Heat Wave

Gramma, 

Temps are in the triple digits again.  Our air conditioner dates back to the seventies.  I don't think we turned it on last year.  It is not energy efficient.  There is an inadequate floor drain that basically goes into the dirt under the cement floor.   I empty the runoff bucket every four hours, so the AC is off at night.  I can't imagine living in the south with this oppressive heat being a constant.  I am sure they feel the same about our unrelenting winters. 

The power went out last night.  Dave's breathing machine shut off.  Makes breathing difficult.  It was off for hours.  There are branches and sticks all of the yard and driveway.  The worst of it is that the electric gates won't let anyone in our out.  Going to work is problematic.  So, at the ass crack of dawn, I was out in my pajamas with tools in one hand and a flashlight in the other.  Mission accomplished.  Falling back to sleep, not so much. 

It was supposed to rain this morning.  It did not.  Liars.  Now I will have to water plants in the evening.  Everything looks wilted.  The pond is drying up.  Soon, I will be able to replace the missing dock supports without wearing waders.  Just standing outside right now is miserable.  I don't like being stuck inside.  At least there is a breeze for the animals.  The biting flies are less able to land.  It's days like this that I wish I had a friend with a pool lake.  The river's are too high and dangerous to go tubing. 

Meanwhile, I will bundle peacock feathers for the consignment store, catch up on mending, and steam Dave's shirts.  I counted twenty empty hangers.  I would rather be working on my outside sculptures.  The bigger than life peacock, witch, and flying monkey are ready to cement. 

Long Lost Nieces

Gramma, 

My long lost nieces came for a visit.  They are in college now.  Being low income, with excellent grades, they qualify for full scholarships.  Their gas guzzling, rust bucket has no AC.  The drive was almost an hour in triple digit heat.  Their mother is a hateful, mean-spirited person who hides behind her religion.  I don't feel special though, as she is also like that to my brother.  In public, such as at my dad's funeral, she pretends there is nothing amiss. 

Before their mother cut off my contact with them, I always brought bags of clothing and fun food, bread and donuts.  They would come running to the car, excited to see what I had for them.  They were pre-teen.  There would be a fashion show with the new clothes.  "What would we do without you," they said.  They bragged about me to their school friends, who wished they had a fun aunt too. 

One day, I showed up with presents for the girls.  I was not invited inside.  The parents stood outside, blocking the door.  So, I left the gifts with the girls.  My step-mother tried to find out why I was no longer welcome.  My adopted sister told her to leave it alone.  At the time, she was not speaking to my brother.  She had many grievances against him.  A lot of it seemed like sibling rivalry and jealousy.  I did not grow up with these people.  There was the expectation that I should not have anything to do with my brother. 

At my father's funeral, she was friendly to both of us, so I thought she was no longer interested in being estranged.  I was wrong.  Over the years, I sent my nieces money for birthdays and holidays.  Sometimes, I would get a letter back.  My step-mother kept me apprised of their activities.
Then, they found me on Facebook.  I was surprised their mother allowed this contact.  Ditto, them showing up in the flesh.  "Mom says hello," they said.  I did not respond to that. 

I declined the invitation to a graduation party.  It would have been awkward.  I prefer to go where my presence is celebrated, not tolerated.   I don't like that game where you pretend everything is fine. 

We had an awesome four hour visit.  There was home made hummingbird cake and artichoke pizza.  I sent them off with gas money.  They promised to come again soon, but I know they are busy with work and school.  Their vehicle is untrustworthy.  I wish I could give them more than moral support. They said they did not know how poor they were until they got to college.  Only recently were doors installed in their bedrooms.  There are no doorknobs.  Education is their way out. 

The Soulless Lot

Gramma,

Drove the truck to a motorcycle event the other night.  It's a good time to catch up with old friends.  It was too rainy to ride.  We parked the car and headed to the bar.  There was a big fat white cop who felt the need to yell and heatedly gesture at us to walk to a distant tent instead of to our nearby destination.  It was confusing that he was making us go that way.  The people in the tent were also  not clear on why he did that.  He was a cop rented for the evening.  The attitude from the man with the gun served to perpetuate the current negativity towards officers.  Way to alienate people for next year.  Put me in a mood for the evening.  When we left, the officer was enjoying a jovial conversation with a Barbie doll. 

For the most part, I have been a law-abiding citizen, but cops are a fickle bunch and I have serious trust issues with them.  For years, I needed to pop Xanax every time I saw one in my rear view mirror.  They betrayed me completely when I was most in need of protection from my ex-husband.  They falsified police reports.  They said I wasn't being followed by a suspicious person, that it was probably someone who wanted to get to know me.  I said, "I am very approachable.  There is someone following me wherever I go."  It was someone stalking me on behalf of my ex.  The police refused to take any action.  I didn't realize they were all in the same bed. 

