I Wish I Could

I wish I could drive into a tree
.
Or follow a boat ramp into the wild and turbulent Ohio River, or maybe into the murky depths of Harsha Lake.
I probably wouldn't like drowning, though.
Too time consuming.
Too scary.

So, I'll stick with wishing I could drive into a tree.

Oh, don't worry.

I won't actually do such a thing. (Not on purpose, anyway)

I didn't do it Saturday morning, because I told Tammy we'd keep the babies for her this weekend.

I didn't do it Sunday morning, because we were keeping the babies for Tammy. (It's a little strange to keep calling Hailey a baby -- great big girl she's getting to be)

I didn't do it this morning, because I told Tammy I'd take her to the doctor on Tuesday.

I won't do it tomorrow morning, for the same reason.

After Tuesday, there will be some other reason -- probably a stupid reason to anyone else -- why I won't.

But I wish I could.
I wish I could drive into a tree.

Grimesy Campaigning

It's that time of year again.
The time if year when it matters not what one has done -- it matters what the other guy has done worse. Or can be inferred to have done worse.
"Worse" being relative.

The necessity for smear campaigns or mud slinging doesn't seem to matter.

Senator (I think) Mitch McConnell of Kentucky is a good (or bad) example of this.

Now, I can only offer an outsider (Ohioan) point of view, but it seems that Mr. McConnell has been good for Kentucky. He does his job, which is more than can be said for the majority. He has weighed the options, made deals, voted for or against many policies and projects.
All he needs to do to campaign for re-election is say "Here is what I have done for you, my people."

Instead, he has chosen to attack his opponent, Allison Grimes.

And the grounds he is using as an attack platform are dubious, at best.
One attack was that she supported Obama.
Well, she's a member of the Democrat Party. I would be much, much more disturbed if she did NOT support the majority of her party's politics. I don't know about you, but I don't want to vote for someone who does not support her own support network. Who cannot be loyal to those she promised loyalty to.
Nope, I would not want to vote someone who stands for nothing.
Not even her own standing.

Her first ads that I saw represented facts about McConnell's attendance and voting record. His supporters immediately started screaming that she had her facts wrong and besides that, who was she to cite any such facts, when her record for another position may (or may not) be just as dubious.
Reminds me of Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck arguing over Rabbit or Duck season.

Now, the 'scandal' of Ms. Grimes is that she won't say who she voted for.
The media is making a big deal of her refusal to answer.

Shouldn't they be making a big deal of the invasion of her civil right to a secret ballot -- an American institution, especially for presidential elections.
Besides that, who cares?
No one, it seems to me, except Mr. McConnell and his supporters, who are not in favor of voters having rights, apparently.
If she voted for Obama, she supported her party. Good for her.
If she voted for someone else, she voted her conscience, Good for her.
Why is this an issue?

Ms. Grimes has, for the most part, not dignified that issue with any comment. She certainly is not making it a campaign issue. Nor a publicity point.
For that, I would almost vote for her myself.

It should only be about who will do or has done a better job. Nothing more, nothing less.
The candidates that meet that criteria will be the ones who get my vote.
In any race.
In every race.

Sawyer Brown - The Dirt Road

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs

Apparently, the latest thing is Signs.

On Facebook.

On YouTube (for heaven's sake!)

Now, there's nothing wrong with signs.
There's probably good in signs -- it (they?), after all, sort of promote literacy. I say sort of, because they are not all spelled and punctuated in ways that make sense (to me, yes.)
The Written Word is not dead, after all. People are using it to make signs on social media.

If I see another sign about showing the kids how far a sign can go, I just may scream at it. This was an original and thoughtful idea the first hundred or so times it was done. Now it is overdone, and it has become the same thing as many another adult lecture on the evils of an evil world.
Who listens to that?

Or you may be looking for your biological family so you write your personal information on a sign and post a picture of you holding said sign. Exposing your personal information to all the identity thieves trolling the internet, even letting them know what you look like.
Not to mention, once your quest has been successful, for the rest of your life you will be getting clicks, clues, and info you no longer need or want. For the next fifty years. Your grandchildren may someday be sharing your picture of you and your sign.


Worse, though, at least to me, is the way signs are taking over YouTube. YouTube is a video site. Where you can talk, sing, dance, jump, play, tell stories, make a fool of yourself, sing, share, instruct, learn.

Lately, YouTube has been taken over by signers.
And I don't mean ASL.

