Jesus Loves Me

I have been pondering how to write this blog since last Thursday. That's when I got the call from my cousin Tommy that his sister Connie B. had just passed away. I sat here for a bit in shock. I think I called a couple of people. At one point I tried to tell myself that he didn't really call and tell me that. I am just imagining it...it can't be real. But alas...it was all too real.

You see...Connie B. was not of this Earth. She was an angel sent down here to try and teach us how to love one another. She may not have been perfect...she was my cousin after all and we can be a stubborn bunch when we want to be...but she was an angel none the less. Connie B. was different. She was born with a developmental disability. She did not look like the other kids and she struggled more than the other kids. Some people looked on her with pity, some with derision, some with fear and some with embarrassment. Those people were and are fools.

Because Connie B. was given a gift by God that we can only dream about being given. Connie was love. Plain and simple. She loved you without preconditions, without expectations, without guile, without any kind of subtlety at all. It did not matter if you deserved her love or not...you got it anyway. She accepted people into her life with open arms. If you were kind to her she loved you and she always remembered those who were kind to her.

She loved her family. She loved Elvis. She loved root beer and birthday cake. She loved kitties and baby dolls. She loved to sing and she loved to sing to you. My favorite memory of her will always be her calling me one day singing "Jesus Loves Me" at the top her voice. She was laughing and singing and she was so happy. I just sat in my car and cried at the beauty of such a gift. Oh...and she loved a party...especially if it was for her. She was in her element then...the belle of the ball.

Connie B. was 12 years older than me so we did not get to spend a lot of time together as kids. I tried to make up for that as I got older. When she became ill and had to move to the nursing home I had a tough time. I had a really difficult time forcing myself to go there. I could easily visit her in the hospital but the nursing home was a whole different ball game. The sadness, despair, pain and anxiety of that place would overwhelm me and I would have a panic attack if I stayed too long. So I tried to stay in touch but I am ashamed to say I did not go there as much as I should. I really tried but I just couldn't do it. I know Connie B. did not understand why it bothered me so much but I hope she can forgive me. My mind and heart were always with her and I always loved her even though my moral fortitude was weak. So I ask your forgiveness my sweet angel Connie B. I love you with my whole heart and I will miss you forever. The world is a little sadder and darker place for want of your light. Rest in peace my sweet Connie B.. I will always be your Karen Ann.

Sweet mystery of life...aw dammit!

This morning was a normal morning. I straggled out of bed half asleep and managed to make it to the bathroom in time. I wrestled and begged and pleaded with the dogs to let me put on my long pants and shoes before taking them outside. Fiona and Kitten Face are very well behaved...Owen and Baker not so much...it must be a boy thing. Owen is barking and running around being an impatient brat and Baker is trying to either stick his tongue half way to China in my ear, or worse yet, stick his cold nose in my butt crack...neither sensation is pleasing I might add.

So...I get them outside...and then inside...which might sound like no big deal but in my house it's like starting a polar expedition. There's a lot of dog toting going on in my house. I get them all fed and head over to the fridge to obtain that sweet elixir of life that will both kill me and sustain me. I love irony.

This morning I decide...remember...I am not fully awake at this point...to free my special friends from their "irksome confinement." You see...I was at Sam's and so I bought the ginormous case of Coke...after having successfully played Wal-Mart Jenga and removed it from the pallet. So I grab my handy dandy steak knife and try slicing it's protective plastic so that all my little friends might both breathe and get colder. The first swipe failed to free them and so I tried just a little harder...and that's when it happened!! I can hardly talk about it right now it was so traumatic. That's when...I STABBED one of them...eeeeeekkkkk....it's little life blood was going everywhere...it was HORRIBLE!!

Panic sat in as I tried to figure out which special friend I had stabbed. No it's not that one...dammit....it's getting everywhere...ah there he is...I am so sorry little buddy. I quickly hurried him over to the sink and stretched as far as my little arms would stretch to reach a glass. Then I opened him and poured his sweet contents into the glass so as to make his unfortunate death seem more worthwhile. I apologized as I tossed his little lifeless, Santa faced, body into the trash can.

I then turned to the prospect of clean up. After fortifying myself with a swig of his sweet sacrifice I then opened up the ginormous package of paper towels...I was at Sam's remember...and proceed to clean up the carnage and that's when I noticed something. Usually if I drop or spill something in the kitchen the dogs are all over it and I am using special words to try and get them to stop...but not this day...no...even they won't touch the Coke on the floor. Hmmm??? Should I...NO...don't be silly girl...take your sweet death cola over to the couch and enjoy. Who am I to cheapen his sacrifice? Rest in piece my darling!

Fragility

One of the worst things about depression and low self-esteem is the sense of fragility that creeps up on you at the worst times. Right now I have another one of my chronic sinus infections that is really kicking my butt and not even bothering to take names. This infection has coincided with some familial heritage questioning and my urge to adopt another dog and has created the perfect fire storm of fragility in my house.

You see...I am really bad at being impulsive...especially when it comes to adopting pets. All of my pets were sort of spur of the moment things. Fiona because I couldn't stand the quiet in the house after Scooter passed away. Sumner was abandoned and given to me by a friend. Kitten Face just showed up in Target parking lot and I just took one look at her and brought her home. Dibley was puppy mill rescue I could not resist. I went to meet Lester and brought him home. I took one look at Owen's sad eyes and brought him home. So it wasn't really shocking to me when having a casual conversation with my vet led me to the back room and a long-haired dachshund who had been hit by car and had to have one of his front legs amputated. I took one look at him and he wagged his little tail and kissed me and I immediately said "I'll think I will have him." I even picked out a name for Pete's sake.

Then the doubts came. So I asked friends for opinions and they sort of ran the gambit. All of them care about me and all of them made reasoned arguments but you see I am not thinking rationally most of the time. I am a very emotionally led creature.  In a totally irrational move on my part I don't really want them to give me adult, reasoned responses. I want them to say "go for it", "trust yourself and your heart", "don't be afraid", "even if it's the wrong decision don't worry about it because I got your back." I am thinking though that this is just really too much to ask. And so I cry and I change my mind and I mourn my decision and I beat myself up for days...even though the sinus infection is already doing that for me.

You see...deep down inside me is a very care-free spirit. Someone impulsive and creative and joyous and full of life but she has a hard time escaping. She values too much what others think of her and she can't bear the thought of being a disappointment. You see all she has ever wanted was to be loved and to love in return. So she recklessly throws her love around the pet world because she cannot trust the people world.

In my defense there is good reason for my behavior. With a few notable exceptions...you know who you are...everyone who I have ever placed my trust in has betrayed that trust. My parents, the Evil One, a good friend of 30 some odd years who quit talking me when I tried to set boundaries and take care of myself and the love of my life who just walked away one day.

I try to put on a good show and carry the weight of normalcy because I find that few people are willing or able to bear witness to my pain. It makes them very uncomfortable so I tuck it away and try to pretend that everything is okay. I carry the load because it is mine and I don't feel like I am worthy enough to burden others. We all have our problems right? But there comes a time...usually when I am physically ill when my defenses disappear and I become the fragile little girl who lives inside my heart. And I fall apart because I just can't do it anymore. I just can't be that strong person who keeps a stiff upper lip and hides her pain so that everyone else can feel comfortable. Not today.

So I sat on my couch feeling like crap and crying and watching hour after hour of a TV show about folks helping one another until I finally started to feel better both physically and mentally. So for now the super glue has been re-applied and maybe I can go out into the world and set aside my fragility for now and resume my façade. After all...everyone will feel more comfortable then and I can go on pretending for awhile longer.

Meanwhile the little girl will keep looking for the escape hatch to happiness.

Jewels of wisdom.

Fiona and I had a chat today. She is having such issues trying to walk with her bad hips and my knees are cranky so we had a moment where we just sat in the bedroom and chatted. The end result was that she thought I should share with you our collective bits of wisdom that we have accumulated over our many years. Think of it as advice from your osteo-challenged elders.

