Auntie Evil in Munchkinland

I have been slow to post lately, but I must say it is for good reasons over all. If I am not spending 24/7 at my favorite laptop-in-shambles, I am living life "like humans do".

Trent: torrent - a flow of water with great turbulence
Gabriel: God is my strength

My night as keeper of my nephews was not so bad, actually good (minus one poopy diaper), but I called in back-ups. I know what you are thinking, but I didn't wimp out on purpose. Life just happened that way. I think the big guy was looking out for my nerves and making sure I didn't rip them out in front of the little guys before they are old enough to think something of the sorts is cool.

The day started out at a family gathering in the country with lots of female cousins and 2nd cousins around the same age for the boys to torture for hours to know end...and torture they did (at least it wasn't me). Did I mention little girls shriek, A LOT? LOUDLY? Eeeik, my ears! Where's the Advil? The shrieking was all worth it when the boys both slept the whole trip back to St. Louis. Ahhhh, silence.

We arrived in St. Louis around 7pm, close to bedtime, but not close enough. Hmmm, how does Auntie Evil usually entertain herself? Mi Lupita Mexican! So, the Trent and Gabe learned the joys of Mexican too. The boys were great at first, still calm and waking up from their hour plus naps. Each pigged out on bowls of nachos, salsa, and con queso to the surprise of Mama, one of the owners, who thought it would be too spicy for my two nephews. She was impressed with their fearlessness. She even helped me teach them some Spanish which Trent happily showed off to everyone in the restaurant. After a few Spanish lessons, the boys both woofed down tacos. Note: the boys did nothing but eat all day in the country. Then, nachos. Now, tacos. As Trent was finishing up his taco, he asked Mama for honey. The child wanted honey for dessert, so she had the boys in the kitchen fix a special plate of sosapillas and ice cream up for my boys drenched in honey and cinnamon. Ewww, Messy! The boys were no longer sitting still as they ate dessert. Needless to say everything was getting sticky and Auntie Evil was getting anxious. OCD doesn't like sticky, especially sticky everywhere. Alex, one of the waiters, helped clean the boys, who quickly escaped the confines of the table and promptly took charge of the restaurant. To my luck, most of the patrons were leaving, which gave the boys a chance to play while I quickly fixed Mama's laptop (plagued with spyware and running really slow). Well, the boys ran circles screaming at the top of their lungs, round and round the restaurant. The kitchen boys decided to join in a game of hide-n-seek with them kidnapping Gabe and hiding him from Trent. After a good 20 minutes of hysterical screaming and laughing, Trent had enough of the boys keeping his baby brother away from him and stopped dead center and screamed at the top of his lungs, "GIVE ME BACK MY BROTHER!" At that point, I decided 10:30 was a good time to take leave and put my two worn out boys to bed.

Gabe woke up once in the middle of the night not sure where he was and ended up sleeping the night on my chest. Awwwwwwww.

And I and the 2 lil ones survived.

PS. I swear I still smell that poopy diaper

Sleepover at Auntie Evil's?

What was I thinking when I agreed to keep my nephews (ages 2 and 4 years of age) overnight this coming Saturday? I love the boys to death (in short quantities and when they are sleeping), but alone in my house with responsibility for 18 or more hours? Sounds scary to me.

I'm not worried about my house. The house is fairly child-proof. My sanity, however, is not. The good point here is I have only seen the boys lately in large groups of family not one-on-one, at all. Hopefully, the angelic darlings, who think Auntie Evil is there favorite, will be the ones who come home with me on Saturday. If not, please send in support. I don't drink anymore and will need some sort of back-up and my parent are out for the night. :((

I haven't watched the boys together, ever. I watched Trent quite a bit before Gabe was born and never again since. Hmmm. I'm not even sure Gabe likes Auntie Evil except when big brother is trying to butter her up for something good. This should be an interesting night.

What was the dog in Peter Pan? Nana? I'm not sure Chili-dog can live up to Nana status but I may put him up to the test this weekend.