Many many bullying stories are told by having someone hold up handwritten signs that explain, one sentence at a time, why someone did something -- suicide, attempted suicide, or self-harm such as cutting.

Wouldn't it be healthier and helpier to hear the voices of the victims?
After all, anyone can write a sign, and anyone can claim to be anyone, if there is no voice to go with the words.

Isn't the point of these videos supposed to be that the voices be heard?
Rustling paper is no one's voice when the medium is visual or aural.

Recently there has been a story making the rounds of what a mom did when the family SUV was going over a cliff. (Or something) This story is told by the daughters, one piece of paper at a time.
With a very loud soundtrack, but not a word is spoken. (That I know of. I have yet to be able to watch the so-called video to the end. It's boring to read that slowly.)

Now, obviously, they know how to add sound to their presentation.
They know how to use the camera.
The signs do indicate that they know the rudiments of story telling.

But they aren't telling anything.
One cannot even hear their emotion.

Poor Mom. Her kids love her sacrifice so much that they can't and won't even speak of it -- just wave sheets of paper around.
At least they get them in the proper order for the most part.


Ah well, as a writer, I shouldn't complain. There has been so much said -- and written -- about the demise of the written word.

Perhaps I should take this as a sign that there is still work for me in this field.

The American Way; The Butt of the World

Once again, in an effort to GET THEIR OWN WAY, our duly elected Congress has moved to make the USA the butt of the joke in the global community. They have approved an action to sue the President for not being a good president.

The idea does have some intriguing possibilities. These Congressmen (and women) might want to think carefully about what doors they are opening. Imagine if we could all start suing politicians for being liars or for not keeping their promises!
Although, of course, they would limit the sue-ability to the president, I'm sure.
As they have done/are doing with the term limits question. (In case you missed it, it is okay to limit the tenure of the presidency, but term limits for the Congress are unconstitutional.)

But that isn't the issue.

The issue is that they are making the American Way of government into a Joke and a Failure in the eyes of the world. Something that, were they doing their jobs, they would be making great efforts to resist.
But it's okay. They can blame it all on the president, and the gullible (and mostly nonvoting but vociferous) citizens of the USA will jump on the bandwagon and Facebook and yell "Hell Yeah!"

Don't get me wrong. I do not think Mr. Obama is the world's greatest president. I did not vote for him. He wasn't my choice. He isn't my choice.
And, (speaking of term limits) he will be gone in a brief but endless couple of years. We've survived six years; we can endure two more.

But he was the choice of the percentage of the population that cared enough to get off their butts and actually vote. I have to respect that. If I can't respect the results of an election, why am I voting?

Once elected, the President should have the public support of his (our) Congress, and of the, for the, and by the people who cared enough to elect him.

Privately, there is always room for discussion, argument, discord, dissent, and any other word you want to use for being adamantly opposed to everything you disagree with.
That's the American Way.

I object to the American Way being made a mockery of.
I object to the American Way being made a joke in the eyes of a world watching to see if a democratic republic is a viable form of government for longer than a couple centuries.
I object to the American Way being exploited for financial gain and publicity by some rich white guys having temper tantrums when they don't get their way.

Oh, didn't you know?
Most of the Congress is lawyers, judges, etc.
They make up their own laws and collect their fees.
At your (and my) expense.

If you don't like this president, get off your duff and vote for someone you do like.
THAT is within your power.

In fact, that IS your power.

Just do it.

Heroin is Bad.

In case you have missed this, in the last forty years, today's "news" wants to keep you informed. Heroin is bad for you. It causes crime and sickness and junkies. There are even clinics for treatment and halfway houses and all sorts of stuff.
None that any of us want in our neighborhoods, but, hey, that's where the heroin is.

I don't want or mean to minimize the issue of heroin, addiction, and treatments. This IS stuff people should know about. Be aware of it -- yes, right in your backyard.

But it does annoy me that all this is being treated as brand new news.

It isn't.

The issues and concerns are exactly the same as in the 90s, when "heroin chic" brought the addiction back into the headlines. The issues of treatment, and theft and sharing needles -- it's all old news.

Most of it -- there have been some changes in treatments -- in the 90s was recycled news from the 70s. If you can find old newspapers, pull up a few articles on the subject. Word for word, they could be written today and called news.

