Ahh, what a weekend!

Almost every second was packed - from the 5-mile yard sale (no kidding, it feels like I walked every inch of it) to dinner out to Beth and Sara Pie's overnight visit, to the baby shower (which was a great success, wish you could have been there!), to cleaning up messes at two houses.

My house was last night and this morning.  You know, years ago when the kids were small, I would trick them into helping out by having competitions:  "Ok, whoever makes the most improvements in the next 10 minutes gets a prize!"  Worked like a charm.  The other thing was to turn on the radio - full blast, as there were no near neighbors, get out the sunshades, broom guitar, salt shaker microphone and honeys, we would be-bop all over this house.  And we got it cleaned, too!

This morning, the radio was the ONLY thing that could get me through this.  Turned on 96.5 The Drive! and motored all over the place.  The mop and I danced to Janice Joplin and A Piece of my Heart.  Old moppie is a great dance partner.  Next was Frankenstein, if you remember that one - Edgar Winter dusted the entire living room.

I had such a good time cleaning, that I might go back and clean some more!

Happy Memorial Day, everyone.

Thank you :-)

To all who left shower game suggestions.  They all look like a lot of fun!  The shower is today...we have prepared food and decorations and probably went overboard, but what the heck.  Might as well have fun.  :-)

Have a great week, everybody.

Reminiscing AGAIN.

A journal entry tonight by one of the loveliest souls in J-land started me thinking about my daughter.  She hadn't even been born yet when the sperm donor (to speak the name gives him power, so it is not spoken here) went to the store for a pack of cigarettes and never came back.  Seems the circus was more appealing than staying put and being a responsible father to his daughter.  PLUS he was a saggitarius. 

A year and a half later, I met the man who was to be her real dad, and after we married, we decided to wait until she was older to tell her about her biological father.

When she was almost four, she started drawing pictures of graveyards and tombstones and little girls crying.  Needless to say, I was very concerned and asked her...What does this mean, honey?

Her exact words were, That's where my real, real daddy is.  He died.

My little sister, who is three years older than my Beth, had spilled the beans, but she didn't want Beth to feel thrown away so she told her *he* was dead.  And so we explained to her as best we could that her real, real daddy was not in the cemetery and that her daddy was Jim now.

The years went and the questions came.  Why did he leave?  And the answers:  It had nothing to do with you, or me...He just couldn't stay in one place.  And it was true.

I would prefer to tell my daughter the truth than a lie.

Why didn't he want to see me?  (I did not say, because he's a coward.)

Does he know my name? (He does.)

Do I look like him?  (you have his eyebrows).

Do I have brothers and sisters? (I did not say, all over the eastern US).

I couldn't answer all of her questions.  Five years ago, her biological grandfather died.  They had never tried to see my daughter, either, but she knew their names and when she found out he had passed away, she went to the funeral home.  And met her father, face-to-face.

"It took guts for you to walk into a place where you didn't know anybody.  You got that from me," he told her.

"No.  I got that from my mother."

I don't blame her for wanting to get a jab in.  But since she was all grown up, sperm donor decided he wanted to have a relationship with her.  He told her he didn't know I was pregnant.

....He was at the doctor with me when I found out.  He bought my prenatal vitamins.

He told her I was too good for him.

At no time did he take responsibility for leaving.  And so, they became close and cozy, and she had the dream dad she had longed for when Jim grounded her, told her no, or when he did any other parental thing that wasn't easy. 

And suddenly, somehow, the facade began to slip.  He didn't want to be daddy anymore.  That poor kid saw him as he is, and it broke her heart.

Some life lessons are hard.  I hope she knows, it was never her.  It was him.  There simply isn't a responsible bone in his body.  And while it hurt (you know it did), she had the luxury of saying - I have a dad, thanks.  His name is Jim.

She wasn't unloved and lacking for a father, after all.

an unabashed plea for help

i'm hosting a baby shower on sunday, and one of the ladies invited asked - what kind of games are we playing?

i have to tell you, all the baby showers i have been involved in (except 1 where there were men and they had to chug something from a baby bottle) involved eating, opening gifts and going home. 

do any of you have ideas for baby shower games?

George and Lacy

There’s no getting around the fact that I have too many animals. There are several cats that need new homes (I’m working on it!) and three dogs that are here to stay. Spike and You are the guardians of the homestead, and poor George is just an overgrown puppy that has not one ounce of social grace. It’s true. Come morning, he tramples me as I lay in bed without so much as an “excuse me, it’s time for my morning jog.”

Two weeks ago, I was on my way home from Durham, driving through a huge rain storm and keeping an eye to the sky for funnel clouds when my cell rang. I thought - this has to be more important than funnel clouds, for someone to call me on the cell phone!"  so I pulled over and answered. It was my son.

I heard you were driving through some bad weather. Is everything ok?

His concern really touched me, but did not surprise me because lately he had been making sure his mama was ok, making sure I had a decent vehicle to drive, etc. But anyway, I said - It’s not too bad! Just passed through a thick rain, but everything seems calm now. I felt the need to reassure him.

