Gramma,
My super-size corgi is on a diet. She is also on a hunger strike. This morning I told her to step away from the dog dishes. She knows the command. I offered her a separate bowl of diet kibble that only she could access. Refusal. My corgi's have a lot of cat-like behaviors. She walked away without even trying to vie for the prime morning spot under my desk. I guess we aren't speaking. I will give her a few days before I change tactics.
Last night was the "Super Moon." I went outside to watch it come up through the tree line. I've been sick with something upper respiratory, so went to bed early. The moon glow falls across my pillow as I drift off. I planned to be outside before dawn to watch it finish the night. Too late. The cat weighs me down.
My barking cough kept me from my dentist appointment. I planned to not get dressed, maybe even go back to bed and read a book. It's grey and dreary, but not cold. I half-heartedly make a to-do list for the week. I don't want to do anything. I waste time on the computer. Then, Bob shows up. He used to own this house. He lives in Colorado. He has the gate code. He will try to get an invitation to dinner and several nights of free lodging. He has his a new little pound puppy with him.
Our conversation is punctuated by my frequent coughing. Bob quit playing Santa years ago because the kids always got him sick. He tells me he will be in town through Thanksgiving, almost two weeks. As usual, he repeats himself. I nod and cough. He tells me what he has been up to and that he has brought a car load of things for his step-kids. Dave texts me while we are visiting. I look at the phone and smile.
I tell Bob that I need to let Dave know I got his text about working late. I text him, "Bob is here." And, I smile, because Bob drives him nuts. He shows up without warning and stays without an invitation. He helps himself to whatever's in the fridge. He sits in Dave's chair. He expects that I will cook three meals and dessert. My phone is lighting up with Dave's texts. "Fuck." "Not staying at the house." "Four dog limit." "Hello."
I snap Bob's picture. His dog is sitting on the back of Dave's chair. Good thing I can't laugh while coughing. I hit send. "FUCK," Dave responds. I smile as Bob keeps talking. I tell him Dave says hi. Bob decided to leave. I didn't even have to encourage him by telling him I needed to go back to bed. I could have offered him some home made apple pie or something to drink, or dinner later in the week. He will likely be back before he heads home.
I text the neighbor that he is in town. She says, thanks for the heads up." They too have gates, and he does not have their code. He will knock on other doors, looking for food and shelter. I like Bob well enough. I am more tolerant than Dave when it comes to this kind of intrusion. My eyes glaze over and the mind wanders after awhile. Dave fumes.
The next morning I went to feed Mr. Peepers, my canary. Bob's dog had left me a dog bomb and wet spot by the cage. I had promised a friend recovering from back surgery that I would clean her house. There was no other day I could do it. While I was there, Bob called her. She did not pick up. We listened to his message inviting himself for a get-together. I came home, still sick, exhausted, and too tired to drag the carpet cleaner upstairs.
I'm a little jumpy. I heard a car door slam outside and said "Oh fuck," to myself. He's back. It was the mail lady delivering Christmas gifts I had ordered online. I look at my calendar for the next week to see how much stuff I have going on, real excuses. Then I figure out how many other excuses I need to make up, just in case.
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
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.
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
The Twins Were Here
Gramma,
It was a rare occasion that the twins were here for the weekend. The girls turned eight on Halloween. Their mother died of MS a year ago. The baby is eighteen months and was here briefly while the girls were being dropped off. They live with Dave's ex-wife and her husband in a small apartment. They do not have legal custody. I suspect that the kids are getting on their last nerve and they wanted a break. I fully expected to be hit up for money for something.
The father of the children is busy hunting and fishing. He bought a new boat with government money meant for the girls. He does not volunteer anything to support the kids, including his time. He is a weird little puke who should be in jail for tax evasion. When his dog died, he put the collar on Tanya's grave. The dog was not special to her. He got another dog. I would guess the dog gets little more attention from him than the children do. We did not ask the twins any questions about how things are and they did not offer any information.
Bubba and Veve were here as well, so there were four kids making noise. Although I said no about a hundred times, I let them be kids. No, you can't go on the roof of the house if I am not with you. No, you can not go on the roof with shoes, it's bad for the shingles. There is a deck that goes from a bedroom onto the roof, but the shingles are much more interesting. Yes, you can go on the roof of the small playhouse. There is a ladder and slide involved. No, you may not go on the roof of the treehouse. Get off that ladder. No, you may not go on the dock out to the island if I am not with you. Yes, there is a monster.
