Gramma,
Five of the thirteen grandkids spent last weekend with us. After school was out, they arrived from three different directions, each about an hour away. The girls chose to share the queen size bed in the guest room, a room as big as a living room and outfitted with a fireplace and tv. That left the boys with the little room. The girls watched DVD's. Much to their chagrin, the boys wanted to hang out with them. Eventually, I sent them to watch tv in their room.
It took all morning to get them ready to go to a play. We stopped at Walgreens so I could pick up a prescription. They all chose a snack item and vitamin water for the road trip. Then they railroaded me into buying them each a small toy item. We were the first ones at the theatre. We looked at art displays while we waited. The kids couldn't believe the prices.
We saw "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever." Costumes reflected the sixties-seventies era. The father came out in the most hideous leisure suit I have ever seen. I almost said WTF out loud, which I related to him afterwards. The story revolved around two families from different sides of the track and a Christmas pageant run amok when the usual director was out of commission.
It was funny and poignant at times, interspersed with inappropriate behavior that delighted the kids. The mean girl was fond of smoking cigars in the church bathroom. She had no idea who Jesus was. The boys were terrified of her and her younger sister. The draw for this financially challenged family was free refreshments. In the end, the three wise guys brought peculiar gifts to the manger, including a canned ham from their welfare basket.
During intermission, the kids roped me into buying cookies, which I had intended to avoid, but it was a fundraising effort. I hadn't been to this bare bones theatre with open seating in a hodge-podge of chairs. We had seen all the plays at the usual venue, where the special effects and seating reflected a high degree of sophistication. In the car, I asked what they liked best. The naughty kids won out.
The last year of the Macy's Christmas display was showing in Minneapolis. In line, there was some annoying old bag in front of us. Her short dark hair was sprayed into a helmet. She held a winter scarf up to her nose and mouth the whole time, as if she were fending off chemical warfare. I began a barking cough, caused by dust, cobwebs and the smell of cigarette smoke on coats. Each time I coughed, she looked at me in horrified disgust. So I took pains to cough when I didn't need to.
The animated displays were worth the wait. Santa's gift shop beckoned at the end. Stuffed items were thirty percent off. I wanted to be young enough to own one of those soft treehouses with stuffed animals poking out all the knotholes. I asked the twins if they would like to share one. "We don't like to share," I could understand that. Everybody got their own.
The kids unboxed gingerbread houses before I could change out of my good clothes. I was tired and put some leftover hot dish in front of Dave. Veve and Ollie got into it over some triviality. Ollie stormed upstairs. I sent Dave after him. Eventually, he put down his book and rejoined us. Five houses were uniquely covered in frosting and candy. The table was littered with leftovers.
The kids ate pizza in the living room before heading to bed, which meant falling asleep with a movie. House cleanup the next morning took upwards of two hours. The twins were leaving around ten to go see Santa. Dave watched the Vikings play at noon, while I took two kids to Wisconsin. Dave took Ollie home while I watched the Packers play.
Memories were made. The twins said I was much more fun than their other gramma, and could they come for a week in the summer. I hoped so. More waffles with free reign of Reddi Whip and sprinkles. More hands for the dogs. More carrots for the donkeys.
Veve's mother called the following week to tell me that the kids were told to draw something that reminded them of Christmas. She drew a picture of a building with Macy's on the front of it.
Showing posts with label Bad Gramma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bad Gramma. Show all posts
Sunday, December 18, 2016
Friday, December 16, 2016
It's Cold Outside...
Gramma,
It's been a month since my last post. (didn't that sound a bit Catholic) We are experiencing another super moon. The tree shadows on the ground last night were spectacular. I love tree skeletons. Too bad they don't photograph well. The windchill is 25 below zero. Prediction for tomorrow and the weekend is worse--45 below. Snow will also be involved. At these temperatures, the ice melting stuff does not work on the roads. Glad I don't have to go anywhere.
Last night I made several trips out to the rental unit in the shed. One of the energy efficient heaters needed repair--since last summer. Nothing like being on top of things. Not my fault. Our professional heating and air conditioning friend kept promising to do it. By 7:30 last night it was determined he was unable to figure out the problem. The off peak heaters are a breed that requires specialty training for installation and repair. First thing I did this morning was call for repair.
It has been crazy hectic around here this past month. The only lull was on Thanksgiving. We did not go anywhere or have anyone over. I still make a large meal, freezing leftovers for soup and pot pies. Eleanor gave up this holiday a few years back, but demanded that we show up for pie. Forty-five minutes one way to forgo a nap and force down some pie. Glad that's over.
In a moment of stupidity, I almost ruined Thanksgiving by calling my estranged son to come over for food. There is a large family gathering on his dad's side every year, but he was unwelcome. This is not the first time he has alienated everyone with his vicious postings on Facebook and in the flesh. He posted that he had dinner with an older couple that took pity on him. I'm sure he was all charming and polite. They don't have to deal with the Aaron we know.
Eleanor had a stroke around Thanksgiving. It was mild, with no long term effects. She was laying on the floor in her bedroom when she called family for help. She spent several days in the hospital before going to a nursing home for unnecessary transitional care. She was afraid to go home because she might have another stroke and die, She is over eighty. WTF. I would absolutely rather die than be in there.
The problem for her was deciding which "Help I've Fallen And Can't Get Up" device to purchase. Call your friends. Ask what they have. Nope. She had to pester all three of her kids to research the market. All three kids had different opinions. We went to visit. The nursing home was noisy--nonstop beeping equipment, loud voices echoing off bare walls and floors--bad smells and people slumped in wheelchairs. I could smell Eleanor's halitosis before I got to her room.
The weather was bad and we got there around dinner time. We were practically chased off by Eleanor so she could go eat the food she was complaining about. To get Medicare to pay for this unnecessary care, she was required to go to rehab classes that she complained about. There were such activities as taking directions on how to make a sandwich.
Dave's son Cory had open heart surgery this week. When he tried to join the military ten years ago, he was rejected because he had a leaky aortic valve. That was replaced with a mechanical valve. He is in and out of consciousness with the pain meds.
Dave tried to get his mother to go with him to visit Cory. Eleanor is busy having a full blown pity party for herself. She's whining again about how she wishes her sons would get along. She doesn't talk to one of her brothers, but of course, that's different. She can see the asshole in him, but not her beloved ass-clown of a son.
In preparation for knee replacement surgery, Dave has had several doctor appointments this month. I am required to go along so I know what's going on. He has vague reasons why he is not telling his family in advance. I will honor his decision. Due to the nature of his work, he will be home for twelve weeks. Good practice for retirement. He also needs shoulder surgery and the other knee replaced. Then it will be time to retire.
I had a colonoscopy that revealed why I have had the diarrhea for several months--some breed of colitis. The drugs are $1500 a month. Co-pay was $150. Hopefully two months of treatment will clear up the problem. Cause? Ibuprofen 800's or some prescription mental health drug. Getting old is not my thing. I do not like to talk about my ailments, because that is what old people do.
Winter is here. Going out to rearrange the snow. Be back tomorrow.
It's been a month since my last post. (didn't that sound a bit Catholic) We are experiencing another super moon. The tree shadows on the ground last night were spectacular. I love tree skeletons. Too bad they don't photograph well. The windchill is 25 below zero. Prediction for tomorrow and the weekend is worse--45 below. Snow will also be involved. At these temperatures, the ice melting stuff does not work on the roads. Glad I don't have to go anywhere.
Last night I made several trips out to the rental unit in the shed. One of the energy efficient heaters needed repair--since last summer. Nothing like being on top of things. Not my fault. Our professional heating and air conditioning friend kept promising to do it. By 7:30 last night it was determined he was unable to figure out the problem. The off peak heaters are a breed that requires specialty training for installation and repair. First thing I did this morning was call for repair.
It has been crazy hectic around here this past month. The only lull was on Thanksgiving. We did not go anywhere or have anyone over. I still make a large meal, freezing leftovers for soup and pot pies. Eleanor gave up this holiday a few years back, but demanded that we show up for pie. Forty-five minutes one way to forgo a nap and force down some pie. Glad that's over.
In a moment of stupidity, I almost ruined Thanksgiving by calling my estranged son to come over for food. There is a large family gathering on his dad's side every year, but he was unwelcome. This is not the first time he has alienated everyone with his vicious postings on Facebook and in the flesh. He posted that he had dinner with an older couple that took pity on him. I'm sure he was all charming and polite. They don't have to deal with the Aaron we know.
Eleanor had a stroke around Thanksgiving. It was mild, with no long term effects. She was laying on the floor in her bedroom when she called family for help. She spent several days in the hospital before going to a nursing home for unnecessary transitional care. She was afraid to go home because she might have another stroke and die, She is over eighty. WTF. I would absolutely rather die than be in there.
The problem for her was deciding which "Help I've Fallen And Can't Get Up" device to purchase. Call your friends. Ask what they have. Nope. She had to pester all three of her kids to research the market. All three kids had different opinions. We went to visit. The nursing home was noisy--nonstop beeping equipment, loud voices echoing off bare walls and floors--bad smells and people slumped in wheelchairs. I could smell Eleanor's halitosis before I got to her room.
The weather was bad and we got there around dinner time. We were practically chased off by Eleanor so she could go eat the food she was complaining about. To get Medicare to pay for this unnecessary care, she was required to go to rehab classes that she complained about. There were such activities as taking directions on how to make a sandwich.