That’s good, mom! Hey listen, he said, before I could tell him what a good son he is and how much I appreciate him, you know this dog I got from Robert? I have to take her to the pound.

WHAT? You’re taking her to the pound? But son, I thought Jess loved her!

She does, but we aren’t home much and don’t have the time to take with her and she shreds the bathroom every day. We can’t keep her locked in there, and so she has to go. I hope somebody adopts her. It would be awful if she didn’t get a home and they had to put her down.

He paused to let that last statement sink in and then said in a voice full of epiphany - HEY! Why don’t you take her? She loves you already! And since you’re almost home, you could just swing by and pick her up. I have a BIG bag of dog food, a leash, collar, chew toys…”

I never saw it coming. But in thirty minutes, I was on my way home home with a four month old black rat terrier (I think) pup who looks like a cross between a miniature doberman, tiny greyhound cartoon character dog that has legs too long for it’s little body and ears so big that one of them flops while the other stands straight up. I guess both standing would be too top heavy. ET Phone Home Alien Dog antennas.

Well, my grandpuppy was one happylittle dog to have a home (I guess). She hopped out of the truck, into the house and was prancing like…nothing I’ve ever seen before…when she met George.

George is at least 10 times her size, and when he saw a playmate, he sprang into action.  That poor little alien dog cowered and cringed and made herself even smaller by curling up in a tight ball and closing her eyes (so George couldn’t see her, I suppose).  She was a nervous wreck, completely uncertain of her surroundings and her ability to survive the Great Hairy Monster.  He was gentle enough - he didn’t nip to hurt, but she didn’t know he meant no harm.  He just wanted to play.

I had serious reservations about leaving them in the house while I went to work, but I need not have feared.  When I got home, Lacy had him in a headlock, a tuft of his considerable hair hanging from her chin like a beard, daring him to move.  And he let her.

They have been inseparable, since.  When Lacy gets tired of prancing on her own, she puts her font paws on George’s back and half-hitches a ride down the hallway. He allows her into his “cave”, a spot under my desk where his blanket and pillow are.  But she prefers to sleep in the bed with me, and prefers to sleep the way I do.  If I’m on my back, she’s on her back.  On my side, she’s on her side.  What a strange little bedfellow she is. She particularly likes burrowing under the covers, hiding from the rest of the world.  I guess we all like a cozy place from time to time where we can be alone.

At any rate, I have my fourth and final (for now) dog.  And she’s a cutie.

the older they are, the harder the falls

Yesterday was my son's birthday.  I cooked all his favorites and made an extra cake to take to mom's and dad's so they could celebrate with us, and as I was carrying the cake and the plates, etc, out to his car, I suddenly fell from my two inch heels (go figure).  The good news is, I saved the cake and was able to brush the yard from my slacks, and Dale had a really great time with the family.

Around 2 a.m., between Lacy's (my rat terrier) trips to the potato bin to bring food to bed and incessant throbbing in my knee and ankle, I figured it was Vicodin and decision time.  Was I going to work at 8 a.m.? 

Finally fell asleep, but when I did I had these dreams...the officers were chasing inmates through the office.  My boss was being her loud and bitchy self and talking incessantly while I watched the chase and ducked through it to get the coffee made.  A smoke alarm went off, and suddenly it was three weeks ago when, upon arrival to work, the place was honest-to-goodness on fire.  But that's another entry.  And in my dream, the parking lot was closed for inspection and the superintendent was catching cats (that really happened last week, as well) and putting them in a cage in his office.

I have made three decisions.  1.  I'm elevating my leg today. At home  2.  I will never take Vicodin again.  3.  I'm putting in for a nice, long vacation from prison.

older than i am.

After many years of kids and broken dishes, I decided it was time to buy a new set.  I searched all over, but nothing caught my eye enough to make me buy it.  And then today, I stopped at a yard sale.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the glassware.  I love glass, don't ask me why.  But there amongst all the neat things were 2 sets of blue and white dishes.  They were gorgeous!  The edges were scalloped, the pattern was pretty and dainty and I could see myself using those on weekend mornings, my coffee/tea cup on a matching saucer.  Quite civilized, don't you think?  And so I approached the Lady in Charge of pricing and said..how much for the dishes?

And she replied - 5 bucks.

Before I could stop myself, i blurted - that's ALL???

And so, quickly, before she could go up on the price, I whipped out a 5 and the transaction was complete.

And when I got home, I checked the stamp on the bottom - J&G Meakin of England - and hopped on the computer to see what else was available on ebay.  There was plenty out there!  All for a nice fat price, plus shipping.

The dishes are antiques.  Collectibles.

Yikes!  I'm supposed to eat from those?  I'm supposed to cut meat, use a fork, scratch the surface, etc??  Oh, the stress of it all!

Ya know, I could sell them on ebay for 5 bucks each and make a mint, but...I like them.  They're pretty and dainty.  I'm going to keep them, use them and enjoy them.  What the heck.

I confess.

