How do you make people feel?
This topic came to mind today. Do you know someone that just makes you smile by hearing their voice or seeing their name pop up on a yahoo message? Some people seem to carry around sunshine in their pockets. They brighten up everything. You can't help but smile when you are around them. They ease your soul and raise your spirits. Some people make you smile just by thinking about them. Then you have the opposite.
I had a friend who always brought me down. He was an interesting, but difficult guy. We became the best of friends many years ago. We'd hang out, go places together, chat online, and confide in each other. But he came with drama. There was never an ease with him. He'd drag me into his problems and several times I had to bail him out of situations he created for himself. It was a never ending cycle with him. It got to the point where the friendship became more work than enjoyment. I couldn't keep up with a friendship that took so much out of me. I felt drained every time we'd have contact. I started backing away when it became too much for me to bear and we eventually drifted apart. I haven't spoken to the man in a couple of years now. It still saddens me, the loss of that friendship.
I have some wonderful friends, people who I wouldn't hesitate to lay down my life for. Some I see all the time, some I don't see very often, and a few that I have yet to meet. I count my online buddies among my friends even if we haven't met. I have had great support during my recent troubles from some of those people. I can't thank them enough. I have felt like the dregs of the world this past month or two, like there is nothing left to redeem my much tattered and battered soul. Yet the kind words of my friends have been like life preservers thrown to a drowning woman. You can't know how much a few simple words can mean to a depressed and lost person. Thank you.
I've been very introspective lately. I guess that's probably normal considering the turns my life has taken. One of the things I have thought about is what kind of a person am I and how I make people feel. I know I need to work on myself. I am very much a flawed human being. I have a self destructive streak a mile wide and sometimes when I self destruct, I take those close with me, unintentionally. I also realize there is nothing that I dislike about myself that I can't change. Change is never easy, but it's a necessary part of life. The seasons change, life changes, people can change. And before anyone jumps to reassure me, please don't. I know I'm basically a decent person. I know I can be a good friend. I know I'm a good wife and an ok mom. But I have my issues. Hell, call them subscriptions.
The losses I have had in my life recently have been awake up call to my conscience. I want to be a better person. I need to end my self destruction. I need to be better to all those around me. I want to know that no matter the situation, no matter how hard it is, that I have done my very best. I want to be sure of the answer when I ask myself
'How do you make people feel?'
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Send a Mouse to College
I have always been an animal lover. I was even a vegetarian for a few months when I was a teenager. I screwed up my diet when I ordered a veggie hoagie in downtown Cincy and halfway through, realized the sauce contained pepperoni. Who'd have thunk it? So, I'm a carnivore. It's a conscious decision and I do think about it from time to time when I'm enjoying a nice, bloody rare steak. Life is full of contradictions.
When I was a child in elementary school, my teacher passed out an envelope with an adorable little cartoon mouse on it. He was wearing a cap and gown and had a diploma in his hand. "Send a mouse to college!" the words read, large and colorful. Excitedly, I ran home after school, clutching the envelope between my small hands. I rushed in the door, chattering a mile a minute, and handed the envelope to my mother.
"Mama! I need a quarter! I'm going to send a mouse to college!", I gleefully proclaimed.Mom looked at me and her face fell. She picked up the envelope and scanned it.
"Come here, baby,"she said as she sat on the edge of the couch. Then she slowly explained vivisection to me and how my little imaginary mouse buddy wasn't going to go to school to learn, but rather was going to be chopped into bits and used as a learning tool for college students.
"No," I cried,"they wouldn't kill my mouse."
A little piece of my childhood innocence died that day. I became much more cynical of life and less trusting of adults. Even things done with the best intentions can be wrong, I realized. To this very day, I believe what the school system did was wrong. Getting children excited about helping out, convince them that they're doing something good, something for the greater cause, without telling them the consequences of that good act. Don't get me wrong, I don't much cotton to mice being in my house and I have used traps and poisons, but I'm an adult now. It's another conscious decision, like eating meat. A child doesn't have the experience to make that kind of decision. A child doesn't understand. You don't tap children for money to kill animals. Period.
Funny note to add. I told my hubby about "Send a Mouse to College" years later. He was shocked. His school did the same money drive for vivisection.
His response, "Oh my god, I sent about 6 mice to college!"
