Blog-Ignoramus

momoir monday

2010-02-08T11:22:00.003-07:00

fisherofstories.blogspot.com

Do NOT read this if you are pregnant.
Do NOT read this if the subject of miscarriage is difficult for you. I know how you feel; I still find it quite difficult to read stories of this sort.
Do NOT read this if you are a guy who finds women's issues awkward and repulsive.

*****
I am participating in Memoir Monday; click on up there for some great photo memoirs. Trust me, I am doing a lot of talking along with my picture. That's how I roll. Hopefully I get this in by the end of the Day! I seem to get interrupted a LOT.

3203 days ago was one of the happiest days in my life.
3202 days ago a chapter in my life opened; filled with complete hopelessness and darkness.
3559 days ago the beginning of all this began.
Approximately 13 years ago are the actual beginnings to the rest of this story.

I have written paragraph after paragraph after paragraph about this part of my life. They are saved into my computer's memory. The events and emotions from that time are stored in my memory. Which is ironic, because I am rather infamous for my memory; i.e., the lack of one. But there are certain things one never forgets; they're seared into your soul for eternity. Maybe a real understanding of this time in my life, and in the lives of those I love, will be revealed in those eternities. I do know there are women who have gone through much more harrowing situations than anything I'm going to write about...I personally know some of these women. This is just a part of my life I want to share.

Memoir of a Mom:

or better yet:

a Mommoir

I had many miscarriages in my child bearing years; more than the number of my full term babies.
There were your standard miscarriages, (occurring before 12 weeks), and then the not so standard.

There was the miscarriage at 16 weeks; after which there was a Dilation and Cutterage. Okay, I just heard the collective groan of all the men reading this. All 2 of you.

Then there was the fetal demise at 5 months which truly altered a certain aspect of "me" forever. 36 hours of forced labor to deliver a baby which had died just a few hours before what was ultimately the last prenatal visit with that baby.

And then there is our family's happy accident. lil dub is his name. Heard of him?

And then there is the rest of the story...

Because those, give or take a few days, 7 months ago leading up to 1/23/01; are among the most horrible days my life.

I fell in love with my babies the very instant I knew I was pregnant. DESPERATELY IN LOVE. I know any of you with children can relate. (Whether you gave birth to your child yourself or otherwise. Once you know that child as a part of your life, you are forever attached.) So every loss was tragic. The loss of a baby boy, a tiny perfectly formed baby boy, who I held for an hour after his still birth, was so devastating to me that it affected my pregnancy with lil dub in ways I could never have anticipated.

Because this time, once I did find out I was pregnant, I thought, no I KNEW, that this baby was going to die. Every single day, perhaps even every hour of every day I thought this. I convinced myself that I, that we, would lose this baby. Every once in a while hope would rear its beautiful head, but I grew very adept at evading any sense of optimism.

I doubted his first flutter of movement and if I didn't feel him move after any 4 hour stretch of time I panicked. I couldn't see myself growing, although of course I was. I asked my family everyday if they could see a change. I didn't buy maternity clothes and wore the ugliest wardrobe imaginable, comprised of ill-fitting hand me downs and extra large shirts. I could not bring myself to buy anything for the baby. (And we needed new things; I'd long since donated or tossed old baby clothes and furniture.) Friends wanted to throw me a baby shower; I wouldn't let them. I was in such a state of denial-I could not let this baby get into my heart. Though of course he did.

As the pregnancy progressed, with the unceasing thoughts in my mind every single day that it was going to end badly, I grew more and more unstable. I was afraid to go to the bathroom. I couldn't allow myself to throw up, (something I did with wild abandon with my previous pregnancies), because I was sure that would be too much strain. It's amazing what the mind can do; or not do. I slept for only a few hours at a time, that is, when I did sleep. I obsessed over thoughts of losing him. If I felt the slightest hint of a cramp I thought it was the beginning of the end of the pregnancy.

I maintained a fairly normal routine...as much as I could while lying on the couch almost all day. My husband was more than both Dad and Mom. He was my therapist, my shoulder that I cried on every single night, my comforter, my hero. My knight-in-shining armor who rode to my rescue, bringing home whatever it was I was craving that particular day. (Usually Mexican. I also had a ravenous craving for those super salty Gardetto's snacks. I wouldn't eat Gardettos now if you forced them between my teeth. And Ice Water. I chewed ice constantly.)

A week before my due date, it was apparent that I was barely holding on by the hair's breadth of a thread. I was induced on an early Monday morning and January 23, 2001 @ 12:55 p.m. a healthy 8 lb baby boy was born. I was on top of the world, giddy and excited. I was soaring through a euphoric cloud of relief and, pun intended, deliverance.

24 hours later, the bottom of my world shattered, then collapsed.

Lack of sleep. Lack of hope. Lack of mental preparation for the eventual happy ending. The hormonal nose dive that comes with any pregnancy. Add this and many other subtle nuances that even I was unaware of, together-- and you have the recipe for classic Post Partum Depression, and at one point I was diagnosed with Post Partum Psychosis.

The nurses didn't know what to do. I am still more than a little confused and yes resentful of these trained medical professionals who, after seeing me falling apart in front of them, would leave me alone in my room, holding a squalling baby. A baby who was oh so hungry and receiving no nourishment from me, because my body was both mentally and physically shutting down. Once again...the sheer power of the mind is so underestimated. No colustrum; eventually no milk. (And boo to those who gave me such grief over not nursing. I nursed my other babies; I am PRO nursing. But you gotta have milk to do so, you know?).

Back to the ugly scene in the hospital. I was helpless as to what to do, and nobody knew what to do with me. At first, I really didn't know what was going on. I was powerless to stop it.

I have some advice for the techs and nurses. Call the doctor. Call the Doctor and explain the seriousness of the issue. I know nurses hesitate to call doctors because the doctors don't always take kindly to what may be unnecessary calls. Do it anyway. Take care of the squalling baby; feed him. Don't just stick him in the room because you can't handle his crying in the nursery. Find out why he's crying. Give the patient something to calm her down. Don't leave her alone with the baby. Have I mentioned that already? Don't ask the patient how she is feeling if you have no intention of helping; if you have no intention of reporting it to the R.N. in charge. If you are confused, find someone who can help.

Taking him home was so frightening. I was shaking so badly while trying to dress him, (Mr Above Average was pulling the car around), that my one angel nurse took him and gently wrapped him in the thick hospital blanket, thus alleviating me the stress trying to cobble together his outfit and also aiding and abetting me in stealing hospital property.

And so began nearly a year of PPD. I won't go into laborious details of that year; mostly because I don't have all that many clear memories of it. Only leftover guilt and deep empathy for anyone going through the same experience. I couldn't be left alone with my baby, not because I would hurt him, I just couldn't do it. That part is inexplicable. If it weren't for the many angels that came to our rescue...well I can't even imagine how we would have survived. My friend marched into my Doctor's office and demanded he do something...and he did. For quite some time I was still convinced he was going to die and/or this just wasn't happening and/or I wanted to die.

Flash forward to now. I complain about this miracle everyday. I worry about him incessantly. I feel like every little issue that comes up is linked to the pre and post depression. Even writing this post is too much reliving. I am completely wiped out from writing this, and on the surface of it, I didn't even tell the story well. I think it's good to get it out though. Not for you; but for me.

I could have used a thousand pictures of course...but this photo just seems to sum up so much of our experience since lil dub came into our lives. Our joy reflected in the sheer joy on his face. I see that joy in all of my children. I love you guys.

how The Average's celebrate

2010-02-05T15:07:00.003-07:00

**just so's you know...I have my must read list re-built and will be mustreading again soon**

Although
the b-day was yesterday,
~~the hubs and I~~ The Average's dined out Wednesday eve'nin.

Because
they had a babysitter, (the divine Miss K),
And
Mrs Average scheduled an appointment on her very own birthday
because
she forgot it was her birthday.
Just because she agrees to 2 weeks from Thursday
DOES NOT
mean that she checks her calendar for dates.
Also
Mrs Average takes what Mrs Average can get.
For crying out loud,
it's only a birthday.
Get over yourself, Mrs Average.

So
Wednesday Eve'nin'
The Averages departed for the average birthday dinner.
Did they have a plan?
H no.
They tend to fly by the seat of their pants.
Since it was such a special occasion, The Averages
concluded
that a special restaurant was in order.

Up
the mountainside they drove the twisty turny roads
to a reeeeeal nice restaurant next to a ski resort.
(ski resort established by a reeeeeeal live movie star. fo shiz.)

Dressed
in their usual garb of all purpose clothing;
suitable for trips to Home Depot and/or special occasions:
something like a birthday dinner at a ski resort established by a famous person.
They were wearing their average clothes
cuz they're Average after all.
(Mrs Average is so silly. She wore socks with her cute slip on shoes...
cuz her feet were cold, that's why;
but she forgot to take them off before entering the restaurant.
Not attractive. No not at all.

Seated
by a picturesque window; the snow banked halfway up;
the lights down low, a fireplace blazing in the corner.
The restaurant almost completely empty,
but for the waiter and The Average's.

Freezing
is what they were by that darn winder.
The Averages's remarked on this fact to the lone waiter;
who looked back at them down his snooty nose,
and glanced around the restaurant
with a blank look of 'whadya want me to do about it?".

Not
wanting to cause a scene in the empty room
and not wanting to sit right next to a blazing fireplace
where they would obviously melt,
(apparently their only other choice)
Mr and Mrs Average switched places
cuz
Mr Average is the man.
He gave Mrs Average his warmer seat.
That sounds real funny.

Ever
the optimists, The Averages persevered;
surely the food would make up for any inconvenience.
Twas, unfortunately, NOT.

One
hunnerd bucks later, The Average's turned down
the suggestion of dessert.
Mrs Average grabbed her purse
and they both scurried to their car.
Awwwww...the sweetness of a heated seat.

Well
Mrs Average wanted her dessert anyway.
You get that, don't you?
Hence, The Average's drove back to the bustling metropolis
and to a diner dive which serves
the most delicious shakes ever ever ever.
Mrs Average and Mr Average
devoured their four dollar shakes
and laughed about the night
all the way home.

