The Week Before Christmas

Twas two days before Christmas
and all through the house
the air conditioner was running
while I did grouse

The flip flops were flapping
all snug on our feet
While we visualized ice storms
to help beat the heat

And Papa in his t shirt
and I in my tank
Came to agreement
That this temperature stank

When out on the lawn
So noisy and crass
We could hear a lawn mower
 Fighting back grass

Away to the window
I creep over to peek
Everything was green
On Christmas week

The children just sighed
Observing the weather
So much for wearing
That new Christmas sweater

But the lights they will twinkle
And we will be of cheer
Because we have the spirit
If not winter this year

And you'll hear us exclaim
With no snow in sight

Merry Christmas To All!
And To All A Good Night : )


© 2011 All Rights Reserved By Ms. G.

I thought I had successfully avoided Walmart but...

I am heading out. Wish me luck...all nine of you. It is just the only place to find some sort of gift for my in laws. They won't use it otherwise and probably won't anyway but I know that eventually it will end up back at my house or in a garage sale.

I need SERIOUS HELP.

WHAT do you get a 25 year old young man your daughter has only been dating for 2 months and who will be at your house for Christmas because his parents are going out of town so that he will not feel left out?

I have the 25 year old son in law thing down because I've known him forever and I usually just get something they both can use. Otherwise I know nothing about young men. Although I married one once but that was 25 years ago and he's been asking for socks for 25 years.

I just sent Mid a text asking if he had a thermal car mug and she answered:

"Sorta. Not really."

What is that?

Send me the answer by telepathy. I'll be wandering around for the inlaws gift in housewares or possibly looking for the kind of insipid Christian music that makes me want to run screaming from the room and become a Buddhist.

I Promise

to write something real. Real soon. Besides my grocery list.

There. Now I have to.

After all, it must be true, it's on the Internet.

All my creativity has been going into ...making tea light holders using apple cinnamon candles in short squatty (real word cause I say so spell check,  just try and stop me) mason jars and green glass beads and......

Don't you have a job Ms. G.?

Oh. Yes. And I'm going to go do it right now.

or i might go to Kmart to buy button batteries for the...


© 2011 All Rights Reserved By Ms. G.

WW: Awesomeness

 

© 2011 All Rights Reserved By Ms. G.

In Honor of Our Veterans

The Following Poem Appears on the NorthEast Kansas Korean War Memorial. 

Copyright  held by  Charles M Province founder of The Patton Society.

 

 

It Is The Soldier

  

It is the Soldier, not the minister
Who has given us freedom of religion.

 It is the Soldier, not the reporter
Who has given us freedom of the press.

 It is the Soldier, not the poet
Who has given us freedom of speech.

 It is the Soldier, not the campus organizer
Who has given us freedom to protest.

 It is the Soldier, not the lawyer
Who has given us the right to a fair trial.

 It is the Soldier, not the politicianWho has given us the right to vote.

 It is the Soldier who salutes the flag,
Who serves beneath the flag,And whose coffin is draped by the flag,
Who allows the protester to burn the flag.

  Charles Michael Province, U.S. Army

  Copyright Charles M. Province, 1970, 2005

   

In Honor of My Father, a Korean War and WW2 Veteran

And all Veterans who have served our Nation and Our People to earn and preserve Our Freedom 

as well as fought for the peoples of other nations whose freedoms are in danger. 

Something Scary

I little while ago I was making our Employers Federal Tax deposit online and something scary happened.
The date on the form said, 11/1/11. Hmm. Well that's not right. It's still October and this was October payroll. So I changed it. And it said Nope. And I thought, 'but it has to be. It's October 31st.' But the IRS said. *WARNING* Deposits must be made on a business day. Well yeah. It's Monday. I'm in business. My daughter is at school. The grocery store was open this morning. Did I fall into a time warp. (Yes. That seriously crossed my mind.) I checked my phone. My phone thought it was October 31st too so my cell company must haver fallen into the time warp with me. Now I was uncomfortable with this but more uncomfortable with not making our payment so I said, "FINE" and just did it.

And then I was nervous. So I looked it up. Sure enough. The Federal Government considers it a holiday which I did know but I didn't know they take the day off.

Did they all take the day off? What exactly do they need Halloween off for?

Do I really want to know the answer to that?

Well, with some of them I think I know the answer......but really.....

What do they do? Do they have a big party and all the Democrats dress like Republicans and all the Republicans dress like Democrats and jump out of the Congressional cloakroom (Have you ever watched them on CSPAN? They spend alot of time going to that cloakroom, I think they're smoking a joint) at each other and yell Nay! Do they then line up with bags and give each other concessions as treats?

Do I already know the answer to that?

Is it scary?

Is the IRS insisting that it's tomorrow and I have no choice but to comply scary?

Ok. I'm scared. Because now I have to worry that they will read this and start watching me.

Just playing Fed. Really! You want some Butterfingers? I have some hidden under the bed.


© 2011 All Rights Reserved By Ms. G.

Now This Place Is

Just over a year old. MOTPG is Two! I certainly was ambitious last year. October tends to do that to me. Let's leave a little tune here,  in my place for the worst of the worst and the most random of the random, during my hiatus.  One of my all time favorite bands, that strangely, I have never posted. I went to their concert in 1984, I think it was, with my schizophrenic stalker, M.  I'm in a good mood and feeling ambitious but my brain is on overload.
I will be sorting my thoughts...and my closets : )

I Am So Tired.

I was planning on catching up with more blog reading because I am behind but I keep yawning and my cat is in my lap and he is purring and *Yawn* I also need to go grocery shopping and finish some financial stuff but *Yawn*, is 9:30 too early for a nap? *Yawn*

You want to see my hole in the wall  office nook?

See. I told you.

I don't know why there is a childs cello here.

One of the many things that appeared in strange places when Middlest moved out.

This is a painting I was working on once. I needed to practice water. There is a green spot on the water where one of the kids decided to paint too. Was this when I gave up? Next to last.

The last was the one that ended up with a hole in the canvas.

Someone else left this open.

It's not my responsibility to reach over and close it.

Here are some fascinating Office Depot products.

Some old shelves. These mostly hold my daughters' childhood books.
No. No I have not dusted them lately.

This is the view thru the shutters

I have effectly wasted half an hour. I guess I should head to the store. 

Or Will I? : ) 

© 2011 All Rights Reserved By Ms. G.

Let's Party Like It's 1965!