Touched by Two Warmths

One point after all came to rest I realized that my hand was wet and pressed against my soaking wet warm abdomen. My breathing was very defined, my hands trembled, my mind was trying to take in all that was going on around me and decipher the wet hand. The one thing my mind did know was it didn't want to look downwards. I kept looking forward and at the boys apologizing to me. They kept saying, "I'm soo sorry, I'm sooo sorry." And I in return said, "It's OK, just calm down." Yet, I couldn't get a normal breath. I still did not look around. I did not turn my head. I didn't realize Chris was unconscious. I didn't know what the warm dampness in my lap and on my hand was. For those brief seconds. I was just lost in it all. Trying to catch up to the time passing before me and slowly gaze downward into my hand and realize I was not bleeding the wet warmth in my lap and on my hand was not red. What was it? I glanced around and saw an upside-down can of Sprite...just Sprite. I let a breath out. I must have been holding my breath. I finally realize Chris was not responsive "Chris, baby, Chris." Oh no, oh my God, NOOOOO, NOOOOOOOOOO! His eyes were rolled back in his head. He was leaned in toward me. Blood was flowing down the farside of his face into and out of his ear. OUT OF HIS EAR. GOD, Please don't let him be dead. GOD GOD GOD. "Chris, baby, CHRIS, WAKE UP." "GO GET HELP, CALL 911! HE's NOT CONSCIOUS" "CHRIS, IT's SHEILA. It's Sheila".....................

The paramedics lifted up the stretcher and started wheeling me down the hill past the crowd of strangers. I could feel every bump and rock on the road. My head was pulsating so bad. Why did they tape my head down so tight. I just wanted to cry. I was so confused. I wanted my shoes off. My hands and arms had a strange numb tingly feeling. All these people are staring at me, wondering what caused our accident that closed the road for so long down...probably wondering how bad our injuries were. Then, suddenly, I heard her. She was crying, but, at least, it was someone I knew. It was Sharon, my soon to be mother-in-law. I didn't want her to cry. I didn't want to upset her. Chris and I would be OK. We would. She didn't need to get upset. Someone needed to tell her we were alright. Why was she crying? Chris was talking now (not sensible, but talking). Where is she? I hear her. Next, I saw Cheri, a friend's wife, holding someone. It was Sharon. Sharon reached out and grabbed my toe. She was shaking and bawling. I started crying again too. Gasping for air, I watched her do the same. Finally, she spoke, "Sheila-baby, I love you. You know that, right. I love you." Warmth filled my body. I was going to be her daughter-in-law next year and she just told me she loved me for the first time. It was going to be OK. She knew it too.

Trading Mud for Tears

My sister called me Monday morning. My Schnoodle, Guinness, is living with her at the moment. I was a little concerned when I saw her name on the caller ID and even more concerned when I heard her exasperated, "Hello".

Meags: I lost your dog
me: It is OK. What happened? and how long has he been gone? (thinking to myself of how to best handle the situation when I was already late for work)
Meags: but I went looking for him and found him
me: OK, are you alright? is he OK?
Meags: Yeah, but he put me through hell and I was supposed to be taking Abby (our cousin) to school, so Mom had to do it. She didn't want to hear the story so you have to listen to this...
me: Ok (thinking about last time she said this and told me about the Opossums)
Meags: Well, I didn't know where he went and I was looking all over the back yard in just my bra and dress pants. Then, I thought he might have gotten out front so I ran out the front gate right as a truck full of guys drove by and I'm standing in my front yard in my bra yelling, "GUINNESS". I probably gave them an interesting start to their morning.
me: I can only imagine they were not too disappointed, hun.
Meags: Then, realizing I was in my bra I jumped in my car and grabbed an extra shirt out of the back and put it on and thought I should drive over to Grant's Trail (right behind her house) to look for him. Well, I pulled up to the trail entrance and these guys are looking at me funny running in heels down the trail. I ran yelling for Guinness for over a mile when I spied him jumping in and out of a mud puddle and rolling around in it. When he saw me he started to dart the other direction and I was soo exhausted I just plopped down on the ground and started crying knowing I couldn't catch up to him running. Well, I guess that is what he needed. He came running back to me and crawled in my lap rubbing against me trying to make me feel better. All he managed to do was make me feel muddy. He covered my clothes, hair and face in mud, so much for showering.

After sitting there for a bit, I decided to carry him back to the car. For such a little dog, he got really heavy fast after just running so far for him. My back starting hurting and I was ready to collapse again and I had nothing to walk him with. I finally figured I was covered in mud already and it would be easier to walk barefoot with him. As I took off my heels, I got the bright idea of linking the straps together and around his collar to walk him with. By the time I got back to my car the guys I passed earlier were laughing hysterically at me covered in mud and walking Guinness with my high heels. I'm sure I was quite a sight for them.

Surviving 50 Effan Years

Happy Birthday, Pops!

There is much to say, but few words that will give my thoughts justice. I'm just glad to know you are always there looking out for me, in one way or another. Hopefully, the next thirty years will bring you and I double the stories and great times of the last thirty.

Congratulations on 50 years
and here is to many more to come! Cheers!

I love you!

