Born in the GDR, Got a Hammer & a Sickle & a Wooden Car

(Sing the title to the tune of Springstien's Born in the USA)

Wow, 22 years has gone by...in the blink of an eye.

My oldest son turns 22 tomorrow. It's so hard to think 22 years ago started all this mommy-hood. I have no issue grasping his age, that he is a 22 year old man. Until I grasp that it "happened" 22 years ago.

When he was born, I had a deadline of time to get him "American made" or the German Government would claim his as a citizen of their country and then I'd have to battle for rights to remove a German citizen to the United States. So of course I went into it full speed trying to get his paperwork in line. There were many issues that kept popping up and slowing our race down. Like the fact that he was born with my last name and within 4 days, mysteriously he bore his father's name on official paperwork...done in a less than official way. And since some documentation had already reached German hands, it caused some issues. (This was part of my lessons in knowing the right people, will pay off.)

Then there were the fights down at the consulate in trying to get his paperwork into the system before the deadline. I was down at the consulate on a daily basis for nearly the entire 30 days. This is like waiting in line at a California DMV--Suicidal. Every time it got close to being my turn some weird-O off a recently landed space ship would show up and be the one in front of me and muck up the entire days waiting. Twice I met up with a "Johnny Carson talent Scout" (I swear that's what he told me, flipping insane maniac!) If that wasn't enough, how about the guy who kept trying to place his lips under the 4-inch-thick glass service tray--WHILE IT WAS MY TURN. He somehow had the misguided impression that if he placed his face squishy close to the glass and pushed his lips under the service opening, that he'd be better understood. When they refused to understand him, he tried to spit under the window...leaving a goopy, phlegmy, green mess in the tray. I am pretty sure he came off a spaceship that dumped him there. With those same lips, he wanted to kiss my infant son. OH-BUT-HELL-NO!!


Then there was a that day when everyone seemed to speak Chinese and no matter what I said no one seemed to understand my mission. It occurred to me I should probably press my lips to the service tray and try harder to get my point across.

Oh yes, and don't forget day 29 of 30 in the deadline when I got up after a full night of nightmares for what was awaiting me and dressed myself and the baby, boarded the train and headed to the consulate only to realize the funny stink on the train was not the nasty looking Oscar-the-Grouch dude who stood to close to me (who I was sure was going my way.) ...it was me. The baby, my precious bundle, had thrown up all down my back. I was heartbroken...devastated...wrecked and stinky. But I decided maybe they'd take pity on me. So I continued to the consulate. Amazingly my train mate went too...gee, how could I have possibly figured Oscar-the-Grouch needed to be right where I was that day? somehow I knew Oscar woke in his local dumpster and thought to himself "I need to go to the Consulate and wreak havoc and my stink."

He raised hell when we got there. He kept swaying--which helped to perpetrate the stink. You could almost see green air swirling at his feet. And yet, he looked to me as the leader of the stink. Since the baby chose then to fill his diaper. Yeah, those were the good ol' days.

So, anyway, after a month of repeating steps 1 through 3 and no progression to steps 4 & 5, I was in shock that day as they called back to complete step 4 and 5. I think it had to do with the barf on my back and the "I AM GOING TO BAWL IF YOU DON'T GET THIS DONE WITH" look.

While sitting there and thinking "Oh my! I am the luckiest girl in the world." the woman in position number 4 proceeds to chew me from crown-to-toe for waiting until the last minute. "You realize we would have processed the paperwork tomorrow to make your son a German citizen? Do you not care about the status of your child? You wait until the last day to get your paperwork in order? I should reject this paperwork and make you come back again tomorrow and apply for extensions, this would teach you to wait."

The part of me that had been abused for a month wanted to stand up and give her something to bitch about...but the little voice somehow got through to me...what if she wants to scrutinize the birth documents and see the "less-than-legal-changes"? So I shut up and nodded a lot. I apologized even. Dummy me, how could I have put this off so long...thank you for bailing my ass out, thank you for bestowing me with nurturing intellect. thank you for ramming my head into a wall for a solid month, I've so enjoyed this journey. Thank you for making me realize the IRS is not the only true enemy of mankind.

So anyway, he's an American kid, and if I knew then what took me so long to know now, I'd have forgotten that paperwork and stayed on there with my German citizen.

How Can We Sleep When the Post is Burning?

(Originally posted January 29, 2008, in my MySpace blog. Moving files to avoid site attrition.)

Wow. I am having an emotional blitz.

My older sister sent a note to say that Fort Chaffee is burning. Fort Chaffee was a prior duty assignment for my husband and I. We loved it there. Not really sure why. It sits on the edge of Fort Smith, which is a gorgeous little town. Fort Smith has a history that goes back at the very least, 200 years. It occupies the edge of the old cowboy/savage territories. It's history is on display (largely the west side of it) always.

At the eastern edge of it sits Fort Chaffee. My husband got orders to Fort Chaffee from Alaska. We were trying to stay in Alaska, but Fort Chaffee put us 90 miles from my home and we'd just had a baby, we felt we needed to bring him home and share him. We knew we were going to a satellite post, therefore very small. We just had no clue how small and how far it was. When we first arrived there, my husband could not find a soul on the post to sign in with. We drove out there several times, with no sign of anyone. We'd listened to books on tape all the way home from AK. One we'd listened to was a 17 hour book about a closed down military base with mysterious things that happened at night. Only to discover the base had not really closed, it just went underground and they were developing experimental warfare there. One experimental thing was combat-ready-electromagnetic-monkeys. We never took that book too seriously until we made enough trips to Fort Chaffee to start to suspect the only way we would find anyone would be to camp there at night and let the combat-ready-electromagnetic-monkies take us prisoner.

But seriously, he was preparing to drive 7 hours to San Antonio and sign in with his parent unit so that he'd not be listed as AWOL. One day we were out there and we saw a man walking way down a road. My husband was so excited to see the man he literally jumped out and ran after him. :) (Ah, safe from the monkies for another day!)

So finally he was directed to his new unit, we find that they are in their offices on the other end of post in a smaller compound. He started working there and life at the new duty station began. Though 9.11 happened not long after we got there, so almost immediately he was on what seemed a continuous stream of TDYs. Not like it was a big deal, the places was almost always a Ghost Town.

Fort Chaffee has quite a history, my family is tied to it in a strange way. My Great-Grandfather lied about his age and went to fight in WWI in France. When WWII came around he ran right back to rejoin the Army in high hopes he'd get to France again. Instead he went in as a postal master and while my great grandmother and grandmother became Rosie Riveters in Dallas, my great grandfather languished on Fort Chaffee.

All the years went by and when we got there, there just were not too many places left on Fort Chaffee, with the exception of the old row buildings. If you wanted to get a good feel for the way it looked, the movie Biloxi Blues was filmed on it. I watched it about a year ago and kept saying "That has got to be Fort Chaffee!" (And it was.) Fort Chaffee was where Elvis was inducted into the Army during the Korean War. It held the Cuban Detainees and on the military side of the house, Fort Chaffee was originally the JRTC (Joint Readiness Training Center). In 1991-92 the JRTC moved to Fort Polk (another post that seems interwoven into my life) and Fort Chaffee all but shut down. Until tonight, there were old wooden buildings all over it.