I'm doing this dance in my office. Really. I am.

Umm...What?

As smart as my youngest daughter is she is terrible at spelling. Texting can sometimes compound this issue.

Text from Littlest directly after school today.

Lit:     I'm staying after for a club

Me:   What club?

Lit:    The Thesbians


...ok......




© 2011 All Rights Reserved By Ms. G.

A Silent Unmarked Sky

I didn't have the television on that morning. It was a school day. A rushed morning. I had my senior citizen bible class right after the girls went to school so there wasn't time. The class wasn't designated for seniors. I just liked to call it that because I was the only person under the age of sixty who attended.  I was in my car and turned on the radio. It was set to a hard rock station that featured an obnoxious and inappropriate morning team and I reached to change the station feeling that it wasn't the right way to approach my bible study class. Before I could change it though I realized their voices seemed different. It wasn't the usual snide banter. They were being serious. They were being outraged. The word terrorist was used. Something had happened. I wasn't clear on just what.  They used the word pray. I knew it was bad.

When I reached my class a few of the older couples were there looking grave and troubled. The class leader filled me in on what had happened so far. Planes had been flown into The World Trade Center in New York.   Another couple arrived. Bustling in, the man updated us that the Pentagon had also been hit and they feared another plane might be headed for Washington. The old men were quiet. Their faces haunted but unafraid. They were all war veterans. Unlike myself they had seen things similar to this before. They understood the gravity but were very matter of fact in the telling. The appeared troubled but not panicked. They simply came from the generation that was taught strength at an early age. Tragedy no stranger. Chaos no mystery. They had been there before. We prayed that day. In our little room at the back of the church we were cut off from society and for that hour did not know what was happening.
 But we prayed.

When I got home I walked directly to my TV and turned it on. Another plane had crashed in Pennsylvania.
I was hundreds of miles away. I did not know anyone who was personally involved in this massacre. It had no direct affect on me, my life or my loved ones. But it did. It did for us all. Because our people are our extended family in this nation. Though we bicker and fight and call each other names and sometimes refuse to listen to each other and speak to each other, we are, We The People of the United States of America. And someone had hurt our own.

We grieve. We are strong. We rebuild. We will remember. Where we were. Who they were.

In the days following I would look up and see something I had never seen in my lifetime. A clear and unmarked expanse of blue sky. No tic tac toe drawn in cloudy white across the skies. The skies of my grandparents. It was surreal. I could strain my ears as hard as I could for hours and never hear even the faintest rumble wafting off in the clouds. I knew that if I did it would be a harbinger of death.
It was beauty dearly payed for. Something I am glad I saw and that I hope I never see again in my life.
The first feathered white line I saw brought both relief and dismay.

I was hundreds of miles away. I did not know anyone who was personally involved.
Everyone I know was personally affected.
Ten years later when I see those scars on the sky it is still like reaching to feel the scars of an old wound.
To this day if I see a small plane that seems to be out of place I follow it's progress in the sky.
When I hear the sound of a jet passing low I cringe.

My thoughts and prayers for the people and heroes that were lost on that day and for their families and our first responder survivors.  Peace be with you.

© 2011 All Rights Reserved By Ms. G.

WW: Something's Missing

© 2011 All Rights Reserved By Ms. G.

There Aren't Any Tuning Forks In The Sink

Middlest is doing dishes. Her headphones in her ears. She is singing along. She bounces about a little. Her voice at full volume. The lyrics burst from deep in her belly using the breathing technique her mother, ever hopeful, taught her. She is blessed with volume. She is blessed with determination. She is blessed with freedom and abandon as her voice lifts ever higher overwhelming the room and filling every corner of the house.

I smile.

I wander down the stairs and the hall into my bedroom. Her father greets me with a questioning look.

"Is she up there fighting with someone?"


© 2011 All Rights Reserved By Ms. G.

Lace Up!

What's getting me thru my day?

Ready? Set? GO!

© 2011 All Rights Reserved By Ms. G.

Songs My Daughters Burst Into....

During Dinner

From Avenue Q

OH GOD IT'S HOT

No, but really! It REALLY IS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A Change of Tune

Separating Fact From Feeling

Once I was driving down the road in the middle of the day. I saw blue police lights ahead and began to move into the left lane but then I noticed the car that was pulled over. A compact beige car. Old, beat up, dirty, unkempt. I changed direction and turned right into a shopping center parking lot and pulled into a spot facing the road just a few yards from what was going on. The officer stood on the sidewalk waving his arms around. I couldn't hear but he appeared to be angry and shouting. He was giving a stern lecture of some sort. My brother leaned against the passenger door of his car. Faded ripped jeans. His hands embedded deep in the pockets of a ratty jacket. His cheap, dirty tennis shoes planted on the edge of the curb. The thick waves of his golden blonde hair were dull tarnished copper falling over his eyes. Too long in the back turning up at his collar. My heart bled as I watched my beloved brother, like it had so many times before, and at what he had become. My brother stood motionless and listened with his head down. He finally raised it in answer to a question and I saw his mouth move in excuse. I was waiting in case I needed to call my sister in law. My brother nodded his head in acceptance and the officer directed a few more words at him and returned to his vehicle. Much to my surprise and concern my brother swung around, got back in his car and drove away.

Last year on MotPG I wrote this post Fly Bye from last July. It is a tribute to my brother on the anniversary of his death. It is an honest picture of how much I loved the brother I knew. In spite of his faults. What it lacks are the full facts of who he was and what he did. I titled this Separating Fact From Feeling but I'm not sure that is accurate. Both posts are Fact in every way. Perhaps Feelings Despite Facts would better describe it.

The facts do not change the love.

Because this was a brother who indulged me when I was small and was only kind. The brother I missed when he was in the army and couldn't wait to see again. The one whose side I would have taken against my parents as a kid because I didn't know better. This is the brother who let me tag along. Taught me to fish. To shoot a rifle. To fly a kite. And when he met his wife included me in their world. And she did too, which is why I love her. And why after his funeral I told her, "I'm glad you stayed with him, even though none of us would have blamed you if you didn't." She answered, "Well I cared alot about him." Who didn't? That was the problem.

Most of the people he hurt loved him because of the person he was when he was not consumed with alcohol. The person who was very proud of his children the entire time he was letting them down. The person who sometimes made thoughtful and considerate gestures toward his parents while he also took advantage of them. The person who once spent weeks looking for a perfect antique clock as a gift for his wife. To replace the one she inherited from her mother. The one he broke in a drunken rage.
Some of the people he hurt did not know him at all.