When I was a child in elementary school, my teacher passed out an envelope with an adorable little cartoon mouse on it. He was wearing a cap and gown and had a diploma in his hand. "Send a mouse to college!" the words read, large and colorful. Excitedly, I ran home after school, clutching the envelope between my small hands. I rushed in the door, chattering a mile a minute, and handed the envelope to my mother.
"Mama! I need a quarter! I'm going to send a mouse to college!", I gleefully proclaimed.Mom looked at me and her face fell. She picked up the envelope and scanned it.
"Come here, baby,"she said as she sat on the edge of the couch. Then she slowly explained vivisection to me and how my little imaginary mouse buddy wasn't going to go to school to learn, but rather was going to be chopped into bits and used as a learning tool for college students.
"No," I cried,"they wouldn't kill my mouse."
A little piece of my childhood innocence died that day. I became much more cynical of life and less trusting of adults. Even things done with the best intentions can be wrong, I realized. To this very day, I believe what the school system did was wrong. Getting children excited about helping out, convince them that they're doing something good, something for the greater cause, without telling them the consequences of that good act. Don't get me wrong, I don't much cotton to mice being in my house and I have used traps and poisons, but I'm an adult now. It's another conscious decision, like eating meat. A child doesn't have the experience to make that kind of decision. A child doesn't understand. You don't tap children for money to kill animals. Period.
Funny note to add. I told my hubby about "Send a Mouse to College" years later. He was shocked. His school did the same money drive for vivisection.
His response, "Oh my god, I sent about 6 mice to college!"
Friday, June 22, 2007
Bra Hoppers
I grew up in a small village about 25 miles north of Cincinnati. The area had a lot of Kentuckians settled there, as you could tell by the accents. My dad was 'from the head of a holler' as he often put it, so I grew up around that soft southern accent. As a teenager, I strived to eliminate the southernisms from my speech and I pretty much sounded like a Yankee when I moved to Tennessee 13 years ago.
The people in that area of Ohio looked down on the transplanted Kentuckians. There were large areas around there where the accents were thicker'n gravy and those areas tended to be more economically poor. They had their own culture and the stores and restaurants there catered to their tastes.
I heard a lot of derogatory names spewed forth in my lifetime about the transplanted Kentuckians, one of the more gentler and somewhat humorous was 'brier hopper'. With the southern Kentucky accent, it became 'bra hopper'. It was a term they used among themselves as well. My dad never did, but then Dad wouldn't have thought it a proper word, but you would often hear someone say, when asked where they were from "Oh, I'm just an ole Bra Hopper."
I hear that term when I was back in Ohio last week and it made me smile.
The people in that area of Ohio looked down on the transplanted Kentuckians. There were large areas around there where the accents were thicker'n gravy and those areas tended to be more economically poor. They had their own culture and the stores and restaurants there catered to their tastes.
I heard a lot of derogatory names spewed forth in my lifetime about the transplanted Kentuckians, one of the more gentler and somewhat humorous was 'brier hopper'. With the southern Kentucky accent, it became 'bra hopper'. It was a term they used among themselves as well. My dad never did, but then Dad wouldn't have thought it a proper word, but you would often hear someone say, when asked where they were from "Oh, I'm just an ole Bra Hopper."
I hear that term when I was back in Ohio last week and it made me smile.
Monday, June 18, 2007
The Legend of One-Armed Billy
When Lola, the hyped up 'prospective tenant' mentioned her kin One-Armed Billy, I had a vague recollection of the man from my childhood. I'd like to be able to say he lost his arm in a battle or in some noble way, but if I recall the story right he got lost it while drunk one night hopping trains as a teenager. I had seen him around town when I was younger, always stoned, walking with a strange roiling gait like he was a sailor on a ship in high seas.
TM and I were carrying the ex-tenants broken up and trashed furniture out of the house when One-Armed Billy appeared.
He walked into the yard and I said, "Can I help you?"
He points behind me at TM, "He's the one I wanna talk to!". And he pointedly ignored me. He asked TM if he can have some of the furniture, saying he 'scraps' for a living. Glad to be rid of the stuff, TM told him to take what he wants. He offered to mow the grass for a beer, which we didn't have and then said he'll be back.
When he returned a few days later, TM was gone and One Armed-Billy seemed sober. He wouldn't meet my eyes and spoke haltedly. I realized what I had taken for rudeness was in fact not. It was painfully obvious he had a problem speaking to women, at least when he was sober.