Fort Chaffee was still in use for troop training, on the side of having land for operations training. It's been used by everything from Navy Seals to weekend warriors training. We used to go out to the post and explore it. It seemed so strange, this place that was all but abandoned. In several areas of the post there were stone buildings that had obviously been built by stone masons and not Army Corps of Engineers. These buildings were built by the German POWS of WWII. I loved the old buildings. The only one I know of that was still in use was the front gate. There was one off the main area of post. It was a long slender building with a larger veranda on one side. At first I thought it must have been the old Officers Club or something like it. The veranda had the look of a watering hole. But when I got up on the veranda and looked in, the building had a very utilitarian look. I played with it over and over in my head as to what that building had been used for.

Not long before we left, I decided it most likely was a central processing building or perhaps the post office.

Last May I got my answer to that question, when my grandmother died. We poured through her old pictures and photo albums. In her scrapbook, that held memories of junior high (1930ish) to WWII, there was a picture of her father, my great grandfather, in his khakis standing on that Veranda and it said "Dad at work." I recognized it instantly. I often wondered when I explored Fort Chaffee, if I was wandering where he had been. Strangely enough, in that picture, where he stood, I stood in just that spot many a time looking in and looking at the area surrounding it, trying to figure out what all had been there in his time and did he ever come there.

I am sure that building is still standing tonight, because it is off the beaten path. But word at 7 PM was 13 buildings had burned to the ground. Now at 9, I just read that 60 had burned to the ground. the winds and dryness in the area are making it hard to control the blazes. It's so sad to think it's burning to the ground. It was such a neat place--that somehow I am emotionally tied to.

Here's a link: www.Thehometownchannel.com

The Ten Tenacious Tenor Dudes

(Posted originally in my mySpace blog on January 22, 2008. Moving files over to prevent site attrition.)

We went Friday to see the Ten Tenors. WOW!!! They completely rocked...hell, they opera'd and even disco'd too. They were wonderful. I don't think my husband was too giddy with being forced to go at first, but after the show opened, I think he enjoyed it more than the rest of us did.

Above the music, they were funny too. It was a wonderful show and if you get a chance to go see them, you should. They were well worth it. I can't say enough positives for them. No matter your musical Preference, you'd really enjoy their show.

www.Thetentenors.com

I am lover of QUEEN from the first time I heard them...which was like age 6. I do not like to hear anyone re-do their music. The Ten Tenors paid homage to Queen, and did two of their songs. One was Who Want's To Live Forever--which was very moving. I loved it. And of course, they did Bohemian Rhapsody which brought the house down. They got a standing ovation for it. For the first time ever I think, I approved of someone else singing a Queen song...the ultimate Queen song.

Here's a sampler:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZwkMR3LP9c

I had to laugh sitting there in the crowd watching people mouth the words to Bohemian Rhapsody--most people surrounding us were my parents age. I remember when I got that album (Yes, black vinyl thing played on a turn table.) My mom and dad would say "Turn that racket off!" :::SIGH::: I think we're all getting old, except Freddie who is frozen in time forever...

The Epiphanal Egg Before the Chicken

(Moved over from my MySpace blog. Originally posted January 7, 2008)

Growing up, which I did largely in Europe, we got into the habit of putting up our Christmas tree around Thanksgiving weekend. Mostly because of the season, and party schedules and such. By the time we moved to Berlin, Christmas was one of those very important seasons for parties. My parents had a standard date for their huge Christmas party which was about the first weekend in December. Their party kicked off the season. We had house guests and constant company throughout the season as well, so the decorations HAD to be up before the Thanksgiving weekend was over. The house was huge and had many rooms so it was not like the decorations got in the way. So they seemed to grow in mass every year. A doll house occupied a big round table and village grew around it. The Tree stood about 9 feet tall and always drawfed by the 15 foot ceilings. From the point you entered the main floor of the house you stood in a fireplace room with a big, gorgeous staircase up the side of the room and a livingroom built around the hearth with French doors on either side leading to the other "livingrooms". One side was a family room living room the other was a ball room and a hall off to the butler's pantry and the formal diningroom. Every room had to be decorated. The house would glow in all the colors of the holidays. My favorite memory is when we'd finish all the decorating and the fire would be lit in the fireplace room. The house was perfect. The first year we put the Christmas stuff up, and my mom realized she had no where near enough to decorate a house that size--and went on a buying spree. :) The first year, we got it all up and it seemed to beg for more. We realized that house was a Christmas House.

Well, by January 6, the Day of Epiphany, like the Europeans around us, we took things down. We dreaded it coming down because the house seemed so right. But after it all came down and was stored for the year, we began a ferocious cleaning of the house. It seemed the most natural thing to do. It was a sense of rejuvenation of the spirit. It was a precursor to spring cleaning. That time of year became a close second on my list a favorite times of year.

We never made resolutions, resolutions are really a means of reminding ourselves WE SUCK. I make resolutions now, but they are commitments to myself, and exercises in self growth.

Traditionally, I have sucked in a big way since my childhood. The first years away from home, I killed myself decorating. I brought my house to all the sparkle my moms had, had. I spent days getting it all just right. Come January 6, I took it all down and began tearing my house apart room-by-room to clean and rejuvenate it all. In the end, my house would sparkle and my order would be restored.

Then I did the single years after my first divorce. My stuff was stored for 2 years while I lived with my parents and worked and when I moved into my apartment, I stored the Christmas stuff. I had so many gorgeous ornaments and could not wait to decorate my own place again. When Christmas rolled around I got it all out and found my ex had managed to keep everything of value--and in turn his new wife smashed it all. I was so mad, upset and pissed. I just left it and went away for the day. When I came home, my room mate and best friend had put it all away and cleaned the house. He knew me better than I knew myself. We did not do the January renewal thing that year. Over the years we stayed roomies--'cause I am no fool, the man could cook like no one else and always inspired my wicked streak. (Does it get better than that? LOL) We decorated for Christmas, but never with a tree. I had no desire to own ornaments and trees. It just died in me. If I needed a Christmas fix, I could go to my parents. I went a lot of years--and the thing I missed most was January 6. The day renewal begins.

We did spring cleaning but it was not the same, not sure why.

When I married my husband, we eloped and spent a day together before he left back to Alaska. We spent months apart and I finally finished my contract and got to Alaska. I got there in time for Christmas. I got there Dec 11, and had the first real vacation I'd had in years. It was perfect. He worked half days, then we'd go out and shop to build our household. I moved to Alaska with 5 boxes, and they contained towels, and a few pretties for the walls. Every thing I owned was in those boxes and a few in my mom's attic. I brought two Christmas ornaments with me. They were accidents.

