~fmd~

Happy Anniversary

2011-10-21T14:10:00.000-06:00

Five years ago today, I had surgery to remove the (to quote my surgeon), "biggest motherfuckin' tumor I've ever seen on a thyroid".

Five years ago, with that operation, I went from a person with cancer to a person in remission. Five is the magic number everyone with cancer looks toward--it says you've beat odds, it says you can breathe again, it says you've come out the other side, and the world is even brighter.

Five years is more than I thought I'd have....I was so scared. But, I don't usually do what I'm told to do, so, I gave cancer the same treatment--refusal to submit. It changed my life. I moved to New York, found friends and adventure, and I may be broke, but, I don't regret anything.

Thank you all for being with me during these five years, and, thanks to Matt Neves who held my hand, and Joshua Stavros--who joined Matt in prayer over me. I felt that power, and held on to it's goodness.

Five years. Well done, me.

operator, will you help me place this call?

2011-09-20T14:01:00.002-06:00

yesterday, i made a decision i thought i'd never make by placing a phone call.

today, that call opened a crack in a closed door.

i look forward to seeing what is next.... i continue to believe one of the biggest lessons in life is to forgive real or imagined injustices--and, i'm currently sticking to that maxim.

It's a Good Day

2011-07-10T10:28:00.001-06:00

Time passes, things change, we move forward if we are lucky, stay stagnant if not.

Since my last post, I've gone from NYC to Niwot, to Denver, to New Orleans to Mississippi back to Niwot, Denver and returning to Mississippi in June. Some of that journey has been a delight, some of it--hard to bear emotionally. This period of time has drained me physically, mentally... I lay on the bottom of the vale of depression, held from doing anything to myself only by the thin thread of medication.

Well, that and after I figured out I had no desire to be found in a pool of my own body waste, I'd have to forgo eating and drinking for a few days along with taking strong laxatives. When it became more of a bother to die than to carry on...I chose the latter.

I'm at 'home' now...sharing Mother's cottage in Mississippi...rural Mississippi. I sleep on a bed that folds up and sits next to hers during the day, one I inflate at night, covering it with good sheets and putting it in the sweet spot of coolness--under the AC vent. Sophie perches on windowsills, wishing to be outside. The birds land on branches just beyond her reach, safely protected from her by a pane of glass, and they taunt her with their nearness. Since she cannot stalk them, she's become the killer of house flies and the occasional roach--eating the first, letting the second lie on it's huge back in the middle of the kitchen floor. I am thankful she does not bring them to my bed.

Douglass rules all, Mother's beloved pet, her companion. It was a good decision to leave her here three years ago...they adore each other.

Then, there is Mother herself--bent over now, arthritis and a bad back hobbling her movements. She's 79 now, and, I can say with hand on heart, I hope she is about for another 10 years. We've mended bridges, we both now find laughter when one or the other irritates their housemate, she is my best audience, and I am free to be foolish around her. I like her company.

I've ignored my writing lately--I am not sure if Quin is dead or merely sleeping... I do know I find a great deal to write about, I push words around in my head, then...

...I do nothing.

Perhaps this will change--perhaps it won't. I do know I found a wonderful quote today on Facebook:

"I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together."
— Marilyn Monroe

Thank you, Marilyn. I think your candle did burn out long before it should.

St Baldrick's or, How I Lost My Hair For a Good Reason

2011-04-12T16:06:00.002-06:00

Three weeks ago, I sat in a chair in front of 300 people, and had my head shaved.

Even though I'd planned on having this done, had discussed it, thought about it, bought scarves, made jokes--half way through the procedure, I started to cry. I had to take a minute and gather myself together, and remind myself, this is hair. Nothing more nor less, and, you've raised a nice chunk of change for St Baldrick's Society, so, suck it up and get over it, okay?

Men go bald, and people don't notice. Let's be honest, more and more men shave their heads now instead of the horrific comb over, and are good with the look. Hell, they're hot most of the time (I think of Stanley Tucci and Terry Kinney in particular...YUM!!) and it's accepted. Women? Not so much.

I wore a scarf for around three minutes, then I figured, Fuck it... I'm going to rock the bald, and, I have so far. Sure, I have to remember to put sunblock on my pate and, on occasions when it's cold I put on a scarf or even a hat--although they tend to slide down onto my face now. No one says anything to me for the most part, and when someone does, they ask if I'm in treatment. I'm glad to say that, no, I've been in remission for a few years now, then, I explain St Baldrick's and the great work they do there.

In fact, I've only had one negative comment--one that hurt, to be quite frank, and, one that came from a source I didn't expect. It made me realise the person who wrote it doesn't know me as well as either of us thought. I'm over it, although I must say I cried when I first read the mail.

Regardless... this is my new look for a bit. I am glad I took this step, I'm glad I was able to be just a small part of the group that raised $600,000 in one event, I'm glad that I can say I did a good thing in my life. We all need to do something for our fellow humans...to remind ourselves we are not alone and together we can do many, many things. Cancer is an exclusive club, and, in my humble opinion, one children shouldn't have the right to join. I do not understand how you can tell your child who barely knows their alphabet they are going to lose their leg. Children shouldn't have to know more about their blood counts than they do their multiplication tables. They should worry about how to beat Nana on Wii, if they can sneak in another hour before bedtime, how to kiss. Puberty should be their biggest worry, not wondering if they'll make it to puberty.

If you are interested in donating, please go to www.stbaldricks.org. Give a dollar, give ten... you are working towards children never having cancer again, and that's a mitzvah.

The Things That Make Home

2011-03-18T21:54:00.004-06:00

His name was Bill.

He didn't go by Bill, though, he liked people to call him Billy. I'd sat down across from him during my trek from Cassidy's in Brooklyn back to my new place in Manhattan, by way of the 2 train to Fulton, then, a long way down stairs, along the platform, up stairs and finally to the 4/5 train...from there, one stop to Brooklyn Bridge, walk straight over to the 6 and head uptown to my stop.

I was doing this lugging a small piece of luggage (hurrah for wheels!), my purse, a shopping bag...oh, and Sophie in her carry-case. Having just been shaved and having been forced back into the carry-case and having been made to leave her holiday home with Cassidy and Sophie's new best fried, Daisy...well, she wasn't very happy to say the least. So, I dashed onto the 6, plopped myself down, sighed and re-arranged all by bags, trying not to look like one of the Crazy Sisters of the MTA.

He was sitting across from me, and he smiled when I looked up, saying, "That your cat? It looks pretty." He was missing his top front teeth, but, he was clean and neat and spoke softly.

"Yeah, I had a cat. His name was Coco...I mean, he was so beautiful! He was like white? Only, if you looked real close, he had reeeeeeeeaaaaly light brown tips on those hairs so, I called him Coco cause he looked like you know, cocoa powder. Oh, and his eyes, man, those eyes! They were either blue or green and he'd come when I called him. I found him outside, in an alley, his mom was dead or something, he was this little guy....and I fed him and man, I'd just had him fixed, over at the Animal Shelter? They were the ones who fixed him up when he was in the fire....I slept outside the shelter so I could be there all day with him. They let me sit by his cage. And, I was up on Grand Concourse, you know, in the Bronx?"

I nodded, said I knew the place... before I could say more, he was back on his tale.

"So, yeah, I've got Coco, and like, I have a shopping bag with his food and stuff, and he's in his little case...I stepped into this store, where I sweep sometimes, and I, man, I just turned my back, like two seconds...two seconds! When I looked back, Coco and the case were gone! Gone. Man, I went crazy. I ran up and down and yelled for him, because he comes to his name and all, and I was crying and stuff...because, Coco? He's all I have. I'm supposed to be getting housing soon since the place we were living in, me and Coco, it burned--that's when he got sick and was at the vet place. He wasn't breathing when the firemen carried him out and they gave him oxygen cause I was crying and yelling his name and then he went to the vets. He was all better, and I was taking him with me here on the train, every day, we'd ride the train so I could sleep. I'd put my hand inside his case, and he'd sleep on it..just lie there, and lick it and go to sleep."

Sophie pushed her face into the mesh window, meowed. He reached over and stroked it with the side of his finger. "Where did you get her?", he asked, crooning to her.

"WalMart, in Utah. In a parking lot. Proves you can get anything at WalMart." He didn't stop his whispered words to her...looking up at me, sad, so very sad.

"It's been a month, and, like, I'm still so full of grief. Everyone in the neighborhood..they know me, they know Coco, and I know they'll grab him if they see him. I just hope who ever took him really liked his looks, you know? Not grabbed him to be mean, but, because he was such a great looking cat. Oh, I do miss him so much, especially when I'm sleeping on the train."

I asked him if he worked...where did he eat? He told me he had a few businesses that paid him $20 each for a week of sweeping their floors...it was enough to buy him a train ticket for a week and some food. He'd often buy Coco food before he bought his own. He is on a list for housing, should be soon, he tells me--a friend got him on the HIV housing list, and even though he doesn't have HIV, he is going to take the place.

He's been off crack for five years now...no family. People need family, he tells me--Coco was his. I offer him $5, he refuses.

"I work. I don't take handouts, and I really appreciate you offering. I go to the shelter, shower and shave every two days. I mean, I'm on the train, but, I don't want people to think I'm a bum or a begger. I had bad times, I'm out of them. Thank you, but, no."

Sophie meows, fully irritated there are people on this train, that she is naked now, and she is not happy. He laughs.

"She's going to ignore you tonight! Man, you're going to really have to work hard to get her to like you again."

I open the zipper a bit, she pokes out her head...looks around, ignores everyone there and focuses on his face. He reaches over, strokes her head. She turns, licks his finger, ducks back in and settles down.

His eyes fill. "Man. I miss Coco. He was all I had."

I suggest he go to the shelters, get another cat. He says they don't allow homeless people to have a cat or dog.

"What they don't understand is, sometimes, that's all we have, those pets and we take better care of them than someone who has a dog or some pet because it's cool and stuff. When you have a pet, you can't go to the shelters. They wont' let you. When I win the lottery, if God lets me win it, I tell Him, "God, if I win this, I'll spend it all on building shelters for homeless people and their pets." I say that every night."

It's my stop. I stand, gather the stuff, swing Sophie's case onto my shoulder. I reach out, shake his hand... tuck the five into his palm. "It's from Sophie." And, I move quickly so he can't give it back...he's almost out of his seat when I go out the door, turning to wave and smile.

"Thank you, Sophie!", he calls. "Coco would have liked you!" He waves, settles against the wall, closes his eyes as the door closes between us.

I hope he does win the lottery. I know he'll keep that promise, and build places where homeless people can have those animals that are so important, that are family, that represent home.

I prayed that night that Billy finds Coco...I hope God listens to that request, too.

Moves, Trains and Beggers

2011-03-13T09:48:00.000-06:00

A few more days left, then, another change.

I'm not sure Sophie is up to it...she's settled in nicely here at Cassidy's place. After a month here, she may not want to leave her new best friend, Daisy, even if Cassidy did re-name her 'Peaches'. Sophie, not Daisy. In retaliation, I've taken to calling Daisy 'Marmalade'....and, like Peac--I mean, Sophie...she ignores both names if it suits her.

I'm mostly packed...a few more things to sort into boxes and bins and to decide what to keep out for my last months here. My new place is in an amazing part of town--I can't wait to explore it to the fullest. The summer looms ahead, another choice to be made...and a new chapter, once again.

I want to see as many shows as I can afford while I'm still here. I am going to the MCC Theater next week to catch one, a play with a great plot and good actors. There are a few more that call me, including 'Wicked', which I've yearned to see for years and have never managed to catch--even with 'Defying Gravity' as my ringtone on my phone.

I need to make it to see SortaMom before I go, to catch lunch with Mark, to make sure Peggy has another weekend here in NYC...one where we can feel free to laugh and joke and not worry about another person's glowering to put a cap on our fun.

I'll have Nathan back in town for a few days next week, a small film role I've been cast in and the joy of Spring in New York. Flip-flops, tshirts and, for me, a baseball cap to shield my bald head. I look forward to those days.

I can do this. I'm nothing if not resilient (my landlady pointed out she admired my resiliency, and thanked me for being so flexible and kind in the current situation, considering I was forced into a place I didn't want to be by an immovable will...we are parting on good terms), and, after I take a deep breath and absorb it all, I'll be fine.

I will miss the '2' train for one reason--the perpetual begger. She's been on that line for years, I first saw/heard her three years ago, and she still had the same spiel when I saw her recently going downtown... the italics are my inner monologue;

"Hello everyone. I hate to disturb you no, you don't, but the word but negates all that is said before it I am a poor widow with two children who need food and clothing. Won't you help?"

Two men opened their wallets, as a young black man raised his voice to announce she was a scam, he'd seen her before. The men ignored his words, and, as the begger walked past him, she smirked and said, "God bless you!"

On the way back uptown, there she was again! Same words, same sad look...and again, men opened their wallets. So, I stood up in the aisle of the half full car.

"Um, you were just doing this same stuff a few hours ago, AND, I've heard you doing this for years, you just changed your train line."

She stopped, stared....and tried to get her audience back, "....my children need medicine, food, and we have to rely on oth..."

"Hold on. You have small children?"

"Yes."

"So, who is watching them while you are out here?"

"Um, a friend."

"Do you pay her?"

"She is kind enough to do it for fre..."

"Why haven't you gone to a food bank? There is a great one on (and I listed a few addresses), plus, they'll help you with child care, clothing and a place to live."

"Well, I can't leave my kids alon..."

"Bring them with you! And, Macy's is hiring--with benefits!" (cheery smile)

"SO, LADIES AND GENTL..."

"If I may interject, don't give her a dime. She's a pro." Men put their wallets away, she was glaring by that time.

"Look, sweetie, if you want to beg instead of work...beg. But, don't use kids to get more money. That's just beyond wrong. I'll bet you make far more than the bulk of us on this train by peddling your lies. If you really want to work the trains, entertain me. Sing, play a comb and tissue paper, do SOMEthing....I'll hand over a hard earned dollar then. Otherwise, you need to STFU."

She left among a spattering of applause. I'm not sure if I was listened to because I was a middle aged white woman instead of a young black man, but, I was listened to...and that is what counts.

Yep, I'll miss the begger on the 2 train...

....I don't think she'll miss me.

SS Quin

2011-03-12T14:10:00.000-07:00

I am having a difficult time resigning myself to my life right now.

Yes, I am still in New York, a city I love and love being part of...yes, I found a place to live for the next couple of months--more than I expected to spend, but, with a budget, I can afford to live there....yes, I still have Sophie, and she is answering to her name again.

I feel adrift.

There is nothing to really hold me down in one place or another--don't get me wrong, I miss my children and the little ones very much, and I look forward to seeing them again. It is a sense of not belonging anywhere, a sense of not feeling connected to any person, a sense of longing for something--and I don't know what that something is or could be or if it will show up.

I do not feel a failure--I do feel I've failed in some things in life. I could have been a better wife, a better mother, a better friend, a better child...I wasn't. There are times I feel I'm dancing as fast as I can, and there is no one to watch no one to care.

I yearn for the knowledge someone holds me as beloved. A knowledge that person doesn't exist, and I can do nothing to change that fact.

There are times I feel I could close my eyes and not wake up and be okay with that event. No, I've no desire to make that happen--it is simply the understanding I feel adrift.

And there isn't a dock in sight.

New York State of Mind

2011-03-06T12:10:00.001-07:00

I totally believe you are either a New Yorker or you aren't.

It doesn't matter if you were born here...what matters is (to quote Billy Joel) The New York State of Mind. It's something that occurs the moment you set foot here, whether visiting or starting university or driving through--you have it or you don't.

The first time I came here long ago, I knew. Sure, I was on a holiday of sorts--the ex and I were to be guests on Phil Donahue--and we'd been flown out. I knew. I knew I'd end up here, I just wasn't sure how or when. My ex worried his pocket would be picked when we rode the train the first time...I worried I'd not see enough people to marvel at when we did. I still recall the woman who chatted away with me until her stop...as she left, she turned and said, "Twenty years on this train and you are the first time I've spoken to anyone." I hope she continued chatting from then on when she traveled back and forth.

Forward to a few years ago, and the move was made. I've never regretted a moment of any of my time in New York, in spite of low times and odd people and worries about everything from money to health. It makes me feel whole. I feed on the energy and occasionally still cry when I see the skyline at dusk, brilliant against a darkening sky.

Being a New Yorker isn't just knowing the train lines--hearing a tourist say they need to go somewhere, and automatically knowing where they have to transfer, which train goes where. It's not even working here or having an apartment. It's this thing inside, it's a pulse...a knowledge you are part of a place that is unique in it's sameness of every big city. It's knowing how to live on a shoestring budget--of living in a walk up or a sublet or a studio apartment...and, if you are a well versed New Yorker, you've done all three--often at the same time. It is working hard at one or two jobs at once....it's living off cheap food, not dining out every night. It's the appreciation of the streets and the dialects and the rivers and the bums and the people who merge with you on the train and the sidewalks. It is the cacophony of cars and music and sirens that lull you to sleep at night. It is the almost overwhelming brilliance of neon in Times Square when you walk out of the train station. It is knowing that two sugars in a coffee will be heaping spoonfuls. That the best coffee is found in a cart early in the morning, when you dash balancing the cup, your bag and an umbrella into the station, your metrocard held in your teeth. It is telling a tourist the best way to see Lady Liberty is by riding the Staten Island Ferry. It is knowing each neighborhood by it's scent--Chinatown with the sharp smell of spices, SoHo and 5th Ave by the smell of money. Being a New Yorker is one of two groups, really--those who live plush and those who scurry and dash and live in a whirl of life.