Dave's son Cory had open heart surgery this week. When he tried to join the military ten years ago, he was rejected because he had a leaky aortic valve. That was replaced with a mechanical valve. He is in and out of consciousness with the pain meds.
Dave tried to get his mother to go with him to visit Cory. Eleanor is busy having a full blown pity party for herself. She's whining again about how she wishes her sons would get along. She doesn't talk to one of her brothers, but of course, that's different. She can see the asshole in him, but not her beloved ass-clown of a son.
In preparation for knee replacement surgery, Dave has had several doctor appointments this month. I am required to go along so I know what's going on. He has vague reasons why he is not telling his family in advance. I will honor his decision. Due to the nature of his work, he will be home for twelve weeks. Good practice for retirement. He also needs shoulder surgery and the other knee replaced. Then it will be time to retire.
I had a colonoscopy that revealed why I have had the diarrhea for several months--some breed of colitis. The drugs are $1500 a month. Co-pay was $150. Hopefully two months of treatment will clear up the problem. Cause? Ibuprofen 800's or some prescription mental health drug. Getting old is not my thing. I do not like to talk about my ailments, because that is what old people do.
Winter is here. Going out to rearrange the snow. Be back tomorrow.
Friday, November 11, 2016
Election Day 2016
Gramma,
November 8, 2016, Election Day. I wake up with a complete lack of enthusiasm that dogs me all day. It is beautiful out, sunshine and relative warmth. I do not want to get dressed and go to the polls. My blood pressure rises just thinking about it. I feel foggy. The dog and I get in the car for the four mile drive to the town hall.
I am not smiling. Neither is anyone else. I am in the booth with my cheat sheet, so I know who to vote for and who not to vote for. I am pissy because all those relentless political ads I was forced to endure for months are not the assholes that are on my ballot. My cheat sheet does include those who are, but that does not make it better.
The presidential choices disgust me. Neither speaks my language. I feel paralyzed. But, it doesn't matter, because I have sold my vote to my husband for six cases of beer. I do not like his candidate. He is a ruptured pig gut. I do not think he is the lesser of two evils, but it doesn't matter. I am good for my word.
It's a rarity that I climb back in bed. I pick up a book and read a few pages. The cat is curled up nearby. Her fur is soft and comforting. My duress does not matter. Regardless, her tomorrow will be the same as today. The tuna will be forthcoming. The bathroom will be cleaned. The evening news does not predict a clear winner. I am stone faced, resigned to whatever. I share a bag of popcorn with the dogs. The cat welcomes me back.
Dave comes to bed late. There is no word. Later, I wake up screaming, "help, help, help." Dave wakes me up at the same time I wake myself up. I dreamed the bottoms of my daughter's and my feet were impaled with many needles of fine crystal glass. Please don't let the dream ensue when I close my eyes.
Before five a.m. I check my phone to see who won. I nudge Dave, "Your guy won." He says, "I know." He has been checking his phone all night. I am resigned. I feel nothing. I get up and let the dogs out, put some coffee on and start the fire. There are states not yet called. We are one of them. We don't matter, because it is over. The country has raised a middle finger to the status quo.
I am struck by how the morning show hosts are able to deliver the news without betraying any personal feelings. I am rarely at a loss, don't know how I feel. Life will go on. I will pop more popcorn. Meanwhile, Facebook is not funny today. There are vitriolic rants, stunned disbelief, hate, and fear. I can't absorb it all. I have friends on both sides of The Wall. I try to look for the positives.
I think Obama Care is a failure. For me, this is the fault of the senate and legislature. They created a monster with their ugly little personal interests, pushing and shoving until the original intent became an unholy stepchild, Dave and I wanted everyone to have affordable health care. For many people, it is not affordable. In theory, it was a good idea.
When Jesse Ventura became the governor of Minnesota, I was optimistic. He was pretty brash and rough around the edges, but I thought he had potential. Hopefully, he would be open-minded, willing to become enlightened in the face of facts and figures. I was wrong. I am not holding my breath on The Donald being any different. Global warming is just the tip of the iceberg. I am thinking now the same thing I thought then, how much damage can he do in four years.
November 8, 2016, Election Day. I wake up with a complete lack of enthusiasm that dogs me all day. It is beautiful out, sunshine and relative warmth. I do not want to get dressed and go to the polls. My blood pressure rises just thinking about it. I feel foggy. The dog and I get in the car for the four mile drive to the town hall.
I am not smiling. Neither is anyone else. I am in the booth with my cheat sheet, so I know who to vote for and who not to vote for. I am pissy because all those relentless political ads I was forced to endure for months are not the assholes that are on my ballot. My cheat sheet does include those who are, but that does not make it better.
The presidential choices disgust me. Neither speaks my language. I feel paralyzed. But, it doesn't matter, because I have sold my vote to my husband for six cases of beer. I do not like his candidate. He is a ruptured pig gut. I do not think he is the lesser of two evils, but it doesn't matter. I am good for my word.
It's a rarity that I climb back in bed. I pick up a book and read a few pages. The cat is curled up nearby. Her fur is soft and comforting. My duress does not matter. Regardless, her tomorrow will be the same as today. The tuna will be forthcoming. The bathroom will be cleaned. The evening news does not predict a clear winner. I am stone faced, resigned to whatever. I share a bag of popcorn with the dogs. The cat welcomes me back.
Dave comes to bed late. There is no word. Later, I wake up screaming, "help, help, help." Dave wakes me up at the same time I wake myself up. I dreamed the bottoms of my daughter's and my feet were impaled with many needles of fine crystal glass. Please don't let the dream ensue when I close my eyes.
Before five a.m. I check my phone to see who won. I nudge Dave, "Your guy won." He says, "I know." He has been checking his phone all night. I am resigned. I feel nothing. I get up and let the dogs out, put some coffee on and start the fire. There are states not yet called. We are one of them. We don't matter, because it is over. The country has raised a middle finger to the status quo.
I am struck by how the morning show hosts are able to deliver the news without betraying any personal feelings. I am rarely at a loss, don't know how I feel. Life will go on. I will pop more popcorn. Meanwhile, Facebook is not funny today. There are vitriolic rants, stunned disbelief, hate, and fear. I can't absorb it all. I have friends on both sides of The Wall. I try to look for the positives.
I think Obama Care is a failure. For me, this is the fault of the senate and legislature. They created a monster with their ugly little personal interests, pushing and shoving until the original intent became an unholy stepchild, Dave and I wanted everyone to have affordable health care. For many people, it is not affordable. In theory, it was a good idea.
When Jesse Ventura became the governor of Minnesota, I was optimistic. He was pretty brash and rough around the edges, but I thought he had potential. Hopefully, he would be open-minded, willing to become enlightened in the face of facts and figures. I was wrong. I am not holding my breath on The Donald being any different. Global warming is just the tip of the iceberg. I am thinking now the same thing I thought then, how much damage can he do in four years.
Monday, October 31, 2016
Witches Ball
Gramma,
Happy Halloween. Saturday night's annual Witches Ball was a success. The bike club and some of the Christmas cookie exchange group were in attendance. My floors are covered with leaf litter and footprints. Despite rain much of the day, the guys were able to get a bonfire going with a blow torch.
Blood spurted from a steak stuffed into the neck of the headless guy. I warned him to step away from a quilt that had taken months to make. The flasher's interpretive dance included a stuffed pantyhose appendage, which Freddy Krueger tried to filet. The priest and nun were unsuccessful at saving souls.
Two zombie girls spent hours in the upstairs bathroom doing their makeup. They didn't even take a break to refresh beverages. I checked on them to make sure they weren't locked in. The temperamental door intermittently requires someone from the outside to open it. That can be scary in an unfamiliar house with a haunted reputation. The noise coming from the Halloween village on the main floor drowned out the screaming and door pounding coming from upstairs.
One of the cookie exchange girls showed up late, drunk and disorderly. A big joint was hanging out of her mouth. She is not a big pot smoker, but thought it would be cool to ask people for a light. Her ex-husband-to-be had been a club member, but was kicked out for causing too many mandatory meetings with the Hell's Angels, Girlfriend did not help his cause. It is bad form to criticize another club when you are at a party on their turf.
She decided to kiss all the guys around the fire, claiming it was her birthday and she could do as she pleased. She was also dancing around in dark corners with a member who was there with his girlfriend. This too, is bad form. She will not be invited to anymore events where club members are present. I was glad when her driver dragged her out to the car. I would imagine she is still recovering. Drunkeness and diabetes is not a good combination.
Family drama kept another couple away. The evil drunken mother of two grandchildren threw the family dog out of a moving truck. Then she tried to choke her ex-husband, threatening to kill him and get custody of the kids. This is while he was driving. The kids were screaming. They told the police they never wanted to see her again.
One of the cookie exchange girls and her husband were headed to North Dakota to support the pipeline protest. Otherwise, almost everyone showed up. Two of the dogs were dressed as wieners. Two were sent to their boxes for trying to mark guests as their territory.
As witches arrived, I was just getting out of the shower. There wasn't time to put on some Christmas music. I should have gotten up earlier, but we were out late the night before celebrating at a surprise birthday party.
A friend spent the night and helped put food away. It had taken me all month to prepare for this event. Sunday was spent on the couch watching bad t.v. Then the Packers lost by one point. I shouldn't have chosen to watch NatGeo after that. Seeing the planet destruct from global warming is the stuff of nightmares.