Epidemic, the reporters emphasize. (Even though the word epidemic has been discredited in relation to actual illnesses)
Epidemic, they said in the 90s.
Epidemic, they said in the 70s.

If this is new news, maybe instead of recycling the same old news about the issue, someone (like an investigative reporter?) should look into why this may be a 20-year cycle epidemic. What makes any issue or illness or addiction repeat in the same pattern, over and over again.

If this is a cyclical issue, why is no one looking to break the cycle?
Why are they only wanting to treat it?

Why is something 20 or 40 years old being touted as "news"? It's pretty old, don't you think?
If only they would report something that has changed.

That would be news.

Sick and Sad

I finally got a job, started it, was doing well enough to be offered extra hours and -- after I accepted the etra hours, I got sick. I went to the Emergency Room and got medicines and went back to work for those extra hour days.
Not the best plan, but I had said I would do it, so I did it.
But by the time the time was done, I was dragging, and went to the doctor.
Who put me off work for the next five days.

Who gets sick like that? Babies? Old people?
I am neither, although I often feel very, very old.
Being widowed, losing my caretaker role, being unemployed (maybe unemployable) are all aging factors.

Being free of caretaking, being employed, I hope will be freeing. Will restore some youth, some joy, some energy.

So, I got sick.
Boo!

Seems to be a family thing going on. A curse upon our house, or something bad written in the heavens. A  curse upon us!

One sister had bleeding issues back at Thanksgiving and ended up with a hysterectomy in April.
She is doing much better these days -- even has energy to take walks for fun.

Another sister, more recently, fell and hurt her back. It has just come to light that she actually broke a bone in her back. She's still walking and stuff, although it's been painful for her -- but the broken bone isn't even the cause of her pain and discomfort!
She is, ever so slowly getting better.

Bronchitis, even the ever-lasting kind, looks like a walk in the park (for fun) after those experiences.

I'll get better, too.

After all, it's in the stars.

Winged Protection

My granddaughter, Hailey, age 5, draws me pictures of winged creatures that she then tapes up on the walls above and around my bed. She says they are fairies; I tend to think of them as angels. A rose by any other name...

She has also drawn me a picture of herself with her super powers, and she drew me a picture of her brother in the playpen. Both these pictures also went on the wall.
Under a rainbow.
And both these pictures had angel fairy pictures placed around them.

My bed and my grandbabies are very protected, it seems.
(Which is, of course, okay by me.)

This morning, when I woke up and reached for my glasses case, there was one of these pictures lying across the nightstand. It covered the glasses case, my phone, and my current book. There was no way for me to miss it.

And no reason for it to be there.

No obvious reason that is. The tape was still on the paper, the tape was still sticky.
But there was  a blue fairy angel smiling up at me and making sure I knew that it was there today.





I start my new job today with just a little extra boost of "good".

Residuals

I wonder these days about hauntings.

To be honest, I've never thought about hauntings much -- I grew up knowing they happen. It's only recently that I've been wondering about the details and operation of the act of haunting.

I want to think that Rex is somewhere else, healthy, happy, unworried. For all my loneliness and lostness, I don't want him to be lingering here, taking care of me/us/things. I want him to be at peace.

That said, spirit or not, something of him does linger here,
Every room is infused with his presence.
Especially this front room where he spent all his time the last months of his life.

There's a concept, in paranormal circles, of residual haunting.
The definition is something like a recording that plays, over and over. A lot of legendary ghosts seem to be residuals. They do the same things, say the same things, are in the same places, time after time. All the white ladies gliding down stairways (even, in some cases, when the stairway is no longer in that part of the room). All the Weeping Widows wandering the garden paths. Crying babies and angry men. Sounds of swords clashing and battleaxes slashing on a peaceful sunny day.

Some are video recordings, some are audio only.

There's a presence here, Rex's presence. It is impressed upon the house; imbued into the walls.
Now this may be true only for me or for us. When we go, so may that presence.
(And then we will know a different measure of loss and loneliness, but that's another topic for another day.)

I think I can live with this.
I think his presence can be here, while his spirit is not.
Just as his voice or his image could be on a recording. (If I had any. My little  recluse.)
Playing the recording would not mean he was here, just that he had been.




I just hope I am right about it.

"Nobody Warned Us"

There was a (dubious) news report out of Washington State that survivors of the massive landslide were commenting and complaining that they had never been told a landslide could happen.