A trip to Wal-Mart was made to pick out a birthday toy of their choice. Nope, that's not an option, choose something else. The multitude of pre-landfill plastic disgusts me. Grampa came along. He NEVER goes to Wal-Mart. I do not go on a Saturday. I get pissy just thinking about it. The old woman and the old cashier in front of us were having a social event. Dave and I exchanged glances and stink eye. It was good for Grampa to see how fast and far $150.00 goes. He tried to hand me a twenty for a Dairy Queen cake. I rubbed my fingers together and smiled. He waited in the car.
The kids helped take down all the Halloween décor. They demonstrated the speed of a beer truck being unloaded at a biker event. I took the four-wheeler out back with the kids in the trailer. We got stuck and unstuck more than once. We raced around the yard with the dogs trying to keep up. Then we had more ice cream cake outside. And more popsicles. They dragged their feet cleaning up their own stuff to go home. I always start the process two hours in advance.
They think we live in a mansion. I have corrected that notion to clarify that it is a castle. My hope for their time here is to go home and say how much fun they had. I hope they tell their cousins all about it. They were here once, three years ago. Maybe they will pester to visit. More kids is not much more work. In the end, it's the same amount of clean-up.
In a month, the twins will be coming for another weekend. We will go see a Christmas play with three of my grandkids. It will be their first time seeing our house decorated with the village and upside down Christmas tree and the lit up Jesus people out by the road. Their mother is watching. I know because their were dragonflies following me when I was mending fences the day they came to visit. Dragonflies were their mother's thing. They are not in season here in late fall. This is all good for Grampa's spirits.
It was a rare occasion that the twins were here for the weekend. The girls turned eight on Halloween. Their mother died of MS a year ago. The baby is eighteen months and was here briefly while the girls were being dropped off. They live with Dave's ex-wife and her husband in a small apartment. They do not have legal custody. I suspect that the kids are getting on their last nerve and they wanted a break. I fully expected to be hit up for money for something.
The father of the children is busy hunting and fishing. He bought a new boat with government money meant for the girls. He does not volunteer anything to support the kids, including his time. He is a weird little puke who should be in jail for tax evasion. When his dog died, he put the collar on Tanya's grave. The dog was not special to her. He got another dog. I would guess the dog gets little more attention from him than the children do. We did not ask the twins any questions about how things are and they did not offer any information.
Bubba and Veve were here as well, so there were four kids making noise. Although I said no about a hundred times, I let them be kids. No, you can't go on the roof of the house if I am not with you. No, you can not go on the roof with shoes, it's bad for the shingles. There is a deck that goes from a bedroom onto the roof, but the shingles are much more interesting. Yes, you can go on the roof of the small playhouse. There is a ladder and slide involved. No, you may not go on the roof of the treehouse. Get off that ladder. No, you may not go on the dock out to the island if I am not with you. Yes, there is a monster.
A trip to Wal-Mart was made to pick out a birthday toy of their choice. Nope, that's not an option, choose something else. The multitude of pre-landfill plastic disgusts me. Grampa came along. He NEVER goes to Wal-Mart. I do not go on a Saturday. I get pissy just thinking about it. The old woman and the old cashier in front of us were having a social event. Dave and I exchanged glances and stink eye. It was good for Grampa to see how fast and far $150.00 goes. He tried to hand me a twenty for a Dairy Queen cake. I rubbed my fingers together and smiled. He waited in the car.
The kids helped take down all the Halloween décor. They demonstrated the speed of a beer truck being unloaded at a biker event. I took the four-wheeler out back with the kids in the trailer. We got stuck and unstuck more than once. We raced around the yard with the dogs trying to keep up. Then we had more ice cream cake outside. And more popsicles. They dragged their feet cleaning up their own stuff to go home. I always start the process two hours in advance.
They think we live in a mansion. I have corrected that notion to clarify that it is a castle. My hope for their time here is to go home and say how much fun they had. I hope they tell their cousins all about it. They were here once, three years ago. Maybe they will pester to visit. More kids is not much more work. In the end, it's the same amount of clean-up.
In a month, the twins will be coming for another weekend. We will go see a Christmas play with three of my grandkids. It will be their first time seeing our house decorated with the village and upside down Christmas tree and the lit up Jesus people out by the road. Their mother is watching. I know because their were dragonflies following me when I was mending fences the day they came to visit. Dragonflies were their mother's thing. They are not in season here in late fall. This is all good for Grampa's spirits.
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....
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