The gates are open for brave trick-or-treaters, It is over fifty degrees here in the northwoods. As I can't keep candy in the house without it disappearing, the kids are getting mardi-gras beads. The grandkids will be here next weekend to help take down the mess. Their next visit will be to install Christmas, much less involved than Halloween.
Happy Halloween. Saturday night's annual Witches Ball was a success. The bike club and some of the Christmas cookie exchange group were in attendance. My floors are covered with leaf litter and footprints. Despite rain much of the day, the guys were able to get a bonfire going with a blow torch.
Blood spurted from a steak stuffed into the neck of the headless guy. I warned him to step away from a quilt that had taken months to make. The flasher's interpretive dance included a stuffed pantyhose appendage, which Freddy Krueger tried to filet. The priest and nun were unsuccessful at saving souls.
Two zombie girls spent hours in the upstairs bathroom doing their makeup. They didn't even take a break to refresh beverages. I checked on them to make sure they weren't locked in. The temperamental door intermittently requires someone from the outside to open it. That can be scary in an unfamiliar house with a haunted reputation. The noise coming from the Halloween village on the main floor drowned out the screaming and door pounding coming from upstairs.
One of the cookie exchange girls showed up late, drunk and disorderly. A big joint was hanging out of her mouth. She is not a big pot smoker, but thought it would be cool to ask people for a light. Her ex-husband-to-be had been a club member, but was kicked out for causing too many mandatory meetings with the Hell's Angels, Girlfriend did not help his cause. It is bad form to criticize another club when you are at a party on their turf.
She decided to kiss all the guys around the fire, claiming it was her birthday and she could do as she pleased. She was also dancing around in dark corners with a member who was there with his girlfriend. This too, is bad form. She will not be invited to anymore events where club members are present. I was glad when her driver dragged her out to the car. I would imagine she is still recovering. Drunkeness and diabetes is not a good combination.
Family drama kept another couple away. The evil drunken mother of two grandchildren threw the family dog out of a moving truck. Then she tried to choke her ex-husband, threatening to kill him and get custody of the kids. This is while he was driving. The kids were screaming. They told the police they never wanted to see her again.
One of the cookie exchange girls and her husband were headed to North Dakota to support the pipeline protest. Otherwise, almost everyone showed up. Two of the dogs were dressed as wieners. Two were sent to their boxes for trying to mark guests as their territory.
As witches arrived, I was just getting out of the shower. There wasn't time to put on some Christmas music. I should have gotten up earlier, but we were out late the night before celebrating at a surprise birthday party.
A friend spent the night and helped put food away. It had taken me all month to prepare for this event. Sunday was spent on the couch watching bad t.v. Then the Packers lost by one point. I shouldn't have chosen to watch NatGeo after that. Seeing the planet destruct from global warming is the stuff of nightmares.
The gates are open for brave trick-or-treaters, It is over fifty degrees here in the northwoods. As I can't keep candy in the house without it disappearing, the kids are getting mardi-gras beads. The grandkids will be here next weekend to help take down the mess. Their next visit will be to install Christmas, much less involved than Halloween.
Wednesday, October 19, 2016
Indian Summer
Gramma,
October eighteenth was an amazing Indian summer day in Minnesota. Even the morning was warm enough to pull me outside early. Rain and wind from the night before left a vast carpet of heavy, wet leaves waiting to be mowed. Many of the trees are showing their full skeletons. The oaks hang on longer, some till spring. Vines crawling up the house are crimson. Some flowers are still blooming.
I fed the ducks, the peacocks, and the songbirds, then filled the donkey water tank. There were a few more squash and pumpkins to pick before mowing the garden. The dogs trailed behind as I buzzed around the yard picking up sticks, putting away yard tools and finishing the Halloween decorating. The clowns needed to be blood-splattered with red house paint. I fired up the lights to see if the breaker would blow.
Bicycles, power washed by the storm, leaned against an out-building. Some of them are outgrown and will be sent to the Goodwill. They had collected dust in the lean-to where straw is stacked and animals hang out in a fenced section. The floor is dirt. Firewood was stored here until we installed a gas fireplace. Gone are the days of cutting, splitting, and hauling into the garage and then into the house. After we gave it up, I missed the smell of a crackling fire. I don't miss the mess.
The afternoon sun dried the leaves enough to mince with the tractor mower. The litter is good fertilizer. I mowed for hours, taking several breaks to replenish my beer. Sun, warmth, cold beer--it is a halcyon day. This day sums up why I choose not to chase the almighty dollar at the expense of sheer joy. I have "enough" and I can stretch a dollar until it screams.
I worked at a publishing company in Minneapolis for a brief period. The sky was just lighting up when I left in the morning. While stuck in afternoon traffic, I couldn't wait to get home and be outside. It seemed that as soon as I got my clothes changed, the dark slammed down. While I enjoyed the work, the situation did not give me balance or feed my spirit.
Life is about choices. We are all one decision away from a whole different life. While our financial assets may not be as healthy as some of our friends and relatives, I believe our quality of life is richer.
October eighteenth was an amazing Indian summer day in Minnesota. Even the morning was warm enough to pull me outside early. Rain and wind from the night before left a vast carpet of heavy, wet leaves waiting to be mowed. Many of the trees are showing their full skeletons. The oaks hang on longer, some till spring. Vines crawling up the house are crimson. Some flowers are still blooming.
I fed the ducks, the peacocks, and the songbirds, then filled the donkey water tank. There were a few more squash and pumpkins to pick before mowing the garden. The dogs trailed behind as I buzzed around the yard picking up sticks, putting away yard tools and finishing the Halloween decorating. The clowns needed to be blood-splattered with red house paint. I fired up the lights to see if the breaker would blow.
Bicycles, power washed by the storm, leaned against an out-building. Some of them are outgrown and will be sent to the Goodwill. They had collected dust in the lean-to where straw is stacked and animals hang out in a fenced section. The floor is dirt. Firewood was stored here until we installed a gas fireplace. Gone are the days of cutting, splitting, and hauling into the garage and then into the house. After we gave it up, I missed the smell of a crackling fire. I don't miss the mess.
The afternoon sun dried the leaves enough to mince with the tractor mower. The litter is good fertilizer. I mowed for hours, taking several breaks to replenish my beer. Sun, warmth, cold beer--it is a halcyon day. This day sums up why I choose not to chase the almighty dollar at the expense of sheer joy. I have "enough" and I can stretch a dollar until it screams.
I worked at a publishing company in Minneapolis for a brief period. The sky was just lighting up when I left in the morning. While stuck in afternoon traffic, I couldn't wait to get home and be outside. It seemed that as soon as I got my clothes changed, the dark slammed down. While I enjoyed the work, the situation did not give me balance or feed my spirit.
Life is about choices. We are all one decision away from a whole different life. While our financial assets may not be as healthy as some of our friends and relatives, I believe our quality of life is richer.
Thursday, October 13, 2016
Dream Sequence Outing of Last Night.
Gramma,
My dreams are epic--vivid, detailed, and complex.
Last night there was a gargantuan black horse with this asshole male rider. I wanted to take the horse for a spin, but the asshole said only he could control the dark horse. So I asked if I could ride along to some really cool countryside. He said yes, he would take me later. Then he picks up two of his teen daughters and takes them for an all day ride. He doesn't get around to taking me for a ride and I am put out by this. There is an average, tame brown horse that I could ride. It had been in view when I was looking at the big black guy. I thought maybe I could take it, but we wouldn't go anywhere cool, or very far, or very fast.
While I was waiting for the horse dick to come back, I was again, as in other dreams past, in a too small duplex with my birth family, none of whom I like or want to be with. I was fighting for space to call my own/bedroom. One room had a toilet in it that would overflow when flushed. There was also a washer and dryer in that space. A door to the outside did not have a sturdy lock on it and nobody liked having that room because, God forbid, someone had stolen potato chips, (I do not like chips), and old shoes from the closet. The other rooms available had problems, two of them with non-functioning toilets. I often have dreams with nasty toilets that leak, overflow, are full, and don't work. I need one that works, and none of them do.
Meanwhile, I am on a trip in an interesting foreign country, (which is often a dream theme). The horse and man are there too, but not visible. While I wait for his sorry as to show up, I am making plans to showcase my sister/ friend/daughter-in-law's baby with a party. I have the baby dressed up like a cupcake confection, all ruffled and yummy. One minute she is a newborn, the next she is sitting up. Against the wishes of the baby "owner," I have been sneaking rice baby cereal in her bottle. I try to hide the evidence of this. She is too young yet and having a hard time swallowing it.
A white male with no personality and no friends shows up early for the party. I wholeheartedly welcome him before realizing's he is not the friend/person I thought he was. He tries to get me to commit to coming to a party at his remote mansion on a beach. He wants me to bring all my friends/family/people. I tell him okay, but am really not planning to show up or put my friends through this. The ocean there is cold, the sky will be overcast, and there is something unsavory about it.
I am also hanging out with nuns in this foreign country. We are having a good time, pillaging the massive library for our own use, and talking about life's mysteries. (I often hang out with nuns in my dreams.) There is this mega church under construction in this old country, (pre-indoor plumbing.) The church is amazing, with unique artistic use of large stone blocks. It will never fall down, but it is only about a third of the way finished. The foundation is sturdy, the bones are all there, and one lone guy is working on some small aspect with a trowel. He is high off the ground and smiling.
