But I knew That...

Life sucks.

People suck.
Even the ones we rely on. Haha. They are the first to tell you you deserve the shit and throw in abot of name calling too.

Technology sucks.
It changes too fast and it keeps getting more automated and there are no checks and balances for the inhuman.


I am seeing a lot of memes and posts (*inspirational* haha) about what would you tell your self from ten years ago, or your 15 year old self, or reflective issues like that.

Sadly, grievingly, I have the same answer for them all.

End it Now.

Don't Wait.

It does NOT get better.

While there are moments -- good wonderful moments that should be cherished -- that are cherished -- the truth is that those moments are the biggest brightest lies. Like the brightest stars in the sky are the shooting stars.
Tis their death that brings the brilliance.

If you want to shine, die.


As a parent, I have failed. I did not give them a better life. I did not give them tools for making a better life. I failed them. I did not teach them how to have and sustain a loving relationship. How and why that didn't work, I don't know, but it (didn't) happen.

As a worker, I worked until I couldn't anymore, and am now useless.

As a writer -- ah, there you may think I did okay. I did better than many. I wrote.
and wrote.
and wrote.

I even saved a lot of it.

On floppy disks.
You know, like no computer still existing anywhere is ever able to read.

I saved some stuff on the cloud.
The cloud blew away.
I should say the cloudSSS blew away, because I've had to do a new cloud account with every computer crash.
And with every computer replacement, there is no way (that I can find) to access former computer cloud accounts.

so, I will wait, as I have been waiting all my life.
waiting to no longer have to wait.

What WILL I do with my time?

Bad day; Sad Day

This day just passing has been a bad, sad, discombobulated day.
I don't know why it's sad, but it is.
That's how it feels.
How it has felt.
All day long.
All afternoon.
All evening.
All night.

It was a thousand little "if anything could go wrong it will" day.
Nothing big; nothing ruinous; nothing disastrous.
Lost keys; forgot something at the store; every red light in town; trip over own feet; power strip stops working; internet goes out; etc.

Just one of those days.

It would be unremarkable if not for the sadness that seems to be in the very pores of the day.

I've tried analyzing. The sadness isn't the melancholy of depression.
It isn't the loss of any one or any thing. Thank God.
It isn't the aftermath of anger or argument.
It isnt because of rain all day -- that's a YAY! for spring is coming.

But, it has still been a bad, sad day.

Here's to the new day and new timing being a glad fab day.

My Verizon Isn't Mine.

My phone died.
It started getting hot, then hotter, until it wouldn't come on. Until it left a char mark on the cardboard I use for a mousepad.
So I bought another phone thinking to change the number over to the new phone.


This is where the nightmare begins.
First, I'm to get on a computer and sign onto my myverizon account.
I never set up a myverizon account; never needed to. Did everything through the phone; in reply to messages and such.


Next, I tried calling. Talk to someone; they do this all the time. Easy-peasy, right?
I pity the ignorance. Especially my own.


They -- the automated system -- no real people with brains and fingers and such -- want the PIN for my old phone.
Yeah, no PIN. I used a diagram/design thing for unlocking the phone and such. No numbers.


Okay, we'll go through Google. Whats your email, and then again, a PIN.
I don't have a PIN. I have a password. A password will not work. It needs to be numerical.


Also, it never got to this point, but the phone was set up using a different google account. Tam couldn't remember my address so sje made up a new one. A few password changes and attempts to link accounts, and I finally DID succeed in linking the two google accounts and getting my phone to get email and notices from my 'real' google account.
In my mind, the next roadblock will be/would be needing password to the made-up-for-the-occasion account. I have no clue. Haven't needed it for about a year for anything.


And, oh yes, any time you try to get to talk to a person, the automated system says that that is a wrong choice (I forget the exact words) and disconnects the call.


There's a Verizon store here in Mt Orab. It's mainly for selling contracts, but I may go and see if they can help me. Probably not; they already have a reputation for being NOT helpful unless you are contracting through them.


There's a Verizon owned Verizon store somewhere -- I think where Beechmont Mall used to be, or maybe at Eastgate. No, it would be too easy and simple for me if it were to be at Eastgate. Anyway, I'm not sure where it is. And I'm not sure if I'd even want to drive there on a weekend.

I am at the mercy of the robots

Old is New

Being old is a new thing. At least, being this old at this young an age. There are plenty of people living the dream of 60 being the new 40.
Lucky them.

Me, at not quite 62. I feel more like 82. Some days maybe even 102. I envy those 'young' people. I always thought I'd be one of them.

I thought walking would keep me young(er) forever.

And then it kept getting more and more difficult.

