30 Days

I came across an interesting show tonight. It's called 30 Days and seems to be one of the better reality shows I've seen. In it they immerse someone with prejudices or strong viewpoints in the lifestyle that they revile for 30 days. This person agrees to live and, as much as possible, adopt that lifestyle themselves. It's a "Don't judge me until you've walked a mile in my shoes" sort of scenario.

In tonight's episode Dave, a conservative Christian in West Virginia agreed to live as one with Muslims in Dearborn, Michigan for 30 days. In the beginning he was highly suspicious of Muslims, believing that their religion is one of violence and that they all secretly harbor terrorist cells. When he leaves home to accept the challenge, he has to change clothing and dress as a Muslim man would. When he arrived at the airport to catch his flight to Michigan to begin his 30 day challenge, he immediately notices a difference in the way he is treated. People stare at him but won't make eye contact. Security starts to follow him and he is ultimately pulled aside to be thoroughly searched. As a white southern christian boy this has never happened to him before, but it won't be the last time he feels the difference.

He makes it to Michigan where the real work begins. He ridicules and feels insulted by their beliefs when his host explains to Dave that Dave can't be home alone with his wife, as it is against their religion for a woman to be left alone with a man not her husband or family. It would make her uncomfortable. Initially Dave struggles with the notion that Jews, Christians and Muslims all worship the same God. He also resists praying as it's in arabic and he doesn't know what he's saying. He can't connect with the Imam (Muslim priest) assigned to him. Eventually though he arranges for lessons in arabic and meets another Imam with whom he is more comfortable. Once this happens he loosens up and begins to let go of some of his prejudices. He is given a task in which he tries to get people on the street to sign a petition against racial profiling. Some people were polite in their refusal, but some weren't. Most interesting of all to me were those who argued with Dave over the petition, using arguments that he used at the beginning of the program. When he went on a local radio station, it was more of the same.

This was not an easy 30 days for anyone involved, but in the end Dave put a copy of the Qu'uran on his bookshelf at home and swore that from now on, when he hears ignorant or prejudicial statements about the Islamic faith, he would defend the Muslims. He had no plans to convert, but he had found a real respect for the religion. It was really wonderful to see the change.

Next week they'll be placing someone who is homophobic with a gay man in San Francisco. This should be interesting...

A Natural Wonder

Life may be thorny, but it's beautiful even so.

Pre-emptive Speechifying

The twisted little shrub is talking.

Blah, blah, blah.

Road Trip, Dinner and a Movie

I received the call, so I'm driving to New Canaan tomorrow (later today) to pick my friend up from the clinic she's been staying in. They've mananged to stabilize her through intensive therapy and putting her back on lithium as she asked. She sounds wonderful compared to before, but the work for her is far from over. She must start over now, one step at a time, with more patience for herself and others than she has previously shown. She'll be working closely with a psychiatrist as well as her therapist, an improvement already. It's a promising beginning.

I had spent Father's Day weekend with her and missed seeing my step-father, hereafter referred to as "dad." I had called and left a message for him though, and eventually he got back to me. He had been out of town. So I took him out to dinner at a nice restaurant tonight, just the two of us. Other than the obligatory "What are you going to do with your life? Don't let it pass you by" speech, it was a really nice evening. We're making plans for me to go glider-flying with him in a few weeks, when he's free. When I was a teen in Texas, I studied to be a glider pilot. However it was then that we moved back north, and I lost interest. Dad never did and he owns a glider of his own. We can't use that one though because it only seats one. However, he belongs to a glider club and can use one of their two-seater gliders, so that won't be a problem. I'm looking forward to going, and will take my camera with me of course! A glider rides on thermals and has no engine. Once the tow plane has been released and returns to the airstrip, the flight is perfectly silent and smooth. It's an incredibly peaceful feeling. I've never flown in a glider with my dad, only an instructor. But my dad is an experienced pilot and I've flown with him in his Piper Cub a few times, so I have absolute confidence in his piloting abilities. Dad is passionate about flying and is happiest and most at ease when doing so. I'm sure we'll have a good time together.

When I got home tonight, I started flipping through channels and muttering about the abysmal viewing selections. Then I stumbled across The Boy Whose Skin Fell Off. It tells the story of Jonny Kennedy, who was born with dystrophic epidermolysis bullosa, a rare genetic skin disorder. His skin was extremely fragile and would blister and slough off with friction. The cells then rapidly regenerate. Ultimately, when he was around 35, Kennedy developed terminal skin cancer. With an estimated 4 months left to live, he invited filmmakers to follow him around and make a documentary of his final months. He had always campaigned to raise awareness of his disorder, to raise money to fight it. This documentary was his final attempt to bring attention to DEB.

While often sad and sometimes painful to watch, this was an amazing one-hour movie that I highly recommend. Jonny had an incredible spirit with profound insights, and yet he was funny as hell too. I laughed at least as often as I teared up, and I'll never forget him. I only wish I had had the chance to meet him. The show is on TLC which repeats their programming, so if you have that cable channel, you should be able to catch an encore showing if you like. You can learn more about this disease, or make a contribution for research at DebRA.

Illustration Friday-Heroes

To me, a hero is someone who will stand up for those in need, who will fight injustice even when the odds are stacked against them because they know it's the right thing to do.

Photo Friday-Orange

I feel so uninspired when the topic is a color, but there you are.