11 hours and 34 dead Armadillos...POP

I missed Becky's birthday today, but she was swamped with family things (and to swamp myself in the same way I spent the day with my Aunt Sis (Harleen) and her daughter, Mary Jo.
Actually, most of the day was spent in the car with my aunt. We drove from Farmington, MO to Springfield, MO to get Mary Jo settled into her dorm room for her first year at college. Exciting Stuff, huh?

I decided to go along for the trip to get in some quality time with my aunt who has always seemed to look out for me and to play the role of the big sister Mary Jo never wanted. I may have overplayed the role of big sister and overprotective parent a little...or maybe, a lot. I don't think my aunt was able to speak two words with me spouting out wisdom like I've experienced life unlike no other she'll cross paths with.

I doubt Mary Jo was listening to half of what I said, but even if she caught one little bit, she will experience one less trial and, with that, not have to learn any more lessons than needed the hard way.

We've all been there. Those first days, months, years on our own where we are terrible at laundry, dishes, money, boys (oh man, boys) etc. And after we survive, we try to share our experiences with our siblings and/or children, but they don't want to hear it, What do WE know anyways, we're old now. I laugh when an 18 year old thinks I'm old. I'm twenty-nine freaking years old! I'm not dead in the box yet, give me a break.

In my head, it was only yesterday when my parents and I were fighting over packing boxes to move my skinny butt out and off to college (Boy, that didn't last long). I did pretty good with the money aspect and even with keeping the boys in check (minus a toga party or two), after those two, my track record goes downhill quickly. I may not have been the worst, but I definitely could've done better. I'm either a perfectionist or far from perfection. I am not good with middle of the road average.

I think I ran out of clean dishes somewhere around the middle of Sept. '95. I don't think I saw them clean again until my Mom came to visit at the end of October and decided to wash and replace everything with paper products.

The other thing I was awful about was going to class, unless they could promise me something of interest I rather stay in bed. Osmosis and sleep are way better than showering, dressing and lecture hall, just make sure you are there on test days.

Speaking of showering...Oh my, Mary Jo doesn't know how lucky she is to be in a suite with just 6 girls in her "gross" bathroom. I had a shared one for the whole floor and it seemed like it was 100 years old. Icky and slimey were understatements. The only good time to shower was after midnight or no later than 6am, if you wanted hot water and water pressure at the same time. Being that I have long thick hair and can't stand cold showers, 6am it was, because listening to girls heave while you are trying to bath at midnight is not such a cleansing feeling. Are those chunks coming under the stall?

Survival of the fittest? Freshman 10, 15, 20??? The other thing I reminded Mary Jo of was loneliness and food does not cure it. I hooked her up with all sorts of snacks, but warned her that they were there to get her thru when she didn't have time to eat or needed a late night nutritional burst, not to get through a rough day in the dorm, fights with roommates or failing that first test because this isn't high school anymore.

I'm pretty sure she'll do great. She is a tough cookie, like myself. Her weaknesses will be that she will try to be too strong and proud at times. One of my hardest lessons learned was letting people in: to know I was sad, lonely, or just needed help. The next ten years will be some of the best and worst of times for her. Luckily the bad times, just make the good times that much better. She is beginning and I'm at the opposite end of those ten years trying to put myself together for the rest of my life. I kinda feel like we are in the same place, I just have a few more of the hard knocks under my belt. Maybe that is why I feel so strongly of trying to relate sooooo many lessons to her. I love her as much as my own sister (which she is) and want her to succeed. We all deserve it.

Now I'm guessing you wonder why I titled this 11 hours and 34 dead armadillos. Well, I spent 11 hours on the road Sunday from StL to Farmington to Springfield to Farmington to StL and counted 34 dead armadillos on the road. My aunt and I didn't hit any of the little guys, but from what we understand when they get scared they pop straight up as a defense mechanism. Then, SPLAT, right into the grill or bumper of your car. I only found one on hwy 67. Most of the little guys were in multiple degrees of decapitation along hwy 44 headed EASTBOUND. I guess they've had enough of ol' georgie and texas too. Can't blame them, I would just advise more caution hiking up the highways though ;)

On my desk right now one could find an empty Sonic cup, my broken eye glasses, my red scratched up cell phone, a sealed up bottle of Aquafina that I may never open, and a knife with dried up cheese. My desk sounds exciting, eh? I should clean it, but I rather sit here and type random thoughts to you.

