clearing out the new year

i've been reading around the journals, and there seems to be a "tag" thing going on where you list five strange habits.

i haven't been tagged, but i'll list mine, as one of them ties in with the subject line.  you'll know which one.

so my five strange habits are these:

1.  in the grocery store checkout line, i have to place all heavy items first.  it HAS to be that way.  first the canned goods, then heavy produce such as potatoes.  next, meats, and so forth until i get to the light items like eggs and bread.  and they have to go in the cart the same way they were bagged.  when it comes to loading them in the trunk of the car, the light items go in the back seat FIRST, then the other stuff in the trunk.

2.  nobody can load my dishes in the sink but me. the glasses go in first.  always.  i hate to see a glass that has even a hint of residue of any kind on it.

3.  i have to try on hats in stores.  they're cute.

4.  when reading a book, i always read the end first.  then i go back to the beginning and see how the author got from point a to point z.

5.  and when it comes to new beginnings, i have rituals.  when i let something go, i get rid of every trace of it, physically. 

that's not quite what i'll do with 2005.  it was both good and bad, just like life is supposed to be...but there are personal aspects of it that have to go. 

so today i'm clearing out my little room where i come to type nonsense.  i'm clearing out my email, jotting down addresses, and placing what i'd like to keep of 2005 in scrapbooks and boxes...

i'm wiping all slates clean.  if anyone in my life has a conflict with me..then it's their conflict, not mine.

and i truly don't have resolutions, but i do have goals.  and this year, i'll be my own woman as well as someone's mother, daughter, or friend.  and i won't be afraid to say what i want, or go after it.  i will, however, be careful of how i say it or go for it.  the woman i aspire to be won't hurt another human being...

this new year, i'll be who i am inside...and looking deep down, that's not such a bad person to be.  but one thing i do want is to be the person libby sees.  i hope i already am.

i tag sandi, paula, liza, bert ladybug...all of you.

HAPPY 2006!!!  Here's hopes and prayers not only for us, but for the world.

 

libby's eyes

yesterday was supposed to be carol's last day at the hospital.  she retired...but she didn't make it in that last day.  her father passed away.

tonight, the ladies of mccain made their way to a small town far away to be there for our friend.  she was glad to have us there, yes - and as bad as this might sound - we were glad to be together again, although we were far from happy about the circumstances that brought us that way.

i don't know that i've ever told you about libby.  she was the clinical social worker at the unit before she retired a year ago, and she will always be a woman i deeply admire and respect. 

i've met few women who were stalked by an ex-inmate, but libby was.  she served on a dcc hearing board and denied promotion to the man.  he never forgot...and when he was finally released, he walked up to her at her night job, told her he knew where she lived, her phone number, and how to get to her.  then he walked away.  for weeks, her husband escorted her to and from work.  they slept with one eye open, looked over their shoulders when they were awake.  shortly after that, the ex-inmate was arrested for disemboweling a woman not too far from where libby lives.  he's serving a life sentence now.

that particular experience didn't affect her work.  she was social worker, patient advocate, a compassionate, empathetic fireball unafraid to tell inmate or officer what was what and where to get off.

i'll never forget how she looked, bowing up to the officer in charge of transportation when one of her clients - a cancer patient - was told he couldn't go to his doctor's appointment because the unit was too short staffed to get him there.  she was as fierce as a she-wolf.  and she made sure her client was seen by his physician.

and i'll never forget how she came in at 5 a.m. to sit with a young man who was dying.  his family was far away, the nurses were short staffed, and he thrashed so that he fell out of bed or banged his head.  she and another woman sat by his side and kept him from falling.  they couldn't do much more than that, but libby was not about to let him die alone and without some semblance of dignity.  he was a favorite among hospital staff - had done something terrible when he was younger and under the influence of drugs that he regretted profoundly.  never a trouble maker, always accepting of his fate.  for three days, she came in early and stayed late, and we, aware of the drama occurring just one floor above us, could feel the thrum of something undefinable surround us.  i've always believed it was libby's prayers.

i wish you could see libby's eyes...they're as grey as the sea, and just as deep, as though they've seen all and know too much.  wise. solemn.  but when she smiles, it reaches those eyes and lights them in an ethereal way.

no, she isn't a saint, but she's as close to one as i'll ever come.  she was with us tonight - the first time i've seen her since her retirement.  we hugged each other and she said the same words she spoke to me on my final day at the hospital - i love you.  you're so easy to love. 

i don't think that's it...i simply believe that libby has a surplus of love, and i was fortunate enough to soak up some of the overflow.

planing for clyde's

a few weeks ago, my son asked me to go with him to a place called clyde's.

what's that?  i asked him.

he told me it's a big old barn in a town called carthage where, every tuesday night, they have bluegrass music and free food.  well, that didn't sound quite right to me - and it was so close to christmas, there wasn't time to check it out.

today, there was an article in the paper - it's true!  clyde's does exist, and the price of admission to listen to bluegrass and gospel bands is a covered dish.  can you imagine?  i had no idea what i'd been missing!  but dale knew - and he's ready to take me there.

it's amazing what's out there to do...and we never even know about it.  wow!

and now for the new year

well, christmas is over.  we've shopped til we've wanted to drop, cooked until there will be leftovers for a month, and had enough chocolate to qualify us to wear a hershey's wrapper.

it was a good christmas...i was excited about what i got for everyone, and they loved it.  i kind of reconciled with my daughter (that's a long story), and spent christmas eve in the company of a young lady who is a breath of fresh air - my son's girlfriend.  he can marry her anytime, now!

and now the new year is just around the corner, and you know what...i don't think i'll make a new year's resolution.  this year has changed and shaped me so much that...my new self has already begun, and i'm actually liking what it's doing to me.  the old is gone, and everything is new.

it don't get no better than that.

 

 

Merry Christmas Eve!

You know - shopping this year has not been quite the ordeal it has been in the past.  I'm finding that maybe - just maybe - the Christmas Spirit has found its way into Walmart, Pier 1 - definitely not in one of the bath and body shops, though.  Those women are rabid.

In Walmart the other night, I was left with a full cart and no help at the checkout.  It had been a long day, and I must have looked tired because the gentleman behind me began helping me unload my cart.  I was hurrying, I swear - so it had to have been some surge of seasonal spirit that inspired him.  Not only that, as the bags were being filled, he put them back in the cart for me!

He left me smiling - it only takes one act of kindess, no small thing, although the giver of it would protest that it was nothing, to make a person's night.  The thoughtfulness of it is all it takes...

Then, there was the gentleman at McDonald's.  My son and I walked in, and I was giggly and bubbly, and noticed an older gentleman looking at me and smiling.  He was amused, no doubt.  While my son waited for the food, I got the drinks and condiments.  It was a load, but my waitress days and wide hands serve me well. The gentleman came up to me and said - do you have that ok?  do you need some help?

and i was thinking - what a sweetie!  he reminded me of dr. h with his kind eyes and gentle smile.

and then there was the other gentleman in walmart who helped me pick out some blank cd's for my computer.  he told me about his new digital camera, and how he had waited five years to get the one he wanted.  he told me about lenses and other camera things i know nothing about, and that the difference between men and boys was the price of their toys.  so i asked him - are you a professional photographer?

he blushed, i swear, and said..no, but maybe i should have been.

i would've liked to have talked more with him, but the crowd jostled us along.

such interesting people, such kind folks out there...and that's what i'm gonna focus on.

and now, to beat the crowds and head out shopping by 5 a.m.

y'all - have a merry, merry happy christmas! 

 

..but i LIKE emerson

As long as a man stands in his own way, everything seems to be in his way.

Character is higher than intellect. A great soul will be strong to live as well to think.

Nothing can bring you peace but yourself; nothing, but the triumph of principles.

The invariable mark of wisdom is to see the miraculous in the common.

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.

What you do speaks so loud that I cannot hear what you say.

Make the most of yourself, for that is all there is of you.

 

 

yet another story

a while back, i bought a book called, If You Can Talk, You Can Write.

Not necessarily so.

I once knew a man named Geech (not his real name, but damn, it sure did suit him) who could talk up a blue streak, but he couldn’t write. Nor could he read. I met Geech long before my restaurant days. He was one of Dad’s white lightning henchmen. He, along with Big Freddie, Son, and Robert McCrimmon, were around the house during hog killing season and liquor making season. Don’t ask me when the latter is. I suppose it’s just after the corn crop is harvested?

It is said that, in his younger days, Geech could wrestle a full grown boar to the ground, with his legs. He was a stout, flat-faced man, but it never occurred to me until later that his stoutness was all muscle. And then he was in the car accident that almost killed him, and made him a wealthy man, by local standards. It also ended his ‘wrestling’ days.

At some point, when I was older, Geech started bringing me his mail.

“Miz Lady, would you read that for me and tell me what it says?”

And I would. At first, it was junk mail. As time wore on, it was hospital bills. And I became his secretary, calling doctors’ offices, making appointments, straightening out bills.

But one day, Geech brought me a real, honest-to-goodness letter. It was from his wife, who was in a nursing home.

“Miz Lady, would you write her a letter back for me?”

Of course I would…wasn’t I his secretary?

But what really prompted the yes was a soulful sadness behind his eyes. The poor old sick thing missed his wife.

“Tell her that I’m doing ok, and that I’ll be down to Wilmington to see her real soon.”

So I wrote. I threw in an ‘I love you and miss you,’ because that unspoken was in his face.