The brother who would rapidly advance whenever he attempted a new job and then self destruct the moment he was promoted into a position of authority. This is the brother who was a wonderful artist, though he had no formal training, and most of what he did would be considered what they call a 'naive' or 'folk' art. The one who had an elementary school teacher publicly denounce him for a picture he drew as part of a project and accuse him of tracing the picture and lying about it being his work. So he never attempted to use his talent publicly again. Also the brother who was treated by an Army psychologist for depression in the seventies. She suggested some pills that would perk him up as an alternative to drinking. And so began an even more vicious cycle.

Also the brother who was discharged from the army for operating a tank while intoxicated. Yes, TUI. The brother whom my parents sent to rehab countless times. He cleaned up nice. Met his wife during one of those times. Or scratch that. Met her in a bar the day he relapsed.
The brother who bought his very first brand new car when he was in his early twenties and within one week totalled it in a head on collision. He had head injuries. The other person was blessedly alright. That time. The brother who due to laxity in the laws at that time, was allowed to drive away numerous times. The one who, when he did lose his license, was eventually given it back time after time and allowed back onto the roads.
Until the last time.

The very handsome and out doors type guy who systematically destroyed his body and mind with alcohol and drugs to the point that when he reached his forties he looked like he was in his sixties and had already done permanent damage to his liver.
I got the phone call around 3 A.M. and we tried to hurry.

The brother who, at the age of forty two, died from an esophageal hemorrhage in relation to severe cirrhosis.

 Alone.

While I waited in a caged hall to be checked in.

At a prison hospital.

Three months before his scheduled release after serving his sentence
for vehicular manslaughter.

The brother I feel deserved to be there, without any question whatsoever.

And loved.



© 2011 All Rights Reserved

Ok Blogger

Or Blogger in draft actually.

NO. JUST NO!


i will now spend 10 more minutes trying to find my way back to my other blog.

It Has Been Proven Beyond A Reasonable Doubt

That you can lie your way out of anything in the State of Florida.

When I Actually Was Thinking of Business.

Ok. I don't talk about what I do.  Our main business is what feeds us and what I'm working on most of the time. But. I will say my 'little' business is as the sole owner and distributor for a product. Wholesale and also some online retail.  Though I am Very Casual about many things in my everyday life and am not a stickler for correct etiquette and professionalism when it comes to things like my blog...obviously, when it comes to business, I do have standards. I also have the freedom to do whatever I want with this company. I am amazed at some of the things I encounter from people who are supposedly professionals.

 Now I deal with other businesses alot. Retail and service industry. Normally the email address pertains to the company and is set up in a similar way a business letter would be. You know, like they are Doing Business.

The other day I received an email.
The email address had a signature- Robin Somebody. The actual email was crzy4u--somenumbers @ someprovider

subject line: wholesale

Body:
I was wanting more info on wholesale please



That was it. No signature. No business name. Exactly what you see above.

I did not respond by email.

The response in my head was:

That's nice Robin. Good Luck with that.

Actual response: Delete.

Don't Ever

let your husband go to a wholesale bulk buying store alone.

I Hope

My family have a history of military service. My father the Navy in WW2 and Korea. An uncle, the Air Force WW2. My brothers the Army and Airforce. A cousin, Navy, all three of his sons, currently serving in the Army. All who served in the wars survivors. So far.

On this day of memorial for the fallen soldiers of our Nation I feel I slightly different twist.

She has immersed herself in Memorial Services on TV. Watched the National Concert twice.

Her father says he will not discourage her but he won't encourage her either. This is not something I want by any means. It is something I have deep pride and respect for.

I keep having this flash in my head. A photo. The kind they take after basic training is over wearing dress uniform. There are many of these photo's in my family. The one in my head is a little different.
 It is of a Marine.

I know young people change their minds countless times as they grow. There are two more years before she is even old enough to make that final decision. But. She is the kind who gets an idea and sinks her teeth in like a pit bull refusing to give it up without a long struggle. Even if the struggle is with herself.

When she sees babies and small children her voice changes pitch and a dreamy look comes over her face. She like to bake. Cakes and brownies. When she had hamsters she named them Cupcake and Muffin. She dresses very simply herself but she is already planning little dresses with ruffles and bows. Afterwards. She is working out the timing already. Tours last so many years. There is school and marriage of course. She doesn't want to wait too long to have children. She is working it out.

She is very happy with her new jujitsu class. She is in a class with 15 grown men with the exception being one 17 year old boy and her. The only female. She is reveling in it.

The other night when her dad picked her up one of the men looked at my husband with an amused and admiring smile and said, "That ones got a mean streak."

She spends hours looking through this site.

http://militarytimes.com/valor/index.php

I wake in the middle of the night and she is at the computer reading the lists.

Searching the faces of the fallen.

What is she looking for?

She has a gift of sensing the soul.

Is she searching for something in their eyes? Some clue. A fatalistic warning that this one was marked.

Does she search her own eyes looking for it?

Is it to avoid it or to meet it head on.

That last line is the one I won't speak out loud.

I support my daughter in whatever path she chooses.

I Hope

I hope this day will always be a National Day of Remembrance to me and not a personal one.

Thank What It's Friday?

Today started out pretty good.

I had a full morning planned because I was going to my sisters to help her put up a cabinet in her bathroom that she's been asking for help with for a month and I had time today. I got my drill and found some of those drywall thingys for screws. I was prepared. And I needed to go to the grocery store as usual because we are out of stuff but strangely not milk. Still I wrote my list.

So I got dressed and got in my car.

And my car wouldn't start.

And my husband was working and he said he would try to come back by but he didn't think he could and that I should look for the charger. It might be under the carport. Or in the shed. Maybe behind the surfboards.

And I said, I don't know how to charge it.

And he said I should learn. What if he was dead? I should know how to do this stuff.

And I thought, If you were dead I would call somebody else, but I said,

Ok.

And he said, go on YouTube and look up how to do it.

And then he got off the phone and my Internet was not working.

So I messed around with the wires and re-set stuff and it was still off so I wandered around the house for a little while and then came back and finally it was on.

So I watched. About 5 different videos. With about 5 different instructions, including this guy:

How to make people with dead batteries nervous

who I think might be drunk

and bleeding to death.

So I went to the shed and found the charger and put my car hood up.
And I looked at the battery.
And I looked at the charger.
And then I read the instructions on the charger.
And then I looked at the charger
And then I looked at the battery
And then I cried.