My great-aunt, Sister Ellen Michael Leary, died today. I'm feeling extremely guilty about this, but in other ways very thankful too. She has not been well and suffered more than her fair share of pain and ailments in life. The guilt is my own from not spending enough time with her in last years due to my inability to do so. My life has been somewhat handicapped, but I still fee like I should've overcome my fears at least once and gone to visit her. It is too late now. I plan to write more to share with you in the near future. Stay tuned.

I know this is somewhat sudden, but I think I have found a replacement for alcohol....Are you ready for this???? Dr. Pepper, Red Bull, and Chimi-cheese cakes...these three in high quantities will make you feel really good and really miserable at the same time. I've been on quite the sugar and caffeine rush lately with a very bloated tummy. The good part though is I've managed to cut back my alcohol back quite a bit, not completely but definitely lowered it. The right direction is what counts.

Well, I don't have much else to report on except there is still this dirty knife on my desk. They left me with a sharp object. Who should I go scare in the office today? They told me I look like a cross between little red riding hood and death. I'm wearing a black hooded zip-up jacket with the hood up. Time to go scare people. Til later, my friends.........

Dad-isms

My Dad's 50th birthday is coming up in a couple weeks. If you know my dad, you would agree he is one of the most fun people to hang around. For his birthday, I decided to start a blog with all the funny dad stories I can think of...and there are many, trust me. Here is the blog address http://50effanyears.blogspot.com/ Please check back often, because I hope to be working on it around the clock.

And, Dad, if you find this,

"Happy 50th Birthday! You're the best!"

"PS. According to Sharon, who is older than you, you're not old 'til you're 92."

A little help from my friends

...What would you think if I sang out of tune
Would you stand up and walk out on me...

Some people find my life fascinating, not because of things I've done or accomplished but because of how my life is post-divorce. I am, evidently, one of those strange people who have remained friends with my ex-husband. We are not tolerating each other because we have joint custody of kids...We never had kids, nor tried. We are not the type of friends who cross paths andl say hi to each other. Chris and I are really great friends. Not only am I great friends with him, but I am becoming great friends with (stop the presses) his girlfriend, Lisa.

Lisa is one of these unbelievably nice people that sees the best in everyone. Like myself, she is very open-minded and rather be friends with someone than not have any relationship with them at all. She is open-minded and just as comfortable with me, as I am with her. She even hangs out with me without Chris around. I definitely consider her MY friend, not just Chris' girlfriend.

...I get by with a little help from my friends
I get high with a little help from my friends
Going to try with a little help from my friends...
Chris and Lisa really have been a huge support system for me. For example, I had a bad weekend and the two of them happened to stop in to drop some of my things off. Instead of dropping and running, they came in to have a drink and to catch up a bit. Not only were helping me talk thru emotional ups and downs that I have been dealing with, Chris fixed my garbage disposal and took out my trash. Damn, I wish he was this helpful when we were married (just kidding, Chris). Sitting there talking with them is no different than chatting with my other close friends. I really have seperated myself from my life as one with Chris and vice-versa. We both look at the now and rarely look back or dwell on the past. We started off as friends and friends is how we shall end.

...What do I do when my love is away
(Does it worry you to be alone)
How do I feel by the end of the day
(Are you sad because you're on your own)

No I get by with a little help from my friends
Do you need anybody...
I am not sure I could get by everything life is throwing at me right now without Chris. He is the only one that was in the car when I was hit, even though he was not conscious. He is the only person that really knew how bad my ups and downs were following the accident and how much the accident took away my identity. He and I went through a rollercoaster of hell, but came out of it with smiles on our faces knowing both our lives will be ok. We are still here to support each other, just with different rules to this new game of life.

...I get by with a little help from my friends
Yes I get by with a little help from my friends
With a little help from my friends

~Lyrics: A little help from my friends by Lennon/McCartney~

Opossum logic

This is why I love my Dad. My sister was taking the trash out at her house and when she lifted the lid off the can she noticed a litter of baby opossums in the bottom of it. She didn't know what to do so she called my dad and the dialogue went a little something like this:

Meags: Daddy, there are baby opossums in my trash can, what should I do?
Dad: Give them water, they're thirsty.
Meags: Really? How do you know they are thirsty?
Dad: Fill the can all the way up with water and put the lid back on.
Meags: DADDY!
Dad: Well, what do you want to do? Let them loose and run them over another time with your car instead?

I love roadkill stories.

Human after all

Can you believe it? I'm not perfect, no where even close.

I need help, lots of help, but the question is: am I brave enough to let someone in all the way to help me fix my inadequacies???

Honest answer is NO. I've made some improvements.