 I call it dubious, first of all, because those people are still busy looking for loved ones, looking for beloved things.
Secondly, they are in shock and deep, deep grief, so that nothing said at this time should be reported as anything other than mourning. Not responsible journalism. (If such a thing still exists.)
Third, the statement just screams "Lawyer"! Not just lawyer, but the worst kind of lawyer: the ambulance-chasing, you-can-make-me-a-lot-of-money type of lawyer.

God help the survivors, the vultures are already circling, greedy claws extended.

No doubt, eventually, this will make it to the courts as a liability issue. Survivors will be looking to place blame. That's something very human of them.
No doubt some judge somewhere will think it should be heard, in defiance of all common sense.

Some building statements that shouldn't need to be made:
1) If you build on a hill or cliff or anywhere "UP" everything can fall "down."
2) Oceanfront property is susceptible to hurricanes
3)Other waterfront property is susceptible to flooding.
4)There may be water shortages in desert areas.
5)Water shortage areas will be susceptible to fire.
6)Anywhere that lightning strikes there could be fires.
7)Tornadoes can happen anywhere.
8) There is no such thing as "solid" earth.  The earth is liquid -- sometimes water, sometimes melted rock. Even the continents are on the move; afloat.

Just a few things to think about before you buy or build anything anywhere.
It shouldn't require an ambulance chaser, a political prosecutor, or a publicity seeking judge to air foolishness, stupidity, and naivete before the whole world.

Let them heal.
Help them struggle.
Neither money nor blame will replace what they've lost, and lost forever. Don't make them think it might.

Changing Things

It's time for changes. I can't keep going on.
 can't do as I've been doing.
I just can't.

Everyone expects too much of me, and I try to go along because being all things to all people has been how I've tried to live my life.
Now, when I say "I can't" or "I don't" they don't hear me.

No one anywhere hears me.
In offices.
On the telephone.
Even on Facebook.
No one hears.

Not too many steps away from "no one's here," is it?

I have an outline idea of what I'm going to do and where I'm going to go. It is vague at this time.
I only know changes need to be made and I am taking the steps to make them.

suttee.

It all makes sense now.

Life and Love and Other Things

I have been trying to write of other things than my own problems. I don't want this blog to be a whining moaning list of things to complain about. I don't want it to be a pity party for me. I don't want it to be about me, specifically.

I want it to be about life in general. Politics, social media, diet, religion, education, children and grandchildren -- all the things that make up the array of things we grapple with from day to day. That's what I want.

For now, I can't seem to think beyond my own life-box. 

I'm stuck and I can't seem to move beyond these limitations.

Someday I will, I'm sure. 

Someday, I'll live again, love again, have opinions again, and I'll re-find my writer's voice.

Someday.

That day isn't yet.

I have many beginnings of ideas, thoughts, concepts to discuss. A recent facebook discussion inspired an article about the education system. But it remains unwritten, as headaches and busy-ness and the visitation of the demon build up walls faster than I can build windows. 

And forget about doors! There's no time for doors. 

The important thing is to keep a little light coming into this thick and sturdy box.

Why keep writing, then?

Well, that is the best way to poke holes in the wall and let a little light in.

Also, there may be someone out there that needs to read something like this.

Someone who needs to know there can be light in darkness.

Someone who needs to know that tears can cleanse as well as burn.

Someone who needs to know how someone else navigates the pitfalls of an empty life.

Someone who needs to know about hope, and choices, and giving up.

Someone who needs to know that, in spite of it all, there remains life, and love, and other things.

Blessed, Beautiful Balancing Sleep

I have been sleeping a lot the last couple of weeks. It's so much better than dozing and waking. It's a wonderful place to be, asleep. No worries, no demands, no unsolvable problems to solve. Just being.

Not that there are no problems in the sleep  world. There are.

In the lovely half-worlds between awake and asleep, and between asleep and awake, there are many many things. Thoughts, memories, wishes realized, dreams not dead, stories to be told unrolling.
Punishments exacted for sins known to the dreamer, be it willful, accidental, or circumstantial sinning.

But at least the dreamer knows.
Unlike life, or a so-called loving god, in the dream state of partially self-inflicted tortures, the dreamer knows what the punishment is for. Knows the why. Knows the how. Knows the when and where. Even knows that the way to end it is to rouse to wakefulness.

There is something soothing in knowing why pain is inflicted.
There is something beautiful in punishment balancing sin, even when the so-called sin was minor and the punishment is angry and excessive.
There's a reason for it.