A couple more days past and he returned again. This time to offer to haul off the trash left over from the gutting and redoing of the house. He had brought "Grizzly" with him this time, so named not for his bearish and very hairy body, but because he had raised a small bear cub to adulthood and kept it as a pet. The tiny cub grew to a 6 plus foot 350 pound bear, or so the story goes. I also got treated to a story where Billy taught Grizzly to swim by tossing a 6-foot alligator (brought back from Florida by someone he knew) into the local pond. They were both quite drunk and I got high just from the fumes radiating out from the two. Billy had been drinking beer and Grizzly smelled of whisky, though I did not get close enough to identify the type.
Being drunk, they were both very friendly. Way too friendly. I was uncomfortable when the direction the conversation started to take when One-Armed Billy confided that the men had 3 arms and 3 legs between them (I didn't ask if the bear was the reason for Grizzly's missing leg, though it did cross my mind), and then recited their supposed combined manhood inches to me. I told them I'd just ignore that little remark and asked them what they wanted to haul the small truckload of garbage for me. $150. Dear God, I realized they thought me an easy mark. I told them $100 would have been too much, but that I'd pass it onto my hubby. Grizzly said he'd do it for $100 and 'anything else you might have to offer'. I didn't ask what he meant by that, but told him I'd pass his offer on to my hubby.
I saw a lot of colorful characters during my trip. I have yet to decide if my encounters with some of them amused or scared me.
Probably a little of both.
TM and I were carrying the ex-tenants broken up and trashed furniture out of the house when One-Armed Billy appeared.
He walked into the yard and I said, "Can I help you?"
He points behind me at TM, "He's the one I wanna talk to!". And he pointedly ignored me. He asked TM if he can have some of the furniture, saying he 'scraps' for a living. Glad to be rid of the stuff, TM told him to take what he wants. He offered to mow the grass for a beer, which we didn't have and then said he'll be back.
When he returned a few days later, TM was gone and One Armed-Billy seemed sober. He wouldn't meet my eyes and spoke haltedly. I realized what I had taken for rudeness was in fact not. It was painfully obvious he had a problem speaking to women, at least when he was sober.
A couple more days past and he returned again. This time to offer to haul off the trash left over from the gutting and redoing of the house. He had brought "Grizzly" with him this time, so named not for his bearish and very hairy body, but because he had raised a small bear cub to adulthood and kept it as a pet. The tiny cub grew to a 6 plus foot 350 pound bear, or so the story goes. I also got treated to a story where Billy taught Grizzly to swim by tossing a 6-foot alligator (brought back from Florida by someone he knew) into the local pond. They were both quite drunk and I got high just from the fumes radiating out from the two. Billy had been drinking beer and Grizzly smelled of whisky, though I did not get close enough to identify the type.
Being drunk, they were both very friendly. Way too friendly. I was uncomfortable when the direction the conversation started to take when One-Armed Billy confided that the men had 3 arms and 3 legs between them (I didn't ask if the bear was the reason for Grizzly's missing leg, though it did cross my mind), and then recited their supposed combined manhood inches to me. I told them I'd just ignore that little remark and asked them what they wanted to haul the small truckload of garbage for me. $150. Dear God, I realized they thought me an easy mark. I told them $100 would have been too much, but that I'd pass it onto my hubby. Grizzly said he'd do it for $100 and 'anything else you might have to offer'. I didn't ask what he meant by that, but told him I'd pass his offer on to my hubby.
I saw a lot of colorful characters during my trip. I have yet to decide if my encounters with some of them amused or scared me.
Probably a little of both.
Prospective Tenants?
An aggravating aspect of trying to ready a rental house in a small town is that word gets out that you are there and people come by at all hours wanting to 'be first' to get a chance at being the new tenant. It doesn't matter that you're up on a ladder with paint dripping down your ears, it's always a good time to pop on in for a minute and view a trashed house, walk through the wood and nails in the floor, and ask for a tour, even after being told the place isn't going to be ready for a few weeks.
One of the more interesting characters I met last week I'll call 'Lola'. Lola caught me wet with paint and in the middle of doing a wall. She walked right into the open door and into the living room. Hearing someone enter the house, I hauled ass through the house to meet her head on. She looked familiar.
"Hi, can I help you?' I asked, once hand still cradling the paint roller.
"Yeah, I heard this place is for rent and wanted to look around. Hey, where do I know you from?" she asked.
"I dunno, but you look familiar, too"
"What's your name?"