I'm breathin in
I'm breathin out
So slip inside this funky house
Dishes in the sink
The TV's in repair
Don't look at the floor
Don't go up the stairs
I'm achin
I'm shakin
I'm breakin
Like Humans Do

My Michael has seen a lot of my mess when I get overwhelmed with household chores or laundry, but he never gets to see the whole picture, but I am letting him in deeper and deeper everyday (and I haven't scared him off yet). He never freaks or puts me down for not being perfect, just helps where he can. He was quite a lifesaver the first BBQ I had with him at my house. He came over to help me quickly overhaul things to accommodate guests. He didn't blare out stories about how awful my house was or that he came over early to clean up my hell. He just went on and enjoyed the party and never bitched at all. It was unbelievable support that I've only had in the past from my Mom, Dad, and baby brother since I moved out on my own. He's been overly accommodating and supportive, downright amazing.
I work & I sleep
& I dance & I'm dead
I'm eatin, I'm laughin
& I'm lovin myself
We're eatin' off plates
and we kiss with our tongues
Like Humans Do

My sister knows more than most anyone, but I don't know how to tell her I need help, I often ask or hint that I would like her to come by, but never tell her why or let her know it is more of a need, not a want. She doesn't understand that I'm still in over my head with all of this PTSD crap and really need help digging out. I can't figure out how to ask for help. I don't want to put someone else out for my problems, but I'm slowly wearing myself out because I haven't opened up and said, "I need help."

For millions of years,
In millions of homes
A man loved a woman,
A child it was born
It learned how to hurt
and it learned how to cry
Like Humans Do
My parents confuse me right now. I am pretty sure, like everyone else, they don't understand a thing I am going through right now, but they don't inquire either. I don't think they understand that I need their help as much as I need the therapy and prescriptions. I think my dad is just sick to see one of his children hurting and not sure how to step in. And my mom, I have no idea. She is usually pretty inquisitive and intuitive when it comes to me...not this time.

I have one uncle checking in every few weeks, but, again, he has no clue where to go from there to help me...and I have no clue how to ask.

Ask for help. I can give the advice to others but can't do it myself. Grrrr. This is my work in progress, my goal for the week.

I think my fear with it all is that things have gotten so far out of hand that I'm not sure people will understand why. I am afraid they will think I'm lazy, messy. Truth is I am so overwhelmed PTSD or not, I have no clue where to start and get things put back together the way I have it in my head. In my head, this is not how I want to live or live, but reality is telling a different story. I need help.

Like Humans Do by David Byrne

You can pick your friends, but you can't...

This weekend I have family in from out of town. Evidently, there was a planned family dinner for last night, but noone bothered to inform me until an hour beforehand so i skipped it. Instead, I indulged myself in several margaritas and got drunk. I think I was trying to wash away the guilt of not going or maybe numb the awkward feeling of showing up late. The margaritas failed me this time. Even at the bar I felt awkward about sitting there, a very out of place feeling, never "a part" of things like I normally do when visiting this particular Mexican establishment.

To add to my downward spiral with my family...today I blew off my cousin, Marc's, 40th birthday BBQ. I, also, blew off the last chance to see and visit my Uncle Dave, who was in town. I don't think I've seen him for a year or two now. Once again guilt, but no matter how much guilt, I cannot get myself to leave the couch or clean myself up. I feel like a dead weight. I wanted to go, but this palpatating weight holds me here in my prison, my safe haven.

I fear what people might ask or say. I don't want someone to comment because I came alone when I told them ahead of time that Mike would be joining me. I don't want to answer questions about my job, it makes me feel lifeless and pointless. I have a super successful sister, a brother with beautiful kids, and another brother who is just starting to embrace adulthood...but i have nothing but myself. I can't handle the family focusing on me, when I don't even know who I am or where I stand right now. I don't have a diversion to talk about. I live alone. My job is less than thrilling. I can brag on Mike, but he won't be there to back it. I feel pathetic.

This evening, Chris and Lisa stopped by and lifted me up a bit...I have a comfort zone with them. Chris' from history. Lisa because there is something soft, always comforting and understanding about her. They helped me fix a few problems around the house. Overall, the two of them just made me feel good and know that even though Chris is the man i divorced, the two of them are a force still there for me...for compassion, understanding and to get me through life some way or another. I'm glad Lisa doesn't want Chris and I to erase our past. She embraces it knowing it made Chris who he is. He is still my key, the one person that even somewhat understands how I got here, lost in space. He holds the past as he stood there and watched me live my hell, and now no longer holds it against me.

Life handed Chris and I lemons, and we asked for tequila and salt. Cheers.