In waking life, there is no reason.
There is no why, no explanation, no lesson learned.
God, the 'loving' father,seems an abusive irrational parent.

Any decent parent knows to tell their child why it is being punished. The child may not understand why something merits punishment, but knows that x(wrongdoing)= y(punishment). It's pretty basic.

Someone should tell god, maybe.

Snowy Days

Well, the Cincinnati area has set and/or broken a snow record. We have had 40 days of accumulating snow, according to official records. There's something Biblical in that, isn't there?

In many ways, it's been an apocalyptic winter. Definitely, it's been a record setter, in many ways and in many places. In Washington state, it has ended with a massive mudslide that has wiped out most of a community. They are still looking for the people, combing through homes and digging through slop, and the rain will mingle with the tears as too many are lost or left. I hope the winter is over for them, and I hope they get a miracle or two or twenty.
People have died of cold while inside their homes.
Whiteouts have taken lives on the highways.
Cabin fever has led to murders, assaults, and other insanity.

I hate this long cold winter. This is not the kind of historical time anyone (except maybe meteorologists) wants to live in.

But -- March is ending, and we have the proverbial wisdom of coming in like a lion going out like a lamb. I'm ready for some lamb, how about you?
Little lambs, and green grass, and blue skies with puffy white clouds, and fruit blossoms shedding a different kind of white on the ground.

I'm ready to put the cold and snowy days behind me, and look forward to the warm and colorful days ahead.

If it's really stopped snowing, and there is an end to the killing power of winter 2013-2014.
Too many have died.

Snow Days

There's been a lot in the news -- and in the minds of parents -- about the 'excessive' number of snow days this prolonged snowy cold winter has been responsible for.

It's crazy. All the time and attention that the media and our lawmakers are giving to this consideration.
It's ridiculous.

The whole concept of education paid by the day is ridiculous. Children learn when they are interested, not between 9 and 3 on weekdays. Requiring so many days in a desk/chair is not, never has, and never will force learning.
Can you think of any other business where this is the model of operations?

I don't know the solution -- maybe not have school during January and extend it through June, before it gets hot.
We spend a lot of time teaching to the test (which isn't even a good test of learning) so maybe reaching year-end goals could be part of when to end the school year. Although that might require more real teaching than modern teachers are allowed to do.

Before modern times, school schedules were made at/for the families' convenience. In the agricultural society, school was scheduled around planting/harvesting times. Weather was also a consideration.

Above all else, the consideration was for our children. Too hot, too cold -- they stayed home. Roads unsafe, whether due to ice or floods or winds -- they stayed home.
Their health and safety was the vital deciding factor.

Not how many days they had been sitting in their assigned seat.

This is how we take care of our children?
This is how we "educate" them about what is important?

Now, some places figure their finances based on having so many seats filled for so many days. Nothing else matters in figuring costs and expenses. As well as the costs of schools being closed, and the costs of additional (unnecessary) day care, we can now add in the cost of legislating giving ourselves permission to keep our children home in inclement weather. There are no more important issues before our government. Death Penalty, Drug Wars, Bigotry, Hate Crimes -- our lawmakers are being paid to decide if we are allowed to use common sense in weather matters.
Why?
Because some bean counter says x seats = x dollars, and that's the way it is.
Because some statistician says "1 in 5" or "2 in 12 "or whatever numbers they can make do the tricks that push their platform?

I say, while they are wasting their time and our money over three to five days, why not take a long hard look at the whole 'requirement' system. And, of course, the way we pay for it.

Hints of Spring

It seems the winter may never end.
It will never stop snowing.
Snow will melt and freeze.

But, driving down the roads, one sees the signs of spring.
Not, as you may think, in the clearing, brimming ditches, or the yellowing of the willow limbs.
Nor in the increase in road kill or the presence of predators.

The real clue is in the garbage at the curb.
There are mattresses and couches and pots of desiccated plants.
There are outgrown toddler toys, often with a free sign taped on.
There is an old door there, and a busted window frame across the street. (Wonder if both or either of those homes houses any type of ball player?)
There are paint buckets and piles of tree limbs.

Gliders are being painted and left to dry on porches.
Cushion covers are being washed and cushions are fluffed and filled.
Swings are being rehung  -- or new swingsets  are going up.
Windows sparkle and doors stand ajar as in welcome.