The Averages should stick with their own kind.

It's the law of The Average's.
That just came to me; really it did.

******

Average or not, I had me a nice birthday. I bought my own presents, so I got exactly what I wanted. The hubs brought dinner home...yummmmmy Mexican Food. All Mexican Food is above average to me. I received many delightful happy birthday wishes.

Plus, lookee what I got: homemade oreos from the neighbor friend, chocolate truffles (not pictured) from another friend, BTS (if you have to ask then you don't need to know) cupcakes and deeeeeelightful cake bites. Perhaps my new best friends, those cake bites.

Clearly
I am not average when it comes to treats.
If I am in a reeeeeal good mood
I might just share.

the only constant is change

2010-02-04T12:16:00.007-07:00

Let's talk about change. Or, let's let me ramble on about change. If you want to talk about change...well, you'll have to comment now, won't you?

As you can see I have changed my little bloggee look. My friend Erin surprised me with the basic look; and once I pestered her to death, (I believe she may not be speaking to me anymore, (Yo, Erin, what's up with changing your phone # and email?), she came up with my new digs. There's still a few kinks to be worked out. But I like, no, love, messing with this stuff. What a change from a year ago, when I didn't have a clue about 'this stuff'. (I need to learn some correct terminology, 'this stuff' just doesn't cut it.)

In the spirit of change, I have decided to have my birthday today. While some may say getting older sucks, well, I completely agree with them. I am now 40sumpin years old today. (Let's just say it equals the total number of contiguous states in the U.S.). What I would say to you young ones is this; that when your beauty begins to fade and you slowly disappear ~~from society~~, your memory fogs over like a mist covered harbor at dawn, your legs become a road map of spider veins winding in all directions- N/S/E and W, when your waist disappears overnight and in its place a doughnut roll appears...you will still have the heart and soul of a younger you. (Depending on your inherent maturity level. I'm a solid 13 year old.) Remember this when you look at us old ones and think that we are any wiser or any less romantic at heart than you. Wrinkles do not equal wisdom, they just equal cellular breakdown. Methinks that the most significant change that occurs as the years go by is that your empathy, (or in some unfortunate cases, lack of empathy), grows exponentially. That and fact that you don't give a shiz anymore about what people think when you run errands in an over sized T-shirt, sweat pants and no makeup. (Which you could not have paid me to do just a few short years ago.)

An obvious change, to me, this year has been my personal discovery of the blogging world and what it has come to mean to me. Maybe just a little too much. I'm coming up on my blogaversary in 22 days; and I'm sure to expound on the mysterious world of blogging from my perspective; and don't you know it, my blogfriends?; so I'll leave it at that for now. You're welcome.

Change can be difficult. It usually is. Anytime we go from what we're comfortable with; what we've grown accustomed to and then experience a shift, (from a subtle difference all the way to the life altering kind), it seems like that change is all there is going on in your life. Everything else seems to fade into the background and that CHANGE is all you think about. With the birth of every child comes radical change; but is there anything more glorious? If you're having difficulty agreeing with that idea or to any other kind of change question today, or yesterday, or maybe even tomorrow; think back to the good times; to what you've learned. There are even more good times to come. And more learning.

Wow, look how wise I've become in my old age. Not so much; I'm still that insecure, oversensitive, bratty little girl; I just have considerably more empathy for all the rest of y'all these days.

*you know what would be a superdeedooper birthday present? I hate to be too obvious ~~but I'm going to anyway, I'm OLD, what do I care?;~~ but all you'd have to do is click that little follow button over to your right. The more the merrier, right? Let's get this party started*

it's random tuesday!

2010-02-02T12:40:00.001-07:00

Warning...this post is written by a desperate woman who has been trapped in her house for 5 days and is in dire need of real human contact.

Random Tuesday. Oh, how I love thee. The beauty of letting my brain run free with little to no responsibility to connect one thought to another is pure ignoramus bliss. I imagine myself lying in a meadow of wildflowers gazing at puffy clouds in the sky and pondering the meaning of life whilst sipping a gargantuan cup of DDP from Sonic. It's all about the ice. I want a Sonic Ice Machine for my birthday. Which just so happens to be in 2 days. hint hint. (It would take a special straw however to lie on your back AND sip DDP simultaneously. Let's change the scene to me sitting in a beach chair, the sun shining, the waves gently crashing, (is that possible; to gently crash?), book in hand, sipping a DDP. From Sonic. ....sigh....

Speaking of random:

My first randomness concerns blogging itself. Don't run screaming or dare click away; I'm not going to go into a paroxysm of craziness over why I blog. I am soooo over that. I just have a few of points I want to bring up in a somewhat random fashion.

Comments. Love 'em, Want 'em, Crave 'em-just like the rest of y'all. I'm not ashamed one bit to admit. That being said, I don't hold it against anyone if they don't comment. Sheesh...I'm way too scattered brained to keep track of who's commented and who's not. That being said, I wonder why, if you take the time to read, why not go ahead and comment? That being said, I get it and am completely cool with it if you read and don't want to comment. I don't give much to comment on. Finally, the last thing I have to say about comments or the lack thereof; Wouldn't it be nice to have a small discreet button to click that indicates "Hey, I was here!!" But, I guess if someone took the time to click that button they'd probably comment. Just thinking.

And goldarnit, I am sick of the weirdo comments that are either in a language I have no chance in hedoublehockey sticks of ever knowing how to read and/or have nothing to with what I've written or are so obviously written by someone in dire need of an ESL class. And that darn word verification doesn't help a bit. I had several comments from someone called 11. Yep, the number 11. Kinda cool actually. Wish I'd thought of that. Phew, I need to take a chill pill, don't I?

A couple of times I've received emails asking me if I would care to review XYZ's product and post about it. I don't know what to think or do about that. I've ignored them so far. Is that a big fat blogging faux pas? I'm not really comfortable doing it and I'm not sure anyone would care what I think. (Although I did write a really stirring post about a certain brand of really awesome toilet paper but never did actually post it; and I wasn't even doing it for free toilet paper. I suppose someone out there, maybe one of you undercover readers, would care about my opinion in that case.) What to do, what to do?

Final bit of blogging randomness. Did you know that blogger now has PAGES???!!! Just look up at the top of the posting page and you'll see it...'edit pages'!! If you know what I'm talking about, you are jumping out of your chair right now. (Assuming you're sitting on your butt as I am.). I'm sure blogger appreciates that bit o' plugging. Of course this comes after I was taught how to fool the system and make my own pages.

Now, on to randomness unrelated to blogging:

Yesterday I was talking with a friend on the phone and all we did was G.O.S.S.I.P. OMGee........... it felt so fanflippintastic GOOD! We used no self restraint and said exactly what we thought about who, what, when, and where. Even how. We've been friends for years and we both know whatever we say is just between us. We are both excellent secret keepers. Or is it keepers of secrets? We admitted it wasn't our place to judge, but judge we did. I felt so much better afterward. I probably would have smoked a cigarette if I'd had one nearby. Not that I've ever smoked or ever will. But, I have a very active imagination and imagine that would have been the appropriate time for a puff or two. My children just ran from the room screaming. What are they going to do with me?

One last tiny lil thing. I am currently bonkers over the site Hooked on Houses. (I am seriously considering having my laptop surgically removed). (By laptop I mean portable PC. Just in case you were confused). I bet you are even more confused about my use of the word bonkers.

Oh, one more teency weency thing, I PROMISE...just as I get lil dub settled into his new class, he gets sick. For real sick. I've been trapped in the house with him for going on 5 days. I am losing my mind.........does it show?

And I didn't even get to share the non compos mentis dream I had last night. darn.

Now, go visit the UNMOM. I insist.

some thoughts on notes

2010-02-01T08:38:00.005-07:00

as a fan of the written word

i've always been a note person.

rather than speak out loud

i'd prefer to think in sound

hoping those who read

will hear my voice.

a voice inside my head

tells me what to say

tells me how to say

what I want to say.

it says what I cannot;

it gives my words a voice.

words inside my head are often inexpressible

words that leave my mouth are often misunderstood

what I say aloud may often be

not

what I meant to say.

i assume that my notes are understood

because they make perfect sense to me.

sometimes I'd rather write than speak

those feelings that give me pain

hurt or confusion

or frustration

teeming with sentiments of joy or a passion

and certainty of a promise.

thoughts i want to share.

yet it's clear to me

my notes may be misunderstood

no matter how hard I try

to say what i mean.

i also love a good love note

given and received

i use words i find nearly impossible to say

because I become tongue tied and embarrassed.

similar layers and differing variations of love

can be expressed

in just a few words.

i love you.

i remember notes passed in school

so subversive and so to the point

full of gossip and plans

questions and answers

to tests and to feelings.

papers folded half and half again

passed hand to hand

hiding the messages meant only for the eyes

of the beholder.

not everyone is a fan of the written word

written in a note

thoughts expressed silently

waiting to be appreciated for

the time and effort and sweat of hard work

of putting into words

thoughts that won't be heard

because they have no voice.

each letter each syllable each word

a symphony of silent sound

all in one note.

the beauty of a note

is its ability

to send a message-

what may be left unsaid

and cannot be heard.

yet too often

the words can't or won't be given a chance

to say what they want to say.

so unappreciated

so misunderstood.

returned unwanted to the sender.

it might be unheard still

it may be ignored

it may be wadded up and tossed;

but somehow those words will remain

written evidence

of what i feel.

forever.

will you please?

2010-01-29T14:35:00.000-07:00

Raise your hand if you know who lil dub is.

If you did not raise your hand then you can, if you care to, read every single lil dub post from the archives, which could take you a good 16 hours...or just try and get up to speed by reading this post...or not read this at all...or wonder where he came by that nickname...or gaze at your own naval...

Aw, lil dub. Sweet lil now 9 year old boy 'o mine. The boy who is making me age before my time, pull my hair out, twist my brain into impossible contortions just so I can try to figure him out, and reminding me that a mother will fight with all she has and a little bit more for her child.