NEVER...EVER ask a woman if she is pregnant! Unless you hear the words come out of her mouth...do NOT ever assume that she is with child. Trust me...this is bad.

Do not trust the intentions of your cat. This is totally naïve and dangerous. They may look all innocent and benign but they are plotting your downfall.

Do not spit or toss a beer bottle out of the car window unless you are SURE that car window is actually down. I bet that old Nova of mine still has green glass in it.

Do not ever go to Wal-Mart on a Sunday at about noon. This is both reckless and infuriating.

If you are within two weeks of your monthly cycle DO NOT put on a pair of white pants. This is just asking for trouble. On a related note...always be sure you are putting those pads on properly because the resulting hair loss can be painful, embarrassing and just a bit gross.

If you insist upon getting totally shitfaced at the bar please have a friend around who can video tape your embarrassing behavior. This is a learning tool and it might go viral and make a lot of money. It's a toss up really. Plus...you really need to see what an ass you are making of yourself. It's both embarrassing and funny and a little sad.

When engaged in naked frolicking with one's special someone...Do not say really stupid things you think you should say at that moment. There is not enough blood flow for both areas and you are bound to say something either embarrassing or creepy...just grunt or moan or something.

Never try to flop back down on the couch to continue your nap if you are still too groggy to realize you are going to miss your target and then have to avoid squishing a dog on your way to the floor.

Oh...and that gurgling noise in your intestines...don't ignore that...

If you are driving around in the middle of nowhere and you hear either gunshots or banjos do not get out of the car for any reason...just drive.

Ladies...when you are putting on your bra in the morning be sure to get it right the first time. Because if you have to start over you will temporarily forget how to put it back on and will have to stand there for a few seconds to reprogram your brain. This gets worse as you get older. It's distressing to stand there staring at your bra like you have never seen one before in your life.

And most importantly...always find someone to love. It doesn't have to be a romantic partner. It can be an old, silly dog who has been with you through all your ups and downs and still sticks around to lick your legs when you are sad and who needs you now to care for her and love her as much as she has loved you all these years.

Intelligent life absent.

A lot of things today have inspired me to write tonight so bear with me because when I get a little frustrated I go all "Southern".

A friend of mine has been visiting Roswell, New Mexico the last few days. I have been there and I love that place. They embrace the whole alien culture and just go mad with it and I think that is awesome!! This fact combined with recent events in the news has caused me to reach a conclusion that has been rolling around in my head for some time now.

If there are intelligent life forms out there we have no worries that they will ever bother us here on Earth. I can see them in their space ships now analyzing our society and going "Oh HELL no!! We are not messing around with these idiots!" There is not enough intelligent life down there to waste our time with...I mean look at the upcoming elections...enough said...leave those Earthlings alone...they will destroy one another faster and we can save our lasers for more worthy foes.

First...you have the "responsible" gun owner who drops his weapon in the Cracker Barrel and shoots three people. Those poor people were probably minding their own business, playing the peg game or scarfing down their biscuits and gravy, pondering which moon pie to buy on the way out and this fool shoots them while yanking his drawers up. That is just wrong y'all.

Then you got the idiot in Mississippi who decides to blow up the local Wal-Mart because they won't sell Confederate memorabilia anymore. That's right...genius...that's a symbol of heritage...not hate. How many times did your mama drop you on your head any way?

Then you got Tom Jones all riled up about rumors of his racial composition so he's going to have DNA testing to see if he really is at least part African-American. Who the hell cares whether you are black or not man? It does not matter. You are still the same person with the same talent. I don't think any of those women are going to want their panties back if it turns out you are a brother. Just be yourself Tom!

Then you got the mid-level executive at Taco Bell slapping the hell out of his Uber driver for trying to make him exit the car because he is too drunk to give directions. Seriously son...you are taking "impaired" to a whole new level. Next time just lie down and wait for the police to pick your sorry ass up.

Then you got the 911 dispatcher in Colorado Springs who blew off the call about an armed man walking down the street. I don't know where this person comes from but around here that's a cause for alarm even if it is deer season.

Then you got the Kardashians...enough said right there.

There is a whole lot of craziness and stupidity flooding the airwaves right now. It's enough to make a girl want to move to the mountains and shoot at folks from her front porch. And then...one night the girl hears about a kitten stranded in a sewage drain and she can't go home until she at least tries to catch it and bring it to safety. So...at one of the busiest times of day, on one of the busiest streets in town, the girl manages to get her arthritic knees to allow her to get down on the pavement and crawl around on her stomach trying to reach this reluctant, terrified kitten. Then her friend joins her and they both try to help and then complete strangers start stopping to see if we need help. And just a little bit of the girls lost faith in humanity is restored. She couldn't reach the kitten but maybe one of the people who stopped will come back and be successful. One of ya'll needs to get that damn kitten!! Live long prosper ya'll!

Fluffy Angels

Today I would like to pay tribute to a very special Border Collie girl who recently passed over the Rainbow Bridge. Her name was Chloe Gypsy Kruger and I loved her very much.

Chloe was a special girl for so very many reasons. Chloe was rescued from a very abusive household where she was routinely beaten...so much so that it did permanent nerve damage to her hips. Because the abuse took place in a home that was also a daycare she associated children with her pain and was never fond of them. They terrified her actually...which was something we had in common.

Once in rescue Chloe opened up some and was adopted by one of my best friends...Julie.
She joined another wonderful Border Collie named Ricochet who quickly adopted Chloe as her puppy and protected her as such from then on.

There is so much wonderful variety amongst Border Collies and Chloe was the puff ball kind. She had a beautiful, long and fluffy coat which she wore very elegantly. She was so awesome to hug and smooch. You just could not look at that face and not want to put your arms around her fluffiness and hug and kiss her. She tolerated that pretty well all things considered. Aunt Karen got by with a lot.

Chloe had the most wonderful spirit about her and a devilish twinkle in her eye at times as well. When she was a puppy Julie had a guest at her house and Chloe promptly went into her room and grabbed a pair of dirty underwear and when Julie's friend yelled at her she turned around, dropped the underwear and just barked at her. That was Chloe.

When I met Julie I brought along some baggage in the form of a Corgi named Fiona. Chloe and Ricochet took Fiona under their wings of the herding fraternity. They accepted her with a lot of patience and grace considering her bull dozing obsession with the Frisbee. Chloe loved to see Fiona because she knew play time was about to erupt. We would go out back and Chloe would grab her Frisbee and proceed to herd Fiona around the yard. Ricochet would always beat Fiona to the Frisbee but would kindly leave it for her because she knew Fiona was going to mow her down to get to it. Their kindness and love for Fiona made me love them all the more. Fiona got by with a lot as well.

My favorite memory of them is two fold. One is the day we took all the dogs out to Kaplan Woods and we had quite the herd. Two border collies, a corgi, a Chihuahua and a cattle dog mix. It was a magical day that I will always remember. That kind of simple joy and happiness is a rare thing and I am so glad I got to spend it with my special friends both furry and fur-less. The other is of a walk at Leo Rudolph when Chloe and Ricochet ran on ahead because Fiona was holding up the train and proceeded to plunge into the pond. Unfortunately the water level was really low and by the time we got up there both dogs were covered in a black, shiny, oily, STINKY, mess. After I finished laughing we loaded everyone up and went to the dog wash. It was AWESOME!!

After Ricochet crossed over the bridge Julie adopted another sweet baby named Bella. Chloe stepped right into Ricochet's shoes and Bella was her baby. Fiona continued to just do her own thing because she has one focus and obsession...balls and Frisbees. I am still not sure how Julie managed to play ball so much in her living room with Fiona chasing and Chloe right behind her, sheep in mouth and butt in the air, herding that little brown dog around the room. It was amazing to watch.