I want this church to be finished, but there are bad people from a negative political faction that want to halt the progress permanently. They show up on horses. I argue with them until they agree that if the locals can raise the money, it can go forward. They think this is not possible. Along with other people on this trip, we are being detained and fleeced for various infractions. I have taken library materials, two children's books I want to share back home because of the "moral of the story" potential. I write a $150.00 check to then nuns for the church before heading to the airport, (which is incongruous with the era). This is a lot of money for the time. I am not at all wealthy, but am willing to sacrifice for this cause.
I regret not having time to say goodbyes and am afraid I will miss my flight. There are a significant number of people who are also worried they will not get to the plane on time. We are in a very long line, not unlike today's TSA check points. The jerk on the horse did not show up to take me on the fun ride to see a piece of countryside I heard was worth the trip. At this point, it's okay because I am pissed and planned to tell him off for being such an arrogant piece of shit.
End of story.
Anybody want to venture an interpretation. I was raised Catholic. As an adult, I have had good relationships with nuns in a variety of situations. I am sick of dysfunctional toilet dreams. I am sick of this small duplex setting.
My dreams are epic--vivid, detailed, and complex.
Last night there was a gargantuan black horse with this asshole male rider. I wanted to take the horse for a spin, but the asshole said only he could control the dark horse. So I asked if I could ride along to some really cool countryside. He said yes, he would take me later. Then he picks up two of his teen daughters and takes them for an all day ride. He doesn't get around to taking me for a ride and I am put out by this. There is an average, tame brown horse that I could ride. It had been in view when I was looking at the big black guy. I thought maybe I could take it, but we wouldn't go anywhere cool, or very far, or very fast.
While I was waiting for the horse dick to come back, I was again, as in other dreams past, in a too small duplex with my birth family, none of whom I like or want to be with. I was fighting for space to call my own/bedroom. One room had a toilet in it that would overflow when flushed. There was also a washer and dryer in that space. A door to the outside did not have a sturdy lock on it and nobody liked having that room because, God forbid, someone had stolen potato chips, (I do not like chips), and old shoes from the closet. The other rooms available had problems, two of them with non-functioning toilets. I often have dreams with nasty toilets that leak, overflow, are full, and don't work. I need one that works, and none of them do.
Meanwhile, I am on a trip in an interesting foreign country, (which is often a dream theme). The horse and man are there too, but not visible. While I wait for his sorry as to show up, I am making plans to showcase my sister/ friend/daughter-in-law's baby with a party. I have the baby dressed up like a cupcake confection, all ruffled and yummy. One minute she is a newborn, the next she is sitting up. Against the wishes of the baby "owner," I have been sneaking rice baby cereal in her bottle. I try to hide the evidence of this. She is too young yet and having a hard time swallowing it.
A white male with no personality and no friends shows up early for the party. I wholeheartedly welcome him before realizing's he is not the friend/person I thought he was. He tries to get me to commit to coming to a party at his remote mansion on a beach. He wants me to bring all my friends/family/people. I tell him okay, but am really not planning to show up or put my friends through this. The ocean there is cold, the sky will be overcast, and there is something unsavory about it.
I am also hanging out with nuns in this foreign country. We are having a good time, pillaging the massive library for our own use, and talking about life's mysteries. (I often hang out with nuns in my dreams.) There is this mega church under construction in this old country, (pre-indoor plumbing.) The church is amazing, with unique artistic use of large stone blocks. It will never fall down, but it is only about a third of the way finished. The foundation is sturdy, the bones are all there, and one lone guy is working on some small aspect with a trowel. He is high off the ground and smiling.
I want this church to be finished, but there are bad people from a negative political faction that want to halt the progress permanently. They show up on horses. I argue with them until they agree that if the locals can raise the money, it can go forward. They think this is not possible. Along with other people on this trip, we are being detained and fleeced for various infractions. I have taken library materials, two children's books I want to share back home because of the "moral of the story" potential. I write a $150.00 check to then nuns for the church before heading to the airport, (which is incongruous with the era). This is a lot of money for the time. I am not at all wealthy, but am willing to sacrifice for this cause.
I regret not having time to say goodbyes and am afraid I will miss my flight. There are a significant number of people who are also worried they will not get to the plane on time. We are in a very long line, not unlike today's TSA check points. The jerk on the horse did not show up to take me on the fun ride to see a piece of countryside I heard was worth the trip. At this point, it's okay because I am pissed and planned to tell him off for being such an arrogant piece of shit.
End of story.
Anybody want to venture an interpretation. I was raised Catholic. As an adult, I have had good relationships with nuns in a variety of situations. I am sick of dysfunctional toilet dreams. I am sick of this small duplex setting.
Thursday, October 6, 2016
New Lives
Gramma,
The new granddaughter finally arrived. She's a noisy model. Her days and nights are mixed up. Mom gets no sleep. She complains often on Facebook at all hours of the night. Mom wanted to call her Jazzerine. She wanted to call the first one Aquila. Though I do not object, these are not white girl names. The protesters won. She is called Lundon Violet. She is breast fed, so I will not be relieving mom for awhile. Baby formula costs more than alcohol.
Three of the grandkids spent the weekend here. So mom got a break from Bubba acting out because he is no longer the baby. He just started kindergarten. He is always fun to have around. He likes to be very very busy. The other two kids are older and do not want his company. I need to have this set of three at the same time, as otherwise they would not be able to see each other at all. Ollie's dad is not welcome anywhere but the bar these days.
We decorated for Halloween, This is a big tradition. There are menacing, bloodthirsty weapon wielding clowns, complete with dead bloody doll babies and stuffed rabbits. Blood spattered toddler sized zombies colonize outside the iron gates. Anybody trying to invade will be shanked by rose thorns. I do this for the kids who ride the bus. Today, I will zip tie upside down skeletons to very long poles. They will be reminiscent of Cirque de Soleil. These will flank the gates.
Lighted spider webs stretch across the gates. There is a Bates Motel sign. The "vacancy" light flickers. There are caskets in the yard. Skeletons sit on a collection of colored toilets talking on phones, drinking beer, holding their skeleton dogs on leashes. There are witches, signs, pumpkins, tombstones and spiders. The annual Witches Ball is always the last Saturday of the month.
Inside the house, the kids form a chain gang on the stairs to bring up boxes of decorations. Veve helps set up the villages while the other two fight over the I-Pad, making Grampa testy. Purple and green cobwebs are stretched on the chandelier and over pictures. It looks like Halloween threw up all over the house. I am overwhelmed by the mess.
Kids are noisy things. And demanding. Also, they always want something. I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. Can I have a donut. Can I have fudge for breakfast. GRAMMA, tell them it's my turn. Bubba spilled his milk. You made me. Ollie won't put away the scooter. He used it last. "Did you fart Bubba." "No, my ass blew you a kiss." Wonder where he got that. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I was just holding him back by the throat. Can I pick some flowers to bring to mom. There is enough racket to give the devil a headache.
And so it is, with great amusement, that girlfriend's partner of thirty-some years is leaving her for a woman with six frequent grandkids. Freeloader has no concept of cute, adorable tiny ninjas of death who are the right height to punch you in the balls. He has no experience with grandchildren, or children period. He does not like them. He does not like noise, or to be interrupted when he is watching re-runs of Jerry Springer. Kids monopolize the tv. It is best to let this happen, as the alternative is more noise.
The new living space is tight. It is likely section 8. There is no garage. Except for his storage unit, Freeloader will have no manspace to call his own. The kids will be in all his shit. No escape. The new girlfriend gets around in a golf cart. Freeloader will be picking up and dropping off kids. He has always been tight with money. He has plenty, he just doesn't want to share it. He contributed $400 a month to live with my friend. This included his own office, bedroom and pole shed. And he was ornery. Had I known, this would not have been happening. She lives paycheck to paycheck.
AND, there is a new grandbaby, freshly hatched. We wish we could see the shit show up close and personal. Freeloader reignited a decades old relationship on Facebook with a woman who had wronged him every which way to Sunday. He is over seventy. He has visions of reclaiming his studly self. She smokes. He hates smoke. Nothing like kissing an ashtray. He snores like a Harley. She talks incessantly. She is on disability. He will be the meal ticket for many.
AND, he is headed for South Carolina with his Indian motorcycle in the back of his pick up truck. He paid cash for these things. The bike is too heavy for him to manage since his back surgery. There is a record-breaking hurricane heading up the coast. His girlfriend has been biting him in the ass for days to get out there and drive her to safety. It is a two day drive and the truck is acting up. The bike will be pelted with hail. A tarp will not help, as it will beat on the bike and rub the paint raw. We think this is funny, because we are shallow that way.
He didn't even say goodbye to his cat. Weed and paraphernalia was left behind. After a lifetime of toking, he is quitting. I am amazed that guys never quit thinking with their dicks. The honeymoon will be short. We figure he will beg to come back in the spring. "You can come back to Minnesota, but not here," she will say. We will laugh and drink and smoke in the hot tub on the deck. Maybe we will take a bike trip to South Carolina to see the devastation. Stay tuned....
The new granddaughter finally arrived. She's a noisy model. Her days and nights are mixed up. Mom gets no sleep. She complains often on Facebook at all hours of the night. Mom wanted to call her Jazzerine. She wanted to call the first one Aquila. Though I do not object, these are not white girl names. The protesters won. She is called Lundon Violet. She is breast fed, so I will not be relieving mom for awhile. Baby formula costs more than alcohol.