I snagged the photos of my family from - you'll never believe this - my mother's Myspace page.  She has become quite the netizen since she has been housebound and we gave her a laptop for Christmas.  She has her Bingo chat - she tells me all the gossip and even made me play 7500 games so I could get into the masters room and she could introduce me to her buddies.  She emails with old friends she can't visit, and generally enjoys her computer.  Nothing wrong with that - they can be a godsend for shut-ins.

My father doesn't see it that way.  He complains bitterly about the time she spends online because it detracts from attention to HIM, but that's just Dad and none of us take it seriously.  It's a little funny, in fact.  Once, he said - Computers are going to be the ruin of this world! - and there are ways in which he is right.  He is so adamant about his belief  he wouldn't touch mom's computer - until he found out he could read the news online.  Still, someone has to pull it up and scroll for him.

You can imagine my surprise when I logged into my own Myspace page (where I very, very seldom go)  today and there it was - a friend request.  From none other than my father.

I wonder if he knows.  LOL!  Sounds like the work of my warped-sense-of-humor sis. 

Anyway...should you want to meet my papa, you can find him here:    http://www.myspace.com/king_tiger1999

I'm still rolling.  LOL!

Testing

I wanted to see how easy it was to add pictures.  Here are a few of my family.  First is my son (white t-shirt), my biker brother, Mike (he's the one in leather), and my nephew, Aaron.  The next one is my  handsome father, Marshall.  I look a lot like him.  The handsome young man in the next photo is my grandson, Joshua, who will be spending the weekend with me! And next is his sister, Sara Pie.  And last but never, ever least - she would not tolerate that - is my sister, Jennifer.

Seattle's Best

A few weeks ago, AOL had a survey on the most popular coffees.  I forget which ones ranked the highest because frankly, I had not tasted them and therefore have no passion for touting them.  However, I'm sitting here sipping a cup of Seattle's Best (bought a sample package for a buck at Food Lion).  Breakfast blend, it is.  A dark roast - so dark, the unbrewed grinds were jet black.  Owie.  That's a bit rough,  and I may not sleep at all tonight.  It will without doubt lift any fog that dares settle around the brain.

I'm a Folgers woman.  Someone once told me that my unsophisticated palate was probably rendered incapable of discerning the finer coffees.  That's a lie.  There's a blend from Boca Java that is so smooth and rich that it makes me want to bow down and pay homage.  And when I'm a millionaire (any day now), I shall purchase a pound of the beans and grind them all, except one which shall sit in a gold ramiken on top of the mantel in the living room. There's a reason there are finer things, and all of them have to do with expense.

And that, folks, is my caffeine induced ramble for the evening.  I hope your week has been good and that your Mother's Day weekend will be magnificent.

.

Of what avail is an open eye if the heart is blind? - Solomon Ibn Gabirol

Of all the positive there was to choose from, she chose to focus on a physical flaw. "He would be a handsome man IF -"

And then continued to say how she could not understand how people could allow themselves to look that way.

I was stunned wordless. Perhaps because I have known him so long, the flaw is not something I see.

She hasn't known him for years, but she surely she has seen his gentleness and his heart. It's so obvious to everyone who encounters him. Always, a kind word. A helping hand. An offer if help isn't asked for. A smile for children when others might be annoyed by their rambunctiousness, because he remembers. Strength. Wit. He's a rare combination with that little bit extra that makes another person stop and take notice.

I wanted to jump to his defense. A hundred sharp words for nailing her to the wall leaped to the end of my tongue and died there. If that's all she sees, no amount of enlightenment could teach her anything below surface or show her what there is to a man that makes him more.

If it would not raise questions and perhaps a blush adding one more color to an already vast spectrum, I would go up to him and tell him what I see. And I know what he would say, "I don't know about that." If it would not raise questions, I would look in his eyes and tell him - You are beautiful.

And it would be true.

goodbye, july 18

heat index of 105-110, everybody moving slow and grouchy.

me: hey johnny, i’m on my way to mccain to pick up supplies. want to ride?

uh huh johnny, jumping up from his seat: uh huh, you know johnny does. we’ll cruise, uh huh, people are gonna talk.

me: oh well, what the heck. it’ll be a new ripple. it’ll only last a week.

dr. h: i’m not quite with it today
me: well..it’s monday. we’ll be ok.
dr. h: no we won’t.
me: we won’t?
dr. h: no, we’ll still have our bizarre personalities.
me: thanks dr. h — you just unraveled my last thread of hope.

wright (7:15 a.m.) : we’re sending this guy out to the ER!
wright (9:15 a.m.) Holy hell, he cut his wrists! we’re sending this guy to the ER!
wright: (11:49 a.m.) call operations — we’re sending another one out!
wright: (3:15 p.m.) call mccain — we’re sending this one to first aid and x-ray!

Oh, will Monday never end?

superintendent: we’re getting you a new computer and a bigger office!
me:  well ok!

And from the rehab room that will soon be my office...the sound of a guitar accompanying soothing tenor.  For just a minute, we paused in doorways to catch the gentle of the music, and the chaos stopped while Jim sang.