His health failed steadily. The day came when he was too sick to come to the restaurant for his morning coffee, or to bring his mail to be read. Dad grieved his old friend even before Geech left this world, and sent Mom and me to deliver any number of tempting dishes that might prompt him to eat. A platter of fried fish. Chicken and dumplings. Ginger ale. I suspect Dad didn’t deliver the food himself because he couldn’t bear to see his friend, once so strong and robust, weak and wasted by cancer.

His house still stands, all these years later, the steep steps leading up to empty rooms. Occasionally, I drive past it, and remember him. And the irony is – for someone who couldn’t write a word, he was a remarkably writeable character.

mysterious ways

and so i climbed my grumpy self out of bed this morning, upset that i had to go to work when i was supposed to have the rest of the week off.  it would have been nice - and it sure felt like it was something i needed after the last couple of months, but it just wasn't meant to be.  and now i know why. 

i walked into the prison at 7:40, hung a right in the lobby and checked the mail.  greeted the officers in c-1, grumbled my way down the hall and up the stairs to gh&i where i emailed dr. h about the dictaphone in my mailbox that i sure as heck wasn't carting all over the building in an attempt to locate its rightful owner.

oh yeah, i was as sour as green persimmons. 

at nine o'clock, something made me go back down to the mailroom.  no reason that i can give - just an inner voice that said - oh, just go check the danged mail again. so i did, even though it's something i never do twice in one morning, and there they were where they didn't belong - sick call requests.  they go into a designated box in the kitchen so the nurses can pick them all up at once.  several months ago, my boss had instructed me to return them to the sgt. to give back to the inmate to put in the proper place.  it's procedure, after all.

so for about five minutes, i tried to track down a sgt., but their offices were moved and where the sgts. are hiding in that long, gray concrete building is a mystery.  they blend in quite well.  no way was i going to traipse up and down stairs, mumbling and grumbling under my breath - medical would just have to take 'em from me today.

i took the sick call for central to the nurse's station and handed it to smith.  she had just finished clinic, and wasn't too pleased to get another request, but she located the inmate to see what his major malfunction was.

it was major.

i poked my head out of medical records a little later - mackey, our PA was running.  my boss yelled at me - call 911 and put in a ur for the er!

the man's pulse was 44.  his ekg was off the charts.  he was scared to death, and my boss, who has no bedside manner, told that to the officer outside the door and then added - so am i!

that was just after nine this morning.  the man still hadn't returned from the hospital at closing time, and i hope and pray he was admitted.

but it's so strange, the way it happened. i never check the mail twice in one morning.  i always give the sick calls to the officers to be put in the proper place. 

my conclusion is - it wasn't his time, and between the mailroom and smith's hands...well.  i had to be there today.  no, i wasn't responsible for saving his life...but i was a link in some kind of chain, and i had to be there.

makes you realize that sometimes our plans aren't that important - it's the plans Something Else..God, or the Universe, has in store, and one or the other will put you where you're supposed to be when you're supposed to be there.

it's a lesson i didn't mind being taught, after all.

there's a great big sofa

being advertised above my journal.  you guys have a seat and make yourselves comfortable on it.  i'll get the coffee/tea/cocoa and a whole bunch of decadent sweets and we'll have the last laugh.  ;-)

under the direction of The Task Master (stop chatting and start writing!), i have been writing up a storm, but it's odd...the more i write, the more certain people from my past pop into my mind.

for instance - there's little Nut Dockery.  He was a thin little wino who walked with a limp - not a bit of harm in him, he just liked his wine.  and he was actually a bit of a hero for me, in that he was responsible for my lecturing a customer in the restaurant who later turned out to be something he didn't appear to be.

it must have been spring or summer, because i remember being hot.  mike had told me nut had been terrorized out of his social security check by some of the thugs who had moved into the little community behind the store called The Line.

that burned me up and made me hotter.  the nerve of people too sorry to work for the money to support their own habits.  sure, nut spent his on thunderbird, but it was his to spend.

it was that very day, during a lull in business that he walked in.  didn't know him - but we had a lot of road traffic - travelers, fishermen - and this guy was wearing a fishing hat complete with hooks.  he wanted to chat, and he seemed nice enough, so i propped against the counter and talked.  it didn't take long for him to lower his voice and lean forward to say - you wouldn't happen to know where i could get some smoke around here, would you?

i wasn't sure i'd heard him right, so i said - excuse me?

you know, pot.  maybe something stronger than that.

right before i saw red, little Nut Dockery flashed before my eyes.  such a small little man..and i saw him being terrorized by those thugs.

i cannot believe what you just said to me.  do you know that old people are being strong armed out of their social security checks?  it's all they have to live on for an entire month, and just today, my brother told me these hooligan drug users are waiting for the first of the month and the mailman to roll around so they can bully these poor people out of their money to get drugs.  it's a damned shame, and somebody should do something about it so people like poor little nut won't be harrassed and robbed by local terrorists.  so NO, i don't know where you could get pot or something stronger.  now might be a good time to stop looking.

i'll never forget the look on his face.  i expected anger, but never surprise.  he looked absolutely puzzled.

it was about two weeks later, in the middle of the lunch crowd, that my buddy and coworker, lola, stopped in the middle of throwing a cheeseburger together and said - who's that man behind the counter in the store?

that was a good question.  he looked like some kind of inspector - he had a flashlight and was looking up under the counters.  about that time, he turned his back and we were able to read the letters on his jacket -

DEA.

poor lola's hands began to shake.  oh damn, it's the DEA!

and stupid me said - what's that?

and then the men in yellow jackets with black lettering multiplied.  they were all over the place, and i recognized one of them, even without his fishing hat.  he never looked my way...and he never set foot in my side of the business.  none of them did.

and i have little Nut Dockery to thank for that.  if he hadn't been strong armed, if he hadn't been so frail and old that my protective side kicked in, i might never have been hot enough to tell off an undercover DEA agent, and might have landed in jail beside the coworker from the store, who was selling pot.

poor little nut.  i wonder where he is now.

the task master from..

ah, no, he found me and read what i wrote about him. LOL!  i'm busted.

keith is right - he's not the taskmaster from hell, and some people do need a little pushing...

so i'm publicly apologizing to my bud and taskmaster, and thanking him again. but i meant every word written about his novels, so i'm not apologizing for that.

 

thanks keith!

hugs!

one more word about cats and other stuff

and then it's goodnight irene for me.

one more thing about cats:  you had better give them the food they like (isn't that right, paula? *wink*).  if not, they'll let you know in no uncertain terms how dissatisfied they are.  for instance, my other cat, Coot does not like a particular brand.  i know this because when i poured it in her bowl, she sniffed it, turned around and aimed her rear at it, and proceeded to try to cover it up with imaginary cat litter.  you know what she was saying.  wicked, that one is. and quite outspoken.

my boss shocked me today by telling me she's going to work at another state agency.  lord knows, she's earned part time contract - she's 65, and deserves to let the 12 hour shifts go...but there's no way i'm staying at that facility without her to run interference. i'll never have another boss like her...that's a shame, because in the end, we became friends without losing the professionalism.  i LIKE her.

the last few days, i've been having fun laying groundwork for keith's assignment.  it IS fun!!!  there's another journaler out there who writes short stories - very good ones!...and i think sandi should try her own novel.  she definitely has what it takes, and i have this sneaking suspicion that she would enjoy the groundwork and the process.

and now that i have written my Letter to the Internet, it's bedtime...

y'all have a great rest of the week.

 

The Great American Novel

My friend Keith has been my coach since...last April.  Had to stop and think for a minute.  He's one of those people you feel you've known all your life.  Just a few weeks after we met, his first novel was accepted for publication, and since then, he has sent me preview chapters for his second in the works - and it blew me away!  The man has a gift for plotting events and chapters.  His gift is a natural one.  He learns by reading.  As a matter of fact, he says it's hard to enjoy a book anymore because he's too busy studying the author's style and technique to enjoy the story.

I know that feeling because I do the same thing.  Could be why we feel like we've known each other all our lives - we have so much in common.  And he believes in me...he enjoys the short stories I send, and he has encouraged me to try for a longer work.

That's overwhelming, you know.  It's a commitment to something bigger than I am.  I know because I've tried and walked away from it, feeling very small at the base of that mountain...

Each effort, Keith asks me - what do you want to say?  What is the theme?  and you know, I didn't have an answer, until now.

Saturday night, he said - tell me in twenty words or less what you want to say.  and i did, and it felt GREAT!  but he knew the adrenalin rush that came with it, mentioned it before I did.  And so, yesterday was spent plotting and planning, writing and the cardinal rule Keith gave me - have fun with it.  You'll have to rewrite, but the important thing in the beginning is to just DO it, without fear of failure.

Not sure why he has taken such an interest in my progress unless it's one of those give and take things.  I read him, offer constructive crit from an objective point of view, and he reads me back.  Whatever the reason, I'm glad he's there.  He doesn't sugarcoat anything, and he's the taskmaster from hell, but I'm enjoying every second of it.