I'd love to have some great job where I have benefits and not have to worry about rent or if I'll eat by the end of the month. I'd love to have a doorman apartment with an elevator and be terribly smug. I'd love to eat what I want, not what I can afford. With that said, I'm happier with my jobs that allow me to meet people I'd never meet otherwise. I don't pretend I'm setting trends or that my coolness factor must be announced to all. I'm content with my small apartments and my subletting and my occasional walk-up. Sure, I'll miss an elevator, but, not enough to sell out for another one.

I like stopping by food carts and chatting and having the vendor put extra salad on my plate because he likes my smile. I enjoy every train trip, every walk on the street, every person I see or talk to on those trains or those sidewalks. I wear my rain boots bought in a shop where I bargained the price down. I enjoy my pieces of furniture snagged from the curb or in a moving sale. I participate in events in my city, visit museums, welcome friends and family with open arms to enjoy all of this with me. I take pride in the fact very few people I interact with here don't believe it when I say I wasn't born here, because my vibe is New York.

I am, indeed, a New Yorker. My body wasn't born here, my spirit was. I suspect I'll be back and forth here for the rest of my life, relishing every second I am in the city limits. Be it Brooklyn or Harlem or the Bronx or Manhattan or even Staten Island--I dwell in a New York State of Mind.

Come see me here--you'll love it.

Sometimes, the Universe Reminds You

2011-03-02T10:50:00.002-07:00

The last six weeks have been pretty horrific.

Suddenly, I found myself in a war of which I wanted no part. I am the first to say I am difficult at times, my various quirks and such can make me edgy or emotional. I do my best to control it all, take my meds, and believe I will work my way through those rough spots.

After almost three months of two jobs, a cold that developed into bronchitis and laryngitis and then full fledged pneumonia (no insurance. yay!), leaving me sick and weak and in tears at times, I finally, finally started feeling myself for the first time since I'd moved back to NYC. I had my friends, people I enjoyed, the upcoming visit to my family in Silverstone--all of that kept my days light, in spite of a fairly rough job. I wasn't always cheery after 16 hours of work and long commutes and being kept awake by my constant coughing, the pain in my chest.

Suddenly, there came accusations and unkind words and complete defamation of character--I was told I was untrustworthy, stupid, unemployable, a "...sitcom with no laugh track", an emotional fuckup. And, those where the nicer things said. This was presented to me by someone who revels in the fact they create their own chaos--I guess creating your own chaos negates you from having to accept responsibility for the lives you fuck up in that creation.

I've dealt with someone who isn't a nice person--not an asshole as they claim to be proud of being--an asshole is interesting, this person? Not so much. The vast daily consumption of hard alcohol contributes to the version of the world they live in, where they are never wrong, never have to make amends, never have to say "Sorry" when an accusation is proved unfounded and incorrect. It's not something I can continue with in my life, the narcissism, the conversations held that were monologues of their life--laughing admittance of how a certain 'friend' had been written about in a 'fictional piece''--in spite of direct quotes from that friend's blog--because they were a tease and a cunt. When confronted by the written about friend, the entire story bragged about as being based on the 'friend' was put down to 'coincidence', and the 'friend' was just paranoid. There were the many times of insisted upon sharing of details on visits to masseuse who offered more than a back-rub... and how they allowed a grope and squeeze for a bigger tip. Wait. What? How is this something you brag about? That you take advantage of women who, more than likely, are in debt to the person who brought them to this country. Whom, I am sure, don't exactly find their work a place that they are proud of in any way, shape or form. I cringed when details on a 'sexting' session were given out...even though this woman, too, was given the cunt label. Misogynist comments to say the least. I was told my 'energy' was stopping their 'mojo'--mojo? Huh??? I'm stopping you from dating? Good grief. I was suddenly in my own personal 'Gaslight' film. My wrong in all of this was not saying, "You need to be quiet, and not tell me any of that." I didn't. Decision made, consequence given. I accept my part in this.

I've had things said about me in print and in person that are so very, very incorrect....that are pure lies. I guess it comes to the throw enough mud, and with luck, some will stick. I don't understand this mindset, this behaviour.

Being in Silverstone with Loo and MB and EH and the delightful group of family ad friends there helped me a great deal in recovering my sense of self. Being surrounded by love and friendship and truthfulness gave me strength. Friends contacting me offering things that I worried about being able to provide--all of this has shored my self esteem. It allows me to regret how I dealt with some of my decisions, it allows me to know I'm not the low lying fucktard I was being told I was... I gained my perspective back. Conversations with a dear friend who is also a specialist in rehabs allowed me to face the sad fact I was, indeed, dealing with an alcoholic (self admitted one) and their not so clear version of the world. People who are abusive, find glee in creating problems, avoid every shitpile they create, and who are generally unhappy individuals with emotional gaps in their lives.

The last piece of my wall of love came from Amanda Barnes. She was interviewed and featured in Women Today. I read her interview with great pleasure--she is one of the most interesting people I know, and, like Loo--a sister of my heart.

When asked who she was inspired by in life, she said it was....

....me.

She said I was her personal cheer-leader and her description of me as loyal and honest and that everyone needs a me in their life... that I was someone who would push you to be all you could be, and have your back every step of the way.

Added to the comment by HRH that people like me put the 'humane' into 'humanity' and that she is proud of me... me! These women make me who I am... they are the reason I can shut the door on a friendship that bore not a single resemblance to the definition of friend, to accept my part in this and realise regardless of what I did, the outcome would not have changed because of the immovable object I am dealing with currently.

I always say that friends are family of your heart, and both heart and blood family keep you honest, keep you sane, keep you remembering you are worth love and friendship and that you can carry on.

I love you all forever.

Three More Weeks

2010-09-09T10:59:00.000-06:00

I've got three weeks left here, then, I'm gone again--12th move in four years.

But

This move makes me very happy... this move was planned... this move takes me back to NYC. I will miss my weekly visits with my two daughters and my grandchildren. I will miss our chats and having my mother here, and all of us bonding. I will miss that far more than I thought I would.... in exchange, I'll have some friends in NYC, my niece in Brooklyn, a good friend sharing my space and Sophie.

It's a year in the city, after that, I suspect I'll come back to Colorado and settle down... but, in that last year?
I plan on exploring and listening and watching and living as much as I can.

And writing it all here.

Dad

2010-06-02T12:20:00.006-06:00

Dear Dad,

You'd have been 83 today. Imagine that, 83!! I still miss you every day--I don't have the guilt I bore for so long, wondering if I'd done enough, if I'd been a good daughter....since living with Miss Ruby, I felt I had done all I could do at the time for you...I regret we didn't have the chance to live together again as we planned, when the kids had moved out. Only a few more months, and we'd have had that happen. You've missed a lot... graduations and HRH's wedding (she wanted you to walk her down the aisle)... Miss H and her kind ways, Zori's birth (you'd be amused by her)

and Jarhead leaving the service with his stripes and now working hard, making a name for himself in the film industry, his work ethical and honest. TheInvestment growing up, becoming a man, still as witty as his Papaw...and, I believe one day he will be as noble. Zenmaster getting engaged, his wedding on the way. Adds and 'Kenna remain in California... we are again in touch with each other. You wanted to know them better--I wish you had. Mother and I are finally friends...and that gives me great joy.

We all miss you, more than I can say.

I envy HRH....she dreams of you, finding peace there. I seldom have you visit me, and I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I feel you at peace, though. Your personal things are divided... I did keep the bulk of them, however, I feel no wrong in that. Your ring is on my chain around my neck, it keeps you close.

I gave your theater books to Oddship. He also has your St. Joseph's bean... and he treasures those things. You'd like him, I think.

Then, there is this little one. Like you, he enjoys eating. For now, unlike you, he's not too discriminating on what he eats.

He'd have stolen your heart--and you'd have loved him.

Odd for me to say that--I feel you love him from where you are now. You still watch over us, love us, guide us.

Happy Birthday, Dad. Wish you were here.

Miss Ruby: 1924-2010

2010-05-29T10:05:00.001-06:00

It has taken me some time to absorb all that occurred over the month of April.

Time went on in it's usual way, with Miss Ruby and I settled in over the winter. I'd taken a trip in February, one much needed, to see my dear Laura and her children in the UK. I called daily to talk to Miss Ruby, to see how she was... and always, her Southern voice would as, "When are you coming home??" I brought her chocolate and treats and hugs and from there, we went back to our little routine.. one that slowly changed as her strength failed.

She savored the bi-weekly visits of Zee and HRH. She oohed! and ahhed! over the daily photos sent to my phone of his progress. She read and drank her coffee and listened to CNN, while her body continued to fail.

By the mid-March, she'd lost all strength in her legs, and we moved on to using the wheelchair full time to transport her about. No more showers--it became a daily bath while she sat on the toilet, dignified even then. We'd laugh and talk and I'd bathe her, put lotion on her, brush her hair. By the end of March, I had to tell her no more pants of any kind... I simply couldn't pull them up while holding her with one arm. She took it graciously, and I bought her pretty housecoats (as my Mamaw called them)... little lady numbers that buttoned up the front, in a variety of pastels--the bulk of them in pink.

I had to bring in the aide full time... it was too difficult for just me to move her anymore; she'd gone to complete dead weight. We had an aide that was a horror... good to Miss Ruby, deliberate in her attacks on me. She left.... keying my car as a final good-bye.

April came, I bought her pansies, potted them and brought them inside. I could see her lack of interest in life, her desire to sleep more and more, the reduced output from her bladder. Kidney failure loomed.

April 13th, she declined to get out of her bed.....I changed her and bathed her and dressed her and cranked the bed up so she could read and have her coffee. She didn't turn on the TV, refused food, slept. By Thursday, I knew she'd not ever rise again. Hospice came out, assessed her, told me what to do. She was in renal failure, and it was simply a matter of time. Very little time.

Saturday, we went through our new routine.... waking up, bathing, changing, dressing.... she asked for my Mother and two of her friends to come visit the next day. I'd already called them, told them it was the end.. plans had been made for company. She asked me, "When is our baby coming to visit?"   I replied, "Wednesday." She thought... "Hmmm, I think maybe they had better come up tomorrow."

She knew.

Her wit remained sharp. On that Saturday, I announced after rubbing my legs, "You can tell how active a woman's sex life is by the length of her leg hair." She laughed and tutted me. The next day, when I came down after my shower, she asked where had I been. "Showering, remember?" "Well, yes, but, you took so long!" I proceeded to say I had shaved my legs--and before I could finish the sentence with "....because I finally bought a razor", she grinned at me, and said, "Ohhh!! Hoping to get lucky?"

Sunday was a day of homemade coconut cake, putting her pearls on so she could receive company, chairs in her room. I'd already dug out a number of her plants from the garden, repotting them and placing them so she could see them no matter where she looked. Her nephew by marriage, who made sure she was well cared for and protected, called me. "She's waiting for someone so she can go.", he said. I agreed, but, between us, we couldn't sort who it could be..who was she waiting for?

HRH walked in with Zee around 1PM. Miss Ruby's face lit up. Her arms reached, slowly, shaking... "How is our little man?? Did he come to see his ladies??" Zee settled in next to her on the bed, where she tickled him, cooed to him, laughed when he'd break into his delight of a laugh.

He was who she was waiting to see.

Her breathing started to stutter that night. Hospice had me start giving her valium and morphine to settle her down. I was up most of the night, giving her the dose, sitting in the chair next to her bed. Finally, I slept from 4-6 AM. I went into her room, to give her the next dose of medicine. Her eyes were shut, and I slipped the dropper into her mouth. When the morphine hit her tongue, those baby blues flew open, startled. She frowned... I said, "Pretty nasty, eh?" She nodded, then, did what she'd do when I would tease her--bring her hand up as if she was going to strike me, then patting my cheek.

I laughed with her, and then bent over to pull her into my arms. I put my face in her neck, in that place between neck and shoulder that holds a person's scent. "I love you so much." She kissed my cheek.... "Oh, you will never know how much I love you."

She didn't want to be raised up that morning, no coffee, nothing. She didn't talk much after that either, telling me she preferred to sleep, "....I'm with Art then." I told her, holding her hand, whispering.... "Go with him. He loves you." She'd smile and go back under.   She spoke one other time, when she opened her eyes, looked around her room and said to Mother, "This looks just like a room I use to have!".

By Tuesday morning, it was a death watch. She was in an coma-- her brain stopped around 3PM, her body struggled on. She had seizures, when her eyes would open, blank and dark and empty. I'd hold her and soothe her, even though I knew there was no comprehension left. I think I did it for me. I was told to up her meds, to keep her calm. She had no pain, I knew what to look for--face scrunching, moans.

Her blood family called, yelling at me, wanting to know if they could come to the house after she died, wanting to know if she'd changed her Will. I had to stop answering the phone... I was trying to help her die, and they were stopping me in my job.

She died at 11.06PM, in my arms. I felt her heart take it's last beat, I saw her sink into that void of death, sensed the huge "WOOSH" of her leaving with Mr. Art. We bathed her, dressed her in a beautiful pink suit, and put her favourite hot pink fuzzy socks on her feet. Brushed her hair, put on her make-up, and I waited for the funeral home people. Hospice had come out--our nurse, Ali, was a rock for me. She took care of all the calls to coroners, the funeral home, other people.

By 4AM, I was in bed, well medicated and falling asleep. By 6AM, I was awake again, fielding calls from the vultures, finally putting Caller ID on the phone so I could avoid their meanness.

I went to NYC five days later... I needed the break. I saw a couple of people, sadly didn't see others, rushed everywhere, remember very little.

I am in the house for six months... to help sort it out, prepare garages sales, etc. Her service is in July, when her garden will be in full bloom. We've had them set out a handful of ashes for me to put with her roses. The rest will go into the same grave as Mr. Art. Her headstone will read, 'Beloved', because she was just that. How many people can go through life knowing they were and felt that way towards another?

The estate remains in limbo... the family fighting over things that meant little to her. She left me Pumpkin, the 16 year old spoiled rotten cat--oddly, no one is asking for her. Makes me smile.

The photo below is her and Zee that Sunday... she does not look like a woman who died 48 hours later. Even with her loved ones about, she had a wall between us and herself... watching us. It was only with Zee that she fully engaged.

I miss her. I have a hole in my life, and work now to fill it up. I'll move in October, more than likely to NYC. I have a trip to Qatar planned later in the same month, where I'll see one of my 'sisters'.   I feed the cats and they all sleep with me, and the garden continues to blossom and grow.

Thank you, Miss Ruby, for making me a better person, for giving me your trust and love and laughter. I will try to be like you... kind, generous, and wicked bad.

Love you forever.

and in the end....

2010-03-16T10:54:00.002-06:00

i'm at a place in my life where i'm no longer able to find anything to write about in this blog.

it started as a way to tell friends and family back in the land o'utes how life was in new york, so i'd not have to write long emails to everyone.

because of this blog, i've made a number of people i honestly call friend. i've traveled to new york, back to utah, to new york, visited england, discovered neville and margaret, went to some great gatherings with fellow bloggers... it's all been a great time.

now, i have nothing to write about, to be truthful. my days are so similar, i often forget what day of the week it is--not once, but, quite often.

so, i'm going dark for a bit... perhaps life will change, i'll find things that catch my eye and my ear and make me feel great joy when i write of those things. right now, that isn't going to happen. the biggest things i find are seeing the grandson, worrying about his kidney problems and taking care of miss ruby.

i will post the final chapter to neville and margaret... then, it's quiet time for a bit.

thank you all, who read here, who comment, who have reached out to become a part of my life and who have honoured me with allowing me to become part of your own.

ciao.

my favourite photo of z (so far)

2010-02-19T08:55:00.003-07:00

the play carries on...

working with a group of children this year--at least they know their lines and cues,bless 'em.

i miss my chats with peggy and tim every day... i will be glad to be home for that reason alone. funny how you miss voices, isn't it?

hrh sends daily photos of zavier... keeping me abreast of his growth and changing. i have bought him far too much stuff here.

but, i can, so, there!

our neville fact:

mimsy (aka sondra) bought her house on london rd in the village, not a few miles from neville and margaret, but, where she'd pass their cottage daily. she's stroll slowly past, walking her yorkie, 'captain blackjack', and when she spied neville in the drive, powerwashing the cars, she'd wave and skitter over, batting her mabelline jet black mascara'd eyes. she'd spread her lips (coated in sugarplum pink) in a smile, sliding them over her teeth without leaving a bit of colour on her lips.

at first, margaret would look out the lounge window, and tut at the brazenness of sondra, wondering when it was going to end, deciding it was best not to say anything, as neville really was clueless, and she saw no reason to direct his attention to sondra's wiles.

it was after she and neville joined the silverstone 'silver shoes' morris dancing team, that things heated up. all the village knew margaret was scheduled for a bunion operation, and would be unable to participate in the county finals....it was then mim...sondra joined as an alternate, that margaret set her jaw, and went about dealing with the situation head on.

still chillin' --and neville is back!