Mother's Family History, Conclusion

With the ending of the war and the death of baby Alfred, my family rejoined the community in England, called Darvell. I love that name! The community was housed in a large castle, and my mother roomed with 14 other girls. But the room was so large that each had their own bed and their own space. It wasn't bad, but it was chilly in winter. I saw a photo once of my mother and my aunt Angeline (child #5) sitting on a hillside. All about them the grasses grew high and wildflowers were bent, captured forever as they swayed with a breeze. The corner of the castle shows in the background. I always felt so jealous that my mother once lived in a castle, though she has assured me that it wasn't nearly so glamorous as it sounds. She hated scrubbing the stone floors on her hands and knees! But life is simple in the community. There's a time to work and time to play. They're a very joyous people, though stern when rules are broken. They live by their strict interpretation of the bible. I could never live there. But there have been times when I wished that I was different so that I could. It simply wasn't meant to be.

They're funny by modern standards. For example, let's say a young man develops feelings for a girl. He can't just go and tell her. He must tell his Elder- a sort of church counselor assigned to him- and the Elder will go speak with her Elder. That Elder will then speak to her and ascertain her feelings for the young man. Her response is relayed back. If she doesn't care for him, the young man must drop the issue and move on. If, on the other hand, she cares for him too, dates are set up for them and chaperones arranged. It's all regulated. They can go on walks together, but can't touch. After a certain amount of time has passed, they may hold hands, and so it goes. Once married, they remain married. Divorce is almost unheard of. The only cause for divorce is if one spouse leaves the community and church for a different way of life. If the other spouse wishes to remain in the community, a divorce may be granted. Spousal abuse is not tolerated by the community, so this isn't an issue. It's against the teachings of their church. People do separate sometimes, however. My grandparents each left each other at some point. When this happens, the person who leaves is given a place to live alone on the community while they try to sort out whatever it is that is troubling them. This is usually a question of faith, and might not have anything to do with the marriage at all. When they've worked this out and everything is satisfactory, they return home. My grandparents always worked things out, as is evidenced by the fact that they had 10 children!

During the 60's my family left England for America- seeing a volcano erupt below them during their flight!- to stay in a 'hof in Connecticut. My mother was 15. The 60's were a time of major changes everywhere, and that included the communities. There were some schisms in belief during this time, and my grandparents chose to leave the community. Having lived sheltered lives this was a courageous and frightening choice, but it was one they felt they had to make. My grandfather took whatever work he could find and was, as always, popular everywhere he went. My grandmother knew how to clip coupons and make everything last. She made everyone's clothes and grew vegetables as well as flowers in the yard. My mother, as the oldest girl, helped my grandma cook and clean and watch the younger children. She also took a position as a nanny during the summers for a local family to help make money. Her older brothers worked after school, too. Everyone pitched in. As I said, their life was never easy. It was hard on my mother sometimes to be so different from her peers. She dressed differently and spoke with an accent. The kids at school weren't used to people from the community. Given the fact that my mother was half German and had lived in Paraguay, some of them accused her of being a Nazi. In time she learned to adjust, but she was painfully shy. Her older brothers were more confident and athletic, and so did well. It's no wonder she fell in love with the charming, popular boy who told her he loved her during her senior year of high school. It was the age old story of a girl's misplaced love getting her into trouble. Though there's more to it- the first two years of my life are a tale unto themselves- I'll hold that bit back for now. What I would share with you of that time is that my father, and his father, only continued to cause my mother further pain while she was pregnant with me until at last she removed them from our lives. On the other hand, her parents were wonderful. She was so afraid of how they would react, especially my grandfather. In the end he accidentally discovered the truth when he came across an incriminating letter. When my mother came home from nursing school that weekend, he let her know how disappointed he was. But then he held her while she cried. My grandparents helped as much as they could. My grandmother was pregnant with her final child at the time, and she and my mother would sew baby clothes together. They didn't always approve of the choices she made, but my grandparents always loved her and supported her when she needed it. When I was born, they were there. My grandmother was in the delivery room. My grandfather waited out in the hall. Though I would eventually get to know my father after I graduated high school, it was my mother's family that was always there. Our family is very tight-knit, and I am more often viewed by my aunts and uncles as another sibling. Well, my youngest aunt is only 8 months older than I am!

At the end of the 80's when this aunt graduated high school, my grandparents made the decision to return to the community. One of my oldest uncles had already done so, married and started a family. The schism in the church had been mended and their hearts had always been there. It was difficult for some of my younger aunts and uncles to understand, but they came to it in time. My grandparents spent a year in Germany after the Berlin Wall fell, helping the communities there with the sudden influx of people who were curious about the bruderhof. My great-aunt Connie had been stuck behind the Wall with her family. She was able to see her brother, my grandfather, for the first time in decades while he was there. For my grandmother this time was especially meaningful. It was the first time she had seen her homeland since they fled during WWII. It was an amazing time for both of them. Afterwards, they were transferred back to Connecticut for a time. Now they live in a Pennsylvania bruderhof called Spring Valley. It's only about 40 miles from where the plane went down on 9/11, which also happens to be my grandfather's birthday. When I visited them at Spring Valley last year, the community was in the process of making wooden benches for people to use when they visit the crash site. On the back of each bench is the name of one of the people who died there that day. They are donating them to the site. The bruderhof also has a barn, called the Peace Barn, as a memorial to all. It's filled with photos and letters about the victims, donated by their families.

Spring Valley is a beautiful place to live with its mountain views, streams, forest paths and a lake to swim in, and it's a comfort to know that my family is there. Two of my uncles live there with their wives and families. My grandparents are old now and both have health issues. In the community they receive around the clock help and never see a doctor's bill. The Hutterian Brethren are the makers of Community Playthings- those wooden toys you see in daycares and kindergartens- and Rifton products for people with disabilities. The community shares all, and healthcare for them is a non-issue. If their top-of -the- line clinic at the 'hof can't cure you, they'll send you wherever you need to go for treatment, and they'll pay all the bills.