When Julie opened her heart and home to Fiona and I, I grew to love Chloe even more. I worked nights and she and Bella would come into my room and sleep with me during the day. I remember waking up more than once with Chloe staring into my face panting at me. I felt so loved and so needed. They would guard me as I slept and I needed that and they knew it and I will be forever grateful to them both.

Chloe was so special because despite her past experience with humans she was able to move on and give and receive love from those who loved her. She was able to put the pain and fear aside and open her heart to another human being. She was a focused herding dog by day and a love bug by night. She had a twinkle in her eye that could not be denied. Chloe was up for life and up for adventure. She gave freely of herself and gave her mom consolation when her baby, Ricochet, crossed the bridge. And now Bella will do the same for her mom and when Julie decides to share her heart with another dog I am sure Bella will take her under her wing and she will be Bella's puppy. After all...she learned from the best. Rest in peace my beloved Chloe Bug and you keep those other furry angels in line up there. Thank you for accepting me into your life and allowing me to love you and to give me love in return. Your heart will be forever remembered by those who loved you.

Namaste my Bug a Doo

Random rubbish blowing through my mind like fall leaves

Ah...Fall...I love this time of year...temps are cooling...leaves are changing...candy is in season...it's all good.

These are some random things that have been breezing through my brain lately.

Tis' the season when mother nature plays funny games with my ageing eyesight. This is how they should test older drivers. If you jump and hit your brakes every time a suspiciously squirrel-like leaf blows across the road in front of you...you are good.

Speaking of eyesight issues. The other day I got a rather innocent e-mail at work and I just lost it. A full on case of the simples. Laughing, snorting, wheezing, more laughing, trying not to pee, more snorting. It had nothing to do with the e-mail or the person who sent it. It was just the fact that my eyes and my brain interpreted "art-teast" as "art teets". I know...right...it's not that funny...but at the time I thought the way my brain misread the word was hysterical. I've been doing that a lot lately and mishearing the conversations of my co-workers. At least I am pretty sure they weren't talking about fornication in the front lobby.

Poor Lamar Odom! One would have thought that being found unconscious in a Nevada brothel would be the complete rock bottom one could hit. But no...the media has to note that he has been hanging out at said brothel for four days taking herbal Viagra and drinking Cognac. It's not bad enough that he might lose his life but..."come on man"...this is just too much.

Sign at local church...Octoberfest...Nov. 1st. I will just let that sit for a bit.

Speaking of religion...I noticed a guy the other day with lots of Christian stuff all in his manly truck windows and a big JESUS tattoo on his arm. The next day I saw a semi-trailer with JESUS painted in ginourmous red letters. Now...loving Jesus is all well and good but I'm thinking he would have preferred that you spent that money on the poor. I'm just sayin'!

I wonder what the Guinness Book of Records holds as the longest one can go without vacuuming one's carpet when one has several pets? Just wondering...no particular reason. Ahem...moving on....

I found myself having a debate with myself the other morning over whether or not I should wear the black socks I just pulled out of the sock hug fest in my drawer even thought they did not quite match or should I just go with it...who will notice...sad to say I just went for it and now my sock drawer has two, lonely, mismatched socks.

Can someone explain to me why Kitten Face feels the need to shred me in the morning before I get dressed for work? She was particularly vicious this morning. I suspect she is practicing for the day she works out how to open the cans of cat food and no longer needs my opposable thumb.

How can a reasonable person be expected to haul themselves out of bed in the morning when it's still dark outside??? That's just WRONG!!

I feel like I may be trying to catch a cold so be prepared...there could be a whiny...lengthy blog...full of phlegm references in the near future.

In the mean time...I shall try to clean the litter boxes before I head off to bed...unless of course I get distracted again...oh look...a chicken!!!

What kind of world is this anyway?

I must confess...I am feeling very down about the state of humanity right now. I just read a story about and 11 year old boy who had been bullying his 8 year old neighbor. When she refused to let him see her puppy he promptly went in the house and got his dad's 12 gauge shotgun and shot her in the chest killing her. OVER A PUPPY!!!

Now...lest you think I am an anti-gun nut...I grew up with guns in the house. Three of them to be exact. I still have them. I also possessed many toy guns...including toy automatic rifles or machine guns as us older folks grew up calling them. The difference appears to be that despite my parents' overall lack of parenting skills I was taught the difference between what was real and what was fake. I was taught not to point even a toy gun at another person. I was taught not to touch my dad's guns which were never locked up. They were unloaded and the bullets stored elsewhere but I had access to them. Oddly enough...it never would have occurred to me to solve a dispute with ANYONE by using one of those guns! As a teenager I was allowed to touch those guns but it still never would have occurred to me to use one of them to harm anyone. That whole "thou shalt not kill" thing was pretty ingrained in me at a young age.

I don't understand how we got to the point where being bullied, or feeling like an outcast, or being angry at the world, or being told no leads to killing someone. How is that okay? How violent do we have to become before someone says enough? How self-absorbed and entitled do we have to be to think it's okay to kill others to meet our goals? How does wanting to be "famous" or "be someone" become so important to someone that they resort to mass murder!! I got news people...most of us will never be famous...we will never be a household name and we will never be worshiped and adored by the masses. How has becoming famous or "someone" become that important?

We are stressed out. Our brains are over stimulated by too much media exposure. We are obsessed with social media and so called mass produced "reality". We live in a very uncivilized time. Politics has become uber violent. We love our violent contact sports. We make blanket judgments of others with no understanding of their situations. We hate those that disagree with us. We use religion to club one another over the head with our righteousness. We would rather have our ginourmous TV's, our new cars, the newest smart phones, the newest this and the newest that rather than feed the hungry and provide health care to those who need it...especially veterans. We are rude to one another on a daily basis. We are harsh and judgmental and unforgiving of those who differ from us.

Rather than try to re-build the social contract that holds us all together we have instead decided to cling to our guns to protect ourselves. More and more people are getting conceal and carry permits. More and more people, both the mentally stable and the mentally unstable are arming themselves to go out and do the simplest of tasks. How sad is it that people feel the need to arm themselves to go shopping or to the movies? Why do we continue to live in such fear of one another that we would prefer killing someone over working to re-build a more civilized world together? How is killing someone a reasonable response to being told "NO?" What are we doing people? For the love of GOD can we just stop thinking we are SO important that we have the right to take someone else's life! I just need this insanity to stop.

Havens

I have found in my life that I need special havens of solitude...or safety...or whatever. Sometimes they are physical places, sometimes psychological, sometimes emotional. Whatever I call them they are my havens. They have varied over my decades on this earth.

I think the first haven I can remember was my closet. You see I lived with a very emotionally volatile and abusive father and a mother who was too overwhelmed to handle it all. I was also sexually abused as a child but not by my father. Needless to say...I never felt safe. I always felt exposed, vulnerable and anxious. So, I would create little "forts" in my closet and would play and nap in there. I could shut the door and feel hidden and safe. That worked really well until I grew too tall for that particular haven.

At one point in time the sexual abuse by my neighbor got bad enough that I was afraid to sleep in my room lest he come to the window and make lewd suggestions. I took the couch cushions and made a pallet between my mom's side of their bed and a dresser and slept there for I don't know how many nights before I moved back to my own room. I cannot remember what I told my parents and they evidently didn't feel the need to dwell too deeply.

I also found refuge in my friend Elaine's home. I LOVED her house. There was always activity going on and I felt safe there. I am sure it made her mom nuts that I was there SO much but she had no idea how important their home was to me. It was a safe haven and a refuge where I could feel a bit less anxious.

One of my favorite places of refuge was a large cage/hutch that my grandfather had built for his pet squirrel Bill. I could put plastic around it to keep the wind out and play in there. I could use it as my fort and my grandfather's homemade wheelbarrow as my boat. If you turned it upside you could both crawl inside it and hide and sit on top of it and pretend the metal wheels were the ship's wheel. I used to love to sit in there when it rained. It had an overhanging roof so if it wasn't pouring too hard you could sit in there and experience the rain without getting wet. I still remember the sounds and the smell. I loved it.