2010-02-18T06:29:00.002-07:00

cold and snowing.

inside, cups of tea, warm radiators and slippers take off the dampness... well, part of the dampness. the rest is held out by doors shut, steam from the kettle and left-over chinese from last night.

tonight, we open our little play... and at the moment, we wonder if anyone will show, as quite a bit is expected.

still, i'm content...if creatively blocked.

our neville fact:

last year, our neville and margaret went on a posh cruise with a number of their friends. one of the people they met was mimsy barker-smythe, from steeple-aston. mimsy insisted all call her sondra, as she felt this was a much better name, and fit her vision of herself.

sondra found neville to be a wonderful partner in draughts--they won the ship contest, giving them a bottle of champagne and a trophy. neville kept the trophy, handing over the bottle of champers to sondra to share with her roommate and best mate, vivian miller.

in the past year, sondra has continued to keep in touch with neville by email and currently on facebook. neville had started his facebook account to keep in touch with various friends from his old working days, and really didn't understand the entire thing. usually, he only played farmtown, something he enjoyed and excelled at doing. margaret usually handled his account--answering messages and doing the occasional post.

thus, margaret found the more and more personal messages to neville from sondra. she was fully aware that neville had no thought to respond, and pooh-pooh'ed the entire thing.

sondra, however, had neville on the mind... and fully planned on wooing him away from margaret. thus, when an opening at waitrose's appeared in the area here, she applied and received the job...and she bought a small semi-detached house in the village, putting her in neville's home area.

margaret was not happy--not happy indeed.

settling

2010-02-14T06:38:00.004-07:00

i feel as if i've arrived home.

almost a week here, and i'm finally catching my breath, catching up on sleep, catching myself drinking too much tea. and each of those things is perfection in my life right now.

i call miss ruby every other day... she asks when am i home, that she misses me, the cats miss me, come home. i reassure her i'll be back, and that i have her big bag of cadbury's already purchased. my mother is staying with her (along with the 24 hour aide), so, she's safe.

as for me... i'm finding my balance again, accepting i'm a bit depressed, looking forward to a trip to london next week.

i'm posting another photo of our zavier.. why you ask?

because i can.

noni quin

2010-01-26T10:16:00.007-07:00

hours of labor, an epidural and copious tears (mostly mine) later.... we have our boy.

zavier joseph was born on 21 january 10 at 11.14pm. he weighed 8lbs 10.6ozs and is 21.5 inches long. hrh did a great job, assisted by her husband who coached her right through. the waiting room contained her father, theinvestment and me. i spent the last hour hovering outside her door, flinching with each moan she put forth. the doctor announced, "baby boy, 11.14pm" and....

....silence.

my heart stopped. we all leaned forward, listening... and there it was! his cry. with that sound, i fell in love before i even saw his face.

his kidney is still not functioning properly, however, the other one is working perfectly. he is a binky boy (like his mom and uncles) and is loved to death.

miss ruby cried when i told her he was born... and enjoys the daily updated photos as much as i do. i have come to realise... i am one of those people who insists you look at photos of her grandchild.

i'm good with that.

he's flexing his guns.

birth and death

2010-01-08T20:11:00.007-07:00

it's been a month since i posted something--i suspect it is due to the sameness of days.

the holidays passed without much fanfare... i live here at miss ruby's now, and, i found the two main people in my world at this point are on parallel roads in life.

miss ruby and hrh move with slower and slower steps. each changed how they eat. each one listens with an inner ear to some voice we do not hear. hrh waits impatiently for the birth of her son, miss ruby waits patiently for her body to finally fail, giving her birth into that next place of our existence.

hrh sat next to me in the theater on christmas day, holding my hand on her ever moving tummy...our little lad slowly flipping and twisting, trying to fit his already over average body size in her tiny self. miss ruby sat next to me later that day, holding my hand, telling me she knows her husband still watches for her from the other side...she knows this because he put us back in each other's lives again.

i agree.

hrh rests more and more, taking cat naps during the day. miss ruby's sleep time is now around 15 hours a day. while hrh is up quite often in the night, finding it difficult to fall back into sleep, miss ruby lies down and doesn't change position for the 12 hours she sleeps in the night.

they both take pills... vitamins for hrh, a plethora of pills of varying shapes and sizes for miss ruby. both have that look of waiting on their faces.

both have me in their lives, waiting with them, loving, caring, concerned. a birth and a death. these two things wait to happen in my life...

two things that will change my life forever, each in their own way.

young love?

2009-12-05T10:35:00.003-07:00

a week or so ago, miss ruby and i took our weekly trip to 'death's door beauty salon'.

along the way, waiting at a stop light, as we were chatting and enjoying the warmth of the day, i noticed a teen-aged couple walking along, coming toward us. it was obvious they were arguing, the body language, the sharp turn of her head from him as his mouth moved. suddenly, he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him. she jerked it out of his hold, moving faster... he came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her to hold her in place--her foot kicked backwards to remove him from her space.

so it went, him becoming more aggressive in his physicality, her becoming more agitated.

i pulled over next to them, into a parking lot they were cutting through... i stopped so quickly, miss ruby moved forward in her seat belt... in one movement it seemed, i threw the car into park and had the door opened and i was outside the car...

"stop that. don't touch her again. miss? would you like a ride home?"

they both stopped and stared at me as if i were from a different planet... perhaps i was in their world... he said, "she's fine."

"she doesn't look fine. miss? i'm more than glad to give you a ride." with this, miss ruby waved at her from the car.

"no, i'm fine. we're fine. it's none of your business."

"actually, it is. you don't have to do this."

she stared at me, giving me that look teens give when they are faced with the stupidity of adults. they both turned away and walked off, suddenly holding hands, walking close together, glancing back at the new adversary they could dislike together.

and, i wondered... how many times had it happened? was she used to that behaviour? has she seen it in her life?

no answers, nothing more than a sense i've seen something that will escalate until she's either very hurt or finds that place in her heart that will allow her to be brave enough to leave.

i hope it's the second, and i hope it happens soon.

very, very soon.

moving along

2009-11-19T11:24:00.002-07:00

we've had snow.

lots of snow. tons of snow. in just two storms, we've had over three feet of snow, which i hope isn't going to be the pattern the rest winter.

i've moved into miss ruby's house now, living here six days a week, taking 24 hours off every week. my mother has (thankfully) moved back to mississippi, so, we are both content here at home with the cats. sophie has discovered she is not queen of the world here, pumpkin is, and reminds sophie on a regular basis with a sharp slap to the head.

miss ruby hangs in there, some days are good..some, like yesterday when she thought to get out of bed by herself, landing on the floor...aren't. we prepare for thanksgiving, neither of us thrilled with the holiday--for her, it is the first one after the death of her husband--for me, the reminder of my dad's death.

mostly, we watch cnn, chat, take care of business. our days and weeks are set around various routines and appointments. she gets her hair done at 'death's door beauty salon', and i do shopping for the house.

tuesday, she'll be 85. it's the fourth anniversary of my dad's death. i tend to not look at the actual date, but, remember it was thanksgiving day. we'll go out to lunch, her and me and the wheelchair, and pretend all is well.

pretense works sometimes...

nothing is different, everythings the same

2009-10-25T10:27:00.003-06:00

it's cold and wet and spitting snow outside.

inside, i am warm and cozy and can still taste my breakfast bacon... nothing is better than bacon in the morning. except coffee... nothing is better than coffee in the morning. except waking up...waking up is the best thing about the morning.

miss ruby is now confined to a wheelchair, to her great dismay. she's fallen twice now on my watch...once when she attempted to get up from her chair without calling me, once when i stood right next to her while she was in the walker. her legs simply stopped being legs and over she went.

both times, because of where she ended up, i had no choice but to dead lift her off the ground in one pull.... the first time i heard something pop in my already operated on right knee... the second confirmed i've done something, as i get those waves of teeth on edge pain you have with a problem with your knee.

she and i had been looking outside, planning her spring garden, discussing plants and what would take up the least amount of room... i've agreed to zuchini (which i hate) and she's allowing me one pumpkin plant.

the outside cat has a new home... she had me go purchase one of those insolated dog kennel things so it will be toasty during the cold winter months. he still greets me with a "meowHISSHISSmeow", so, i'm never sure if i should trust the sweet meow or the nasty hissing.
i go with putting his food out, and shutting the door. no touching him, i've no idea what he carries or what he has or if he'll shred my arm.

hrh had her baby shower last weekend... she is quite the preggers gal now, although she still wears the same tops for the most part.. she is all baby, my baby.the baby is huge inside her, at six months, you can see him roll under her tummy... there is simply no room. since he's already at the 80% of his size, i am not planning on buying any newborn clothes. she continues to insist she will do this drug free.

yeah, have fun with that.

mother managed to insult--well, i'm not sure how many people--in one comment that day. looking over at the ex's girlfriend (who is very, very kind to my children...earning her kudos) and said, to hrh, and in front of the girlfriend's daughter, "cant' your daddy find a better looking girlfriend? even your momma is better looking!"

thanks so much.

aside from that, i spend my days here, still, putting in 70-84 hours a week. the jarhead is coming for a visit on wednesday, giving me more than a couple of hours in two years... he is currently working with my brother in la, and still thinking about re-upping.

i don't think so, son.

i have internet, as i mentioned... i am trying to catch up on blogs and on writing and it's a long backlog.

thanks again to those who read, who comment, who care.

sunday scribblings~REDIRECT

2009-10-24T15:57:00.001-06:00

oops!!

please seen the sunday scribblings contribution here.

saturday

2009-10-17T14:17:00.002-06:00

indian summer reigns.

the roses are trimmed, the heat is turned on, the patio furniture and planters put away for winter. miss ruby watches me from her window, giving me more jobs to do whenever i come inside. she's rallied a bit, although we are using the wheelchair almost full time now, to get her around. she scowls at the night nurses, scolding me for not staying full time. as it is, i'm here 70+ hours a week... staying, even five days, would bring me to over 100. she's good with that, she said.

i've kept to her request to only shop at whole foods... one good thing about that place is, i can go in baggy sweat pants and a long-sleeved tshirt that has seen better days, and i fit right in. i've discovered you can buy hemp milk (no, really) and that patchouli is the pervading scent from both patrons and the shelves. you can even buy shampoo and soap that ree..smel..are scented with this, um, fragrance? i feel out of place with my rose soap scent on my skin and your basic clean smelling hair. still, the dress code remains acceptable--i'll keep going there.

we've put the internet in, so, i'll be able to start catching up on reading and posting... i look forward to the first more than the second.

i hear her calling.

interwebs!

2009-10-14T22:23:00.002-06:00

i have internet again.

starting tomorrow, i hope to be a much better correspondent.

thanks to all who read this place... i appreciate it.

if you'd like a bit of my work, plus some other amazing pieces, have a look at disenthralled. i'm one of the contributors this month!

waiting

2009-09-26T22:43:00.004-06:00

she's failing, my miss ruby.

a month ago, i saw it on a weekly basis, then a daily basis, now.. it is hourly. she was able to use the walker, things change, and i have to fully support her body weight when i lift her, when i move her from bed to chair. sometimes, i have to wait for the aide to allow me to bathe her.. i can no longer get her into the shower alone. i have to change her at the chair, chit chatting with her to remove her concerns over me doing this for her. i remind her she taught me many things as i grew up, and this is the only way i can repay her. by caring for her. by doing. by being there.

she has full on night support when i'm not there for my 12 hours a day... hospice starts as soon as her doctor signs off--with luck, it will be monday.

i train each new aid, fighting to keep the two she likes there as often as i can, since she trusts them to bathe her and take care of her when i'm not around.. she's comfortable in their presence, and lets down her pride. she still prefers me, and i make sure she has all she wants--trimming roses to bring into her room, teasing her, buying handmade rose soap, fixing whatever food she thinks she might want to eat. friday, i made split pea soup for the first time in my life, and she almost finished a small bowl...and said it was good. i know she meant it, too.

we speak of death, her and i. we skirt around the fact it is near, we talk of funerals, and how she wants to be cremated and put in the same grave as her beloved... i tell her it has to be in writing, and we do just that, setting out the funeral.. she asked i make sure it is done, and, so that, too is put into place, filed with the lawyer, copies in file cabinets of three people.

we talk about her husband, her cat... she smiles that soft smile i have known since i was 14, clucking to her little pumpkin, worried who will care for her when all is said and done. i assure her i will, and not to worry... but, she does.

her niece is visiting this week. the same niece who told my mother, "we care for our own" and then put my miss ruby in a nursing home, looking for a vet who would put the cat down. she's not called nor checked in.. and is only coming out because the trip was paid for, and she wants to take inventory. when they put miss ruby in the home, after her husband died, when she was lost and grieving, this niece and her husband were arranging to have a mover clear the house out.

i made it quite clear she is there as a guest, and has no power. i made it clear miss ruby is to be treated with love and affection. i made it clear her funeral wishes would be adhered to, and no one would fuck with them.

her face never changed.

i don't get angry too often... i was angry with her, for what she'd done, what she'd said, how she'd treated this woman.

the aides know to call me if anything is out of order, anything is said that is wrong.. if anything happens.

i have to be away for three days... a good friend is having an operation in tulsa to remove cancerous lymph nodes. she called and asked me to come, the center will pay for the ticket. most importantly, she needs me, and i'll go.

i'll call every day, i'll check in with her nephew by marriage, who is a doll... i'll count the hours.

then, when i'm back home, i'll wait with her.

she won't die alone.

denver again

2009-09-18T20:38:00.003-06:00

home.

i've not had time to think or write or do much of anything but fall back into the routine of caring for the ladies, worrying about them... miss ruby keeps falling, and getting her up is difficult, she has no strength in her legs.

i've been put into the position of spending nights.... finally, we've arranged for a night nurse, so, there is the joy of being home again in the evenings.

with all of this, i'm good.

just swamped.

the scream

2009-09-11T18:25:00.004-06:00

we heard him half a block away.

i'd taken time to go see nathan this weekend... showing up last night, a day early, he and i decided to celebrate my return to wash heights by going out for a glass...or six....of wine, finally hitting home around 3.15 am.

needless to say, we were loathe to go out today. our tired bodies and fuddled heads were joined by a steady rain falling outside.. both situations combined to keep us up here on the 5th floor of his pre-war co-op. lots of water, coffee, a good carb filled breakfast, hours of survivorman....we finally decided to go out into the reduced to a fine mist rainy day. i'd promised to make 'toad in the hole', and of the six ingredients needed to create the batter, the 'toads' and gravy...he had one. so, there we were, walking up the street towards the local grocery store, discussing the day, family, the pure perfection of 'toad in the hole' and life in general.

"what IS that noise?", we both asked at the same time.

past the bus stop, we saw him across the street... rocking the newspaper dispenser for one of the many free papers in new york. he pushed and pulled it, rocking it back and forth on the sidewalk, moaning the whole time. calling out in words only he could translate, he brought his hands up with full force, yet, holding back on his strike, so that his fists bounced gently off the metal. he backed off, holding his head between clenched fists, still speaking and moaning... i started saying, over and over, "oh, the poor lamb! oh, no!" nathan steered me to the curb, not letting me walk to this man who was in such pain of some sort or another. by now, he'd walked up to a group who were exiting the train station--looking at each as if he were picking one of them up, having only seen photos of the person before. he tipped his head, still comforted by his hands, and rocked back and forth... his moans reduced to short sobs.

we walked down, his voice pitched to that note that allows it to skate on top of normal conversation, riding the sound waves, dipping into your ears before other, regular, conversations could.

i saw a paramedics truck ahead, said to nathan, "let's tell them"--but, they were dashing in with a stretcher, bent on saving a life or something of that ilk.

i noticed then that the wail was quieted. conversations suddenly started back, no longer blocked by the sound barrier he'd created. i worried he'd gone into the station... to lose himself there. i knew he'd more than likely wander down the street... waiting for the time when he'd have to release his pain and confusion over life or the world or the fact subway fares had gone up.

i knew this, and thought to myself, i never wanted to hear that sound again... knowing i could do nothing.

not sure i'd even try.

home away from home

2009-09-04T08:40:00.003-06:00

morning of my third day.

the first one went from energy fueled highs to jet lagged lows. red eye flights never sit well with me--who does like them? i met up with cf at the luggage carousal at 6.30... we sat and talked and waited for my luggage (packed an hour before i left--not always the best idea since i left meds behind) to arrive. while waiting, i continued my conversation with the guy who had sat across the aisle from me... he and his partner were in the city from denver for a job, then were going to long island for the weekend. they were both young and in love and vastly entertaining.

luggage in one hand and coffee in the other, we found a taxi that was more than glad to earn $45 to take us out to brooklyn, out under the 'f' line near avenue u. upstairs, collapsed on the sofa, we talked for a few minutes, then, she was back into the city to work. i was selfish and took an hour nap.

lunch was with miss r's nephew, whom i met back in the days when i was full of woe and being a teen. he was then, and is now, funny, dear, mannerly and kind. he lost his partner a year ago, and is just coming out of the black pain that brings on. we had greek food... and i was in heaven.

picking up the kids at grand central, we made a tactical error, and instead of walking over to bryant park and taking the 'f' directly, we wove our way underground via the '4' and the 'a'--finally sitting on the 'f'. the old 'f'... the one with stuff written on it, and crappy seats and it smells as bad as it looks. some of the trains on the line are new and spiffy... more uptown trains than the 'f'... these we were on fit the history of the line.

yesterday, it was shopping on 86th and bay parkway. i love the stores there... dark and crammed together and full of stuff. lots of stuff. 6482 shops and 8746 languages. one store's owner was arab, his manager was italian, and the two clerks were spanish and chinese. the common denominator was none of them spoke very good english.

i saw a sweet little jewish lady in the italian grocery store... she was trying to reach baked beans on the shelf, and was just too short. i asked which one she wanted, she pointed and we chatted. she had those little old lady whiskers, that begged to be plucked... i was sorry she obviously didn't have a daughter to do that for her. no woman with a daughter would be allowed to go out like that. she leaned over to me, and spoke sotto voce, "darling, don't buy the knish here. they have lovely chickens, but, the knish? not so good."

i took her advice.

we wandered into a newly opened chinese food store, connor and i did. i love the smell of oriental food stores, it's magical. odd spices you don't know, dried everything, fresh vegetables and meats. we looked at all the interesting labels we couldn't read, and pondered the use of chicken feet in a dish. the meat was so fresh, it was still bleeding. i said to connor that i'd not be surprised if there was a cow behind the shop, providing the beef. at that point, we were in front of the fish, the fresh fish. the very fresh fish. there, on the ice, was the biggest carp i'd ever seen... flopping all over the place, knocking over other calmer fish, fish who had accepted their fate and died already.

with a look of disgust, the butcher picked it up by it's tail, put it on the wood table, and banged it twice in the head.... reminding it that it was supposed to be dead.

he nodded in satisfaction, and went back to his work chopping and wrapping... connor and i both broke into laughter on our way out the door.

i cooked a nice meal, and ended the day the way you want to in brooklyn... on the front stoop, in comfy clothes, sitting there, talking to a good friend.

and smelling the fall air.

count down

2009-09-01T21:03:00.002-06:00

waiting.

the car will be here in 32 minutes...not that i'm counting.

i leave my charges in the hands of hired help, who will do a good job for money, not love.

tomorrow morning, i'll be breathing the air of new york, once again.

i can't wait.

ps denver has just become one of the best airports in the world... free wifi. *le sigh*

friday

2009-08-28T18:22:00.001-06:00

mother home. mother in hospital. mother home again.

i vacillate between seeking her approval and wishing myself far from her presence.

new york happens next wednesday morning...