This would be one of the reasons I wish I could adapt to their lifestyle! *G*

I'm so grateful for my family. Whenever I'm around them there's lots of laughter and music. Most know how to play violin, guitar, recorder, and/or piano. Singing is a daily part of life, as at least one song was sung together before every meal. We work hard, but know how to enjoy ourselves as well. Most are scattered around the country now and I miss them. Emails help but aren't the same. Time spent together, such as last year's trip to Alaska, means so much to all of us. We get on each other's nerves, but we're always happy to be together underneath it all.

And that's my mother's family. That's my family. In a nutshell. Where we belong!

Mother's Family History, Part 1

My maternal grandfather was named after his father, William, a man he barely knew. My great-grandfather William was found to have embezzled money from his employers and disappeared with the funds, leaving my great-grandmother to fend for herself with 3 children: Harry, William and Connie. She had to testify in court, facing the music for him. Afterwards, she moved in with her father-in-law. She believed that he knew where her husband was, but if so he never revealed it. He was a stern minister of some sort and was tyrannical in his running of the household. How horrible life with must have been! One can only conjecture, based on the fact that when she left with her children and joined the strict Hutterite community, this new life felt like freedom and joy!

My grandfather was angry with his father and chose to go by his middle name ever after. His middle name being "Leslie," it is perhaps a good thing that he was athletic and well-liked! He grew up in the community in England with his mother and siblings, and was generally a happy fellow. His father was never found, and he has always wondered what happened to him. We've done a lot of research but have been unsuccessful in locating any trace of him. It's one sorrow I know he still carries, but I don't believe he has much longer now and I think he'll have all of his answers soon. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

When England went to war against Germany in WWII, he was a young man. The Hutterites are pacifists, and many families left England for the community (bruderhof) in Paraguay. This 'hof was new and filling up with people from all over the world. He took a ship- named the Avila Star, doomed to sink on her next voyage due to the Germans I believe- from some European port. It was during this passage that he met Elfriede Braun. She and her family were German, and had to flee the country when it went to war. Elfriede's father had been a sergeant who had fought for Germany in WWI. After seeing the horrors of war, he and his family had joined a german bruderhof. Then the Nazis called him to service for a war that he most definitely did not believe in. Furthermore his wife, my great-grandmother, was a german gypsy. She had been left on someone's doorstep by gypsies when they passed through a town, unwanted by them because she was a girl. Now gypsies were being rounded up and killed in concentration camps. They were as hated as the Jews by the Nazis. My family was in danger if the truth of her birth was discovered. So somehow my great-grandfather managed to smuggle his family out of the country. They decided to emigrate to Paraguay to live in the bruderhof there. Along the way my grandparents, Leslie and Elfriede, met and fell in love. I always find this so romantic, an englishman and a german fraulein meeting, falling in love, marrying and starting a new life together in a foreign country during WWII.

Their life has never been an easy one, but their love has sustained them. They had 10 children over the years. In addition to my 2 oldest uncles and my mother, they had a fourth child before leaving Paraguay. Baby Alfred only lived for 5 minutes, and his death touched them all. Grandpa took my heartbroken mother outside and pointed up to the night sky. He explained that God needed baby Alfred to help the angels polish the stars and keep them bright. To this day my mother thinks of the poor lost baby when she looks at the night sky, and smiles to think of him cheerfully polishing stars and waving down to her.

conclusion tomorrow...

My Mother's Memories

My mother grew up in a religious community, the Hutterian Brethren, also known as The Society of Brothers. Think Quakers, Amish, Mennonites. There are differences, but you get the idea. Though the Hutterian Brethren originated in Germany, they now have communities all over the world. I share this with you so that you can form a mental picture for the backdrop of this story.

I am my mother's child, which means that she was the original tomboy. She was born in the community in Paraguay, on the edge of a rainforest. Her father (an englishman) was a vaquerro, or cowboy, for the community. My grandmother (german) was sent to college in Asuncion to learn how to cook over an open fire, and other such necessary tasks for caring for a family in a home that had no electricity or running water. My mother had two older brothers and ran wild with them when she was through with her chores. Once she went into the jungle with her brothers and a friend. While crossing a stream, the friend's foot slipped off the rock and went into the water. It was immediately chewed off by piranhas, something that made a lasting impression on all involved, not the least being the boy himself I'm sure! As horrible as that is, it could have been so much worse...

Paraguay is hot, and the community had mango trees. Children were not supposed to take any mangoes without permission. However my mother had an impish soul and a strong love of the fruit. More than once she would climb over the garden wall and help herself to a mango. Unfortunately, she was caught as she was relishing her prize one afternoon, and she was punished for stealing from the community's garden. My mother did not feel at all repentent. Instead she felt quite resentful. When the period of her punishment was up later that day- I believe she was made to stay indoors and help with extra chores- she went outside and started digging a hole. She dug with all of her anger and her injured pride. What was the purpose of this? She was running away of course!

That's right; my mother was digging a hole to China. *G*

She actually dug the hole so deep that it was over her head. But here's an interesting result of feeding a child's imagination, for as the evening progressed and the sun started to sink, her tunnel grew darker and her thoughts ran amok. A frightening thought occurred to her: What if there was a little goblin child in China upset with its parents? What if while she was digging her way there, he was digging his way to her and their tunnels met up? As the light faded from the sky this thought became too much for her. She jumped out of her hole and ran home as fast as her little legs could carry her!

My mother was 8 when they left Paraguay. They made the long journey to Asuncion and then rested there for the night at a hotel. This was the first time my mother had ever seen electricity or running water. She did what any self-respecting child would do and pulled the chain to flush the toilet over and over again until her parents made her stop!

The next day they boarded a plane for England, where they would be living within another branch of the community. My mother has never returned to Paraguay, but is full of stories about it to this day. The food, the music and the memory of my grandfather riding out of the jungle dripping in rotten fruit thrown at him by territorial Howling Monkeys still brings a smile to her face.