 

 

little lonesome rosie

the urge to journal strikes at the most inopportune times, for the most unlikely reasons.

this morning, i was sitting at the screen, reading an column on john lennon's death, really getting into it, reliving the shock of when it first happened when suddenly...

aol was disconnected. 

no, can't blame it on aol this time - the cause of the problem is a gray and white tabby named Rosie.  and something else occurred to me.

if you have a cat, you know that when you're reading the paper or a book, that sneaky little feline devil will crawl on top of the page, rub your nose with hers in some pretense of affection - thereby making you feel too guilty to remove her furry little butt from the words you were reading - for no other reason than your purpose on this earth is to serve and adore her?

well, that's Rosie.  and since i've taken to reading online, she can't perch herself atop the book or newspaper, so she has learned to disconnect the modem.  i am her property, you see, and nothing will do but my undivided attention at all times, except when she's napping. in that case, i had best not disturb her.

she tells me when she wants fresh water by sitting in the empty bowl.  i swear, she is the thirstiest animal that ever lived.  she lets me know that her food dish isn't quite full by jumping on top of the freezer where the bag is stored and knocking the bag to the floor.  at night, i am her mattress.  her favorite spot is over my shoulder blade so she can hang her face against mine.  and the bathtub?  it's disconcerting to have an animal stare at you while you bathe, let me tell you.

and she is a spiteful creature.  i can't tell you how many times she has attempted to trip me in the hallway, or why, but she somehow winds herself around my feet, fully confident i won't step on or maim her.  her objective, i think, is to bring me down like an oak.  or perhaps it's a game to see how far she can go before one of us dies.  methinks rosie has too much time on her paws and a human slave to experiment with.

but there are times when she crawls into my lap and purrs, no pretense or hidden agenda, just plain and simple cuddling.

and there she is again, trying to disconnect the modem again, so i have to go.

ROSIE, GET AWAY FROM THAT!

just in time for the holidays

the weather here is all mixed up - 60's one day, 40's the next, but tomorrow the highs will fall into the 30's.

there's something about cold weather that appeals to me.  could be how cozy it is with the fire going, a cup of orange spice tea or coffee.  just cozy.  or it could be how the cold makes the skin tingle and feel so alive after the sluggish heat of a carolina summer.  not sure what it is.

i like to walk past someone who has just come from outside, winter clinging to their coats, rosey cheeks and frosty hair.  and i like to be out in it - it's invigorating.

this is a poor excuse for a journal entry, but i'm a bit sleepy and can't seem to organize my thoughts well.

good night.

my golly, i can't stop journaling

I live near a ritzy area that was once a retirement village. There are restrictive covenants out the wazoo for this town that caters to the rich.  The area has attracted younger families, now.  Mind you, they're well to do families, but gosh darn it, they have kids.  How inconsiderate.

Basketball courts have to be positioned in such a way that they aren't eyesores.  That's all well and good - but this past summer, there was an uproar over those noisy kids who played basketball in their back yards past 7 p.m.

Someone complained about all that riproaring ball bouncing and laughter, and the town council imposed a curfew of 7 p.m.  Of course, the parents raised their own ruckus, and that curfew was extended.  I forget by how much.

This same town refused to allow churches to set up facilities to house and feed the homeless during a particularly harsh winter.  Their reason was, they didn't want that element near them.  It was inviting trouble.  That could be!  Don't get me wrong, there's risk everywhere you go...but to me, it was unconscionable to deny a warm place and a hot meal to someone down on their luck.

Last week, I read an article concerning a petition for child-free sections in upscale restaurants.  This petition was initiated by people who do not want children to ruin their night out.

I realize that some children can be unruly, but I have to wonder...do these people read the paper, beyond the wall street journal?  Do they watch the nightly news?  Have they put up invisible gates to their community to keep out the riff-raff and the realities of the world?

It seems money can build walls so thick that they seal out the laughter of children.  It can purchase glass so frosted that the hungry can't be seen through it.  It can buy houses that are as silent as tombs, and certainly, it can buy a thick skin that can't be penetrated by memories of being young, or pierced by the imaginative thought of what it must be like to sleep in the cold.

If that's what money gets you, I'd rather be poor.

 

Watching the Scales go up, up, UP

There are few things that frighten me.  I can go into a prison full of criminals, wade through and greet them like they're neighbors I don't quite know.  Can stand toe-to-toe on my front porch with someone who shot my dog, and had a few years ago served time for terrorizing an entire street full of people, demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing and tell him he has to pay the vet bills.  But you could not pay me to go shopping on Black Friday.  I'll cower under the bed, whimper like a child while clutching my bank card and making the sign of the cross against anyone who wants me to go out there in that crowd where at least one person in it will knock you to the floor and walk over your prone body for a $29 dollar microwave. 

One year, I did it. Got up at 4 in the morning the day after Thanksgiving and headed for the Nameless In This Blog Retail Store.  It was 18 degrees, there was a half-mile long line of people who must have camped out overnight in the parking lot, and when the doors finally opened (i could see the sales associate's hand shake while turning the key), they rushed in like a tidal wave.  I lie to you not - within minutes, everything on my short list was washed clean from the shelves. I was jostled and bumped.  An 80 year old woman tried to run me down with her shopping cart, and I ended up buying items that were not on sale, then stood in the checkout line for twenty minutes.

The deals are great, if you can find any left, and I admire anyone with the temerity to face the crowds with unabashed determination, but it just isn't for me.

About six years ago, Another Nameless Retail Super Store had turkeys for 10 cents a pound.  When word reached me via telephone hotline at work, I left a little early in hopes of getting there before they were all snatched up and baking in someone else's oven.  I sprinted to the meat section, but lo and behold, they were gone.  I asked a sales associate if they planned to restock.

"No ma'am," he said dolefully.  "We sold out about an hour ago.  Two women came to blows over the last bird in the freezer, and we don't feel it would be prudent or responsible on our part to contribute more to holiday violence."

I could understand that.

But did you know, while Black Friday is touted as the biggest shopping day of the year, it really is not?  More people are off from work that day, so foot traffic in stores is way up, but the most profitable days for stores are the Saturday before Christmas or December 23?

Y'all be safe out there.

listening to pachelbel

and so, the house is still standing.  the turkey is great - had to taste it. and the work week is finished.  it was a crazy day, but the day before a holiday usually is.  it's understandable - the inmates are far from home and family.  we sent one out to the hospital in respiratory distress, another with kidney stones. we were short staffed, no PA, no doctor until late this afternoon.

i screwed up an appointment today.  i ran down to operations, crouched by the desk and asked - did you guys have an appointment for wake med?  no, they didn't. i banged my head on the desk.  it was all my fault, you know.  i must not have printed the screen.  sgt. weber teased me - HOW do you sleep at night, with all that blood on your hands?  and as i was turning to go, he taunted - blood on your hands, blood on your hands! (weber is slightly strange).  from out of nowhere, for no reason, unless i've finally rounded the bend, too - i wiped my hands on my shirt and in my best lady macbeth, said - out, OUT, damned spot!  if nothing else, i left them laughing.

i received hate mail from an inmate.  the frantic nurse was on duty.  everything, including med pass, is an emergency to her.  and here it is, 6:42 p.m. and i'm recounting the day and listening to pachelbel for some sense of calm.

it wasn't such a bad day...and tomorrow will be nice, a small group at my parents' house, laughter.  and music.

happy thanksgiving.  :-)

so it happened

but it wasn't my fault this time.  luckily, there were at least two firemen in the house.

at noon today, as i was sitting outside enjoying my lunch in the park - the phone rang in the lobby.  my son was on the other end.

what the hell is wrong with this turkey?

well, aside from its untimely demise, i had no idea, so i asked - why are you asking?  is it trying to escape the fridge?! 

about that time, i heard him shout - "GARRET!  HIT THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER! IT'S  COMING UP THROUGH THE BURNERS!"

seems son was going to surprise me by baking the turkey while i was at work.  unfortunately, he didn't wrap it well enough, and the pan was a bit shallow.  the result was an overflow and a kitchen fire.

everything's fine - the turkey is fine, the stove needs a lot of cleaning, but...the house is still standing and i didn't do it.

man. 

enduring my blessings

good morning!  i've been visiting over at liza's place and she has tagged us all.  you can read her here:

http://journals.aol.com/philadlfiagrl/lizaslife/

anyway, liza wants us to list 10 things we're thankful for.  that's always a good idea, because in the rush and roar of holiday preparations, we tend to forget, except in some quiet moment after the family has descended on the table like locusts (*grin*), or wrapping paper is strewn across the floor like leftover tinsel.  so liza - here's my list.  and i'm thankful for you, for reminding me.

1.  i'm thankful my father's cancer is gone.  he had a helluva battle this past year, but he rose to the occasion like the fighter he is.  and after the chemo and radiation treatments, he can finally eat again and is weaning himself from painkillers.

2.  i'm grateful my mother is doing as well as she is, and for her sweetness.  she truly is the glue that holds the family together.

3.  i'm SO thankful my son has decided to go back to school.  he quit this semester...but finally, he has seen the light.  and i'm also glad his girlfriend was NOT pregnant, like she thought. 

4.  i'm grateful for my family - king sized can of mixed nuts that we are.  we're close, even when we're feuding (which doesn't happen much anymore), and if one needs the other, we're there.

5.  of course, i'm grateful for my friends - especially my women friends, because i have seen that as we grow older, those relationships with other women take on a new importance.

6.  for my job, now that ava has calmed down.  where else could i work that offers so much diversity and adventure?  and for my coworkers, who for the most part, come together like a family.  there are times when i see an outpouring of love and support that makes me bow my head at the enormity of spirit.

7.  for my canine family, loving little souls that they are.  and they shall have their own thanksgiving dinner.  i'll see to it.

8.  for the firefighters at station 7 who refuse to let me burn down my kitchen.

9.  for all of you, out here in cyberspace, who have touched lives and closed distances.

10.  for the opportunity to thank everybody for the gifts of love, friendship, lessons taught and examples set.

and now it's your turn.  following liza's lead, i tag you all.