*le sigh*

stranger

2009-08-21T17:50:00.002-06:00

it's difficult.

i sit, all day, between 9-6, listening to her breathe, to her muttered comments as she finds some odd dreamscape to dwell in, to the movements of the nurses tending to bags and tubes and medicines.

i knit. i read. i have my coffee. and i listen.

she's a bit better now, sitting up for longer periods, unhooked from a number of the bags, finally able to eat again. she's still attached to a machine to feed her drugs to numb the pain, although even that's being weened away.

there is something missing, though. this fighter i'd always known is gone. she's old and weak and scared. she sees her mother coming to take her, and cries. she lives inside the television shows she's watching, and is querrelous. she's not my mother, she's some stranger in my mother's wrinkled skin.

it's difficult dealing and caring for one you respected and loved... it's another game altogether to do the same for someone you are not close to, not attached to, not wishing to have to be in this spot.

i put a cool cloth on her head, hold the drink, answer her silly questions. i leave, hurry home to the cats, then over to ruby's to spend the night, listening with half an ear for her to get up and wander around, possibly setting off the alarms...again.

i'm scheduled to go to new york for two weeks, to help a friend there... i leave on the 2nd. neither of them are happy with my decision, however, i have to go, or i shall sink into a deep well of sadness.

it's difficult. a difficult task, a difficult schedule, a difficult time.

it'll pass. it always does.

update

2009-08-17T18:43:00.003-06:00

mother's kidney now rests wherever it is that they throw old kidneys.

the operation was a complete success... done in 90 minutes, no complications.. she's in huge pain since there were some adheisions to be cut away and, well, the surgeon DID have his hand shoved in a small hole in her side, moving stuff around.

plus,they gave me 4x6 glossies of her insides. i'm not sure what i'm supposed to do with them, though.

at the same time she was getting part of her insides removed, hrh was having an ultrasound to find out about her baby (due january 16th)--we are having a boy. i predicted this, so, was not surprised. it does allow me to go hog wild and buy lots of boy things.

i'm still at ruby's house at night, keeping an eye on her, and spending the day at the hospital, with an hour in-between to catch my breath and feed the cats. with luck, i'll know by tomorrow when i'm back to new york, and that will make me smile for a number of reasons

including the joy of knowing i won't be living beneath the elephant walk lady.

oops!

2009-08-12T21:01:00.003-06:00

times like this, i'm so glad my mother doesn't read my blog.

four generations ago, my great great grandmother brought a pitcher with her to america. she gave it to my great grandmother who gave it to my grandmother, who gave it to my mother, who gave it to me. it was to go to caitlin in a few years.

now, this was an ugly ass pitcher... beige with brown and yellow flowers hand painted on it.. the glaze was crackled... it was, well, ugly.

still, i treasured it as it had been passed down with love for so many, many years.

tonight, with a leap and a CRASH!!!! the cat managed to stop that tradition in it's tracks.

even with my belief things are nothing more than things... i felt sick to my stomach.

and, i'm glad my mother doesn't read this blog, 'cause i have NO intentions of telling her.

how does it feel?

2009-08-09T19:50:00.002-06:00

i look at her, and wonder how what it's like.

i think, perhaps, this is what i fear most of being, of having a beloved... the possibility of loss. the family friend i am caring for right now lost her husband of 55 years in february, and daily i watch her fail.. looking into some place only she can see, waiting to see his face again. i read maggie's blog and see the same thing happened with her loved ones.

and, i wonder...what is it like?

to be so in tune with someone, you are bereft without their presence.. that you feel their empty space in your life so much, it's painful to think about.

i can't imagine.

i wish i could.

oops!

2009-08-04T18:07:00.002-06:00

mother fell down some stairs today, her foot having slipped on the carpet.

i'll be over there, 24/7 for a day or so, to see how she goes... her back was hurting, but, the tube in her kidney seems to be okay. the good side to all of this is i am back to creative cooking...something i've not done in ages. living alone, well, i didn't cook. now, i have two ladies who find great pleasure in what i create.

plus, i have an unlimited budget for their meals... coq au vin, lasagne, rich soups, lovely salads, slow roasted pork loin, shrimp spring rolls... it's great fun.

i shall return.

days of our lives

2009-07-29T21:22:00.003-06:00

things are moving along.

every day, i look for something to amuse me, to move me beyond the overwhelmed place i'm in. my mother is ill, awaiting the removal of a kidney... she lives with a family friend, who is 86--sharp as a tack--but, infirm. both of them are under my care right now. when mother is in the hospital, i stay overnights with Miss R, who needs someone there 24/7.

it's difficult for me to take this on, since i'm not really very close with my mother. however, this needs to be done, so, i go there every morning, and stay through breakfast, lunch, supper... and all that is in-between, from doctors appointments to errands.

so, i look for things that make me amused.

i've discovered the 'stork mortuary'--the irony of the name makes me laugh. there is the 'beauty salon' that miss r goes to, where no one under the age of 80 is there, including the hairdressers. the photos on the wall, advertising various looks, are from 1979. i'm pretty sure there is a parking space for walkers in the foyer.

there is the man who was driving the mitsubishi eclipse... a fairly pricey sports car. he pulled up as i was parking the chevy i drive these days (you can't fit a walker in a two seat-er, even if it is a mercedes benz), driving slowly down towards the open space next to mine.

he didn't park there, though.

he pulled into the handicapped spot, and stopped. i stopped too, to watch. slowly opening the door, he got out... all 90 years of him. he then held on to the side of the car, until he reached the popped open trunk... and he took out a walker.

yes, a walker.

in a sports car.

i laughed so hard, i had to put my hand over my mouth, although i'm fairly sure he wouldn't have heard me even if i'd been right next to him.

sophie is not happy right now, with my new schedule.. and the fact i come home smelling like the terrier, who, along with mother, is in my daily life. the terrier is in heaven with me there, almost wiggling out of her skin when i show up, lying by the door sighing when i leave.

outside, we have bob the stray cat, that miss r wants me to catch tomorrow, and take to the vet.

riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

i'm going to go outside, lure a feral cat into a carrier and carry the swinging back and forth from him throwing himself against the sides carrier to the vet, who, if he is smart, will jab him with a tranquiliser through the grate then take care of his face and paw, both which show signs of being messed up in a fight.

so, i look for things every day, to amuse me, pull me out of the place i don't want to be, make things work.

and, they do.

where i find something useful

2009-07-21T13:40:00.004-06:00

even in denver, i retain my new yoker.ness.

i'm walking when and where i can, ordering food to be delivered and not being too proud to say, "hey, that looks interesting!" when i see something being thrown out.

like any good new yorker, i learned the craft of scanning other people's discards, picking out something that is in great shape and in my taste, and lugging it home. in this manner, i obtained a classic 1940's heavy woven wicker night stand, a beautiful large plant basket, and a 5x7 (yes, 5x7) wool rug handwoven in india in pristine condition from around 1950 that i folded up and schlepped home on the 4 train and then up 5 flights of stairs. the plant basket i left behind in the bronx, the other two pieces are with me still. i know people who have pretty much decorated their entire apartment with stuff found on the street. the upperwest side is a treasure trove... i've seen complete living room suites on the street...the only thing wrong with them was the prior owner changed their decor. one friend of mine who lived in the village had a beautiful sofa that would retail for thousands that she spotted on a curb and immediately sat upon to stake her claim. it took her three hours of dialing everyone she knew from her vantage seat upon said sofa (and telling others it was claimed) before she found a truck, but, find one she did... and now this beautiful leather piece sits in her front room.

yesterday, when i went down to the trash room (oh! how i love trash chutes which mean i don't have to lug my trash outside in all weather!) there was a delicate engraved silver box waiting to be smushed. it's now on my bookcase. not my old bookcase, which is vintage and nice, but, the one i found today that was being tossed out. who tosses out a solid oak six shelf bookcase without a mark on it and all the shelves? well, one person's rubbish is my treasure, and, after struggling to drag it down the hall way and into my loft, it now resides in the 'office' part of the main room.

i guess i can still say ich bein ein new yorker.

and, cue annon to say something they think is terribly clever and cutting about me and how i live. let me say in advance, thanks for still reading!! glad to know i continue to irritate the hell out of you. :)

sebastian and the 11 minutes

2009-07-15T10:31:00.002-06:00

the post below was written by one of my dear friends...

Corruption is a very hard thing to fight, but a very easy thing to get used to. As an Animal Control Officer fresh out of the academy, I thought I could do it all. I also believed that my Director knew everything, and I believed everything he said. As the days and years went by, I found that I was devoting most of my time to covering up his mistakes, making excuses, and I was getting tired. Doing both of our jobs was exhausting, and one day the Director impounded a little shaggy dog named Sebastion.

Sebastion was in for a 10 day quarantine, and all I ever knew about him was that he had bitten a child in a provoked attack, and that the owner, Q., did not want the dog back. The Director had written on his card “destroy per owner at end of quarantine”. His time came up, and I hesitated to do my job. He was such a sweet little dog with a sunny disposition, and I couldn’t make myself believe that his owner didn’t want him back. I took a deep breath, uttered a curse word, and destroyed him as ordered. Ten minutes later Q. called and asked how her little friend was doing and could she come over and visit him. I later found out that she had made several calls to the shelter, and none were ever returned.

To make a long story short, this incident prompted and investigation that quickly led to the resignation of the Director, and Q. and I became fast friends. 364 days later, the former Director relinquished ownership of his small breed puppy to the shelter, and I immediately called Q. as she was still looking for something small and shaggy to fill the void I put into her heart. I gave her a description of the pup, told her who the previous owner was, and she said she would be in the next day to look at it.

Q. came in as scheduled, and immediately fell in love with the pup. She then casually reminded me that I had killed Sebastion “a year ago, today”.

I’ve never forgiven myself for not following my instincts that day. I’ve never forgiven my Director for not doing his job right, and I’ve never forgiven Q. for not calling eleven minutes earlier that day. Above all, I’ve never forgiven a God so cruel that he would let an innocent little dog be sacrificed on the alter of bad politics. Sebastian’s death fixed alot of wrongs in ways that I could not, or did not. The shelter is a much better place now because of that small sacrifice, but I think the cost was too high.

Well, we’ve come full circle now, and maybe all is forgiven. All wrongs made right in the end, so they say….If that’s true, the I believe that Somewhere, there is a cute little shaggy dog wagging his tail in forgiveness of it all.

-------------------------------------------

this is how i came to have the terrier, who did fill that hole. i still have sebastian's collar, and our photos of him. he was the best dog... and, like my friend, i think that his sacrifice was not in vain, because of his death, and my not being such a nice person about it, and illyria's support, there is now an actual law in our little utah town, named after sebastian, that does save animal lives.

i think he's pleased with that outcome.

yes, we have internet!

2009-07-10T22:24:00.003-06:00

comcast showed up.

internet working nicely (not wireless, can't see the need for it, really)...cable not so good. so, they are already having to come out to fix the darn thing.

in the meantime, i'm watching (well, sorta) pirates of the caribbean, 3. to say it sucks would be downplaying the horribleness of this film. the first was clever. the second was okay.ish... this? shame it didn't stay in davy jones' locker.

i'm signed up to production manage an indie film here in denver... it's a small, tight community--so, getting a foot in somewhere is important if i want to keep working in the field. it's a nice little film, and the director is great, so, i'm looking forward to the project (which i can't discuss).

learning the neighborhood... and discovering that, although wal-mart in my little utah town was were everyone shopped, here, it depends on which neighborhood the wal-mart is in that decides if you shop there or not.

things to learn, things to learn.

checking in

2009-07-09T10:46:00.001-06:00

i had internet, thanks to the thoughtless behaviour of one in the building... leaving their wireless unlocked--using their signal is a habit i picked up in new york. they figured it out, and now, i await my own internet installation tomorrow (which will be nicely secured... there are people like me out there, right?)

hope all are well...

slowly i settle, box by box

2009-07-06T13:46:00.002-06:00

the apartment moves slowly into place.

i'm sure it would clip along at a faster pace if i didn't stop every so often to surf, write, throw the ball for sophie (who is in cat heaven with the long hallway), or try and finish 'the tenant of wildfell hall', which the bbc so nicely put into film form.

it's a bit like playing with one of those little puzzles, you know, the kind with the little blocks you move around inside a plastic frame, trying to make something? i move over a box, and slide in a piece of furniture which makes room for another box to shift over... eventually, the picture will be complete.

my desk is set up, i'm lacking a chair, but, that will be taken care of as soon as i find the goodwill store. it may be ackward to put it into norma to bring home... everything is new and interesting and i'll figure that out, too.

thursday, i go to my first production meeting for the film project i'll be working on. i'm not sure if they still want me to audtion, so, i'm going to brush up my 'long day's journey into night' monologue just in case. there is no audition for production manager, thank goodness.

the fireworks were amazing this past weekend... i live a stones throw from coors field, therefore, all i had to do was step outside to watch them. i've been fortunate with fireworks in my years--always able to see them from my home with a minimum amount of fuss. i wonder how douglass handled them this year.. she was never one for fireworks. i suppose she hid behind my mother, then, when they were over, trotted outside to bark a bit, to show them who was still around.

sophie slept through the entire thing.

my friend over at theraputicramblings is also settled in his new home... both of us getting used to smaller areas. i'm still thinking about buying a tv, and a sofa would be swell..

...all in good time.

denver, day 2

2009-07-03T22:26:00.004-06:00

we are settled.

not unpacked, but, settled all the same. the trip was fairly uneventful... sophie managed to chew her way out of her cardboard carrier in around 5 minutes... then, she tried to free kitty. i ended up letting them both have the run of the truck cab, which elicited strange looks from people who passed me, and saw sophie sitting on the window edge on the passenger's side, surveying the passing scenery. both of them managed quite well, holding in all body functions for 11 hours, then dashing for the litter box at miss h's house when we arrived.

it was not a bad trip, looking back on it... sure, it was 11 hours of driving a 17' truck packed to the gills, but, it was smooth driving, i kept to a steady pace and my itouch held a charge all the way, allowing me to have good music to ease the drive.

the apartment is very sweet... i won't be able to have a dining table, since my writing desk goes in that area. there is a nice eating ledge thingy between the kitchen and living area, so, that works. i made the decision to unpack my good china and crystal and silver... and use that to eat with. why not use it is my thought.... silly to keep it packed away. i have it because i like to use it, so, use it i will.

still unpacking the 4762 boxes... the ones that are neatly numbered, and the numbers are listed in a notebook with the contents next to them, thus allowing me to know what is where. sadly, i packed the notebook, so, i'm surronded by 4762 opened boxes, and i dig through one at a time, looking. it's like christmas with a twist.

i'm close enough to coors field to see/hear the fireworks tonight. once i figure out where the hell i am, i imagine i'll walk to the light rail and take it to the center of denver. deborahsof and i are going to see 'august:osage county' in, well, august... there is theater all over denver, which is a good thing for me.

on the 7th, i have my first production meeting with the film crew i'll work with at the end of the month.. i look forward to that.

i discovered the whole foods that is the size of walmart... two hours and $130 i left the location dazed and content.

and then, there is zori. miss h's little girl, my first grandchild whom i've not seen since she was 5 months old. she has her mom's bigass grin, beautiful cornflower blue eyes, and a head full of blond ringlets. she told everyone, "my nonnie coming!" "mom, where nonnie?" and when she woke up to see me there on thursday, she said, "who you?". she's well aware who i am now, and comes easily into my arms.

hrh and her family arrived this morning at 7am after driving all night... i wasn't happy about that. but, they are safe and fully moved and her new house is much like her; warm and welcoming. it is sad for me that she's 30 minutes instead of 3 minutes away, but, we are all adjusting. my location puts me in the middle for all of the kids... i just don't have room for all of them at once.

it's late, i'm done for today, and i still have to get laundry folded. all in all, i'm happy with the move. i'm pleased to be back in denver after years away, and look forward to seeing good friends tomorrow.

life remains good.

violence unsilenced

2009-06-29T12:29:00.001-06:00

i've been told i'm not upbeat, and positive, and chipper.

i think i do a pretty good job of being open to the universe and in the good it has to offer.

it's been a long hard struggle to get to that place... and, today, thanks to an amazing woman who has put forth a safe havenplace for survivors to give their stories; in that place, i've finally openly admitted to a number of things.

if you go to read, please, don't just read me.. come back see the tales of other women and men, who have survived.

we move forward with more positive feelings than most, even if we hide who we are... positive because we open that pandora's box called hope every day, and trust it will be good.

my friends will tell you; i don't mince words, i say what i feel... there is no gray with me. i won't say behind your back what i won't say to your face. this is the best and the worst trait i own.

i'm a hopeful pessimist, i guess... expecting the worst, believing it will work out.

it's an okay thing to be....

