I’m Fine May 28, 2008

Thank you everyone.

I’m fine.

And Britt, Jared, and the kids made it here safely, thank God. I haven’t seen them yet because, rightfully so, their focus is on helping their Jared’s parents and Jared’s brother and sister-in-law and their babies.

I can tell you that everything is changed. Nothing is the same, and I don’t know that it ever will be again.

That I have seen horror and heroism I have never seen the likes of before - and never want to again.

That the photos and videos you see don’t begin to capture what it’s like.

That it’s like walking on the face of the moon. You can’t tell where you are in a town where all your kids grew up - a town you know every inch of - because all the landmarks are gone.

And that I have come to the humbling realization that most of the shit upon which I have been spending my precious time, energy, and thoughts - just doesn’t mean shit.

Whether or not someone likes me, how someone should act or respond to me, or think, or speak, or dress.

The man I ran away from at the end of March - when he heard a tornado was on its way toward me and Creed and he couldn’t get me on the phone - he jumped in his car and headed right into it to get to me to make sure I was safe. Luckily, all he hit was the debris, and made it into Parkersburg minutes after the 15 second toranado took everything. He stayed there because there were bodies everywhere, and he is trained to handle those things. And with phone service out all he could do was attend to the task at hand, and pray for me.

I have heard a lot of songs and read a lot of books and magazine articles about what love is, and I could have told you very clearly on Sunday afternoon what I believe love is.

A few hours later I knew it in my bones.

Being a nurse, as soon as I was assured that I was OK and my residents were OK, I raced into the same war zone and spent the rest of the day helping people I’ve known most of my adult life,

And searching for him. Asking every fireman I saw where his crew was. Asking every familiar face if they’d seen him.

And then I found him.

And I got down on my knees in the rubble and the rain and with the shell shocked people wandering around me and asked him to forgive me for my self indulgence, my arrogance, my holier-than-thou bullshit.

This morning is the first morning that we had more than a few hours’ worth of sleep at a time. I will go back to work here in a few hours because the most productive thing I can do is to calm the fears of those I am resposible for, many of whom lost their homes, or their families did, and can’t comfort them.

And work for co-workers who have lost everything and don’t know when they will be able to come in again.

Everyone has been touched and I know, more than anything, that I am blessed beryond measure. None of mine went to the hospital while the rest of us searched for them. There was one terrifying moment on Sunday night when the man and I searched frantically for Creed, who had spent the day pulling people out from under destruction, carrying food and water from one staging area to the next and had given his cell phone without a thought to a woman trying frantically to reach her family.

Running from place to place, asking everyone “Have you seen Creed? Have you seen my son?” And the mud stained, bleak faces of my friends and neighbors, shaking their heads. “He was here a while ago.”

I could give a shit now about karaoke or - gosh. Anything.

Except my children and grandchildren. And collecting underwear for people, and diapers and formula. And holding the hands of the elderly refugees who have come to us, bandaged, fractured, lacerated and sutured, who ask over and over again, “Tell me again what happened. I don’t understand what happened.”

Hug your children and grandchildren.

What Comes From Too Much Freedom May 24, 2008

Hooray for long weekends!

And in my case a long weekend is a TWO day weekend. In four years at my current job - policy of working “every other holiday” notwithstanding - I have never ever had Memorial Day off.

And I don’t care. Because I am NOT picking up extra hours this weekend, and I have TWO whole days off in a row for the first time in over a month!

I came home last night, fended off friends’ text messages to go out with them, welcomed home my baby boy from college, and sat down at the computer and carved up my paycheck into my bills. And with what’s left over I ordered four brand spanking new windows from my favorite supplier. They’re no frills, but they’re perfect for what I need - their prices are good and - even better - their customer service is terrific!

So I sit here on a cloudy, windy day-off morning wondering: what to do? What to do?

I can’t go shopping. Last night’s online ordering spree took care of that.

Right now I’m in the “not so fun and oh so expensive” part of re-feathering my nest. The “I have to get the walls, windows, and floors sound before I can put anything pretty inside” part.

So all the drooling over design websites is just mental gymnastics - kind of like Avi and porn. Hehehehehehe. The budget, she is shot for another 2-1/2 weeks. Turn on HGTV.

I have been invited here and there, but man, I find it harder and harder to leave my little nest, after being away from it so much and so long.

I love Home. Even as shabby and oddly dysfunctional as it is - and I mean that in a structural sense - for once.