Three of the grandkids spent the weekend here. So mom got a break from Bubba acting out because he is no longer the baby. He just started kindergarten. He is always fun to have around. He likes to be very very busy. The other two kids are older and do not want his company. I need to have this set of three at the same time, as otherwise they would not be able to see each other at all. Ollie's dad is not welcome anywhere but the bar these days.
We decorated for Halloween, This is a big tradition. There are menacing, bloodthirsty weapon wielding clowns, complete with dead bloody doll babies and stuffed rabbits. Blood spattered toddler sized zombies colonize outside the iron gates. Anybody trying to invade will be shanked by rose thorns. I do this for the kids who ride the bus. Today, I will zip tie upside down skeletons to very long poles. They will be reminiscent of Cirque de Soleil. These will flank the gates.
Lighted spider webs stretch across the gates. There is a Bates Motel sign. The "vacancy" light flickers. There are caskets in the yard. Skeletons sit on a collection of colored toilets talking on phones, drinking beer, holding their skeleton dogs on leashes. There are witches, signs, pumpkins, tombstones and spiders. The annual Witches Ball is always the last Saturday of the month.
Inside the house, the kids form a chain gang on the stairs to bring up boxes of decorations. Veve helps set up the villages while the other two fight over the I-Pad, making Grampa testy. Purple and green cobwebs are stretched on the chandelier and over pictures. It looks like Halloween threw up all over the house. I am overwhelmed by the mess.
Kids are noisy things. And demanding. Also, they always want something. I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. Can I have a donut. Can I have fudge for breakfast. GRAMMA, tell them it's my turn. Bubba spilled his milk. You made me. Ollie won't put away the scooter. He used it last. "Did you fart Bubba." "No, my ass blew you a kiss." Wonder where he got that. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I was just holding him back by the throat. Can I pick some flowers to bring to mom. There is enough racket to give the devil a headache.
And so it is, with great amusement, that girlfriend's partner of thirty-some years is leaving her for a woman with six frequent grandkids. Freeloader has no concept of cute, adorable tiny ninjas of death who are the right height to punch you in the balls. He has no experience with grandchildren, or children period. He does not like them. He does not like noise, or to be interrupted when he is watching re-runs of Jerry Springer. Kids monopolize the tv. It is best to let this happen, as the alternative is more noise.
The new living space is tight. It is likely section 8. There is no garage. Except for his storage unit, Freeloader will have no manspace to call his own. The kids will be in all his shit. No escape. The new girlfriend gets around in a golf cart. Freeloader will be picking up and dropping off kids. He has always been tight with money. He has plenty, he just doesn't want to share it. He contributed $400 a month to live with my friend. This included his own office, bedroom and pole shed. And he was ornery. Had I known, this would not have been happening. She lives paycheck to paycheck.
AND, there is a new grandbaby, freshly hatched. We wish we could see the shit show up close and personal. Freeloader reignited a decades old relationship on Facebook with a woman who had wronged him every which way to Sunday. He is over seventy. He has visions of reclaiming his studly self. She smokes. He hates smoke. Nothing like kissing an ashtray. He snores like a Harley. She talks incessantly. She is on disability. He will be the meal ticket for many.
AND, he is headed for South Carolina with his Indian motorcycle in the back of his pick up truck. He paid cash for these things. The bike is too heavy for him to manage since his back surgery. There is a record-breaking hurricane heading up the coast. His girlfriend has been biting him in the ass for days to get out there and drive her to safety. It is a two day drive and the truck is acting up. The bike will be pelted with hail. A tarp will not help, as it will beat on the bike and rub the paint raw. We think this is funny, because we are shallow that way.
He didn't even say goodbye to his cat. Weed and paraphernalia was left behind. After a lifetime of toking, he is quitting. I am amazed that guys never quit thinking with their dicks. The honeymoon will be short. We figure he will beg to come back in the spring. "You can come back to Minnesota, but not here," she will say. We will laugh and drink and smoke in the hot tub on the deck. Maybe we will take a bike trip to South Carolina to see the devastation. Stay tuned....
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
Bikes, Blues and Barbeques
Gramma,
Just returned from a week in Arkansas for the Bikes, Blues and Barbeques rally. The roads are all winding and it is wise not to exceed the suggested speed limits. After all the chaos of summer, I needed this time to hang out with friends, partying and riding. This year, the heat was oppressive. We cut some of our rides in half to avoid the afternoon temperatures. When the heat index was near a hundred, we drank more beer. My foot still hurt from the bike falling on it, The swelling was worse in the heat.
There are still bars in AK that allow smoking. My asthma forced me to stay outside. There were two dogs tied up while their owners sat in the air conditioning. I joined the dogs on the curb. I got my dog fix hanging out with a friendly pit bull and some kind of happy mutt. I always miss my animals when I am away. My cat, who hates everybody, is likely hibernating under my bed. The house sitter will only know there is a cat by the disappearance of food and water from her dishes.
My house sitter lives in the city. She has no car, so commutes using mine on the few days she is working. She will call in sick and take some vacation. When I get home, the car seat will be moved all the way forward. Finding someone who is good with four needy dogs is problematic. Also, there are no house keys, which city people do not embrace. But I have iron gates and you need a code to get in. The dogs can run free, even when no one is home. Kate is happy to drink and toke and use the fire pit. She likes the country sounds of frogs, the wind in the trees, the braying donkeys and screaming peacocks.
I leave her copious notes for everything. "The sound of werewolves will get the dogs barking after midnight. They are coyotes in disguise. She texts me to ask who is Mr. Peepers. "The canary. Feed the canary." Throw dog food out the front door for the loose peacock. Do not allow Clark outside while feeding the penned peacocks. He will streak past you and terrorize the birds. Kate is a slob and I will come home to a mess, but she is worth it in peace of mind.
While in AK, we take my stepdad, his wife and son out to eat. She is a hoarder, so we do not stop in. Why anyone would move to AK from the north is beyond me. As Norm has "summer teeth," he blends in with the locals. (Summer there and summer not.) He is 80ish. I don't think I will see him alive again. When we are taking pictures, I whisper "I love you," in his ear. We have history. We both endured my mother.
The people-watching in AK should be listed on the tourist sites. While listening to music at a concert, two women got into a heated passion play. "You're not from around here are you," Dave said to a guy in the beer line. "How did you know?" he asked. "You have all your teeth."
Our friend, Stick, smokes. At the hotel, he came in from an outdoor smoking session. I yelled at him and the woman he was talking to. "That's my husband. You leave him alone." She mouthed, "I'm sorry" from the elevator. Stick protested that I was not his wife and he didn't even know me. His wife was amused. "You sit your lily white ass down," I ordered. The black bike group in the lobby laughed. Later, I got the desk clerk to text Stick about the nice time she had talking to him, leaving a fictitious room number.
At an overlook, I kept telling Stick to move over a little more, pretending that it would be a better photo op. He didn't realize that someone had spray painted "Dick," along with a graphic, on the cement barrier he was standing behind.
By the end of the week, I had a pretty good beer gut going. We set off for home in the early morning. Stick left two hours before us and the other couple, He Who Dawdles, left after us. Stick warned us of the traffic ahead, where the cops were thick and where the roads were clear. We almost caught up when they stopped for lunch. I couldn't wait to see my pests. Several interesting texts came from the house sitter.
Where are the garbage bags. WE are taking the recycling with us. WHERE is the vacuum cleaner. WTF. In the past, Kate has had parties at the house and not cleaned up. But, AGAIN, my animals are cared for. Except when Titty, the cat, was trapped in the basement where her litter box is, with no food or water, I came home to a somewhat vacuumed house. The attachment hatch on the vacuum was not violated.
Kate was gone when we got home. The mailbox was clogged. Nests of dog hair had accumulated in every corner. It always takes me a week to get back on track. I posted on Facebook that my dogs had a spectacular time when I was gone, as there were only a few shots of vodka left in the half gallon of high end shit in the freezer. "But, I left you a very nice brownie," she said.
"I'm eating it now with ice cream."
"I hope you don't plan on doing anything for the rest of the day."
"Unpacking and relaxing."
"You will mostly be relaxing."
"WTF. Why didn't you leave instructions on portion control."
I slept for twelve hours.
Just returned from a week in Arkansas for the Bikes, Blues and Barbeques rally. The roads are all winding and it is wise not to exceed the suggested speed limits. After all the chaos of summer, I needed this time to hang out with friends, partying and riding. This year, the heat was oppressive. We cut some of our rides in half to avoid the afternoon temperatures. When the heat index was near a hundred, we drank more beer. My foot still hurt from the bike falling on it, The swelling was worse in the heat.
There are still bars in AK that allow smoking. My asthma forced me to stay outside. There were two dogs tied up while their owners sat in the air conditioning. I joined the dogs on the curb. I got my dog fix hanging out with a friendly pit bull and some kind of happy mutt. I always miss my animals when I am away. My cat, who hates everybody, is likely hibernating under my bed. The house sitter will only know there is a cat by the disappearance of food and water from her dishes.