Old Maid and ice cream make the world go round

When I was a child, I would stay the night with my grandparents. My evenings there always ended with games of Old Maid on a TV tray in the corner of the backroom. Grams always sat in the adjacent corner watching over.

The next morning Grandpa R and I would always get up early and have a bowl of raisin bran, followed by Grams getting up and having a bowl of ice cream with me. (My aunts and uncles are still shocked she did this) When Grandpa would leave for work Grams would move to his chair and play Old Maid with me too.

I remember my uncles always teasing me while we played. They would taunt me about becoming an old maid, when I grew up, with thunder thighs and hippo hips. Here I am single again, but hardly an old maid, only time will tell on the outcome of that prediction, but I didn't escape the thunder thighs. The accident stole my prized dancer physique. Too bad I cannot rewind time. I'd take back the body, Old Maid, and ice cream.

Death becomes us

Death is something that surrounds us, something we will never be able to escape. Every day we pass death by and often we are unphased by it....dead animals in the street (mmm, yummy roadkill), passing by a funeral procession on a road (showing not an ounce of respect), murders and drownings on the news, etc., etc. We accept this as everyday life, as it is, yet, most still fear their own death. Riddle me that one, Batman.

People die. Many of us don't know how we will meet our maker, but eventually we all do. Someone could be given a death sentance by cancer, yet die the next day in a car wreck. You just never know how or when for sure your day will come, even if you do try to take control of it yourself. You are never 100% what you do to yourself will definitely bring an end to it all.

Last night, a friend of mine, Lane, was driving me home. When we were passing through the stoplight before my house we saw all the cars on the road pulling to the shoulders. Lane said, "Look, I think that is a body on the road." I didn't think it looked like that, but wasn't sure either...without my glasses it looked like something in a white trash bag. Unfortunately, where we came to rest in all the chaos was right next to a very still pale body laying on the ground. Lifeless. People were running around unsure what to do. One man tried to find a pulse without moving the body but never found a thing. When the police showed up moments later, a few people jumped in there cars and took off, couldn't be bothered by the lifeless body, or maybe running from the cops. The man that had earlier checked the pulse of the body started running after the one vehicle shouting and throwing his hands in the air. I have a feeling that vehicle was involved somehow. The sad part was the truck behind us anxiously honking their horn at both the police and those in front of them trying to get around everyone. I love the respect of modern man, can't even be bothered by a dead body in the road, wants to rush on by, like a human is equivalent to a wild rodent, another piece of roadkill.

Back at my house, Lane's last words of the evening were, "Man, I can't believe we saw a dead body tonight." It was kind of a haunting and frightening reality that we both had to sleep with. The last thought in my head last night was the victim and two tennis shoes in the middle of the highway.

Side note: Lane is driving back home on his 3-4 hour journey as I type. I hope his travels are safe. God Speed, dear friend.

Most people never have to experience the phenomena of finding someone dead or seeing someone die. Seeing a dead person in a casket is not much better sometimes, but our heads, from a very young age, are programmed to view a body in a casket as a thing of peace, a final goodbye. I, unfortunately, have experienced death multiple times.

I was the tender age of 6 when I first remember experiencing death. I recall seeing my Grandpa laying in a hospital bed with my aunts and uncles gathered around him. I was standing in the doorway of the hospital room peering in. Everyone was touching him with tears in their eyes. It is a very vivid image in my head. Even more so, sitting in the lounge at Gerber chapel and my parents telling me to stay there while they went into Grandpa's wake to say goodbye to Gramps. Being only 6, I thought that he was going to wake up one last time and say goodbye to everyone. I was confused, sad, and hurt that I couldn't see him wake up and say goodbye. To make things worse, I was sent to Grams' house with Grandma E during the services...left out of the final chance to put Grandpa to rest. I loved my Grandpa. I just wish I could've kept him around longer. I need more memories.

lightning crashes, an old mother dies
her intentions fall to the floor
the angel closes her eyes
the confusion that was hers
belongs now, to the baby down the hall

August 1994, Aunt Marie for the first time ever was not at my dance class. She told me in November 1982 that she would always be at dance class for me (when I was a scared little tot who's mother couldn't always stay because she was pregnant with my baby sister). Aunt Marie's great nieces quit dancing some time in the 80s, but she still kept coming to dance class, not only for me, but for all of us scared little tots and all of us that she supported as we learned discipline and dance.