This area, my hometown, and the surrounding areas have also been my safe havens. Spring River, the dam, Center Creek, the courthouse, my old college paper routes, the old Morrow Mill area when the dam was still there, Kellogg Lake, Municipal Park, Central Park etc.... I feel a level of comfort here that I have never found anywhere else. I know the trees, the water, the grass, the wildlife...it's home. I feel a connection here to the and the land and the water that gives me comfort.

These days my havens are experienced mostly from my car...which is a VERY special haven in and of itself. I cannot imagine trying to live without my car. It is my safe zone, my freedom and where I generally feel safe and in control. Why all this musing about safe havens you wonder?

Well this weekend I found myself asking my friends indulgence while I retreated into my safe haven and tried to re-boot my spirit and my soul. I get to the point where the empathy takes a dramatic toll on me. I knew I was getting too stressed when the latest school shooting caused me to totally lose my temper in an irrational way. I was just so angry at the pointless loss of human life. I get too overloaded with the emotions of others and I feel pushed and pushed to the edge, the exhaustion takes over and I just need to be quiet and alone for awhile. So I retreated to my house and spent a quiet weekend doing things around the house and hanging out with my fur babies. I did see other humans. I had a lovely lunch with friends on Saturday and the aforementioned Elaine came by to visit with me for awhile today and I took Johnny his birthday Snickers today.

So when I retreat into myself and hide out in my house it is in attempt to recreate a haven of sanity for myself. A place to flush out the emotional overload and re-boot myself so to speak. I wish I could explain the need for silence and aloneness but I find myself floundering. So I thank my friends for their indulgence while I retreat into my haven of silence so that I can bounce back into my quirky self.

Another year older...a bear's journey.

Today is my 53rd birthday my friends. Last night I was sitting and watching the beautiful harvest/blood moon and eclipse and was thinking to myself...what if the world does end tonight? Well that's not really possible because someone would have noticed if Australia had disappeared from the face of earth so I guess it's not happening tonight. How do I feel about that? Well...I am kind of sad about it because then folks who are suffering would be free from their pain and hunger and fear. But on the other hand...the child in me would really prefer to enjoy my 53 birthday sans Armageddon...after all...I still had presents to open. So much for being a mature, sensitive being right?

It all boils down to my somewhat (oh who am I kidding)...my seriously messed up sense of self. I mean, most people wouldn't feel bad because they wanted to have their birthday instead of a visit by the four horsemen of the apocalypse...right? See...messed up. On the bright side I am working on self-care with my therapist so maybe my blog next year will be totally rainbows and unicorns and shit.

I have been around a good while now. I have lived in Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee, Minnesota and now Missouri again. In every place I have ever lived I have been blessed with wonderful friends. There are friends that I grew up with...many of whom I still manage to be able to call my friends. Elaine, Michael, Carol, Margaret, Myra and many more I am forgetting. Amazingly enough I am still friends with folks I went to high school with...it's amazing because I am not sure I talked to anyone all that much...they are a patient lot. Friends from college, Dave and Bonnie, Janice, Lori, Karen, Lisa, Stephanie and a lot of others I am forgetting. Friends from my misspent party days, there's some overlap here I must say, Marsha (RIP), The Troll, Nancy, Julie, Paula, Lori, Connie, Sheryl and many others. Friends from Arkansas, Amy, Hollie, Maryeileen and Josh, Pat and Jan. Friends from Tennessee, Mike and Bernice, Bridget and her wonderful girls. Friends from Minnesota, Julie, Inez, Candace, Penny and Mike, Charli, Jeri, Stuart, Diane, Kim, Darcy, Jan L, Jan P, Alison, the bowling girls, my church family at St. Paul's, my fellow suffering Wal-Mart peeps and anyone else I have forgotten. Now I am making new friends back home, Catina, Amber and Justin, Keith and Terri, Michael, Regina, Chasidy and Staci, Danny and Amber, Stephanie and Terry, Raymond and Kimmie, Jason, the Lindas, Marie, and all my other co-workers. My point in listing all these folks is that I have been very blessed to have them all give of themselves and their time to me. They have all made me laugh till I cried, snorted and probably peed. They have brought much joy to my life and they mean the world to me. Every last one of them.

I grew up in a very abusive household and my dad kept us reasonably isolated and so I did not get to spend any time really with my Clayton cousins but they are still family to me. Tommy, Connie B., Cindy, Dixie, Sammy, Patty Ann and Gloria. I have been blessed in recent years to reacquaint myself with them and it makes my heart happy. I am closer to my Barchak cousins who are as delightfully quirky as myself and I love each and everyone of you.

And then there's my best friend. The one whom puts up with my depressive mood swings, my whining, my endless self-examination, my ADD and all my other quirks. The one whom I do not hesitate to call at 1:30 in the morning when I am rushing my dying dog to the emergency clinic. The one who won't let me hang up the phone until I am home safe. The one I turn to for everything. My world, my heart and my soul. Yea...you know who you are.

The point of this blog is that I am VERY blessed to have a wonderful group of people in my life. They are all family to me...whether there is shared DNA between us or not. I am not always good about sharing my feelings with others when it really matters. I joke a lot and try to cover up my insecurities and doubts. I find it hard sometimes to have really serious discussions with folks. I mean...what if they are thinking...Jesus...what a dork...I wish she would shut up. See...messed up. So with this blog I sit here and with all the honesty and love I have in my heart say I love you all and I am glad you blessed my life with your love and your presence. I am a lucky 53 year old working on enjoying the bonus years she never thought she would have. So bear with me and just absorb the mushy love stuff...I will get back to my normal self soon.

Namaste my friends!

Ode to a drunken sailor boy

This is Lester. Lester and I met almost 3 years ago at the local humane society. I cannot remember now if they posted a pic about him or whether it was on one of my ill-advised visits to petfinder.com that I saw him. It said he was an older dog and part Corgi. I already had a Corgi that I adored and I always feel sad for older dogs stuck in shelters. And when I saw his name was Lester (my dad's name)...well I HAD to go meet him.

When I got there he was so tiny and skinny looking but he had this jaunty kind of gait and a little sparkle in his half-blind eyes. I was on the fence and then they said he was sponsored so that closed the deal right there. I was hooked. So I brought him home.

We had quite the adventures in the years he was with me. He got blinder and deafer and his heart murmur got worse, then better and then worse again. He had horrible teeth that we got fixed. He was not even remotely house trained and that took a year of patience and hard work to accomplish. He was much better toward the end although he was still my tiny bladder boy. He had a bout of geriatric vertigo that never really went away. He always listed to the left. I called him my drunken sailor boy. He went to Colorado with me 2 or three times. He was very brave. He liked the adventure but he did not enjoy the car ride. I adopted a puppy mill damaged poodle named Owen who he took under his wing and welcomed into our happy home. He stayed out of Fiona's way and had a wary truce with Kitten Face.

Last night, or rather early this morning his heart gave out on him. He started having one long continuous seizure and he was in a lot of pain. I rushed him to the emergency clinic in Joplin and had to let him go. He had been seizing for a solid half an hour and the pain needed to be stopped. He was such a sweet boy and had such a sweet spirit.

I will miss him sliding down those last two steps on his face. I will miss yelling at him to stop eating cat poop and licking Owen's personal area. I will miss him constantly laying at my feet. I will miss him sleeping with his tongue hanging out and having to shake him 2 or 3 times to wake him up. I will miss waving my arms at him to come into the house because he could neither see me well or hear me. I will miss trying not to step on him in the dark when I get up to go pee in the middle of the night. As the only dog with a tail in the house it was a challenge. I will miss him barking at me and prancing around in an effort to speed up his breakfast or dinner. I will miss his sweet, drunken, smile and his kind spirit. He was the only dog I ever had who was so passive that he would not even defend his food. He was a kind little boy.