My house sitter lives in the city. She has no car, so commutes using mine on the few days she is working. She will call in sick and take some vacation. When I get home, the car seat will be moved all the way forward. Finding someone who is good with four needy dogs is problematic. Also, there are no house keys, which city people do not embrace. But I have iron gates and you need a code to get in. The dogs can run free, even when no one is home. Kate is happy to drink and toke and use the fire pit. She likes the country sounds of frogs, the wind in the trees, the braying donkeys and screaming peacocks.
I leave her copious notes for everything. "The sound of werewolves will get the dogs barking after midnight. They are coyotes in disguise. She texts me to ask who is Mr. Peepers. "The canary. Feed the canary." Throw dog food out the front door for the loose peacock. Do not allow Clark outside while feeding the penned peacocks. He will streak past you and terrorize the birds. Kate is a slob and I will come home to a mess, but she is worth it in peace of mind.
While in AK, we take my stepdad, his wife and son out to eat. She is a hoarder, so we do not stop in. Why anyone would move to AK from the north is beyond me. As Norm has "summer teeth," he blends in with the locals. (Summer there and summer not.) He is 80ish. I don't think I will see him alive again. When we are taking pictures, I whisper "I love you," in his ear. We have history. We both endured my mother.
The people-watching in AK should be listed on the tourist sites. While listening to music at a concert, two women got into a heated passion play. "You're not from around here are you," Dave said to a guy in the beer line. "How did you know?" he asked. "You have all your teeth."
Our friend, Stick, smokes. At the hotel, he came in from an outdoor smoking session. I yelled at him and the woman he was talking to. "That's my husband. You leave him alone." She mouthed, "I'm sorry" from the elevator. Stick protested that I was not his wife and he didn't even know me. His wife was amused. "You sit your lily white ass down," I ordered. The black bike group in the lobby laughed. Later, I got the desk clerk to text Stick about the nice time she had talking to him, leaving a fictitious room number.
At an overlook, I kept telling Stick to move over a little more, pretending that it would be a better photo op. He didn't realize that someone had spray painted "Dick," along with a graphic, on the cement barrier he was standing behind.
By the end of the week, I had a pretty good beer gut going. We set off for home in the early morning. Stick left two hours before us and the other couple, He Who Dawdles, left after us. Stick warned us of the traffic ahead, where the cops were thick and where the roads were clear. We almost caught up when they stopped for lunch. I couldn't wait to see my pests. Several interesting texts came from the house sitter.
Where are the garbage bags. WE are taking the recycling with us. WHERE is the vacuum cleaner. WTF. In the past, Kate has had parties at the house and not cleaned up. But, AGAIN, my animals are cared for. Except when Titty, the cat, was trapped in the basement where her litter box is, with no food or water, I came home to a somewhat vacuumed house. The attachment hatch on the vacuum was not violated.
Kate was gone when we got home. The mailbox was clogged. Nests of dog hair had accumulated in every corner. It always takes me a week to get back on track. I posted on Facebook that my dogs had a spectacular time when I was gone, as there were only a few shots of vodka left in the half gallon of high end shit in the freezer. "But, I left you a very nice brownie," she said.
"I'm eating it now with ice cream."
"I hope you don't plan on doing anything for the rest of the day."
"Unpacking and relaxing."
"You will mostly be relaxing."
"WTF. Why didn't you leave instructions on portion control."
I slept for twelve hours.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Men Behaving Badly
Gramma,
Tuesday morning I looked at my phone. My daughter had texted at 10:38 p.m. that Trashcan was arrested. He had come to her condo, believing that he had a right to be there. They both called the police.
I asked for details. She was at the courthouse and didn't have anything to report. Her boss was being a jerk about her being off work again. Trashcan had called him and the corporate office to alert them that she was doing meth. We joked that as long as she showed up and did her job, it didn't seem to be a problem.
___________________________________
Girlfriend stopped in to help make plans for my annual Witch's Ball. Halloween happens to be her birthday. She chastised me for not wearing my foot brace. My foot is not doing well. Later, she called to say that her boyfriend of three decades had left a note on the fridge that he would be gone a few days--bucket list. They had not been getting along well. He was selling large items that belonged to him, like the motor home and a car. Then she found a receipt in the garbage can for a $300 antique mug he sent to somebody several states away, where an ex-girlfriend of his lived. I asked if she wanted me to come and help her pack his shit.
As I am an evil bitch who zealously protects her friends, I thought up some shit. After consulting Google regarding common law marriage in Wisconsin, I found that the equivalent is now called co-habitation law. I provided girlfriend with the details and the name of an asshole attorney. I took another friend of mine who I had coached in the fine art of divorce to her house, where we proceeded to toss the pole shed for any signs of hidden financial documents or cash. A search of the house had turned up nothing. Girlfriend had already searched the house. Sneaky Pete had his computer with him.
____________________________________
Girlfriend called to say Sneaky Pete's brother-in-law had died earlier than expected. She left a message with Pete, but he didn't call back. His sister heard from him and he was "cutting his vacation short." We had brainstormed and rehearsed for plan A, B, and C.
___________________________________
My daughter texted to say that Trashcan had made bail. He left court with the gift of jewelry. Hope he enjoys his ankle bracelet.
Tuesday morning I looked at my phone. My daughter had texted at 10:38 p.m. that Trashcan was arrested. He had come to her condo, believing that he had a right to be there. They both called the police.
I asked for details. She was at the courthouse and didn't have anything to report. Her boss was being a jerk about her being off work again. Trashcan had called him and the corporate office to alert them that she was doing meth. We joked that as long as she showed up and did her job, it didn't seem to be a problem.
___________________________________
Girlfriend stopped in to help make plans for my annual Witch's Ball. Halloween happens to be her birthday. She chastised me for not wearing my foot brace. My foot is not doing well. Later, she called to say that her boyfriend of three decades had left a note on the fridge that he would be gone a few days--bucket list. They had not been getting along well. He was selling large items that belonged to him, like the motor home and a car. Then she found a receipt in the garbage can for a $300 antique mug he sent to somebody several states away, where an ex-girlfriend of his lived. I asked if she wanted me to come and help her pack his shit.
As I am an evil bitch who zealously protects her friends, I thought up some shit. After consulting Google regarding common law marriage in Wisconsin, I found that the equivalent is now called co-habitation law. I provided girlfriend with the details and the name of an asshole attorney. I took another friend of mine who I had coached in the fine art of divorce to her house, where we proceeded to toss the pole shed for any signs of hidden financial documents or cash. A search of the house had turned up nothing. Girlfriend had already searched the house. Sneaky Pete had his computer with him.
____________________________________
Girlfriend called to say Sneaky Pete's brother-in-law had died earlier than expected. She left a message with Pete, but he didn't call back. His sister heard from him and he was "cutting his vacation short." We had brainstormed and rehearsed for plan A, B, and C.
___________________________________
My daughter texted to say that Trashcan had made bail. He left court with the gift of jewelry. Hope he enjoys his ankle bracelet.
Monday, September 12, 2016
Not the Only Shit Show in Town
Gramma,
Sunday, I sent frequent updates and pictures to Sonny's previous owner. It made me smile. Sonny meets the donkeys. Sonny stalks the peacock and decides against pursuing something bigger than himself. The outside cat is also bigger and doesn't back down. Sonny squeals like a baby when the cat takes a swipe at him. The dogs all have bad breath. I need to start cleaning their teeth. We had no visitors or phone calls. It was eerie. I couldn't burn my hell-fire sized brush pile. It was too windy. A storm was blowing in.
My daughter called. She had met Trashcan at the vet office on Saturday. He said her dog was sick. Afraid he would do something to her baby, she did not call the police. The dog was showing signs of kidney failure. Right away I thought of anti-freeze. He threatened that under common law marriage, he would take her to court for half her condo if she didn't drop the charges. He didn't have a leg to stand on. I told her to bring it up at her appointment with the domestic violence people. "I hope you're going to nail him for this." She reiterated that she didn't want to ruin his life.
Monday morning Girlfriend called and told me all about her mediation session with the soon to be ex. He was livid that she had come in with a list of $70,000 dollars worth of hidden assets. His attorney had neglected to share that with him ahead of time. She had both barrels loaded for bear. He thought he was going to get her to walk away in exchange for her not paying his sorry ass maintenance. She will walk away with about $500,00. He will not be able to live in their nice log house by himself.
He also tried to hide that he could go back to work after his back surgery. There were reasonable accommodations afforded by way of the Union. He thought nobody would notice that he was eligible to collect retirement benefits if he did not want to attend work. She has no pancreas. Her doctors sent a letter stating she should not be working.
He wanted her to pay his attorney fees and expenses related to being sued by the nursing home after his uncle died. "Do you really want to go there Scott," she said. As the executor, Scott had siphoned money from his uncle's bank account and put it in the safe. He knew she would out him on that and the unreported $30,000 dug up in his uncles yard. He and his sisters had quite the dispute over that. I encouraged girlfriend to write a letter to the nursing home detailing the situation. Especially the part where his sister talks the uncle into selling his land to her for pennies on the dollar.
Girlfriend figured she would get drunken hate calls from Scott after their session. Instead, she got drunken calls from his daughter asking "How could you do this to my dad. How is he supposed to live." Oh fucking well. Good thing she has a security system and guns. He is so pathetic that he goes to the food shelf on his way to the liquor store to load up on cigarettes and whiskey.