2009-06-28T21:16:00.002-06:00

there really is nothing to say.

one day flows into another, seamless in their passing... some action now, people arriving, plans moving slowly into place. tomorrow the truck is rented, tuesday it is filled... the current plan is to drive all night, as hrh and the soninlaw are night people.

it should be interesting, to say the least.

countdown

2009-06-27T16:00:00.000-06:00

i am stil in utah.

still.

chait (the daughter and soninlaw) should arrive tomorrow night.. we have three days to pack the rest of their things, and then unload my storage to a truck and head out.

i'm still not sure of where i'm living, as the amazing art deco was rented from under me (blargh!) and the loft hasn't finished my paperwork. oddly enough, i found a wonderful place that will be ready to be rented next april... i've already worked with the landlord on that, and it's just down the street from the loft in lodo.

mostly, i read and watch films and eat frozen milky way bars. the last occupation isn't such a great idea.

sophie has settled in here.. i often think of my friend, e.k., and her cats... i understand the term 'little angels' now.. except when sophie has cleaned herself, and expects to clean me. or, when she plants her six pounds on my forearms, preventing me from typing.

creative work moves forward, with ventures into short stories and the work on the play. i've already found a small job in denver--second string acting and being the production manager for an indie film. so, i'll arrive, unpack, and go to work for a month. good fun.

i still do not talk to my mother... i'm still good with that decision.

wishing those who read my little bit of my world on here good health..

the news

2009-06-23T19:17:00.006-06:00

i've sat on some wonderful news, awaiting the okay to discuss it here.

no, it's not about an apartment or moving or my non-existent love life (which will stay that way if i don't stop eating my current daily food addiction of lil' smokies and stokes chili with cheese) or about sophie.

two years ago this summer, two large events happened in my life...my eldest gave birth to zori, giving us the first member of the next generation. i always tell my daughter that zori looks just like me, but, we don't share any dna...so, it's in my imagination. secondly, hrh married the soninlaw, who entered our family with his love for her and two children. in six weeks time, i went from being myself to being a nonnie.

i think the kids got more of an auntie mame, but, you get the idea.

my mother's day present this year was hrh announcing she's going to have a baby in january. she was worried, not wanting to tell anyone, because i had a history of miscarriages, and she wanted to be sure. as she put it today, "the baby is sticking", thus, i now refer to said child as 'elmer'... as in glue.

in january, i'll have another grandchild... one i don't view any differently than the others just because we do share dna. it is odd to think my baby girl is going to have a child... and, unlike miss h, i'll be there the entire time. i believe i'm banned from the delivery room, but, i'm good with that. i've no desire to see parts i've not seen since she was 5.

she pats her tummy, which is still as flat as a board, and talks about the changes in her body. how she's tired, she is getting cravings, she's tired. i tell her the second trimester is the best, and we agreed between all of us that she'll do thanksgiving (her favourite holiday) and miss h will do christmas, since hrh will be pretty far along and into sitting and moaning. or at least, that's what i did in my last month.

no water skiing for her this year, which has dampened her thrill for the boat her dad owns and her time on the water...but, she's willing to make the trade. i look at her, and catch her with that turned inward look you get when you are pregnant... the wonder of it all.

this child will be as spoiled as the rest, from her dad, her siblings-- me. i've turned into that woman who shows up with gifts and sugar and kisses--then i leave. i like doing that, it's great fun.

my little girl is no more. although i find great joy in her condition, in the fact her marriage brought two beautiful children into my life, who love me as i love them... although i find happiness in her happiness in her life.... although all of these things are marvelous and wonderful and joyous...

....it makes me cry for a few reasons--the most being, she's a mom now, not my baby.

and, i'll miss that.

the loooooooove sac

2009-06-22T10:55:00.003-06:00

no, this isn't about sex.

sorry.

i'm currently dwelling at hrh's home, keeping an eye on things, saving on rent, waiting to be moved to denver. my things are in storage, most of hers are in the new house, and what is left--the occasional odd boxes and such, are here with me.

they took all of the beds, leaving me with two choices; a futon and a love sac. having reclined on said sac to watch tv, i chose it over the two. i'll be honest, i started on the futon, and after two hours of trying to sleep on a board, i moved.

the love sack is dipped in the middle, it's meant to allow you to lean back into it while you read or watch tv. it is not meant to be slept in unless you are under the age of 8, or a tiny adult who curls up while sleeping into a little ball.

i am neither.

i am a 5'7" woman who sleeps with two cats. i find myself waking up in odd positions my body has taken in the night to adjust to the dips and rises of the stuffing. i spend a good 10 minutes stretching and moaning about my back.

it is the worst bed i've ever slept on, and i'm the woman who slept on an inflatable bed in new york city for almost two years.

moral? if someone invites you to spend the night, and they utter the phrase, "i don't have an extra bed, but, i have a love sack!", leave immediately and find a hotel. even the bates hotel will be a better idea.

just remember not to take a shower there.

status quo

2009-06-21T17:56:00.001-06:00

waiting.

still.

self promotion

2009-06-19T11:18:00.000-06:00

thirty six little sentences

just right

2009-06-17T23:09:00.003-06:00

my life here in utah is almost over.

my apartment is now in a truck, which will become storage until it goes into a pod which travels over to denver, where it'll go into a new place.

hrh and her family, along with theinvestment are packed, and leaving in the morning. we had out good-byes tonight, among the final boxes on the floor, the dryer finishing up my towels and the cats slinking along the walls, seeking out furniture on which to take their frustration over being locked in a closet all day.

i'm here for a few more days...tonight, over at sisterwife's house, sleeping on 'my' sofa. sophie and kitty are alone in the house, still slightly irritated. tomorrow, i move into hrh's home until i either go to denver early and drive back with the soninlaw, or, wait for the soninlaw to come this way, going back with him. i suspect it will depend on if he has to bring more possessions back with him.

one apartment fell through when the landlord rented it after promising it to me.. so long beautiful place on marion!! another opened up, in lodo, larger than the first one, not as comfy looking as the second.. perhaps it's just right.

just right has become my mantra... the apartment will be just right, the drive over will be just right (although i've never traveled with two cats before), my life in denver will be just right. not too stressful, not too intense, not too edgy.

i'm not sure how i'll like 'just right'.

i reckon i'll find out.

is an apartment in hand worth one on marion?

2009-06-15T14:56:00.000-06:00

as soon as i had an apartment in place... not my first choice, but, a decent place... the apartment i've been drooling over came back on the market.

$800 a month for 1040 sq feet of art deco wonder. hard wood floors, a great denver location, a courtyard, built in storage in the dining room (yes, it has a dining room), a sun room and an 11x15 master with two closets.

sure, i'll lose covered parking...and it's $140 more a month than the first one... but, it's almost twice the size, and did i mention art deco? and a fireplace that works??

i'm waiting to hear from the owners... fingers crossed.

waiting

2009-06-13T15:38:00.002-06:00

the daughter and i are both involved in our homes, packing and such.

i drop by as often as i can... she won't take help, this youngest child of mine...but, i think she enjoys the company, or at least she says she does.

she packs and packs and takes care of her two (step) children, and waits for her husband to come back from denver.

i putz around and semi pack, and wait for no one.

both of us are involved in the process, one waiting with sad place in her heart while her love is away, the other...

....waiting for god knows what.

moving is my life

2009-06-10T13:43:00.001-06:00

the moving process continues.

with the ink on my contract not solid, and my moving date moved forward due to the early arrival of my one man crew, i may find myself living in the back of the truck in the parking lot. so far, the best bet seems to be leaving norma here, flying back a week later, and driving her over then. the trailer to tow her is $275, and it will decrease the gas mileage and time spent in a moving truck. flying can be done for less than $100, with my gas costs another $50... so...

there is also hrh to consider, getting her packed into a truck and our convoy will head over the mountains. i wish i had the money that is gone thanks to the bad check, and i'd just hire a darn moving company.

i am tired of packing, tired of moves, tired of grey. there is one thing, though...

....eventually, it's all over.

the tony's

2009-06-07T19:55:00.003-06:00

i'm watching the tony awards... slightly delayed from the east coast.

i have a number of people on my twitter thing that are either there or on the east coast, and they are announcing who has won before i even get to that category.

i now understand the danger of twitter. although it's great we can spread news (and non news) immediately, you lose some of that good ol' fashioned excitement waiting to find out.

with that said, i'm shutting down my laptop, so i won't be tempted to get my answers early, allowing me to watch sci fi channel and ignore the 'life' action. i'm rooting for my favourite play, 'reasons to be pretty' to win... if talent coupled with candles lit to the proper saints, it will.

with that said, susan sarandon needs her boobs lifted...but, then, so do i.

new apartment

2009-06-06T13:53:00.002-06:00

i have an apartment.

the flat in new york, sadly, didn't come to fruition. i do have a standing offer to stay there when i visit, which is swell...but, he wasn't quite ready to retire to the shore. so, denver it is!

i ended up with two front runners... one was on the top floor, had hardwood flooring, and a great kitchen along with a washer and dryer in the unit. the second is ground floor, overlooking the courtyard (this is an historic landmark building), carpet (ew!) and only a laundry room. the first had open parking, the second--protected parking. the first has larger windows in the bedroom... the second has 11 foot ceilings.

what decided me was two separate factors... one, the covered parking. second.. the one i chose has an extra closet.

i'll notify everyone on my list of the new address (effective 22 june) as soon as i have the call today.

i was going to get a two bedroom, however, i couldn't justify the extra $130 a month just so sophie could have her own place.

but, trust me, i thought about it.

people who walk from debts

2009-06-03T23:12:00.003-06:00

i work hard to stay on top of my debts.

some have taken me time to pay off, but, i work at them on a steady basis. there was a time when i had a chunk of change from a house sale, and a friend was in dire straits....her father had defaulted on her student loans by signing her name to them, and keeping the money. i loaned her a significant amount of cash to pay off the debt.

this allowed her to move forward in her life, getting an apartment, buying a car, buying all she decided she wanted to have.. and not paying me a dime.

finally, she admitted to the debt and started paying something every month... not a huge amount, but, i appreciated her working on it, and dropped my plans to hire a collection agency.

she recently sent me a fairly good sized check, saying this was her pay off.. i advised her it was less than she owed, but, took the check, noting it was not full payment of the debt owed.

i told her i had deposited the check, and was using the funds to pay medical bills, pay a deposit on the new place, and give the zenmaster money i owed him... he'd stepped in and fixed up my house a year ago, bless his socks.

today, i went to pick up some things to use for packing the house, and my check card wouldn't go through. it was after five, so, i checked my account on my bberry.

she'd stopped payment on the check, and didn't tell me. knowing i had used it, knowing it was necessary to my move, she stopped payment and didn't tell me.

i'm stunned.

i have enough in my savings to cover the huge hole in my account, and the short check charges...but, that leaves me with a 0 balance, and as of the 20th, no place to live. i've given up this apartment, and the deposit check bounced.

good fun.

i'm sure things will come together... i believe karma repays what you do... the hard part will be going after her for the money. she's in chicago, i'm in, well...god knows where i'll be... still, it more than likely means going to chicago. i plan on asking for all travel expenses, etc, should we go to court. i've all the emails with her agreeing to pay, how much she'd pay, etc.

eventually, i'll get my cash, it's the bother i have to go through to get to that point. what is amusing is she holds herself out on her blog as this righteous, trustworthy, moral person.... and, with the trouble i've had even getting her to start paying me, and now this... well.

yes, i know, lessons learned and all that stuff.

i'm venting.

blargh.

my father 1927-2005

2009-06-02T00:38:00.005-06:00

my dad would have been 82 today.

i vacillate between a continuing sorrow over his death and a sigh of relief about the same event. i know he wasn't happy the way he was... he knew he was suffering from alzheimers, he'd not reached the point where he didn't have the realisation, he lived with it daily... railing against his continued health problems--his macular degeneration, that didn't allow him to see his beloved books or choose his music by name...having to rely on the grab and play method... the need to call myself or the kids to come fix his remote control or find his cd player or plug in a lamp. his hearing had faded and he suddenly had to use a cane, when only a few years before, he'd walked up and down the mountains of southern utah without stopping to catch his breath.

he shaved his beard, i'm not sure why... that action added to the age of his face. his eyes, that used to sparkle on a regular basis, only caught that light when we went out to eat, or, when he saw hrh... he adored her.

he was proud of jarhead, shushing my concerns about him joining the marines, telling me to suck it up, i was the daughter and the mother of a marine. the investment made him laugh...and he would say, "he'll be like you, and come into his own later in life. don't worry." he regretted his outbursts of anger set off by life, and his lack of control over that anger--control taken away by that shitty, shitty disease.

he loved me.

i loved him.

we didn't always have a good relationship, he was a harsh father. we learned to be friends, then, chose each other for family... the best of both worlds.

he was proud of the brother and thought my sister in law was gods gift to the world. she, in turn, with her laughter and kind ways, always enjoyed his time with them, and loved him for him.

in a way, i'm glad to leave my little utah town because there are so many one on one memories that remind me of him. restaurants, shopping...even wal mart, a place he loved to shop. we'd push the cart, i'd grab, he'd talk, and he always called me on the 1st of each month, when his retirement check hit, and say, "hey, we have new money!!" i can't even go to the dump without thinking of him, and how we'd laugh on our way to remove boxes from the house when we first moved here. "well, what fun, lets go to the dump!!" every morning, i'd open the little town newspaper, and he'd say, "well, who are we at war with?". he'd just said that phrase, on 11 september 2001...when i turned on the tv and we saw the second plane hit. he never said it again.

my father always promised me that we would go to tuscany. we talked about the trip, planned it, drooled over it... and one day, i'll go, and spread the last of his ashes that i keep here at home.

i'll cry, as i am now... and miss his hand on my shoulder, his encouraging voice in my ear, his dear face in my vision. when i wrote his obituary, i did it to honour him... not the man he was when i was a child.. but, the friend i'd lost. it's not a traditional one...but, it fit him. it bespoke his time in korea, his love of so many things, his abilities to accomplish many things in his life.

the last trip he took, he and my mother drove an rv for weeks and thousands of miles.. and from that came the photo the brother and hrh and i all cherish... dad, at a campground with the brother and his wife, in a tshirt and shorts, full beard, reading elmore leonard, and flashing a smile and the peace sign. it bespeaks the essence of the man he'd become. although my mother and i don't really get along, i am forever grateful she took that trip with him... giving him one last long enjoyable time before he was slapped down, before we knew, when there were questions and no answers. she took care of him, and pampered him and drove him crazy. but, she drove that rv like a champ, and he always spoke of the trip with fondness.

i have never been able to listen to the song below, and not think of my dad. he loved judy collins and, when we were on car trips, he'd ask me to sing it in my alto, so different from the larkvoice of judy...it was something i always did, the words causing me to cry at the end. he'd thank me, and then, we'd sing together all the songs we knew, crossing our fingers my tone deaf mother wouldn't join in...

in his honour, i'll ask all of you to do what i suggested in his obituary... take some time, your favourite spot, your favourite book, and read. if someone should come up and disturb you, say what he would have said (in fact, he proudly wore the tshirt that had this very saying on it)

"shut the hell up, i'm reading."

happy birthday, daddy.

i had a dream

2009-06-01T02:02:00.003-06:00

i am catching up on the canceled series, "pushing daisies".

if you've never seen it... i, for what my opinion is worth, recommend it highly. quirky, droll, well written...it failed to find the audience abc had hoped for, i reckon.

in the beginning of episode 11, the narrator states something that hit home...

"young olive dreamed of a life where she was actively loved and only occasionally ignored."

olive shares my dream.

lazy

2009-05-29T15:38:00.001-06:00

i manage to pack at least a box a day.

i can't quite get into the groove of packing and moving, although i know i need to do just that.

instead, i write, i watch hgtv and, oh, yeah... i go to the movies.

the way i'm going to do right now.

ciao.

decisions

2009-05-29T01:42:00.003-06:00

i thought i was all set to move to denver.

then....

....an old, dear friend gave me a heads up to a flat in hell's kitchen in new york. sublet, two bedroom, five floor walk up, rent controlled... r e n t c o n t r o l l e d flat in hell's kitchen. i am going to talk to the current resident tomorrow. his only stipulation is that he can come back when he wants to spend a week or so in the city. he's retiring to the coast, it seems, and wants someone who would love his apartment, who loves the city, who loves theater... so, she gave him my name.

we'll see, we'll see.

back to being just a blog

2009-05-28T14:21:00.004-06:00

i've been putting my scribblings onto this site, when i should have put them in their own location.

so, all my writing is being moved to here if you are interested.

sadly, i wasn't clever with the name of the blog.

Sunday Scribblings~Worry

2009-05-24T22:06:00.002-06:00

the prompt was 'worry'

what, me worry?

who doesn’t worry, is my question. i mean, who doesn’t wake up with something, someone on their mind, eating up brain waves and emotional space with worry? if you don’t worry, well, i’m sorry... there is something really pretty fucked up with you, at least in my opinion. is my opinion worth something to you? dunno, but, it’s nothing i’m going to worry about... i’ve got things like grasshoppers showing up and my heart breaking and a sense i’ll wake up one day, and know that no one is the slightest bit interested in me... maybe because i worry too much.

i’m just saying, well, if you pretend all is swell, and you don’t worry about being liked, or loved, or someone hitting on you or how your day is going to go or...well, lots of shit....you are dead.

or, a liar.

Soon, soon

2009-05-23T00:03:00.004-06:00

things are rapidly moving forward.

i had planned on being out of this flat and on the move to the new one in mid june... however, depending on what the zenmaster sees when he looks at my two choices tomorrow, i may have a place in denver by monday, with a move in date of 1 june.

this means i'll have to pack up this place, put it in storage, move in with hrh to help out while she's alone, help her pack, we'll load up two trucks, and i'll settle into my new place 3 weeks after i started paying rent.

the other option is the flat available in july, putting me with storage in denver, and shuttling sophie and i between friends until i can get in..

both ways create their own problems.

and, all problems can be sorted out easily.

it's hitting me, i'm actually leaving this little town i've lived in for 8 years, leaving behind memories of friends, my dad, theater, good times.

and moving to where i'll have more memories and good times to be made.