He was the polar opposite of his namesake and I think he came to live with me to help me see that there was a Lester in this world who was kind and loving and who loved me. I miss his presence and his kind heart. God bless you Lester for sharing your last three years on this earth with me. I am honored and a better person for it. Namaste my little drunken sailor boy. I love you and rest in peace. (And try not to pee all over heaven please. :))

Holding down the fort so to speak!

Tonight I feel the need to wax poetic about something that some of you might find disturbing so if you are easily grossed out you might want to move on...now!

Tonight I would like to talk to all of my sisters out there who have reached...shall we say...a more mature age.

Do you remember those carefree days when you could wake up in the morning and just throw on a pair of underwear and go? Or maybe you forgot to do laundry and just went commando (Dave...you know who you are)? Ah...those were the relaxed days when all a girl had to worry about was whether her period might try to sneak up on her at an inopportune moment like stepping into a pool full of people or when you insisted upon wearing those white pants (Kristy...you know who you are)?

It began as an insipid and sneaky process...how these easy going days were replaced with a growing sense of paranoia and padding. First...you reached the age...say in your 30's or for those of you have had children...the day after having said child...that you find yourself coming to the realization that the Lightdays pad has now become an essential part of your wardrobe. You don't even go to the mailbox without making sure things are secure. You have now reached stage one.

Stage two comes along some time in your late 30's to early 40's when you realize that the Lightdays you have relied on for so long have now lost their usefulness. The volume has exceeded the ability of the cotton to absorb the now more prevalent leakage issue. Now you are faced with two big decisions. Do I just go to a regular pad all the time or can I get by with an ultra-thin...maybe with wings? I refuse to go to the Depends isle. I just refuse!!

Stage three is planted squarely in your 40's. Now is the time when fortifying those underwear is at critical mass because now even the most innocent of sneezes can cause def con 9!! God forbid you should get a bad cough or pneumonia! There is nothing that can save you now. You just have to rely on those extra underwear that lurk in the back of the drawer...you know...the ones you wear only in case of dire emergency. Well...this is it sister. You have to pull out all the stops for this time period of your life. Either that or you hide at home all the time.

This is also the time when you suddenly realize that you MUST know the location of the bathrooms in every public building you enter. You walk into any store or home and immediately start scanning for the bathrooms. It just becomes second nature. You are always on alert...like a toilet ninja! Hah!

Or better yet...you hop out of the shower and suddenly realize you are OUT of the necessary underwear dam building equipment. How can this be? I thought there was at least one more in the bag. Shit! What do you do now? Well... if you are like me you start seeking cotton salvation everywhere. Maybe that suitcase I took last time on vacation? Maybe my backpack? Maybe that other bag? And for a moment...just a brief moment...as you are tearing your house apart looking for salvation in a square wrapper you wonder if you could get by with the pads that go in El Diablo the pee monster's belly bands? You shake that off...because let's face it that is just really for the def con 9 day. You stand around...frustrated...pondering if you can get to Walgreen's without needing a change of clothes when you see...peeking out at you from your nightstand...salvation...Alleluia!!! Crisis averted...for now.

Stage four always sneaks up on you. You THINK you are doing fine with that super long, overnight, with wings pad and then you realize that for the last month you have started using two end to end so you can get maximum coverage. This works for a little while until you suddenly realize that that odor might actually be coming from YOUR who ha. EEKKKK!!!  So you suck it up and you head to the senior citizen aisle. You stand there for awhile wondering just how far you will have to go to strengthen your battle lines. Can you get by with the extra long Poise pads or should you just surrender and go with a Depend? Bravely...you stand tall...and say...NAY...I am not ready for the Depend yet...I am only 53 for Christ's sake!! I shall not surrender my remaining dignity. I shall go for the Poise and pray for the best.

We all know it's only a matter of time until surrender must be complete but for now we proudly hold our lines and secure the fort. And every time we sneeze or have a coughing fit we stop and check to see if we think our defenses have been breached and then we go to the bathroom to be sure because we are paranoid.

Yes children...the time is coming. None of us can avoid it for long. The older we get the leakier we get. It's just the sad reality that comes with all this wisdom we have accumulated. So be brave! Hold that fort strongly and pray for deliverance from the final destination...the Depends aisle. Hold your head high my friends and try not to sneeze!

Hamster Wheel

I am brazenly stealing a metaphor from a friend of mine. She can sue me...but really what could she gain...3 geriatric dogs and a neurotic cat...it's just not worth it.

This Labor Day weekend I find myself on the hamster wheel. I have tried various techniques to dismount said plastic, banging endlessly on the side the of plastic cage, devious rodent conveyance but here I am still running and still banging.

You see...I have recently been told that I display "negative" behavior. My first impulse was to blurt out "no shit Sherlock" but I contained myself until I could come home and abuse myself in private. I bloody well know that I can be moody and I can be quiet! I am a depressed, ADD suffering, PTSD surviving, introvert and empathic ball of emotional mess who can barely navigate this world without the "assistance" of other people pointing out said flaws to me.

I have not tried to hide said personality "flaws". I do try to minimize their impact on my daily life so that I can function but I have never tried to hide who I am. In an effort to keep some sort of pride in tact I do admit to trying not to sob at work because my dog just had three episodes of heart syncope right in front of me and I had to leave him at home alone because work was more "important" than his well-being.

I was raised in a very abusive household and I spent the first 18 years of my life in Catholic school...of course I am overly critical and can get cranky. I am also ridiculously intelligent ( sorry for that bit of ego but I really am rather intelligent)  and a perfectionist so when I encounter something that was done sloppily or stupidly I often mumble character assassinating things to myself. I wish I was more tolerant of these things but it's a difficult thing to overcome. I am always far harder on myself than anyone else. I hold myself to high standards and when I mess up it's not a pretty sight.

You see...to make a mistake admits that that bastard of a father was right about you all along. You are a stupid woman who is always at fault and always doing things wrong. To admit that you are human opens you up to the ridicule that you just can't stand anymore. You must protect yourself. So you very sincerely apologize for making the mistake and then you agonize over said mistake for God knows how long because if you beat yourself up over it no one else will feel like piling on and you can be safe in your warm blankie of self-loathing.

You may wonder where I am going with all this...well I don't really know other than I need to get it off the wheel somehow...so...here goes....

Dear World: Please see above self-description of my character flaws of which I am well aware. I understand that I can be moody, introspective, shut down and well...not always the Mary Poppins type persona you seem to want to encounter on a daily basis. I am who I am and I can only try to improve myself to make myself happier and not to please you. If I am able to change it will be done so in an effort to live a happier life for myself and not to make your life easier. If my depression bothers you so much that you feel the need to make nasty comments about my behavior being negative well then I think that says more about you than it does me. You can pay lip service all you want to respecting the "diversity" of others and you can pretend that you are the amazingly nice person that you think you are but my demons and I know better and we do not accept your judgment.

I am going to continue to be the person I am while trying to find a way to be a happier person for MYSELF. I am not going to hide who I am so that you will be more comfortable. I am not going to be dishonest to myself or anyone one else. I will try to be the nice, but flawed, person that I know I am. I will not step into the darkness with you. I would rather live an honest life than one in which I have to hide myself away so that you won't have to see another person struggle with the life you take for granted.

Express Lane to the Adderol please.

Oh the brain has been whirring this week...

1.  People who thought they were using a "secure" site in which to cheat on their significant others. Seriously...if you can't keep your banking information safe why would think your sexual liaisons would be any different. I just can't respect this kind of stupidity.

2.  Idiot who decided he was dying so why not go to Kansas City and kill some Jews before he goes. Manages to kill 3 Christians instead. Is "defending" himself at trial. When a witness says that he tried to follow the shooter to get license plate the shooter turned his car around and fired a shot at him. Idiot "defending" himself corrects said witness and notes that he shot at him twice...not once. Really dude...the express line to hell is on the right...please do not dawdle.