 

rambling into the day

my father was a colorful man - he was a not so small legend in the county.  to this day, officers at work approach me and say - you're mr. marshall's daughter?  and they'll recount their days working as deputies when they were called out to my dad's store.  we knew when we got there, mr. marshall would have the situation well in hand.

well, my brothers, sister and i have followed dad along the reputation trail.  one brother is a fine, upstanding citizen.  the other...well, he has a LOT of personality, and my sister is an ex-con.  and me?  what's my claim to fame?

the other night, there were five firefighters in my living room.  they SAID they were there for a visit with my son and the daughter, who are on the fire department, but i have it on good authority that the fire chief, whom i've known all my life,  was reminicsing about my kitchen escapades just a few nights before.

see, every 20 years or so, i set my kitchen on fire.  i get distracted and leave a pan on the stove, and before i know it - there are flames.  and smoke.  the last time it happened was 12 years ago.  it was 8 degrees out, the kids were small, and i was cooking and cleaning. 

to make a long story short, i called the fire department, herded my kids into the car to keep them warm, as opposed to being roasted inside the house, and then pinehill was there - an entire crew of firefighters stormed into my house, doused the flames and left an incredibly large extinguisher behind.  on purpose, i'm willing to bet.

since more than a decade has passed, i'm willing to bet the fire chief has put his crew on watch at my house.  he knows my history.  and oddly, a member has stopped by every evening since then.  at supper time.  sound like coincidence to you?

but anyway, that's my claim to fame in these parts.  that, and i'm mr. marshall's daughter.

y'all have a good sunday.

 

 

 

ahhhh, saturday

you would think saturday involved nothing but play, i'm so happy to see it.  actually, i had planned to work today, but frankly am wiped out this week.

easing into the day mundane topics:

the ads at the tops of the journals:

i'm not thrilled about 'em.  perhaps part of the advertising profits aol is making could go toward reducing our monthly bills.  they should have to give US a kickback, and let us approve which ads can be displayed on our page.  no, that won't happen...but neither will they be removed, now that they're here.  i doubt i'll leave...unless, of course, texas holdem poker appears in flashing lights.

i have this thing about texas holdem - mainly, because they have spammed my internet journal as many as 250 times in a day with their ugly ads.  if they can't buy the space, they'll take it in the comments section.  i was having a carpal tunnel relapse from deleting so many of their "responses" to entries.  and they get sneaky about it - they'll try to disguise themselves by publishing profound quotes.  they made interesting reading, but....*click*.  they're gone, now.  and comments are closed.  the internet journal is for more private entries, anyway.

i did follow some former j-landers to blogger.com, just in case aol slaps texas holdem at the top of the page.  it's called...Letters to the Internet, of all things.  if you decide to move your journal, please let me know where you go.  i've enjoyed reading all of you so much.  feel free to post the link in here somewhere.

glasses and socks

does anyone have a problem keeping drinking glasses?  if so, have you noticed the mysterious cracks that appear in what you thought was heavy glassware (they usually fall apart in the dishwater), or do your glasses suddenly and  simply go where socks disappear to?  i think my problem keeping them is a direct result of having them IN the dishwater, and then someone else comes along and tosses a plate or something else heavy on top of them, not sure.  but i've come up with a solution.  libby, and all those other kitchenware people, should make pyrex glasses. pyrex lasts forever, and would be MUCH more preferable than (ick) plastic tumblers.  and they should be ugly, so that no one wants to be seen in public holding one, and therefore, leave them in the kitchen where they belong.

well, i've rambled enough for one morning.  it's time to start the day - holiday cleaning, laundry, grocery run, visit the folks..

wonder why i'm so wiped out.

 

Undue Familiarity

Every now and then it's bound to happen, even though it isn't supposed to, and there's nothing to do about it but stuff it down where it belongs and live within the scope of policy.

I met a young man at work several months ago. He's the barber on I Block. He is soft-spoken and wears Muslim head dress that brightens the medium custody brown he wears, has always been respectful of staff and others, as far as I have seen. There's something gentle about him that does not belong within the confines of razor wire and concrete. And yet, he committed an act that landed him there.

We speak in the hallway. Occasionally, we talk in the park area just off of Central. Once, the conversation concerned pinto bean pie, and just yesterday, we spoke of the weather. He told me about Hurricane Hugo, how he hunkered down under a table in a restaurant, and while all else around him was blown about, the table stayed steady and he was safe. He told me about last year's tornado that was the cause of 500 pairs of soiled underwear at the facility, spoke of the power of nature shearing limbs from trees like a high powered chainsaw, yet it didn't touch him.

I told him - you'll just have to spend the rest of your sentence here. Sounds like you're awfully lucky! He laughed and agreed that a higher power was waching over him.

And then he went his quiet and unobtrusive way.

If it had not been for the crime he committed, we never would have had yesterday's encounter. And certainly, I will not seek him out for conversation. Policy justly calls for separation between staff and inmates. Yet we're thrown together, sometimes. And sometimes, observation tells more than what color clothes a person wears and why. No, we wouldn't have met had he not been in prison - I don't know when his sentence is up, but perhaps it is soon, and if it means he'll  make it on the outside with that gentleness he exhibits, I hope I never see him again.

understanding...

It feels like I'm intruding on them, or him, so I avert my eyes as the screen name logs in and out.  I hear the door creak open, hear it slam.  And I know what they (he) are (is) doing.

I remember a customer from the restaurant.  Handsome man - quite a gentleman with gorgeous blue eyes.  He was a Viet Nam vet who worked with Special Forces.  Civilian.  He was the picture of health - came in every morning for a large black coffee.  We dubbed him Twinkles because he had twinkly blue eyes.  He didn't show up for a few mornings, and then, one day, one of the POW instructors told us Twinkles had died of lung cancer. He had been exposed to Agent Orange in Viet Nam.  It was very quick - he didn't even know he was sick until he was climbing stairs and had to sit down.

Anyway, months later, a lady walked in and introduced herself as his wife.  She was retracing her husband's route, seeing what he saw, meeting the people he knew.  It was almost like a pilgrimage for her.  She asked us - did you know him?  what did he like best, here? 

I think that's what they're doing tonight.  Retracing my uncle's steps, so to speak, through his screen name.  Going to the places he went, seeing friends he might have made online.  Maybe telling them the sad news about the funeral today.

I'm not sure which of his sons it is - Ken, or Terry, or both...but I think I know what they're doing, and it moves me.

Turning Points

The smile must have been the turning point, but still, I didn't trust her.  Something was up, and I wasn't sure what it was.  But suddenly, Ava was confiding in me.  Gossiping TO me.  It was more observation, actually.  Ava had been a psych nurse for years before she came to DOC.  But her observations were about other staff members.

Maybe that was it.  She and I both liked to observe people.  We both like working in corrections because it fills the need for puzzling over certain behaviors, unusual behaviors.  Or perhaps she finally decided she had read me wrong, and I was not a spy sent to infiltrate the nursing department by my cousin, the superintendent.  I had proved my loyalties to my department, and suddenly, slowly, Ava and I were becoming not only supervisor and employee, but friends.

I have a great deal of respect for her, now.  Over this past year, we have opened up to each other, shared our observations, and she has become something of a mentor for me.

She doesn't put up with bull.  Period.  She'll stand up for her employees in the face of Every Power That Is, if she knows beyond doubt that they're innocent of whatever they've been accused of.  She has a sense of humor that is bawdy and graceless, and I love it.

During one meeting, she announced that although she is female, she has balls.  That was an unnecessary revelation.  She has shown that in every aspect of her being.  For example, we had an inmate who had been taken off of his psych meds, and was rapidly decompensating.  He had been given a rock to rub when he felt anxiety creeping up, and the poor man had rubbed the stone smooth.  She notified mental health - the psychiatrist wouldn't be back for a month, and he wouldn't do a telephone order for the meds, even though the man was bordering suicidal.  Ava hopped on the computer, zipped off an email to Somebody in Charge, in which she stated:

All I can say is, I certainly hope mental health has a large supply of rocks, because the one the patient was given has been rubbed to death.

How can you not respect a woman so defiant?  The next day, she brought in a bag of river rocks and presented them to the mental health director.

This week, one of our staff members, Lorraine,  had an unthinkable tragedy.  Her 19 year old daughter was gravely injured in a car wreck.

When Ava found out that Lorraine was alone at the hospital, she jumped in her car and headed to the hospital, 45 miles away.  She had just left when we got the call that Lorraine's daughter didn't make it.  And when Ava got back to the unit that afternoon, she spearheaded a drive to collect funds for funeral expenses because Lorraine, a single parent, didn't have the money to bury her child.

Ava walked into my office with tears in her eyes.  This is the saddest thing I've ever seen, she said, and she turned her head upward as if to keep the tears from falling down her face.

I wanted to comfort her, but still am not quite sure how to deal with Ava.  I rubbed her shoulder with a short, circular motion, a reaching out.  And suddenly, Ava's arm went around my shoulder and we hugged.

I believe the distance has evaporated.

*note:  tonight, the nursing department will attend the wake for Lorraine's daughter, and we will be led by Ava.  Her drive for funds between the two prison facilities as of yesterday has raised well over $600.  That says a lot about Ava, the staff, and how well thought of Lorraine is. 

Mean Spirited Classless Broom Wielding Harpy

I couldn't figure it out.  Why did she hate me so much?  I hadn't had time to screw up that much, had only been on the job for a couple of months and was learning as fast as I could, was working as hard as I could.  But every day, she glared or yelled at me, and every day I went to work with my stomach churning, waiting to face The Wrath of God.