And then I went in and cried some more.

Because we we're out of Little White Donuts.

And Little Debbie's.

And because my husband is a meanie.

Until he came home after all and and charged my car.

And then he told I could go help my sister and go to the store.

Just not to drive over any bumps because he couldn't get the strap back on the battery.

So I drove like I was 80 and finally finished.

And I am home safe.

And Middlest just sent me a text.

She said,
I passed Economics and now I feel like I'm going to cry.

She PASSED Ecomomics.

I think I might cry.

The Mothers Day Spatula: A Love Story.

My husband is not the romantic type. Well, he can be very sweet and mushy and lovable. He's not the violins and poetic sweep you off your feet type. Which is good because that kind of romantic makes me feel awkward. I'd be yanking on my dress to make sure my underwear wasn't showing.  He's more the chase you around the kitchen type. Which works for me because I have a bum ankle and bad knees, so I can't go very fast ; )

Anyway.

Part 2

My husband hates what he calls Made Up Holidays. To be fair he doesn't even consider Fathers Day a time he deserves something special. When it comes to giving gifts for mothers day his opinion would be, "you aren't my mother." Which is true, but his mother isn't mine and I'm usually the one who picks her gift but anyway...He does always make sure the girls recognize the day and can be counted on for something nice for dinner or some extra goodies. He's the kind of guy who brings me the candy I like, because he happened to be in the store, any old time and I have no complaints.

Part 3

I love cheeseburgers. I could eat them everyday. Which is expensive and fattening. So. My solution is that I buy the very lean 93% fat free hamburger at the store and make my own burgers, eating them on whole wheat bread with only ketchup for lunch a few times a week. It's good and not as deadly as fast food.

Part 4

I hate washing pans and the girls aren't very reliable at doing a good job.  So for years I have used nothing but non-stick pans. I'm something of a Gourmutt so this is no big deal. I don't need fancy, I'll just burn something on it and not be able to get it off. Anyway, non stick means only plastic utensils so that there aren't scratches on the surface. That's all I have.

Part 5

The other day I was making a cheeseburger for lunch and my husband was with me. I was waiting for the cheese to melt and it takes forever while the burger overcooks and I mentioned,
"The only thing I hate about non stick is that you can't use metal. If you use a metal spatula you can heat it in the pan and then lay it on the cheese and it immediately melts it to the perfect consistency." Which is true. It's yummy. Then I sat down and ate my partially melted cheese-burger.

On Friday I was taking a nap on the couch  getting ready to do some housework when my husband came upstairs. He was sneaking quietly across the floor with something hidden behind his back. When I looked at him he had a little smile on his face. I have an early Mothers Day present for you, he smiled.
 I'm thinking, "oh cool, candy? flowers? A nice T bone?"
" It's not much, he said, but I knew you wanted one."

And then, he proudly presented,

 My Metal Spatula! 

All mine for the sole purpose of heating and holding against the cheese on my burgers to make them perfect.

He saw it and thought of me. Because even if I'm just rambling about some thing stupid he is listening. And that. Is love : )

 He also bought me an electric can opener because ours broke a couple weeks ago and now I don't have to call him every time I need a can opened  struggle with the hand helds that I have trouble with because I'm getting a little arthritis. No matter that I already replaced it a week ago and he didn't notice. It's the thought that counts.

I guess my MIL is getting a can opener for mothers day.

I will be eating perfect cheeseburgers and Feeling Loved every time I melt that cheese!

She Calls Me

from the bathroom at school. "Mom.... I'm having a bad day." Then dissolves into sobs at the other end of the phone. Her voice echoes in the high school bathroom stall. I ask what happened. "I think he's going to break up with me. He said he feels like an asshole and we need to talk." The next words are undecipherable within the choking tears.

Shit.

She tells me she doesn't really know what's going on but she thinks that's what it is and continues to cry uncontrollably." I can't go back to class because I can't stop crying." I ask if she has anything important to do today, thinking I will allow her to escape. She says she has to be there. I tell her to have a good cry and not to assume anything until she talks to him.

My instinct is to get up and rush to the school and save my baby. The sound of her tears crushes me. I want to be there to hold her and protect her. I want to bring her home and wrap her in the cocoon of my love and keep her safe. Stand over her like a lioness with my teeth bared at danger that dares to touch her. I feel helpless anger that I can't stop the pain. No! Damn It! The world needs to stop hurting my children. I know I can't prevent the heartbreak. I know I can't fix it.

I hate feeling powerless.

She may be almost grown but she is still my heart.

Please don't break my heart.


© 2011 All Rights Reserved

It's Report Card Day!

And it belongs on this blog.

Shortly before school got out today I received two text messages in rapid succession.

Getting it out of the way early to give me time before they got home.

Littlest: 3 A 3 B and 1 F

Middlest: I have a C in German and a B in Math. These are the two classes she has been systematically screwing up in for the last 4 years. Notice the absence of the other 5 classes. 6 weeks before graduation.

Littlest is forgiven because she switched schools and the new class was ahead in Geometry and she was already struggling with it. It can be fixed.

However she is Grounded for saying she was hanging out with friends without details and then leaving her phone in a car where I could not contact her with the 5 text messages and 19 phone calls I made before she got home 20 minutes late.

Mid ? Well if you don't hear from me just send a defibrillator.

A caterpillar was just crawling across my shoulder. Seriously.

Can I Get Up Now?

Kiss The Butt If Necessary

I'm not supposed to be in blog world today. I am up to my ears in work this week but this is what's on my mind and I need to clear it.

This morning Middlest woke up on the wrong side of the bed with her butt in place of her head. By the time we were ready to leave we were all about fed up with her and I told her," You can improve your attitude right now or take your bike to school." It was cold and dark but she chose to ride her bike rather than be pleasant. "Fine," I told her, "Go for it." When I walked outside to drive Littlest and saw her pulling her bike out I did mention, "You need to be careful. With the time change people will be driving tired and it's dark." She didn't answer, she was too busy being pissy and I didn't say anything else either because I wasn't in the mood to deal with a butt.

I am always a cautious driver. In the mornings I am on high alert watching for kids on bikes and walking. This morning I kept my own warning in mind and was especially careful. I was driving into a pit of overtired people who had become used to daylight driving and incautious teenagers on their way to school. After I dropped off Lit I watched out for Mid on her bike during my drive home but never saw her. It was alright. My child made it to school safely this morning. Today was some other parents worst nightmare.