Just days before I left my job to move, a woman who was a PIA in most ways and very gruff, came in with a box full of Victorian handmade ornaments. She made them all year long and gave them out every Christmas. She said "I've been looking everywhere for you. I make these and give them as gifts, and I want you to have the first pick because you are a newly wed." This woman and I did not often see eye-to-eye. She felt slighted by me because while my position was the only one like it in the company (or the US for that matter) she felt I was junior to her and each time the departments were divided into teams I was always given the position as leader. I normally worked all by myself and was part of no department, but got grouped in for the big projects--which were several times a month. I am bull headed and when I know how to work a project I do it that way. I will take recommendations, but if my way is the right way, we do it that way. It's a strength and a limitation for me. She had her ways, I had mine. Mine were more efficient so she and I fought a lot. Eventually she gave in, but it bugged her. So, needless to say, I was shocked she sought me out to give me one of her cherished pieces. She insisted and would not listen to me when I told her I did not do Christmas stuff. But she forced it and it was a gift. It's hateful to not receive a well meant gift. So I took one. I tried to leave it with my mom because "I DON'T DO CHRISTMAS" LOL. That same night we went out shopping and we ended up at a pricey store. My mom purchased me a beautiful ornament from Tulsa--with the beautiful Tulsa Skyline on it. Again, I reminded her I did not do Christmas. She insisted I take both ornaments with me.

Some months after I left, the woman died from complications of an illness. I have always been grateful for that ornament--and mostly because she forced it on me. And I love my Tulsa ornament, Tulsa has a beautiful downtown area. I was always in love with the art deco.

So the first year, we did no tree. LOL I hung my ornaments from a lamp base. ;) No Christmas tree that year or the next. we decorated, but no trees. Then a friend won me a tree the 3rd year we were there. She was bugged I did not do the tree thing. So I got this cool Christmas tree. Then the company I worked for gave me two beautiful hand blown glass Christmas trees with their own decorations. And several friends gave me ornaments that were precious in their own right. Suddenly, the girl who did not do the Christmas thing, had a dish barrel full of Christmas junk.

I did the January 6 clean up that year for the first time in forever. Over the years we've randomly put up the tree and decorations. Mostly because we'd take leave and not be home so why have a tree up. On those years, I did not do the January Epiphany thing either. It seems I have to have the Christmas thing to get to my epiphany.

While I do not recognize the day for it's religious bearing, it's meaning is powerful. It's about manifestation and impact of insight. Two (of several) definitions of Epiphany:
..>

1. a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience. ..>
..>
2.
a literary work or section of a work presenting, usually symbolically, such a moment of revelation and insight...>

It's funny that way, because epiphany is one of my favorite descriptive words. Because sometimes it requires with much more momentum to give me the insight I need. More often than not, the insight I did not know I was searching for.

So this year, I had my epiphany. We put that Christmas stuff up before Thanksgiving, because we were having family over for the Thanksgiving weekend. The house was made bright and happy and festive. Presents wrapped with care and all that good stuff. And a week before Christmas, that depression hit me that always does, I wanted to take it all down and clean my house. I fought the urge. Then we traveled for 10 days and the tree waited. Then yesterday, we took it all down and put it away. I love my ornaments almost every single one has a story attached and I am reminded of those stories as I put up and take that tree down.

And once the tree was down, we started the cleaning. I could not stop. The day was perfect, winds and warm air. I was standing at the sink scrubbing something out and my husband said "take a rest--I know you have to be worn out." and I realized I was exactly the opposite. I was invigorated. That really, it was this day that I "NEEDED" to get my center back.

It gave me time to review my expectations for this year. To plan a romantic trip or two and figure out what's really important.

So, I guess I will have to continue with the Christmas thing so I can get to my epiphanal center. In a way, it's as if the real new year starts for me on January 6.

The Sith is in the Details

(Originally posted January 5, 2008 in my MySpace blog. Moved to avoid site attrition.)

I have this cat. I used to have this other cat. He was lovely, fluffy and plump. He loved me and no one else--with the exception of a few others who came to visit. He was so shy. I lost him some months back. It haunts me because I loved him so much and I know he loves so few others. I hope he found someone else who loved him like I do. He was an outdoor kitten when he found us. Immediately after he moved in with us, he began bringing me gifts. CRAWDADS!! My son was an itty bitty toddler at the time and nearly killed himself trying to get away from the "Lobmonsters" and "Clawdads" So Brimmy ran away and maybe someday he will return. Until then, I wait.

But my little old lady cat, who hated Brimmy, suddenly went into mourning for the partner she never liked. I felt horrible. I missed him too. My mom had this semi adult male tom who was in need of a home so she gave him one. He lived a hard luck life at her house because her siamese from hell would hunt him down to hurt him constantly. So I decided I would take him and give my old lady some company. His name is Kater.

He's black and white and looks like he is wearing a cheap toupe. His fur is velvety soft and I started referring to him as my Velveteen Rabbit. Then one day I looked up and saw him on one of the curio cabinets and realized he looked like a rabbit we owned when I was a kid. "Mr. Wabbit" So his name has become "Bad Rabbit" And he is a bad, bad creature.

Since coming to live with me he has spread his wings to overthrow the world. He is always in trouble or searching for trouble. When he dreams, it is no doubt about him leaping about while helpless humans scream below. I do love this cat. I love 'em when their bad apples.

Years ago we had a cat named Cait (pr. KITE) Sith which is Gaelic for Cait: cat; Sith: Devil, demon, wicked spirit. Cait Sith was black and white and lived up to his name in every way. He was so mean. He'd chase you down to beat the hell out of you. Kids on my block did no fear our dogs, but if you threatened them with Cait, they'd run away screaming. Kater is German for tomcat, because he is a wicked cat, his name is Kater Sith.

For the hundredth time, he's killed my houseplants. Thrilled at their deaths. He is practicing for world domination. The only difference with him and Cait is that Cait had a taste for blood and Kater just likes to hear you scream.

Right now, he is resting up so he can keep me up all night. I am being punished for leaving him at my moms house for a few days. If I go missing, blame the cat.

RIP

Posted Dec 17, 2007 in my MySpace blog. I am moving files over to avoid site attrition on MySpace.)

RIP
One of my very favorite Christmas gifts I ever got was an album by Dan Fogelberg. My uncle gave it to me when I was 14. I loved it more than the stereo I got that same Christmas. I lived in horror that my friends would know I listened to it every night. It was so out of fashion.

But I fell in love with poetry and lyric writing because of that album.

Today, the man who led me to that love has died. How sad for all of us--especially those who do not know his lyrics.

This is my very first piece of fan mail...I hate my timing.

RIP Mr. Fogelberg.

A Whack Below the Belt of Pride

(Posted to my MySpace blog on Dec 12. I am moving files to avoide MySpace site Attrition.)

I am hurting from head to toe today. I think I pulled like 30 muscles.

I decided to clean little man's room and get rid of a ton of his toys. Christmas is coming and there is no more room in his room. We found a great desk for his computer, the perfect size. So it seemed like a good time to get it all done.

I went in there at 1 PM yesterday, I started out badly, by falling off a chair while I was trying to put the new curtain rod up. Then I and was on the floor for four hours simply sorting legos, special legos (for building specific things) magnetix, bionical robots and his Dragon/castle mega blocks. It took me 4 hours just to get all that sorted. I didn't even go through his rescue heroes stuff or take a whack at his toybox from hell. It's an Army foot locker brimming over. This is how bad it is in there.