Saying Goodbye

2009-05-21T00:07:00.003-06:00

woven in and around and before and after the weather guy was my oddship.

we met three years ago, i took one look and i knew this guy in the really shitty green coat was where i wanted to be, right next to him, listening and talking and inhaling his scent.. watching his hands with the nails bitten down flash in the air as he spoke in this voice that had undercurrents of laughter and a sense of a joke he held that no one knew but him. he has a wicked bad smile that won me as much as his eyes that are the same colour as mine. i walked into a room, and saw him and he saw me and something clicked. i was a romantic who never believed in romance.. and here, i saw hope.

we wrote and spoke and met a few times, the meetings difficult due to location, location, location...regardless, our connection didn't falter. i knew others that knew him, but, kept my association with him quiet, to myself... sharing with a few the basic details, never going on about how his name in my mailbox made me dance with joy at times. never discussing how seeing him caused my heart to pound and even his occasional glares were important. he is as inept as i am in social situations, and, except for the investment.. no one has ever made me laugh as hard as he has.

after a year, i offered up how i felt.. and, the response wasn't what i thought would happen... so, i shut down, closed up, and moved into being a friend, something he needs.

i took up the offer of something with the weather guy, thinking this would soothe my heart, my feelings, give me a new focus... and it did. i simply refused to kiss him, only my oddship had that from me... fleeting, perhaps, but, it was his. i slept with a man i never kissed, and kissed a man i never slept with.. odd, eh?

the conversations between us never stopped... i censored things to him, kept his needs forefront.. was a good friend. in turn, he listened to my rants, gave me excellent advice, and always gave me peace of mind when i worried.

yes, there are times i've been angry with him over real or imagined slights, over miscommunication, over perceived pain. he was equally open in the good and the bad.. some of his words will stay with me forever, in their depth of understanding and beauty of language.

tonight, i wrote to say i have to walk away.... my vision of what is causes me pain, his dancing around causes pain, and, no matter how much i love him.. and i do... i can't do this anymore.

i'd love to think he'll miss me, want me back, realise how important i am... i know it won't happen. i damaged ego, and his is delicate. i do know, however, i have to protect myself, and, i deserve to be seen in light and trust and joy...not being guilty until i can prove myself innocent.

i will not open the email address that is his and his alone for a long time...

My Ears!!

2009-05-19T22:56:00.003-06:00

cricket on the hearth. jimney cricket. it was quiet, with only the crickets gentle chirping.

all of these are complete and utter horsewaddleshit. there is currently a cricket it in my house, one of those nasty, black, "hey! our friends are dead, so let's eat them!" crickets in my house , and if it doesn't die soon, i'll go mad.

sophie tilts her ears as it chirps happily away, under god knows what bit of furniture, trying to suss out where it is. then, she goes back to sleep, looking as if she's managed to accomplish something.
i'm not sure what she's accomplished aside from irritating me that the darn cat can't catch a cricket. what's going to happen if we ever had a mouse??

the noise really is beyond anything soothing. it sounds gleeful it's keeping me alive, knowing i fear them almost as much as grasshoppers, the way they creep and jump. you can't squish them because they make a crunch sound then spew out white stuff which you then have to pick up with a tissue, squealing the whole time and saying "EW EW EW" in a high pitched voice.

this is when i miss a husband.

nah, just joshing on that part.

so, i put my ear plugs in, hope no one calls or knocks on the door because i won't hear them, and we all know sophie isn't going to do a thing about the noise a robber makes.

i can't move soon enough.

Sunday Scribblings~Disconnected

2009-05-17T18:39:00.000-06:00

the prompt word today was 'disconnected'

kummerspeck

it’s difficult to type right now. the left over butter and melted chocolate from the hot popcorn sprinkled with m&m’s still clings to my fingertips, causing them to slide over the keys. i know, i know; i just had a bucket of heartattack-waiting-to-happen...but, i can’t disconnect myself from the desire to wallow in that bucket. it’s always a struggle to stay slim, acceptable, socially on the physical mark. and now, well, now, i’m willing to surround my bones with what the germans call ‘sad fat’. it’s time to expose the truth.

reasons to be pretty~A Review

2009-05-16T14:35:00.004-06:00

this is supposed to show up on another site on the internet, however, i felt like posting it myself, too.

reasons to be pretty

During a phone call with the man I was dating not so long ago, I mentioned every woman wonders what she looks like to others. He responded, “Well, you’re not unattractive.”

Gee, thanks. The blow to my (fragile) ego was immense. Call me ugly... ugly has great beauty in it’s depth. Call me handsome... some women are, with strength showing in their faces. But, “....not unattractive”?? Just a roundabout way of saying ‘regular’, which was harsh to hear.

This is exactly the basis for the screaming fight we come into as the lights go up in ‘reasons to be pretty’, the 2009 Tony nominated play (Best Play, Best Actor, Best Actress) by Neil LaBute, currently at the Lyceum Theater in New York.

Greg (Thomas Sadoski), the man dancing around to avoid the words and insults thrown by his girlfriend of four years, Steph (Marin Ireland), was inept enough to apply the adjective ‘regular’ when discussing Steph with his friend, Kent (Steven Pasquale); a conversation overheard by Kent’s wife, Carly (Piper Perabo) who promptly called Steph, and repeated the manly conversation word for word. Word. For. Word.

The following scenes in this two act play show us how the four move through the minefield we call ‘relationships’, stepping on mines the entire time.

I saw this work first when it was produced at the Lucille Lortel Theater on Christopher by the MCC group. At that point, it had words I didn’t hear this time, and words that exist now, that didn’t before. I missed a few of the phrases, the bits that created the characters... and, I welcomed new additions that added to the texture of the play.

I did notice the usual mention of a Buick by LaBute in his work was now missing, but, that’s not important.

What is important is the sense you have when you first start viewing the production... a sense of superiority, of listening to language screamed and barely suppressed violence, and the understanding this happened many times before with these two combatants. It is a, “That’s certainly not how I behave. Hrumph, obviously not as good as I am.” As we move along, that feeling falls away, leaving you at the end with the understanding you may not be as honest or as strong as some of the characters. It is not a pleasant feeling.

Of all of LaBute’s works, and, I’ve read or seen all of them-- this was his most balanced. There is redemption of one character after the initial tinge of dislike, and, he creates his first (male) character to knowingly self-sacrifice. Add to it that usual LaBute way of holding us accountable for ourselves by saying, “Look. This could be you.”, toss in the depth of language, the rapid slap shots of the arguments, the wit so dry you feel moisture leaving the air, the understanding of how we function, of what hurts the most, the raw emotion, a ending of hope--all of this gives the production lagniappe... a little something more than you usually find on Broadway.

Terry Kinney has done a wonderful job with his direction and in guiding each of the actors (Ireland and Pasquale are new to the cast, Perabo and Sadoski have reprised their off-Broadway roles) to work well within the frames of their characters. I still love the beauty of the simple set, the music is perfect (make sure you pay attention to the Muzak during the Mall scene), excellent light design, and there is a hell of a stage manager.

Oh, yes, the cast....they are tightly meshed together, working as this effective unit to bring you into their world, allowing you to believe in them completely. Although each is superb, Sadoski wears the skin of Greg so perfectly, you weep/cringe/hope with him, for him.

I’ve always said Neil LaBute writes everything with a bedrock of love, showing how messed up we make it, what we’ll do for it, how we destroy others in it’s name. Love stories always end with someone hurting, so, let’s be honest... he is the master of the love story. I used to say I wish he’d write a romance, all happy endings and joy.. now? I’m not so sure I want him to change. If it ain’t broke....

‘reasons to be pretty’, by Neil LaBute. Lyceum Theater, 149 45th. Running two hours and 15 minutes with an intermission (that I feel isn’t needed). Now through 6 September 2009. PS Check out the teeshirt--it rocks.

Teeth

2009-05-14T20:26:00.002-06:00

pain meds and antibiotics are the bomb.

yes, i had a root canal, a big ass filling AND a major infection, and i could care less right now.

booya.

A Brief History

2009-05-14T01:28:00.003-06:00

i'm home from new york, a week early.

thanks to not taking care of my medical needs before i left, i found myself with an increasingly annoying toothache, which spread to a jaw ache, which spread to my cheekbone and then to my sinus cavities and finally, my ear.

yeah. it sucks. the worst part was the flight home, which took two days and three plane trips. our flight out of chicago was delayed just enough to not let me catch my trip to home, so, united kindly put me up for the night. oddly, it's the third time this has happened.. and each time, my luggage makes it here 24 hours before i do. i guess the cargo hold is the place to ride if you want to arrive on time.

tomorrow, root canal!

new york was simply amazing... the weather bounced around like mad, k kept log of what she calls 'quinisms' she plans on posting here, and i was able to see my sweet nathan (my old roommate) along with cf and her brood, a show on the great white way, and my beloved c and r. both boys were elated to see me, and i was offered the job of keeping an eye on them this summer. since theater is out for me, it's something i was considering.

then, hrh and thehusband decided to move back to colorado. so is theinvestment... thus, i'll be heading back that way, too. thank god for zenmaster, who will preview apartments for me... allowing me to rent sight unseen. he knows my taste, and my budget, and will find the best deal.

the saturday before i left, on my way to brooklyn, i realised i was outside of 10 columbus circle, where my favourite playwright was going to hold a talk on his recent play, 'reasons to be pretty', which has picked up a number of nominations for 'best', including a tony nod for best play. it was a small crowd, and neil labute worked them like a pro. the man never fails to entertain me, amuse me and wish i could hear him speak for just a bit longer than the time he does give over. emdashes is going to print the review i did of his play, which rocks.

i am sorry i missed seeing 'mary stuart', however, i'm fairly sure nathan and i will attend when i go back in june for the six sentences book party.

it's good to be home, sad to leave k just before the shoot--i'm thrilled to have a root canal tomorrow, really, i am.. which proves how much pain i'm in. poor k! i moaned about it the last two days before i left.

i'll never ignore dental advice again! (she lied)

So, Yes, I'm Alive

2009-05-07T18:51:00.002-06:00

There is way too much to do here.

I walk every day... taking in the entire city, finding places I've never been. Being an UES gal now makes me think I should update my wardrobe, but, I doubt that'll happen.

I've discovered perfect bagels, a great Hungarian bakery, the best. deli. ever. (corned beef sandwiches to die for!), good Thai, long walks between the Avenues and shorter ones between the streets.

I've a new iTouch (thank you, Nathan!) that fills my time and my days with games and music. I've my never ending metro card that lets me go where ever I want; from Trader Joe's in Brooklyn to Staten Island to see my boys.

I've been offered a job in Staten Island for the summer, I've discovered when I return, we are all moving back to the place the kids knew as children, and I'm going to Qatar in November to see the stars.

I've written tons, watched even more, and can't find the time to write.

I know now crazy people in the UES are as crazy as they are in Hell's Kitchen; they are simply ignored by people who make more money. I've got a roommate/friend who knows the transportation system like the back of her hand, and I'm going to the Met tomorrow.. it's right up the street.

Oh, yes, life is good indeed.

Oops!

2009-05-04T10:38:00.001-06:00

I get my blog back and what do I do?

Nothing. Not a word written, I've not even opened it, ffs!!

So much going on, so many things I've seen... tonight, tonight I catch up.

Right?

Truckin'

2009-04-23T17:49:00.005-06:00

I love walking in New York.

It's not just the city streets that draw me to them, with the 8472 different languages and dialects, but, the deep beauty of New York you find walking through Central Park or along the East River.

I'm fortunate that my friend, K, lives in a beautiful area (Madonna lives 3 blocks away, meh)... at one end of our street is the Met, at the other is Gracie Mansion and the East River. In the morning, we walk around the reservoir, discussing the film... in the late afternoon, we walk over to the east river, then sit and talk about life, making sure we stop at Two Little Red Hens for our daily cupcake.

Thank god for the walking, to offset my red velvet cupcake.

We stopped and chatted with a nice man who was walking a Westie... K's mother has one, and well, so did I... until my mother took her. With the usual Westie charm, he danced around, licking hands and acting as if we were his new best friends. It's what I love about Westies, that cheerful, buoyant personality... I've never seen a sour one. They also tend to have amazing names, like Douglass or Winston or Grumbles. Unique names fit the breed. Should I get another dog, it will be a Westie. I'm hooked on them.

Had wonderful coconut rice for dinner, along with potstickers.... ginger/soy sauce completed the combination. One thing I miss about New York is the entire concept of delivery. You can get everything delivered, from food to clothes to paint to an exercise guru. Where else can you sit with your phone, and have the world come to you?

Tomorrow, I am off to do location scouting, while K goes to meet with the D.P.... the weather has been coolish, which makes getting around comfortable. with any luck, I'll see 'Mary Stuart', whose cast transferred from the Donmar Warehouse in London while I'm here. I have my 'reasons to be pretty' tickets set up, and would like to try to finally see 'Wicked'...

Who knows? Maybe this trip I'll succeed.

Day One

2009-04-22T16:07:00.003-06:00

You hear the best conversations in New York.

After a semi delayed flight out of Vegas yesterday, via Virgin (an amazing airline), I finally set down at JFK, and, like the now seasoned traveler I have become, I found my way to the wrong place, and had to phone to find my transportation. Being redirected into the airport, I did find the driver, and discovered I was sharing my ride with, surprisingly, two women from the next town down from me in the Land O'Utes and a woman who was, shall we say, in the entertainment business.

How do I know this? She was on the phone for most of the trip making, um, appointments. Expensive appointments. Very expensive appointments. Appointments so expensive, I considered throwing my morals and values to the wind, and lying on my back to think of England.

How expensive? $800 an hour is what she was quoting. That is when I realised I am in the wrong business.. and sadly, would giggle madly at the idea.

The other two women tried to pretend they weren't listening. Me? I leaned into her space, to catch every word. She drummed her extra long nails on the armrest, adjusted her belly shirt, and flicked the charm in her navel. It was like watching some exotic animal... I was <-> close to a pro.. it was heady.

She flipped her long hair over her shoulder, as she manipulated her phone and a date book... fending calls from back in L.A., chiding one of her, um, friends, for booking the wrong night for a car to pick her up. "Just call one number, and you'll have enough money to pay for a decent hotel until you can catch the right flight tomorrow, girl! We've got that party we are booked for on Friday, and I need you there. Just call a regular, okay?"

I decided it was best not to ask if it was an open invitation party... We did, however, fall into chatting... she told me how she'd raised her daughters in South Carolina, away from her work, and such... she flew to LA and New York when she needed to, and made enough to keep them in private schools and provide what they needed and wanted. She never openly said what she did, but, she did allude to her being 'busy' a lot... and now, she had her own business. I didn't ask for details.

She wiggled her fingers at me when she left the car, mouthing, "Bye!". All that was left were me and the two shocked women, who looked askance when I smiled and said, "Now, THAT was a conversation, wasn't it?"

Twenty minutes later, I was ensconced at K's, the sofa converted to my new bedroom, and yawning, ready for sleep.

It was the perfect first encounter during this trip.

Another Trip

2009-04-20T12:55:00.003-06:00

So many things I should be doing right now.

Cleaning the bathroom, changing sheets, sweeping my floor....oh, and packing to leave tomorrow. Yeah, I have that whole, "Going out of town for a bit, need to pack" thing going on. I've totally decided to only bring a carry on as my luggage, with jeans and tshirts. If I need more, I'll buy it, after all, I'm in New York!

I'm looking forward to the sights, the sounds, the energy that is New York... I'm looking forward to seeing K, to working on the film, to seeing a show or two... lets face it, I'm looking forward to being in the city.

Yes, I love my children being here... to being able to see them at any time...but, there is nothing here that I can pull energy from, to find to thrive.

I'm excited to be going...

Sunday Scribblings~ Flash Fiction

2009-04-19T11:54:00.002-06:00

Prompt was 'language'.

K1,P2

The house is quiet, no clock ticks, the cat sleeps silently on the back of the sofa she sits on, focused on learning her new hobby. At her feet is a bag of varied colour yarns, with a few sets of different sized knitting needles extending from the middle of the rainbow maze. She glances to her right, to the "Expert" pattern she's creating, moving her lips over phrases that are new to her, the words contained within presenting as gibberish to her brain. This still new process has become the language of her life.

Scarves are created when her mind is occupied with complex ideas, thoughts, emotions.... the easy casting on and following rows of simple stitches, no pattern...the size of the needles and the weight of the yarn determining the beauty of the product. It allows her to have a sense of accomplishment--far more than just sitting would do. She works out the issues found in those ideas, the thoughts and release the emotions, letting her continue her life without being overwhelmed. She gives these to loved ones, smoothing over the finished work, pleased the weave will keep warmth in and let the owner's breath out, doing the job they were meant to do.

It is later, when she moves on to patterns that read like Hebrew, containing stitches with complicated names like Andalusian and Brioche and Lily of the Valley Cable--beneath the name are complex instructions--P2to, SSK, PFB,Mbob, M1p--each abbreviation relates to what seems to be a complex move to be made with two pieces of bamboo...Pearl 2, toggle over? Make a bobble, K1,P1,K1,P1 to create a bobble. Here is where she creates what she calls her knitting wrinkle, between her eyebrows. Concentrating on the instructions, watching for the dreaded Double Point Needle to appear, all of the jumbled phrases slowly working their way into her memory, into her fingers...slowly they make sense. When they do, she moves on to another complex pattern, so that she has to focus entirely on the work.

These are the pieces she makes when she can't bear to think, when life wraps itself around her soul and mind and memory, knitting it's own complex pattern, not allowing warmth to enter nor her breath to be let out... it is then she bends all of herself to the language contained in those patterns, focusing on what is being made, each stitch, no matter now perfect it becomes...reminders of the days she is swallowed up by the main language of her life. These pieces are given away to charities and shelters and to people she doesn't know very well.

In doing so, she gives away those hours of supressed pain and sorrow, allowing her to re-focus, and to open up the bag, take the needles, and again make a simple scarf.