Today when Mid reached her first class period one of her classmates was absent.

Shortly after I arrived home my husband left for work. Just a few minutes later he called me. Heading to the convenience store for coffee he was met by a closed off road in front of the store. There had been a bad accident, he said. A highschool kid on a vespa type scooter had been hit by a car. Life Flight had been called in. He was very upset. "His tennis shoes are laying there," he said.

I do not know this boy or his family. But I feel like my heart was ripped out. We live in a small town. Routine breeds familiarity. Just a few weeks ago, before she changed schools, I took a different route in the morning to take Littlest to her bus stop and would drop Mid there to walk the last block to school. Every morning as I came out through the neigborhood that leads to the main road I would stop at the stop sign. The oncoming traffic was on a curve. Every morning I waited an extra beat and thought, Where's scooter boy? Because almost like clock work he would round the corner and I would stay put till he passed. Then continue on to the main road intersection that scooter boy had turned off at,  one block past where the accident happened this morning. He didn't make it to the turn. Someone blew into the turn lane in front of the store and without stopping proceeded to cross the road into the parking lot. Except there was a problem. There wasn't an opening in the traffic. There was a seventeen year old boy on his way to school there. He wasn't wearing a helmet. Our midday news reported that he is in critical condition.

Back when I first started my other blog my fourth post was this one. Hug Your Babies..Every Day. It was a day when a six year old girl had disappeared from my town. The final result was horrifying. But in that post I said this,

"No matter how tired you are, no matter how awful they have been, no matter how huge, old or ornery they are, Hug your babies. Every Day. "

I would like to add,  tell them you love them and kiss them too. Even if it requires kissing a butt.

And drive safely people. Let's watch out for other peoples babies as we hope they are watching out for ours.

This is a Really Sad Story

A few years ago I was under a whole lot of stress and going a little nuts taking care of my mom and I lost a lot of weight. Don't hit me. I'm 5'3 and before this topped out at about 133. But anyway, as long as it happened without a lot of effort I decided to start taking care of myself and working out and enjoyed a whole new wardrobe of clothes in an obscenely small size. Now as much fun as it was to have a waist I had loose skin issues and when total strangers began to remark on how thin I was I decided it would do no harm to have a few cookies. That was two years ago.

Last summer I had to buy a few more things in a slightly larger but still pleasantly petite size.

Ok. Now as if it wasn't depressing enough that yesterday I decided to set aside my real shoes and put on flip flops, this morning as I was doing my housework determinedly wearing my chenille sweater and yoga pants i realized this wasn't a hot flash and it wasn't going to go away. So I Had To Get Out Shorts! AND THEN!
I had to put them back and go to the garbage bag at the back of my closet and pull out my Pre-Crazy size shorts. And put them on.

And then.....

I LOOKED DOWN AND SAW MY LEGS!!!!

Littlest is typing this for me as I am now totally blind and have no idea whether I will ever regain my sight.
It may be a good thing they don't use braille on cookie packages.

Just Cause I Feel Like It !!

Screeeeaaaamm!

First day at new school for my Littlest.

Tomorrow I am taking my sister for an angioplasty and possibly she needs a stent.

I think Middlest may have pnemonia. Doc today.

Have to finish a project at work because I have another one out of town this weekend.

Writing bills. Right now. Except I'm not. Because I needed to stop and

SCREAM

for a moment.

My mother in law just called and said they are stopping by............

Seriously.

Thats all.

Addendum: 2/10/11

Littlest is being a PITA about the new school

Middlest is not dieing she just sounds like she is

My sisters femoral artery was totally blocked so she needs bypass surgery

My MIL only stayed 15 minutes

Did anyone notice my grammar on this before I fixed it, shunt instead of stent, "sayed" I think I officially lost my mind.

25.4.3.2.1..1986.25.

We always look up at just the right moment. The sun will glint off the sides in a quick flash of liquid mercury. Always at the same point a burst of flame shoots through even the daylight sky only for an instant and a plume of thick white smoke flows in a perfectly straight line to mark the transition.

Straight. Straight. Roger. Go at throttle up. Altitude 9 nautical miles.The mercury flash. But. A huge bursting ball of flame. Outward. Not backward. The smoke an erratic and giant white ink blot spilled on a clear blue background. Spreading tentacles into the sky then bleeding down like water poured on the page.
A major malfunction.

Silence.

Me And My Stalker Chat On The Phone

**This is yet another post that I removed quickly from my other blog because quite honestly it was so depressing I didn't even want to read it. But it's a true story. I wrote it, I live it and I want to own it.


That's right. There is something about me that I haven't mentioned before.

I have a schizophrenic stalker. Although I'm not sure stalker is the most accurate description because from what I have read it is supposed to involve a threat. I'm not sure if there is one.

When I was 18 I met a young woman who was a couple of years older than me at school.  She was new to the area and was the one to initiate the friendship with me. She was from a very small town in Missouri and once showed me a picture of her graduating class. On an 8'10 photo. It was about 30 people. She moved to my town because her mother passed away and her older, married sister lived here. She was staying with her while she got on her feet. During this period of time that I knew her she always had a job. She worked hard. She owned a car and she had a bank account. She seemed like a very responsible young woman.

She was very nice but she was also kind of odd. Nothing obvious, it was more of a feeling. Occasionally she would say something strange but then kind of laugh and say, "oh never mind." I put it down to growing up in such a small town. M kind of latched on to me. Which was ok. Sort of.  I didn't mind hanging out with her sometimes as a casual friend. She was alright and someone to go out to clubs or a concert with. I didn't feel close to her. I didn't share my private feelings and dreams. She was fine to go have a beer with.. But I think to her I was her "best friend". That spot was taken with me by someone who had been my closest friend since we were thirteen. Whenever I mentioned my "best friend" and that we were doing something together M would get kind of quiet. She seemed kind of annoyed. She didn't say anything but I got the clear impression that she was jealous. Which was weird but not my problem really. I was only about 18 remember.  She was odd. I don't really mind odd people. I'm not exactly 'not odd' myself really. She was alright I guess. The other people I knew didn't like her much. Even my parents thought she was strange and I did start to distance myself a little from her but didn't drop the friendship right away.