In the evening, we settled in to watch the Harley and Davidson special on the History Channel. Dave started reading a recent rant against me on Facebook. Then the texting began. He was going to show me. It was my fault that he was losing his house. He and his son would have no place to live. I suspected his dad was kicking him out now that his girlfriend wasn't paying $500 of the $800 monthly rent. I was blamed for breaking up their relationship. He had actually notified her on Facebook that they were no longer together.
He threatened that he would call the police and tell them that I was an alcoholic, pot-smoking, drug addicted. He would see to it that I never saw his son again. He would tell the police that I had guns and I would go to prison for the rest of my life. All in caps, littered with LOL's and HAHA's. Dave called him. He wouldn't answer. Dave left a message asking him if he needed to come over and kick his ass.
I went to bed. A text came in. I didn't look at it, figuring it was another tirade.
To be continued....
Sunday, I sent frequent updates and pictures to Sonny's previous owner. It made me smile. Sonny meets the donkeys. Sonny stalks the peacock and decides against pursuing something bigger than himself. The outside cat is also bigger and doesn't back down. Sonny squeals like a baby when the cat takes a swipe at him. The dogs all have bad breath. I need to start cleaning their teeth. We had no visitors or phone calls. It was eerie. I couldn't burn my hell-fire sized brush pile. It was too windy. A storm was blowing in.
My daughter called. She had met Trashcan at the vet office on Saturday. He said her dog was sick. Afraid he would do something to her baby, she did not call the police. The dog was showing signs of kidney failure. Right away I thought of anti-freeze. He threatened that under common law marriage, he would take her to court for half her condo if she didn't drop the charges. He didn't have a leg to stand on. I told her to bring it up at her appointment with the domestic violence people. "I hope you're going to nail him for this." She reiterated that she didn't want to ruin his life.
Monday morning Girlfriend called and told me all about her mediation session with the soon to be ex. He was livid that she had come in with a list of $70,000 dollars worth of hidden assets. His attorney had neglected to share that with him ahead of time. She had both barrels loaded for bear. He thought he was going to get her to walk away in exchange for her not paying his sorry ass maintenance. She will walk away with about $500,00. He will not be able to live in their nice log house by himself.
He also tried to hide that he could go back to work after his back surgery. There were reasonable accommodations afforded by way of the Union. He thought nobody would notice that he was eligible to collect retirement benefits if he did not want to attend work. She has no pancreas. Her doctors sent a letter stating she should not be working.
He wanted her to pay his attorney fees and expenses related to being sued by the nursing home after his uncle died. "Do you really want to go there Scott," she said. As the executor, Scott had siphoned money from his uncle's bank account and put it in the safe. He knew she would out him on that and the unreported $30,000 dug up in his uncles yard. He and his sisters had quite the dispute over that. I encouraged girlfriend to write a letter to the nursing home detailing the situation. Especially the part where his sister talks the uncle into selling his land to her for pennies on the dollar.
Girlfriend figured she would get drunken hate calls from Scott after their session. Instead, she got drunken calls from his daughter asking "How could you do this to my dad. How is he supposed to live." Oh fucking well. Good thing she has a security system and guns. He is so pathetic that he goes to the food shelf on his way to the liquor store to load up on cigarettes and whiskey.
In the evening, we settled in to watch the Harley and Davidson special on the History Channel. Dave started reading a recent rant against me on Facebook. Then the texting began. He was going to show me. It was my fault that he was losing his house. He and his son would have no place to live. I suspected his dad was kicking him out now that his girlfriend wasn't paying $500 of the $800 monthly rent. I was blamed for breaking up their relationship. He had actually notified her on Facebook that they were no longer together.
He threatened that he would call the police and tell them that I was an alcoholic, pot-smoking, drug addicted. He would see to it that I never saw his son again. He would tell the police that I had guns and I would go to prison for the rest of my life. All in caps, littered with LOL's and HAHA's. Dave called him. He wouldn't answer. Dave left a message asking him if he needed to come over and kick his ass.
I went to bed. A text came in. I didn't look at it, figuring it was another tirade.
To be continued....
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Open Heart
Gramma,
Before I left, I was in the process of adding another dog to our pack. I put that on hold. Sonny was a four-year-old Jack Russell. I saw him on Craig's List and fell in love with his face. For days I kept going back to look at his picture. I started showing it to Dave. "Isn't he cute? Look at that face. He needs a home."
"What are you saying? You want that dog?" A few more days went by and he said he didn't care. Jack's are our favorite breed. Nothing would ever replace Radar, but this guy looked like a fun time. There was a $250.00 re-homing fee, which was waived because there were no other takers. The daughter was allergic to him, reacting with skin rashes that bled.
To be continued....
Before I left, I was in the process of adding another dog to our pack. I put that on hold. Sonny was a four-year-old Jack Russell. I saw him on Craig's List and fell in love with his face. For days I kept going back to look at his picture. I started showing it to Dave. "Isn't he cute? Look at that face. He needs a home."
"What are you saying? You want that dog?" A few more days went by and he said he didn't care. Jack's are our favorite breed. Nothing would ever replace Radar, but this guy looked like a fun time. There was a $250.00 re-homing fee, which was waived because there were no other takers. The daughter was allergic to him, reacting with skin rashes that bled.
I made arrangements to have the dog out for a meet and greet. Her car broke down. My car broke down. I agreed to pick him on Labor Day Saturday. Dave's son was coming over with the baby. This was a rare occasion. Dave's 82-year-old mother decided to make the forty minute trek up the freeway to see the baby. It probably took her an hour and pissed off a lot of people along the way. I was feeling crappy. Probably stress. I vacuumed and picked up a cake in town.
It was unusual for the daughter-in-law to visit. Then came the bombshell. Dave's son needed open heart surgery. He planned to have it done after hunting season. I think Dave was in a daze. He held the baby. We had cake. Eleanor was going to leave. I told her we were going to the cities anyway, that Dave could drive her home and I would follow. She objected. After we dropped her off, we went to pick up the dog. It was a bright spot.
We sat outside drinking beer and watching the dogs be dogs. We didn't like the name Sonny came with. We tried other names on him. Clark kind of fit. Maybe Spanky, as in Spanky and Our Gang.
Later, when my daughter did not respond to texts or calls, I contacted the police department and asked them to do a wellness check. I got a groggy call back from her, saying she was sleeping. I will keep doing this until she gets it that I need to hear from her. She goes to work at three in the morning, that was enough to worry about. There are only two people that go in at that hour. Ashkan has lots of guns. He also has connections.
My son blocked me on Facebook and his phone. My other son called his dad to take away his brother's guns again. My daughter-in-law threatened to get a restraining order. I couldn't blame her. Early one morning there had been shooting near the end of their long driveway.
My sister texted and said she was sure she would soon be blocked. The two of them were going at it. My son was awful, throwing shit in her face about her actor son and me. She was arguing with a mean little five-year-old. I went to bed at ten, adding a sleeping pill to my cocktail. Later, I heard a text message sound. I ignored it, thinking it was one more insult from my son.
To be continued....
Saturday, September 10, 2016
Bi-polar Shit Show
Gramma,
I was happy to be home, to my sanctuary. The lawn needed baling. It had been two weeks. I had more shit shows waiting. My eldest son's bi-polar med cocktail had been changed. His insurance would no longer cover the real medication, for which he was on a five dollar co-pay plan through the makers of Abilify. For several hundred dollars more, he could have the generic. It wasn't an option. So his therapist gave him something else that he could get free samples of. I could tell the meds weren't working. His therapist said to give it a few weeks.
He started out feeling less than. Then he became easily agitated and annoyed. I could see this from his Facebook posts, where he has always shared way too much. He has no filter and no concept of discretion or appropriation of information. I got reports from people saying he had turned into a raving asshole. He criticized his best friend for his lack of nice things. He bought himself a $22,000 truck that he didn't need with money he didn't have. This is classic bi-polar behavior.
He and his girlfriend came over in the new truck. He was paranoid that everybody was talking about him and his truck, questioning whether or not he could afford it on twenty hours a week at the YMCA and his disability check. He loudly, in caps, ranted on Facebook about how it was nobody's business, that he always paid his bills, which I knew not to be true. When he walked to his truck, I asked girlfriend how long he had been this way. "About a month. I can hardly stand it." I carefully asked him why he bought a new truck.
He ranted about the thousands of dollars in repairs he had made on the truck he had traded in. He got $2000.00 for it on trade. I shook my head. He has always been instant gratification impulsive with his spending. Girlfriend let me know that during visitation, he had been making his nine-year-old son cry until he asked to go home. I notified my ex-daughter-in-law. The rantings became manifesto's. He alienated friends and family, burning bridges and sinking boats.
My own misguided post on Facebook drew a lot of interesting feedback. Basically, I said I was fed up with people who pretend their families are perfect, posing their lovely pictures and words, while behind the scenes they were mean to each other and hid ugly truths. I ended by saying that this façade made other people feel bad about themselves. My rant had been precipitated by some personal business with family. The real people gave positive feedback, while the guilty objected. The controversy I had stirred up made me smile and have another beer.
My bi-polar son called in a rage, saying his girlfriend was uncontrollably crying because I had made her family sound so pathetic. That was not my intent. He insulted me every which way to Sunday. I could not get a word of defense in edgewise. I was just like my evil mother. He called me Joan and Mommy Dearest. He said they would never speak to me again. I took the post down. I had made my point with the right people.