Actually, the final image makes me smile, too!

Illustration Friday-Black and White

Though I thought of several different ways to go with this, I was finally inspired by Jamie's photo, which is filled with a wild beauty. I sketched this with pastels, and then added the text background. The raven appears in literature, of course, and text- literary, at any rate- is usually black and white. See how neatly it all ties together?

Photo Friday-Sport

Not being very interested in sports anymore, this was difficult. Here's what I came up with:

Friends, Movies and Memories

You may recognize my friend, John M., as a regular here. It is my great pleasure to inform you that he has joined our ranks as a blogger. His new blog- the journey's the thing- is a wonderful reflection of the man I know him to be: intelligent, funny, insightful, honest and warm. Check it out!

On another note, tonight I watched the AFI'S Lifetime Achievement Award show. This year the award was given to George Lucas. It was a marvelous show, full of humor and history. More than once I felt myself becoming teary-eyed and I felt silly until I realized that I had seen almost all of the movies he had a hand in over the years. Not only did I truly enjoy most of the movies, but it brought up my own history, my own memories of where I was in my life while watching any given movie. It reminded me of old friendships and current bonds. My tears were of nostalgic joy.

It may still have been silly of me, but I can live with it!

Things Do Get Better

Another day spent at the hospital, but progress has been made. They've found a bed for her at another facility. The only question was whether she would leave tonight or tomorrow. So I went to her apartment and packed her bags for her, checked messages, dumped a couple of bottles of booze down the sink with Randy's help and brought her luggage to the hospital. Tomorrow I have to take care of some financial matters for her, and then I can relax for a few days at least.

This evening we visited with Randy's father, who was feeling grumpy but thankfully, not with us. I guess Randy's sisters dropped the ball a little. One left the house today and never wished him a Happy Father's Day, and she's not due back until after he'll be in bed. The other sister has drinking troubles of her own. She drove past the house, drunk from the tavern down the road, and never so much as waved at her father (who was sitting outside) as she went by. Then she called him from her apartment, bitched that Randy hadn't stopped by to see their father yet (he worked 6am-6pm and came right over after work), then bitched some more about a bee sting. She never asked about her father at all while talking to him. As for her bitching about Randy, she has always been fiercely jealous of him, and puts him down as often as possible. My husband has epilepsy and she hated the attention he got because of it. In many ways, she's never grown up. To be fair, she was in a horrible car accident about 15 years ago- which wasn't her fault- in which she sustained a bad head injury and was in a coma for almost a year. She has some behavioral issues stemming from that. But she always was a bitch to my husband; that's not one of the results of her injury. This extends to me as his wife, but I couldn't care less how she treats me. I only care about how she hurts my husband, who loves her despite all.

You know, in the face of all of the negativity of the past couple of days, I have to find something nice to write about because this is a drag.

Things I'm grateful for today:
Randy
My family
My friends, even those who are sick :0)
Fellow bloggers, even those who are sick ;0)
Sam, Patches and Wheezy
A warm, dry roof over my head
Plenty to eat
Books to read
Shows to watch
Feeling safe and loved

There, that's a good enough start!

Sane In An Insane World

My friend got confused and thought that the doctors at the hospital had stopped her cold on her meds yesterday, so she checked out this morning. She proceeded to get drunk- only I didn't know that- and then called me and told me that she was going to kill herself. So with her permission I called 911, explained her condition and that she does not want to go back to the local hospital from which she had just checked out. I specified that she needed to go to the larger area hospital that has a psychiatric unit, because they know how to handle cases like hers.

The ambulance driver refused to take my friend to the larger hospital. Instead they brought her to the small local hospital which hasn't got the first clue how to handle her. Their social worker even said as much to me, so this isn't just my frustration speaking.

When I got there, my friend was sleeping. As she has had enormous difficulties sleeping at all this week, I just took out a book I had brought with me and read quietly. The social worker assigned to her spoke with me from time to time. The problem they were having was that, because she was a danger to herself they couldn't release her. But the larger hospital didn't have any beds. If she could drive herself to the larger hospital, they would have to accept her, legally. But it was too late for that now. She had to stay in the smaller hospital until they could find a bed for her somewhere else. They had another possibility, but the other facility couldn't take her today because of her blood alcohol level. So she's stuck in a hospital she absolutely hates until Monday in all likelihood, when a bed is expected to open at the larger hospital.

I stayed by her side for 4 hours today. I'm so glad I thought to bring that book! She finally woke up at 9pm, and I explained what was going on. At first she was upset that she was stuck in this hospital for another day or two because they don't know how to take care of her. But when I pointed out that they do a better job of caring for her than she does, she had to concede the point. She agreed to stay. However she goes up and down, forgets things from one minute to the next and changes her mind more often than you inhale. The hospital has my phone number and instructions to call me if they need help with her. I told her to call me as well whenever she needs me. I'm going back there tomorrow to talk with her and hopefully reinforce the notion that she's better off where she is, because we all know that in the morning when her head clears she's going to want to leave again. She gave me the keys to her car and permission to use it, so I'll be able to get to her with no problems at least.

This has been one crazy weekend. Er, no pun intended. I hope I manage to get through to my step-father for Father's Day at some point.

I am drained.

Sometimes It's Too Much

There are ads for Father's Day everywhere, and I have read many stories about fathers lately, good and bad. I could write some of my own, but won't. It's just that I'm feeling my insides churn a bit as it brings up everything between my father and I that will never be resolved because he took his life. This has been on my mind.