I was terrified after my daughter and I were shot at and the police declined to help me.  Two of my dogs were already missing/killed and another was taken to the vet with a gunshot wound.  My heart was racing all the time.  I put nails in a piece of plywood and laid it across the driveway at night.  I called a private investigator to document what my ex was doing to me.  When I found out she was a friend of the county sheriff, who was a friend of my ex's family, I canceled her services.  In retrospect, I wonder if she would have stood her ground in defending my claim. 

In my search for one of the missing dogs, I met a man who turned out to be a convicted child molester.  I told him what was going on.  He said he could help me.  Instead, he contacted my ex and a plan was put in motion to set me up for solicitation of murder.  The police facilitated a "Squeal for a Deal" with the child molester.  In exchange for his testimony against me, they would keep him out of prison on his latest offense.  The molester couldn't keep any of his stories straight.  He and my ex were deposed separately.  Their lies didn't match up.  Of course, no action was taken for perjury. 

So, yeah, I have trust issues with police.  I know other white people who have had equally disastrous experiences with law enforcement.  I don't like attorneys either.  They seem pretty much like a soulless lot. 

Getting Religion

Gramma,

Dave went on a motorcycle fundraiser today.  I went to my grandson's baseball game instead.  I drove an hour to get there.  It was about as interesting as watching paint dry, but I enthusiastically stuck it out.  Until today, they were undefeated.  They lost by one point, but can still take the trophy if they win tomorrow.  Then football season starts.  When I was a kid, nobody ever came to my stuff, so  I always show up at events I am invited to. 

Except this one time.  Joan, our mother, paid little or no attention to what we did when she was sleeping, as long as we made no noise.  She worked nights.  Once a week, a bus came around the neighborhood picking kids up for an evening of cookies and Kool-Aid.  Religion was involved.  We learned Bible stories, memorized verses, commandments, and books of the Bible. 

At the end of summer, there was a children's program.  We begged Joan to come to this.  She showed up with her bright red lipstick and pointy crimson fingernails, full makeup and perfectly done up bottle-red hair.  We were raised Catholic.  I do not know what fundamentalist church group we had been attending.  Joan was mortified.  We had not noticed that the teachers never wore makeup.  Smiling proudly, we each recited our memorized material.  I had learned,  The Lord is my shepherd....  Joan forbid us to get on the bus again. 

Later, I connected with the Lutherans.  Some of my friends invited me to their weekly fellowship night.  Then I was invited to their summer camp on Bay Lake.  I couldn't believe I was allowed to go.  It was a week of bliss, no yelling from Joan, no constant tension, no fear of doing something wrong.  Away from the chain smoking, I could breathe better.  I cried when I had to go home. 

I did not enjoy Catholic Catechism classes.  They were boring and the nuns were mean.  Joan never helped with the lessons.  They were confusing and I often didn't understand what I was supposed to do.  The nuns made some of the kids stand at the blackboard with their noses in a chalk circle for the entire hour when their work wasn't right.  But, as long as I attended the classes, I was allowed to participate in Lutheran events with my friends.  Hayrides, volleyball,  co-ed summer camp.  One year, I even got to be a counselor to the younger kids.  It was a small place of joy in an unhappy childhood. 

Today's Snapshot

Gramma, 

After I mowed the yard yesterday, I was suddenly overcome with exhaustion.  My mower is a tractor.  Mowing is a pretty passive activity that I enjoy, especially when I am low on energy.  I get to admire all the flower beds, yard décor and animals.  It is an especially robust year.  Everything is lush and bigger than life.  This is the third time in the last week that the only option is to lay down.  I'm even too tired to watch TV.  The earliest I can see my regular doctor is three weeks away. 

My monthly mental health appointment was today.  My therapist has finally taken the plunge and given two week's notice.  Her supervisor has repeatedly claimed programs she has developed as her own work.  There is also that backstabbing and lack of appreciation thing.  I hear the same complaints from many of my working friends.  We are both working on the big picture. 

We talked briefly about my daughter-in-law not returning my calls, which means the kids have not spent any time this summer making memories with me.  She is angry about something, but won't tell me what.  She is pregnant and crabbier than usual.  It is a sad thing to deprive us of time together because she has a butt hurt.  Meanwhile, I will send the kids postcards.  Life is getting shorter by the minute.  Get over yourself. 