School this year has been a complete downer for lil dub and just getting downer each passing week. I remember one damp morning a couple of weeks ago, just before he walked out the door. He hiked his jacket hood up, hung his head down and shuffled out to the bus stop. As he was leaving he said, with a palpable sound of resignation in his voice, "I'm leaving to go stand in the rain to go somewhere I don't want to go."

And that was a good day. Every other morning was a nightmare. I began getting up at least an hour early than he, just so I could mentally prepare myself. Let's just say threats, tough love, sweet talk, deals, talks with the principal and school therapist...none of it did a lick of good. He was missing more and more days of school. He knew he should go but he'd rather sit in his room all day; no T.V., no video games, no playing with friends of course; nothing to do but read, and be completely bored out of his skull, than go to school.

Okay, no kid, or nearly no kid, loves going to school. Especially once they hit 3rd grade. But this was more than a case of just not wanting to go to school; this was severe anxiety and misery territory.

I had my "aha" moment a couple of weeks ago. It happened at our 2nd parent/teacher/student meeting of this school year. I don't want to replay the entire history with his teacher up until this meeting. Been there, done that. Suffice it to say, I didn't really see his teacher as the crux of the problem. I knew lil dub didn't like her...just not to what extent and why. My thinking was that lil dub needed to learn that you're not gonna love every teacher. I was teaching him a life lesson.

Let me go on record here: I love teachers. LOVE LOVE. I wish I were a teacher. Teachers are the unsung hero's of our lives. (I wish I'd been listening more to mine when it came to the correct usage of apostrophe's.) And parentheses and periods.

That being said; not every teacher cares about their profession in the same way. That's just how it works. That's how any profession works. Got it? Could I beat this point into the ground anymore?

So, there we were. lil dub, myself, and his teacher. Having our little meeting. She pulls out the papers, starts talking away, seemingly completely clueless to the fact that her student has missed umpteen days in her class, and of all the meetings with the principal and therapist; meetings in which she was in attendance a few times. You could have waved your hand in her face and she wouldn't have blinked. I'd start to talk, and she'd keep talking. lil dub would say something and she'd completely ignore him, unless I pointed out the fact that he had something to say. I asked questions and she would shuffle papers around, hmming and wondering where this or that paper was. (quick lil note here: lil dub is in the gifted program and that teacher sends work to the student's regular classroom to work on during down times; which downtime the student will invariable have, yada yada yada. His regular teacher was forgetting half the time to give lil dub the work. That lil tidbit I found out at this meeting.)

It was like talking to air. She wouldn't look us in the eye, or answer any question with a solid answer. Tiny example #1. I asked about lil dub making up missed work and what he should do about it. All she said was "uh huh let's see". Nothing else beyond that. WHAT? Tiny example #2: I asked what day and what time I should bring something to spotlight lil dub with the following week, (birthday week), and all I got from her was "fine, fine". WTF? I pressed further. "Whenever". HUH?

You're thinking this makes absolutely no sense. That is because it didn't at all! It was like we were actors in 2 different plays going on simultaneously.

AHA!!!!!!!!!

lil dub is a people person; just like me. He likes to make connections with people, and when he does he almost always likes, even loves, that person; just like me. lil dub is hypersensitive; just like me. lil dub was being treated like a NOBODY. And he knew it-but without the skills to deal with and describe those feelings. I KNOW how he must have felt in class. I'm just having a hard time describing it.

So, I knew what exactly what was going on. But between school getting back into full swing and the funerals, it's been a lil crazy around here. He was missing almost every Monday for weeks now, (Mondays have been the most difficult), plus several days for the funeral.

Last Monday morning was no different. He woke up crying. I was firm and told him in no uncertain terms that he HAD to go to school. Then he really let go. He was bawling. He was pleading with me to not make him go. He put his head into arms on the counter and sobbed. He just couldn't take it anymore. This was different.

I took him into my arms and cried with him. Then I sent an email to the Principal telling him things had reached the point that lil dub must be moved to a different class. He called me later, he said he agreed with me, and it was a done deal. lil dub had said he really wanted Miss T.; but I told him it was up to the Principal. Imagine our delight when we found out his new teacher is Miss T. Just meeting her I can sense that she is definitely lil dub's type.

I feel so badly for this lost and painful time for lil dub. He has an appointment with a child psychologist next week and hopefully that will iron out the bubbles all of this has created. I sure could have used therapy when I was younger. Big surprise there.

This morning I asked lil dub to rate this new situation using the 1-10 scale. He gave it a solid, emphatic TEN.

Now, raise your hand with your fingers crossed that this all works out. Watch out though, I have both hands in the air with all of my fingers crossed and they are raised much higher than yours. But, please, would you, could you, do this for me? For me and lil dub?

it's inexplicable if you know what i mean

2010-01-27T11:58:00.002-07:00

I often wonder where this gift I have of knowing exactly how a person feels came from. Is it a gift or a curse? This inner spot in my heart that can sense happiness, grief, loneliness, fear, glee, accomplishment, intelligence, doubts, falsehoods-intentional or not. The all in all; the positives, negatives, and all the feelings between. I know I was born with this dubious skill.

Am I conceited or foolish in thinking this? Knowing this? That's not for me to question. It is what it is .

I do realize that even I have my limits.

My ability to know how someone else is feeling apparently doesn't extend to myself. That seems rather unfair if you ask me. Maybe it is because I'm so willing to just pretty much tell anyone how I feel, there's no need for me to know. What? I certainly made that sound way more complex than it is.

(For example: There's the ominous missing fragment of my soul which is currently on a Quest to find itself. There is so much going on inside me that all I sense is befuddlement. I sense no sense.)

I remember as a child wondering if I truly had the gift to read minds and what a scary prospect that was. Looking furtively around the room wondering if anyone else had this same gift. Which, of course I knew they did not...I can read minds, remember? Rather than calling it reading minds; I prefer to say "reading emotions." And being this way just opens you up to a whole lot of hurt and ridicule. It makes you very suspicious of the motives of others.

You think I'm crazy, don't you? (Cast aside all your previous judgments of my sanity or lack thereof and based solely on the last few paragraphs, you think I'm one heck of a nutcase. Don'tcha? Well, Gotcha. I just proved my point.)

No worries, I know I'm weird. As clearly as I know that I am in tune with people at some, I don't know what to call it other than mystical, level.

Wouldn't it seem logical that I could take this whatever you call it and use it for the good of mankind? ha. There's the rub. There is NO logic to what this is at all.

The capacity that is an intrinsic piece of me; I dare say IS me, hinders rather than helps. Because when I'm feeling all this emotion barreling at me, coating me with layers of sensitivity, I become crippled; unable to act; only to react. Like prison doors, my thought process slams shut, door after door.

Why do I reveal this about myself to people I barely know...yet can very much sense? 3 reasons that I can think of now. There's always a billion other reasons waiting in the background for their turn.

Because I recognized this in someone else yesterday. They don't know that I can understand...because they don't know I KNOW. It's an abstruse kindred impression. I get a lot of those. I almost never share them. What would you do if someone told you they'd had an inexplicable impression from their heart to yours? Someone who you haven't seen in forever? You'd lock 'em up, that's what you'd do.

I also had this experience today with someone I know who denied everything I knew. Slam Slam Slam.

Reason number 2 stems directly from my Quest. Since I won't talk about the Quest here, that is as much explanation as I can give.

#3 is probably just me being me...but I have a feeling some of you know what I'm talking about. I also have the strong impression that some of you are completely and utterly confused.

So am I. So am I.

i have needs

2010-01-26T11:01:00.000-07:00

Woot WOOT. I'm feeling the randomnish something fierce today. I'm also feeling extra needy.

I need some new clothes. Almost every piece of clothing I consistently wear is from Eddie Bauer, and they do work great for me. Let me describe my body shape. Think Inverted Triangle sans boobs. Which in laymen's terms means that I am built like a MAN. No hips, no waist, no bust. Shoulders like a linebacker. Eddie Bauer understands this body shape. I can order with ease from their catalog because I know how the clothing will fit. Also, their clothing is reasonably priced. But, I'm up for a change. I've just ordered a few things from Boden USA, and while their selection is adorable (ha, since when do I want to be adorable?), it is fairly limited and the sizing is crazy difficult to figure out. I haven't been brave enough to order their pants; cuz pants are a huge problem for me. I know there are women who think having no hips would be awesome, but I'm here to tell you... It ain't. Hipless women have just as many issues as curvy women.

Speaking of clothes. Don't you feel more powerful, more ready to face the world when you are wearing a nice pair of jeans and heels? I know I do. Now all I need are a nice pair of jeans and a pair of smokin' heels.

Speaking of needy. I need a new skin care regime. I live in the Saharan Desert and my skin is as dry as unbuttered toast. In fact it resembles a slice of toasted white bread. My skin is crawling across the sands of time searching for a drink of water. I need suggestions. I won't pay a bazillion bucks, cuz I don't believe in magic, so keep that in mind.

To all of you who need Thank You notes from me and are wondering why the heck you haven't received yours yet...I know why. I know why because I just unearthed them from a huge stack of papers on my kitchen counter. Ooops. Now I need some stamps.

And here is evidence that I need to get a life. Yesterday over at Otin's place he posted the signs of an "addicted blogger". I was fairly confident that I would maybe have a few symptoms of a blogging addiction, (isn't the first sign denial?), but to my dismay I found that am a full on blog junkie. Check it out if you think you can handle the truth. (He has no idea I linked him...so keep it on the down low. I have no idea how he'd feel about it.)

Lastly...UPS people... sometime between 8 a.m. and 7 p.m.? Really? Are you crazy? I do need to be able to leave my house. Not that I will, but I need to have that option.

That's all. I know you're searching for the rest of my post because I seem to be under the delusion that I need to write a "chapter" more than a "post" each day. Was that sign #11?

You know the drill...Check out the UNMOM for more and better randomness.