Then I woke up this morning to a phone call from a friend. She's been calling me and I knew that she was in bad shape. I've been trying to help her, both as a friend and at the request of her therapist and doctors. But when she called today it was to tell me that she wanted to kill herself and had been planning out how she was going to do it. Instead she grasped for that last bit of hope within her and made arrangements for a hospital stay. She was calling to let me know that she would be gone for a time while she seeks the help that she needs. I stayed on the phone with her until the nurse showed up to give her a ride. After we hung up I lay there in bed, miserable. A part of me felt certain that I would never hear from her again, but I try to quash that fatalist side and hold on to hope for her. One of my best friends killed himself almost a decade ago, then my father last year, not to mention my own suicidal tendencies when I go un-medicated all left me feeling drained and a little helpless this morning. As she described her depression, it brought the feeling back for me in a sort of sympathy pain. Thankfully though it was a milder version of the feeling. Still it left me hiding under the covers, ignoring the world, for a couple of hours. Sometimes the feelings are all too much, and I am overwhelmed.

That spark of hope that gives fire to life and propels us forward hasn't left me though, not really. In the end I was able to pick myself up, dust myself off and get about my day. A day which wound up being rather a nice one other than the shadow my friend's troubles had cast. I went out to dinner with my mother and brother because he is leaving for Mexico in a few hours to volunteer for the La Casa Project. It's sort of like Habitat for Humanity. The kids raise money in the community and donate it to the project, and then go into Mexico for a week to help build houses for families there. He did it last year and really got a lot out of it. I'm happy he's doing it again now.

Then my friend Leo came over and we watched Vamps, an old Chris Makepeace movie involving frat boys and vampires. Unfortunately, no frat boys were injured in the movie. Better luck next time, eh? Leo is correct though, it does have the best death scene of a vampire movie ever! On a whim I tried to find out what Makepeace is doing now, but the most recent thing I could find was that he was an assistant director. It didn't mention what films he worked on, though.

All of which is to say that I still have joy in life and a reason to get up in the morning. Not that I do. I prefer afternoon whenever possible. I have so much to be grateful for and, if I can remember that, I believe I'll be alright.

Shrub Love

When topiaries fall in love? Taken somewhere on the upper East side of Manhattan.

I Need A Reason?

At my meeting tonight someone asked me why I was wearing black. Now, the truth of the matter is that tonight was a little chilly and my long black crocheted sweater was on top when I reached into my drawer. However when I explained this (wondering why I needed to), he looked at me funny and I realized he was looking (hoping?) for a more melodramatic reason. So remembering Chekhov's play The Seagull in which Medvedenko asks Masha the same question, I gave him Masha's response:

"I'm in mourning for my life."

This the man accepted, nodding sagely as if he had suspected this all along.

Good grief.

Kitty Hawk?

There being nothing on television worth watching tonight, Randy and I rented some movies. Randy hadn't seen The Day After Tomorrow yet, so we watched it first. I just love the special effects in that movie, and the scene in which Americans are wet-backing it into Mexico. That cracks me up!

Afterwards, to lighten things up we watched Wimbledon. For the first time, I found Paul Bettany attractive. Anyway, it wasn't exactly what I was expecting. It was better. I loved the cast of characters around the lead roles, such as his family and his friend Dieter. It was a funny movie, but beyond that I could sympathize with him in his struggle to overcome the inner voices that make us hesitate and drag us down.

So we had a pleasant evening, and then Randy went to bed. The problem is that Wheezy the Non-Asthmatic Cat fancies herself to be a paratrooper lately. Let me explain:

Randy's dresser sits next to the armoire, and both are on the wall along Randy's side of the bed. Wheezy (short for "Louisa" and having nothing to do with lung troubles) jumps from the floor>dresser>top of armoire. She curls up there and waits. Whenever Randy or I come in to lay down, she bides her time until we are comfortably dozing, and then she leaps from the top of the armoire onto the bed. Sometimes she hits the mattress and just bounces us, but almost half the time she lands on Randy instead. Naturally I find this to be quite funny and, despite the physical pain of having the furry missile hit him out of nowhere, so does Randy. It's good that we have a sense of humor, because she will do this 3-4 times a night, whenever it seems like we might be waking up. It makes it difficult to relax and go to sleep when you just know what's coming. You don't know when. You don't know where. But you know it will happen.

Cats really are evil geniuses.

A Little Creative Purging

Let me start out by saying "Thank-you" to everyone for their thoughts and suggestions regarding yesterday's mental block. I did not think I was unique in my struggle, but it was nice to have that suspicion confirmed. I do not feel alone in this.

Part of the problem I was having was that, for some time now, I have felt a need to dive back into creative writing. I have not done so since the completion of my novel for the NaNoWriMo contest back in November. Lately however I have felt as though there was something lurking under the surface, wanting to come out. I've been struggling with it, but tonight I took some time to write out plot ideas and a loose possible outline for a story. I don't say that it will ever actually get anywhere- though it might!- but only that I feel better for taking the time to get it out of my system. I didn't make all of my usual rounds tonight; I'll have to catch up on new IF and PF submissions tomorrow.

I did what I needed to do for myself tonight though, and I feel so much better for it!

Blog Clog

It's frustrating, sometimes, to sit here for an hour or more wanting to write something but feeling just completely uninspired by every thought that passes through my brain.

Illustration Friday-Summer

See what the heat of Summer has brought about?

Photo Friday-Nerdy

Randy and I still have an old Atari 2600, and all of our old games. Our friend Leo also gave us some of his, so our collection goes well beyond what you see here. And yes, it still works!

