Once upon a time there was a turtle who lived in a land of mortal enemies. He was the only turtle who lived there. He could not ever remember seeing another turtle. The only reason he survived, was his magic shell. It created an illusion so real his enemies believed he was one of them.
The most frightening aspect of the situation was that at times of high stress, or strong emotion the illusion would waver for an instant, and if any of his enemies happened to notice ( none had as yet) there would be awkward questions, to say the least. He felt his only recourse was to stay as uninvolved as possible.
There was the possibility of escape, but he scarcely thought of it. This, after all, was known, while what lay outside the realm of his nemesis' territory was not.
Though no one had noticed the wavering of his illusion per say, they sensed something different about him and he was never treated as an equal. Always in a subservient role of some sort, patronized, and covertly watched. Pretending not to notice and being forever hopeful that the situation would improve was the only way he knew to survive.
After many years of this came a particularly bad year. He didn't know quite what had caused the change, but things were fast becoming intolerable. And now, looking at it clearly, he realized that was saying quite a lot! Something had to change. Anything would be better than this.
And so, gathering his courage, he stole away one night. Quietly, after everyone had gone to sleep, in the very deepest part of the night, he crept silently out of town. And then out of the territory altogether. When the sky started to brighten with the coming dawn, he crept off the road and went to sleep under a rotting log. He traveled this way for several days. Always moving slowly at night, and sleeping, hidden, by day.
One morning after having fallen asleep in a pile of leaf mould near a stream, he woke to the sound of voices and laughter. And music. Music and laughter were things not heard often where he came from.
Curious, and trusting in his magic shell to scare off any potential threats, he moved quietly toward the sounds. Eventually he came to a clearing in the wood that bordered the stream. He couldn't believe his eyes.
The clearing was roughly circular, with a depression in the middle, like a bowl. In the center were what appeared to be short logs, standing on end. Next to these, and filling the large clearing, were...Turtles! Oh, they all looked different each from the other, but they were definitely turtles. And the music was coming from the center of the clearing where some of the turtles beat on the logs, while others blew on what seemed to be reeds. All the others were dancing.
Quickly realizing that he had found what must be home (he was no dummy) the magic turtle shed his illusion and stepped out to be welcomed by his new friends to their celebration.
And he lived happily ever after.
The End
Sort of ...
See, the only fly in the ointment, was that after all those years of living behind a mask, inside himself, hiding who he was... Well, he sometimes accidentally hid behind the illusion when things got too real, and it would tend make the neighbors run screaming... Other than that, he lived happily ever after.
The End
For real this time
Friday, November 18, 2005
Monday, October 24, 2005
Who Needs A... ?
Ok, I really do not need a man around to fix things or put things together. But a man's tools... that's a very different matter.
You know, you spend as many years married as I have and you kind of take certain things for granted. For instance; you need to put together a stereo. You need to strip the little wires in order to plug them into the back of the speakers and the receiver. But you know what my handy-dandy little tool box doesn't have? Wire strippers. (This must be an oversight on my part because it's a pretty well-stocked little tool box.) Over the years past this would not have been a problem. If I couldn't find it in my tool box it was probably available in my husband's.
But now that Jane's Trip is a solo gig, options have changed. Welcome the ever-present, multi-usage, kitchen scissors. I have been fierce in their protection over the past couple of years. They have been pressed into services during that time for which they were never intended. Adolescents have tried to abduct them, abandon them, destroy them, all to no avail. They cut absolutely anything and never seem to dull. Bought 'em for a buck.
So now, the wires are stripped and thanks to the tool boxes of good men (thanks B) they are not laying all over the floor tripping me up. Jane's Trip is now set for sound...
You know, you spend as many years married as I have and you kind of take certain things for granted. For instance; you need to put together a stereo. You need to strip the little wires in order to plug them into the back of the speakers and the receiver. But you know what my handy-dandy little tool box doesn't have? Wire strippers. (This must be an oversight on my part because it's a pretty well-stocked little tool box.) Over the years past this would not have been a problem. If I couldn't find it in my tool box it was probably available in my husband's.
But now that Jane's Trip is a solo gig, options have changed. Welcome the ever-present, multi-usage, kitchen scissors. I have been fierce in their protection over the past couple of years. They have been pressed into services during that time for which they were never intended. Adolescents have tried to abduct them, abandon them, destroy them, all to no avail. They cut absolutely anything and never seem to dull. Bought 'em for a buck.
So now, the wires are stripped and thanks to the tool boxes of good men (thanks B) they are not laying all over the floor tripping me up. Jane's Trip is now set for sound...
Monday, October 17, 2005
The White Knights of Wyoming: Stories of the Road Episode II
Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, with the promise of temperatures in the 70's and clear skies for that day's travel. We started our morning just East of the Continental Divide.
The drive progressed pleasantly enough, with little traffic and great conversation as well as sweeping views to either side. Eventually we started downhill having just passed the highest elevation on I-80.
We pulled into a gas station in Point of Rocks, Wyoming for a bit of a pit-stop and some supplies for the road. (Mostly those containing large amounts of caffeine). I was sitting in sun, in the car, waiting for my mother to come out of the store, when I decided to make a couple of purchases of my own. Leaning over to roll up her window and lock the passenger door, I remember consciously thinking that I needed to grab the car keys out of the ignition before exiting the car. Of course, as soon as the thought was registered, I promptly forgot it. Opened my door, flipped the lock and shut it. On the instant that the door latched, I realized the keys were still hanging in the ignition. And everything is locked tight. No problem, I think, I have AAA. One call and I'll be on the road within the hour. And then I realize that my cell phone is locked in the car with the keys.
Within seconds, my car is surrounded by well meaning citizens of Wyoming. In less than 10 minutes they had my car unlocked, without any damage and we were again on our way. Of course after gaining entry it was pointed out that I really didn't need to lock the car. I was in Wyoming.
The drive progressed pleasantly enough, with little traffic and great conversation as well as sweeping views to either side. Eventually we started downhill having just passed the highest elevation on I-80.
We pulled into a gas station in Point of Rocks, Wyoming for a bit of a pit-stop and some supplies for the road. (Mostly those containing large amounts of caffeine). I was sitting in sun, in the car, waiting for my mother to come out of the store, when I decided to make a couple of purchases of my own. Leaning over to roll up her window and lock the passenger door, I remember consciously thinking that I needed to grab the car keys out of the ignition before exiting the car. Of course, as soon as the thought was registered, I promptly forgot it. Opened my door, flipped the lock and shut it. On the instant that the door latched, I realized the keys were still hanging in the ignition. And everything is locked tight. No problem, I think, I have AAA. One call and I'll be on the road within the hour. And then I realize that my cell phone is locked in the car with the keys.
Within seconds, my car is surrounded by well meaning citizens of Wyoming. In less than 10 minutes they had my car unlocked, without any damage and we were again on our way. Of course after gaining entry it was pointed out that I really didn't need to lock the car. I was in Wyoming.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
How I Got Lost in Puckerbrush Nevada and Other Stories of the Road: Episode I
Well folks, I've just completed a 2,810 mile road trip across the country. I have to say it was fantastic even with the small setbacks we encountered.
I completed the trip on Sunday, but Saturday was really something. 788 miles that day alone. Crossed a third of Wyoming, all of Utah and Nevada. And yes, there really is a town called Puckerbrush, Nevada. Population 28. And yes, I really got lost there.
You see, there is a large truck stop in Puckerbrush. In fact, that is the only thing in Puckerbrush. That and lots of desert. The sun had just set and I needed to refuel... both the gas tank and my stomach. So, of course, I pull off the freeway to attend these needs. Half an hour later I attempt to get back onto the road.
It was now fully dark and when I went back to the freeway on ramp, I discovered that the only ramp was for I-80 Eastbound. Understand that I want Westbound. So I figure that I must have passed the correct on ramp and turn around. I end up back at the truck stop not having seen anything to indicate the direction I need to take.
I look carefully at the signs in front of said truck stop, and they indicate turning left to reach I-80. So, of course I turn left. Again, finding only the Eastbound ramp.
To make a long story short, I repeated these steps several times before finally hitting upon the idea of asking directions at the truck stop. (Understand, that by this time I have spent four days on the road averaging 500 to 600 miles a day and am rather stupid with exhaustion). I am informed by the kindly folk at the gas pumps that I need to turn right when leaving the truck stop and follow the narrow, bumpy road approximately fifteen miles to find the Westbound on ramp. Yes, there used to be a sign indicating this important fact, but it blew down in a storm and the Nevada DOT has not yet seen fit to replace it.