She stayed on my case like it was winter and she was a blanket. I considered going over her head to the superintendent. It was harrassment, pure and simple, and I'd be damned if she was going to force me out of a brand new job that I hadn't had a chance to prove myself in, yet.  But then, one day, I walked into her office and it was obvious she had been crying. 

Are you ok?  Is there anything I can do?

No, I'm fine. I'm fine...

Well, Ava was not fine.  She was exhausted from caring for her dying, elderly mother.  She was in pain because of her knee, and the concrete floors and four flights of stairs at the prison certainly weren't helping.  No, she had a lot on her plate, and I wasn't going to add one more crumb to it by going to the superintendent, no matter if I threw up all the way down the hall in nauseous anticipation of her next fit of rage.

It's hard to believe, now, that it was only a year ago that an incident pushed me into an anxiety attack so severe that I found myself on my front porch, crying, with no idea how I had gotten there.  I simply didn't remember. 

It was two days before the Thanksgiving holiday - two days off from work!  But that night, I decided I was calling out and taking a break from Ava to get myself together and decide what to do - stay in misery, or simply quit.  It was that bad. The woman despised me, and there is nothing worse than having a supervisor with a razor blade tongue and a broom for transporation.  Would I go back?

Yes.  I pulled myself together, steeled myself for work the following Monday, and found out that Ava's mother had passed away.  She would be out of work for the next two weeks.  Not only that, she would be going out for surgery, and wouldn't come back until February.  I was sorry for her loss, but so relieved she wouldn't be there.  It was a reprieve.

Well, February came around quick - the months passed so fast, and I knew there was a decision to be made.  I couldn't put it offone more day.  But while she had been out, I had learned a lot, made friends at my new workplace, and had become the charge nurse's right hand - her words.  It wouldn't be an easy decision.

And then, the day she returned, Ava walked in and scared the holy hell out of me. 

She smiled.

to be continued

 

 

i am back from lunch

and fresh from one of polly's stories. 

when polly first got married in 1968, her husband decided she needed a sewing machine.  she told him - i don't like to sew!  the only reason i can sew at all is because home ec was a required course in high school, waaaay back then, and i can't do it.  but he insisted, and he bought carol's sewing machine, which was conveniently for sale, for miss polly to use.  she would make all the children's clothing, do all the mending, etc - no matter that she didn't like to do it and wasn't good at it.

one day, on the way to the beach, her brother dropped off a pair of $20 pants for polly to cut off and hem for him.  back then, 20 bucks was like 100.  and so polly proceeded to cut them, hem them, and on his way back home, he picked them up.  an hour later, polly's husband got a phone call.

"your wife owes me $20."

"excuse me?"

"your wife owes me $20."

"who IS this?"

it was the brother.  polly had indeed done the required work. unfortunately, she cut off the same leg of the pants twice.

but you never know - had he worn them in THIS day and age, he might have started a new trend.

shortly after that, polly mended her husband's pants.  all looked great - he put them on, tried to stick his hands in his pockets and lo and behold, she had sewn all the pockets closed.  "the sewing machine," said polly's husband, "has GOT TO GO!"

it's not like she didn't warn him!

lunch was great - i can't remember laughing so much, or having such good company.  the carols and roberta picked me up at the prison - you haven't lived until you've ridden in carol's back seat because the woman is a maniac behind the wheel.  she threw on brakes, my butt slid forward three inches on the seat.  no, you haven't lived until you've ridden with carol - and you've never believed you were so close to death at the same time.  roberta and i hung on to the handles in the back, and breathed a sigh of relief upon arrival at the restaurant.

what i wouldn't give to have gone back to the office with them.  maybe one day!

this and that

every now and then, a person - especially women (i'm saying that in order to rationalize my irresponsible actions), needs to take some time for him or herself.  to be completely reckless and wild.  oh yeah, we all need that.

so tomorrow, i'm gonna be completely wild and take a half a day off from work.  man, people won't KNOW me like this.

the ladies from the hospital have decided on a lunch date for tomorrow, and i'm going with them.  and knowing them as i do, there's no telling when or if we'll get back to the office.  i probably never told you about those ladies - there's carol, the medical record assistant IV.  very classy, elegant, very much the southern belle who can be as gracious as sunday morning or wither you with a glance.  i'll never forget the day she called the doctor on the phone and told him - i did not appreciate the way you said what you said, and if you don't mind - or even if you do, don't EVER do that again.  he apologized.  profusely.  then there's roberta, who is a minister/transcriptionist.  she prayed for us a lot during my days at the hospital - mainly during the lunch hour gossip/joke sessions.  she's a wonderful person, and i love her dearly.  and then there's the other carol, who is the medical record manager.  she's from new york - and when she first came to our little office, she didn't let us forget that we cannot drive in snow, that we talk weird, and that there is NO decent italian food anywhere in the state of north carolina.

oh wow..i didn't realize how much i missed those ladies until just now.  we were a mixed bunch.  there was libby, the clinical social worker who finally told carol manager that if she didn't like the way we talked down here, she should carry herself back to new york. but libby has a heart bigger than any i've ever encountered.  there was polly, who was a big elvis fan.  she had the calendar, the earrings, the watch, the posters..you name it, and during those lunches in medical records, she danced in front of the copier, and regaled us with stories that would have made us blush if we hadn't been laughing so hard.

i dubbed us - mainly them - the ladies of mccain.  there are times i wish i was back there with them, and then i realize that where i am has actually been good for me.  i found confidence.  i learned not to let people push me around, and if they tried, i pushed back...and the adventure is great, for however much longer it may or may not last...but tomorrow, i'll be a lady of mccain again, for a few hours, and that  is another one of those best feelings.  :-)

Saffron, Sage and Scarlet

  It's almost like trying to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow - an elusive feeling, and you find yourself in a cool, crisp wind thinking - where is it? what is it?  And you never find it, but oh, listen!  It rustles on the wind or crunches under your feet as you walk.  You  feel it in a vacant, lonely place inside of you, an empty kind of echo that needs filling.  

It was late this year.  The trees are two weeks behind in turning - so say the ubiquitous they, who are also elusive.  But this morning, I sensed it  in the second frost of the season, saw a hint of it in the Bradford pears just now beginning to blaze, in the yellowing leaves of wild grapevines, edges curled like old parchment, the history of a fallen season scribed gold in their veins.  

 I decided if I could not find it, I would follow it, mapping a course for places it would have visited first.  I headed west, toward peach country, pushed along by a nipping north wind, and as each mile fell behind me, I saw where it had drifted like an autumnal will-o'-the wisp:  grass, hoary and glittering in the early sun; a sudden burst of scarlet flaming through the green; saffron and sage punctuating the distant pines as the hills rose and fell with the open road.   

 I stopped at a roadside market where the vendors were bundled against the first blast of autumn air.  The shed was lined with baskets and baskets of heirloom apples - Pink Lady, Winesap, Golden Delicious.  Sweet potatoes and pumpkins - mellow and fragrant.  It had been here.  We shivered together for a while, and for the vendors' time and conversation, I purchased a mixed bag of apples and sweet potatoes, a taste of the elusive season.  

And I drove farther into autumn, where houses were sparse and colors were deeper.  Not yet, not quite, but I could see the hues begin the burn - a flaming testament to living, a burst of wisdom whispering secrets in the north wind.  

I'll never catch it, or touch it, but it will ruffle my hair with a chilly hand.  It will tease my tongue with its fruity and mellow flavors, and I will lose myself in its colors, melding into saffron, sage and scarlet - a celebration of life.

for the autumn children

A Vagabond Song, by Carmen Bliss

THERE is something in the autumn that is native to my blood—  
Touch of manner, hint of mood;  
And my heart is like a rhyme,  
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.     

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry          
Of bugles going by.  
And my lonely spirit thrills  
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.     

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;  
We must rise and follow her,  
When from every hill of flame  
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.

and so

just a quick note. 

i went shopping last week.  it was a necessity - all my clothes were on the verge of falling off of me - and that is the best feeling!!!  we've been doing the south beach diet since august 1st, and i dropped three sizes since then.

i don't mean to sound like a promotional for the diet, but i've made a career of dieting in my life.  have tried it all.  that nasty cabbage soup diet...it's enough to turn you against vegetables.  the atkins diet works great, but after a while, you look at the meat on your plate and suddenly all you can see is roadkill....and choking down one more vienna sausage for lunch eventually sends your esophagus into spasms of rejection. 

but this one works great. there's a wide variety of vegetables, you don't have to eat grease, you can come up with some great recipes to keep things interesting and it's virtually effortless.  at least, it sure seems that way to me.

and now, i shall go do sit-ups.  nothing is without a little bit of pain.

y'all have a fabulous weekend.  happy halloween!