Various Friends

My friend Leo came over tonight and together we watched Equilibrium, starring Christian Bale. Though it occasionally falters, still it was a good movie rich in irony and made all the more creepy by its feasibility. I'm not saying it's likely, just one possible future. Leo called it "1984 meets The Matrix, and this seems to be a fair description. There are some really amazing shots in it. Leo always brings good movies. :0)

On another note, I have discovered that I have been put smack in the middle of a potentially ugly situation between two friends, and I am not at all happy about it. My friend Ellen checked herself into rehab a couple of weeks ago. She has an elderly, high-maintenance dog that her world revolves around. Duncan is blind and deaf, among other things. I couldn't watch him because of my own pets, but another of our friends- Lolly- volunteered to keep Duncan at her house. Ellen went off to rehab, happy that her baby was being taken care of.

Within a couple of days, Lolly called me and she was flipping out. Duncan had become incontinent due to the abrupt changes that he had no way of understanding. Lolly's boyfriend was livid and Lolly didn't want to be bothered anymore. She was so upset she was even talking about having Duncan put to sleep! I don't believe she would have actually done so, but she was beside herself and so she called me. I recommended that she take Duncan to his vet, make sure there wasn't something physical going on, and perhaps he would have some recommendations, etc. The upshot of it is that she didn't listen to me, and she put Duncan in a very expensive kennel that would pamper him. He's very happy there, so that's fine. She said Ellen could reimburse her when she got home. I thought all was settled satisfactorily.

Then Ellen called me today to say hello, let me know how she's doing and that she's happy she went away. She started rattling on and on about how good she feels knowing that Duncan is in good hands with Lolly. At which point I realize that Lolly never told Ellen what she had done. To compound matters, Ellen just quit her job and is going on disability- she has a lot of physical problems herself- and will have a reduced income. So Lolly put Duncan in an expensive kennel without ever telling Ellen what she had done, and she expects to get reimbursed for it. That's $20/day for several weeks. I don't know about you, but I would be feeling pretty ugly towards someone who did that to me without checking with me first!

I didn't say anything to Ellen today, because I just don't want to get in the middle of it. Unfortunately, Lolly put me in the middle with her actions, and I am not happy with her for it. I was too angry with her to call today, but when I no longer feel like shaking her, I'm going to have to talk to her about it.

Blogging friendships are soooo much easier sometimes! *G*

Native Tears

Stealth Attack

Lightning bugs are greeting me from the windows, blinking their cheerful neon green glow against the ebony backdrop of unlit night. The air conditioner hums in the kitchen, working in synchronicity with strategically-placed fans to cool the house at last. My husband sleeps peacefully in the next room, and as the cats no longer need to worry that he might pester them, they too have closed their eyes and drifted off. Faithful Sam dozes quietly nearby, ready to scramble to his feet if I show any signs of needing him. I am careful not to disturb his rest. At twelve, he is no longer young.

Just as I was feeling tired enough to go to bed, a mouse ran past my bare foot out into the hall towards my bedroom, startling the hell out of me. I screeched involuntarily and my feet are tucked safely beneath me on the chair. I have no idea where the foul thing is now. So much for going to bed. My chair is on wheels, though. I wonder if I can find something within reach to act as an oar, and sort of punt my way to bed...

Mostly Nonsense

There is a pernicious rogue mosquito that insists on feeding on me (back to that again- will this equate to dreams of vampires?). It is bringing all of my latent violence to the surface. I think even Buddha would forgive the killing of a mosquito. I'm just helping a soul on to its next path towards enlightenment.

That's not justification, it's just good plain common sense.

Really.

Have you ever noticed that the gentle breeze from a fan on its lowest setting feels like water skimming over your skin in a pool? I discovered this tonight.

Another important observation: chicken nuggets, fries, potato chips w/ dip, donut holes, hot tea and iced tea do not mix well, even when spaced out over the course of a couple of hours. Not recommended. (I had a severe junk food attack to make up for being good lately)

Finally, I recently finished reading The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason. It was less of a mystery- although there was a mystery running through it- than the exploration of relationships between four young men at Princeton. I really enjoyed this one.

PS- Pamela, I have recently joined flickr, but haven't finished setting it up yet. Thanks for the suggestion. :0)

Bizarre Dream, or ST Has Bad Neighbors

Last night I had the oddest dream. It began quietly enough. I was at a university with SwissToni, who had broken his leg somehow. He was struggling to manage his crutches and an extremely heavy backpack, so I offered to carry it back to his house for him. He was exhausted and gratefully accepted my help, as well he should. *G*

Once there he went right to bed. I left the pack for him, then let myself out. As I was shutting the door I ran into a man who, in the way of dreams, I knew well in my dream but not at all in real life. It turns out that he has a small apartment on the second floor of ST's house. He tells me of how he has been playing the part of Secret Admirer to a woman who is a mutual friend of ours (and who also does not exist in real life) and is planning something special for her that night. He asks me if I would be willing to come in and offer my opinion. Will she like it? I have time and agree to help out. He's obviously crazy about her!

As we climb the stairs to his part of the house, he points out a flat of African Violets. He has been sending some to her every day as they are her favorites. I murmur my appreciation of this gesture. He leads me down the hall and into a room that doubles as living room/guest room. He ducks into his kitchen and comes back, offering me a soft drink. I accept it and sip on it while he disappears once more to get the big present he has planned for tonight. I hear something weighty being rolled down the hall toward me and it stops just outside the door to the room I'm in. Obviously he has gone to great expense for her on the night he plans to reveal himself at last! Just then I hear a knock on the door below. He says "Perfect timing!" and runs down the stairs to answer. I'm feeling a little woozy and set my drink down, wondering how my presence in his apartment could be construed as perfect timing when his love arrives? My head starts to spin and I lay back. I hear footsteps approaching and then they're in the room. She seems oddly excited to see me there, clapping her hands and giving him a big kiss. "You did it!"

None of this makes sense.

He looks at her adoringly and asks if she would like an appetizer. She nods and moves towards me. The next thing I know, they're both chewing on my legs! They're cannibals!