I want send my sincere thanks to the Nevada DOT for their concern and efficiency.
I completed the trip on Sunday, but Saturday was really something. 788 miles that day alone. Crossed a third of Wyoming, all of Utah and Nevada. And yes, there really is a town called Puckerbrush, Nevada. Population 28. And yes, I really got lost there.
You see, there is a large truck stop in Puckerbrush. In fact, that is the only thing in Puckerbrush. That and lots of desert. The sun had just set and I needed to refuel... both the gas tank and my stomach. So, of course, I pull off the freeway to attend these needs. Half an hour later I attempt to get back onto the road.
It was now fully dark and when I went back to the freeway on ramp, I discovered that the only ramp was for I-80 Eastbound. Understand that I want Westbound. So I figure that I must have passed the correct on ramp and turn around. I end up back at the truck stop not having seen anything to indicate the direction I need to take.
I look carefully at the signs in front of said truck stop, and they indicate turning left to reach I-80. So, of course I turn left. Again, finding only the Eastbound ramp.
To make a long story short, I repeated these steps several times before finally hitting upon the idea of asking directions at the truck stop. (Understand, that by this time I have spent four days on the road averaging 500 to 600 miles a day and am rather stupid with exhaustion). I am informed by the kindly folk at the gas pumps that I need to turn right when leaving the truck stop and follow the narrow, bumpy road approximately fifteen miles to find the Westbound on ramp. Yes, there used to be a sign indicating this important fact, but it blew down in a storm and the Nevada DOT has not yet seen fit to replace it.
I want send my sincere thanks to the Nevada DOT for their concern and efficiency.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Learning Lessons
Some lessons I've learned:
#1 No major life decision should be made on the spur of the moment. Or in anger. Or in love. Or in any strong emotion. One needs to distance one's self if possible and take plenty of time.
#2 Thinking you can deal with a situation is not the same as actually living it. If you've given it your best but just can't deal with it you have not necessarily failed.
#3 All things worth while take an immense amount of work. But some things will not work no matter how much effort you invest.
#4 Compromise is about meeting someone halfway; do not confuse this with three quarters.
#5 Learn to live in the moment. Yes we all have to plan for the future to some extent, and we should learn from the past, but now is all we ever really have.
#6 Life is too short. Even on the days it seems long. Don't settle.
#1 No major life decision should be made on the spur of the moment. Or in anger. Or in love. Or in any strong emotion. One needs to distance one's self if possible and take plenty of time.
#2 Thinking you can deal with a situation is not the same as actually living it. If you've given it your best but just can't deal with it you have not necessarily failed.
#3 All things worth while take an immense amount of work. But some things will not work no matter how much effort you invest.
#4 Compromise is about meeting someone halfway; do not confuse this with three quarters.
#5 Learn to live in the moment. Yes we all have to plan for the future to some extent, and we should learn from the past, but now is all we ever really have.
#6 Life is too short. Even on the days it seems long. Don't settle.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Home Again
Home three days now and the jet lag is starting to wear off. Vacations are a funny thing; if they're good, you need another to recover from the first!
Seattle in June tends to be cool and rainy. I was fortunate and the first week was full of sunny days with temps in the low 70's. Not bad. Five days with my mom was not enough, but better than no time at all. We stayed up till the wee hours of the morning talking and laughing...It's really hard living so far away from her. After mom's I spent the next ten days cramming in visits with many friends and loved ones. The time spent was perfectly enjoyable. Relaxed, no stress, lots of fun and laughter. Of course the last few days the weather turned on me and I was reminded of why I wanted to move. When you wake up in the morning and can't see the tree tops because they are in the clouds...Well, let's just say it's not my thing.
The last day of June saw me on the way to San Francisco. Weather was perfect, sunny and 70 (the sky back up where it belongs) and I got to my friends place just in time to watch the fog roll in for the evening. To me there is something magical about the fog in this, my favorite city. I can spend literally hours watching it drift and move. It's hypnotic. Since the age of twelve SF has been my Mecca. It's the first place I think of when I need to escape. I love the rhythm of the city; the energy and the eclectic mix of people and culture. I had a fabulous time, as usual.
Homecoming is always, for me anyway, a mix of emotions. I mean, no matter how much fun you have, living out of a suitcase gets old after a while. And one tends to miss one's own bed and pillow. And yet, it's rather anti-climatic. After three days of laundry, sorting through a month's mail and reassuring the dog that I won't be disappearing any time soon, reality sets in. I realize that once again I have no life. Sure there's work and there are the household responsibilities, but these are not life affirming activities for me. They are not fulfilling. And most of all I realized how lonely I am here. For a variety of reasons I have not yet been able to develop any friends here. I miss having people around to share my thoughts and ideas with. People who find interest in the things I like. People who like things that I find interesting. So I feel restless, and somewhat dissatisfied. It's time to change things. Shake things up. Let my presence be known. And be damned to those who would stand in my way!
Seattle in June tends to be cool and rainy. I was fortunate and the first week was full of sunny days with temps in the low 70's. Not bad. Five days with my mom was not enough, but better than no time at all. We stayed up till the wee hours of the morning talking and laughing...It's really hard living so far away from her. After mom's I spent the next ten days cramming in visits with many friends and loved ones. The time spent was perfectly enjoyable. Relaxed, no stress, lots of fun and laughter. Of course the last few days the weather turned on me and I was reminded of why I wanted to move. When you wake up in the morning and can't see the tree tops because they are in the clouds...Well, let's just say it's not my thing.
The last day of June saw me on the way to San Francisco. Weather was perfect, sunny and 70 (the sky back up where it belongs) and I got to my friends place just in time to watch the fog roll in for the evening. To me there is something magical about the fog in this, my favorite city. I can spend literally hours watching it drift and move. It's hypnotic. Since the age of twelve SF has been my Mecca. It's the first place I think of when I need to escape. I love the rhythm of the city; the energy and the eclectic mix of people and culture. I had a fabulous time, as usual.
Homecoming is always, for me anyway, a mix of emotions. I mean, no matter how much fun you have, living out of a suitcase gets old after a while. And one tends to miss one's own bed and pillow. And yet, it's rather anti-climatic. After three days of laundry, sorting through a month's mail and reassuring the dog that I won't be disappearing any time soon, reality sets in. I realize that once again I have no life. Sure there's work and there are the household responsibilities, but these are not life affirming activities for me. They are not fulfilling. And most of all I realized how lonely I am here. For a variety of reasons I have not yet been able to develop any friends here. I miss having people around to share my thoughts and ideas with. People who find interest in the things I like. People who like things that I find interesting. So I feel restless, and somewhat dissatisfied. It's time to change things. Shake things up. Let my presence be known. And be damned to those who would stand in my way!
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
I'm leaving on a jet plane
Anybody remember that song? It was one of my favorites back in the late seventies.
So in about six hours I have to leave for the airport. Can't sleep. Too excited. Tried drinking beer, tried working out, tried sitting on the deck watching the fireflies give their nightly show in the meadow, nothing's working, I still can't sleep. Why can't I go now? I mean, I've been packed since nine this morning, why should I have to wait for the plane? Shouldn't they work around my schedule? Oh yeah, I don't own a private jet....have to work on that.
So far my vacation from work has been fabulous. Now for the real vacation, Seattle and San Francisco. The west coast may never recover...
If I actually get time to post while there, I will. Otherwise I'll see you all in July!
Later!
So in about six hours I have to leave for the airport. Can't sleep. Too excited. Tried drinking beer, tried working out, tried sitting on the deck watching the fireflies give their nightly show in the meadow, nothing's working, I still can't sleep. Why can't I go now? I mean, I've been packed since nine this morning, why should I have to wait for the plane? Shouldn't they work around my schedule? Oh yeah, I don't own a private jet....have to work on that.
So far my vacation from work has been fabulous. Now for the real vacation, Seattle and San Francisco. The west coast may never recover...
If I actually get time to post while there, I will. Otherwise I'll see you all in July!
Later!
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Memememememememe
Ok, so Kaci tagged me. This has not been an easy task, but here goes.
What is the total number of books I've owned?
At least 1,200. This is a very conservative estimate and only covers the last fifteen to twenty years.