 

 

forty-seven

and so i'm sitting here, sipping a cup of chocolate cherry kiss coffee (it tastes just as good as it sounds), enjoying the cool fall weather that blew in just today, and continuing the serious note of late - I'm counting my Many Blessings.

today was a special day for me.  not just because it was a birthday.  and boy, did i celebrate - with chocolate.  an intense chocolate orange bar with almonds, and chocolate cake with whipped frosting.  i bet i gained six pounds, but figured it was a holiday so what the heck.  what made the day so special was the walk my son invited me on this morning.

we went down to what i fondly call the back 40, spike bringing up the rear and marking every tiny pine that had sprouted and simply enjoyed the morning.  it was wonderful, and even more wonderful that dale invited me into his domain.

and then when i got back, the folks over at Galadrial's Respite (if you're a poetry lover, that is THE place to go for reading) had surprises waiting in the garden gate.  my friends, jesse johnson and lisa shields had each written a poem...for me.

do you know how humbling that is? to see how someone else sees you, in words...and knowing you cannot possibly be that deserving of their regard.

and there was a card from Lahoma that made me smile and giggle and i finally told her what an inspiration she is to everybody. i should have done that a long time ago.

and all this, plus my little granddaughter's words - you're my best fwiend in the whole world - made me realize just how very blessed i am, and how i don't do enough for these people...

thank you, jesse, lisa, dale, rouge, kellye, lahoma, charles and little sara.  you're all stars in my sky.

Prince Wherever-You-Are

A friend sent me a list of her daughter's requirements for a love interest.  It was your typical - witty, charming, etc. - pretty much the same things you would answer on one of those internet dating sites.  And it's good that the young lady has her mind made up about what she wants.  Who knows, she may even find it - but my friend said,  I'm a lousy mom.  I can't assure her because I don't believe he exists.

Well of course he doesn't.  That list is an ideal, and ideals are hard to find in this world, if not impossible.  There is no absolutely perfect man, and if there's a perfect woman, she's produced by Mattel.  Come to think of it, maybe the man is too.  I mean...Ken smiles all the time and never says a word.  Of course, you have to wonder what he's smiling about.

But we've all made that list at one time in our lives - or at least most of us have.  Ok, SOME of us have.  And while we were ticking off the requirements...did we consider dirty underwear, towels on the floor, burping from either end, bad moods, or that people change?

There will be arguments.  There will be making up after those arguments.  He won't always be witty, and God knows, he won't always be charming.  There will be fifty-eleven things that are not ideal about a person.  Cruelty is out - none of that, physically or mentally.  Apathy, either.  If you find a partner worth having, he's willing to work with you, to try to see your point of view, just as you should try to see his.  And it won't always be 50/50 - that's another ideal - but sometimes, it does happen.

We all want the best for our children, and that includes Prince Wherever-You-Are.  We don't have to assure them he's out there.  We, as moms, cross our fingers and say our prayers that the man they fall for won't be a psycho, abusive, or a total ass.  And if he is, maybe the list does come in handy, because none of those things is on it, and we can point it out. Aside from that, we all learn that no one is perfect, including ourselves, and that our wants in the love department can serve as a guideline, but it isn't something that can be strictly adhered to. 

If I offered advice to my daughter (and i have, whether she listens or not), it would be - Take your time.  Don't rush.  Look at everything and ask yourself, if you have to, is that what you want for the rest of your life?  And ask yourself if you can live with things that aren't quite  ideal. 

 

 

Little Lonesome Rosie and Co.

On Monday, my son miraculously made it through the switchboard to my extension at work and said - Mom, you'll never guess what!

I did not want to guess and told him so.  There are two boxer puppies outside!  I don't know where they came from - I've already been to the neighbors to see if they've lost puppies, but they don't belong to anybody so far.

He was excited.  He has always had a weakness for baby everything - puppies, kittens, humans, possums...but another dog - not to mention two - is something we do not need.

Well, son, I said, if they're boxers, they have to belong to somebody, and they'll have to go back.

And then it hit me, this sudden suspicion that these pups did not magically appear at the corner of my porch, so I asked - Are you sure you didn't bring them home?

Oh no, Mom, they were here when I got here.

Ha.  Later that evening, at the store, one of son's friends said - so how do you like the puppies?  They're mixed, but they'll be good dogs.  Dale was tickled when he picked them up at the fire station.

They're cute, I'll grant you that.  One looks just like a boxer, the other is a gray brendle with gray/green eyes, and my cat, Rosie, is thrilled to have new prey to stalk.

Rosie has been lonesome ever since I gave her brother and sister to the policeman's family several months ago.  At first, she didn't know what to think of the dogs, but she quickly learned to hide behind boxes and pounce on the poor, unsuspecting things - and frankly, I'm glad she has something else to pounce besides me. The dogs - whom I have tentatively named Kate and Sally - don't seem to mind too much.  As a matter of fact, Kate (the brendle) seems to have developed a rapport with Rosie.  They sleep together.

Kate is the rambunctious one.  She has already learned to climb the couch - not a good thing.  I don't allow animals on my couch.  But there she is, every morning after Rosie has finished terrorizing her, in the corner of my sofa, looking relaxed while Rosie looks a bit put-out over the whole deal.

And I certainly didn't mean to fall in love with them, as I'm sure Rosie didn't, but they're sweet and clumsily funny in that leggy seven week old puppy kind of way.

I wonder if, given the number of animals I have, if government aid is available.

 

strange happenings

this has been a strange few days.

i have a screen name i seldom use.  as a matter of fact, i don't chat on it, write on it, or anything else, although i set up the buddy list.  i had considered deleting it, it's so useless.

i noticed there was mail on it, the other day...so i switched over.  my buddy list had been wiped out, and there were names on the recent buddies list i've never seen before.

very odd! and so today, i noticed there was more mail on it.  it said - hi, and that was it.

both my kids deny using the screen name, although it would have been fine if they had. 

next, yahoo messenger disappeared.  now, i don't know what's going on...but i WILL investigate.  wonder if i've been hacked.

The Silver Bullet

Daddy had worked as a long distance trucker, a correctional officer, and finally as a supervisor at a textile plant. He didn’t like the driving time as a trucker, didn’t like the other officers at the correctional facility (he felt they were too abusive to the convicts, as they were called back then), and he danged sure didn’t like anyone else telling him what to do. In the late 1960’s, he rented a store from Mr. Walt Covington – the same store my grandfather had owned years before.

“Why should I earn money for somebody else when I could be accumulating my own?” were his words to Mom. And when she openly worried about the start up funds being used, he told her “Jan, it takes money to make money.”

The man was brilliant. If he had had an education, there’s no telling how much he would have ‘accumulated’, but from that point…he bought the store he rented, and then bought another one. Shortly after that, he built a store of his own design – a combination service station and grill.

My brother, Mike, and I worked at the store before and after school and on weekends. Mike pumped gas, stocked shelves and drink boxes, and I made sandwiches, milkshakes, and the best fries you could ever want to taste. It was a big success, as Dad knew it would be.

“I’ve got the best location in the whole county,” he crowed over a celebratory swig of Jack Daniels.

Not everybody in the county was happy for The Silver Bullet when he opened the store. His reputation as the moon shiner that couldn’t be caught preceded his grand opening, and the ABC officer,  kept a close eye to make sure the Dad complied with the terms of his off premises alcohol license. That didn’t bother Daddy…his days of running shine were behind him, and he had settled into his new business.

“I don’t have to do that anymore. Let the 'em look.” And he grinned, repeated the phrase I would hear over and over, “I have enough money to burn a wet mule!”

But it was the knowledge that there was someone watching closely, someone who could destroy his dream that led to the February night that changed us all forever, in some way.
…

Every minute of that night is freeze-framed in my mind. The time on the clock was 6:45. We were getting ready to close – Mom was counting the till, and Dad was going through the ‘book’, the charges he had made for that day to customers. He had his gun, a .38, in his right pants pocket. He always carried itat closing time. The last merchant who had owned a store at that location had been killed a year earlier, and the building had been set fire afterwards…

I had finished cleaning in the grill, and was drinking a coke when the car pulled up to the gas pumps. It was red…the color of that winter night. Two women got out of the car and came into the store to use the bathroom. They had been drinking. Dad went out to pump the gas. Odd that he would do that…usually, he let my brother go.

I was watching. Dad was pumping the gas, and I heard him ask the men to put their liquor bottle away while they were in the parking lot, but they didn’t want to do that.They got out of the car, and Dad stepped toward the store doors. They were advancing on him, and The Silver Bullet led them away from us by stepping in front and backing away from them. One of them had a knife, the other a broken bottle. Dad took a step back, and then fired the gun in the air. The blaze from it was blue. They kept advancing, and Dad stepped back again, and fired another shot in the air. The man with the knife drew his arm back, and The Silver Bullet took aim and fired a third and final time.

The scream that floated above me was mine, but I didn’t feel it, it was not a part of me. I only heard the high pitched wail as I ran from the plate glass window to the door. Mr. Holloman had come into the store, and he grabbed me, kept me from running outside.

The wounded man had staggered to his open car door, slumped there, and every ounce of blood that was in him spilled out onto the concrete. There was no puddle of blood, there was a river of it, running red, and Dad was kneeling in it, trying to apply pressure to the wound.

Mom had called the sheriff’s department and the ambulance. Dad came to the door, minutes

that seemed hours later.

“Are they coming? Call them back, Jan, oh damn, he’s dying!”

“They’re coming, Marshall, they’re on their way.”

“CALL THEM BACK! Tell them to hurry!” and he was gone again, kneeling again…

The women in the bathroom had come out, the girlfriend or wife of the dying man rushed out and knelt with dad in the blood, and then came running back in. She held out her arms to me.

“Oh help us, please help us,” she moaned, and I put my arms around her and we hugged tight for that minute. I wanted to help her. I did. I was only twelve.

After that, the night was a blur. My brother and I were herded to the back of the store, where a highway patrolman gave us cokes they had broken ammonia capsules into. I was crying…not sobbing, but the tears kept coming and wouldn't stop. Mike never said a word; his lips were pale, his eyes still wide and frightened. We were allowed to come out again when our uncle came to take us away.