Now, as well, as not walking, I'm grossly overweight.
I hurt. My back spasms. My hips are randomly stiff. My butt muscles tighten and ache. My knees buckle. My ankles roll. My feet swell.

I feel cold.

I'm beginning to have trouble hearing as well as visual problems. Even though my basic vision, thanks to last year's cataract surgeries, is better than it has been for years.

The cold is as much a surprise as the not walking. Cold hasn't especially bothered me much in my life. Put on more clothes, wear socks; that takes care of that.
Except that it no longer does.
The cold is inside me, working its way out.
In my bones.
A part of my bones, liquid and silvery.
And shivery.

Some days I feel frail, fragile, and feeble. It's an odd feeling in a body the size of a cow. Anyone this large should feel somewhat strong, even if it's "only" the strength of a steamroller.

I hate it.
I hate this.
I don't want to be prematurely old.
I also don't want to be an old person acting stupid-young. Although who really gets to define that? After a certain age and a certain amount of living, we should all be able to be ourselves: silly, shivering, happy, sad, glad, mad -- our best or truest self isn't anyone else's business.

It's a New Year, but it isn't a New Me.
It's an Old me.
And getting older.

goodbye 2018; the Year of Bad

2018.
What can I say about you?
What GOOD can I say about you?

2017 was a year of deaths.
Big loud famous deaths, with quiet more personal ones tucked in here and there.
I miss my friend.

People were still dying in 2018.
The personal touch deaths did outweigh the famous ones.
Horrible, horrible deaths of Those Who Should Have Stayed.
They could have been the Shining Examples in a rotting world.
In fact, some WERE that Shining Example.
Why were they taken?
Just why?

Then there were older people dying, some foreseen, some not.
Rex's brothers have all crossed from this life to that, and leave behind families and friends and love.
Love remains.

Love always remains.
After a while it can even be a comfort instead of a black hole of emptiness.

Things die, too.
Appliances.
Cars.
Lifestyles.

All these losses happened in 2018. To me, to my loved ones, to others, to strangers.
They happened, as they always have and always will.
Together we get through it. Not always well, not always happily, but somehow. Bubble gum and chicken wire. Rubber bands and paper clips. A MacGyvered life.

All that noted, the most lasting impression I have of 2018 is that it has been the year of BAD CANDY.
Who knew there was such a thing?


And yet, from the time of crisis at the Necco plant, the year 2018 has been about BAD CANDY.

Much of the media, covering said Necco factory, proclaimed it to be a not-a-story, because people didn't care. Neccos are a BAD CANDY, generally unpopular with the public.
They did NOT explain why they were so assiduously covering this non-story

The year continued with "worst candy" lists.
Worst Valentines -- conversation hearts. The staple; the standard, after chocolate. (Everything comes after chocolate, right?)
Worst Easter -- Peeps. Another standard. I will say, though, that in trying to stay viable throughput the year, the Peeps people flooded the market and destroyed the exclusiveness of their little pink and purple chicks.

Summer came and they had to make do with produce and meat recalls, and fall back on Necco stories.

Worst Halloween -- candy corn.

Then there was a whole list of Christmas candies. A Top Ten Bad Candies for Christmas.
Eight of those were standard standbys for the season.

Who knew there were so many bad candies?

Who had even heard of such a thing?

Now, there are some candies that I have wondered how they are even considered candies. Licorice. Horehound.
But to peoples eating bland boring (winter) diets, I can see that the bite -- the burst of flavor and the tang -- would make thise things treats, if not what we consider candy.

So

Goodbye 2018.
Take with you the idea of Bad Candy.
There is no such thing.

Adventures in Driving in Heavy Traffic During Heavy Rain

Got to Anderson, no problem.
Back to Eastgate, no problem.

Traffic is horrendous. Occasional heavy downpours, steady rain otherwise. Road construction all through there. My wipers are doing their new thing where I have to sometimes keep turning them on -- up and down -- to keep them working. And of course the multiple idiots in white and gray cars who have NO DAMN HEADLIGHTS on.!
Get me outta here!

So. Batavia exit.
Slowed down to approach light at 132, still traffic, poor visibility. Get to dairy-bar-turned-into-dentist office.
And the car QUITS.
(quits running, still rolling, for whatever that's worth.)
Just -- quits.
No engine sounds, no static on radio, wipers were working.
No dash lights. That I noticed. May not have been looking in the right place -- never had to pay attention to those before.It's not hot, gauge is in the normal midrange. (A miracle in all that traffic)

So I whip (with no power steering and no forward inertia) it into that little lane/alley/road beside forementioned building. Try to start. clickety sounds. Sitting blocking thruway, I hop out and open hood. Jiggle the little black thing; jiggle the battery cable. (Both previous troublemakers)
Get back in the car and start it up. Yay! (Something must have jiggled loose, although nothing felt loose.)