Last book I bought?
Shadowland by Peter Straub (Don't waste the bucks)
Last book I read?
Well, I am currently almost finished with Shadowland. Have not suffered through such a boring book in a long time. Often depaired of even finishing it. Before that was The Kite Runner. Well worth the read.
And the tough one...
List five books that mean a lot to me.
I struggled with this question quite a bit. I mean, only five? So, here's my best attempt; be forewarned that this list could change tomorrow and they are not in any particular order.
1. The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling. The unabridged version. I still have the book I so loved in childhood. Stories that must be read to me over and over again until I could read them myself whenever I liked.
2. Maia by Richard Adams. An epic journey that I have enjoyed many times.
3. The Stand by Stephen King. Again the unabridged version.
4. Motherhood, the Second Oldest Profession by Erma Bombeck. There is an author without whom the world is a little bit darker.
5. A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespear. I don't know if plays count, but if they do, there it is.
Now, I'm also supposed to tag five other folks. I think most of you have already done this so let's see......
Brian (but you won't be back in town for two weeks, guess we'll have to wait).
Midnight Cry
Phoenix
Dave
I know that's only four but the rest of the folks I would have tagged, either don't have a blog or have already been tagged.
What is the total number of books I've owned?
At least 1,200. This is a very conservative estimate and only covers the last fifteen to twenty years.
Last book I bought?
Shadowland by Peter Straub (Don't waste the bucks)
Last book I read?
Well, I am currently almost finished with Shadowland. Have not suffered through such a boring book in a long time. Often depaired of even finishing it. Before that was The Kite Runner. Well worth the read.
And the tough one...
List five books that mean a lot to me.
I struggled with this question quite a bit. I mean, only five? So, here's my best attempt; be forewarned that this list could change tomorrow and they are not in any particular order.
1. The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling. The unabridged version. I still have the book I so loved in childhood. Stories that must be read to me over and over again until I could read them myself whenever I liked.
2. Maia by Richard Adams. An epic journey that I have enjoyed many times.
3. The Stand by Stephen King. Again the unabridged version.
4. Motherhood, the Second Oldest Profession by Erma Bombeck. There is an author without whom the world is a little bit darker.
5. A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespear. I don't know if plays count, but if they do, there it is.
Now, I'm also supposed to tag five other folks. I think most of you have already done this so let's see......
Brian (but you won't be back in town for two weeks, guess we'll have to wait).
Midnight Cry
Phoenix
Dave
I know that's only four but the rest of the folks I would have tagged, either don't have a blog or have already been tagged.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Emergence
She stepped out into the light, blinking owlishly, feeling exposed, naked and raw, like a snake having newly shed it's skin. In some ways that's exactly what she had done. Gone were the walls of the prison which, while they hemmed her in had also made her feel protected. At least inside those walls she knew what to expect. Now she was vulnerable to anything.
Suddenly, she was in doubt. She wanted to turn and flee back into the place she had just left. She looked back and saw nothing but gray walls that seemed to extend forever in all directions. Again she looked toward the light. She had to go forward. Even though she was terribly frightened, felt as if she was no more substantial than a child's play-doh creation, she must continue. She had worked hard for this freedom. She had to trust that this time would be different.
She let herself into the apartment with her new key. It felt heavy enough to be made of lead. Smooth and powerful in her hand. Leaning back against the now closed door, she looked around. To anyone else it might have seemed dingy, dim and spartan. To her, though, it seemed bright and open, compared with where she had spent the last several years. The dusty, worn carpet might have been silk and the chipped formica counters in the kitchen could as easily have been fine marble. It was hers, for now anyway, and she had every intention of hanging onto it. The only other option was to go back, and that she was unwilling to do.
Right now, though, she was exhausted. She pushed away from the door and crossed the unfurnished living room, heading for the bedroom. Partially furnished in this case meant a narrow metal frame bed with a sagging mattress whose ancient springs groaned loudly in protest as she lay herself down. She groaned along with them at the thought of tomorrow. She would need to find a job first off. How to explain where she had been the last few years? Would anyone understand? Then, find the Good Will and see about some furnishings for her new home. Perhaps filling the empty space would make it seem more secure, more real somehow.
As she drifted off to sleep, her last conscious thoughts were more prayer than anything else. That this would get easier, that she would be able to rise to the situation, that the freedom would last.
Suddenly, she was in doubt. She wanted to turn and flee back into the place she had just left. She looked back and saw nothing but gray walls that seemed to extend forever in all directions. Again she looked toward the light. She had to go forward. Even though she was terribly frightened, felt as if she was no more substantial than a child's play-doh creation, she must continue. She had worked hard for this freedom. She had to trust that this time would be different.
She let herself into the apartment with her new key. It felt heavy enough to be made of lead. Smooth and powerful in her hand. Leaning back against the now closed door, she looked around. To anyone else it might have seemed dingy, dim and spartan. To her, though, it seemed bright and open, compared with where she had spent the last several years. The dusty, worn carpet might have been silk and the chipped formica counters in the kitchen could as easily have been fine marble. It was hers, for now anyway, and she had every intention of hanging onto it. The only other option was to go back, and that she was unwilling to do.
Right now, though, she was exhausted. She pushed away from the door and crossed the unfurnished living room, heading for the bedroom. Partially furnished in this case meant a narrow metal frame bed with a sagging mattress whose ancient springs groaned loudly in protest as she lay herself down. She groaned along with them at the thought of tomorrow. She would need to find a job first off. How to explain where she had been the last few years? Would anyone understand? Then, find the Good Will and see about some furnishings for her new home. Perhaps filling the empty space would make it seem more secure, more real somehow.
As she drifted off to sleep, her last conscious thoughts were more prayer than anything else. That this would get easier, that she would be able to rise to the situation, that the freedom would last.
Saturday, May 07, 2005
A Mother's Gifts
Over the years my mother has given me many wonderful gifts. She has fabulous taste and knows my taste in books, clothes and jewelry. But there are others that are even more timeless and precious and I just wanted the whole world to know about them. Ok, at least my whole blog world.
She gave me the gift of language. Mom taught me that words are powerful and have meaning. That they can bring others closer or push them away.
She gave me the gift of literacy. She opened the door to a wondrous world of books and I will be forever grateful as it has often been my salvation.
She gave me the gift of sight, teaching me to look carefully for the beauty in those around me and in nature. How to look into myself and explore and grow.
She gave me the gift of choice, allowing me to choose my own path even though it might not be one she could follow.
She gave me the gift of acceptance. Taught me to accept others as they are, for who they are.
She gave me the gift of tolerance. From her I learned never to judge another's values, beliefs or culture by the standards of my own.
She gave me the gift of exploration. It is from her that I learned to love to travel and experience new places.
She gave me the gift of inspiration. For watching her live her life with zest, with freedom and seeing her follow her dreams inspires me to do the same.
She gave me the gift of wealth, for she taught me by example that a rich life is worth much more than being rich.
But most of all she gave me the gift of her love, which has sustained me, surrounded me and kept me whole.
Thank you mom, your gifts are treasured and I love you.
She gave me the gift of language. Mom taught me that words are powerful and have meaning. That they can bring others closer or push them away.
She gave me the gift of literacy. She opened the door to a wondrous world of books and I will be forever grateful as it has often been my salvation.
She gave me the gift of sight, teaching me to look carefully for the beauty in those around me and in nature. How to look into myself and explore and grow.
She gave me the gift of choice, allowing me to choose my own path even though it might not be one she could follow.
She gave me the gift of acceptance. Taught me to accept others as they are, for who they are.
She gave me the gift of tolerance. From her I learned never to judge another's values, beliefs or culture by the standards of my own.
She gave me the gift of exploration. It is from her that I learned to love to travel and experience new places.
She gave me the gift of inspiration. For watching her live her life with zest, with freedom and seeing her follow her dreams inspires me to do the same.
She gave me the gift of wealth, for she taught me by example that a rich life is worth much more than being rich.
But most of all she gave me the gift of her love, which has sustained me, surrounded me and kept me whole.
Thank you mom, your gifts are treasured and I love you.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Little People
Why is it that little people always get the big jobs? Now before anyone gets offended, I don't mean little as in physical size. I'm talking about small minds. Small mean personalities. Like those little rat terrier dogs that bark and bark trying to intimidate making you just want to drop kick them off the face of the planet. (And me a dog lover!)