Spring cleaning is a sure sign of spring, as all creatures leave their dens and begin to ramble, sometimes half-blind and half-starved (for what? Light, food, companionship? Does it matter?).
Winter's waste is being cleared away.
Light is being let in.
Life returns to bursting-at-the-seams.

Welcome Spring.
You old slowpoke, you.

"You Cannot Be Turned Down"

You can, however, be refused the payment you think you are investing in.

It's a gamble.

Of course, all insurance is a gamble. That more people will buy and pay in than will (whatever) and need to be paid. This is how insurance companies make money. 

Let us suppose that you need life insurance and can't get it through the usual agencies. Maybe you have a chronic condition which will (sooner rather than later) become terminal. You can't get life insurance, but you know that you -- or your family -- really need for you to have it.

So, you look into this "cannot be turned down" policy.

The commercials sound so good. "Only 9.97 per unit per month. About 35 cents a day."

BUT: a unit is $1,000.00 . 

Even a cremation setup costs around 2500--3000. So, even for an inexpensive service, you need three units per month. (A traditional funeral, done cheaply, runs between 5000 and 7000 .)

The price of your insurance has just trebled. At a minimum.

That leaves little if anything to help your family survive. You may have put yourself more at risk because you are trading in one of your medicines to be able to provide for your family after you have passed. 

The next phase has to do with your life expectancy.

If you die within the first year, your family gets nothing.

If you die before the second year ends, the insurance company, after having used your money for investment and interest profits, will generously payout to your loved ones every penny that you actually paid them. 

Not the number of units you purchased; not the coverage you were buying. Just what you paid for it. 24 months at $30 is $720. 

There are different companies with different time constraints -- one is six months/one year -- but they all do have these limits. Even your more standard policies have terms and restrictions as to what they will pay out, and when and why.

Add in all the paperwork and problems your family will have to deal with, as well. 

Ask yourself if this is truly the best choice you can make for your family.

Ask yourself if you think you will live long enough for them to profit from your investment.

It's a terrible burden to be dying and know you haven't left your family any resource for your final needs. I understand that -- you don't know how well I understand that. 

I just ask that, if you choose to go this route, please understand what you are doing. Please understand what your family will or will not collect. 

The odds are not in your (their) favor.

 

Roaring? Try Growling. Like a Tummy.

I went and got my little ones before the weather turned bad. The plan was to keep them if it seemed necessary, depending on the weather.

At least, that was the grown-ups plan. The little ones had something else in mind!(Not purposely.)

Friday night Warren cried and kicked like his belly hurt. Babies do that, and our water is different from theirs at home. No biggie, right. It was even funny when he spit up on me and Hailey while Tracy was holding him. Babies do that, too, after all.

Saturday was a wonderful together day, arguing with Hailey over the computer and the tv, wrassling around with Warren, who  was determined to chase down Tracy everywhere she tried to hide. That kid is really nuts about her. I think it must be the combo of Pappaw and Mommy, but it could be Tracy's childlike playful side.
Anyway, if she's in the house, Warren will track her down!
He also likes to walk under the curtains that are the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. He likes to step up over that little step, too.

Then came Saturday night, and one of the nightmares pf parenting. Hailey's belly started hurting and we couldn't make it stop. We tried warm packs and milk, and sipping diluted alka-seltzer -- that one sip was the only one she took, too. She didn't like the taste at all.
Soon enough the sick came out of her, and she immediately started wailing that she couldn't go to school with that brown stuff coming out! (They had sent a girl home from school Friday when she had the same problem.)
She also needed a shower! She had already had her bath, but Hails doesn't ask for  showers at Mammaws. She can get showers at home.

Poor little girl! I told her it was just a pookie bug and when it all came out she'd be okay.
She told me again that she couldn't go to school.
We were up all night with that pookie bug. I took a plastic pan into the bedroom with her/us, and she managed to use it as needed, crying all the time. I could tell she was really hurting, but any medicine came right back up.
Eventually she went to sleep, more dozing than real sleeping. I was grateful for that, you can believe. She was being pookie in my bed, and worrying herself about it. I told her me and her and the pillows and covers would all wash and to just get the sick out.

It was almost noon when we got up Sunday morning. Hailey was weak and wobbly, but no longer in pain and no longer sick.
When we got Bubby up, he didn't want to play.
ai thought it might just be a dozy day, getting ready for the "Titan" blast of winter.
Well, I hoped that was it.