Through Batavia and started up the hill.

It did it AGAIN! One moment vroom-vrooming merrily along, the next the whistling wind and pattering raindrops.
Fortunately near the pull off, before the church/Bauer/Brunk Rd intersection area.
Well, I'm not getting out there if I can help it. Not under those conditions. Tammy and I discuss who we can call and how they could help. I hit the key, and the darned thing starts up as if nothing had ever happened.

So we set off again. This time I figure it's not gonna hurt, so I turn the radio all the way down (couldn't find power under circumstances. I always have to look for it). Turned defog fan all the way down. Turned wipers off hitting the switch as needed to clear windshield.
The dashlights not coming on had me thinking 1)electrical 2)in the steering column.

Made it up the hill, with a lil bit of prayer. Engine did do a little stuttering as we neared the peak (if you want to call it that. In a shutting-down car, it's appropriate usage I think.) I begged it to just keep going, just keep on, and it did. Yay! Good Car!
Passed the school; passed the redlight that isn't there any more, sailed through Afton with out a hiccup.
Cruised through Williamsburg.
Did NOT stop for gas.
After Williamsburg, pure relief. At least, as I told Tammy, we were in home territory, even if we did have to call outliers (Rita and/or Jeanie) for help in getting home (before Hailey would find no one anywhere.)
On and on we go.
Into Mt. Orab. Should we go back roads (Carpenter) or through town. Decided to go through town. Better chance of rescue from there; better places to pull off if needed. So, on we go through traffic lights and turns, all the way through town, to the trailer park.

AGAIN! As I was making the turn. This time I saw the dash lights (which reinforces me thinking they didn't light up before. Because there they were for me to see without my having to look for them.
This time the engine turned over but didn't start, like it did a couple weeks ago when the fuel pump wasn't working.
Popped the hood, and yep, that lil black thing had wiggledy-jiggled loose (but not apart)Slid it tighter and started up again.

Hooray! Home again!
Here's to hoping we can get Tam to work and me and the kids back home again from that.

Didn't we have FUN?

Tourism and Traveling

I have gone traveling with my tourist sister twice now. And loved it.

It sounds, and is probably going to sound as if I consider "tourist"ing to be a bad thing. Let me make it clear that I do NOT. It's one way of doing the traveling thing. It's also an effective way to get an overview of a community or an area, and it gives one a common ground with the people one encounters, whether as a fellow traveller or as a sympathiser with those who Must Endure. If the visitor is a repeaat guest, the familiarity helps both sides of the bargain.

However, once  the initial visit has been made, my personal choice would be to go a little slower, wander more and tourist less, see the sights without sight seeing, and just -- travel. Travel through or travel around, whichever seems most appropriate for the place and time.

Yes, I am a meanderer.
My sister is a get 'er done type. She wants to see and do it all, and to the best of her ability she will make repeated trips to do exactly that.
Everything.
And there's always some new attraction being added or created in tourist towns.

And after she has done enough, whatever that is to her, she SHARES it. With everyone she can.
With me.

Having been there with her, and done all that, I now want to go back.
Go back at my own pace.

We went to Niagara Falls, straight up the interstate. zoom, zoom -- at times chug-chug, depending on traffic -- and there we were. Went home the same way. Drove by Cleveland; only had glimpses of Lake Erie. I was disappointed at that, but not heartbroken. I agree whole-heartedly with avoiding cities while driving.

Now, I would like to do that trip again.
But, forget the expressway. I'll meander up 62, drive through rural Pennsylvania. Especially this time of year, with the fall colors coming on, and the rain keeping the air freshened.
I would stop and eat at the small town diners.
I would shop at the small town craft stores.
I would look,look, look, and I would listen.

As for the Smoky Mountains, I definitely want to explore more than Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge.
I want to go to Greenbriar.
I want to walk the trails and for me a two hour hike in would probably take about five hours. And then I'd take six to get back out!

One of the hikes I'd like to take is in the Gatlinburg area, I want to go to the grotto. I want to get out at multiple places along the roaring fork trail. Get out and wander and absorb the special air and nature combo that makes the smoke of the smoky mountains. If you haven't been there -- haven't let the great outdoors caress your skin and kiss your cheeks -- then you don't know -- can't know -- the feeling it gives.

At the same time I wouldn't mind going other places with her, letting her lead the way. Make the introduction, perhaps.

I sometimes think of presenting her with a list of places I'd like to go but that seems awfully demanding and presumptuous. Good thing my budget isn't allowing me to behave like that. I wouldn't like it.

Traveling is something we can share.
We may have different styles when it gets down to basics, but we have interests in the same places, many of the same things (sights and sounds).