The child that went to live with his father, had gotten in some trouble with the law in this state before leaving. He was charged with a misdemeanor. Things here escalated (see Jerry Springer) before we had any contact from the legal eagles and the decision was made to send him to his dad's. Then I am contacted by Juvenile Probation and told he has to meet with them on a certain date. Well, said date is two weeks after he's scheduled to leave, so I request an earlier meeting with them. They decline. In particular this little rat terrier declines. Seems he's going to be out of town for three weeks. (Turns out he was getting married). So I request another case worker who will be available. No dice. I am told that he MUST appear on said date. I say no way, not unless they are going to house him 'cause he can't stay here. I will no longer be abused. Again, no dice. So I suggest they transfer the case to the other state. I am told that they don't have the authority to do so. They have no jurisdiction there. The terrier informs me that if the boy doesn't show, they will issue a bench warrant. OK. I did some research. Unless the boy runs afoul of the law again, he has nothing to worry about until he is ready and able to come back and deal with said warrant. Child leaves as planned.
So last week, terrier calls me at work and asks are we going to show? I tell him child is gone. He says child has to come back. I reply that he can pay for transportation and housing as child is not welcome here at this time. He then proceeds to become insulting, judgmental and attempts to intimidate me. I don't intimidate easily.
Now, reports from the coast would indicate that child is rising to the challenge there. Behaving self, working hard and so tired each night from job, that he's falling asleep in his dinner plate. No time or energy for making trouble, and hopefully getting a really good look at how hard we all work to take care of him and what kind of sacrifices are involved. All to the good. But, today, I receive a call from child indicating that the terrier has been calling him. Been making threats he can't follow through on. Such as, if child steps one foot in our state again he will be immediately arrested. I pointed out to child that as of last Sunday when I last crossed the state line, there were no checkpoints asking for papers. Terrier tells child he MUST do x, y and z or else. Tells him that we broke the law by sending him out of state.
Now, I don't think it's ok for the child to escape the consequences of his actions. And whether the terrier agrees or not, he is currently facing several. Consequences that is. But in my humble opinion, if one is trying to engender an attitude of respect towards the law in an adolescent, lies and intimidation are not the way to achieve it.
So I called the little rat today and told him exactly that. I asked him if he had actually said that we broke the law by sending the child away. He replied, yes, he'd checked with the D.A. So I say where is the court order, dated prior to leave date, that says I can't relinquish custody, that I have to keep him here with me. He says that's not the issue. I say it sure as hell is. I say, if they have no jurisdiction in the other state, then where does he get off telling child what to do? Other than requesting him to return and face charges he has no legal rights. If that request is denied, then he (the rat) has the option of having a bench warrant issued. And, I say, what is he doing talking to a minor child without said child being represented, either by a parent or a lawyer? He says child called him, not the other way around. I tell him I have a hard time believing that the child looked up his number and called on his own. Did the rat call first? Well, yes he admits. He left a message and child returned it. "So you did call him. Why do you feel the need to lie and intimidate?" He then replies that he has never done either. I say what do you think you're doing when you tell me I've broken a law by sending the child away? He then replies, "I never said that." "Yes you did. Just ten minutes ago, at the beginning of this conversation. You said you had checked with the D.A." "I never said that," he replies. Then he asks if I want to hear what he has to say about the child's options or continue yelling at him. I inform him that I have not yelled at him. He'd know if I did. I am at work and if I were yelling everyone would know. There is a difference between being emphatic and yelling. Maybe he should invest in a dictionary. I hang up.
So, I make a few phone calls. I intend to make his life a legal hell. You see, the problem is that the LITTLE man has pissed me off. I'm half Italian and half Scot. We're talking about the people that invented the vendetta and clan warfare. You DON'T want to piss me off.
The child that went to live with his father, had gotten in some trouble with the law in this state before leaving. He was charged with a misdemeanor. Things here escalated (see Jerry Springer) before we had any contact from the legal eagles and the decision was made to send him to his dad's. Then I am contacted by Juvenile Probation and told he has to meet with them on a certain date. Well, said date is two weeks after he's scheduled to leave, so I request an earlier meeting with them. They decline. In particular this little rat terrier declines. Seems he's going to be out of town for three weeks. (Turns out he was getting married). So I request another case worker who will be available. No dice. I am told that he MUST appear on said date. I say no way, not unless they are going to house him 'cause he can't stay here. I will no longer be abused. Again, no dice. So I suggest they transfer the case to the other state. I am told that they don't have the authority to do so. They have no jurisdiction there. The terrier informs me that if the boy doesn't show, they will issue a bench warrant. OK. I did some research. Unless the boy runs afoul of the law again, he has nothing to worry about until he is ready and able to come back and deal with said warrant. Child leaves as planned.
So last week, terrier calls me at work and asks are we going to show? I tell him child is gone. He says child has to come back. I reply that he can pay for transportation and housing as child is not welcome here at this time. He then proceeds to become insulting, judgmental and attempts to intimidate me. I don't intimidate easily.
Now, reports from the coast would indicate that child is rising to the challenge there. Behaving self, working hard and so tired each night from job, that he's falling asleep in his dinner plate. No time or energy for making trouble, and hopefully getting a really good look at how hard we all work to take care of him and what kind of sacrifices are involved. All to the good. But, today, I receive a call from child indicating that the terrier has been calling him. Been making threats he can't follow through on. Such as, if child steps one foot in our state again he will be immediately arrested. I pointed out to child that as of last Sunday when I last crossed the state line, there were no checkpoints asking for papers. Terrier tells child he MUST do x, y and z or else. Tells him that we broke the law by sending him out of state.
Now, I don't think it's ok for the child to escape the consequences of his actions. And whether the terrier agrees or not, he is currently facing several. Consequences that is. But in my humble opinion, if one is trying to engender an attitude of respect towards the law in an adolescent, lies and intimidation are not the way to achieve it.
So I called the little rat today and told him exactly that. I asked him if he had actually said that we broke the law by sending the child away. He replied, yes, he'd checked with the D.A. So I say where is the court order, dated prior to leave date, that says I can't relinquish custody, that I have to keep him here with me. He says that's not the issue. I say it sure as hell is. I say, if they have no jurisdiction in the other state, then where does he get off telling child what to do? Other than requesting him to return and face charges he has no legal rights. If that request is denied, then he (the rat) has the option of having a bench warrant issued. And, I say, what is he doing talking to a minor child without said child being represented, either by a parent or a lawyer? He says child called him, not the other way around. I tell him I have a hard time believing that the child looked up his number and called on his own. Did the rat call first? Well, yes he admits. He left a message and child returned it. "So you did call him. Why do you feel the need to lie and intimidate?" He then replies that he has never done either. I say what do you think you're doing when you tell me I've broken a law by sending the child away? He then replies, "I never said that." "Yes you did. Just ten minutes ago, at the beginning of this conversation. You said you had checked with the D.A." "I never said that," he replies. Then he asks if I want to hear what he has to say about the child's options or continue yelling at him. I inform him that I have not yelled at him. He'd know if I did. I am at work and if I were yelling everyone would know. There is a difference between being emphatic and yelling. Maybe he should invest in a dictionary. I hang up.
So, I make a few phone calls. I intend to make his life a legal hell. You see, the problem is that the LITTLE man has pissed me off. I'm half Italian and half Scot. We're talking about the people that invented the vendetta and clan warfare. You DON'T want to piss me off.
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Where's the Cheese?
You know that proverbial pebble? The one you drop in the pond that causes so many unexpected changes? Some days I hate that pebble.
For the most part I like change. I become frustrated and twitchy when things are too mundane for too long. For instance, I like to move. After about four years in any one place I start climbing the walls. Doesn't have to be a big move. Could be just across town. But I need to keep moving. New walls, new people, new experiences...you get the picture. I tend to change jobs a lot as well. In the last twenty four years I've had more than forty two jobs. Jack of all trades, master of none. That's me.
But most of those changes were of my own making. I chose them. Just lately it seems like things are changing too fast...I have too little control. I'm aware that for the most part control is an illusion. But I like that illusion. And usually when I decide it's time for a change, I can visualize the outcome. Of course, it may not always end up the way that I envisioned it, in fact it seldom does, but the illusion gives comfort.