Seems unimportant I know, but I had them sorted a certain way, to make everything fit. Since he prefers to play with those toys and action figures, I was trying to get rid of anything else. Stuff to donate or pass on to littler cousins.

The doorbell rang and I pulled my stiff self up to go get it, half way down the stairs my legs completely gave out on me. I had no clue I'd lost so much circulation just sitting there. So I took a trip down the stairs--really fast. LOL

The dogs needed to go out, so I took them out and was putting them into their pen. This is where it gets really crappy. My rottie had torn a corner up of the pen. So I needed to fix it. Well, I had no time for it right then, so I went in to move the huge dog house to cover that area. Just as I went in, I cursed at her for being a big dumb idiot bone head. She decided I was mad at her. (Gee, you think?) and she ran into the huge dog house and REFUSED to come out. I tried to shove it over the spot, I tried to drag it, I tried to BUDGE it. I kicked at the dog house trying to scare her out. I yelled, I begged, I pleaded. I even tried treats. The freakin' idiot would not come out. I was freezing my butt off, wearing shorts, clogs and a T-shirt. 10 minutes before this, I'd been sweating. I was sore from my flight down the stairs...I got the bright idea to lift the front of the igloo and roll it into place. Mind you, there was a 80+ lb dog inside, and the 10 lb Dog leaped in as I was lifting the front end.

Yeah, thanks to yesterday, I have anger management issues. I really hate dogs. :P I had to get a rake to get her out. I stuck it in and she hid in the corner. Finally she came out. By that time, I was ready to wrap it around her dumb neck. The little while one leaped out and ran away through the gate I'd left open.

So I finally got that part dealt with, I went in frustrated and upset and cold. I went back up and worked over Little Mans room and spent another 4 hours in there moving things around and pulling toys out of every possibly cranny. And also running up and down the stairs for the doorbell that rang maybe 40 times. By the time I'd finished it was 8:30 PM. The room looked fabulous. I went down, made a quick dinner, ate and woke up at 10 on the couch. I did not remember falling asleep. I just died. But when I woke up, I could not move. Every thing on my body screamed.

When I went to bed, it was slowly and agonizingly. It was not until 6 AM this morning that I realized this was not room cleaning pains, it was throwing the doghouse around the kennel pains. I think I pulled 30 muscles. I swear.

I believe my form merited me a 9.2, but my limited shove distance pulled my scores down with a 3.2, My cursing, reduced my overall score by 2 pts and the fact that I lost a passenger in the end of round two (little white dog) probably lost me an additional point. However, my tenacity to stick it out until I got it moved gave me 4 pts. But the dismount (leaving the kennel) was sloppy in that I caught my shoe as I walked out and stumbled--I am sure that cost me a point. I get 6 points for not letting the physical pain of all things stupid, to get to me. So I think my score would be: 4.6

Oh well, no need to worry about it now, I am pretty sure they will never make "Moving/Shoving a Full Dog House" an Olympic event. I am not so sure it'd be kept out of the events because of physical prowess as much as no fashion conscious Olympic maven would be caught dead in the get up I was wearing to do it in.

Such is the story of my life. First Bull Frog Gardening gets dropped and now this. Gonna have to go find a new event to become known for.

Hell of a Day

(Originally posted Dec 8, 2007 in my MySpace blog. I am moving things over so I don't lose them to the site attrition.)

About 15 years ago I worked with a woman who was a lovely, endearing person. If you met her for 5 minutes, you knew she had a son. "That son of mine..." She'd been a single mom for years and raised this kid alone. He was in his early 20's when she and I became friends. I was a single mom too and wanted to be her when I grew up. I had that son of mine too.

She was a successful business woman, a mover and a shaker. One day, "that son of hers" was out working on his car. He had several chemicals on his hands from working on the car, specifically antifreeze/coolant. It wasn't much, just what had dripped onto his hands while he was filling the reservoir. Anyway, in the process of working on his car, he knicked his finger or pinched it. It hurt and reflex made him pull his hand back, and he stuck that finger in his mouth. The chemical taste made him spit.

Well, that night he had what seemed flu symptoms, and the next day they thought surely an appendix. The morning after that, he'd gone into renal failure. At the end of the week, his mother stood at his bedside and held his hand as he left this earthly plane for whatever waits out there for all of us.

A simple drop of antifreeze killed him. Damaged him beyond repair and ended his life. That shook me then and to this day, stays with me. The damage something so seemingly insignificant can do.

So today, we had one of those days. nothing we did was working out. I swear, we stayed behind the gun on time and literally, we'd fix one situation and two more would kick us in the butt. We had to load Jerry's Jeep to bring it to a specialty shop here in Springfield. (100 miles from our home) and the trailer we had, had problem after problem after problem. Freezing rain, my car suddenly misbehaving. It just seemed to go on and on.

Before we left town, Jerry checked the oil on my car and we'd purchased some antifreeze at the autoshop--so he added it in too. He was wearing gloves, a little got on his gloves. I thought for a second about her son dying from "drops" of the stuff. A cold chill ran through me. However, that always happens, because like I said, it has stayed with me. We were at the service station and still had to go home to get the dogs for the trip. He got into his Jeep and I was in my car and we were going to follow each other home. I was preparing to pull into traffic when I looked back over my shoulder and saw quite possibly the most terrifying thing I can imagine seeing. My 7 year old (who had years ago outgrown this kind of behavior) sitting in his booster seat, holding the jug of antifreeze my husband had set in on the floor of the van. He had it in his hands and he literally had his mouth open and on the jug where the stuff had dripped out. I had been accelerating into traffic, and nearly got us whacked by oncoming traffic because I gunned the car out there. I was at a point where I really could not stop, I was hauling a very large, damaged trailer and we were at a point where moving forward was the only option. So I grabbed my phone and called my husband...then my sister to have her get on line and look up what I needed to know. I was racing towards home the entire time. I was screaming "don't put your hands near your face, don't lick your lips, don't swallow."

We got home and washed him down and by then my sister had spoken to poison control for me. They told us to go to the hospital. Which we planned anyway. Two out of three of us in the car cried on the way to the hospital. I could not keep myself calm enough to not upset him. I kept thinking about my friends son.

We spent 4-5 hrs at the hospital. They ran screens to see if he'd gotten any or had problems and observed him. They did bloodwork and IVs, and Little man mastered a new talent of peeing in a cup. We have to watch him for about 12 more hours before we can be sure there is no reaction.

I am so tired, yet so wired. I just cannot believe he did that. Did I mention I am so thankful tonight that he is being his normal bratty self?

Be My Muse

(Posted November 19, 2007 in my MySpace blog. Transfered to avoid loss to attrition.)

When my grandmother died in May, it took me so by surprise at a time I had no time left. We were days away from starting our move out of state. I went to her house for three weeks and worked on her house and tried to grieve but not grieve. I slept in her room during that time. I slept in the bed that always seemed to be her bed, and woke every morning to her vanity that was ALWAYS her. Forever, I will remember her sitting at her vanity curling her hair, putting on her make up and cursing at her "damned hair" and "old eyes." That vanity and her at it inspired me to write a story several years ago. I never finished the story. But it was always there in my mind. I reached a block with it I could not get past.