If the weather holds, Dave and I are going to a biker event when he gets home.  It's been dreary and sprinkling.  There is nothing planned for dinner and there will be food.  I ate a dozen monster cookies today.  I got them at a garage sale.  Find of the day was a lot of gypsy looking bedroom stuff--pillows, curtains. fabrics.  I am thinking for my granddaughter's bedroom she will have in the basement when her baby sister gets her old room.  Maybe it will wait until teen years.  I have storage space in my hoarding shed. 

Dog Tired

Gramma,

Moonshine had a strange Uber customer yesterday--a set of keys. 

We got so much rain yesterday, two rivers are flooding.  Tornado's of destruction, threw people's shit around.  But, today is a top ten gorgeous Minnesota day.  There's a nice breeze cloudless skies, low humidity and 84 degrees.  I regret that I was too exhausted to take advantage of it.  I had planned to continue work on an outdoor peacock sculpture.  

Spent much of the day in bed, too tired to even watch TV.  I hope this is not Lyme's disease.  I've had it before and was down more than a month, plus lengthy after effects of body aches and bouts of no energy.  My friend's dog just tested positive.  Mercy was limping and had tender joints.  I treat my dogs monthly with a preventative.  Why isn't there prevention for people? 

Poor Eddie has blue balls.  Princess is in heat and he can't reach.  I would get him some help, but I don't want winter puppies.  Next time.  Spring puppies.  Ready for summer homes with kids.  I am looking forward to making Auggies, an Australian Shepherd, Corgi cross. They are herding dogs.  Mine are both mini's. 

Don't know what I will do with the revenue.  It will not be enough to take the grandkids to Iceland and sleep in an igloo under the northern lights.  Maybe my sister and I can go through the Keyes in a rented convertible.  I would like to go to Cuba with Dave before McDonald's gets there. 

Tomorrow is an unplanned day with lots of options.  Hopefully, I will have double energy, which sometimes happens.  Dave is working late tonight.  I will meet him at the fixit shop with his antique truck.  First gear has a rattle.  There will be room in the shed for me to dig out the plates necessary for my peacock sculpture.  It's time for a beer.  Hope I can sleep tonight. 

The Cheese Stands Alone

Gramma,

Dave stayed home today.  I don't like that he gives me no advance warning.  He knew this on Friday.  I plan my days around his schedule.  So now I can't spend all day in bed with my boyfriend.  Dave is practicing for retirement.  Two years till go time.  He will have knee surgery and then shoulder surgery.  He's hoping he can skate out on that. 

Summer TV is pretty dreary.  We often watch several episodes of Orange is the New Black in the evening.  I binge watched the series while visiting my daughter in Denver two years ago.  Granted, I was drinking copious quantities of beer and ingesting pot candy, but I don't remember a lot of details.  This concerns me, as my brother is only 52 and has early onset Alzheimer's. 

As a former guest of the Wisconsin DOC, I find Orange is the New Black to be a good rendition of how things are.  Whites were the minority.  Crimes were mostly drug related.  My crime of Solicitation of Murder was highly revered, so I didn't get a lot of shit that new inmates get.  Nothing there is secret.  Inmates worked in the office and had access to information.  I had been in the state nut hut for a couple months being evaluated for trial.  This gave me the added security of being seen as a loose cannon.  I was classified as violent and dangerous. 

I was pretty much white bread back woods with no priors.  NO STREET SMARTS.  I was in church choir, garden club, president of the Fine Arts Board, and worked on Love Baskets at Christmas.  I was a secretary where I worked, until I had ten years in and was vested for retirement.  Then I grew ginseng for export.  We had forty acres of woods to grow it on.  I lived in mosquito heaven with three kids and their sperm donor. 

I compartmentalized my life--there was this life with my spousal unit and his abusive behavior, the public façade with him, and life with my kids, friends, and work.  I led a double life.  I didn't have the words or knowledge necessary to understand what he was doing to me.  There was some physical abuse, but the majority was emotional, sexual and financial.  Even when he was around, he was rarely available to us.  When he was, it was mostly not pretty. 

The last straw was when he did something to our oldest son that made him attempt suicide.  I came home from choir practice to find that he had been taken to a mental health facility more than an hour away.  His younger bother was sitting in a rocking chair in a fetal position.  The police had surrounded the house and confiscated a gun. 

I called his father at work.  "What do you want me to do about it," he barked.  "I just thought you would want to know."  The paternal grandparents blamed me.  I went to see an attorney. 

After I filed for divorce, things escalated.  Marriage counseling was an utter failure.  He had done nothing wrong.  And, so the stalking, gunfire, harassment and manipulation began.  His family was well-known in the area.  Friends and acquaintances backed away from me.  The cheese stands alone. 