Maiden name given.
"Ohhhh! You're Aunt Alice's niece, aren't you?" she was gleeful. I realized then that this woman was either high or drunk as she was literally starting to bounce around the room.
"Umm, yes. I have an Aunt Alice."
"I thought I knew you. I saw *so and so* yesterday.(inject large rib crunching hug here) Hey Bubba, come here. This is my niece Lisa!"
I thought about the paint covering most of my body and politely tried to untangle myself.
"I talked to Aunt Alice last night! I wonder why she didn't tell me you were here?"
I stopped. Ok, my Aunt Alice had been dead for some years. In Lola's present condition, being as her feet weren't quite touching the floor when she walked, maybe she did talk to my aunt, but I was thankful to realize we weren't family.
"Ummm, I think there's a mix up. I don't think I'm your niece."
"What's your name again? Didn't you marry *deleted*?"
"No, must be a different person. Sorry."
"So, can I still look at the house? Let me be honest with you"
"Always a good idea, " I interject.
"I'm bi-polar. We were staying with my mom who got tired of me being under her feet. I'm an addict, drugs and alcohol. Last year, I hit bottom and was locked up for a while. We're at a motel paying $165 a week now. $165! Can you believe that? Let me be honest, I'm on meds and trying to remember to take them. I have no credit. Last year messed it up for me. When I went crazy, I lost all my credit. He doesn't either, since he's a recovering addict, too. 2 months now. I'm proud of him! Oh, and I'm OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) and I like to clean. This place won't have a speck of dirt it in when I live here. My mom couldn't stand my constant cleaning. We're homeless. Please, please, please, I'm begging you! Let me be honest, I need this house. Please, please, please!"
At this point, she's pulling at my arm and her eyes are glassy as can be. There were a lot more words than I'm putting in there, but keep in mind they were uttered at breakneck speed with nary a place in between them.
"Umm, I have rental applications in the other room. If you'd like to fill one out..." I pulled myself free.
I returned and handed her an application.
She looked down at the application with a frown, "I know we know people in common. Hey, do you know One-Armed Billy? He's my kin. Everyone knows him"
"Umm, I dunno. Could be. I've been gone from here a while. I really need to get back to work on the house, though, " I fidgeted with my paint roller and politely as I could herded Lola towards the door.
I never heard a word from her again. I wasn't surprised. Now, One-Armed Billy, that's another story.
One of the more interesting characters I met last week I'll call 'Lola'. Lola caught me wet with paint and in the middle of doing a wall. She walked right into the open door and into the living room. Hearing someone enter the house, I hauled ass through the house to meet her head on. She looked familiar.
"Hi, can I help you?' I asked, once hand still cradling the paint roller.
"Yeah, I heard this place is for rent and wanted to look around. Hey, where do I know you from?" she asked.
"I dunno, but you look familiar, too"
"What's your name?"
Maiden name given.
"Ohhhh! You're Aunt Alice's niece, aren't you?" she was gleeful. I realized then that this woman was either high or drunk as she was literally starting to bounce around the room.
"Umm, yes. I have an Aunt Alice."
"I thought I knew you. I saw *so and so* yesterday.(inject large rib crunching hug here) Hey Bubba, come here. This is my niece Lisa!"
I thought about the paint covering most of my body and politely tried to untangle myself.
"I talked to Aunt Alice last night! I wonder why she didn't tell me you were here?"
I stopped. Ok, my Aunt Alice had been dead for some years. In Lola's present condition, being as her feet weren't quite touching the floor when she walked, maybe she did talk to my aunt, but I was thankful to realize we weren't family.
"Ummm, I think there's a mix up. I don't think I'm your niece."
"What's your name again? Didn't you marry *deleted*?"
"No, must be a different person. Sorry."
"So, can I still look at the house? Let me be honest with you"
"Always a good idea, " I interject.
"I'm bi-polar. We were staying with my mom who got tired of me being under her feet. I'm an addict, drugs and alcohol. Last year, I hit bottom and was locked up for a while. We're at a motel paying $165 a week now. $165! Can you believe that? Let me be honest, I'm on meds and trying to remember to take them. I have no credit. Last year messed it up for me. When I went crazy, I lost all my credit. He doesn't either, since he's a recovering addict, too. 2 months now. I'm proud of him! Oh, and I'm OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) and I like to clean. This place won't have a speck of dirt it in when I live here. My mom couldn't stand my constant cleaning. We're homeless. Please, please, please, I'm begging you! Let me be honest, I need this house. Please, please, please!"