After she died, I woke up one morning aware of my story and suddenly compelled to finish the story. I went home for a couple of days to get things hammered out at my own home. During that time I looked through all of my old back ups and on my computer for a copy of the story. I have all my old stories and poems, but not that one.

At that time, I needed to write it. I needed to bury my grief in writing. But the story was gone. For the last couple of weeks I have had the story on my mind again. This past week was her birthday. I started searching again. Still no luck. Another story has been rolling in my head I wanted to write about her. I have been trying to work out the details of it.

I need inspiration. Be my muse.

Tell me a story about your grandmother. Share it. Something of her youth. Maybe the love story of how she met your grandfather or maybe the struggles she persevered against. I want to take a trip to the past.

Heroes

(This was posted Sept 28, 2007 in my MySpace Blog Needed to transfer many over, so they are not lost to attrition. )

I have a lot of heroes in my life. They generally are bigger than life people who pull off feats that I would only dream of. I am selective, and it's not easy to get into the Juli Hero Club. This week, I've come to a realization that the priority of my list is askew. Sometimes, we have to be kicked in the ass very hard to see what's right in front of us.

My hero, the one who is not bigger than life, the one that triumphs occasionally but tries always is really, really special.

My 7 year old son has learning disabilities. He will be challenged for maybe the rest of his life. He is ADHD and severely Dyslexic amoung other things. Nothing keeps his attention for long. Soon as I can get the appointment, I am going to do something that I have put off because of professional advice. I am going to get him put on a prescription to help him through this.

He tries so hard, and the harder he tries, sometimes, the faster he falls off the wagon. We've had him playing soccer for the last 6 weeks. We did this, to help him gain certain skills. We are not competitive parents. soccer has been the most grueling sport ever. We fight him every night at practice, we fight him at the game. Insisting we just want him to try, we just want him to be on the team. Our limitations show when we all come home frustrated, from something that is supposed to be fun.

On a learning scale, we fight the devil there too. we do homework most nights for 1-2 hours and it's rarely fun. It's me riding him and explaining every step of the way. I am going to carry this kid through and over every hurdle until he can do this for himself. He will not be a child left behind. One day, he will take the reigns and win the race for himself.

This battle has been a weight on us. Then last week, I let go of things. I just let all the balls I had in the air come down. My frustration boiled over. I went to a game and never said a word. Just watched it. He struggled to avoid the ball, every chance he got. A storm hit, we left early, I was glad. But after the game, I realized just how bad I'd let it get. My frustration at him not trying made me just as bad as those competitive jerks I can't stand. So we went to another game yesterday and he played his little heart out. He ran the field, he chased the ball, occasionally even going after it to kick it. We cheered and screamed and made jokes and had a good time--for the first time. I was so proud of him. Not because they played a good game, but because he was trying so hard. He came off the field and the coach grabbed him and hugged him...parents commented that he'd really tried, he'd really worked hard. The best player on the team told him "you rocked."

In all this, I look at him and I think that here we are asking him to "just try, how hard is it to just try?" and I don't think about every step he takes is more like 5 steps to match another kids single step. He struggles all of the time, not just occasionally. And I never see all that effort, I am so busy complaining of a half empty glass.

So this week and forever, he is my hero. I love this kid more than life itself.

Addendum to Miss Cleo's :)

This is really an addendum to the previous posting. It caught me so off guard I have not been able to think of much else since it happened.

My dream about my grandmother was a little unnerving. Things she said bothered me and I was trying to puzzle them before I told my mom about the dream. For those of you who are non-believers, as my grandmother was, you'll roll your eyes. For those who have experienced the unusual, you will maybe think twice. And maybe think it was neat.

All my life I have been like an open channel of sorts for premnative dreams and odd events. Things just come to me or happen for me or to me. (I've often dreamt of death and destruction well before it happened.) Only in recent years did I find the "gift" I have actually came from my father's "tame" side of the family. That was eye opening in itself. I am the world's largest chicken when it comes to spooky things happening. I avoid opening myself up to the strange, because the strange hunt me down all the time, I need no help. Though I do love ghost hunting with groups and have some neat things on film.

Anyway, I was so heavily drugged the night I had the dream, so many things happened the day before that I was sure I understood why I dreamt what I did. But the dream was so clear about what she was saying. It bothered me that I recalled the dream's conversations so clearly--yet was so loopy in reality. (You've not seen loopy 'til you've seen me on the dope.) Anyway, things played over and over that my brain was trying to tell me something. But My grandmother remarked a couple things that I felt were disturbing, or would be more disturbing to my brother and mother. (Brother: "He is not a well man" and mother: "Will need me, but doesn't know it yet" and that my grandmother could not get into my grandmothers house.)

Anyway, I decided this weekend to tell my mom about it. I needed to sound it out. I did it with the mindset that it was nothing more than a dream and my brain talking to me. I told her my grandmother "could not get in" and she kept saying "why would she say that? Why would that thought be in your head? she is my mother, I would want her in my house." Anyway, I mentioned my fixation about the black box that holds my grandmother's remains. My dad said, "By the way, what made you decide to put your mothers ashes in the basement with the boys?" (The basement is like an apartment in itself. It has several rooms, bedroom, my fathers rather opulent office and a really nice bar in it. My son, my nephew and my sons friend live down there and go to school.)

Anyway, my mom said "I didn't?" and she was genuinely confused. My mom has had some real memory issues of late, stemming from her battle with cancer this year. I remembered my son Jennings telling me on Wednesday that he'd gone out to the garage and found my grandmother's ashes on the freezer. It upset him so he took them in and decided she needed to be in the basement with them. My son adored my grandmother--they were from the same mold in many ways. So he took her down and put her on this display table my mom has for fossils. (My grandmother would laugh herself sick to know she was on a fossil display table.) Anyway, my mom was confused. she really honestly thought she'd brought "merner" in and put her on the mantle. I explained that to Jennings too--because he was so upset about where Merner was found.

Anyway, the conversation went on and on, and finally it hit me, I had that Dream Monday night and my grandmother was in the garage at that time. Jennings brought her into the house Tuesday night. As soon as that hit me, I felt strongly, that was what she'd meant. Why we talked about her ashes (why I'd fixated on the ashes). About 3 weeks ago, my mom told me she'd put her on the mantle--so I honestly did not know she was not in the house until Jennings told me that on Wednesday evening when he came home to visit.

My mom has said that she fully expected if one of us had an odd encounter concerning my grandmother, it'd be me. Because I channel weird energy.