We hung out occasionally for about a year and she happened to be with me the night I met my husband. Once I started talking to him she kept coming up and saying she wanted to leave. I didn't find out till later that she had tried to talk to him but he wasn't interested so she probably wasn't thrilled. She usually had really bad judgement when it came to guys. More than once she met someone and introduced them to me and I realized they were creeps. After my husband and I started dating she would seem annoyed if I didn't want to make plans because I was with him. We tried setting her up with one of his friends but it didn't go well. The friends words were "There is something wrong with that girl". Apparently when he told her that he didn't want to continue going out she hit him.
I didn't hang out with her anymore after that. I was uncomfortable with the situation and didn't want to be mean. I just avoided her more and more. Once I she came by our house with a new boyfriend that was a known drug dealer I went to high school with. We cut that visit as short as possible without being...Really Rude. Just a little rude.

About a year later she called me. She was hysterical. It was slightly incoherent but I got the story that she had been living with some guys and they had cleaned out her bank accounts and credit cards and disappeared. I felt horrible for her but didn't know what to do. I hadn't spoke with her in a long time. Why was she calling me? I told her she needed to call her sister. Apparently the sister didn't understand. She refused to help. Strange. Or maybe not, considering what I knew. I couldn't help her but I listened. What else could I do? Because of her past associates I had the fear that she had fallen to the level of maybe trying a scam for money. But I didn't know for sure.
She disappeared from my life again. Someone said they had seen her working as a waitress at a seedy strip club. This was a young woman who was a licensed nurses aid, cosmetologist and bartender. Apparently it had become bad enough that she was unable to get work in these areas.

Skip 6 years. I am at the sink with my infant Middlest in her baby tub when I hear a knock at the door. The SeaMonkey had taken Biggest to ball practice and I thought it was them coming home. The knock sounded again and I scooped the baby up to go to the door wondering why they didn't just come in. I swung open the door holding my baby without looking first...and there stood M. I was startled and unsure what to do but I let her in. Within minutes I was frightened. Her behavior was Odd, noticeable even to me. She looked over my house very carefully. She started talking to me like we had just spoke days before. Rambling about people as though I knew who and what she was talking about. When I looked in her eyes I could clearly see that something was Really Wrong here. I just smiled and chatted along, deeply relieved when my husband came home soon after. I finally guided the conversation toward having to get the kids ready for bed and she   left. With what I knew about the possible drug use I was scared to death that she was casing the house. We didn't have much, but still. It really creeped me out.

Skip 2 more years. A knock on the door. Having left those worries behind I again open the door and there stands M. I go outside to talk. She looks harried and worn. She began speaking to me as though we had just seen each other the other day. She is more rambling an incoherent than the 1st time but I noticed that some of the things she said were ringing bells. They seemed  identical to our last conversation. It was as though no time had passed in her head at all. I couldn't be sure if she was high or if maybe the drugs had done permanent damage to her brain. She mentions something that makes me think she has been in a facility and says it was alright there but it was hard now. She was having trouble finding work. I ask if her sister is helping her. She says, "no, they have kids and they don't go out or anything so they don't understand." They won't let me stay there. I thought of the possibility of drugs and had some understanding of that. I still didn't know how to help her and with young children in the house she really made me nervous. After another long absence she came by one time just as I was leaving. I was glad to be able to avoid her. When we moved I actually was relieved that she wouldn't know where I was. My in-laws rented the house from us for a few years and she came by once but knowing the situation they recognized who it might be and just told her we didn't live there.

I had not seen or heard from her again for 15 years. Just by chance we moved to a place that is difficult to find. The maps don't have it clear and for the most part, only people who have lived here for a very long time even know the neighborhood even exists. Pizza delivery and even taxi's are confounded. So far. This gives me some peace. One day a little over a year ago my husband told me I had a phone call from someone with the name M but they didn't leave a message. When I looked at the caller id it was a local children's clinic which I found strange and called the number back and asked for M. I only had a first name and when they asked I explained that I had a phone call a short time before and didn't know what it was about because the caller left no information but a first name. The receptionist said that that was odd and then said "wait a minute, I bet I know what it was. "A little while ago a homeless woman came in and asked to use the phone and was looking numbers up in the phone book. She seemed a little out of it and I think she was just picking numbers at random."  I thanked her and hung up.  No, it wasn't random. She knew who she was looking up. Our business carries our name. "M." She looked homeless? Could it be? I didn't know what to think. Shortly afterward I received another call. A bright, cheerful and seemingly perfectly sane voice asked if it was me. I said  "yes. " Then the voice asked, "where are you living now? Is it by", she named a landmark that someone who didn't know might suppose was correct. I asked, "who is this?" She said, "It's M. I was wondering what you're up to." She then launched  into a long, rambling senseless string of unconnected information ending with the question, "so how many kids do you have now? " Even though my kids are big  my heart froze. I panicked. I said , "I think you have the wrong number" and hung up. I was terrified...and torn. I didn't know what was wrong with her. I didn't know if she was on drugs. I didn't know why she wanted to know about my kids and where I lived. And I was worried that she was on the street. Was she hungry? Was she cold? Did she have a place to stay?

The next call was left on my answering service. After listening to the message repeatedly to try to sort out some sense I realized she was naming people that we had gone to school with over 20 years before and giving me the location and descriptions of their homes. Telling me where some of them worked. She listed them reciting as though she had it memorized. It scared the hell out of me.  In subsequent messages I was able to pick out information that made it appear that she couldn't find her family. They weren't living where they were supposed to. She couldn't find their numbers. If she had talked to them, they didn't care. All of this is mixed in with recitations of job openings and a place she stayed but it is no good there and the police came and this or that person was bad. She seems to jump from thinking she is talking about work, to her "missing" family, from 20 years ago to today.   I have no way to determine which information is real or delusional.

I have one message that I kind of like. For a moment I can hear her old personality within it.
She says, "I've been down to that beach and you know those seashells? They were everywhere. I don't know who they think they are. I was talking to them and they really need to realize that this is "Our Land!" That one kind of makes me smile. I save the recordings...just in case. Just in case of what I don't know.

The Christmas before last I got a card. Carefully signed. Inside was a folded sheet of paper. Folded over and over as though surreptitiously slipped into the envelope. Part of it was typed information you might use in a resume. All around it is written messages, between each line and around the border. Disconnected,  unintelligible information that mimics her phone calls. Some sentences that make sense, though they are disturbing,  followed by gibberish. The card was a thin inexpensive generic quality.
Where did she get it? Perhaps a shelter. There was a return address on the envelope and I was thrilled because maybe now I could find answers. I couldn't remember her sisters name but when I checked to see if the address was legitimate three names were associated including M's. It was her sisters address. I was hopeful. Had she gone home? Were they helping her? Did her sister give her the card? I thought of sending her a card back but the fact was I still didn't know what I was dealing with. I wrote a letter addressed to the sister and explained what had been going on. I asked if she was mentally ill or impaired. I asked if she was dangerous.
I asked whether it was a good idea to encourage her because I would like to reach out but have my family to think about. I left my number and email.