At this point, she's pulling at my arm and her eyes are glassy as can be. There were a lot more words than I'm putting in there, but keep in mind they were uttered at breakneck speed with nary a place in between them.
"Umm, I have rental applications in the other room. If you'd like to fill one out..." I pulled myself free.
I returned and handed her an application.
She looked down at the application with a frown, "I know we know people in common. Hey, do you know One-Armed Billy? He's my kin. Everyone knows him"
"Umm, I dunno. Could be. I've been gone from here a while. I really need to get back to work on the house, though, " I fidgeted with my paint roller and politely as I could herded Lola towards the door.
I never heard a word from her again. I wasn't surprised. Now, One-Armed Billy, that's another story.
Friday, May 25, 2007
The Turkey Story, or Remind Me Why I Married Him Again?
I had TM proofread this, and he griped at me for telling anyone this story *grins* and said I needed a disclaimer. So, here it is: This happened 20 odd years ago and we have all grown and matured a lot since then( well, some of us have ). TM was 19, I was 17 and my nephew was 15. Despite the disclaimer, he is still not fond of turkeys.
It was a beautiful spring day and early in the morning we started out on an adventure, my future hubby, my nephew and I. My nephew is just 2 years younger than me and more like my kid brother than a nephew. He had talked me into going to some caverns in Alabama and making a day trip of it. TM and I hadn't been dating long at that point and more to impress than nourish, I packed a very nice picnic lunch, complete with basket and tablecloth and cute little sandwiches with the crusts cut off, and all sorts of little goodies.
Well, we hiked up and down the caves for a very long time. To me, if you've seen one hole in the ground, you've seen em all, but the boys chatted and pointed to first one rock and then another. We listened to the tour guide's canned speech and chuckled politely at the points that were supposed to be funny. Being slightly claustrophobic, I was one very happy girl to see a sunny blue sky when we finally exited. I went to the car, retrieved the picnic basket and headed to a picnic table. I spread out the tablecloth, and set out the sandwiches and drinks and started laying out the rest of the food. We munched happily and chatted for a while then I spotted a wild turkey emerging from the woods.
"Oh wow, look" I said quietly. I fellas turned around and we watched stunned as the turkey bravely started towards us. Being the idiot that I am, I figured he was hungry and was probably used to tourists feeding him, so I threw some bread. Oh, if only I'd have known what I started! He jumped and grabbed the bread before it hit the ground then let out a loud "hoop!". Weirdest sound I ever did hear! I didn't know at the time that he was saying "Hey ya'll, we got some live ones here!"
All of a sudden the woods came alive! Turkeys started appearing from all around us. It reminded me of that scene in "Birds", where the woman is walking around with birds everywhere and nothing is really happening, but you know it's gonna, and soon.
Well, I was raised in the 'burbs, and my only experience with turkeys were the ones invited for Thanksgiving dinner, so when all the birds started closing in on us, I got a bit nervous. All three of us were peeling off and tossing bites of bread and sandwich as fast as we could, as the turkeys proceeded to come closer and closer. The turkeys were pecking at our feet by then and demanding a better lunch than what we were providing! My nephew hopped up onto the top of the table, and we followed suit. At that point, there were at least 30 turkeys gathered around our feast.
So there we were, 3 Yankee idiots standing on top of a picnic table surrounded by turkeys. They were gobbling up a storm and I was sure every turkey in the county had joined our little picnic! My future hubby and nephew were pale and looking scared. My nephew stuffed what was left of his sandwich into his pocket and said "Let's make a break for it!" Before I could get a word out "Whaa ?" he and TM were gone, running like wild men for the car. A couple of turkeys followed, but the rest just looked at me, knowing I was all that was between them and the rest of the food.
Turkeys started hopping up onto the benches and I shouted "Shoo!" at them a few times.
I figure I must have been quite the sight, standing on top of the picnic table, surrounded by turkeys and waving my sandwich at the ones brave enough to get on the table. It took me a few minutes lost in utter stupidity to realize this was a battle I was gonna lose pretty soon. I grabbed the tablecloth ends and carrying it like a big ole gunny sack, slung it over my shoulder, picnic basket and all, jumped off the table and ran like Hell for the car!