Kind of an interesting story. I slept in her room at the river after she died. My brother was sleeping where I normally slept and where I preferred to sleep. My grandmother often talked about when I was a year old and her mom died, she came home from Africa to take care of her mom's things, in the same house we were all in. And My grandmother cherished the memory of playing with me at that time. She often said "so you don't remember any of that time?" She always hoped in some way that time would be a good memory for me. So i returned the favor with her death and made that time special to my 6 year old, hoping that later in years he'll remember the last time at Merner's and he will remember love, not sadness. Anyway, I digress, within a week of her death, it got down to myself and my son, my brother and my mom in the house. I went into her room to go to bed and read. My cat was there, and like routine, which he lives by, he got on the bed, curled at my feet and went to sleep. within a few minutes he jumped off the bed and mewed about being let out of the room. Not angry, but feisty. I told him no and made him get back on the bed. Anyway, I put him back on the bed, got ready to turn off the light and he jumped down again, insisting. I said "No!" and he sat there looking at the door handle. Then the door popped open. That blew my mind. Anyway, I got up grabbed him, closed the door, made it stick shut and got back to going to bed. He got up mewed at the door and it opened again. I went out, got water, looked around, calmed down. I got him took him back to bed and it happened again. This time, I laid there thinking "This is insane." I got up went out to find him again and found him in the livingroom head butting and rubbing on my grandmother's chair. I said "are you out here talking with Merner? Did she get 10 minutes to come back and decide to play with my rotten cat instead of talk to us?" I left him out there and went back to bed. About that time, my mom came out of her room and said "are you hearing something strange? Like a crying?" and I told her "I swear, I think Merner is here."

After I explained it all to her, she and I walked around and the cat continued to play with the chair, (something he did not do before or after that night) and we decided to go to bed. The cat came to bed several hours later. He talked forever. He often does when he is excited. Anyway, the next day we found my grandmother's cat, that a neighbor had taken after she died, had gotten out, and she was a strictly indoor cat. She was stuck outside and scared. So that was the noise we likely were hearing, and is likely why my cat was upset too. It does not explain, however, the rubbing on her chair he did so furiously or the fact that the door kept opening on it's own, each time he told it to.

Anyway, it's things like this that often happen to me. This is why she felt if something happened, it'd be to me.

I feel like I need to tell my sister what was said about her, so that if something odd has happened to her, it might make a little more sense. My older sister is a lot like me too, She often has dreams from hell and a gut instinct that keeps her jumping. Maybe there is still more to this story yet.

Laying more of it to rest

I had this dream last night. It was unsettling and yet, comforting. I took my max on pain meds and went to bed last night with a skull cracking headache. I've never taken that much before, so I am sure it had a lot to do with the dreams.

I cleaned house most of the morning yesterday and told my husband when he came in that it was officially the first time I cleaned house as a matter of routine and not a matter of getting more stuff moved in. We talked about the relief of finally hitting that phase of routine. It seems we've been moving for 3 months. Actually, I have. The week before the kids graduated, we started really cleaning, we were on track to start taking the house apart the week following the graduation and family leaving. My Grandmother died while we were en route to Texas and from May 25, until June 18, I was committed to the details of her life, her house and her death. I came home late on the 18th and took a couple of days off to mourn her officially, since in all the rush there, we never got to just sit and mourn her. Then I began packing my house and did not stop until really somewhere early last week. The beginning of August. So i guess, the routine, the feeling of end of the line and such also added to my dreams.

My grandmother's life filled our lives, not to take it over, but to always know she was there. we were always touching some part of her life as she touched ours. Now, she's gone and I want so desperately to touch her life again and it's not there. Her beautiful trunk sits in my livingroom. I'd intended for it to go to our bedroom, but it's to special to not share. Her curios sit in my livingroom, full of my treasures and those I got from her house. I did not take many of the knick-knacks, because I have too many of my own. So I took the ones that would go well with mine and perhaps finish the collections. I wanted our lives and our things to be woven together. It's turned out well. They all look so pretty together. I wish she could have seen how I did it. I think she'd have been pleased. She had a sea shell collection that had some gorgeous shells in it. Two are larger than my head. I had my own sea shell collection, none so wonderful as hers. I put them all together and the cabinet is stuffed full. It's really pretty. I hope she sees it. I hope she looks in on us. I hope she is out there.

Anyway, everything yesterday is what I am sure caused the dreams of her. I have never really mourned her because she was so pragmatic in life that her death was simply a paper trail to get things in order. It was as if she left unwritten directions through a trail and every time things would lull, there'd be more to do suddenly. No time to sit and think really, just work, work, work. Occasionally, we'd thumb through a book and find a picture or a note. "This was the last picture of your grandfather and I taken together" "This was the last gift OD ever gave me, he gave it to me the week before he died." Things like that. Little bombs that blow you away and embrace you all in the same.

I went on line yesterday and got all of my animals accounts in order (they all are microchipped, different times and places) so I needed to get them all under one account and update the animals who've passed on. This rotten little dog I adopted last year has a chip but was not linked to me. So I had to call to get access to her account. After the transfer, I got on and looked up her info. Things I never knew about her. I really adopted her by reference not by knowing her. Anyway, from the point I took this dog on, I have nicknamed her "Merner's Dog" because, had i ever gotten her down there to my grandmother's, I would not have been allowed to leave with her. This dog was meant to be my grandmothers. So yesterday, I read a description of her breed (Fox Terrier) --it too was in my head when I dreamed.

My whole life--to me--is represented as a house. At times of depression, bad marriages and bad decisions, my house is a hall, a shack, a tiny room. In my life, I have lived in wonderful homes. I have lived in solid, good feeling homes. I've lived in all varieties. So in my dreams, my life is represented by special rooms from each of those houses. When i was pregnant with my second son, I dreamt every night of houses we'd lived in. I visited rooms where animals I'd owned and lost lived. They all would wag and bark and mew to see me. I watched rooms in states of construction. As the last term of my pregnancy came, I saw almost all of the construction completed. Those dreams were such a warm embrace to me. To me, those dreams meant that the life I was in, the choices I'd made and the live I was carrying were all good for me. All leading me down the path that was right for me and for my family.

To this day, I dream of those houses and rooms, they are comforting trips I take. When I wake from those dreams I am filled with fortitude. They represent my life, my family and our lives.

In the dream, I came in from shaking rugs out and found my grandmother sitting there with the dog in her lap.
She laughed when I screamed. She said she knew she'd shock me, but she'd come in and seen her stuff and the little dog and just decided to sit and talk to the dog that should have been hers. When I said "You're a ghost?" she said "No, touch me, I am real." and I said "We buried you alive?" and she laughed. She said "No, You never buried me. Remember, I am ashes." I said "I do not understand, you're real, but we had you creamated? Did we kill you?"

She said "Let's not discuss this anymore, it's confusing and I want to visit with you." I kept crying and she kept taking my hand and saying "Look, you can't weep for me anymore." I said "I've hardly weeped enough, I have lost you completely, there are not enough tears to convey the loss I have for you."

Then, being her pragmatic self she said "Look, I want you to take care of your mom. She is going to need you and she doesn't know it." Then she started telling me she'd gone to my moms house and could not get into the house. That she tried to open the garage door but she could not get in. She said she did not understand why she could not get in, but that she would try again as time allowed. She said she'd been to Chris's. I asked if she'd scared him too. She said no, because he could not hear her. She said "I sat right there on my old couch and spoke to him and he looked right at me and never heard a word I was saying." Then she said "He's not a well man." She said "I have spoken to Ginnie, she doesn't know it yet, but she will understand in time." I asked her why she did not try to go through the front door at mom's house and she said "I am tied to my things, I have to be brought in."