Eventually I received a reply. According to M's sister she is mentally ill. She used the house as a mailing address. They are no longer living at the address she used. It was an old one and she had moved to another state and once the house was sold M would not get mail there.  She does not know where her sister is or if she is working. She hasn't seen her in a long time. The family and friends have tried to help  but M refuses to accept that there is something wrong with her and get treatment. As far as she knows she is not dangerous...Except if you try to tell her she is ill and needs help.  Then she becomes very angry and verbally abusive. Her sister said that she was usually nonsensical and sometimes would accuse her of interfering and keeping her from getting work. She said that it gets worse if she is under stress.
They have given up. They have no contact with her. The email made it very clear that they have washed their hands of this. She has been abandoned.

Though I described M's behavior in my letter, I don't know if her family realizes how bad it has become because I think they are hiding from her. I also completely understand that. Sort of. Not really. But still....they were unable to have her forced into treatment because she was not an imminent danger to herself or others. I don't know how long ago they tried this. I do know the woman on my phone is not capable of taking care of herself and should be in treatment.  She obviously Cannot get work and is Under Stress.

We get calls weekly, sometimes daily sometimes several times a day. For over a year now. We let her ramble on.  I listen intently to voice mails trying to gather clues of what is happening. For whatever reason she has honed in on me. She is reaching out. I don't know what to do. She calls from wide spread locations, usually businesses throughout the city. Anywhere or anyone that will let her use a phone. I don't know for sure if she is utilizing shelters, has a place to stay or is sleeping on the street. It is impossible to figure out because she can't have a coherent conversation. Sometimes after she calls I think about jumping in the car and heading to the area the call came from to search for her. Is she hungry? Does she need money? Could she use a jacket? Why did she pick me? Sometimes I am afraid that it is because once her family disappeared on her I was the only one she could remember being kind to her in all these years.

The more I thought about it the more I realized that things were most likely going awry all the way back when I met her but they weren't obvious yet. If she became involved in drugs I imagine that only exacerbated the situation. I am not frightened by the calls themselves and most of the time I am not frightened of her. Though she did once say, " The [ insert the specific area I live here] is the reason for all my problems." Insert a little paranoia on my part after hearing that one...but I am scared to get more involved. The safety of my family is my first priority. With the state of her mind I do not know if she harbors any resentment about my husband or that I didn't maintain the friendship. I don't know if she can even complete a thought that far. I am not sure if her sister has a firm or recent enough grip on M's condition to be sure of whether she is dangerous or not.

I also do not want to be responsible for this situation. I didn't know this woman that well or very long to begin with. At the same time when the holidays were approaching the calls were becoming more and more frequent. It breaks my heart to think of her being alone. My husband and I don't mind letting her ramble on the phone if it lightens her day but what else? Should we try to help if she has refused help from her family? Do we want to put our family in the middle of a situation like this?

The other day Middlest was out and she came home saying that she had been accosted outside a store by a woman who was obviously unstable and kept following her around and asking if she could use her bike lock even though she didn't have a bike. She was a little freaked out. I was concerned and told her to be careful and leave the area if something like that happens. She answered that she wasn't really scared because she was bigger. Middlest is about 5'8 and strong. She said the woman was tiny and she didn't feel physically threatened by her. "Tiny"? I asked her to describe her. When she described the woman's appearance a chill went down my spine. It may not have been but from some physical characteristics it very well could have been M.

My mothering instinct says keep her away from my family.
My heart says I wish I could help.
Sometimes I feel so mean.
Other times I just feel incredibly sad.

For the time being we just "chat" on the phone. I hope it at least helps her to feel connected to something.

But what do I do the day she figures out how to get to my house and knocks on my door?


 © 2010 All Rights Reserved

How Deep Do They Go.

I originally wrote this post from a prompt for Mama Kat's Writers Workshop. I tried to include her button too for the post but the html wouldn't work. I want to make sure I include this because if I had not seen the prompt I might never have done it. In the end I decided not to link it at the prompt because it is very harsh. Particularly because I have not participated there before and it seemed a little much to spring in a place that is unfamiliar to me. It was the hardest thing I have ever attempted to write about. It concerns the most painful moment of my life and quite honestly I cried through writing it and cry when I read it and cry whenever I think about it. So I thank Mama Kat for the cathartic relief even though I did not share it there.

The prompt was "Scarred"

When my first baby was born her skin was an unblemished porcelain white so clear she had a cast of blue about her temples and wrist where the veins were close to the surface and totally unmarked except for a tiny freckle on the sole of her foot where an angel kissed her before sending her on to us.

My oldest daughter is scarred. When she was a teenager we would not let her get her ears gaged. She took it upon herself. She started with her earring hole and began punching larger things through them. Eventually she stuck a golf tee through them. This was very painful. She craved it. The large holes are now gone but the backs of her ears are deformed. They are thick and lumpy with scar tissue. When she wears earrings they are slightly off center because she can't get any thing through the correct spot.
 Like the holes in our hearts they are healed but marked for life.

The ears are only the beginning. Her forearms are marked with a faded row of web thin reddish brown scars. Most have become very faint but when the weather is cold, sometimes the scars become more angry and substantial against her very fair skin. She is embarrassed by them at work. She covers them with long sleeves. She becomes very upset if someone notices and asks about them. This is the work of pain. This is a trick a friend taught her as a bid for attention. It was a means of manipulation. It became self loathing at what she had become. It was anger she could only direct at herself. In the beginning she once held a knife above her arm threatening us when we told her she could not go out because she was failing in school. Later it became a threat to herself and at the same time a badge of honor among her friends.

There are more. She has skin deep flaws throughout her limbs. Falls. Intoxicated plunges. Jagged welts from getting caught on the barbs of a chain link fence while running with her pack at night. Scratches, the result of a push against the wall from an angry boyfriend. Gravel marks on a knee from a take down by a police officer while trying to obstruct him from arresting the same boyfriend.

This is the one that hurts the most.