Shit Barrel

Gramma, 

It's hot and sunny with no wind. It's supposed to rain later today.  I hope so.  Yesterday I went to buy wild bird seed and came home from Fleet Farm $300.00 lighter.  Plants were seventy-five percent off.  I also bought candy.  I had to go home and get the truck.  The back of my van could only fit so much.  No garage-sales for the rest of this month. 

I've been planting for a three hours and need to take an extended break.  Too much heat makes me sick and I end up down for the rest of the day.  I'm resisting the urge to take a nap.  I've eaten a pound of maple nut goodies and the sugar spike doesn't help.  Princess, my minnie Aussie, is in heat.  She is whiney and taking a nap.  Nobody would know if I took a nap too.  But, I am full of dirt, so no. 

My daughter-in-law seems to be avoiding me--not returning my calls.  I wanted the kids for a few days during the week.  They keep me upright.  The hell with it, just an hour is all.  An hour and twenty minutes later, I head back out to dig more holes.  I wasn't sleeping, but I wasn't moving. 

Girlfriend called this morning to tell me how crappy her mini-vacation was.  She took her soon to be ex-husband's sister with her.  Why is beyond me.  Icky Vicky whined the whole time about her husband and her brother.  The rule was that neither of those things were up for discussion.  Vicky said she didn't think that was going to work for her and wouldn't shut up.  No hotel reservations over the Fourth equaled a $200.00 a night room.  They came back from Michigan early. 

Another girlfriend called to tell me the latest drama with her kids.  One of her grandsons didn't want to hang out with his cousin while gramma spent time with her sisters.  So brat boy calls his daddy and protests loudly.  Daddy calls gramma and gives her what for about not watching his kids (for free). 

Gramma dropped the kids off anyway.  The granddaughter tells the her aunt, a new mother, that she is a baby killer.  One of her children died in a freak accident last year.  Of course, she heard that from her dad, who is, of course, an asshole.  So, the texting started between the two brothers. 

"You're a bad parent.  Your kid died because you weren't watching him." 

"You're a bad parent.  Maybe you should have given your daughter up for adoption at birth so she wouldn't have gotten molested by your in-laws. 

"You should get a job and maybe your wife wouldn't fuck around on you with your best friend, loser." 

You should quit your job and quit embarrassing dad with your shitty work."  (They work for the same outfit and the kid is a fuckup.)   "Shove another turkey baster of meth up your ass." 

Things deteriorated from there.  We all have something.  I am grateful for the peace and quiet of this day.  It is not my turn in the shit barrel. 

PTSD

Gramma, 

Hail predicted.  Parked the car where there are no trees, so it would get the max damage.  That pretty much insures we won't get any weather.  Can't believe anything these hacks say.  First round of storms was supposed to be around 3:00 p.m.  It was sunny and hot.  We need rain.  My grass is shredded wheat. 

The yard is an explosion of color, flowers blooming everywhere.  I deadhead every morning.  All weekend, there was this young finch outside one of my picture windows, tapping on the glass.  Elvis, my canary, is in his cage watching this.  The windows are open and he is singing away. 

Dave and I had a staycation over the Fourth.  My three kids came over Friday late afternoon, about three hours late.  They spent the night.  We grilled and drank a lot of beer.  The kids had a fire in the pit.  I tripped on a step and was impaled by a gargoyle wing.  There is a bruise on my ribcage.  I had been drinking since noon, so didn't feel it until the next morning. 

Party at my son's the next night.  He bought the house and land where he was raised.  I planned to spend the night, but only had three beers, so went home.  I had my daughter's dog while she and her boyfriend were off doing some things.  Poor Huxley shook uncontrollably from the sound of gunshots.  It brought me back to a dark summer day in 1990. 

My six-year-old daughter and I were in the yard with a German shepherd  given to me for protection after my border collie was found shot and left in a ditch.  Bullets flew past us.  The shepherd went down.  I grabbed my daughter and ran towards the house.  "Get Baby," she yelled.  Baby was the lamb she got for her birthday.  Baby was wearing a bonnet.  I scooped her up with my other arm and got to safety. 

When the gunshots stopped, I took the dog to the vet.  Later, I called the Sheriff's Department.  An officer showed up and blew me off.  My husband's family had the police in their pocket.  I went to the D.A.'s office to ask for help.  He too ignored me.  I didn't know then that they are all in the same bed. 
I have these kinds of flashbacks all the time.  I have PTSD from this and other things the legal system did to me. 

Much later, I would see the falsified police report that was filed.  I was quoted as calling my ex-to-be a son-of-a-bitch.  That terminology had never been part of my vocabulary.  My daughter wants to ask her father why he did this, but hasn't found the right time.  Is there ever the right time to ask your father why he shot at you and your mother?