	.

My Boy

2009-04-17T21:48:00.005-06:00

Today is The Investment's 23rd birthday.

I made him his favourite shepherds pie and he had cupcakes. We went to a really horrible film he picked out, along with his J and HRH and the SIL .... then, after supper, he and his friends all went out bowling.

I declined to join them.

I wrote this for him some time ago... a story about my birthday, on his.

Stary, Stary Night

It's 2AM...he wakes me, showing me a town covered in a dark as rich as my slumber.

How easily we shed being mature mother, 20 year old son—we are children, lying wrapped in down comfort, the gently sloped roof our bed, our high mountain Utah town stretched out in the valley beyond, again enveloped in pioneer pre-Edison night.

Orion marches in stately majesty across the crisp skies, with his attending court moving in astral dignity, swirling in colours bold; red, gold, blue, green, white stark against the thick black.

My hand rests in his, reversed from what was, this lanky child who is like me, struggling in a world of stimuli when we long for routine and quiet.

Our breathing is so soft, the sound blends into the movement of the leaves and the smell of my roses and lavender moves upwards in that cold summer air and I wonder if he's drifted off to sleep when his long arm moves languidly to point out a star in what normally would be a vast dark area, it’s blue white light shimmering there.

I can hear his love, so hard for him to voice, wrapping around the words, “I can’t put it in one of those gift bags, but, it’s there, just for you….Happy Birthday, Mom.”

Happy Birthday, my dear son. I love you forever.

Playing Nonni

2009-04-16T11:53:00.004-06:00

I've been babysitting the last few days.

I thought I was beyond this point in my life, dealing with brushing teeth and doing chores and all the stuff that goes along with watching two children while their parents are out of town. HRH and the Husband are on a short road trip, and I was asked to live up to the moniker, "Nonni". Apparently, this title means more than just bringing over supersized kites and candy and then leaving the parents to deal with the fall-out.

Sometimes, you have to be responsible.

The kids are easy to get along with, and listen, and are well behaved. I simply don't know what to do with them. We can't go outside because it's cold and it's been snowing, and I hate both of those things. You can go over the alphabet (Ry's work) and the 6 times tables (Lani's) for only so long. We've got videos (I'm an expert on Goosebumps videos now) and they each get one hour of X-Box time a day... still, that leaves me hours to fill in.

I've discovered Nick cartoons, and board games. I find myself asked questions about everything from Ry, they discuss the Goosebumps with great seriousness, and I've developed a way to cheat at board games.

Now, here's the tough part... I am very competetive... very. With a little one, though, you have to let them win on occasion. So, I send Ry to the bathroom to get tissue for me to blow my nose, and while he's gone, I stack the Sorry cards to allow him to win. Otherwise, we'd be there for hours... this way, 20 minutes and we are done.

Then, I'm stuck for another event. We build highways out of books, I make Ry huge books so he can draw in them, and I listen to his jokes:

"What is purple and blind?
"An eggplant?"
"Is it purple?"
"Yes."
"Does it have eyes?"
"No."
"That's it then!"
(peals of 5 year old laughter)

I won't even get into the responses he has for the dinosaur joke book he has. I read out the joke question, and he comes up with convoluted replies.

You can't help but laugh.

Along with Ry and Lani, I have Loki, the massive dog HRH swears is a Lab mix... I know a pit bull mix when I see one! However, since HRH rescued poor starving Loki, fed and nursed her to health, this dog thinks the sun rises and sets in my daughter... and, she passes on that love to anyone who is in the house. Her way of loving you is to lean... watching her slobber over Ry when he gets home from pre-school is a hoot.

So, here I sit, watching "Wolfman of the Swamp" and answering questions.... "Why do werewolves like the moon?" ... lunch is next, then games, Lani home, more games, homework, dinner and bed.

I'll be glad to go back to kites and candy... it's easier.

Three Word Wednesday~Flash Fiction

2009-04-15T08:56:00.003-06:00

This week's word prompts are: allure, perch and vivid.

Spillway

For her family, the allure of the open space of water had been the chance to catch sunfish; a pretty fish with a yellow spot near it's tail that made for excellent fish fry. They'd pile into the station wagon, and follow the neighbors to the spit of land that extended into the expanse of run-off from the lake, an area that allowed the fish to settle and grow large. It was there she learned to bait, cast so it dropped without a splash, and give a quick jerk to set the hook before she reeled in her fish. In spite of her present aversion to the Great Outdoors, the memory of these trips held laughter, picnics, and both parents in a genial mood. The heat of the Southern sun, the cool breeze from the lake and the excitement when you caught a large perch stayed vivid in her mind, allowing the dark stretches of her family's usual existence to fade, reminding her hope is always there.

Curse You Sale

2009-04-13T17:10:00.004-06:00

Who has the smart idea to reduce Easter candy prices?

My freezer is no longer a place to store chicken breasticles or bags of broccoli... oh, no! Now it contains bags of M&M's in all flavours, malted milk eggs, jelly beans (nothing is as tasty as frozen jelly beans)... a plethora of sweet goodies that will expand both my ass and my dental bill.

Yes, I know it's all about my self control...but, please! When faced with boxes of bags of M&M's in ALL flavours...

...my self control was smart enough to keep it's mouth shut.

Sunday Scribblings~Flash Fiction

2009-04-12T11:05:00.004-06:00

The prompt was: What scares you most?

Ailurophobia

"It's not the end of the world that scares me." Kit announced to her therapy group. "I used to worry about that, you know, some cosmic piece of debris hitting the earth and we all blow up."

Mrs. Tuttle attempted to break in, "Well, I've always..."

A withering glance from Kit silenced her and anyone else who thought to express their fears in their little group.

"Then, I moved on to some huge epidemic...what are those called, pandemics or something? I'd be all shriveled up and choking on my own puke. Can you imagine?" Glancing around the faces in the circle around her, she silently dared them to disagree. Not a one picked up the gauntlet.

"Finally, I knew the one thing that scared me the most was to die at home, and have my cats eat my face. Starting with my eyes, because they are tasty even when your body is ready to explode from gasses. Still soft and yummy. Now, every day, I practice falling forward so they can't reach my face should I die, you know, at home." Looking around again, she sought approval for her ingenious plan to thwart the cats future dining pleasure.

Dr. Mason broke in to make the salient points that a)Kit didn't own any cats and that b)she lived in an asylum because c)she was found next to her husbands body, purring with the remains of his chewed upon eyes in her curled hands.

She got the last word, "See?"... her bit of word play making her laugh to herself as she walked back to her room, to practice her falling once again.

Small Town Living.

2009-04-10T14:37:00.000-06:00

I'm going mad here.

Just thought I'd put that out there.

Shameless Self Promotion

2009-04-09T08:26:00.002-06:00

I'm nominated for something!

As in, nominated, may win, could win, possibility of winning, although I'm against some excellent competition.

My writing homebase, SixSentences, has put me up for the Best Six of March. You can read all six entries there, and voting is here.

Have a read, enjoy the amazing work, and please, vote for the best one. Then, have a try yourself at a six...

They are addicting.

Flash Fiction~Three Word Wednesday

2009-04-08T13:38:00.005-06:00

Word prompts-flirt, ploy, stunning

Knowing What You Want

Miranda's world consisted of her sofa, the fridge and her little laptop, and in a stunning revelation, she discovered that she preferred the films of TCM far more than those shown on AMC. She ignored the marketing ploys that touted the American Movie Channel as the next best thing to film lover's heaven, as she found their commercials took away from her movie watching pleasure. Sure, she'd taken time to flirt with HBO and Showtime, but, her heart always brought her back to Ted Turner's little format of classic film perfection. Between the offerings and Robert Osborne, she could find no reason to change...not her closed existence, her beige emotions nor the programming that was the closest thing to a lover she'd ever known.

New York Bound

2009-04-07T17:06:00.003-06:00

New York, New York...

Long ago and far away in a town I lived in for a bit along with 8 million of my closest friends, I worked in the film industry. I started as a script supervisor, moved to continuity and did my last film as an AD (assistant director). Never anything from the studios, all of them were independent films of varying sizes.

One will be released soon, I'll put a link to 'The Apostles of Park Slope' (you can find it on youtube) when it's out and ready. A few were put forth as projects that went no where... and one, my first film, is ready to finish up filming.

I was fortunate that I became friends with the director, KB... she's talented, driven and a sweetheart. When I first talked to her, she'd just sent me her script to be 'timed'... Timing is when the script supervisor takes the script and her trusty stopwatch, and times how long she thinks the film will run. You have to figure out action sequences, dialogue, simple shot of silence and a static camera. I'd also taken on another script I didn't like...but, had agreed to time.

KB called me, all light voice and laughter and asked how long her film timed out to be...and I said, "I have it at 90 minutes."

You could hear crickets.

"90 MINUTES?? For a SHORT??" I've never heard a woman's voice crack before that time. I realised I'd given the wrong time to the wrong director, and quickly backtracked to a rough 22 minutes. Her sigh of relief was audible for six blocks around me.

We shot in Greenpoint in one of the hottest weeks in the early summer of 2007. We were miserable. We shot in stairwells, in the street at night, in an airless room that was pivotal to the plot.

We worried about budgets, feeding the crew and finding the Terrier a comfortable place to stay. She went to every shoot, and never made a sound. She's to be listed as 'Crew Dog' on the credits, proving her worth.

It's a tight little film, well written, well acted... and the crew was tight, all of us giving our time to make this short one that can go to festivals in the fall and winter of this year.

I've been bumped up to Assistant Director, which is swell for me. I like the calling out of my shots, of keeping the call sheet tight, and working with a director who never stops smiling. She is excited about our new shots, how we'll tie it all together. The film in existence is rockin' she said.

So, Quin Browne of Hard Cold Cash Productions (a division of Nepotism, LLC) will be back on the set the 22nd of April and will follow up with the editing and final paper and wrap-up work until the 5th of May. Quiet on the set. Action. Oh, I love those words!!

After that, festival season, where I get part of the swag.

And, I could use a pair of Uggs.

Desert to Snow

2009-04-03T19:27:00.003-06:00

Three rental cars to get me to L.A. and back.

Thankfully, they didn't charge me for the full trip, knocking it down to just 2 days of rental fees... it almost paid for the headache from the cigarette smoke in the last one. I left California using my air conditioner, and arrived here to inches of snow.

Sophie is tickled with her new toy--a crinkle tube. I thought it was a great idea when I bought it, and, after 47 trips through it, I'm ready to toss it outside and burn it. Silent it isn't.

Thoughts settled, and acceptance made of some things that went from sterling memories to rotten egg smelling ones. This, too, shall pass... with the bonus of making a friend who is pretty amazing. That friend joins those already in my nightly prayers to God and the Universe, wishing contentment, peace, joy and love to wash over them.

I left my tarot cards in LA, blargh!

I am working on the Neville story, I promise all three of his fans! I spent my LA time reading, knitting and enjoying TheBrother and the SIL. Thus, it was time well spent.

Well spent, indeed.

Sometimes

2009-04-02T10:42:00.002-06:00

Last night was....odd.

I spent a long time on the phone with someone, both of us opening up and discussing things that needed discussion. Both of us cried. Both of us laughed. We formed an odd bond.

I cried myself to sleep. I imagine their pain was considerable, too. In fact, I know it was... nothing we did to the other, just the facts of what is and was.

I appreciate the time and bravery it took to reach out... and, I think that feeling is reciprocated.

In the end, that's all you really can have, is respect...

...I have that for my caller.

Sunday Scribblings

2009-03-29T00:01:00.003-06:00

The key phrase was aging.

Halfheimers

Sitting at the desk, Lisa was struck with the realisation she was now more comfortable with a cotton sweater on over her clothes, even with the heater on. She spends time every day searching for her reading glasses, which she can't find without a pair of reading glasses, so, some days she is fucked. She prefer cats these days along with knitting in the evenings as she watches TCM. Words she used to know slip by unnoticed when she is talking or writing or simply thinking about the things in her life. Names become, "Honey" or "Dear"....searching for the real moniker is too difficult in her current state. She is over 45 now, and has become a victim of Halfheimers... not young, and not quite into full Alzheimer's state. Just enough over the border to amuse at times, and leave her shaking with fear of the future at others.

Decorating

2009-03-26T22:20:00.003-06:00

I've become an addict.

HGTV is my lover, and I'm it's bitch. Yes, it's true... I watch it when I'm not watching TCM, finding myself picking the house in House Hunters, yelling if they chose the one I think is not right... wondering how I'll decorate my no longer my house, the things I can do to it to update and make it even better.

The key phrase is, 'no longer my house'.

I've hung painting and photographs in the new townhouse, accepting it's not mine. If I move to LA, I'll be in a pre decorated master suite, so, my stuff will go back into storage. I'm pretty sure they'll empty their house to decorate the new one, so, who knows? I may get to hang a few things and move some of my antique furniture into the space. I'll be able to plant again, and there is a yard guy, so, I don't have to mow. And, I can buy some KABOOM! Billy Mays makes me want to buy crap for my house.

Although I don't miss anything I disposed of, I sometimes wish I'd kept a few things to make my life easier should I move west.

Or, I can put in for a house makeover, and be on television again.

Now, that's an idea!

Our Neville Fact:

Due to requests from many... okay, two.... tomorrow will be a full report of Margaret and Neville's Grand Cruise.

Fears in Life

2009-03-24T20:55:00.005-06:00

I am watching the series, "Planet Earth".

Before he left, the WeatherGuy and I made plans to watch his DVD copy, but, we tended to get distracted and never got around to the viewing. When I saw it was back on Discovery, I made the note to myself to catch it on Tuesday nights.

I heard a strange sound as I was in my little kitchen making supper, and walked back here in time to see... locusts. Crawling, eating, flying... horrible, miserable, nasty grasshoppers in giant form. They say the swarm can be 40 miles wide.

I assure you, this would be where I'd go mad. I'd die in the Gobi before I ever ate a locust, no matter how I starved. More than anything else, I fear drowning and grasshoppers. The first is thanks to Kathy when we were kids and she shoved me in the pool as my mom chatted and smoked and didn't know I was on the bottom when they saw me until they were pumping water out of me.

The grasshopper fear I lay at the feet of Danny Boudreau.

Oh, I loved Danny Boudreau!! His younger sister was my best friend... so dear to me, I'd bend and play Barbie with her on occasion. She was the perfection of Southern beauty--golden hair, china blue eyes, small, petite, sweet and kind. I was her opposite--dark, white skin, hazel eyes and gangly. We were attached at the hip, even learning to sit on the same toilet and wee at the same time.

Don't ask.

Danny was dark and handsome and even at 7 knew his attraction to girls... it remains today. I was tongue tied around him, and let him win at baseball, even if he hit right to me, I'd drop the ball or miss it...anything to get him to smile at me as he ran around the bases and my team screamed at me.

This great crush would have gone on forever, I think, if Danny didn't have a mean streak. For him, this meant finding what you were afraid of, and chasing you with said item. Debbie H hated frogs, so, he'd pick up a good size frog and chase her all over. Fran hated snakes... you get the picture.

I wasn't fond of grasshoppers. Oh, I tolerated their existence, but, I'd prefer not to be around them... they spit. It took the one time of me wrinkling my nose at said creature, and my fate was sealed.

I still remember the day... hot, sunny, and I wore a blue and white seersucker sunsuit (say that five times fast) with an elastic waist and little white ties at the shoulders. The waist is important in this story.

There we were, in the shade of the Chinese elm in my back yard, playing with the plastic cowboys and horses we got every summer. It was still early enough in the season we had a full set, no missing legs on the cowboys nor feeling we had to substitute an Indian pony for a cowboy steed. A few were chewed on; between Lynn's habit of putting things in her mouth and the dog, teeth marks were evident, but, not enough to stop the play.

I was focused on my cowboy, having him ride his black horse to save the homestead when I felt someone behind me grab the top of my sunsuit. They pulled the material back, then dropped....

....the grasshopper.

It crawled and grabbed on my skin to try and get away. I started screaming over Danny's laughter, and then.... he squished it.

I can still feel the bits and oozey parts on my back, trapped by the waist, my ears filled with a voice I didn't know screaming and screaming.

Yeah.

Three years later, I accepted a ring he made for me out of a dog choke chain, but, I never really forgave him. To this day, I can't be within a mile of a 'hopper or I panic. I've been known to drive off the road when one flew into my car window. The Brother once told a friend, "You don't want to drop that on my Sis, she'll beat you senseless." He's always been very bright.

So, I've turned off the sound and won't look up for another few moments. As it is, I'll have nightmares tonight about them flying about and crawling and eating everything in sight.

Thanks, Danny. Thanks a lot.

Visit From The Past

2009-03-23T09:10:00.002-06:00

The Ex is in town.

It's always a difficult time for me, when he drives over to see our kids. Part of me, a small part, is resentful he's only now really attentive to them, having left the difficult part when they were growing up in my not always capable hands.

A larger part wants to sit around with him and said kids and enjoy them together. Regardless of how our divorce came to be, and whatever happened in the meantime, he can still make me laugh (as I do with him) and we are older, wiser (I hope) and life is just too fecking short to waste on old anger. Sadly, it won't happen.

Ah, well.

Six

2009-03-19T03:12:00.000-06:00

I had some nice news waiting when I arrived home late last night (after 20 hours!).

Not only do I have a new SixSentences published, but, one of my Smith Magazine memoir in six words is a finalist to appear in their next book!! woot! One problem, I'm not sure which of them it is!!

Hope you enjoy the reading.

Packing

2009-03-17T02:15:00.003-06:00

How on earth did I get all this cr...stuff??

Better yet, how will I put it back into my case? I've already had to go to a larger one, and even with my medium size case stuffed, too, I still have things left over. I suppose I'll have to cave and buy a rolling carry on case, as my usual large bag I use won't work.