Lessons Learnt #1

2010-01-25T10:58:00.032-07:00

Lest you think that I am all seriousness, endlessly pondering my own naval, and consumed with angst EVERY SINGLE SECOND OF THE DAY I would like to share with you some highlights and lowlights from our last two trips. There are several bits of wisdom I'd like to share with you, so here goes:

Lesson #1

Before our first trip down to Hell on Earth, (oh shut up...I can't help myself; I have to call it how I see it; and I'm sure I have a few less people who will call me a relative let alone a friend...but I gotta tell you, a bit of my soul dies every time I ride through that barren brown landscape). Anywhoist...I thought I was such a good little planner by buying copious amounts of snackage from Costco before the trip. *I am well aware that my sentence structuring sucks...how I write is how I talk; I have no other excuse. Oh, that and the fact that I'm an idiot*

Anywhoistagain...picture this: car stuffed to the max with 6 people and their suitcases, computers, books, stuffies (that'd be lil dub), blankets, pillows, backpacks, etc. Then picture me cramming in several hugemungous boxes of candy and ginormous bags of salty snacks, plus a bunch of stuff I pilfered from the pantry at the last second. My plan was to negate the need to wander around every mini mart attached to every gas station/rest stop searching for something to munch the boredom away. Those places are a veritable fantastical wonderland for lil dub...the choices are so tantalizing. He has to check out each section 28 times, circling his prey, before making a decision. grrrrrrr The rest of us can make up our minds in half the circling.

My negation plan was negated almost from the start. Although we had roughly $5000 worth of munchables in our trash dump of a car; a mere 2 hours into the trip all of us were bored with the choices. At our very first stop each family member raced into the restroom to relieve themselves, (first things first), and then proceeded to plop down their snack of choice onto the counter; with me looking on helplessly. It was so frustrating. All that planning for naught. I wanted to smack everyone on the head with the pre-planned, pre-purchased bags of skittles and sour patch kids and cheese and crackers and beef jerky and peanut butter filled pretzels...well maybe not the latter, cuz dang; those are tuhuhuhaaasty.

Welp, I learnt my lesson that first go round. We carried those unwanted snacks around with us all 38 hours of driving. Instead, we snacked on whatever new treat we could find at each stop. (Who knew there are 58 different varieties of Chex Mix alone? Not me).The only good thing about my planning is that I was able to pawn the uneaten, (and previously underappreciated), snacks onto the 2 college kids once we were home. (I know, it is shocking that I have 2 college kids...I'm like only 29. sheesh.) College kids, who had within hours into the first trip developed a taste much too refined for the snacks I had so cleverly stocked up on, suddenly became so very desperate to take the stash back to school. They were fighting over who got what. So, it wasn't a complete waste. I felt validated in a way.

About that learnt lesson. This past week, when once again we forged are way through the barren wasteland of all my nightmares put together, I bought nary a pre-planned snack. I just threw some water bottles into the car and firmly stated; to each his or her own at the first pit stop. Little did I know...

Yeah, well, so much for learnt lessons. Just as much money was spent at our first stop on freakin' overpriced, over salted, over high fructosed corn syrupy goodness as was spent on the entire first trip! The first two hours without snacks turned me into a hoarder. It was a free for all at each stop. I ask you: Can we all go two hours without eating crap on any normal day? Of course we can. Can we do it when all we can think about is not having to pee, feeling claustrophobic and paranoid, butt aching from sitting in the same position for hour after hour, all talked out from the last trip...all of this while being sad? (Cuz, these weren't exactly pleasure trips I'm talking about). Empirical evidence supports the assumption that we can not.

We were crazy for the snacks. Pretzels, Chex Mix in all their varieties, candy candy candy, trail mix, peanut M&M's, cookies, Corn Nuts, (what the H are 'corn nuts' anyway?), a toy size box of Wheat Thins which cost 3 times as much as a normal size box, (chosen by lil dub who never did open the box. I still have it. Do I smell a giveaway? Used snacks?), DDP, Coke, Expensive Water, Blizzards from Dairy Queen, (I kid you not), slushies, white cheddar popcorn, hot dogs, beef jerky, etc. etc. At one stop we needed 2, count 'em, TWO, grocery bags to carry out our stock pile.

I was transformed from a non-junk food eating snob into a raving must have something unhealthy to eat NOW lunatic. I was plowing through a bag of chex mix every 2 hours. Not to mention the 3 bags of M&M's I managed to devour somehow between the pretzels and gulps of DDP. I wouldn't eat a Corn Nut if you paid me; I have some standards left. (In case you are wondering, and why you would even care I haven't a clue, there was fruit available. But, seriously? It's just not as effective at alleviating the agony of a long road trip. Not once I discovered JUNK FOOD.) Did I just say I discovered junk food? I've been aware of junk food, I just have never indulged myself in such a manner before. And this is really scary because I'm heading to Mexico in a month, where I will be expected to don a swimming suit which fit several months ago. I don't even dare try it on now. Besides I don't have the time; I'm working on figuring out how many snacks can I cram into my tote bag. Did I just complain about a trip to Mexico? Seriously? ayyiyiyi

Hey, don't judge me until you've rid 1600 miles on my aching butt.

So, that concludes Lesson #1.

Lesson Learnt? Junk food may be bad for you...but it tastes so goooooooooooooood.

More lessons to follow. Stay tuned...

ps. you read that right...rid. You got a problem with that? Forgive me, it's the withdrawal talking.

it is...(how to title a post when you can't come up with a title)...

2010-01-24T11:56:00.003-07:00

...the morning after our triumphant return from the 2nd funeral in 2 weeks. In the past 8 months we've been to 5 funerals. lil dub has been to more funerals than most kids go to Disneyland. (He's never been to Disneyland...ahhhh, the pinnacle of poor parenting, Fall 2009.) He thinks funerals are what our family does for fun. You know...in what is perhaps a macabre viewpoint...funerals are 'fun' because you see people that for some reason you can't or don't make time for in your busy lives. Sadly, that often includes the person being laid to rest.

I'm not blaming the dead. It's not their fault; it is ours. But if one more person, (more often than not a stranger), tells me that 'these things come in 3's' (What imbecile came up with that? And why do we say 'these things' instead of DEATH?), I'm gonna make it happen. If you know what I mean. And if you do you have a supreme ability at understanding the obscure.

Besides, as far as family funerals go...we've had our 3. Take that, you innocent, well meaning people.

In the interest of your time and kindness and indulgence I shall proceed with my intended proceedings.

First of all. Thank you for the kind and thoughtful comments. You are the reason ~~I get up in the morning~~ ~~my sunshine~~ ~~my excuse for not exercising~~ I keep up with this blogging bidness. Talking with a relative a couple of days ago, I found myself pfftting and pshawing all over this blogging bidness in defense. As if I didn't care. AS IF. You know what I mean.

Secondly, I feel the need to apologize for my sporadic visiting and commenting as of late. I need to take stock of my life and let things settle into their rightful place. Give myself a good slap on the face and buck up. (Did I just imply that blogging should be high on my rightful priority list?).

Oh, what an emotional past few months it has been. And not only because of the deaths of my father and mother in law. Their deaths, so close together, are actually cause for rejoicing. No more suffering...and they are together again. Lucky them.

There have been other causes for tears. If you are a mom you know what I mean. Hold on, why do I put it that way? If you have a heart, you know what I mean. If your child or someone you love is hurting, you are hurting. ALL you want to do is take their problem away and make things all better and in most cases jump in and mess with the situation; to FIX it. Dare I say it hurts more to be the helpless bystander?

{Chew on this for a minute...can we be both the cause and the effect? The self-imposed victim AND the helpless onlooker?}

And the news? I cannot bear to watch The News. (Unless you count checking out Anderson Cooper and his biceps as watching the news. Is he actually flexing while interviewing? Who cares? Flex on Coop.).

As per usual; this post is not going where I planned. I am an out of control madwoman when it comes to steering a post to its intended destination. Blogging while pondering should be written in bold capital letters in my blog disclosure document. If only I had a BDC.

And here I had a post all set in my mind...an hour by hour description of my last 96 hours. My day is pretty open. Maybe I will squeeze a post or two out later. Stay tuned. I know the anticipation is killing you. Remember; 'these things come in 3's'. (Posts I mean.)

Time to see what The Coop is up to.

A Tribute

2010-01-19T13:40:00.002-07:00

Jesse Elwood Buckner- January 3, 1916-January 2, 2010

Ada Barbara Wood Buckner--April 25, 1920-January 18, 2010

This darling couple are my husband's parents; both of whom have passed away recently. The first to leave this mortal existence was his father, and then a mere 15 days later, his mother. No one was surprised that they would pass so closely together-it was in fact expected.

This photo is from their 70th wedding anniversary celebration, which took place last summer. What a joy it is to all the family members and friends to have our memories of that weekend spent together. It wasn't joyful ALL the time, what family reunion is?--but it was pretty darn close. Ah. My hubs has the best family.

I wouldn't dare to pretend that I knew my in-laws as well as some of those who might be reading this...gosh, I don't know if any family members, (on the hub's side), even read this blog. Me and my blog seem to be disconnected in real life. I don't know who is more embarrassed...me or them. haha.

But I digress.

I hope you'll indulge me and allow me share a few memories. Hey, it's my furtive, undercover, unmentionable blog; I can do what I want.

When I came into the picture, some 28 years ago, my in-laws were already in their 60's. Which in my immaturity I thought was so OLD. Also, my husband is the baby of the family, and all of his siblings had children before we were even married. They were called Grandpa and Grandma any time I was around and it just naturally came to be what I called them. Never did I call them or refer to them by their real names. I don't think they minded one bit. (Honestly, I had more of a 'grandparent' relationship with them then I ever did with my own grandparents). In-laws and grandparents at the same time...that gives you an indication of the kind of people they were right there.

Before my husband and I were even engaged for the first time, (there were a total of 4 times-that'll make for a good post one day), my future father-in-law gave, not loaned, me one hundred bucks at a time when I was flat broke.