Right now it feels as if someone gave up on the pebble and dropped a fuckin' boulder in the pond. And here I am, clinging to some small twig, trying to stay afloat. Some moments it seems that I am in control and steering my course through the resulting currents and the next, I am about to be swamped by a tidal wave.
I want to curl up in a safe little den by myself and ignore the world around me. I want to break free, burst through the walls hemming me in and take the world by storm. I feel like dancing with joy. I feel like screaming. Some days it is just too confusing to be me.
For the most part I know what I want. But as I have pointed out to my children on countless occasions, no man is an island. What I want may not mesh with what my partner wants. And many are affected by my decisions and actions.
For the most part I like change. I become frustrated and twitchy when things are too mundane for too long. For instance, I like to move. After about four years in any one place I start climbing the walls. Doesn't have to be a big move. Could be just across town. But I need to keep moving. New walls, new people, new experiences...you get the picture. I tend to change jobs a lot as well. In the last twenty four years I've had more than forty two jobs. Jack of all trades, master of none. That's me.
But most of those changes were of my own making. I chose them. Just lately it seems like things are changing too fast...I have too little control. I'm aware that for the most part control is an illusion. But I like that illusion. And usually when I decide it's time for a change, I can visualize the outcome. Of course, it may not always end up the way that I envisioned it, in fact it seldom does, but the illusion gives comfort.
Right now it feels as if someone gave up on the pebble and dropped a fuckin' boulder in the pond. And here I am, clinging to some small twig, trying to stay afloat. Some moments it seems that I am in control and steering my course through the resulting currents and the next, I am about to be swamped by a tidal wave.
I want to curl up in a safe little den by myself and ignore the world around me. I want to break free, burst through the walls hemming me in and take the world by storm. I feel like dancing with joy. I feel like screaming. Some days it is just too confusing to be me.
For the most part I know what I want. But as I have pointed out to my children on countless occasions, no man is an island. What I want may not mesh with what my partner wants. And many are affected by my decisions and actions.
I am so weary of always trying to figure out what everyone else needs and wants and then trying to bend my needs and wants to meet them. I'm tired of compromise. I'm tired of feeling/being responsible to everyone's feelings. I don't want to care anymore. And yet I know that if I didn't care I wouldn't like myself.
I suppose that the bottome line is that today I feel like a rat in a maze. I believe that there is a wondrous piece of cheese waiting for me at the end. And I need and want that cheese. The question is whether I have enough energy to continue searching for it or if I will just lay down and starve.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Just Peachy
I was recently reading a post on Phoenix's blog that reminded me of something that happened to the daughter of a family friend. Thought I might share it.
Once upon a time, a young woman was working at a convenience store in a small semi-rural town. She was working the swing shift to help pay for school.
Now, usually someone else worked the shift with her, because she tended to work weekends and those were busy nights. But one week she covered the shift for someone on a different night and ended up working by herself.
Late that rainy night a man came into the store and started wandering up and down the aisles as if looking for something. After a few minutes he came up to the counter and asked if they had any peaches. "I'm looking for canned peaches and I can't find them." The young woman replied that the peaches were on isle 2. The man went to isle 2 looked around and came back to the counter. "I can't find them. Would you see if you can?"
By now the young woman was beginning to think that there was something wrong with the man, but she complied and went to the isle where the peaches were and then called to him, "Do you want the large can or the small one?" He replied that the large one would be fine. When she returned to the register with the can of peaches, she saw that the man had opened his raincoat. Underneath he was naked. And to add insult to injury, he was standing with his hips up against the counter and his penis laying on the counter.
Very flustered and not sure quite what to do, she didn't want to encourage him, she did the first thing that came to mind. "That will be $2.oo sir", she said as she slammed the can down onto the penis.
Of course the man then fell to the floor moaning and screaming and holding himself. She, being a kind hearted girl, began to worry that she might have done him serious damage and called the paramedics.
When they arrived, they were a bit surprised to find a man lying on the floor holding his crotch, crying an wearing nothing but an overcoat and boots. As they placed him on a stretcher and started to raise it up and release the wheels, they asked what had happened. When they heard the story they laughed so hard that they dropped the stretcher and broke the man's arm.
My guess is that if the guy ever tries that again, he'll be asking for cotton balls.
Once upon a time, a young woman was working at a convenience store in a small semi-rural town. She was working the swing shift to help pay for school.
Now, usually someone else worked the shift with her, because she tended to work weekends and those were busy nights. But one week she covered the shift for someone on a different night and ended up working by herself.
Late that rainy night a man came into the store and started wandering up and down the aisles as if looking for something. After a few minutes he came up to the counter and asked if they had any peaches. "I'm looking for canned peaches and I can't find them." The young woman replied that the peaches were on isle 2. The man went to isle 2 looked around and came back to the counter. "I can't find them. Would you see if you can?"
By now the young woman was beginning to think that there was something wrong with the man, but she complied and went to the isle where the peaches were and then called to him, "Do you want the large can or the small one?" He replied that the large one would be fine. When she returned to the register with the can of peaches, she saw that the man had opened his raincoat. Underneath he was naked. And to add insult to injury, he was standing with his hips up against the counter and his penis laying on the counter.
Very flustered and not sure quite what to do, she didn't want to encourage him, she did the first thing that came to mind. "That will be $2.oo sir", she said as she slammed the can down onto the penis.
Of course the man then fell to the floor moaning and screaming and holding himself. She, being a kind hearted girl, began to worry that she might have done him serious damage and called the paramedics.
When they arrived, they were a bit surprised to find a man lying on the floor holding his crotch, crying an wearing nothing but an overcoat and boots. As they placed him on a stretcher and started to raise it up and release the wheels, they asked what had happened. When they heard the story they laughed so hard that they dropped the stretcher and broke the man's arm.
My guess is that if the guy ever tries that again, he'll be asking for cotton balls.
Driver's Ed
OK, that's it. I cannot keep my mouth shut any longer! (As if I ever could.) Having moved here to PA last August, and keenly observing what pass as motorists in this state, I have a few things to say. Specifically to PA drivers. But if you don't live in PA and the shoe fits...well you know the rest.
1. You know those things on the sides of the road? The sticks with the funny shapes on top? They're called SIGNS. They have pictures on them or numbers or words. All of these have a PURPOSE. If you don't know how to read, then LEARN and if you do, THEN LEARN TO FOLLOW DIRECTIONS!
2. You know those pretty lines that are painted on the roadways? Contrary to what seems to be popular opinion, THEY ARE NOT ART! They have a PURPOSE. PICK A LANE, ANY LANE, AS LONG AS IT IS ONLY ONE AT A TIME!
3. Now, if this offends left handed people, I apologize. The reality is that in this country we drive on the RIGHT side of the road. And like it or not, left turns do NOT have the right of way. Even in Pennsylvania. I checked. So if you want to drive on the left or for left turns to have the right of way, I suggest you move to Europe.
4. An intersection is a place where two or more roads meet, cross or in some way come together. Notice those cool psychedelic lights hanging there? THEY ARE NOT FOR DECORATION! RED means to STOP. Preferably BEFORE entering said intersection. GREEN means to GO, not sit and check your makeup. And contrary to popular belief, as well as the movie Starman, YELLOW DOES NOT MEAN GO VERY FAST.
thanks for listening.
P.S. DO NOT USE THE RIGHT LANE TO TURN LEFT DAMN IT! y'all are startin' to piss me off!
1. You know those things on the sides of the road? The sticks with the funny shapes on top? They're called SIGNS. They have pictures on them or numbers or words. All of these have a PURPOSE. If you don't know how to read, then LEARN and if you do, THEN LEARN TO FOLLOW DIRECTIONS!
2. You know those pretty lines that are painted on the roadways? Contrary to what seems to be popular opinion, THEY ARE NOT ART! They have a PURPOSE. PICK A LANE, ANY LANE, AS LONG AS IT IS ONLY ONE AT A TIME!
3. Now, if this offends left handed people, I apologize. The reality is that in this country we drive on the RIGHT side of the road. And like it or not, left turns do NOT have the right of way. Even in Pennsylvania. I checked. So if you want to drive on the left or for left turns to have the right of way, I suggest you move to Europe.
4. An intersection is a place where two or more roads meet, cross or in some way come together. Notice those cool psychedelic lights hanging there? THEY ARE NOT FOR DECORATION! RED means to STOP. Preferably BEFORE entering said intersection. GREEN means to GO, not sit and check your makeup. And contrary to popular belief, as well as the movie Starman, YELLOW DOES NOT MEAN GO VERY FAST.
thanks for listening.