I had to leave dance class to go and check on her. All of us were worried. I was 17 and went alone. Her car was in her garage and she was not answering her apartment door when I knocked endlessly. The lady across the hall came out and said her bathtub had been running over 24 hours and when she called the super he checked for plumbing leaks in the basement and then left, never checking on the source of the running water. I called 911 and the paramedics broke out the front window of the apartment to get into her. Then, they had to throw themselves into the bathroom door and then finally the firemen arrived and broke it down. They held me still at the doorway, holding me up, not saying a word. The way they embraced me said it all. I sat there 20 minutes until someone else I knew arrived. Alone on the front walk of the building, knowing I lost one of the greatest, most giving and supportive people in my life, I only let out a couple of tears...until I went home to my parents and explained the days events. I cried a little with them, then balled my eyes out when I was alone that night.

On Friday the 13th, October 1995, I saw a drunk driver lose control at the intersection I was crossing and hit another car and a wall. The passenger got thrown out of the car into a gas pump to his death. I believe there were other deaths, but I only remember the one. I, also, remember the deaths were more of a side note in the news instead of the main story. There was no respect or rememberence. The stories were all about the drunk driver and his history. Hmm, I just love the news.

I could go on and on, but in the end...numbness; death is our every day life.

And then I see my Pink Elephants.

Overstepping boundaries?

Overstepping boundaries?...Sometimes that is the best thing I can hear and exactly what I need.

...Well here she is again on the phone
Just like me hates to be alone
We just like to sit at home...
When Gwen called last night and said, "I hope I'm not overstepping my boundaries, but I heard something about you being diagnosed with PTSD." She wanted to know. She wanted to hear me tell her about the little details. She wanted to know what I was experiencing, what caused it all, and how I was hanging in there now. She, also, related her own depression associated with her divorce and her own vices that brought her down. We both had the spiral downhill and the moment when we realize we no longer have control of ourselves.
...Well she wants to live her life
Then she thinks about her life
Pulls her hair back as she screams
I dont really wanna live this life...

My ex-sister-in-law, Gwen, is quite a character and energetic spirit. She is a mortician/funeral director. Her unique job doesn't even come close to measuring up to her unique personality.
...She only drinks coffee at midnight
when the moment is not Right
her timing is quite-unusual
You see her confidence is tragic
but her intuition magic...

I think when she first started dating my brother I despised how he immediately moved in with her, etc., etc. Then, as much as I didn't want to admit it at the time, I realized she was a lot like me, or a lot like how I wanted to be again...pre-accident, which was pre-Gwen. I think after my nephew, Trent, was born (Feb 2002) the two of us started really connecting. Gwen and I are free spirits when we are in-self (great psych terminology), full of confidence. There is a difference though: I am cautious with limits versus Gwen goes for it, no matter what it is. She doesn't worry about the rest of the world and what they may be thinking. She lives for her (and now her children too). I would like to think I live for me, but I get self-conscious, worry about what others think and often put them before myself, even when I have needs not being met. Nothing is a competition with her, that is a lesson I still need to learn...I don't need to win, but I, also, don't need to be first. Second isn't easy, it feels like failure, but it is also a lot less pressure, something I really appreciate. It is a zone I'm not totally comfortable with. Yet, it is a zone that I'm going to try and explore more.
...Well she wants to be the queen
Then she thinks about her scene
Pulls her hair back as she screams
I dont really wanna be the queen...

~Meet Virginia, Train~

30 years....now that's a long time

A smile came over my face just now when I was looking for a title for today's story time. It reminds me of all the times at GAM with the Mariners. I think of Kathy bugging out her eyes and literally making contact with the 30-60 girls there any given year and telling us, "40 years...45 years...50 years, girls, that's a long time." This may not mean much to you, but Kathy lived the Mariners all those millions of years and thank goodness she did. She brings a personality to the program that no one could ever replace.

This past weekend, though, the big number was 30. Congratulations to my parents who have lovingly survived in marriage for 30 years now, much longer than the 5 I did. Hell, my sister and I barely withstood a month of planning their big 30 shindig. It was the Luau of Luau's I must say.

Our planning, and my sister's extreme hard work on her house and decorating, paid off for the sake of my parents. My parents were totally surprised and even cried when their brains had a few moments to process what was going on after the quick heart attack of having 100 plus people yelling surprise as they walked into the house. From 4pm til 1am, I never saw my parents without huge grins on their faces.