They were the most guileless people I ever knew and undoubtedly will know. Having a large bank account and material possessions meant nothing to them. Other than Grandpa couldn't resist a good thrift store find. He found uses for the most interesting of purchases. Like thrown away, old fixtures from stores. Once he bought a car for $1. An old primer painted Nova. I cringe to think that when he offered to give it to us, and we desperately needed a car, I made it clear that I wouldn't be caught dead driving that darn Nova. (I cringe; but I wouldn't do things any differently when it comes to that car! :)

One time Grandma and Grandpa came for a visit and Grandma hadn't been able to find her toiletry bag. So she improvised and used an old laundry detergent box. It worked well; just the right size plus it had a handle! I can still see her walking into that house toting that box and her thinking nothing of it.

They had their priorities straight. Family first; anyone else who needed help, second. I can't begin to tell you of the many examples of people, down on their luck, who Grandpa and Grandma helped out; some even saved. Family members included. Words fail me in describing how intrinsic this way of life was for them. It was simply who they were.

When Grandpa and Grandma came to visit any of their children and their families everyone knew that you better have something for Grandpa to work on or fix, or they wouldn't stay at your house for long! He could not bear to just sit around and talk for hours. (Unlike the rest of us!) He had to be busy. And he could repair just about anything. I just described my husband as well.

Grandma was spunky and funny. (Thanks G., (if you're reading this), for that description.) She would say what was on her mind and loved to talk. To ANYONE. Standing in line, in a waiting room, sitting next to someone...she could and would strike up a conversation. And she genuinely cared. I remember her penchant for a pretty pink blouse. I remember her complimenting me every single time she saw me. I can feel her hand as she would take mine, just to give it a squeeze. Such a loving simple gesture; and one that I will forever remember.

I heard this story about Grandpa a few times and it was re-told at his funeral just a week and a half ago. I don't have the details exactly straight, but the gist of it is really all that's needed. At least I hope so.

Some years ago Grandpa kept cows on their 80 acre plot of land. A neighbor also had his own cows on his own farm. Well, I guess there must have been a lot of cow escapades goin' on, cuz every so often either Grandpa's cows got out of their pen and into the neighbor's, or the neighbor's cows escaped over to Grandpa's land. Maybe it was the whole 'grass is always greener' effect.

I guess the neighbor finally had enough of the cows and their constant relocating and one time when Grandpa's cows broke free and strayed onto the neighbor's land, well, it was the last straw, and the neighbor had them removed. Where ever or however it is you remove cows that are trespassing I don't know and I don't wanna know. But even after that happened, when the neighbor's darn cows moseyed on over to Grandpa's place, he simply put them in the pen and called the neighbor to come get them.

He was da bomb.

There are so many other memories I could share, but I think you get a fairly good picture.

As I write this I think of how much they live on in their children and grandchildren. The hubs is a carbon copy of his dad when it comes to fixing things and the generosity shown toward others. He is patient and calm like his dad. He is gregarious and a friend to anyone like his mom.

My oldest daughter inherited the calm and giving nature. My oldest son is also self-less when it comes to helping others and has the will and determination to finish what he starts, just like his Grandpa. My youngest daughter is pure spunky and funny like Grandma. My youngest son looks the most like the hubs, who takes after his mom. He leans towards the gentle nature; but he is so much younger than the rest of the kids that I don't really know who he will be most like; I think it's gonna be a good combination of both. All of my children have inherited many gifts and talents from their Grandparents. Not the material kind--but the more important gifts.

I'm teary eyed, yet also happy-happy that this darling couple is together again. One was not complete without the other.

We'll be on the road again tomorrow. I should have known better than to unpack.

****

If you haven't already, please pay a visit to Momedy--she has posted a video that is not be missed.

Girlfriends and Wrinkles

2010-01-18T12:06:00.002-07:00

Last weekend myself and a few of my friends and/or acquaintances helped out at another friend's daughter's wedding reception. That's what we do around here. Help with decorating, keeping the food tables stocked and cleaning up afterward, etc.. (That is, if there isn't a paid wedding planner setter upper cleaning crew). How about where you live?

Well, that's beside the point.

As I was making an effort to say succinctly, (an ability that is all but impossible for me), is that we were 4 women standing around yakking during lulls in our duties. (Is that even a legit sentence?).

Normal women talk. Our feet hurt. (May I say that I was the only one who kept my heels on, and they were serious heels, (for me), the entire time? My gait may have been resembled the cumbersome walk of the Hunchback of Notre Dame..but I was victorious. Was the pain worth it? Not when I came home and stubbed my toe on the table after I removed my shoes. YOUCH.

We talked about our kids, of course, and of their plans and whatnot. (Don't worry kids...I made up all kinds of good stuff. haha. Not that I needed to; no definitely not. You're all perfect. Seriously.)

We gossiped a bit; but it is kind of hard to gossip when you know so many of the people around you. But the nerve...loading up on cheesecake, a couple of cupcakes, AND several tarts?

We complained. I never knew cutting a cheesecake could be so difficult. Much harder than it looks.

And we talked about, of all things, WRINKLES. We peered closely at each other's faces and each one of us of course had the most, or the worst. The most is the worst. The pretty one just needs to gain some weight, plump up a bit, and her wrinkles would smooth out I tell ya. Darn skinny women. The other two women are much older than I...they are more wrinkled to be honest. And I am nothing if not honest.

I have the sun damage of the "'70's slathered in baby oil, bake yourself till golden brown, Era". Listen to me young ones...tanning is evil. In the most "could have been avoided" contest of wrinkles I win; the buttcrack between my eyes is quite the doozy. Ha...that's even wrinkled old woman talk. DOOZY.

Why is it that men get wrinkles and they look distinguished, perhaps even more handsome. Women start aging, and we disappear. The only thing we have more of is wrinkles and cellulite.

I feel that step by step I am fading into the background. I see it in almost all women...I say almost because botox and invisalift and chin implants and liposuction seem to revitalize some women, i.e., those who can afford it--to a degree. Take it too far and it looks as though embalming fluid has already been injected. Believe me though, if I could afford to, I'd be right in line with the rest of the women trying to erase the evidence of years gone by.

Ought we not embrace the evidence of our experience? We ought. But I'd rather not.

(haha...I had a picture in my mind whilst we were comparing wrinkles, of so many years ago when a group of my friends would compare the number of our zits. So different, yet so much the same.)

(another follower bit the dust. zing. pow. ouch.)

questions; i got 'em. answers; I need 'em.

2010-01-16T11:52:00.002-07:00

Once again, certain information has reached me which makes it clear to me that I suck at being a 'genuine' blogger. Half of the suggestions, no, more than half, no, something like one billion percent, I'm incapable of and/or apply to me in no way whatsoever. Sigh...am I going to stop? hell no.

And this post will be proof positive. It's just a bunch of off the cuff random scribblings presented in a really sucky manner.

And please don't feel obligated to give me a pep talk, really, I just thought it was an apt preamble to this post.

Question...no, wait. First an observation. For a couple of days last week, facebook, (which is always changing up things, usually in ways that seem so childish-go figure), had a little box pop up featuring a couple of pictures of your friends and announcing that so and so had used something called 'Automatic Friend Finder' and maybe I (you) should as well. Did any of you see this? Do any of you care? What, you're not a facebooker? Those are not my real questions; just ramblin'.

I ignored the suggestion at first, as I do most things on facebook. I don't play the games, take the quizzes, and rarely become a fan or join groups. I'm not saying that I didn't participate in all of that ~~crap~~ ~~drivel~~ great fun if that's what floats your boat when I first signed up, but I quickly became tired of the nonsense and would much rather be here, bitchin and moanin and basically sucking at being a blogger. (See preamble). Every once in a while now I do join groups; although I have no idea why 'groups' or 'fan pages' exist. (Are they actually useful? Oh, wait, I'm talking about facebook. Silly me.) Maybe to make a tiny statement to your friends about a side of your personality? For example: there seems to be quite a debate over Leno vs Conan lately; but personally I couldn't care less, so I have remained neutral in my position.

Other than that, I have nothing new to add to the many posts concerning facebook. Largely because I agree with what most of what I've read. BUT...I do have a query regarding the aforementioned "Automatic Friend Finder". Because, after seeing it a few times, I thought I would at least take a look simply to see what I would see. I clicked on the link and lo and behold there was my email address and all I had to do was enter my password and up would pop a list of potential friends. I balked at first at entering my password, but then decided that since facebook already knows everything about me, what the heck, I'd give it a shot.

I think because I was so skittish about entering my password that I didn't even think about what names would pop up. So when I saw the faces and names of a whole lot of bloggers I read and even some I've never heard of (facebook seems to have a knack at throwing random names into the mix, don't they?), I was kind of surprised. Then the light bulb flashed on and I realized AHA...these are names from my email account. DUH. The email account is one I use mainly for my blogging life.

So, here's the question. Should I or should I not request any of these people to be my friend? Would you? Have you? I'm friends with a few of you already, and I consider you to be closer friends than some of the people I know from high school and church. (I never know-should high school be capitalized?) What do you think?

About those dumbass suggestions to reconnect with your friends, which are shown on the upper right hand section of your page...

****

As some of you know, I am on a personal quest, which I've decided to keep out of this blog, (a rule I'm breaking just by typing that very sentence), but I have another question.

First an observation.

I've spent so much time on the Quest, reading and thinking and pondering and fretting...my brain is absolutely fried. (Which is pretty obvious from this lame post.) A couple of nights ago I'd had it...didn't want to think about it, or talk about it. I knew I wouldn't be able to get to sleep very easily and I decided watching a little T.V., (as opposed to a large T.V.?), would be relaxing. Any other relaxation techniques would take too much effort.

So, there I was clicking through the 9 million channels available, (8 million + I wouldn't watch no matter how desperate I might be), I see a title pop up which went something like this, "The World of Google". I thought that looked rather interesting. What it was is very unsettling. Here's the real deal, (in a nutshell), Google basically rules the world. It is Big Brother. I knew this about Google at some level already, just not to what extent. (The ads generated by things I type in my emails have already been weirding me out.)