P.S. DO NOT USE THE RIGHT LANE TO TURN LEFT DAMN IT! y'all are startin' to piss me off!
Monday, April 25, 2005
Hey Nineteen
For fairly obvious reasons,(obvious that is, if you've read any of my prior postings) I've spent a good bit of time thinking about adolescence. Mine, my children's and in general. Also about my early adulthood. Choices made, the road not taken...you get the idea. Hindsight, after all, is twenty-twenty.
Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but looking back, and during that time, I thought being a teenager sucked. Big time. Jr. High, for example, was for me a trip through hell that made Dante look like a day at Disneyland. I was shunned, despised, made the butt of cruel jokes and on a good day only had to put up with whispered insults and laughter. Some of those memories still have the power to make me cry or cringe with shame and embarrassment.
High school was a slight improvement, although the school day itself was not much improved. I had finally developed some friendships with people outside of my school district and since they didn't know that I was a pariah, their friendship kept me going. Then too, I had to some degree achieved camouflage. I managed to pretend to fit in. Sort of.
So, over the years, when people would say things like "Oh, I'd give anything to be 16 again" I'd think "I'd rather be stripped naked, rolled in honey and staked on an anthill." I've often been heard to say that there is no amount of money that could induce me to live those years over again, even knowing what I know now.
Also, I've come to believe that regret is, for the most part, a wasted emotion. The past is what it is. Deal with it and move on. If you don't like the results of past choices, learn from it or forget it and start again from where you are. The reality is that we do the best we can with what we have at the time. Right?
But. I have recently come to the conclusion that nineteen is the best year. If there were any way to go back and start over from that point, especially with today's knowledge, then I would give everything I own for the opportunity. I'd probably even sell my soul for it.
Nineteen is the perfect age. You're finally an adult. Yeah, I know, eighteen is supposedly the big year, but I was still in my senior year. Nineteen and you have the first year of adulthood under your belt. But you're still given leeway in some quarters because you have a way to go before you're twenty one. At nineteen you have energy, health and exuberant youth on your side. No permanent life altering decisions have yet been made (at least in my case). That was the year I got engaged. Trust me, that would be different the second time around!
At nineteen the world is at your feet. Wide open with opportunities. No holds barred, all is possible. And the sad part is that at the time I sensed that, but wasn't smart enough to grab hold and tenaciously pursue my dreams. For you see, I could only conceive of one way to achieve something. Once I had in my thick skull an idea of how something could be accomplished, I became a victim of tunnel vision. If my way didn't work then I couldn't conceive of there being an alternative. My god what and idiot! And so, choice by choice, I boxed myself in and was left with fewer and fewer options.
Eventually I pulled said skull out of rear bodily orifice and started to try to resurrect my dreams. Little by little I have reclaimed myself over the last ten years and am gaining ground all the time. But some things have passed me by. That's life. And if I spent too much time wallowing in regrets, then I'd be shortchanging my present and future. And to be fair, I like who I am. For the most part.
But if anyone ever offers me the chance to do it all again, starting at nineteen, with today's knowledge, then watch out world. I'd take it by storm. And I'd be willing to give just about anything for the chance. All my worldly possessions. My aforementioned soul. Hey, even better, my firstborn! Where's Rumplestiltskin when you need him? I mean to a guy who can turn straw into gold, what's a little time travel? If any of you run across him, send him my way. I think we could do business.
Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but looking back, and during that time, I thought being a teenager sucked. Big time. Jr. High, for example, was for me a trip through hell that made Dante look like a day at Disneyland. I was shunned, despised, made the butt of cruel jokes and on a good day only had to put up with whispered insults and laughter. Some of those memories still have the power to make me cry or cringe with shame and embarrassment.
High school was a slight improvement, although the school day itself was not much improved. I had finally developed some friendships with people outside of my school district and since they didn't know that I was a pariah, their friendship kept me going. Then too, I had to some degree achieved camouflage. I managed to pretend to fit in. Sort of.
So, over the years, when people would say things like "Oh, I'd give anything to be 16 again" I'd think "I'd rather be stripped naked, rolled in honey and staked on an anthill." I've often been heard to say that there is no amount of money that could induce me to live those years over again, even knowing what I know now.
Also, I've come to believe that regret is, for the most part, a wasted emotion. The past is what it is. Deal with it and move on. If you don't like the results of past choices, learn from it or forget it and start again from where you are. The reality is that we do the best we can with what we have at the time. Right?
But. I have recently come to the conclusion that nineteen is the best year. If there were any way to go back and start over from that point, especially with today's knowledge, then I would give everything I own for the opportunity. I'd probably even sell my soul for it.
Nineteen is the perfect age. You're finally an adult. Yeah, I know, eighteen is supposedly the big year, but I was still in my senior year. Nineteen and you have the first year of adulthood under your belt. But you're still given leeway in some quarters because you have a way to go before you're twenty one. At nineteen you have energy, health and exuberant youth on your side. No permanent life altering decisions have yet been made (at least in my case). That was the year I got engaged. Trust me, that would be different the second time around!
At nineteen the world is at your feet. Wide open with opportunities. No holds barred, all is possible. And the sad part is that at the time I sensed that, but wasn't smart enough to grab hold and tenaciously pursue my dreams. For you see, I could only conceive of one way to achieve something. Once I had in my thick skull an idea of how something could be accomplished, I became a victim of tunnel vision. If my way didn't work then I couldn't conceive of there being an alternative. My god what and idiot! And so, choice by choice, I boxed myself in and was left with fewer and fewer options.
Eventually I pulled said skull out of rear bodily orifice and started to try to resurrect my dreams. Little by little I have reclaimed myself over the last ten years and am gaining ground all the time. But some things have passed me by. That's life. And if I spent too much time wallowing in regrets, then I'd be shortchanging my present and future. And to be fair, I like who I am. For the most part.
But if anyone ever offers me the chance to do it all again, starting at nineteen, with today's knowledge, then watch out world. I'd take it by storm. And I'd be willing to give just about anything for the chance. All my worldly possessions. My aforementioned soul. Hey, even better, my firstborn! Where's Rumplestiltskin when you need him? I mean to a guy who can turn straw into gold, what's a little time travel? If any of you run across him, send him my way. I think we could do business.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Fountain of Youth or Masochism?
I was never one of those people who liked exercise. Couldn't find the time, didn't like pain, didn't like to sweat. No aerobics or yoga for me! No sir! The only exercise I was interested in was Zen exercise. (That's where you sit and contemplate the idea of exercise.) And to be honest, for quite a few years, I didn't need to. I was always "tall and thin". Not too tall, I'm only 5' 7" but I've always been thin.
Then came the year 2000. I turned 30-something that year and low and behold, literally overnight, like a biological hostile take-over, the body I'm living in is no longer familiar to me. In a relatively short time span I steadily gained weight. About 55 lbs of weight. It was February of 2003 before I got scared and did something about it and by October of that year, I had lost the 55 lbs and was working out on a regular basis.
So now I work at the health club where get my exercise. I cover the front desk duties during the day shift. 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. Mostly this means, sitting on my tush, reading a book and checking on the computer screen each time a member of the club comes in. A few other odds and ends, but that's how I spend the majority of my day. After I clock out, I do my workout and go home. Keeping the weight off is not a task that gets easier with the years.
The other thing I do all day is people watch. It's a fascinating pastime. And they talk to me. They're all there for different reasons. Some for rehabilitation, some want to get ready for summer. There are folks who want to feel better, look better or be better. All of varying ages and sizes and degrees of health. And then I realized. We were all chasing the fountain of youth.
I mean, isn't that what we miss about being young? That feeling of health, so basic as to go unnoticed and unappreciated. That irrepressible belief that you are invincible, immortal, immune.
And then I thought about how hard many of these people work to achieve this goal. I thought of my workout routine (recently revamped and re-amped by my sadistic trainer) and the pain and torture I put myself through five days a week. I thought about the red faces, the dripping hair, the looks of sheer exhaustion on people's faces when they leave.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe we're all blind. Maybe we're not chasing the fountain of youth. Maybe we're all just a bunch of middle-class, suburbanite closet masochists expressing those tendencies in a socially appropriate way.