Shame on you if you were thinking something else.

I figure out that he has never been a Secret Admirer at all, just a (psychotic) man in love trying to impress a girl who has always wanted to try cannibalism. So he set me up to be their romantic dinner. As it all becomes clear, so does my head. They, on the other hand, have been sipping on the drugged drink I set aside in between nibbling on my thigh. I bolt upright, knock them aside and run for the door. Which is blocked almost entirely by a gigantic oven. This was the heavy, wheeled object he had rolled down the hall earlier. I manage to squeeze by and push it to block the door more fully.

I dash down the stairs to the door. ST, at this point you're no longer there and in no danger, so forgive me when I say that I went straight for the front door, willed my hands to steadiness as I unlocked it, pulled some heavy piece of furniture between the base of the stairs and the doorway because I can hear my pursuers running after me, then I lock the door behind me and run into the night.

I know instinctively that going for the road would be a bad idea. It's quiet, not a lot of traffic and it's what they'll expect. I also know better than to try to knock on anyone else's door looking for help. I sense it would be a waste of valuable time. Instead I run into a nearby forest, more afraid of the animals I have left behind than any possible bears or coyotes. Despite my injuries I move quickly and quietly, hiding in the brush as I move further away from the apartment complex. At one point I am aware that they are trying to follow me, but they think they can find me in the morning before I get away, so they stop searching until it's light. But they are wrong. I am not as injured as their drug-induced minds led them to believe and I continue on through the night until I find help.

The last thing I remember before waking up is laying on a medical table telling my story to the police as they photograph my injuries, absolutely shocked. The doctors are working on me and I know I'll be fine.

But in the future ST, I'm afraid you're carrying your own darn backpack!

Twist My Mind Around This

Two things I need to get off my chest tonight:

1. Mark Hacking, who confessed to shooting and killing his pregnant wife while she slept because she found out he had lied to her about getting into medical school, only received a 6 year sentence for her murder. 6 years. Really? Because drug offenders do more time than that.

2. On a local news broadcast on NBC tonight I saw some woman- I forget if she was a senator or some other governmental official- comment on the Supreme Court's decision to allow the federal government to prosecute people dying from cancer and other painful illnesses for the use of medical marijuana, even if it was legally prescribed to them in one of the ten states that allows it. This woman was defending the Supreme Court's stance by saying that these patients shouldn't be using pot, because it's bad for their health and could cause cancer. Now I don't care what side of the political divide you stand on this issue, that was a dumbass thing to say. Argue that it sends a bad message about drug usage. Argue that it's a "slippery slope." But don't tell a terminally ill patient not to use it to manage their pain because it's bad for your health. Idiot.

Now on to more pleasant things. Or idiotic, depending on how you view things. Today we had severe thunderstorms with a tornado watch. Having lived in Tornado Alley when I was younger and been through tornadoes, I am acutely aware that my house sucks when it comes to tornado survival. I figure the safest place for me is inside my clawfoot bathtub with blankets and cushions over me. Of course, I couldn't do that and not worry about my dog and cats. So picture this, as I did: getting a 90 lb. dog up and into the tub and making him stay there while trying to carry a cat (with all her claws) who hates to be held into the bathroom and getting her to stay in the tub with the dog who also wants out, while trying to catch the other cat who loves being held but insists you find him and catch him first. Should you manage to get him in the tub with others, there is no way in hell he would stay, as he is more terrified of the dog and the female cat than he will ever be of any changes in barometric pressure.

Had there actually been a tornado, we would all be dead.

I did not actually attempt any of this. The image was daunting enough. I really need to come up with a better plan. Even the stupid pot lady would probably have a better system than the one I came up with!

Well, maybe not.

Dream Vacationing

Happily the gardening is done. For now. Randy was kind enough to point out to me two other holes, identical in appearance, in or around the garden. Though I would like to believe that they are chipmunk holes, as suggested by Rose, Randy and I came to the conclusion that they most likely belong to garden snakes. They're harmless and eat mice, so they are allowed to make their homes there if they like. Dodgy place for them though, as I will be watering frequently this year. Perhaps they will soon choose a serpent condo on higher ground. I can only imagine that this would equate to higher property value for them, though it would mean losing the in-ground swimming pool...

In other news, the weather has finally turned warm here. We've had to switch the fans on today for the first time. My thoughts have turned to vacation locations and I can't make up my mind where we'll go this year. Randy is leaving it up to me; he'd be just as happy to stay home. I've got some gypsy blood in me though, and I get the urge to wander and explore. I'm rarely able to indulge this, but I try. As I consider my likely options, I started thinking about my ideal dream vacation. Well, one of them. Right now my favorite fantasy is a photo safari in Africa. I would love to see those beautiful animals in their natural environment, to camp out there and spend a sleepless night wondering if a lioness is going to raid the tent with an eye towards inviting me to dinner. I'd love to see cheetahs and giraffes, antelope and zebras and, and, and... I want to see it all! Once I had, I would hop a plane for Australia and do it all again there, with their own gorgeous wildlife.

My alternate fantasy vacation is a tour through England and Scotland. Completely different wildlife there, eh? *G*

These are the places I've always wanted to visit. Alaska used to be a dream destination, until I finally made it there last year. I would love to go back again, and urge anyone who has ever wanted to travel there to do so when they can. It's amazing! And there's no mosquitoes, which I can tell you is a major plus. ;0)

Where would you go if there were no limits?

Inch By Inch, Row By Row

My these weeds sure seem to grow!

I decided yesterday that it was as good a day as any to try to reclaim my flower beds. This probably sounds tame and boring to you, but that's because you've never weeded my garden.