I'm not going to give a play by play on the program. I think it permanently damaged certain portions of my brain.

My question is: What do you think about the fact that every single thing we type, every search we make is stored 'somewhere' and has the potential to bite us in the butt? Am I paranoid or is this another way our freedoms are threatened? Are you amazed that everyone running Google looks like they just graduated from high school? And hot in a nerdy sort of way?

Question. You know the drill; I do not have the ability to ask a question without an observation first. (And a lot of tangent questions.) (More suckiness.)

While trolling about blogland, from suggestions made my Google ironically, I happened upon two different scenarios which I have taken personally.

Number 1. This is not a surprise to me, because I'm well aware that I do the very same thing, but I came across a blog entry that was one very huge long story, I'm talking several LARGE paragraphs, and I didn't bother to read it. I moved right on by. And it probably didn't suck. I don't really want to ask the question that arises from that situation. I think you know what I'm getting at.

Number 2. This did surprise me. I stumbled across a blog and I read a little something that seemed remarkably familiar and that I might possibly have written. No, it's not any of you that I 'know'...it was a blog I hadn't even been aware of before. Just another Google suggestion. (Ironic, no?)

I'm not even sure that I wrote what I think I wrote and I don't have any idea on which blog I read it. But it made me think. I've seen copyright symbols on some of your blogs. Did you add that after having a similar experience? But here's the thing; I was reading a certain to be unnamed blog for a while, and she had a huge display on her sidebar threatening that anyone who might dare to steal her stuff would be prosecuted; PLUS she didn't allow comments. She was just so high-falutin' about it; totally turned me off. And I am sure she cares. NOT. Honestly, I don't think she writes any better than I do-duck and cover-which really make wonder what she's worried about. I can only surmise that someone did plagiarize her stuff.

So my last question of the day--How do you feel about this? Any of it.

Oh just one more teensy lil question. Flickr is not allowing my cute little signature to show up anymore. And yes it is marked public. What up with dat?

Perspective

2010-01-14T20:22:00.001-07:00

Watch the news.

Read the reports.

See the photos.

Hear the personal stories.

See Google Earth Photos of Haiti...

Before.

After.

It's all about perspective.

And I need to get me some of that...

Perspective.

Today's Gonna be a Good Day

2010-01-13T07:52:00.000-07:00

Before I venture out and about visiting my friends, (I will be hanging around quite awhile with some of you...sheeeeesh, I've been gone 4ever!), here's a little sumpin sumpin to brighten your day. I've watched it 8 gazillion times and it never fails to make me happy. (I'm not even a fan of Mr. Oprah. Okay, I stole "Mr. Oprah" from one of you...it also makes me happy. Not the stealing; the MISTER part. So there. Done.) I'm also not a huge youtube linker upper-but I will watch this 8 gazillion more times.

ENJOY~

Oil and Water

2010-01-12T09:37:00.002-07:00

Well, it's time to get down to brass tacks.

It's nitty and it's gritty.

I know and perhaps you know, that my presence in blogville this past week has been nigh unto none. I haven't been showing my face around here much, (you can thank me later. I don't know what I was thinking with that picture I put out there yesterday. I guess my level of not caring has risen exponentially--the more I care, the more I don't. Which might make sense at some point in this post.)

Oh, I've written down and out posts ad nauseum. I know it. Most of you know it. I take enough medication to sedate a horse and failed at an epic scale with the light box therapy. It made me nauseated and gave me a headache. I think a lot of the success of therapy lies in your willingness, or should I say faith, (no, really, should I say faith?), to allow it to work. It scares me to admit that the therapist who told me that I had no faith, hope, or charity, knew what he was talking about. Something about narcissism.

I haven't been commenting for various reasons, none of which have anything to do with YOU. You still write such great stuff. Deep and meaningful, clever and funny. You've remained true to yourself. I read but find I have nothing 'to offer'; which if you translate into blogging terms means: 'to comment'. Which is blog suicide. Face it, it simply is death to a blogger who wants to be noticed to not comment. Gosh, that is one confusing sentence. A right good one.

Oh, yeah, them nitty gritty brass tacks I was talking about.

For quite some time...I'm talking years; I've been dealing with issues which yesterday, through a series of events, came to a climax. The events break my heart in ways you can't begin to imagine. I've cried so much that I feel as though I have a hangover. But due to the fact that I've never had an alcoholic beverage in my life I can only guess that is what I am feeling.

But, not only was my heart broken. More importantly, I've managed to break a few hearts of the people nearest and dearest to me.

I'm not going to write about the details here. I've created another blog for that reason alone. In it I am going to attempt to work through issues I've kept bottled up inside for far too long. I've had to weigh pros and cons and really there's no way around the fact that there are good reasons to keep it bottled. I haven't figured out if linking it here would be a good thing or not. Some of you would be surprised, perhaps even shocked. Some of you won't care or understand or care to understand. Some of you wouldn't even click on the link to begin with.

It isn't anything salacious or illegal. bwahahaha. Those may be the only two things that would draw anyone into giving a foshizzle.

I've plenty of other stuff dancing around my head that are appropriate for this side of me-the blogignoramus side-but the balancing act may prove to be too difficult. Though it might be helpful in a way to set aside the 'ISSUE' and just delve into the lighter side of life. Helpful for who, that is the question. I figure a good way to know is to see who stays with me here. Not that I'm asking you to stay. Please believe me...I am NOT pleading for your pity. I realize there are so many hours in a day and who needs to read this blither? (Me, that's who. I LIKE BLITHER. I'm very blitherish. I quite enjoy blitherishness.)

I'm so sorry, so very sorry, for those I've hurt. You know who you are. And to those I don't even know I've hurt, I am also sorry. And for those whom I may hurt in the future; yes, to you too I say that I'm sorry. How's that for a blanket apology? Did I cover everyone?

There. I'm through with that here. I'm through with mixing oil and water. Yesterday was a prime example of trying to whisk 'the issue' (oil) with SAD (water). And I failed. Epically. All hell broke loose later. Soooooooo...The two are meant to be separate in this specific case. Have I made the right decision?

Consarn it, I don't know. I just don't know.

Yes, I do.

Here's my plan. If you're interested...email me. (I will probably get the same response I did with my Family Christmas Card offer.)

If you're not; you're not.

*****

Hey, did I tell you about the night last week when the hotel fire alarm went off, (talk about scaring the shiz outta you), and how lil dub slept right through the entire of what seemed like 30 minutes of the most deafening bweeeeeeeping known to man...only to wake up after it was over to announce that he was hungry? At 4 a.m.?

See, that's blogignoramus kind of material.

who am I to say?

2010-01-11T09:50:00.013-07:00

"You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know"~Oscar Wilde

"People with SAD suffer from a lack of sunlight-they are literally 'in the dark.'"

"Guilt is anger directed at ourselves"~Peter McWilliams

I just completed 5 days of hugging the periphery. Wrapping myself in the protective cocoon of selfishness. And it's not what you think. Okay, I'm not giving you the benefit of the doubt...perhaps some of you do know what I'm ~~thinking~~ ~~pondering~~ stewing over. But, if I was a betting woman, I'd be betting you don't. I say that not to be mysterious; I just don't have the words. Yet.

And so I use the words of others.

"SAD can be devastating for the individuals who experience it. It can rob people of contentment, happiness, energy and overall health."

***CAN? Try DOES***

"The walls we build around us to keep out the sadness also keep out the joy."

"In addition to the common symptoms - depression, sleep disturbances, cravings for starchy, sugary food - individuals suffering with SAD may experience problems in other areas of their lives. They may perform poorly at work. Their relationships may become troubled. They may withdraw and just want to be alone."

"It has been said 'that time heals all wounds'. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone." ~Rose Kennedy

"Toxic guilt often hides in the shadows of people's awareness and sucks the joy out of their lives. ...it leaves them powerless to live life on their own terms."

"The worst guilt is to accept an unearned guilt."~Ayn Rand

perhaps this is momentary...perhaps this can be buried...perhaps this should be brought forward...perhaps it should remain behind. ~me

Yak Yak Yak Don't Talk Back

2010-01-05T17:41:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow we leave for our 17 hour, or 673 miles, (gosh, why does it seem more like 10,000?), or 1083 km ~~of sheer terror~~ expedition to the land down under for my Father In Law's funeral. (No, not Australia (I WISH), but the Desert Southwest.) (see picture above; that's us the last time we drove down.)

There will be 7 of us traveling together in our Suburban. I'm talking stuffed, cramped, and uncomfortable--with only one of the seven travelers being under 5' 5". Which is terrifying basically, for someone with a personal bubble 36" in diameter. Have you seen what is erroneously known as the 3rd row seat of a Suburban? I just imagine several GM engineers, standing in a circle with their styrofoam cups of tepid coffee, having a good chuckle over that one. It defies any reasonable person's logic. (Aren't engineers supposed to be the LOGICAL ones?) Let's just say there's a new loser(s), between every pit stop.

So, there will be 5 of us potential losers at some point, plus too Tall Boy and the driver hubs (excluded from the horrors of the 3rd row for obvious reasons), plus our luggage crammed with clothing, etc. for 5 days, (technically 4, but I have to pack for the unexpected), all in one vehicle. If only we could wear the same pair of shoes the entire trip. I don't know about you--but that is not doable for me. It won't be doable for anyone on this trip cuz we's got to bring our fancy church dress ups. Shoes take up an inordinate amount of space. Maybe we could tie them to the top of the car. Wouldn't that be classy...shoes tied up, flapping in the wind? Now, there's you some logic. Let me jot that down on my to do/it ain't gonna happen list.

There will also be all of our other "needed" paraphernalia; such as books, pillows, computers, magazines, a stockpile of ~~healthy~~ fat laden snacks, blankets, ipods, (hey every little bit of space counts), ginormous cups of soda, purses, kleenex, water bottles, (okay, those are BAD, but it's a road trip so give me a break), a backpack full of misc. items to entertain lil dub (who is most often the permanent "loser"; sounds awful but it's the reality of the sitch.)