3.  I have recently seen some "fashionistas" criticizing cargo shorts. As a proud wearer of the khaki I must say...BITE ME!! I love my shorts and they keep all of my more personal bits covered which is a blessing for society let me tell you. They are comfortable and they are awesome. Now...let's talk about those ugly shoes you are wearing....

4.  I saw a headline today on the weather channel page that the latest tropical ugliness is causing Florida to be in a "Cone of uncertainty"? Is this anything like the cone of shame because Fiona has some thoughts on that she could share?

5.  Donald Trump vows to never eat Oreos again because the parent company is moving some production lines to Mexico. He will however, reconsider, if he can find some made in the USA. Who are you kidding you moron? You know you cannot give up Oreos...no one can give up Oreos...they are like cookie heroin. More rubbish from a clown with the worst hair on the planet.

6.  On the way to work today I saw a sort of enlarged Transit type van in front of me with Illinois tags. As I got closer I noticed the tags said "God's Bus". Now...this got me thinking...I am really not sure God needs a Mercedes transit bus to get around. I mean is he picking us up now or at the Casino later? It makes me a little uncomfortable to think that God might be coming to pick me up in a Mercedes transit bus.

Why would "God's Bus" be cruising down I-44 at 8 am? I mean...I can understand why God would like to travel in style. Who doesn't like leather seats with butt warmers and surround sound car stereo with DVD players, blue tooth and all those other extras? But does God really need GPS and Bluetooth?

I think the God of the Old Testament would prefer more traditional methods of travel like pillars of fire and burning bushes and Jesus would certainly not be caught out and about in a Mercedes. He would certainly be in a really old, beat up, VW mini-bus hanging out in Spiva Park with the homeless folk. I am confused...which is not really out of the ordinary for me.
Oh...look a chicken....

What self esteem?

Language warning: If you are offended by the "f" word please skip this blog. Sometimes it's just a necessary word.

I find that my battle with myself over my sense of self esteem continues. I have worked really hard to eliminate my PTSD and that has gone wonderfully well and at times I am the happiest and most content I have ever been. It's a new feeling for me and it's taking me awhile to adjust.

But I still find myself struggling with the value of "me". You see...I am really good at paying lip service to the fact that I am a good person. At least a good bit of me does believe that I am kind, loyal, loving, intelligent, funny and an all around good egg. However...there is still this part of me who thinks..."yeah who the fuck are you kidding." There is still a part of me who refuses to believe any of the above is true. There is a part of me that still does not trust the words or intentions of others because, clearly, the things they say and do cannot be true, I am not worthy.

Sometimes I think I will always be that little fat girl who is constantly looking for the approval of others that she never got from her weasel of a father. Yes...I have daddy issues...and mommy issues...but that is mostly behind me now. Snicker...snicker.... It has only been recently that I have been able to look at myself in photos and the mirror and think that maybe...just maybe...I am not as ugly as I always thought I was. I look at photos of that sweet little girl with the blonde hair and the haunted eyes and think that cannot be me. She was so cute...what the fuck happened?

I long to have a relationship with someone (and it doesn't necessarily have to be a romantic relationship) where I am TOTALLY relaxed and comfortable with that person. I have never given myself permission to do that you see. I would love to be able to blame the other person completely but that would neither be truthful or fair. I have had relationships where that just was not an option and it was not totally my fault. (See future blog on "the evil one".) But overall I just don't find myself able to truly trust the intentions or words of others. I think too much so they say.

I have someone in my life whom I have been in love with for over 20 years now. And even though I have loved her with my whole being I have still never allowed myself to be totally comfortable with her. She cannot possibly mean the things she says. She cannot really love me. She is brilliant. She is from a much better social class than me. She is wonderful. I don't deserve her love so it cannot be true. I will never be good enough for her. And when she needed time to go on her journey alone I found all of my lies to myself were true. I made it all about myself because only I was the one in pain you see. I allowed myself to drift into the darkness that always lurks right there in my soul. I knew it! I knew it! You see...I wasn't good enough! A self-fulfilling prophecy.

What...you say...has brought up all this angst and self discussion? Well today I was teasing the aforementioned love of my life about her moving to Missouri. Why is that a stupid idea Karen? I mean besides the fact that my house is a pig sty of my own making. You see Missouri is not Colorado. My home that I love so much could never be good enough for her. I can never be good enough for her. So I sit with my discomfort and wonder if I will ever be able to change? Will I ever give myself permission to change? Will I ever allow myself to be comfortable with someone the way I want to be comfortable? Will I ever be good enough for me? We shall see....

Well crap on a cracker!

I am the only child of parents who were close to the youngest in their families. My grandmother had my mom when she was 35 and my mom had me when she was 36. Both of my parents died before I hit 32. What is my point you wonder?

Well...it seems like I have been going to funerals my whole life. I have spent more time at funeral homes and visitations than I have going to weddings and baptisms. I did not know either of my grandfathers. (In fairness my mother did not really know her father well either since she was 6 when he died). One grandmother died when I was 10 and crazy grandma lived until I was 17. Both were in the their 80's. Most of my great aunts and great uncles did not make it to the 1970's.

I remember at a very young age being hauled around to funerals and family dinners with people I only vaguely knew and most likely never saw again. My mother was VERY devoted to her belief that if someone dies you GO to the funeral. It doesn't matter if it's your 12th cousin, twice-removed, you go and you honor the dead. I am not sure if it was a mom thing or an old-school Catholic thing...maybe a bit of both. I was once half way across Iowa (from Minnesota)...in the dead of winter I might add...before I realized I was risking life and limb to go to my 92 year old 2nd cousin's funeral. I did not even think twice about it until I was past Des Moines.

Most of my Aunts and Uncles passed in the 80's and 90's with a couple of hold outs who made it to the 2010s. I have three Aunt-in-laws who are still alive and kicking and a lot of cousins. But recently my mortality has been tweaked by the passing of one of my first cousins. (See earlier blog) It's a little disconcerting when your generation begins to make its way onward. Even sadder when it's your first cousins' children who are taken too soon.

 Today I found out that one of my mother's last remaining first cousins passed away. He was 95. We were not close. I knew who he was. I would recognize him if I saw him somewhere. I knew we were related. But I instantly went into "funeral mode". I was more successful than normal in talking myself down from "funeral mode". My mom would have spent hours on the phone calling people tonight to let them know and pass on condolences. She would have been one of the first to arrive at the rosary and one of the last to leave the visitation. She would have been at the funeral and the graveside service and she would have talked to EVERYBODY!

I have finally reached a point in my life where I can kind of back away from mom's funeral training. I can allow myself now to be more relaxed and less on funeral point. I can allow myself to go to either the rosary and visitation or the funeral without feeling like I HAVE to go to both. Unless of course...it's a close relation...and then all bets are off. I can do these things...but crap on a cracker...I still feel guilty about choosing. Less guilty than I have felt in the past but guilty none the less.

I think Mom's message was that we honor the dead and we comfort the living because family and those we love are intrinsically bound to us. Love is stronger than death and in those moments when we remember and we honor those who have passed we keep their energy and their souls vibrant in this world. No one should be forgotten. Amen!

Thoughts go in...thoughts go out...rubbish.

I wonder what it is like to be a sock? I was doing laundry this morning and I noticed my little black socks were all huddled together in the basket and this got me thinking several things....
1.  Do socks like to be worn? I am not sure which would be preferable but I guess it would depend on the sock's personality. I think I would rather encase my human's stinky foot and to be out and about and have adventures rather than just hang out in a dark drawer with all the other lonely socks. I mean what would you do all day and what do socks have to talk about?
2.  Do socks live in terror of the washing machine? I mean, I looked at them all huddled together in my basket and they looked a little terrified. It still didn't stop me from putting them in the wash as I have sociopathic tendencies when it comes to clean socks. I callously tossed them in the washer despite their desperate attempts to stay together. And they always try to make a run for it when you are transferring them. I would rather jump to my death between the washer and dryer than to go into that nasty, drowning, spinning, chemical hell.
3. And lastly...are my socks more loyal to me than other humans? I mean, not to brag, but I never lose socks. I have heard horror stories about families with piles of lonely unclaimed and unpaired socks. Mine always seem to stay together. The go into the basket together. They may not make it into the washer at the same time but they always wind up together. I never have the odd sock. Maybe I am just sock blessed?