His girlfriend decided to take a bunch of pills, which she did frequently when frustrated. It was her second trip to the hospital in a month. She was not taking her bi-polar meds or going to mandated therapy sessions. Neither was my son. And it only got worse with the confrontational tirades.
I was still reeling from Denver and decided not to engage with him. It would be pointless. In his mania, he was unreachable.
To be continued....
I was happy to be home, to my sanctuary. The lawn needed baling. It had been two weeks. I had more shit shows waiting. My eldest son's bi-polar med cocktail had been changed. His insurance would no longer cover the real medication, for which he was on a five dollar co-pay plan through the makers of Abilify. For several hundred dollars more, he could have the generic. It wasn't an option. So his therapist gave him something else that he could get free samples of. I could tell the meds weren't working. His therapist said to give it a few weeks.
He started out feeling less than. Then he became easily agitated and annoyed. I could see this from his Facebook posts, where he has always shared way too much. He has no filter and no concept of discretion or appropriation of information. I got reports from people saying he had turned into a raving asshole. He criticized his best friend for his lack of nice things. He bought himself a $22,000 truck that he didn't need with money he didn't have. This is classic bi-polar behavior.
He and his girlfriend came over in the new truck. He was paranoid that everybody was talking about him and his truck, questioning whether or not he could afford it on twenty hours a week at the YMCA and his disability check. He loudly, in caps, ranted on Facebook about how it was nobody's business, that he always paid his bills, which I knew not to be true. When he walked to his truck, I asked girlfriend how long he had been this way. "About a month. I can hardly stand it." I carefully asked him why he bought a new truck.
He ranted about the thousands of dollars in repairs he had made on the truck he had traded in. He got $2000.00 for it on trade. I shook my head. He has always been instant gratification impulsive with his spending. Girlfriend let me know that during visitation, he had been making his nine-year-old son cry until he asked to go home. I notified my ex-daughter-in-law. The rantings became manifesto's. He alienated friends and family, burning bridges and sinking boats.
My own misguided post on Facebook drew a lot of interesting feedback. Basically, I said I was fed up with people who pretend their families are perfect, posing their lovely pictures and words, while behind the scenes they were mean to each other and hid ugly truths. I ended by saying that this façade made other people feel bad about themselves. My rant had been precipitated by some personal business with family. The real people gave positive feedback, while the guilty objected. The controversy I had stirred up made me smile and have another beer.
My bi-polar son called in a rage, saying his girlfriend was uncontrollably crying because I had made her family sound so pathetic. That was not my intent. He insulted me every which way to Sunday. I could not get a word of defense in edgewise. I was just like my evil mother. He called me Joan and Mommy Dearest. He said they would never speak to me again. I took the post down. I had made my point with the right people.
His girlfriend decided to take a bunch of pills, which she did frequently when frustrated. It was her second trip to the hospital in a month. She was not taking her bi-polar meds or going to mandated therapy sessions. Neither was my son. And it only got worse with the confrontational tirades.
I was still reeling from Denver and decided not to engage with him. It would be pointless. In his mania, he was unreachable.
To be continued....
Friday, September 9, 2016
Texting Trashcan--Domestic Violence
Gramma,
The text messages and calls from Trashcan continued. I told him I was coming out to help my daughter. I said I was bringing Dave and my son to take care of the Mexican. Undaunted, he said, "Good, you will probably need them to get her away from him and the drugs. I want her to get the help she needs."
"I'm going to get her the help she needs," I said. He kept texting, asking when I was coming out. Then, in one of his texts, he dropped a bombshell. He said she had been raped and molested much of her childhood and teen years."
"Who did this?" I asked. He didn't know, but was sure it was the reason she was acting the way she was.
I called her. I asked if it was true. There was loud silence. I knew it was true. I was in the car with Dave. We were coming from the cemetery. It was the one year anniversary of his daughter's death from MS. I had all I could do to not start screaming. I was holding my throat, trying to sound calm. "Yes," she said. When I got off the phone, I told Dave to cover his ears. I screamed for a good five minutes, deep, primal screaming that left my voice hoarse.
When I got home, I booked a flight for the next day. Dave had taken the rest of the week off to mourn his daughter. He had the dogs to keep him company. My daughter protested my coming out. She said she was staying with a friend and had no place to go. She did not want to return to her condo because he would come there and she was afraid. I said we would change the locks. I planned to take the rail into Denver and Uber from there. When she realized I was not taking no for an answer, she said she would pick me up at the airport.
We went directly to the police station, where we spent several hours with an officer who specialized in domestic violence issues. She gave my daughter a pep talk about pressing charges and not feeling bad about it. The DA had pictures, testimony from her, and the hospital records. They would go forward without her if necessary. My daughter didn't want to ruin Trashcan's military career of seventeen years. He only needed three more years to get full retirement. There is zero tolerance for domestic violence in the military. He would lose everything and he knew it.
He kept lighting up our phones with attempted contact. "Tell her not to do this, I have nothing left. I want to work this out. She's lying. The Mexicans told her to say this. They did this to her." The police took pictures of all text transcripts. I wrote a three page statement regarding the phone calls. His lawyer told the police he hit her once with an open hand.
Trashcan refused to turn himself in. For some reason he was not working. He was in hiding. His attorney said to call him when they had the warrant and he would come in with his client. The first night, with new locks, we both slept with one eye open. There was an Order for Protection waiting for him. The order stated that he should return her dog immediately.
After a few days, I brought up the topic of rape. I told her about my rapes. It was strange that I had never talked about them. She opened up a little bit. When she was fifteen, she had a boyfriend. Because she wouldn't have sex with him, the kids taunted her. She was labeled a lesbian. Three boys decided they would fix that. She wouldn't say who. "It doesn't matter. Some of them were dead," she said. A co-worker had also raped her when she was not on birth control.
I bought her groceries. We went to some second hand stores looking at clothing. We took a drive into the mountains and explored a little town. We spent more time at the police station. We got contacts for domestic violence resources. She went to work half a day, then almost a whole day before taking me to the airport. An advocacy appointment was set up for the day after I left. Labor Day was coming up. I asked the police if they could arrest Trashcan on Friday, so he would have to spend a three or four days in jail. There was not much more I could legally do.
To be continued....
The text messages and calls from Trashcan continued. I told him I was coming out to help my daughter. I said I was bringing Dave and my son to take care of the Mexican. Undaunted, he said, "Good, you will probably need them to get her away from him and the drugs. I want her to get the help she needs."
"I'm going to get her the help she needs," I said. He kept texting, asking when I was coming out. Then, in one of his texts, he dropped a bombshell. He said she had been raped and molested much of her childhood and teen years."
"Who did this?" I asked. He didn't know, but was sure it was the reason she was acting the way she was.
I called her. I asked if it was true. There was loud silence. I knew it was true. I was in the car with Dave. We were coming from the cemetery. It was the one year anniversary of his daughter's death from MS. I had all I could do to not start screaming. I was holding my throat, trying to sound calm. "Yes," she said. When I got off the phone, I told Dave to cover his ears. I screamed for a good five minutes, deep, primal screaming that left my voice hoarse.
When I got home, I booked a flight for the next day. Dave had taken the rest of the week off to mourn his daughter. He had the dogs to keep him company. My daughter protested my coming out. She said she was staying with a friend and had no place to go. She did not want to return to her condo because he would come there and she was afraid. I said we would change the locks. I planned to take the rail into Denver and Uber from there. When she realized I was not taking no for an answer, she said she would pick me up at the airport.
We went directly to the police station, where we spent several hours with an officer who specialized in domestic violence issues. She gave my daughter a pep talk about pressing charges and not feeling bad about it. The DA had pictures, testimony from her, and the hospital records. They would go forward without her if necessary. My daughter didn't want to ruin Trashcan's military career of seventeen years. He only needed three more years to get full retirement. There is zero tolerance for domestic violence in the military. He would lose everything and he knew it.
He kept lighting up our phones with attempted contact. "Tell her not to do this, I have nothing left. I want to work this out. She's lying. The Mexicans told her to say this. They did this to her." The police took pictures of all text transcripts. I wrote a three page statement regarding the phone calls. His lawyer told the police he hit her once with an open hand.
Trashcan refused to turn himself in. For some reason he was not working. He was in hiding. His attorney said to call him when they had the warrant and he would come in with his client. The first night, with new locks, we both slept with one eye open. There was an Order for Protection waiting for him. The order stated that he should return her dog immediately.
After a few days, I brought up the topic of rape. I told her about my rapes. It was strange that I had never talked about them. She opened up a little bit. When she was fifteen, she had a boyfriend. Because she wouldn't have sex with him, the kids taunted her. She was labeled a lesbian. Three boys decided they would fix that. She wouldn't say who. "It doesn't matter. Some of them were dead," she said. A co-worker had also raped her when she was not on birth control.
I bought her groceries. We went to some second hand stores looking at clothing. We took a drive into the mountains and explored a little town. We spent more time at the police station. We got contacts for domestic violence resources. She went to work half a day, then almost a whole day before taking me to the airport. An advocacy appointment was set up for the day after I left. Labor Day was coming up. I asked the police if they could arrest Trashcan on Friday, so he would have to spend a three or four days in jail. There was not much more I could legally do.
To be continued....
Friday, July 22, 2016
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.
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.
Thursday, July 21, 2016
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
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.
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.
Saturday, July 16, 2016
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.
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.
Thursday, July 14, 2016
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
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.
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.
Monday, July 11, 2016
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.
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.
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