I know what you're thinking. Why seven travelers?, doth not your family consist of 6? Yes, it doth. But we are also taking along the hub's niece, (who is actually older than me by at least a month, a fact which I ~~never let her forget~~ rarely mention), and who, under normal circumstances, (i.e., leaving my bubble intact), I am more than delighted to hang out with...I just don't know if 'SHE' ~~will survive~~ is prepared for spending 17 hours (not including 2 nights in a hotel room) with our goofy, testy, temperamental, sometimes less than congenial, sarcastic family. There's also the members of the family with flatulence issues who shall remain nameless. (you know who you are.) Who? me? gas? No way. This is MY blog and I control the information. bah. Freedom of the press be darned.

Here's the deal. Not to be selfish or anything, but I had planned on spending every second I could with my new technological gadget which I will tell you about in a bit, but I just KNOW that with 'her' around I am going to be expected to interact with the other humanoids in the car; like a normal person. Give me a break. I KNOW I will be caught up in some kind of interesting conversation and I will want to know all about it and won't be able to keep my nose out of it, tossing in my two cents. I may even pretend to enjoy myself; it may seem that I do want to be included in the goings on around me when, trust me, I won't. I can see it now...me yak yak yakking it up for 17 hours, 673 miles, or 1083 kms. Whichever you prefer. Neglecting my brand spanking new sumpin sumpin which I am going to tell you about. In a sec.

It's not that we don't love each other-we do-we just have our set routine of traveling together, which sadly enough involves a lot of crying, and complaining, and beeotching, and moaning...and that's just from me. The rest of the family have their own issues. "He/She's touching me" is only the beginning. It is going to be very interesting to see how this plays out. I won't be surprised if 'she' decides to fly home. Or I do. One of us. Both of us? It's even okay if 'she' reads this, (though chances are slim to none that 'she' will), because 'she' is very aware of how I really feel about her. I lurve her to pieces. Yep, I do.

Maybe if I just stay in the loser row with Shorty aka lil dub, I will be free to bond in a completely appropriate manner with my newest and bestest friend:

My first download, or upload, or sideload, or whatever you call it:

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie-Alan Bradley

I hope them other yokels in the car keep their yakking to a minimum.

*I will be gone for awhile--posting wise at least--until sometime next week. I know; it'll be hard for you. I promise to bring you back a prize. Me! :)

A Good Man

2010-01-03T17:57:00.002-07:00

At 2:40 a.m. yesterday, the phone rang. My head popped off the pillow, (which in itself is a bit of a miracle because I have been known to sleep through a middle of the night phone ring-those darn
sleep aids which I love to hate... or is it hate to love? Well, whatever...

-my first thought was; "Uh oh, middle of the night phone calls are NEVER a good thing."

One second later my brain switch flipped on and I realized that this was the phone call we'd been preparing for for months; most especially these last few weeks. My husband's father passed away in the early morning of January 2nd.

Today, January 3, 2010, was, or should I say is, his 94th birthday. Once your birthday; always your birthday, right?

He lived a long and benevolent life. But the hideous monster, Cancer, took hold of his body and reduced him to skin and bones.

Oh, how I hate that opportunistic, beastly, soulless creature--Cancer.

So many family members could write so much more here; interesting parts of history, eloquent things, stories of his life which spanned so many decades. Think of the changes and advances, (and regressions in some cases), in almost every sector of life in the past 94 years. It boggles the mind. He was a quiet man, never seeking for recognition or notoriety; the most guileless man I've ever met.

I'd like to say that I knew him well, I did not. I'd like to share a special story about a time we shared, but I don't have one. An inside joke, a bit of wisdom, a time when we simply talked. No, much to my dismay and fault, I can't do that. I can tell you that I always referred to him as Grandpa because by the time I married his son he had numerous grandchildren; and calling him Grandpa just became a habit.

He was everything good, and those who knew him well are so fortunate. I knew this day would come; when I would look back and say, "if only"...I KNEW it would come, and I simply let it.

I was intimidated by him...perhaps...no, I know this...I felt unworthy around him. Like I was just a silly, flighty girl who married his youngest son and who was just a bit addled in the head. If only he knew how addled! I probably made him nervous because I felt so nervous around him. I'd get all jittery and tongue tied. Perhaps I was just embarrassed; although I have no idea why.

Did I mention he was wise?

But one thing I know, I KNOW...he wouldn't have ever wanted me to feel this way. It's my own fault. Maybe some day I will be able to sit down with him, calm myself down, and we'll just talk and I will listen.

So, I suppose what I'm trying to say is this...if there is someone you know you love, but you haven't really used some effort getting to know...do it. Do it now. Don't be like me and think that it's not important; that it won't matter. Get over yourself.

But I still consider myself lucky. Because of him...because of my husband, (also a wonderfully good man),...his simple goodness runs in the veins of my children. And someday my grandchildren. Though I'm in no hurry for that. (Aren't I weird to not want grandchildren? yet I told you I was addle headed.)

To say he was a good man doesn't begin to touch how good he was. Now I turn the time over to those who knew him best; I can't wait to hear what they have to say. They have his same goodness flowing through their veins.

ps. I know I've been obscure at best in my past few posts. I don't really know why; other than I've got a lot of conflicting feelings and befuddling thoughts going on inside my head. If you can take it, please stay. If not, than C'est la vie. That's the way it has to be.

variations on dreaming

2010-01-01T17:39:00.000-07:00

I've had dreaming on my mind; not just while dreaming, but also while thinking. Yes, every once in a while, I THINK. I think.......... tiny little wheels are turning right now, careek careek

Therefore I pondered whilst thinking of this dream post. Not a 'dream post' as in the 'perfect post', (thoughts like that are the impossible dream for me); rather a dream post about dreams specifically. Got it?

A dream post specifically about a specific set of dreams.

Yes, I do think dreams can come in Sets. Not just Themes. Theme dreams, for example, can be like my dreams of "Filthy Bathrooms". Picture an endless aisle of stalls, where, as I open each individual door, I am faced with ever increasing repulsive visions of bodily fluids; as well as solids. Until I finally wake up and realize; Hey, I gotta go.

Another theme dream is "No Brakes". I am in a car, driving at ever increasing speeds and pushing the brake pedal with all my might. And the car just keeps on hurtling forward, faster and faster, while I panic, and I believe, scream. Then I wake up and realize; Hey, I gotta go.

Theme dreams are fairly easy to interpret...the fear of public restrooms (particularly Jr High ones) and the fear of losing control.

But a set of dreams are dreams that recur, yet change. That makes a lot of sense. NOT. These dreams are much more difficult, for me anyhow, to understand. Let alone explain.

I know this because I've been having them. A very specific set of dreams.

The situation isn't important. This entire stream of consciousness, with me lying on my back aimlessly floating along my inner tube of thought, circling around the under current of my mind, is unimportant. But that was one heck of a sentence. ding ding ding

Little snippets of information concerning a certain situation which does not directly concern me, yet does at the same time, (weird, huh?), must be sticking in my thoughts without me being fully aware of it. I learn a bit of info-I think about it, I surely make some sort of judgment about it; that's human nature after all, and I forget about it. That's what I think I do. At least while I am awake.

But, this particular set of dreams, like tiny episodes from a singular state of affairs, seems to say to me that, whether I like it or not, or want to or not, I'm thinking about it. Perhaps dwelling.

And this is how interpret this 'Dream Set':

While I profess to be cool and down with it, (an "it" I am not at liberty to divulge); maybe I'm not. I say I want the best for it... possibly I don't? I realize it has nothing to do with me, but could it be that what I really want is to be involved?

'Nuff said about the specifics. (That was specific?)

I was talking today with Tall Boy about this dream set theory I've come up with. It's bugging me...does it, can it, should it...mean anything? Why do we dream the things we do? My dreams are generally so psychedelic in nature. But this Dream Set is so specific. Almost matter of fact. It hovers over me; while asleep or awake. Which probably just produces more episodes.

What about you? Are you a theme dreamer? A set dreamer? Neither? Both? Do you have prophetic dreams? (You better pray I don't; cuz we're all in deep doo doo if I do.) Do you think one can 'plan' a dream or should make an assumption or even a decision based on a dream? Are you completely and utterly confused about or by this post? (I'm going with the last one.)

I think my inner tube is dangerously close to spinning out of control. Right down the toilet bowl of my thoughts.

I gotta go.

try, try, try...

2009-12-30T14:09:00.001-07:00

Of course I would have a New Year's Resolution post. Would you expect anything less? Or More?

You might be better off expecting nothing. Fair Warning.

When that ball drops on New Year's Eve you won't find me dancing on the ceiling. (If you are honestly looking for me, check the kitchen; where I will be cleaning up the mess from our traditional Egg Roll feast. Over 10 years now! I may be the Charlie Browniest Charlie Brown ever when it comes to New Year's Resolutions, but I'm not a total fun hater.)

The fact is, thoughts of the New Year often fill me with a sense of dread. of fear. of trepidation. The 'what if's' start pecking at my thoughts and soon that's all I hear...the steady irritating beat of possibilities and probabilities. And it's not just the bad I fear...I worry about the happy. Because often I fail to recognize the happy until it's too late.

I know that this is not a healthy way of thinking. It is reinforced by all of the noble resolutions I see from so many of you. I admire your fortitude, your planning, your get 'er done attitudes. Your sense of adventure is something I wish I had.

But, over time I have come to realize that making a list of resolutions sets me up for failure; that taking big bites is liable to choke me. And I am at peace with this.

For years I was trapped in an internal cycle of beating myself up, doing things just because I thought they were expected of me, saying yes to everything and feeling massive quantities of guilt for everything I wasn't doing. I couldn't even think for myself. I wasn't ever going to be good enough. I've never felt comfortable in my own skin; and I was spending quite a bit of time thinking and eventually formulating a plan, of how to get out of this skin. I've laid on a cold bathroom floor praying and crying my soul out and hating myself for not getting a grip more times than I can count. The fact that I had and have a wonderful, supportive husband who has never said anything but positive and caring things to me seemed to make it all the worse. If not for him...I don't even want to go there.