Then came the year 2000. I turned 30-something that year and low and behold, literally overnight, like a biological hostile take-over, the body I'm living in is no longer familiar to me. In a relatively short time span I steadily gained weight. About 55 lbs of weight. It was February of 2003 before I got scared and did something about it and by October of that year, I had lost the 55 lbs and was working out on a regular basis.
So now I work at the health club where get my exercise. I cover the front desk duties during the day shift. 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. Mostly this means, sitting on my tush, reading a book and checking on the computer screen each time a member of the club comes in. A few other odds and ends, but that's how I spend the majority of my day. After I clock out, I do my workout and go home. Keeping the weight off is not a task that gets easier with the years.
The other thing I do all day is people watch. It's a fascinating pastime. And they talk to me. They're all there for different reasons. Some for rehabilitation, some want to get ready for summer. There are folks who want to feel better, look better or be better. All of varying ages and sizes and degrees of health. And then I realized. We were all chasing the fountain of youth.
I mean, isn't that what we miss about being young? That feeling of health, so basic as to go unnoticed and unappreciated. That irrepressible belief that you are invincible, immortal, immune.
And then I thought about how hard many of these people work to achieve this goal. I thought of my workout routine (recently revamped and re-amped by my sadistic trainer) and the pain and torture I put myself through five days a week. I thought about the red faces, the dripping hair, the looks of sheer exhaustion on people's faces when they leave.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe we're all blind. Maybe we're not chasing the fountain of youth. Maybe we're all just a bunch of middle-class, suburbanite closet masochists expressing those tendencies in a socially appropriate way.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
No more Jerry
Ok. It's been three days. Three days since my life has changed in a very significant way. I thought I would be depressed at the very least and a severe basket case at the worst. For the first time in sixteen years, I am separated from the child I gave birth to. And not just for a couple of weeks at boy scout camp. He's gone for good. Barring the occasional visit. He does not live with me anymore. Two years sooner than expected.
Now, I've always said that I wouldn't be one of those women who suffer from empty nest syndrome. God please deliver me from the full nest, was almost my mantra. But I don't think I believed it when it came to my youngest. And yet.......
I admit I was a bit teary at the airport. As was he. But the sense of calmness, and peace has been spreading ever since. Am I truly the horrible mother I always suspected myself of being? Shouldn't I be tearing my hair, wailing and wearing sackcloth and ashes? This slow building of euphoria must mean that I will rot in a hell designed for unfit mothers.
I love the child in question immensely. And I do miss him. But I realized the other night, that the child I miss, is not the child that has been living with me for the last eighteen months. I've already gotten used to missing him.
He is the third of four children to wrest his freedom from the evil clutches of his parents. And he's is the youngest of the four. My husband has mentioned more than once in the last six months, that he misses our oldest daughter who moved out on her own last July. I say nothing because I don't miss her. (What I really don't miss is the drama. Same goes for the oldest). But I really don't miss them. Any of them. I just feel relief.
I've already turned his room into a guest room. It's gorgeous. Anybody want to come and visit? You'll have your own room. Kind of cold hearted, huh?
I have friends just starting their families. And I see neighbors and others in my community with precious little infants or young children. And all I can think is, thank god it's not me.
So, I guess no more Jerry Springer. Cancel that appointment with the producers. And I don't need a raise. I just needed release.
Now, I've always said that I wouldn't be one of those women who suffer from empty nest syndrome. God please deliver me from the full nest, was almost my mantra. But I don't think I believed it when it came to my youngest. And yet.......
I admit I was a bit teary at the airport. As was he. But the sense of calmness, and peace has been spreading ever since. Am I truly the horrible mother I always suspected myself of being? Shouldn't I be tearing my hair, wailing and wearing sackcloth and ashes? This slow building of euphoria must mean that I will rot in a hell designed for unfit mothers.
I love the child in question immensely. And I do miss him. But I realized the other night, that the child I miss, is not the child that has been living with me for the last eighteen months. I've already gotten used to missing him.
He is the third of four children to wrest his freedom from the evil clutches of his parents. And he's is the youngest of the four. My husband has mentioned more than once in the last six months, that he misses our oldest daughter who moved out on her own last July. I say nothing because I don't miss her. (What I really don't miss is the drama. Same goes for the oldest). But I really don't miss them. Any of them. I just feel relief.
I've already turned his room into a guest room. It's gorgeous. Anybody want to come and visit? You'll have your own room. Kind of cold hearted, huh?
I have friends just starting their families. And I see neighbors and others in my community with precious little infants or young children. And all I can think is, thank god it's not me.
So, I guess no more Jerry Springer. Cancel that appointment with the producers. And I don't need a raise. I just needed release.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Parenthood
exhaustion, relief.
amazement, joy and pride.
fear.
laughter, tenderness.
wonder, recognition and accomplishment
fear.
frustration, desperation.
relief, gratitude and humility.
fear.
hope, amazement.
worry, awe and love.
fear.
sorrow, betrayal.
guilt, anger and confusion.
fear.
how do i let go?
amazement, joy and pride.
fear.
laughter, tenderness.
wonder, recognition and accomplishment
fear.
frustration, desperation.
relief, gratitude and humility.
fear.
hope, amazement.
worry, awe and love.
fear.
sorrow, betrayal.
guilt, anger and confusion.
fear.
how do i let go?
Monday, April 11, 2005
The New Living Will
I, _________________________ (fill in the blank), being of sound mind and body, do not wish to be kept alive indefinitely by artificial means.
Under no circumstances should my fate be put in the hands of ethically challenged politicians who couldn't pass ninth-grade biology if their lives depended on it. If a reasonable amount of time passes and I fail to sit up and ask for a cold beer, it should be presumed that I won't ever get better. When such a determination is reached, I hereby instruct my spouse, children and attending physicians to pull the plug, reel in the tubes and call it a day. Under no circumstances shall the hypocritical members of the Legislature (State or Federal) enact a special law to keep me on life-support machinery. It is my wish that these boneheads mind their own damn business, and pay attention instead to the health, education and future of the millions of Americans who aren't in a permanent coma. Under no circumstances shall any politicians butt into this case. I don't care how many fundamentalist votes they're trying to scrounge for their run for the presidency, it is my wish that they play politics with someone else's life and leave me alone to die in peace. I couldn't care less if a hundred religious zealots send e-mails to legislators in which they pretend to care about me. I don't know these people, and I certainly haven't authorized them to preach and crusade on my behalf. They should mind their own damn business, too. If any of my family goes against my wishes and turns my case into a political cause, I hereby promise to come back from the grave and make his or her existence a living hell.
_______________
Dated
______________________
Signature
________________________________
Witness
________________________________
Witness
Under no circumstances should my fate be put in the hands of ethically challenged politicians who couldn't pass ninth-grade biology if their lives depended on it. If a reasonable amount of time passes and I fail to sit up and ask for a cold beer, it should be presumed that I won't ever get better. When such a determination is reached, I hereby instruct my spouse, children and attending physicians to pull the plug, reel in the tubes and call it a day. Under no circumstances shall the hypocritical members of the Legislature (State or Federal) enact a special law to keep me on life-support machinery. It is my wish that these boneheads mind their own damn business, and pay attention instead to the health, education and future of the millions of Americans who aren't in a permanent coma. Under no circumstances shall any politicians butt into this case. I don't care how many fundamentalist votes they're trying to scrounge for their run for the presidency, it is my wish that they play politics with someone else's life and leave me alone to die in peace. I couldn't care less if a hundred religious zealots send e-mails to legislators in which they pretend to care about me. I don't know these people, and I certainly haven't authorized them to preach and crusade on my behalf. They should mind their own damn business, too. If any of my family goes against my wishes and turns my case into a political cause, I hereby promise to come back from the grave and make his or her existence a living hell.
_______________
Dated
______________________
Signature
________________________________
Witness
________________________________
Witness
Saturday, April 09, 2005
Jane's Addiction
You know, it's odd how the things our parents made us do as hated chores become some of our great loves when we grow up.
In my case you could take several things. Reading for example. There was a time when I hated to read. Some of you who know me may find this hard to believe, but it's true. Now, my mother is a serious reader. When I say serious I mean that there is always at least one book she's reading within easy reach. To say nothing of those she's writing, but that's for another posting.