The fellas were laughing so hard I thought they were gonna wet themselves, as the turkeys chased me all the way. My nephew opened the door for me and I slammed it shut right behind me. Needless to say the air was blue in that car as I berated the fellas for deserting me and leaving me to the mercy of the gang of turkeys.
I did get the final word in, though. TM said "We just didn't know what to do. Those turkeys were crazy! We were afraid they might bite or something."
I just looked at him, fuming and said, "We'll I may have had something to fear from them, but you two didn't".
"Why's that? " my nephew wanted to know.
"Because turkeys aren't cannibals". It took them a full minute to grasp that one before they groaned and laughed.
It was a beautiful spring day and early in the morning we started out on an adventure, my future hubby, my nephew and I. My nephew is just 2 years younger than me and more like my kid brother than a nephew. He had talked me into going to some caverns in Alabama and making a day trip of it. TM and I hadn't been dating long at that point and more to impress than nourish, I packed a very nice picnic lunch, complete with basket and tablecloth and cute little sandwiches with the crusts cut off, and all sorts of little goodies.
Well, we hiked up and down the caves for a very long time. To me, if you've seen one hole in the ground, you've seen em all, but the boys chatted and pointed to first one rock and then another. We listened to the tour guide's canned speech and chuckled politely at the points that were supposed to be funny. Being slightly claustrophobic, I was one very happy girl to see a sunny blue sky when we finally exited. I went to the car, retrieved the picnic basket and headed to a picnic table. I spread out the tablecloth, and set out the sandwiches and drinks and started laying out the rest of the food. We munched happily and chatted for a while then I spotted a wild turkey emerging from the woods.
"Oh wow, look" I said quietly. I fellas turned around and we watched stunned as the turkey bravely started towards us. Being the idiot that I am, I figured he was hungry and was probably used to tourists feeding him, so I threw some bread. Oh, if only I'd have known what I started! He jumped and grabbed the bread before it hit the ground then let out a loud "hoop!". Weirdest sound I ever did hear! I didn't know at the time that he was saying "Hey ya'll, we got some live ones here!"
All of a sudden the woods came alive! Turkeys started appearing from all around us. It reminded me of that scene in "Birds", where the woman is walking around with birds everywhere and nothing is really happening, but you know it's gonna, and soon.
Well, I was raised in the 'burbs, and my only experience with turkeys were the ones invited for Thanksgiving dinner, so when all the birds started closing in on us, I got a bit nervous. All three of us were peeling off and tossing bites of bread and sandwich as fast as we could, as the turkeys proceeded to come closer and closer. The turkeys were pecking at our feet by then and demanding a better lunch than what we were providing! My nephew hopped up onto the top of the table, and we followed suit. At that point, there were at least 30 turkeys gathered around our feast.
So there we were, 3 Yankee idiots standing on top of a picnic table surrounded by turkeys. They were gobbling up a storm and I was sure every turkey in the county had joined our little picnic! My future hubby and nephew were pale and looking scared. My nephew stuffed what was left of his sandwich into his pocket and said "Let's make a break for it!" Before I could get a word out "Whaa ?" he and TM were gone, running like wild men for the car. A couple of turkeys followed, but the rest just looked at me, knowing I was all that was between them and the rest of the food.
Turkeys started hopping up onto the benches and I shouted "Shoo!" at them a few times.
I figure I must have been quite the sight, standing on top of the picnic table, surrounded by turkeys and waving my sandwich at the ones brave enough to get on the table. It took me a few minutes lost in utter stupidity to realize this was a battle I was gonna lose pretty soon. I grabbed the tablecloth ends and carrying it like a big ole gunny sack, slung it over my shoulder, picnic basket and all, jumped off the table and ran like Hell for the car!
The fellas were laughing so hard I thought they were gonna wet themselves, as the turkeys chased me all the way. My nephew opened the door for me and I slammed it shut right behind me. Needless to say the air was blue in that car as I berated the fellas for deserting me and leaving me to the mercy of the gang of turkeys.
I did get the final word in, though. TM said "We just didn't know what to do. Those turkeys were crazy! We were afraid they might bite or something."
I just looked at him, fuming and said, "We'll I may have had something to fear from them, but you two didn't".
"Why's that? " my nephew wanted to know.