I think my underwear are the most desperate items in the dresser. They have all given up hope. The have lost all of their personality quirks. They have no will to live and that is why the elastic starts unraveling two days after you buy them. They just can't handle it. It is sad duty and I pity the cotton fibers that are exiled to my underwear drawer.

And why is it that we don't discard the old ones in a timely manner. I am pretty sure that buried underneath the ones I wear all the time are pairs from the 90's that just languish there doing whatever it is that old underwear does. Same goes for the old socks and bras. I mean really Karen, that bra would not be suitable to wear anywhere...anytime...so why is it the designated emergency bra? You know the one you hold back just in case you miscalculate your laundry and find yourself without a clean bra to wear to wherever you have to be in 30 minutes? There is not even an illusion of support there but it somehow makes you feel less pathetic if you put it on to run to wherever you are going. You can comfort yourself with...at least I have a bra on. So you have to make sure you don't get your boob caught in your pants when you button them up...at least you have a bra on. Unless you are going to Wal-Mart at 3 am...then of course all bets are off and you can blend in with everyone else and no one but the employees with camera phones will notice.

I will save the analysis of sleepy shirts and shorts for another time...my brain is already moving on to something else equally as nonsensical. Oh look...a chicken!

Memories of youth

As a kid growing up here in the 60's and 70's the place to be in the summer was Municipal Park. That place was always abuzz with activity. I spent hours and hours at the pool there, I learned how to skate at the roller rink, I loved that big ass slide that is no longer there, I rode the rides at Kiwanis's Kiddie Land, I looked forward every year to the carnival that would accompany the County Fair and most of all I spent many a glorious evening at the ball fields.

You see...back in the day baseball was king in Carthage. Those four fields and stands would be packed all the time in the summer. There was farm league, girl's softball, little league and Babe Ruth. Ah...but little league was the king. Carthage produced many really good teams in that era. I remember how devastated the whole town was when two of it's stars drown in Spring River. One trying to save the other. It was my first experience with children my age dying and it was quite the wake up call.

Folks would flock to the fields in the evenings. You could park by the outer fences and watch from your cars or you could sit in the bleachers. You could make endless trips to the concession stand. It was a family affair. Everyone would turn out to watch the games. Kids could run around and play catch with their friends and no one had to worry about being abducted. It was such a "free" time.

I would go to watch my friends play. My friend Michael always played and I was quite the devotee of his. I would always be there cheering him on waiting for him to get done and then we would hang out and go and play in the creek. I remember one wonderful 4th of July hanging out in the cattle barns and seeing how high we could fly empty pop cans with firecrackers. I can still remember the sound and the smell. He was my adventure buddy.

The point I am trying to make here is that it is so sad to see the park basically deserted on a Saturday night. I drove around the park absorbed in the memories that came flooding back to me. All the sounds and the smells. I drove all around the fields that are just sitting there unused. The fences are down. The concession stand has been demolished. There's not much left. They have all moved on to greener pastures across town where they can sit in the bleachers and stare at their phones.

But I still have my memories. I can see the kids in the uniforms wearing them so proudly and all the parents and grandparents and everyone else cheering them all on. I can see Michael's lopsided grin and feel the love he had for the game. I can see my parents parked out by the fence watching all the kids play even though they had no relation to any of them. They just liked to watch. It was a magical time that I will treasure in my heart forever.

Operation Squeal Like a Little Girl and other nonsense

My brain has been all over the place today so I thought I would share all my random brain spasms with all of you...aren't you the lucky ones.

First things first...this morning I got up and took the dogs out to the sauna to go potty. While I watered my plants and a bit of the yard I let them roam around and do their thing. We came back in the house and had breakfast and while I was sitting on the couch Owen walks up to within about 2 feet of me and poops in the middle of the living room floor. WTF??? Owen!! He has no shame and no remorse and no manners and aw damnit he's so freakin' cute with those sad eyes.

Then on the way to work I proceed to have an argument with the Bluetooth in my truck. For those of you who know me well this will not come as a big surprise but my Bluetooth and I have a difficult relationship. You see they did not think about programing her to recognize a Midwestern/Southern drawl with a little Minnesota thrown in for good measure. She does not like the way I say "Beth". She will say "Help" or "Cancel" or on a good day "Nan". Now how in the hell does Nan sound like Beth? So we were arguing this morning and I finally said "Oh...Bite Me!" and she came back with "Connie". I am not sure what this says about my friends named Connie...of which I think I have 4...but I burst out laughing.

Then I am sitting at the front desk at work earning brownie points for purgatory...I mean seriously...do I seem like the receptionist type to you...they SO need to get someone hired. Anyway...I was looking at the morning paper taking a wee break when I saw this headline that said something like "Man sentenced for statutory sex." Now...I know full well what statutory rape is but it was the sex part that threw me off for a second. All I could think of was some guy was getting freaky with a garden gnome. That's just wrong! It ranks right up there with the idiot who was arguing with his roommate about rent and then clobbers the poor guy in the head with a golf club. Now that's the way to handle conflict moron.

After I took Fiona for her laser therapy today I had to suck it up and go back out into the miserable sauna to pick up a prescription and make a trip to Lowe's. I did not want to go to Lowe's but I really had no choice. You see...tis' the time of the year when the wasps like to build their casas in inappropriate places where they can ambush you when you least expect it. This requires a special tool...a can of toxic waste that will shoot 27 feet in the air. You need that 27 feet so you can get a head start running from the wasps you just pissed off. So, after making two laps looking for something else I needed I got my killing weapon and headed home.

I took the dogs out again and got them settled and then prepared for battle. Can of toxic waste yes, shoes yes, nerves of steel...oh hell no!! I crept stealthily, well as stealthy as a large woman can be, to the front door and slowly opened the screen just a bit to see if anyone was home. Ah...Mr. and Mrs. wasp are there working on a bungalow for their 2.5 kids...oh wait...there's two more adults...polygamist wasps...oh this is just getting worse. I slowly raise my can of death and point it at the interlopers. I squeeze the trigger and squeal like a little girl and slam the screen door when they start heading for the hills. I am now afraid to go look and see if it's safe yet. It shall have to wait until morning. That's all the bravery I have for today. I then had to go do the same out back but no one was home there so I was quite cocky as I hosed the nest down and sprayed a spider for good measure. BWAHAHAHAHA...I know...it's only a matter of time before they get their revenge but for now I am death in khaki shorts.

Limitations and opportunities

Today was one of those difficult days for me. You see...it is VERY hard for me to ask for help. On little things...sure I can ask you to help me for a sec but for the big stuff it is hard. It is very hard for me to feel obligated to someone or to allow someone to help me with something whether it be emotional or financial or physical or whatever...you get my point.

You see my parents were proud, stubborn and completely dysfunctional. One did not accept charity. One did not rely on anyone else. You just did what you needed to do and if that meant you ate a lot of potato soup that's what you did. We were poor...like a lot of other folks. My parents both worked thankless factory jobs and did the best they could with what they earned. We were always one bad month away from homelessness or the trailer park but we made it. I am sure we were not alone.