She had been missing for days. It is freezing cold in January. She was 15 and a half years old. She called me at 10 o'clock at night. "Mommy, please come get me. I'm sick." "Where are you?" She says she will meet me on a corner in a neighborhood known for crime and drug problems. I am there. I wait and finally out of the darkness I see two figures. My child turns and hugs the dark form beside her before she continues on to my car and the stranger recedes into the darkness. I repel the urge to run him down. It would be so easy. There is no one around. I focus instead on my daughter. She is filthy. Her clothes are torn. A hole in the thin burgundy sweater I gave her just weeks before for Christmas reveals a deep straight cut over 2 inches long in her upper arm. When I ask her what has happened she tells me she does not know. This cut has become a permanent scar.

This scar is the mile marker that lets us know she has reached rock bottom.

A few months before I thought things were looking up. We had a tight rein on her and she had been doing her work in home school and working at a grocery store. She had met a nice boy at work and was spending time with him and his friends. Not perfect but an improvement. They had dread locked her hair for her which I wasn't thrilled about but she was mostly staying out of trouble. For Christmas she had asked for new clothes and bought pretty things. And then He came back. While she was gone he claimed he didn't know where she was. I finally told him that if he cared for her at all he should be worried about her safety. That I didn't care what they did or what was going on. I just wanted her to be safe. She called 2 days later so I guess I have to thank him for that at least. And now my daughter sat next me with her new things destroyed. Her dreadlocks filthy and disarranged. Black dirt under her nails. Almost incoherent. Running a fever and hacking with an echoing cough. And that straight edge cut on her arm. Too clean to be an accident. As neat and red as a rare roast at the first touch of a carving knife. To this day I do not know who hurt my child or if she did it to herself. From the condition she was in it is possible she really does not know. On this night she flat out refuses to go to a doctor at first. Her behavior is so erratic that I'm not sure how much was from drugs and how much the illness but I know she will run if I attempt to force her. She is afraid of being committed or sent to a rehab. She keeps saying that she is leaving again as soon as she feels a little better. I offer cold medicine. "It won't put me to sleep will it," she asked? "No, I say, handing her the little plastic cup of red liquid. "Not at all, it's just for your cough." This was a lie. I didn't feel right doing this on one level but I felt it was the only choice to keep her safe. She slept most of the time for three days straight. When she was awake she did some strange things. Went around the house and unscrewed the screws on things but left them looking intact. I later found an antique baby doll shoved face down in a toy stroller. When I turned it over it's eyes were gouged out.

Within a week or so she is doing much better but the gash in her arm is still frightening to look at. We were lucky it never became infected but it is a wide red cavern on my child's skin. She decides she is ready to leave again. I plead. I argue. I threaten. I beg. My child sits on the couch, her skin still an eerie shade of white. Dark green-blue sunken eye sockets under her bloodshot deep blue eyes. She is still weak. I sit beside her and do something I haven't been allowed to do in over a year. I wrap my arms around my daughter tightly. She cannot get away. I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know how to stop it. I don't know how to fix it. I hold my baby and I do the only thing I knew to do when she was small and I wanted to comfort her. I sing. Her baby song. You are my sunshine, My only sunshine. You make me happy, When skies are gray. You'll never know dear, How much I love you. Please don't take My Sunshine away.....
And my daughter began to cry. For the first time in a very long time my child cried her eyes out hard. She clung to me like she had not done since she was small. I only realized then how long it had been. And I released the deepest grief of my life in tears as well. I rocked back and forth on the couch with my child's head buried in my shoulder and choked out the words of the song as she sobbed, both of us soaked in tears and I never wanted to let go again. I was afraid that if I released my arms I would lose her forever. I had to let go eventually. I to let her out of my embrace and out of my protection. It wasn't over but it was a turning point. She did leave again but something had changed. She returned again and though I didn't realise it at the time the healing had begun.

I forget about the scars on my daughters arms and when I catch a glimpse of them I feel a stab of pain as sharp as any knife in my heart. This is our scar. The one you cannot see. The scar of feeling like a bad parent. Otherwise, why would this have happened, right? I've been told this isn't true many times by professionals, family, friends and even my daughter herself. I know in my heart that we worked hard to do right by our kids and there have never been any more loved. But though the cancer has been removed the scar tissue still clings to every decision I make as a parent. To every piece of advice I give my daughters.
The scar of self doubt.

The worst events only encompass about two years of our lives and believe it or not there are even some things that enough time has passed to joke about. There are moments we can now find the humor in. But not these. These are the scars that my entire family bears. The damage that was done to us is not visible to the naked eye but it is deeply scarred tissue that pulls at every aspect of our lives. It is the scarred childhoods of her sisters. Witness to things that in some ways tainted their innocence. The scars on their own self confidence and faith in the world around them. There is the scar of her own memory. She has never told me everything. She only tells me, "I have seen bad things, mom." "I know." I say. I don't press for more than she offers. I imagine some of those scars will be tender for her entire life.
In the end I can say that for the most part we are healed. We are a close, loving and functioning family.
But there remains this fact of our recovery.

We are healed but we are scarred.

Mama Kat's Writers Workshop


When I began my blog one of the purposes I meant for it was to share what happened with my Biggest. I don't try to go in depth and explain the professional side of her issues. I write about the personal side of the these trauma's. I have shared some things but I have danced around this from the beginning. Most of the time I prefer to have a good time on my blogs and I have avoided this because it is the hardest for me. The hardest to explain. My daughter self injured herself in many ways but there is some stigma attached to self cutting. Socially and also because of assumptions that are sometimes made without having all the facts. There are many reasons and factors that can be involved in self cutting. When I first found my daughter doing this I read some psychology books and totally freaked myself out. I find this link to the Mayo Clinic overview on self injury is a clear and accurate outline on the basic reasons for self injury.

There is also the fact that being the most protective parent I knew I was unable to protect my daughter. Not from the influences around her or from herself. I thank God every day that she is doing so well.
I have thought about writing about this many times in the past year but have always set it aside. When I saw the prompt I knew it was time.
Just writing this has taken me nearly all day because it has knotted my neck up and given me a huge headache. These events were seven years ago. I think that may be a sign that I needed to get it out of my system.

© 2010 All Rights Reserved

Not My Best

But this is some of my work. My photography skills don't help much. I had to use angles to prevent glare.  I also have a hard time keeping sharp drawing pencils around here........
And finding time to keep my skills sharp. But they are mine.