"Because turkeys aren't cannibals". It took them a full minute to grasp that one before they groaned and laughed.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
The Dead Rose Bloometh
The year before last my children bought me a miniature red rose for Valentine's Day. It's tiny little dime sized blooms covered the small planter and I enjoyed it very much, while it lasted. Most of the plants sold around holidays are force bloomed in hot house conditions and not meant to be kept around for very long. This was no exception. Within a short period of time, the petite rose bush whithered and the leaves grew brittle and dropped. It was nude and dying, it's branches black and shriveled. Sadly, I asked TM to quietly toss it in the garbage can so as not to upset the children.
Unbeknown to me, TM didn't trash the dead plant. Instead, he sat it near the base of one of our pecan trees and left it alone. I was sitting out on the porch one day months later and he came around the house with a small plant. I looked at it and couldn't believe my eyes- the rose was alive. Fresh green growth covered the top and there were even small buds starting to emerge. A plant that I was sure had died was alive, and not only that, it was thriving. It soon bloomed and grew. I transplanted it into another pot and it kept growing.
What was once a tiny 3 inch tall bush is now over a foot tall. It's first blossom of the season is about to open fully and it has many more tiny buds. Soon, it will be alive with brilliant red rose blossoms covering the deep green leaves. All from a 'dead' plant I had long ago given up on.
I have learned a lesson from my little plant. A lesson I very badly need to incorporate into my everyday life. I tend to go with the worst in things, rather than search for the good. And I often give up far before I should. I didn't fight for the rose, or even think about trying. It was gone, it was over, move on. Mind you, it was only a little plant from my children, but I do tend to do the same in life. It's something I really need to work on.
Persevere. Giving up is all too easy.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
I've been terrible..
Started the blog then promptly forgot about it.
Life has been busy. We're trying to line up another job for TM this summer so he can go back to school in the fall. He received almost a complete ride with scholarships and grants, so there is no way he's going to pass up this chance. We've just got to find him something either 2 or 3rd shift, and preferably something where he will have a little study time during his work shift. It's got to have insurance as well. I'd risk going 2 years without, but with the children being so young, 5 and 7, it would be taking a huge risk to go without. One broken arm and we could lose the house. Not a risk we're willing to take. With everything else falling into place, the $ for school, the timing...I keep telling myself to have a little faith and it will all work out. Mean while, I'm hunting every source I can find for job listings. If I could wrangle one that paid enough, I'd do the hours myself, but I just don't have enough of a work history right now to do it. TM does.
I am a bit bummed at present. I was supposed to go spend the weekend with the woman I love, but TM twisted his ankle at work and the trip had to be postponed. He's in a lace up medical boot and on crutches, and pretty doped up on pain pills, too. He'll be fine and he's feeling much less pain, but it really took all the wind out of my sails this weekend.
I miss her. Really need to feel her next to me, feel her heartbeat under my fingertips, the gentle brush of her lips across mine, the warmth of her presence..*deep sigh*..2 weeks. Two weeks and I'll be there.
When you love someone, being away from them for long periods of time is difficult. I feel her near me all the time, her love, her warmth, her strength, but it's not the same as holding her in my arms and being held.
Two weeks.
Life has been busy. We're trying to line up another job for TM this summer so he can go back to school in the fall. He received almost a complete ride with scholarships and grants, so there is no way he's going to pass up this chance. We've just got to find him something either 2 or 3rd shift, and preferably something where he will have a little study time during his work shift. It's got to have insurance as well. I'd risk going 2 years without, but with the children being so young, 5 and 7, it would be taking a huge risk to go without. One broken arm and we could lose the house. Not a risk we're willing to take. With everything else falling into place, the $ for school, the timing...I keep telling myself to have a little faith and it will all work out. Mean while, I'm hunting every source I can find for job listings. If I could wrangle one that paid enough, I'd do the hours myself, but I just don't have enough of a work history right now to do it. TM does.
I am a bit bummed at present. I was supposed to go spend the weekend with the woman I love, but TM twisted his ankle at work and the trip had to be postponed. He's in a lace up medical boot and on crutches, and pretty doped up on pain pills, too. He'll be fine and he's feeling much less pain, but it really took all the wind out of my sails this weekend.
I miss her. Really need to feel her next to me, feel her heartbeat under my fingertips, the gentle brush of her lips across mine, the warmth of her presence..*deep sigh*..2 weeks. Two weeks and I'll be there.
When you love someone, being away from them for long periods of time is difficult. I feel her near me all the time, her love, her warmth, her strength, but it's not the same as holding her in my arms and being held.
Two weeks.
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