, organized, clutter.
Sometimes cleaning makes me happy.
Other times it makes me sad.
When someone dies, and you do the final cleaning out, it becomes part of the process of closing the final chapter. You marvel over every little item as you hold it in your hands, and you treat everything as a gift from the beyond.
The memories that this type of cleaning invokes are powerful, gut wrenching and cathartic.
When you have to go through that process for someone who is still living, well, the emotions are quite different.
This week, it was determined that my grandmother will never be able to live alone. Because everyone still living here has to work during the day, she will have to stay in the nursing home she has been in since they found her unconscious in her apartment in April.
Although we have been paying her rent faithfully since then, we now understand that we have been fooling ourselves about her ever going back to her apartment. And now, we have determined that it is time to clean out.
We spent a few hours in there yesterday, going through things, and realizing where the pack rat nature in all of us came from.
In preparation for her death, she has been spending the time putting together scrapbooks for all of us. She has kept everything. She has the letter from the local school district giving her permission to enroll me in the school where she lived, and not the one where my mother lived. She has the card I left on her dresser the morning I got married. She has every mother's day card I ever gave her. Invitiations, pictures, report cards. All there, in a book in her closet.
She has a box for my young niece in FL, a child who should have died, and didn't. In this box are
mementos of her and my grandfather, notes attached to each one. And in this box is the stub of a holy candle that was lit every night by Alicia's picture, until one day, an ultrasound showed that the holes in her heart were closed. My grandmother believes it was a miracle.
There is an envelope that says "DO NOT OPEN UNTIL ?" (It was empty)
We have found things that will need to be carefully preserved for future generations, so that they will always know that this incredibly annoying, overbearing, insecure, crazy woman loved all of us with every ounce of her being.
If she does make a full recovery, she is going to be really pissed at us for going through her things.
But then again, if she makes a full recovery, she'll get over it.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Amber said I have to Update...
I haven't updated in a while, but Amber says I have to, and well, you never get on the bad side of your ticket into PC ;)
Nothing incredibly new here to report, well, maybe a little...
Since my last post, Tom and I celebrated 23 years of wedded bliss. Well, maybe 22 1/2 years of bliss, and 1/2 year of grrrr (if you add all the grrr up all together). We really don't fight, we get ticked, but usually it's over in a few hours, and very rarely, a few days.
23 years ago, we realized that in marriage, there is compromise, and sometimes there is no compromising. We each had our own interests when we met 28 YEARS AGO, and we agreed that we would keep those interests. We each had our own friends, and we agreed that we would keep those friends. I go places without him, he goes places without me. We have always been free to live our own lives, and at the end of the day, remember where we belong.
Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I had forgotten about those friends I had before we met. If I moved on to new friends, and left the old behind. I'm glad I didn't. These ladies are the ones who know me best, and even when the big picture of life gets in the way, I know I can count on them.
Kate is home for good (for awhile). She has decided to take her career path in another direction. She just hasn't completely figured out what direction that is. She is going to go to the local community college in the fall. I explained to her that it's ok to be 19 and not know what you want to do. And I also explained that she could go to the local school for 8 years and take a bunch of stuff for what I was paying for one year at Bentley.
She registered late, so that most of the good courses were full. Good is relative though, and I have to remember I'm looking at it from a parent's point of view. So she is taking Anatomy & Physiology 1, Chemistry 1, TV production, Stage makeup and 3 - 1/2 credit gym classes (Jazz, Ballet and Ballroom)
She also would like to do the Disney College program in the spring, so this semester is sort of like a refresher course before the presentation and audition dates come out.
She made Dean's list for her second semester at Bentley, showing me and everyone else that the first semester was just an adjustment issue. I don't think she knows how really proud of her I am.
Oh yeah, and as of today, she and the butthead have been broken up for a week and a half. They still talk every day.
Maggie is headed to almost Rhode Island next week for a week of Lacrosse goalie camp.
Now, if I were picking a summer camp, I doubt it would be one where they were hurling hard rubber balls at me in speeds exceeding 50 MPH, but well, Maggie has always been a little different.
TJ has made the 12 yo all-star team although his age is actually LL 11. He is the sub guy, meaning he will be the one that plays 3 outs and 1 at bat. He knows his job is to be there if someone gets hurt or doesn't show up. And he is ok with that. He'll be back next year.
And that is about it.
Nothing new. Nothing Exciting.
But I have done my job of keeping you informed.
Nothing incredibly new here to report, well, maybe a little...
Since my last post, Tom and I celebrated 23 years of wedded bliss. Well, maybe 22 1/2 years of bliss, and 1/2 year of grrrr (if you add all the grrr up all together). We really don't fight, we get ticked, but usually it's over in a few hours, and very rarely, a few days.
23 years ago, we realized that in marriage, there is compromise, and sometimes there is no compromising. We each had our own interests when we met 28 YEARS AGO, and we agreed that we would keep those interests. We each had our own friends, and we agreed that we would keep those friends. I go places without him, he goes places without me. We have always been free to live our own lives, and at the end of the day, remember where we belong.
Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I had forgotten about those friends I had before we met. If I moved on to new friends, and left the old behind. I'm glad I didn't. These ladies are the ones who know me best, and even when the big picture of life gets in the way, I know I can count on them.
Kate is home for good (for awhile). She has decided to take her career path in another direction. She just hasn't completely figured out what direction that is. She is going to go to the local community college in the fall. I explained to her that it's ok to be 19 and not know what you want to do. And I also explained that she could go to the local school for 8 years and take a bunch of stuff for what I was paying for one year at Bentley.
She registered late, so that most of the good courses were full. Good is relative though, and I have to remember I'm looking at it from a parent's point of view. So she is taking Anatomy & Physiology 1, Chemistry 1, TV production, Stage makeup and 3 - 1/2 credit gym classes (Jazz, Ballet and Ballroom)
She also would like to do the Disney College program in the spring, so this semester is sort of like a refresher course before the presentation and audition dates come out.
She made Dean's list for her second semester at Bentley, showing me and everyone else that the first semester was just an adjustment issue. I don't think she knows how really proud of her I am.
Oh yeah, and as of today, she and the butthead have been broken up for a week and a half. They still talk every day.
Maggie is headed to almost Rhode Island next week for a week of Lacrosse goalie camp.
Now, if I were picking a summer camp, I doubt it would be one where they were hurling hard rubber balls at me in speeds exceeding 50 MPH, but well, Maggie has always been a little different.
TJ has made the 12 yo all-star team although his age is actually LL 11. He is the sub guy, meaning he will be the one that plays 3 outs and 1 at bat. He knows his job is to be there if someone gets hurt or doesn't show up. And he is ok with that. He'll be back next year.
And that is about it.
Nothing new. Nothing Exciting.
But I have done my job of keeping you informed.
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