After all these years, it's good to share.
And be shared with.

Mashed Potatoes -- A Different Look

Okay, this was inspired by looking at the list on this blog. Currently a Mashed Potatoes entry is the tenth most read selection.

Once, in my writing group, we were doing a writing exercise, and the theme was mashed potatoes. It was amazing how many different takes we came up with! Who knew mashed potatoes was such a diverse subject?

There were recipes.
There were descriptions.
There was nutritional information. (I think. It was a long time ago.)
There were memories.
There was wishful thinking.

And--

There was dancing.

Yes, dancing.

To one of our members, mashed potatoes were not food nor family.
Mashed potatoes were not facts and feelings. (maybe some of the latter.)

The Mashed Potato was a dance.
A joy.
A cherishment.
A love.

I try to remember this different outlook on the mashed potato when I am writing. Others may refer to it as Thinking Outside the Box.

I think of it as doing the mashed potato while others are cooking and eating.

There is more than one kind of nourishment provided by Mashed Potato.

More on Moving On

Or maybe I should say moron moving on.
Except that I'm not, really. Not moving on, that is. I'm trying to, but having little success.

As I mentioned before, this trailer is falling apart. I've thought about calling ~ someone ~ to have it condemned, but I dont really see that as ending in anything good for me. (Not to mention they'd probably have to condemn the whole blasted trailer park. I sure don't want to put that many families out of their homes.

I'd just like to exchange mine for a better one.

Oh well, at the time I got this, I was happy with walls, roof, electric, and a toilet. Got all that, so it was, for a while, an answer to prayers.

That time has passed now.

I've thought of becoming a snowbird. Drive down to Florida during the nastiest cold, sleeping om beaches and such. But at the end of the day, I kind of like having a place to go home to.

I've thought about chucking everything and living in my car, going where weather and inspiration and inclination might take me. I even eyeball measured sizes for totes to go in the trunk of my car for my clothes. My 'stuff' could go into storage; its not all that costly. That is, what I can't give away to others in need.

Most places -- cities, counties, towns -- have low rent motels that will offer reduced rates for monthly. Usually no references, security deposits, etc. I'd be kind of afraid to live in those circumstances far from home, though.

I've sort of looked at a lot of places. Semi looked into them. And there are so many places I haven't gone to but wish I could.

My beloved Pacific Northwest is way way out of my budget. I may yet manage to visit the area some day, but it seems unlikely it would ever be for anything permanent. I'd like the chance to find out, but every day that passes, every week that elapses, every month torn from the calendar makes that a little more remote.

So, I keep circling ads in the local papers. I make phone calls that are never returned. I check Facebook marketplace and craigslist.
While doing this I hope and pray I don't fall into, in, or out of my bath tub.
I hope I don't trip over anything that's fallen on the floor.
I hope my electric stays on, I hope I can stretch my groceries, I hope mynext residence isn't a nursing home, because I have finally completely lost my mind.

I hope.
I look.
I try.

and every useless, wasted day, I die a little more in spirit and wish my body had as much sense.

Time -- to Move On

My (rented) trailer is falling apart.
My furniture is falling apart.
My finances are falling apart.

Yes, my life is falling apart.

I don't know why.
I don't know how.
The how is kind of fuzzy, all wrapped in mystery and enigma.

But my life is falling apart.

Death seems a stalker.
Granted, I was not close to some of these people, but I knew they were there; that they were an added value in this crazy spiderweb of life, love, and relatives.

I won't mention names, because those who were close(r) may prefer privacy to mourn or even resent (perhaps rightfully)  my claim of a loss.
A dear friend before the end of the year.
Various acquaintances, because I and my peers are getting older.

Until summer hit and the family became involved.
An uncle on my dad's side.
A brother in law on my side.
A friend's beautiful young daughter. My heart breaks for this whole loving, living, and now broken family.
Another 16 year old in another car accident, driving her grandparents.  My heart breaks for them.
Another of my husband's brothers. There's one left.
Whoops, not anymore. They are all together now, these brothers. It's a strange place for them to be.
It's still so very strange, at times, that Rex just isn't.
And now they all just aren't.

Aren't in the other room.
Aren't down the hall.
Aren't down the street.
Are not just a phone call away.
Or a phone call to mutual kin.

Anyway, my life is falling apart in so many ways.
That means something needs to be changed, and the only things I can change are my own circumstances.

So, it is time to move on, however physically and financially impossible that seems to be.

I have already been added to waiting lists of 10, 6, 5, and 2 years.
I have left my name and number on many answering machines. (Only to have my phone go out of service due to the financial mishaps)
I circle ads in the papers and call.

And wait here and wait for Death's next strike at my already stricken heart.