She said she went to Catheryn's but had a hard time finding her way. She said she watched the kitten play with the other gray cat and they had such a ball. I laughed and told her about the night we thought she'd come to visit when the doors kept opening and letting my cat out. She said it was her. She said her cat was outside and scared and she wanted to let her in. She said after that she came back a couple of times and sat with Brimmy out on the porch.

Then she said "I need to go. I just want you to know I love being part of your homes. I want you kids to know I love you all. I want you all to stop weeping for me. I am here." I said "Can you stay until Jennings gets here. You meant to much to him, he'll see you." She said no, she had to leave and she said "I loved all of my grandkids and great grandkids, I wished every day that I knew them all better. Tell them I'll be watching them grow up. I am always going to be in your house Juli."

Then she touched my head and it hurt like hell. Pictures flew through my brain like a x50 slide show. Some of the rooms of my dreams were there, like before and after pictures. Events in my life were flashing, then events in what must have been her life. Then I was standing in Newbern Cemetery looking out over hills and trees and then I was walking into an old, old falling down house that I think was on the family farm. As I walked in, the room looked familiar, each room after it was more familiar then I realized I was in "my house of life" having graduated from hers and others.

I know it was my headache and the drugs, but somehow, it gave me comfort and in the same, upset me. The finality of going over to pick up her ashes, in a tiny black box. It just seemed so wrong to think this woman who stood 5'7 or so, weighed 130 lbs was reduced to a 7 lb black plastic box. This life that had been so big, suddenly was summed up to a black plastic box. I kept thinking about that box as I had my dreamy visit with her. How wrong it was to see that box as representative of all that became of her.

Anyway, that sums it up. The dream the weirdness...just me. God I miss her.

Weekend from Hell

I shouldn't complain, but I want to anyway! LOL

My weekend started with electrical problems in our brand new house, then graduated to racing all over post in a rush because it was Friday afternoon and the end of a deadline to get little man registered in time for Soccer.

So I got all that completed, felt great because I'd accomplished several other things while screaming through lobbies and halls and offices, reexplaining myself every 20 feet.

We went out to eat for a Hail and Farewell. I had a headache that was shooting pains across my face. The noise of 70-80 people did not help it. They served the steaks up for the majority who'd ordered, then brought out the few fish orders and then our chicken orders that were good but lacking. Then, when most everyone was finished eating, in slow fashion they brought out the kids food. It was about an hour after the first meals were served. The poor kids. I was really upset over it. To me, the kids are first. It really hacked me off. These poor little forgotten kids all looked desperate to eat.

Anyway, Saturday comes in with a bang and we go out to do the chores we'd planned. The day started with my husband realized my tom cat was no where to be seen. I realized I'd not seen him for a while either. So, I was hoping that by working out back, he'd see me and come home. He's not an out door baby. I worry about him when he does get out.

My yard has no grass, so we were going to plant some. I have more than $100 worth of seed and fertilizer in my garage begging to be used. I have a brown lot that my house sits on, begging for grass and fertilizer. We realized we'd have to aerate the soil, because the ground was so tightly packed. This means I purchased a garden weasel--a medieval torture device that has found it's way to modern gardens, I am sure. This is where I should mention I have a very large yard. We are responsible for about 100 feet off our back porch and the lot is 60 feet wide. It may as well have been 10 acres as viewed by me with my garden weasel in hand.

As per instructions, I mow the existing lawn. While doing so, I find a frayed electrical wire that I almost ran over. An open water drainage, that had been broken over. My son could easily have stepped on it and run his leg into that broken hole. And as I am coming up from narrowly stepping into the hole and running over the wires, my mower hits a freaking rock. I jumped back, startled and then realize I heard a glass breaking noise. Now I am freaked. I looked all over for the broken glass, then look up and see I have hit a window on my house. The rock is about half the size of my fist and it shot up about 15 feet off the ground through my dining room window.

After recovering from that one, I was discouraged, but needed to get my weaseling done.

I literally got down to the last 10x10 area and could go no more. While I was torturing the ground, Jerry was over digging in areas under the drain pipes and pouring decorative cement pads to stop the erosion. His job was no easier. The entire time I was working out back, buzzards were circling. We were attacked by the largest wasps I have ever seen. Jerry said "See, the buzzards know we are going to die too." I kept smelling something dead, I was scared it was my cat.

I had to water down the ground to weasel it. Part of my work had me in the sprinkler---the rest had me in the mud. I did the whole area of the yard, put down the fertilizer and grass seed and washed mud off of me for about an hour. We paved half the dog kennel, and cleaned the yard and porches and then laid on the couch last night crying because we were both in so much pain. I have blisters in the palms of my hands from weaseling and every move I make reminds me that I have the body of a 75 year old.

Before I went to bed, I decided to get on line. It was about 1 AM. the house was dark and quiet and we'd just watched a spooky movie where people on a sub keep hearing knocking and Morse code. Well, lo-and-behold, I sit in here on my computer, all is quiet and dark and suddenly I hear knocking. My heart leaped out of my left nostril, I swear! Then I heard the most obnoxious howl. Like a banshee cat. And I looked into the hall and see the bottom of my oldest sons bedroom door (he's in college in another city and doesn't live here.)--at the bottom of his door is a white paw and the paw was pulling the door to make it bang. LOL So, mystery solved, Mr. Kitty followed me into my sons room on Friday morning when I was in there sitting on his bed talking on the phone. When I stepped out, I closed the door and locked him in. He was in there for about 40 hours. He was fit to be tied, he demanded food and hand holding for hours. I made him this bratty, I guess I had it coming.

I passed out last night only to be woken at 4 this morning to a sick dog. I was out with her for about 30 minutes and then up until about 7:30-8 this morning. I went in and passed back out. Later, when I got up again, I got to wondering why she'd gotten so sick and then discovered why. My husband had purchased me a huge brick of German chocolate last week and it was opened and on my roll top desk. The dog got up there and ate a brick of chocolate about 12 inches long and 6 inches wide and 1/2 inch thick. It's no wonder it did not kill her.

Anyway, The week since the weekend has rolled right into a new mess. The electrical is still an issue. The electrician has been here enough that I might claim him on next years taxes. They think they fixed it this time...LOL We'll see.

A Day of Rest...NOT!!

So, we are here. It's a huge milestone in so many ways to be here. We basically are looking to conclude our military life here. To be done with rank and structure and silly egos that never seem to be fed.

It's gorgeous here. The weather has been hot, but still dry and nice. It's so odd to go outside and not break a sweat. I've gotten my house and garden in order, just my garage needs a beating now. It's coming, albeit slowly, it's coming. Oh yeah, and before Christmas, I'd like a lawn. :)

Our house is gorgeous--really gorgeous. I am in love with the lay out. If I was building a house, this is the floor plan I have said I'd have. The ceilings are so tall it's funny to me, that my tall furniture is dwarfed here. My Sea Shells finally got put int eh case! Oh wow! So Pretty.