The lot was filled with ambulances and county cars, their lights flashing blue, like the fire from the gun, blue and red swimming against the dark.

Dad was standing under the lights outside, talking with an officer. I took a good look at him as I walked by…he was ghostly white under fluorescent light, and tears poured from his eyes.

I don’t think he knew he was crying.

haibun attempt

It is late afternoon as I drive along the stretch of country road that leads to Pleasant Hope. The cemetery is around one of the curves, to the left, beside the white A-frame church.

Tall pines shine
gold, threaded
through green needles

I wonder how much this road has changed since my mother’s youth. This is her past I’m visiting; I recall her stories of walking to church on dusty, unpaved roads.  She could not, or would not, make the trip today. Perhaps she is afraid progress has covered what she knew, and she would rather not see.

The church is as she described it. I trail a finger along iron railing.

cool to my skin,
i touch
my mother’s memories.

minimalist poetry

Some November minimalist attempts:

Late autumn:
Even the scavengers
Have gone.

november:
Hoary ghost
Rides the north wind.

Barren:
Nothing to stop
The tumbleweeds journey

Broom straw:
Sand swept
In semi-circles

Late autumn:
tree skeletons
frame the skyline.

my dog
buried under
heaped monuments

defiant mums
gold dust shines
through silver frost

fire leaf:
wind shivers
a candle’s flame

morning cathedral:
even the crows
are silent.

here ya go, liza

a blog from my hospital days.

Fifty Ways to Say No?

How many ways are there to refuse? Apparently, there are many, but this week I witnessed one of the most unusual ways, and hope to never see one more…punctuated. Let me tell you the story:

Last week, we received a health law violator. The man is ‘eat up’, as we say in the south when someone has an overwhelming case of something, with tuberculosis. On the outside, the man travelled from state to state, coughing the germ which hangs in the air for thirty minutes and waits for you to walk through it breathe it in after it’s expelled. The short of it is – his tb was discovered during an emergency room visit, and after refusing to stay hospitalized, the man was released and referred to a local health department for treatment.

Well, he didn’t go. SO – authorities tracked his butt down and sent him to us, where we can confine him to respiratory isolation and force-feed him the meds that will make him non-infectious and non-threatening to the public.

The first thing he did was make his dissatisfaction known. He told the sgt – “F*CK you!", scared the pee out of the lab lady who went to draw blood by springing from his bed and beating on the walls when she knocked on the door to the isolation room, and told Pat in X-ray – You not talk to me! You not talk to me!

SO..it was my turn to meet mr. eatupwithit. I typed up a nice, neat little authorization for release of information, went upstairs and tagged an officer to go with me to isolation and then we went hunting for a mask to wear – which we couldn’t find. The officer passed the paper through the door to the inmate.

“We need you to sign this so we can get more medical information for the purpose of continuation of treatment, sir.”

Did he say – no, i won’t do that. Did he say – HECK no, I won’t sign it?

Nope. He said

“F*CK YOU!", balled the authorization up, threw it on the floor and peed on it.

I guess a simple ‘no’ wouldn’t have been emphatic enough.

The next day, he called up to the nurse’s station and said..I need somebody.

My favorite nurse, Brown, went to his aid.

“What do you need?”

“I don’t like you.”

“I don’t like you either, mister. What do you need?”

“I don’t like you.”

By now we’ve figured out this guy doesn’t like anybody who could help him get better.

I hope he doesn’t find a more inventive means of saying no while he’s with us.

just what the doctor ordered

folks, it's a momentous occasion.  my friend charles, of whom i've written, sent me an EMAIL.  what's so amazing about that?  it's against his religion, or something.  but since he took the time to send it, i wanted to share it here.  was cute!

BIG BAD WOLF
>
> Little Red Riding Hood is skipping down the road when
> she sees
> a big bad wolf crouched down behind a log.
> "My, what big eyes you have, Mr. Wolf."
> The wolf jumps up and runs away.
>
> Further down the road Little Red Riding Hood sees the
> wolf
> again and this time he is crouched behind a bush.
> "My what big ears you have, Mr. Wolf."
> Again the wolf jumps up and runs away.
>
> About two miles down the road Little Red Riding Hood
> sees the
> wolf again and this time he is crouched down behind a
> rock.
> "My what big teeth you have Mr. Wolf."
> "With that the wolf jumps up and yells, "Will you
> knock it off,
> I'm trying to poop!"

Perspective

It's still early in the week.  I promised myself fun and adventure, and by the end of this day, realized - hell.  My life IS an adventure. 

Upon entering the lobby at work this morning, I spotted Jonesy, the dog handler and his charge, a beautiful chocolate lab.  I've known Jones for years, didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable walking up to him and saying - wow, i know why YOU'RE here.  And the lab bounded up, nudged my hand and acted very pleased to see me.  Now, when a drug dog seems to take a liking to you, you have to wonder...did my brother leave something in my car and the scent is in my clothing?!  So I said to Jonesy - Man, I hope this doesn't mean something.  He laughed and said, no, she's just being a regular dog right now.

*

On Friday, a young man transferred into the unit from another camp.  He should not have been moved.  His platelet count was eighteen.  Eighteen!  We were able to get him scheduled for clinic on Monday - he is in such bad shape, clinic wanted him back on Thursday.  His labs were drawn again...his platelet count has dropped to ten.  If he falls, he could bleed to death before he could be transported to the hospital that's less than three minutes away.  If he sneezes too hard, he could die within minutes.

We're a field unit.  We have no infirmary, nor a safe place for inmates at that kind of risk.  PA talked to him, offered him a seg cell for his own protection. 

*

Over the years, I've seen some of the damnedest things in prison, and some of the most sad.  One inmate was a stroke victim.  I had read his crime version - he was guilty of decapitating another human being and had absolutely no remorse.  He was just plain mean before, and even more so after his cva.  He hated fish.  Every Friday, the kitchen served fish, and every Friday, Brown invited me up to watch her deliver the tray to his room.  The inmate couldn't speak intelligibly, but he managed to get his point across.

Brown took him the tray.  He stuttered - FSH!  F**K!  B***H!, then smacked the tray across the room with his hand.

His condition deteriorated.  He was in and out of acute care hospitals for a period of months.  On his final trip out by stretcher, he shot the bird to every nurse, aid, officer, and other inmates in the hallways.

He definitely was not a man to find religion in his final days.

But there were those who were truly penitent. And it's appalling to see potential so wasted because of a moment of rage, a moment that might not have happened had the person not been under the influence of drugs...

In most cases, it's impossible not to feel compassion.  I am no bleeding heart liberal, but I could tell you stories.

suffice it to say

that the past few weeks, life has been a bit stressful.  we all go through that - but my latest bout has influenced me to take a cue from Gem.

Gem has given herself a thirty-day challenge - even posting pictures of her progress!  Congrats to Gem (if i had the link copied, i'd put in a hyperlink) for what she has accomplished so far, and for serving as an inspiration.  She's a sweetie pie!

And so, following her lead, my challenge to me is...adventure.  What kind, you say?  That's a tough one - sometimes, just walking out the front door is adventure enough, but the definition that suits my purpose(s) is fun.  Relaxation.  And it occurs to me that even the most mundane things can be an adventure...it's all in how you look at it.

I don't have anything mapped out.  Isn't that just like a person with a goal? (*grin*)  But since it's brand new, I'm sure it will formulate during the day, as all my plans do.

I'll be back.  Happy Monday.

 

has anyone else

been spammed?  opened my journal and found SPAM LINKS posted by something named blaze1wyteowl.

this has never been a problem before, but it's here now...so y'all be on the lookout.

glxmrnk

it is early sunday, i just woke, and i honestly cannot see yet.  should you need interpretation, the subject line means good morning.

yesterday, i went to walmart in search of coffee.  on the last trip there, they had no folgers, and i thought - surely they've restocked by now!  but no...the shelves had been picked clean - looked like it had been hit by a flock of coffee locusts.

i'm picky about my coffee and tea - won't buy just anything.  the bargain brands usually have an oily taste (that's the best i can describe it) and are not palatable at all.  so i grabbed the stocker and said - when are you guys gonna get a shipment of coffee in? 

a look of pity came over his face and he said - it won't be for a long time, and i'm afraid supplies are out all over town.  the port in new orleans is closed, and that's where the shipments come in for folgers, our store brand, and others.  could be a month, could be longer, depending on weather in that area.

well...considering what that city went through, i didn't feel very sorry for myself - but i did feel a fair amount of panic.

on the bottom shelf, there were three cans of maxwell house french roast - labeled BOLD in great big letters, and i thought - this will have to do.  so i scarfed up two of the biggest ones, just in case the port in NO doesn't open for a while, thanked the stock guy, and looked for other items that might be affected.  i was gonna stock up!

still, i can't quite see - i attribute that to no folgers - and even though i'm drinking bold, it occurs to me that there needs to be a new coffee strength for people like me...they should have a thick variety and label it aggressive.

*****************************************

on a side note, at the entrance of the store yesterday was a firefighter in plain clothes and a helmet, collecting money for the hurricane victims.  did he have a basket?  no.  did he hold out a cup for spare change and dollar bills?  no.  this guy was more original.  his donation holder was a BOOT.

you've gotta love it.

 

tagged again!