Party day started off a little rough for me. I woke up not wanting to get out of bed, nor wanting to go to the party. I only had a short list of things to attend to, but as I watched the clock tick each second of the morning away, I started getting more and more miserable about going to the party, dealing with the pressure of all the people and the possibility of missing something we should've remembered. At noon, I finally started stumbling out of bed (I should've already had my short list of things completed by then and headed to the party). As I begrudgedly showered and started getting ready, saint #1, Dana, called to see if she could help with anything but guessed I was already at the party with everything under control. Good thing she didn't put money on that guess. She took over the last minute shopping list for me and even ran it over to my sister's long before I ever made it there. After hanging up with her I decided to screw the makeup and hawaiian clothes, I just needed to get out of the house. I was more than out of time and couldn't keep fussing about hoping I would come down with some legitimate excuse not to go to the party. (at least I'm starting to discipline myself, at times)

Once on my way to pick up food, saint #2, my ex-m-i-l, called. She didn't want to ruin the surprise by showing up at the same time as my parents to the party so she was inquiring about when my parents were supposed to be there....Good question! I told her I would get back to her later on her question but could she do me a favor that I am sure would delay her so she wouldn't arrive at the same time as them. I asked her to stop and by me something Hawaiian to wear and while she was at it, could she get something for my boyfriend too (I had promised to do that for him earlier in the morning). Things were starting to look better and not so dreadfully awful.

Things always come together for me when I actually make myself go do whatever it is I'm avoiding. Someday I might actually pre-program that into my little brain so leaving the comforts of my little world won't be so difficult.

When things seem to be finally pulling together for me, I finally decided to relax a little and have a large margarita when I went to pick up the food for the party...so much for finally getting ahead. (I do have to say it made the initial rush of unfamiliar people at the beginning of the party a lot easier to take).

Here's to the next party (and hoping it is someone else's problem).

Money going up in smoke

The 'Old Man' recently said, "Harlyn, look at the fireworks, our money going up in smoke". This year, I think that is all the excitement I got out of the fourth of July (with one exception: the lovely annoying noise of the zillion packs of saturn missles I purchased wizzing and whistling up into the air).

Fourth of July is one of those obligation days that really drains me. No matter how old I get, I think as long as the parents are alive I will be woken up waaaaay to early to make sure I am going to be at the parade. For 29 years, I have started out the fourth of July at the Old Webster parade with the entire family at our printing company. My aunts and uncles all bring their friends and family and lots of goodies to share in the nice AC, while the little ones get help from my aunts to write their names on paper bags and rush to stake their claim on a piece of curb out in front of the shop. Now the middle school aged cousins are all enterpeneurs. They gather up all the coolers and soda in the place and wander the streets selling overpriced soda to the suckers who forgot they might need a drink while they bake themselves in the humid July heat. I sold them for $0.50, in my middle school prime, now they sell them for a $1 (good old inflation). I can't say that I get excited by the parade at all anymore. I occassionally get a good laugh at my uncles taunting unsuspecting people in the parade with blasts of water from their super soakers...or the tribe of boys scouts on rollerblades armed with water balloons and ready to get revenge. The slew of politicians, with their bandwagons, just seem to aggravate me, especially when members of my family stand up and applaud such sleazes who have yet to display any worthwhile 'Talent'. There is also quite a bit of discontent among my family (too bad we all just can't get along). If family drama doesn't make a holiday, I don't know what will (or not).

There is one thing I'll miss this year...I'll miss tearing out of the parade for the soiree at my house....BBQ'ing in the rain, dropping plates of freshly cooked meat (much to the pups delight) and finally blowing up anything we can set fire to in my front yard (not excluding small dogs and electrical lines).

Happy 4th!

Put on a happy face

In my family, things always seem good no matter how bad they get. This last week was pretty good despite the list of things that went wrong. As the list grew, I started to stress a bit, but kept laughing it off. Some day I'll learn to voice that stressful/worrisome emotion, but til then I'll put on my happy face for others, laugh at myself, and joke at my expense. Life is just easier this way...until the good ole doc asks why. Why do I need that happy, strong barrier? What will it take to show what I am really feeling and to let others help? Instance #1, my Central AC went out at my house 9 days ago. I could have let numerous people come over and fix it, but I was afraid they would judge me. Judge me because my house was not clean enough, or I had too much laundry piled up, or my basement smells funny. Instead of getting it fixed right away, during this humid 90 degree weather, I chose to sweat buckets for days until my ex-husband, who is a HVAC guy got back in town. Then, I begged him to put his stuff on hold and fix it (because he already knows what I really am about). He has seen me fall down this spiralling hole, too bad he doesn't understand that is what he witnessed during the demise of us, but some things are unexplainable to someone who already put that chapter behind him for other reasons which seemed justified at the time.

I guess the fact that I am now aware of the above means I am healing, just not as fast as I wish,...too bad I still don't have the answers to the what's and why's for the doctor.