We finally got to finishing off the office last night. Damn, I loved it before in the other house, because the room just worked so well. But in this house, it's been a stretch of imagination to get it. We worked it for 3 hours last night and in the last 15 minutes, it just fell together. It's just rocks in here. Jerry bought me a new desk, it's really cool and works so well with my ebony furniture and red leather couch (as my neighbor said, "Hey now, keep that couch, many an eggplant colored cow died to make it.") You walk in and you feel very empowered. All of his cool plaques and such look awesome too. He has some great "I Love Me Wall" paraphernalia--it's all awesome looking. All that masculine and he did not even wince when I put up the girly sheers. LOL :)

Jerry heads down to sign into the unit this week, it's so odd to think of him going back to work and me having to start all over again meeting people. We've met some good ones here on the block, but it's still very odd. Everyone on our block is in generally the same age range, but in different branches of the service, Marines, Navy and Air Force all around us. We met a guy the other night who was driving past and he stopped to help Jerry with the top on his jeep. The guy turned out to be infantry. LOL He and Jerry shook hands like old friends and both had funny stunned looks at finding another "Infantry Guy" on the block. It was really kind of cute!

Anyway, today was proclaimed a day of rest, no chores at all...LOL so we worked until 2 AM getting it done ahead of time. My parents came up for the day and we went out for German food. WOW...can I say WOW? again? we walked into the deli and immediately were taken back to a time so long ago. The owner, waitress came and sat at our table for a good 45 minutes and talked with us about Germany and places and people here--people we all knew in common. It was awesome. Her food rocked the house, her stories were even cooler. She served in a position that qualified as Spy during the Cold War. She served in Berlin in the late 60's early 70's. She told some neat stories, one about the KGB and Putin. Just really awesome--you know me, I love my history, I was in heaven.

Anyway, we went out and about and then they headed home, we came in and made a mixed drink each and just kicked back. Now I am woozy and wishing I'd not had a mixed drink. I wanted to lay in bed tonight and read. With my eyes not focusing, that's going to be hard. :)

So I guess I am heading to bed to sleep. Damn!

Nothing special, just avoiding work.

For two weeks we've burned the candle at both ends to reach a point of completion, scheduled for next Sunday. I think we've reached burnout. In the midst of trying to pack ourselves out, and wading through jungles of boxes and meetings and social events, we've fought uphill the entire way. Monday night we killed ourselves and were up until 2 getting the house cleaned back up from all the packing messes we'd made so that Tuesday we could spend the day at briefings and finishing all the details. And so I could go do lunch with the ladies. after that, the plan was get busy.

LOL, yeah, that did not happen.

We ran to Walmart to get supplies, got sidetracked and ended up in Lowes--which is one of my favorite places to hang out. I can never get enough gadgets and tools. I really should be the Tool Belt Diva. We ended up calling the boys and having them meet up for dinner at the Japanese Steak House. It was fun. Neither of the older boys had been there yet, so they were lost on all that McK knew exactly what to do about.

The chef threw McK a shrimp and he caught it, when I applauded him he said "Yeah, that's what I go to school for, to learn how to catch shrimp." I said "Wow, this school is really good here. What will you study next year? Beer Bongs?" He said "No, I am not going back to school.."

The kid has a rude awakening coming.

Anyway, we did nothing last night. When we got home, I said I was going to my friends house to hang out and help her with housework since her husband was due home on R&R any day now, I got there and found he was home. It was a nice surprise, I am so happy for her. She's been over pushing me through the hoops and over the humps this last couple weeks.

So today, the 4th of July, we have to go back to hoops of fire so we can get this party started. We picked up the first Penske truck, which is the small one. They will load it today and pull out a lot of my furniture. This will make the next part much easier. We are stripping cabinets and painting walls. I made him go buy a paint sprayer for this job, dude, I painted it the first time, I am not about to do it again.

Tomorrow we get the other truck, the big one and my house goes into the truck. OMG, OMG, OMG it's actually happening. This is really going to be our last move before retirement. I thought I'd be a little more freaked, but I am not. I am almost too calm. I swear, my serenity on this matter has me more scared than anything. It's like I expect Jaws music to start any time now.

Frailty of Innocence

My brain keeps cycling through all of the moments of my life. All of the moments of my grandmother's life. Through all the lives of my friends. It's like this wonderful slide show.

I have a very unique pleasure in my life, I am in touch with many of my alumni from my high school. I am nearly 40 and I am very in touch with the pulse of something as juvenile as high school. As a result, we have plenty of shared memories, plenty of random memories--so in common they may as well be shared.

I was chasing a link the other day to my high school site, and passed a face of the past. Oh he was beautiful. I can remember this crush on him. I had no clue what his name was and now, even though I've read it, I can't recall it. But he was so gorgeous. He had this honest smile and eyes you could be lost in. The voice in the back of my head said "Wow, I wonder how that gorgeous boy aged?"

He can't make my heart pitter-patter any more, I have the one that makes my heart do all those tricks. But I suddenly, for the first time ever, felt a pang for my youth. I loved my youth. I had a wonderful childhood. Lots of tragedy, lots of joy, lots of upheaval, lots of everything, but most of all adventure. But in all of that, I have never wanted to recover my youth. I like who I am. I like who I grew up to be. I am comfortable in my skin. Comfortable with who I am.

The pang I felt was for those times of complete innocence for who we were and who we were on our way to become. I intended to set the world on fire and be a journalist. I planned to cover scary parts of the world, keep a flat in London, with a cat, because I had no time for family. When that career wore me down, my next stop would have been to become a published author. Late in life I'd take a husband, and we'd never get around to having kids, but I'd have been the favorite Aunt.

I never got there. I can live with that. Instead, I ended up with a baby at 19, and two divorces in my rear view mirror before I met the man I was always supposed to be with. Then another baby, late in life and a realization that family is everything. I am still the favorite Aunt, in some eyes, and that's all right with me too. I worked the jobs I wanted and lived like I wanted. I made choices, good and bad, and lived through every one of them. But I can honestly say, I have never stared wistfully into the mirror of my past wanting to go back. Not even to change things. We are forged by all of the events of our lives. The random and mundane, the painful and the joy all make us the people we grow into being.

So last night, I was flipping through my slide show called life and thinking about different events, different times and I felt that pang. Then I heard those words to the song 100 Years (Five for Fighting): 15 there's still time for you, Time to buy and time to lose, 15, there's never a wish better than this, When you only got 100 years to live

I would love to spend a day or a week being 15 again, doing a "ride along" in my 15 year old brain. Smelling the smells, feeling the feelings I had then, looking through those innocent yet jaded eyes and knowing really nothing beyond what interested me at that moment. Which likely was simply boys. I can't say as I lived or breathed anything but boys in those days. I want to remember a time when there was no ceiling on how old we got, how much time we had to live.

I want us all to get to go back and spend a day being us at our most unaware time, so we could hold that feeling in place and use it for the tough times when it all seems bleak. Wouldn't that be the wish to share? For us to all get to remember the real kid in us and enjoy it.