Futilely, as it turns out.
The pookie bug had him too.
he wanted Mammaw.
he spiked a fever.
So I had to tell his mommy she needed to come and get them. Even put Warren on the phone with her.
Bapbapbap" he kept saying.
He and I had several bapbapbap conversations while he snuggled against me. He thought it was funny when  I'd say "Bap bap?" to his bapping.
Such a loving little bunchkin!

Eventually the sick caught up with him and got all over me.

Eventually (Titan was now upon us) the parents arrived. Of course by that time they were both in recovery mode, silly babies.

Of course it caught up with me too, Thank goodness the babies had gone home, that's what I say. I think Mammaw having the pookie bug would have scared Hailey half to death! Of course she could have helped take care of me. She would have liked that, I think.


But all is well now. She's back to school, he's back to toddling, and I'm back to sitting at the computer.

One more challenge met.

(I'm too old for this.)

March is Roaring In. (We Hope.)

March comes in like a lion, goes out like a lamb.
March comes in like a lamb, goes out like a lion.
Or so the saying goes.

As folk wisdom, it's pretty accurate. Especially if you don't insist on March's entry being 12:00m on March 1 of any given year.
The theory is the same as the groundhog seeing his shadow, just a month later.

Summer seems to come sooner and in a more orderly manner when Spring is a series of thaws and refreezes. When Springtime is a Battle for Supremacy against the forces of Old Man Winter.

So, we await one more winter storm, hoping it will be the last one. This one is possibly going to be the Worst of the Winter. A Last Blast.

I, for one, certainly, hope so.

The winter started early for me, with a death.
And there have been deaths all winter long. Few if any have been winter related, but that really doesn't matter. The winter of 2013-2014 has been the Deadly Winter to me. Even now I'm praying that it doesn't end with a (specific) death. I am afraid for my friend. (Any prayers or the equivalent that you offer I thank you for in friend's name.)

I hate this winter.
Hate it, hate it, hate it.

When March roars in, I will be standing on my porch (the one with the last storm's tree limb still thrown on  it) and I will be roaring right back.
"Good bye, good riddance you sorry old killer, you." I may even throw in a few bad words, if it won't shock anyone  too much. Or maybe even if it does.

Afterward, we can celebrate my daughter's birthday with no tornadoes and no blizzards, the way it usually happens.

Happy Birthday, Tammy.

Close the (Bathroom) Door, Already

Public restrooms.
Need I say more?

But of all the problems with public restrooms, amid the litter and the empty rolls and soaps, the most annoying thing I encounter is the doors that won't close and stay closed.

How hard can it be to make a door that latches? Pioneers did it with no (well, minimal) tools. A stick of wood, a slot for the stick, and a mechanism to lift the stick. Pretty basic, don't you think?

I guess that that is too simple in this modern mechanized age. Why make a simple latch when a complicated series of switches, tumblers, knobs, and dials will make us (public entities) look so much more avant-garde?

Never mind if they don't work properly -- or at all. We don't want people spending times in the bathrooms anyway, using up our toilet paper and running out our water. We don't have to provide restrooms anyway. We just do it as a courtesy. (And to avoid clean-ups in Aisle 13.)

Well, when I have the choice, I will choose a place that has a bathroom where the stall doors can be closed securely instead of a place careless of privacy.

The maintenance of the public restroom speaks clearly of how the business thinks of their customers. Are they worthy of work and time, or aren't they?

And do we, as consumers, need to know anything more?

Welcome Armaggedon

I think it is time.
The world should end.
For all of us.

The only reason I can't end my own world is because I can't inflict that pain on Hailey. I can't even wish for my world to end, because I can't inflict that pain on Hailey.

But if the world itself came to an end, Hailey would be there, too.
No pain for her, whatever there might be in the next world.

If there is such a thing.

She could see her Mammaw Candy
She could run and laugh and play with her Pappaw. She could hold his hand and they could walk to the park together.
Something she has wished for.

And Warren, he could get to know his Pappaw. The man he brought smiles to, the man who had him laughing. The man he called first "a-a" and then "yaya" while now, months later, none of us have names yet.
The man who lit up when the boy was put in his arms.
The light of love and the light of happiness.
Laughter is oh so much that same light.


For myself, I want NOTHING.
Rest and peace and nothing.