The story goes that sometime shortly after my birth Shogun was published. Now in addition to her voracious reading habit, my mother has a deep love for both Japanese culture (she lived in Japan for several years) as well as history. Of course my mother didn't waste any time in procuring a copy of said novel. She continued to meet my infant needs, but woe to anyone else in the house or the house itself. Somewhere around the third or fourth day, when my father had picked up pizza or something, again, my brother asked if mom was ever gonna make dinner again. My father sighed, looked at my mom, (who had the book in one hand and was feeding me a bottle with the other) and said, not until she's finished the book.
So, when I was in the third grade she decided that I needed to read. I didn't want to. Not like I had a choice. I was handed a large, hardcover, orange (to this day I hate the color orange) book and told I had to read a chapter a day and report it to her. Damn, this meant that I couldn't close my door, pretend to read and then be free. I actually had to know the material.
What's so bad about a chapter a day? The book was about Cowboys and Indians. It was pulled from the shelf because my brother had enjoyed it. Now, I was a nine year old girl. I was a bit of a tomboy, and I absolutely worshiped my brother, but this was going too far. Oh how I hated that reading hour. It dragged on interminably. I remember laying on my bedroom floor under the windows and studying the wallpaper much more industriously than that book.
And then, epiphany! My mother took me with her to the bookstore. Now, I'm sure I had been to many a bookstore with my mom before that fateful day. I mean, how could I not? But I have no conscious memory of ever being in one before. I, of course, was whining about not wanting to read the dreaded chapter that day. I wanted to do something with my friends. So mom tells me if I don't like the one I'm reading, then while we're here pick out something else. I started wandering aimlessly through the stacks, rather grumpily I might add, when I see a title. The Haunted Bridge.
Now, I loved scary stuff. Movies, stories (my brother told great ghost stories) whatever. So, not knowing how to judge a book except by it's cover, I bought it. And discovered Nancy Drew. Couldn't get enough of them. They were like candy to me. I stopped watching TV. I stayed up late reading with a flashlight under the covers. My friends came by and I blew them off. I hardly even got into the pool.
Of course, all good things must end, even my affair with Nancy Drew. Once again my mother stepped in. She banned Nancy from the house. Told me I needed to broaden my literary horizons. Which led to my lifelong affair with Stephen King. King was eventually followed by John Saul. At some point I discovered Sci-Fi then fantasy and so on. Now, I read anything I can get my greedy little paws on. I've outdone my mother in the bookworm category. I usually have at least three books going at one time. One on the nightstand, one in the car, one in the living room...
Some well meaning individuals have voiced the thought that perhaps I need help. Some kind of intervention. I've never argued my insanity. I'll check into the rubber room any time you like....as long as it's stocked with books.
In my case you could take several things. Reading for example. There was a time when I hated to read. Some of you who know me may find this hard to believe, but it's true. Now, my mother is a serious reader. When I say serious I mean that there is always at least one book she's reading within easy reach. To say nothing of those she's writing, but that's for another posting.
The story goes that sometime shortly after my birth Shogun was published. Now in addition to her voracious reading habit, my mother has a deep love for both Japanese culture (she lived in Japan for several years) as well as history. Of course my mother didn't waste any time in procuring a copy of said novel. She continued to meet my infant needs, but woe to anyone else in the house or the house itself. Somewhere around the third or fourth day, when my father had picked up pizza or something, again, my brother asked if mom was ever gonna make dinner again. My father sighed, looked at my mom, (who had the book in one hand and was feeding me a bottle with the other) and said, not until she's finished the book.
So, when I was in the third grade she decided that I needed to read. I didn't want to. Not like I had a choice. I was handed a large, hardcover, orange (to this day I hate the color orange) book and told I had to read a chapter a day and report it to her. Damn, this meant that I couldn't close my door, pretend to read and then be free. I actually had to know the material.
What's so bad about a chapter a day? The book was about Cowboys and Indians. It was pulled from the shelf because my brother had enjoyed it. Now, I was a nine year old girl. I was a bit of a tomboy, and I absolutely worshiped my brother, but this was going too far. Oh how I hated that reading hour. It dragged on interminably. I remember laying on my bedroom floor under the windows and studying the wallpaper much more industriously than that book.
And then, epiphany! My mother took me with her to the bookstore. Now, I'm sure I had been to many a bookstore with my mom before that fateful day. I mean, how could I not? But I have no conscious memory of ever being in one before. I, of course, was whining about not wanting to read the dreaded chapter that day. I wanted to do something with my friends. So mom tells me if I don't like the one I'm reading, then while we're here pick out something else. I started wandering aimlessly through the stacks, rather grumpily I might add, when I see a title. The Haunted Bridge.
Now, I loved scary stuff. Movies, stories (my brother told great ghost stories) whatever. So, not knowing how to judge a book except by it's cover, I bought it. And discovered Nancy Drew. Couldn't get enough of them. They were like candy to me. I stopped watching TV. I stayed up late reading with a flashlight under the covers. My friends came by and I blew them off. I hardly even got into the pool.
Of course, all good things must end, even my affair with Nancy Drew. Once again my mother stepped in. She banned Nancy from the house. Told me I needed to broaden my literary horizons. Which led to my lifelong affair with Stephen King. King was eventually followed by John Saul. At some point I discovered Sci-Fi then fantasy and so on. Now, I read anything I can get my greedy little paws on. I've outdone my mother in the bookworm category. I usually have at least three books going at one time. One on the nightstand, one in the car, one in the living room...
Some well meaning individuals have voiced the thought that perhaps I need help. Some kind of intervention. I've never argued my insanity. I'll check into the rubber room any time you like....as long as it's stocked with books.
Jerry Springer - Me?
Now, I don't really watch Jerry Springer. Have seen bits and pieces while channel surfing. Can't stand talk shows and DETEST what I call tabloid talk shows. But suddenly, I find myself living in what could be a Jerry Springer ongoing serial.
Don't get me wrong. I never thought adolescence would be easy. My own journey through that mine field was enough to warn me. But this? Never would have imagined it.
I was not the easiest 15 year old on the planet at the time, but I'm sure I wasn't the worst either. And there were plenty of arguments and differences of opinion between myself and my parental units. But there were limits. Certain things I might have thought, but would never dream of saying. Things I thought of doing, but would never have actually done.
You see, no matter how much they pissed me off, they were my PARENTS. Underneath all the angst and posturing, I loved them. Was conscious of an invisible line I didn't want to cross. Never wanted to hurt them. And I had a certain amount of respect for them. Of course, at the time, I often felt they were monumentally unfair. And I was going to be different with my kids. Well, the best laid plans.....
But how did my life with my son get to this? When did it become ok to heap verbal abuse on your mom? When did it become ok to threaten her? How did the norm become holes in walls made by angry fists, broken doors and windows? When did saying fuck off to your parents become an accepted means of communication? When did we start having to call the police to discipline a child? (When he grew to be over six feet tall and outweigh you by eighty pounds, I suppose).
This is so foreign to me. I did not live like this growing up and neither has my child, until recently. But last Monday, I realized that in three short months, my child has turned my home into a Jerry Springer show.
I want a word with the producers. I know Jerry gets paid more than me. I want a raise.
Don't get me wrong. I never thought adolescence would be easy. My own journey through that mine field was enough to warn me. But this? Never would have imagined it.
I was not the easiest 15 year old on the planet at the time, but I'm sure I wasn't the worst either. And there were plenty of arguments and differences of opinion between myself and my parental units. But there were limits. Certain things I might have thought, but would never dream of saying. Things I thought of doing, but would never have actually done.
You see, no matter how much they pissed me off, they were my PARENTS. Underneath all the angst and posturing, I loved them. Was conscious of an invisible line I didn't want to cross. Never wanted to hurt them. And I had a certain amount of respect for them. Of course, at the time, I often felt they were monumentally unfair. And I was going to be different with my kids. Well, the best laid plans.....
But how did my life with my son get to this? When did it become ok to heap verbal abuse on your mom? When did it become ok to threaten her? How did the norm become holes in walls made by angry fists, broken doors and windows? When did saying fuck off to your parents become an accepted means of communication? When did we start having to call the police to discipline a child? (When he grew to be over six feet tall and outweigh you by eighty pounds, I suppose).
This is so foreign to me. I did not live like this growing up and neither has my child, until recently. But last Monday, I realized that in three short months, my child has turned my home into a Jerry Springer show.
I want a word with the producers. I know Jerry gets paid more than me. I want a raise.
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