I was trying to be perfect; I was dying inside trying to be somebody who wasn't me. Because anyone besides me would be better. I felt like all the things that made me "me" were flawed. It had to be; why else was I not happy?

Looking back I can see with my logical eyes that I was bound to end up self destructing. Looking back with my emotional eyes I see that that was a pretty pathetic way to live. The time wasted just makes me physically ill.

A nice chapter to insert here would be to tell you that one New Year's morning I woke up a new improved woman with a whole new attitude. But that isn't the real story.

For one thing the 'new me' came into the picture in the middle of the Summer; and she wasn't in any way improved. I remember the exact moment when I said "I'm done".

When I said "I'm done", what I really meant was "I give up". I quit. All the guilt, the hurt, the self doubt, the deeply buried unanswered questions--the emotional time bomb exploded. Leaving me more shattered than before.

I started by saying NO to anything that required giving of myself other than my nuclear family. I quit my church responsibility, I withdrew into my house, only leaving if I absolutely must. I stopped volunteering. I stopped calling my family and friends. I stopped praying. I quit cooking, (that seems like such a petty little thing to throw in there!). None of this was blatantly obvious to anyone other than perhaps the hubs; it was more an insidious process of my heart basically sloughing off bit by bit. It was like I had a very finite store of emotional capability and once that was used up I would completely shut down. I would stop talking and withdraw completely into a sort of emotional prison. Just until my tiny store would fill up enough to get by. I was functioning on the lowest power possible. The lights in my mind were set to dim. I felt desperately alone.

It was obviously an even more pathetic way to live. Thoughts of ridding myself of my skin were omnipresent.

And then...and then...I honestly don't know what happened or didn't happen to cause a subtle shift in my way of thinking.

At some point in the past year I've slowly begun to recognize that this is no way to live. On a good day, a day when my faith is working, my hope is that Someone is watching out for me; cares for me and wants good things for me. Every day isn't good; but the ratio is increasing in the positive direction. But the last thing I'm looking for is perfection. The first thing I will look for is that part of me that will TRY.

So what if I'm not the runner I imagined I should be? I will try and get out more often and I will try to give myself a break when I don't.

Maybe I will never 'know' what I want so desperately to 'know'...but I will try to be okay with that.

I'm not going to win any mother of the year awards, (unless it's the meanest mom in the world award; but I relish that status--you moms know what I'm talking about), but I will try to be more cognizant of their needs over mine.

I don't like working with the Scouts but I'm going to give it my best shot and try to do a good job. I have the middle aged woman flotation device and I just have to try to accept that. I'm lazy...I'm more liable to stay in then go out or even connect with my friends and family. I will try to change that. I will volunteer at the school; but only on my terms. I will let go of my insecurities enough to allow my photo to be taken. Perhaps the hardest of all; I will try to be comfortable in my own skin. Because "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and dog-gone it, people like me."*

I will try to write what I want and post with no apologies. I have a thousand trains of thought going at once in my mind and who knows which one will stop at the station when I sit down with my computer. I will try to be better with what I've got. Everyday I will tell the guilt monster where to stick it.

I will try all of this and more because now I know the road to happiness is not paved with the word NO. Sometimes you do have to do, (or at least try), what you don't want to do. Not always, but sometimes.

There you have it; the chapter I'm working on has not been written. Perhaps it never will. But, if I balance the two ways of living and look for something in the middle, I see a glimmer of hope. Stuff will happen to send me spiraling down, (think thankful rock), but I'm much better now at giving myself a break.

And I will remind myself that I am at peace with these choices. Simply because I am.

This is why I'm better off thinking of December 31st and January 1st on equal terms. One day at a time.

Oh, yeah, I sincerely wish each one of you, (especially my dear and infinitely patient family), a HAPPY NEW YEAR! You lift me up, you inspire me, and you often help me to know that I'm not alone anymore.

*Stuart Smalley aka Al Franken

an overly analytical explanation of a simple change...

2009-12-29T16:10:00.002-07:00

...from an overly analytical person with a simple mind.

You all understand the need, don't you...the need to squeeze out a post when really you have so many other and better things to be doing? If you don't; well, then clearly you are not emotionally constipated.

Not that I am implying that you all are in any way, you know, backed up. Oh, garsh no. That would be presumptuous of me...now wouldn't it?

Well, I need to post or get off the pot.

I've got a brand new look. I've had this idea rolling around my noggin for the past couple of months. The only real solid decision I had made was that I knew I had to have a two column, one side wide, the other narrow, template. With my own header.

Other than that...just bits and pieces fluff that wouldn't or couldn't fall into place. I am so computer illiterate, a bona fide ignoramus, that there was little I could do on my own. Plus, I was having such a difficult time pinning down exactly what I wanted that in the end the idea of hiring a designer...well, I just didn't know how that could work. Yes, my last 'look' was bought and paid for and I really did love it for a while. But I am a creature with a need for change. I am a very visual person. One of my favorite things about blogging is simply taking in the beauty and diversity of the designs of the many blogs I read regularly or happen upon whilst trolling. It's like window shopping in a way.

But it really is just window dressing. You've gotta have meaningful content. And at some point there needs to be contentment. (That's a lesson I'm really trying to learn.) The sense of relating on whatever level it may be certainly outweighs the outer beauty. Truly, it's whats on the inside that counts.

Now that I've made myself perfectly murky, let me give credit where credit is due...

Miss Erin Reeder listened to my ~~ideas~~ childish whining, and spent a good part of yesterday putting together my new look. She's such a lovely talented girl, (with good taste in boyfriends if I do say so myself), and infinitely patient. She's designed several blogs and she understood my desire for simple yet pretty. I have an anal need for symmetry. I think the constant circus like atmosphere in my head spurs this desire to have things around me balanced. That is not to say that I keep things balanced in my life...no no no and ha ha ha; I am most often in a state of complete disarray. But I have this innate craving for evenness. It's a sickness.

Wow, I am turning a simple post about a simple blog re-do into another treatise about my deep seated psychological issues. I have meds for that-enough with the over analyzing. Who am I imagining is talking to me?

During the change I lost some stuff (buttons, awards, some widgets)...I ~~know~~ think it is all somewhere in my computer but I'll be danged if I know how to find any of it. And I ~~think~~ know the lovely Miss Erin has had enough of me for awhile. Crap, I can only take so much of me.

I absolutely had to have my followers in the sidebar, cuz, by golly, turns out my followers/friends mean a lot to me. A lot a lot. I can't get enough of you guys. (haha. sweet double entendre. *wink*) That is one gadget that must remain. Otherwise I would have gone the way of wordpress. (Or off the deep end--where I am currently teetering dangerously close to the edge.)

But I am going to do something which may amount to blog hari kari---I've decided to be an Award Free Zone. GASP.

It's not a snooty issue. It's a I can't keep it all straight issue. And you know my need for control. I don't think I'm somehow above Awards and such...honestly I don't feel like I even deserve 'em...but this is a subject I've thought about, (when really I should be thinking about something worth blogging about or what's for dinner), and I feel good about this decision.

There you have it. As if you give a crap. Whatever. I just want Erin to know how much I appreciate her doing this for me. My computer is being wonky right now...maybe it's the weather...gosh I hope so...I sound angry...I'm not...I'm just gonna hurl this computer off the roof of a 49 story building if it doesn't stop acting all spazzy. (If I can find a building that tall within 100 miles of where I live.)

Check out Erin on her blog "Idle". She's a busy college student with student government responsibilities, a job, and an extra cute boyfriend; therefore she doesn't post as often as us mere mortals, but when she does...watch out. Erin said she'd love to help out anyone with blog design; she just enjoys it. Contact me if you wanna contact her.

Looking forward to posting about the New Year. (talk about deep seated issues...)

it's just a name...

2009-12-28T21:50:00.001-07:00

I'm getting all my ducks in a row...one little ducky at a time...

but I just wanted to show off my new signature for now...

so here it is...

I'll be seeing you...soon...

Ch-ch-ch-changing.

2009-12-27T21:07:00.002-07:00

Due to an unregulated disregarded unmentionable identity crisis occurring currently at this time right now things around here in my head are in a bit of an uproarious quagmire of indecision.

Imagine that Blog-ignoramus is a store. A store that is in need of serious remodeling; whose owner fears losing its customers, (audience aka followers aka friends)--so said store will remain open during all the changes and hopefully you won't mind stepping around a few paint buckets, ducking underneath some scaffolding, and will be extry careful not to touch the wet paint. I have swatches, and blueprints, and color wheels, and patterns, and magazine clippings...and two, count them--TWO, (or 3, or 4 or 5 or...), personalities to deal with. Your indulgent patience is requested.

After all... aren't we all a work in progress?

ps. Imagine that I am the tired, overworked, under appreciated, clerk at your corner Blogignoramus Store. That should help explain the poor job I've been doing at keeping up with my blogging duties. Not an excuse; just a plea for forgiveness. I'll be back in the saddle again. SOONER than later is my goal. :)

An Ode to the 26th of December in the year 2009

2009-12-26T09:08:00.003-07:00

Christmas Day is over

I know it's tough to hear

the tree is brown

it must come down

a fire I do fear.

The family room is littered

with paper everywhere

with boxes and bows

new toys and new clothes

the presents we did share.

Time for cleaning has arrived

assigning jobs to everyone (everyone being moi)

it's futile it's hopeless

the job seems endless

and impossibly unfun.

But do it we (I) shall, just knowing

how much better we (I) will feel

out with the new and in with the old

Life's routine can then unfold

Back to keeping it real.

It was worth it though

the planning, cooking, and fun

the laughing eyes, hearts filled with love

the Spirit we felt from heav'n above

But wow, am I glad it is done.

Hope your holiday time was wonderful

However you celebrate this time of year

I'm surprised yet oh so glad

That new friends I now have

Along with the old; which are dear.

And so, to my blogging friends:

Thanks for sharing and caring

Through your words and your wit

For gifts and for cards

For thoughts and for kind regards

This is a year I will never forgit.