First of all, it measures around 3.5'x40' approximately. And it was never weeded last year due to my wrist injury. It's overflowing with poison ivy, to which I am highly allergic. I have to bundle myself up, head to toe, in order to go near my garden, no matter how hot the day. Add to that the window that was broken by a fallen limb during a storm, which left glass strewn about the garden. Top it with roofing materials and at least one nail every couple of inches from the sloppy job done by the roofers last Autumn, and what you have as a gardener is A Challenge.

Now clear it with one hand.

Right. I've worked on it for two days (though only a couple hours each until I had to stop) and I'm still not done. Thankfully I only have about another 8' to go. I stopped today when I came across a hole in the ground about the size of a silver dollar, hidden at the base of one of my plants. I tried to keep working, but I kept waiting for something to crawl or slither out at me, so I decided enough was enough. I'll tackle around that section tomorrow when I'm feel fresh and prepared for it! :0P

I've come to realize that I don't hate weeding, though it isn't my favorite of all pasttimes. I think lots of thoughts, but nothing too deep so far. I've sorted out that I don't mind bugs that crawl, it's the ones that fly that piss me off. And you know how I mentioned the other day my dislike of the sun in the mornings? That goes double for when I'm doing yardwork. I might literally be a redneck now. As for that hole in the ground, I find myself fervently hoping that it belongs to something that slithers, not something that crawls. I can deal with snakes.

Why, if I am so daunted by all of this, do I do it? I've been pondering this. I like the physical exertion. I love the instant gratification that comes with weeding, especially if it hasn't been done in a while. The changes I am effecting are immediate and obvious. Finally, the results are lovely and fill me with pride for what I have accomplished. Sure, with my mother's help I'm going to need to thin out the irises and the lilies next year, and add some other plants as well. But I have taken a flower bed that had nothing but a gorgeous rose bush and a couple of daffodils planted by Randy's grandmother, added on to it and made it my own. People comment on how much I've done, and it's a nice feeling.

It's nothing to what I want to do over time, but more on that down the line.

This redneck woman's gotta git to gettin'.

Illustration Friday-Digital

I call this one The Effects of Digital Cable On A Teenager. Enjoy!

Photo Friday-Rare

The steering wheel of a Model T...

Clouded Reflections

Taken one evening from my hotel room at Mohegan Sun. If the building seems angled, that's not your imagination. The hotel is all angles, and is fun to look at. Unfortunately, at the moment I can't locate a static photo to link to. But if you check out their site, you'll get an idea.

Other Thoughts Tonight

I am a hamster. The sun went down and everyone went to bed. The house was still. All golden and white with brown eyes I hopped upon my wheel and ran until my poor body felt in a state of collapse. This is the first time I have jumped onto my treadmill since I threw out my knee. I took it easy, walked most of the time and did well until the last 10 minutes. All of a sudden I noticed that my right thigh was on fire and my knee was beginning to hurt again. So I sit here now with an ice bag on my thigh and a (wrapped) frozen steak strapped to my knee, thawing contentedly on its sabbatical from the freezer. Ibuprofen has long since made the trek to my stomach, activating its lovely anti-inflammatory goodness. I sit here and think: Perhaps I'm not a hamster. Perhaps I am a tortoise after all. That's ok. Green looks good on me.

I finished reading Haunted Ground and enjoyed it. It was nice to get the back story for Lake of Sorrows. I found the ending of one of the plot twists a little too convenient, and I figured out who the killer was. Still, I liked the characters and concepts. I like the way Hart captures a culture (Irish) and its sense of history. I would read the next book she came up with.

Last but not least, as of 11am June 1, Randy and I own our house! It feels strange and hasn't fully sunk in yet, but it's nice to know that tonight, for the first time ever, I'll be sleeping under our very own roof, instead of a rented one. The house and the land (close to 2 acres) are ours to do with whatever we want. Heady stuff. No immediate plans, though plenty of work is needed. But we need to make a list of repairs, etc. and work out a budget before we take out a mortgage or home equity loan. But it's fun to daydream and plan, knowing that now it's within our power to implement! Of course it's a big responsibility and I still have fears pertaining to that, but for now I just want to enjoy the gift that has been given and not worry about all that it will mean.

So I may be limping around the house, but it's our house for me to limp around!

Remembering Situ*

Today- June 2- is the 1 year anniversary of my grandmother's death. Though sad, I'm not as sad as I might be. Her health had been poor for a long time, and my father's suicide was really more than she could bear. I think she's happier now, in a better place. So I'll light a candle and think about her, and celebrate her life rather than mourn her passing.

*Situ is Lebanese for "grandmother," and is what she liked for me to call her.

Paint It Black, or Morning People Suck

I hate Spring. While everyone else is oohing and aahing over new buds and the birds singing in the trees, I am holed up in my house clutching my (allergy-induced) aching head and fantasizing about painting my windows black. Actually, I also do this every morning when the sun streams into my room, lighting my face and leaving me thinking foul things I won't repeat here. I've tried to convince Randy that a large double coffin would make a trendy new bed and be cost-effective in the (final) end. I told him he could even keep the upper half of his side open if he wanted.

I'm not overly fond of the sun either, you see.

Sleep, however, I'm crazy about. When I can get it between sun shining, birds chirping and happy morning people phoning to share their joy in the day.

Incidentally Randy just laughed at me, believing that I was just kidding in my (un)usual way. But then, he's a morning person. I can't get away from them.

On the plus side, I have recently realized that my worst allergy is gone, hopefully never to come back. It began a few years ago and manifested each Spring as a nasty sinus infection that left me feeling as though every tooth on the left side of my face was abcessing. It dawned on me that it never happened this year or, when I thought about it, last year either. What changed? I no longer work at BM. I figured out that I only started having that allergic reaction after I started working at BM. Once I left, it stopped.

So there are benefits to being unemployed if you only know where to look for them!