I imagine it is the plethora of candy I have (Malteasers, HRH!), the number of food products I can't get home I love to eat (if only I could bring bacon!), and the, um, 20 sets of new lingerie I bought.

I can't describe what The Investment will have, as he reads this, but, it fills one third of my big case. I just hope he likes it all.

Maybe, if I shift the underwear to the smaller case, the robotic bat and stuffed animals for grandkids to the place that left....

The airline is going to love me. Not.

Our Neville Fact

Every Tuesday, the Captain has a Fancy Dress Party in the main dining room. Margaret has decided she and Neville will dress in the fashion of the cultural area they are visiting. She looks stunning in her off the shoulder Grecian gown, her still heavy hair wrapped in braids and long curls around her head. Neville grouses the entire way down, wearing this only because it makes Margaret happy, but, feeling a right plonker in his version of the Greek Army dress uniform. Staveros thinks he looks divine!

Northern Ireland and Me

2009-03-15T12:56:00.002-06:00

Northern Ireland can be visited in a single drive of five hours or so.

I didn't do that... we only went to three places, all of them unique, interesting and totally diverse. Some people say Ireland is more green than any other place... I don't know about that. I do know I saw shades of green I've never seen before. The air is soft and so is the water. There is a toughness that is required to live there, I think. You live in a place that is still warring (we had to drive miles out of our way to avoid an armed check-point) and dealing with the 'Troubles'.

We went to the Giants Causeway, which legend has was built by Finn McCool, the giant. It looks to be man made, because it is so precise in it's design, in the formation of the rocks. We went to the Bushmill distillery where I bought a coin purse, and we passed on the tour. There was a huge sweep of sandy beach, surprising as it stood there between craggy rock. The ocean was a heavy grey colour, stretching all the way out, and I imagined how it was for my great-grandmother, who left these shores as a young girl, piled onto a boat deck, escaping the horror of the Famine.

I saw the old work house, re-made into a hospital. A ghost is there, whose been seen by many. You see the long dormitory rooms where up to 200 women slept on piles of straw in a room the size of my old dining room and living room combined. People came to the work house when they had starved for so long, their pride was gone in the face of hunger. Couples were broken apart, families sent in the direction of their sex and age, to not see each other again until they could earn enough money to buy their ticket to freedom; America.

I went to Derry, where the Troubles were intense and fierce and you can still see the signs painted on walls, "FREE DERRY". It used to have a man made wall around part of the city, with violence going on behind it. Big Ev was in the Army back then, and told us stories of a policeman who had his feet blown off when a bomb in his car only partly exploded...or of his friend who was buried under a building that was blown up and collapsed on him, and walked away with nothing more than a broken cigarette. He showed me where the police stations stand like fortified modern castles, and the police cars are unmarked, and have bullet proof glass.

Some things don't change easily.

There was the huge sweep of farmland, broken by gorse bushes that were breaking into yellow flowers. Homes dotted that area of farms and potatoes and sheep. The town he is in has 45% unemployment. Can you imagine? Forty five percent of the people have no job... it's frightening.

I spent time with a cat that tried to nurse on every bit of my shirt tail as I sat on the couch, drooling when you stopped him. There was Amber, the nervous Cocker Spaniel, who sought out scratches and her 'baby'.. and Big Ev and his delightful daughter who is tall and lean and beautiful and sweet.

Home now, picking up the dogs at some point... nice to have my 'own' bed back, yet, missing those long sweeps of green and heavy accents and a history that is still being created in violence and the sought after peace.

I'm in the hopes peace wins.

Our Neville Fact

The boat has a crew of pursers, maids and cooks. The young man assigned to Neville and Margaret's room is called Staveros, and he is very, very attentive to their needs. It seems he caught Neville coming out of the bathroom looking for his trousers, and saw the Great Package. Since then, he's continued to pop in without knocking, in the hopes of becoming a close friend of the Package. Neville is clueless, and can't figure out what happened to his best boxers...not realising Staveros has them under his bed pillow in his cabin, where he holds them and dreams.

Cheap Airfare

2009-03-09T07:34:00.004-06:00

Loo and I are flying to Northern Ireland Thursday, to see her fiance and play tourist.

We are using one of the clever UK airline's flights that are free.... after taxes are paid. Oh, and if you want to have more than one carry-on, that's extra... pack that purse!! Wait, you want to check in online, and don't have a UK or EU passport? That's another 9.50 sterling, each way.

So, that's it... except if you want a seat. You pay for that. And, if you buy the cheap fares, they don't guarantee an oxygen mask. Or a seat belt. Or breathing at all on the flight. Each breath costs an extra 2 pounds. Ohhhh, you wanted to deplane? Get out your credit card!!

Okay, the last bits are pretend, but, you feel that way. Your 'free' flight ends up costing as much as a non-free one, where you can carry on something larger than a Tesco plastic bag.

If you carry a Sainsbury's one, they charge you.

Our Neville Fact

Neville and Margaret left on their cruise yesterday. They will be doing a History and Culture themed trip aboard the Hellenic ship, ξιπασμένος. The Greek staff tell everyone the name means "Precious" when in fact, it means "Pretentious". They have their table sittings, and received the list of the couples who will be sitting with them, along with their good friends. Included are the
Leonard and Leander Ponce-Duncombe of Surrey, the Viscount and Viscountess Howe (Neville and Shirley) of Wiltshire, Kiril and Olivia Welbore-Kir of London, Mungo and Emma Mardsen-Smedley who are from Aberdeen, Miss Lucy Hobhouse of Great Cocks, near Swindon and to finish out the group, Mr. Clifford Baniel of Silverstone. Neville is still grumpy over having to wear his coat and tie to each dinner, and Margaret is excited they may get to sit at the Captain's table during one meal. Amid kisses and waves from family, they were off!

Sunday Scribblings~ Flash Fiction

2009-03-08T03:28:00.006-06:00

The prompt phrase was, "Look, this is important."

Scars

  They were the proof she’d survived.

Facing anyone was difficult, facing someone she trusted added to the intensity of the discomfort. How to explain what marked her... from the scar beneath her knee, received when Steven Jones pushed her into the swamp canal, and she caught it on the broken end of a branch, hauling herself out of the goop to the bisecting scar that crossed her from hip to hip, left after an operation that caused her to loose so much blood, she was as white as her sheets.

How to explain the thin stripes on her back and legs where she’d been punished with rulers belts thin willow branches that stung long after the beating ended. There was the finger...it had been nearly severed after being caught in a car door, and her parents didn't care to pay emergency room fees, so, they taped it back on, and life went on..and she was left with a fingerprint that didn't match up, a finger that was off kilter.

How to explain what marked her internally, the curses and cruelty and devastation that caused her to cut people out of her life, leaving yet another hole that may not ever fill. Forgiving would cause more pain, so, the hole was left to work itself into another scar.

How to explain to someone who’d never known any of this, who had a life blessed by love and good luck. The one who held her heart. They showed how she survived, not badges of courage, but, reminders of life, personal tree rings.

“Look,” she said. “Look and touch and listen...because these are important.”

This is FICTION. Promise.

The UK Me

2009-03-07T07:42:00.002-07:00

I'm eating too much.

I graze all the time, as if I'd not been fed in years.

I also drink copious amounts of tea, something I seldom do in the States. I like mine white with one sugar... whole milk, please.

I eat leeks, toad in the hole, roast pork, sausages and bacon and toast for breakfast.. all things I leave behind when I go. Bars of CurlyWhirlys, Dairy Milk and Malteasers. While I'm here, though, I wallow in the love of these dinner foods, along with a pudding every night. I take baths in the wonderful bathtubs here. I walk everywhere...basically, I enjoy my life.

I watch 'Top Gear' and 'QI' and other shows I'd not be bothered with at home.... this place has become my second home, with friends who started as friends of my friend, the pub knows me, I have my own room, the dogs love me. I may go ahead and live here the six months we've discussed me doing...

And buy lots of stretchy pants if I do to cover the acres of flesh I'll become.

Our Neville Fact

Margaret has signed them both up for a cruise around Spain, traveling with the Bagsocks-Larsens; George and Flora. Neville hates cruises, as he's forced to be nice to people he doesn't know. Margaret looks forward to gin games and gin drinks, and continues to pack a case for both of them, ignoring Neville's grumping.

You've Got To Have Friends

2009-03-05T02:14:00.003-07:00

Raino gave this to me on her blog.... tagged me as you will.

I was startled, embarrassed and tickled to be honoured. Here are the boundries:

“These bloggers are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.”

So, my eight bloggers are (and this was tough, I think every one of the blogs I read should be read by people.... they are all amusing, charming, and well written)

Solomon
TR
Pookie
Cormac
Peter
Kari

So, thank you Raino!! You're a star!!

Our Neville Fact

Margaret's cousin, Letticia Boyd-Neves, came to visit in 1973 and stayed until 1976, waiting for her divorce. Neville remained miffed the entire time as she took over the ManRoom as her bedroom during her 'visit', placing his snooker table in the garage. Margaret had to do a number of things, including making the hated Toad in the Hole once a week, to make up for this affront.

I Love Loocy

2009-03-04T01:08:00.002-07:00

Time with Loo is never dull, to say the least.

Last night, while scooping dog poo in the drizzly dark, under a pale light, she screamed. I mean, let one rip. One of the piles of Frank and Nova poo had jumped--she'd scooped a frog by mistake.

Last Friday, she bent over to pick something up and her back went out. She hobbled about, in great pain, while the rest of us laughed and took photos. Thankfully, she's great humoured, and sort of ended up posed for us. P.S. She recovered after 2 Valium and a glass of whin..wine.

On Tuesday last, we went to Bristol with Hols so she could interview for University. We kept drawing looks as the three of us walked along, and I suddenly realised she was quite posh in appearance, while I had on jeans, sensible shoes and my short hair. We looked like two lesbians taking their daughter to her interviews. The three of us started to laugh like mad, and then, Hols asked if she should call us both Mummy or should she call me Mom since I was American. Later in the week, we stopped off in a travel agency, to pick up a few brochures for Mills to use in her course work. The agent came over to help us, and when we asked for anything she had on Barcelona, her expression changed to one of "Dear me! How will I handle this?" On the way out, Loo had tears from laughter.. it seems Barcelona is the number one location for same sex marriages in Europe.

She has a ghost. There are candles in the sitting room, and we keep finding them lit, with no one having been in the room, no matches about... all quite spooky. Today, a cartridge suddenly rolled completely across the very level table. There is a non living animal that sometimes walks across the kitchen. All great fun. Not.

I needed my hair trimmed, and Loo said her hairdresser, Fiona, would come around and do it for around five pounds. What a deal!! She didn't mention that Fiona is from the Highlands, and you can't understand a thing she says. She chats away about haggis and horses and her kids as she clips and snips and we just go, "Ah huh." She's coming back on Sunday to do something. We aren't sure what we agreed to, it happened during one of the "Ah huh." moments. It should be interesting.

Yesterday, when opening the door to let the dogs out, she snapped her pinky nail below the nail line, causing a nice rip on the nail bed. Yes, I ewwwww'd too. She danced around, moaning and groaning, "It hurts! It hurts!" I know it hurts, I showed dismay, but, please, I'm trying to watch Homes Under the Hammer. The rest of the day, she went on about how her "....finger hurts, quite badly!" Suck it up, woman.

Underwear is a passion for our Loo. Everything she owns matches, and they have their own special drawers in her dresser. Sadly, she's invited me to be addicted, too. You fall into it, at first picking up a little set from ASDA, and next thing I know, I'm in Marks and Spencers, drooling over silk sets, caressing satin ones, discussing the varied shades of blue, trying to find the perfect one. I would hear, "QUINN!!! Come QUICKLY!!" and she'd have a set in deep mushroom silk; a set that meant I'd have to sell a kidney to buy. I think I'll be able to live without the kidney. Interspersed with the yells for me, were her comments about her nail. Again, please... I'm shopping for underwear here.

Her kitchen floor flooded before I arrived, and we've lived with the Big Loud Machine since then. It's to suck moisture out of the floorboards. I reckon if we kept it turned on all the time, it'd work. Obviously, we don't.

It's been a good time... we tag team iron, tidy, shop for underwear, go to Costco's, even if the experience was ruined by screaming children and no food examples.

It's my home away from home, here in the Village. Full of people I like and things I enjoy doing. Angie pops round for tea, people call all the time, teenagers lounging about, Hols wanting her tea, the dogs barking at nothing and everything and Cat irritated there's no cat flap between the kitchen and the room where his outdoor cat flap is located. It's never dull here.

And, it's got Loocy.

Our Neville Fact

Margaret wants to go see the new film about Queen Victoria, but, Neville refuses. It seems his great Grand-Aunt, Lady Flora Hastings, was the subject of the main part of the plot, a dear woman who was banished from Court for no reason than having a liver aliment that made her stomach swell. She was thought to be pregnant! Neville's family never forgot the slight, and had to put on a good show when Nev married Margaret as she descends from Queen Victoria's Stuart line. Neither side spoke to the other that day, and more than a few wine glasses were 'accidently' poured on the silk skirts of the women there.

Margaret went alone, while Neville saw 'Grand Torino'.

Valerie

2009-03-02T12:52:00.004-07:00

My friends in Silverstone fund an amazing organisation.

They'd vacationed as a group in Kenya a number of years ago, and after meeting Janet and Allen, they ended up 'adopting' the local village. In the time since the first visit, they've funded a tap in for clean water, provided clothing and food, and...built a school from the ground up.

Angie heads the group, going to schools here and different organisations, raising money and finding sponsors for the children in the school. Not a dime raised goes to any thing but the school and the children. Her group pays for their own travel. It takes around $18.00 a month pays for teacher's salaries, food and uniforms for your sponsored child. They bring out clothing and toys when they head to the area every year. Most of the children are orphans, from the constant violence and AIDS.

I'm sponsoring Valerie... she's three and an orphan after her parents were killed last year in the election riots. She lives with her aunt who is also taking care of two other orphans.... I'm humbled to be able to do this to help them out.

Janet and Allan had a dream of building a school... Janet bought a brick at a time, even knowing the project would take years, at .05 a brick, it was a huge undertaking. Janet and Allan were born and raised in this village, and take care of 14 children on their own.

Have a look at the site, if you can. It takes so little... $5 will help buy food..give clothing that is neat and clean and not some cast-off. When you have nothing, it doesn't mean you should have to wear rags. Every little girl deserves a dress that twirls, and these people make sure that happens.

There are more than lions in Kenya... there are also people you can help. Think about it.

Hunger~Film Review

2009-03-01T14:51:00.003-07:00

The Turner Prize has never really rocked my boat.

Perhaps it’s too many installations that make me go, “WTF?” when I see them, wondering how on earth a huge monetary prize is awarded to that particular artist. Steve McQueen is one of those Turner Prize winners, and, he’s moved his focus to film; a decision for which I am thankful.

McQueen has made his first film, one that is riveting in both its subject matter and in the filming process itself. ‘Hunger’ covers the last months of IRA activist, Bobby Sands (Michael Fassbender). Sands was part of a group of prisoners in 1981 at the (in)famous Maze Prison in Northern Ireland, during the height of ‘The Troubles’. They had lost their political prisoner status, and were now simply terrorists held by their ‘enemy’--the British Crown. Protests were staged in the prison on a regular basis, with the men refusing to shower or bathe or wear clothing. They chose to make their jail cells places of horror, including piles of uneaten food, and excrement smeared walls. Both sides hated each other with bone deep hate, choosing to strike against the other side whenever possible.

I remember my Gran speaking with ice edged distain in her voice of the English and how they treated the Irish. She’d tell me of how they had driven her grandparents out of Ireland during the Great Famine, how they starved and suffered in the ships bringing them to America. She loathed the English (even as she taught me the proper English way to have tea) and had no logical reason why. It is something I've seen more than once, this long-standing hard-eyed fury. I met a Northern Irish waitress last summer, who told me of how she was a new immigrant (read hoped not to be found after her visa ran out) and her life in Belfast. “On Sunday, we’d lob rocks at the Proddie kids.” she said. When I questioned her as to why, she said, “I’ve no idea. It’s something you did.”

Is the hatred DNA locked? Is it generational, with the original flash points long ago, and far away? So long ago, no one knows why they still fight, it’s become something you...do without questioning the reason behind the action, the words, the emotions.

The film does not vilianise nor make heroes of either side, it only points out the events of the H Block hunger strike. Both sides were reduced to a life within the walls, and it shows how hate and anger can erode a soul. McQueen never makes this a martyrdom for the strikers, nor a statement of justification for the prison guards and warden. Instead, he gives us the facts, and allows us to make our own decisions. He takes on the role of storyteller, and it is a role he wears well.

It is harsh, brutal at times, almost unbearable to watch. McQueen makes great use of long static shots (the conversation between Sands and a priest is 21 minutes long, and filmed in an uninterrupted take--breathtaking film perfection) and shows us, with the dearth of dialogue, how sound or silence can be used as a weapons. It’s very effective as a filming tool.

There are crafted juxtapositions through out, from the sight of a British policeman quietly sobbing behind a wall as prisoners run a gauntlet while being beaten, to the cruel reality of Sands’ existence and the almost reverence shown in the kind way he was treated by those same guards as he lay dying.

Gandhi used starvation as a tool to passively resist, relying, I believe, on the world eye to cause things to change, to prevent him from dying. Bobby Sands did not have that same stay of death. Fassbender’s image at the end is turn your head away painful. This film is an uncompromising view of what humans are capable of; in violence, in decency, in using their own lives as a means of protest.

I watched and wondered--would I have that kind of belief in my cause that I'd give over my life? It's a question I think McQueen wants us to ask ourselves, one whose answer may surprise us once it's known.

Hunger, directed by Steve McQueen, written by Steve McQueen and Edna Walsh. In limited release in the US on March 20, 2009. Rated ‘R’ for nudity and violence.