The point I am trying to make here is that I learned from the best to be stubborn and proud and to not ask for help. Today I had to admit that I needed help. It's not a big thing but to me it's a BIG thing. You see...it's too hot for me to mow my yard. I know that seems silly but it bothers me. I should be able to mow my own damn yard. I am only 52. The Troll mother still mows her yard and she's almost 88. But I have to admit it's too hot for me to mow. My age and my weight and my dodgy lungs have finally caught up with me. Will this inspire me to lose weight? I would hope so...will I...who knows? I have kind of given up that battle with my hormones.

Today I had to ask my friend Justin to mow my yard for me. We had to argue about whether I would pay him or not but he finally graciously agreed to let me assuage my damaged ego by paying him. He has no idea how hard it was for me to ask. (Well I guess he will read this and know...surprise!!!) Every time I think of him offering to do it for free because that is what family does I start to cry. You see...I don't have a lot of family and we can't seem to make a lot of time for one another. It's no one's fault...that's just how it is...everyone has families and lives and work etc....I am just as guilty! 

I have been blessed to know many other people aside from my blood relations who have become my "family". There are too many to list here but I hope I have told you how much I love and appreciate each one of you. If not...shame on me. Today I had to ask one of you for help and it means the world to me that you are able to help me out. I will try to be less stubborn and proud but I will never be less grateful. Thank you!

For the honor of all souls.

I was on vacation recently when I learned that one of my first cousins had passed away suddenly. We were not close. He was a good bit older than me and we did not spend time together growing up because our fathers did not get along with one another. I simply remember a chubby faced boy with an infectious grin.

I do not know what kind of man he became. I do not know if he was a good father, or a good husband or just a good human being or not. What I do know is that, even though we had no real relationship, I feel saddened by this death. It's always a bit unnerving when the relatives that make up your generation start to pass on. I drive by his house every morning on the way to work and I would note his presence there in the world...even if it was just to say mow your damn lawn Max. I acknowledged that he was there and that he was a part of my family.

I do not judge his family because I do not know anything about their relationship or their financial situation. But it makes me melancholy to know that there was no obituary for him, no service, no burial, no acknowledgment that he had died. I do not even know if, or where, they interred his ashes.

I firmly believe that all souls are put on this earth for a reason and even if they are less than stellar human beings their presence and their death should be noted and honored. They are a part of our world for better or worse. Their lives make up a part of our collective lives. When one of us dies a tiny portion of our memories goes with them. Our lives are diminished a wee bit when each soul passes on. Therefore I honor them.

So...this is all I have for you Max. I hope you are in a better place and I honor your life and your passing. Namaste cousin.

Like a dysfunctional gazelle

I am a big woman. That is not a statement delineating some sort of moral weakness upon my part. It's just a fact. Even if I were not 300 pounds of awesome I would still be a big framed, big-boned kind of gal.

That being said I am also not the most graceful of big women. Due to my distracted brain I am always running into things or stubbing my toe on something or just generally abusing body parts. I will find a bruise or someone will notice one and ask what happened and I will say something like "oh...would you look at that...I have no clue how I did that." Sad...I know but true.

I have to draw the line however at inanimate objects that seem to have it out for me. My friend Beth has this railing that runs along her side patio/path thing. Someone worked very hard setting old cast iron plumbing pipes in concrete to make a decorative railing. It's kind of cool but it has nefarious purposes. On one of my visits I was coming over it with a dog on a leash and really barked my shin on it. Nasty...yet colorful bruise. I still believe it reached up and grabbed me when I stepped over. There is no way I am that clumsy...pbssttt...I can't even type that with straight face.

This visit saw the culmination of it's evil intent. I was out in the yard with Owen...also known as El Diablo the pee monster or poop face. Owen has issues. Granted...most of those were due to living his first 6 or so years in a puppy mill. Needless to say he feels that he cannot pee or poop outside in Colorado. He will finally pee in Oklahoma but that's about it. So...his entire visit to Colorado has him encased in a belly band at all inside times. Being a stubborn human being I will insist upon taking him outside to try to convince him to poop outside. We will walk around and around the yard with him following Fiona, me being eaten my mosquitos, him getting kicked by Fiona who is rolling in the grass, and him still not pooping no matter how long we stay out there.

One morning I gave up and picked him up to take him inside. He thinks the leash is a tool of Satan so I have to sort of reel him in like a poodle trout. I picked him up and started to go over the railing...whereupon it once again reached up and grabbed me. I am still not sure what happened. I know I hit my fat inner thigh but the worst damage was to the top of my right foot and three toes. How the other two escaped I have no clue.

I remember thinking oh shit...it got me again...going down...and dammit don't drop Owen!!! Somehow...in a truly graceful, dysfunctional, gazelle sort of way I crashed over the railing and hit the cement. Somehow in mid-air I shifted myself so as not to drop or hurt Owen. Owen escaped unscathed...me not so much. I sat there for a second taking inventory. Poor Beth comes rushing out...did you fall?? I refrained from making a sarcastic reply for which I think I should get some bonus points. She took poor Owen from me and we sat there for a second assessing damage. That is what you have to do when you get old kids. I determined that nothing appeared broken and then began the process of trying to figure out how I am going to get up off my ass.

This would...at first...seem to be an easy thing for you youngsters out there but trust me when I say it is not so for those of us over 50. Especially those of us who were foolish enough to abuse our knees when we were young and more agile. Damn you softball...anyway I digress. I decided there was nothing for it but to roll onto my knees and use the railing for leverage. I hated using the instrument of torture but there was no help for it. It assisted me up in a moment of painful irony. Damn you decorative railing...you win again. I just hope my aerial ballet was spectacular if anyone witnessed it. If you did...please contact me here and let me know how awesome it was...or at least lie to me so I will feel all warm and fuzzy while I wait for the skin to grow back.

Heritage or hate?

I had planned on avoiding all things political, religious or controversial on this blog but that didn't last long. I have been watching the aftermath of the terrible tragedy in Charleston, SC and feel I must add my voice to the fray. I will try to be respectful and I ask you to do the same.

Being "Southern" is a complicated thing. It's more than a funny accent and a fondness for sweet tea. Southern people are for the most part kind, loving, funny, community-centered, family-oriented, generous, eccentric and often down right crazy. But there is also a dark side to being "Southern". There is grinding poverty, hopelessness, domestic and sexual abuse, lack of education, and a tendency to be an insular society. We really don't like to be told what to do...it puts our backs up so to speak. This leads to trouble and reinforcement of stereotypes.

I think everyone can agree that what happened in Charleston was horrific. There is no justification for it. It is repulsive and heart breaking. Did the Confederate flag cause this young man to commit this heinous act? Absolutely not. His hatred fueled his hand not a symbol. But this is where it gets tricky.

You can wax on and on about how the Civil War was fought over state's rights and not slavery. You can ignore the fact that part of the rights they wanted to protect were the rights to enslave other human beings for profit. I have no doubt that honorable men fought under that battle flag for what they believed to be an honorable cause. I disagree about the honorable cause part but I do not doubt their sincerity.

What I do object to is the use of that flag to spread hatred and fear. The KKK and other white power groups use that flag to sew dissent, spread their sickening hatred and cause others to be afraid. Just look at historic photos of Klan rallies and you will see it proudly displayed. Today people have forgotten just what the Klan was all about. It was not just about hating Black folks. They hated anyone of any color, Catholics, Jews, immigrants of all colors including the white folks who came from Ireland and other western European countries as well as gays, inter-racial couples and anyone else who didn't fit into their demented world view as deserving to be Americans.

If you want to celebrate your "Southern" heritage then love your family, support your community, be honest, have integrity, fight for what you believe is right, be funny, be eccentric, be crazy as shit, love God and do unto others what you would have done unto you. You do not need a symbol of hatred and divisiveness to do so. Stand up as "Southern" people and say we don't need a symbol of hatred to be ourselves and to be proud of who we are and where we came from. We do not need symbols of racism when we don't hold these views in our hearts. Be courageous for what is right! Violence, hatred and racism are not what is right. Be proud to be a caring and kind individual. And go have some sweet tea.

Namaste