I was tagged by Brenda for this.  what you have to do is go into your archives, find your 23rd post, find the fifth line and post the text of it in your journal.  i'm not quite sure why - but i see something in it.

the fifth line from my 23rd post:

two slices of merita old fashioned bread

this shows me how much i've changed.  it's wheat bread, now - i've gone from white to wheat, from what's bad for me to what could be very good, all the way around.

i do believe i've come into my own...

and now to tag other unsuspecting victi...i mean people!

sandi
bert
paula
ms. dust bunny protector  :-)
beth

highlights

today was a much better day - not bad for a wednesday.  everybody was more relaxed, laughing, being silly.  and i know why - two reasons:

1.  full moon is over. 
2.  twinkles was in the control center on central today, so everybody twinkled back

walking in front of chow, all the white shirts standing around, an inmate grins at me and says - how's marshall doin?  tell him i said hi!

marshall is my dad. so the white shirts all turn toward me with this look of suspicion and i say - i don't know him! and i don't.

but at least it was something that could be laughed off.

prayers for texas - sounds like Rita is a mean one.

have a great rest of the week.

 

some days are just like that

and so it was monday - not quite as crazy as last week, but crazy nonetheless.

from the south unit windows, we watched the drug dogs and officers go through an employees truck.  all the white shirts were standing around (white shirts are the upper echelon - lieutenants and captains), overseeing it all.

later, as i was walking past control center 1, the officer there stopped me and told me what was going on.  seems another officer had found "a green leafy substance" on one of the guard towers, and it tested postive as cannibis.  and so, all the officers who manned that tower last week were being searched.  i sure hope twinkles wasn't the culprit.

one of the nurses came over sometime later and said - did you hear about the big escape plan?  seems three inmates pitched horse shoes at the fence until the fence was worn enough to pull up, and they had planned their escape for the past weekend.  somehow, the plot was discovered (probably ratted out by an inmate who wanted to go but wasn't invited), and all three are locked down in seg.  the public is safe.

even later, my phone rang - it was the admin officer asking me to come over to the admin building to do some filing...

i don't work for the prison where i'm stationed...it's the satellite unit for the hospital that employs me in the medical department.  and so i said - let me transfer you to the supervisor.  if it's ok with her, i'll be right over!

god bless ava.  she said NO.  no.  NO.  and when ava says NO, everybody listens.

and so i had to make a trip to the hospital that employs me.  the physicians' secretary asked - so are you ready to come back to us?  the past two weeks flashed in front of my eyes and i said resoundingly - YES, i am.  but i didn't mean it. at that time. she winked at me on my way out and said - don't worry, i'm working on it!

and even later, ava tracked me down to change something in the computer - an appointment for a seg inmate.  he's being shipped out to ICON.  so i asked why...and she said, because - you remember all those days he was soaking his feet in front of the nurses station and your office?  he was masturbating.

jesus help us.  i believe i can speak for the nurses when i say this as well as for myself - i'm tired of being some convicts fantasy girl.

and even later, it came to my attention thatthe new health department is opening in a nearby town.  am i applying?

Danged straight i am.

lightening up

Off the cuff rambling

It's Sunday morning.  I'm sitting here in a very quiet house, so nothing will do but to make keyboard noises and reflect a bit.

There is someone who has been my friend for years.  We stay in touch sporadically - last time I talked with him was August 3.  I know this because it was my vacation, it was 150 degrees out (it seemed that way), and I had the temerity to ask him out for a cup of coffee.

When I got home on Friday, there was a message from him on my machine.  He called me by the name my family does and said - GIRL, you finally got a machine, it's about time.  I've tried to call you 14 times in the last month.  Call me back, darlin.

And I did, and we talked for two hours.

Not sure what  ingredients it takes to make a lasting friendship.  Perhaps it was the time he was on a business trip and he called to tell me it was snowing in Ohio.  Maybe it was all the dates I hooked him up with, or the bets we made, or the time he just happened by when my car was broken down (this was july!) beside Highway 1 in Aberdeen.  Perhaps it's a connection that transcends the physical.  Before I got home on Friday night, he popped into my mind, and suddenly, between the distance from here to there, I was struck with an overwhelming need to see or talk to him.  And there was the message on the machine. Perhaps it's sharing and caring enough to let the other person know what's going on in your life, letting them know they count.

He certainly counts. 

And so I offered to cook for him (he's not well) and he offered me the nicotine patches he couldn't use when he quit smoking - he switched to a pill instead - and he's down from three packs a day to NONE!  I'm so proud of him!

And I'm proud he's my friend.  Had I chosen a different path in life, he might have been more.

 

six months

One of the questions in the 7 made me think about what a friend has asked me more than once.

What would you do if you knew you had six months to live?  That's a tough one.  When she first asked me, I had to think about it. 

First, I think I would travel to at least one place I've always wanted to go, see things that are a comfort to see.  With limited time and health, that wouldn't be far or for long.  I think I would rent that mountain cabin, watch the mist rise from them in the mornings, watch the shadows fall at night.  Can't think of anything more serene to take with me from this life than that, unless it was being on water.  Perhaps I would plan a ferry trip to Fort Fisher.  On the water is such a free feeling, watching the sun play on the swells, watching it snow seagulls as you toss bread in the air for them to catch.  Feeling weightless.

And then, I would take time to tell each person who has touched my life what they have meant to me - one on one.  And I would thank them for all they've done, for what they've been to me.

I would do something that would make at least a tiny difference for someone else.  Donate to the food bank, contribute clothing to a shelter.  Say something kind to someone who needs it, perhaps.  That does make a difference.

Would I make peace with those with whom I may have been at odds?  I don't know..

And I would spend the remaining time with my family - the people who have been the constants in my life, let them know how much I love them.  And I would write...fast and furious, all the things I wanted to say but never did.

The thing is - those are all things that could be done now - right now - without a deadline (no pun intended).

So...what would you do?

meanwhile, up on gh&i

this has been a busier than normal week.  if i haven't made it by your journals, i'll get there!

cacophany
bits and pieces of life in prison this week:

officer twinkles on the switchboard, gallant and egomaniacal:  good morning, ms. broadaway.  i'm at your service. and you know you don't really have to make all those calls..you just want to talk to me!

supervisor:  where the hell is this guy supposed to be going?  custody is lost - didn't you give them a map?

me:  yes'm, i've given them 1400 maps to the same place, and they don't have a copy?

officer b (accusingly):  ms. b, we can't take the turn on this road - we had to take a detour because of road construction.

me:  oh. (next time, i'll call ahead for traffic conditions. NOT!)

allen, eyes wide, voice low:  broadaway, a guy just got shanked (knifed) on d block.  he's in the nurses station - looks like they tried to strangle him, and he has a knot on his forehead. he's kind of dazed. the place is locked down until they find who did it, and the shank.

me:  speechless.

if they can make a shank and attack an inmate with it, there's nothing to stop them from doing the same to staff.  sometimes, you remember where you are.

old boss from prison hospital on the phone:  hey, kiddo - when you coming back to us?

me:  in about 10 minutes - tell the captain to have a cigarette waiting on the lanai.

and on the bright side, we have a brand new secretary for south unit - my workload has just decreased by almost half!

and on my way out this evening, officer twinkles was manning the gate at tower one.

twinkles (twinkling and smirking):  good night, ms. broadaway.  *wink*

you've gotta love it.

 

 

 

Tagged!

Tagged!

Sandi got me.. ;-)

7 Things I Plan to Do Before I Die:   Finish my novel
visit Scotland
lose back down to size 12 (waaay before i die)
spend a week in a mountain cabin
go camping
pay my house off and see what it feels like not to have mortgage payment every month
open my bookstore

 

7 Things I Can Do:

write poetry
write short stories
make the best pot of black bean soup
crochet
organize an office party
coordinate appointments
html

7 Things I Can't Do:

draw a straight line, or anything else, for that matter
make biscuits
calculus
find my way around unfamiliar places
knit
grow geraniums
turn away a stray animal

7 Things That Attract Me To The Opposite Sex:

!
Twinkly eyes
sexy smirk
great sense of humor/adventure
nice buns
kindness
honesty
nice hands

7 Things I Say Most Often:

whatever blows your hair back
where are my keys?
have you seen my state ID?
i know i put my glasses right here last night
he MUST go on this appointment!
son, STOP that!
i'm out of cigarettes

7 Celebrity Crushes:

Brad Pitt
Brad Pitt
Brad Pitt
Brad Pitt
Patrick Swayze
Richard Dreyfuss
long time ago, Ricardo Montalban.  He twinkled.

 

7 People I Want To Do This:

Paula
Bert
Jade
Liz
Beth...I don't know that many people in J-land yet.

Do You Ever Wonder?

Bert, aka Flossiepumpkin sent these.  Thanks, Bert!  I'm spreading the word, just like the email said to do!

EVER WONDER .

Why the sun lightens our hair, but darkens our skin?

Why women can't put on mascara with their mouth closed?

Why don't you ever see the headline "Psychic Wins Lottery"?

Why is "abbreviated" such a long word?

Why is it that doctors call what they do "practice"?

Why is lemon juice made with artificial flavor, and dishwashing liquid made with real lemons?

Why is the man who invests all your money called a broker?

Why is the time of day with the slowest traffic called rush hour?

Why isn't there mouse-flavored cat food?

Why didn't Noah swat those two mosquitoes?
(Now that's a good question...)


Why do they sterilize the needle for lethal injections?

You know that indestructible black box that is used on airplanes? Why don't they make the whole plane out of that stuff?!

Why don't sheep shrink when it rains?

Why are they called apartments when they are all stuck together?

If con is the opposite of pro, is Congress the opposite of progress?

If flying is so safe, why do they call the airport the terminal?