I am broken.
I have been broken for a very long time.
I have been broken so long that I doubt I can be fixed.

Those that would fix me can't; those that could fix me (maybe) won't.

And it really doesn't matter.

But if the world were to end, the whole world, we could all be NOT sorry, NOT guilty, NOT alone;abandoned;hurting.


But, for now, the world goes on.
There will be yet another endless tomorrow.
And another.

What Am I?

I wonder.

When I lost my Rex, it seems that I lost a large part of my identity.

This wouldn't be so bad, if it wasn't for the huge chunk of me that I lost when I lost my job and couldn't get another one.

Since then, life itself seems to be chipping away at the essential "me."

I got a job and couldn't do it.
I write but have no way to share.
Shared writing has become more difficult and less frequent.
When I do write by hand, my fingers and thumb go numb, and I have muscle spasms all the way up my arm.

I am no longer a wife.
I'm still a mother, but my children are grown. (One is something of a big baby, but she's becoming an adult at a greatly decelerated rate.)
I'm a grandmother, but I can rarely see or take care of the babies, due to economics  (I'm usually literally out of gas.)When I do have them, they frazzle me, and it's not so easy to just take them home. I don't really want to, anyway.

I'm a writer, but losing the physical ability to write.

I'm a friend, but I have little to offer or share with my friends, when I can even keep in touch with them.

So, I am wondering, what am I?

Too Many Good-byes

There are too many people dying.

Do more people die in January (or January and February)  than other months, or does it just seem that way because we don't have fair-weather distractions?

Phyllis Walls was killed in a head-on collision on what I think was a familiar road. New Year's Day. What a great start to the New Year for her family, and fore her friends, even the long-ago-and-far-away ones. How horrible it is to have someone just not be there anymore. How horrible and how hard,

There has been another death, too, in my husband's family. Kevin Mullins. The husband of Rex's niece Eva, has passed away, and the whole family mourns yet again. They brought in the New Year in the hospital, with this horrific outcome. There have been too many deaths in this family in the last three to six months, and there are always too many deaths in the world.

A writer friend is sitting in a hospital waiting for her father to die. He went for one thing, developed another, and it has gone downhill from there. 

People should at least die from what's wrong with them, if they must die. (As we all must.)

It always seems to be wrong people who are dying, too. 

I don't mean the drug addicts, or even mass murderers, because I can understand that they may need extra chances to get it right,

I mean people with horrid diseases, slowly dying from the inside out.

I mean people who will never have independent lives again, and if they were in their right minds, would they want to live the dependent lives they are being forced to?

I even include people who are quietly soul starving, who live futile, desperate lives. Who perhaps want to "go home" or maybe they would only like to rest, for a really really long time.

Why can't these people be taken with such suddenness? Why is it the people with busy full lives who just disappear from the day-to-day of their families, their friends, their loved ones?

Well, life and love are mysteries, or so they say. 

Unsolved Mysteries.

Unfair Mysteries.

And it is only the 9th of January. 

The Working World: adapted from Facebook post.

I hate the job.
I hate the hours.
I hate the work.
I have to see straight lines and color variations. I can do neither of those things under the best of circumstances. And they make me wear safety glasses over my glasses -- y'all can maybe guess how exactly helpful it is to have an extra lens over your lenses when already your vision cannot be corrected to 20/20.

Plus my feet hurt, and my back twists (not as part of the job) I have muscle spasms in my back, in my butt, in my fingers. Comfy shoes are against the rules. We must wear steel toed shoes. They aren't too uncomfortable, but 12 hours and concrete floors are hard, even if I were walking on air.
My hips feel as if they are going to just pop out of their sockets, and that scares me.
I spend my breaks in the bathroom so I can just take off my shoes.




I really wish I didn't have to wear the safety glasses. That extra lens has my vision all discombobulated. But they don't have the side pieces to slip onto glasses, and it's unacceptable to buy my own and wear them. I asked.

Of course, two days doesn't equal a fair chance, so I will be going back tomorrow as I'm scheduled to, but I have to tell you -- it's really really hard, and really really painful. I hope/wish they would find me another job. there's too much waiting on the next person or the last person on the job I am doing. It would be much easier if I could stay steady busy.

But I'll keep trying. Who will come and roll me to the car when mu legs won't support me as I roll out of bed one fine morning? I wish we were having the blizzard. But too much rest may be just as bad, so maybe I'll just roll out in the morning and roll on in