I rescued a homemade bird feeder from the neighbor who made it and was going to throw it away because “it’s summer now and the birds can fend for themselves”. Silly man. Like winter won’t come again.

And that sets me to daydreaming about the “losethelawn” area I envision to the east side of my home - a narrow little strip between my house and the neighbors. I’m not a bland expanse of green grass type person. I see winding walkways and flowers and plants selected for their color and height and texture and fragrance.

I see odd little reclaimed treasures tucked here and there - like this homemade bird feeder that uses a license plate bent as the roof. I want to mount it on a pole and sit by the window and watch the little ones come and breakfast while I do.

I want to curl up on my second hand couch, bare feet tucked under me. When you’re on your feet working as much as I am, the shoes come off when the time clock clicks, not to appear again until it’s time to punch in again. Flip flops, sandals, and bare feet are the order of the day.

I want to take my puppies “bye bye”, even if it’s just a run to the convenience store for cigarettes and a fountain pop. “Home”, in my head, extends to my big old cruiser.

I don’t want to “give” to anyone today - not after several days of not feeling well and a month of giving the best I can manage at work.

I want to cook something. I want to nap. I want to go to the library and get new books. I wonder if libraries have shortened hours for Memorial Day?

I wonder if this post is just mindless rambling - and then I wonder if, if so, what the hell is wrong with that?

Freaking Flu… May 23, 2008

I never get sick.

Honestly, I am smug with the people who “always” have something wrong with them, heartless ass that I am.

And then, Wednesday night, I lay in my bed whimpering like an injured kitty. The sweats, followed by the chills, intermingled with the kind of body aches to my legs and back that were reminiscent of the “growing pains” I had as a kid. The nagging headache for three days - I never get headaches!

Of course I worked Thursday anyway. I can’t afford to take time off unpaid (and no, we don’t get paid sick leave until the second day of illness) and it’s damn near impossible to find my own replacement. Another policy - hazard of the industry. Nurses dare not get sick themselves.

And I was pissy.

I was mainly pissy about my house. This is the first time in my life when I have actually had the time and emotional space to feel creative stirrings about my space.

Up until this point, raising kids, it’s always been just “Do you have a bed? A dresser? Cool. C’mon - we’re late for practice!” Or work, or whatever.

But now I haunt the sites about small space stylish living. For me to even use the term “stylish living” is a new luxury for me.

To have the time to flesh out my thoughts about why small space living is important to me from a philosophical point of view, low impact, leaving a small footprint, anti-McMansion thinking. To develop my ideas about why reclaimed furniture and building materials matter to me. Not just because they’re cheaper.

And I can’t really do anything with all my cool ideas except file them away somewhere in that disorganized mess we’ll call Nanna’s brain.

Because right now, all I can do is focus on the structural necessitites. Shoring up the floors. And a lightweight remedy for the bare insulation in some of my walls. Thw windows that still need to be replaced.

One non-rock-star paycheck at a time. With what’s left after the regular bills are paid. And trying to avoid the paid professionals like the plague, God love ‘em.

But I got some very very good advice yesterday from my beautiful and wise friend Joyce, who told me, when the feelings are swirling about like a little dust storm, to just sit. Wait it out. Don’t act on them, don’t speak based on them. Just wait. Wait until that feeling of calm and peace comes again. As it will.

And inasmuch as it is possible in the middle of said storm, to do what I can to get back to that feeling of peace. Whether that means actually forcing myself to walk and talk and move more slowly - which is actually a very good tool to use at work when I can’t just jump in the car, grab my puppies, and head off to the lake in the middle of my shift.

The older I get, the more vital to me that feeling of “peace” is - whatever that means to anyone else. Not accomplishment and achievement, not the feeling of being “loved” (because I already know I’m loved). Peace - the lack of chaos and drama. Serenity. A deep breath and a cup of coffee.

Those are the feelings I value most right now in my life.

That and sleeping off this damn bug, whatever it is.

I really don’t have time for that crap.

Panic Ensues! No Internet Connection! May 21, 2008

Sometime around 10 am yesterday I was at the computer (agaaaaaiiiiiin) and noticed I couldn’t connect. No big deal, right? Go to the bathroom, have a cigarette, come back.

Nothing.

I will telescope what could be a fun (or boring) story to tell you that I had NO Internet service for about 24 hours. First, there was a widespread outage. Apparently that ended last night. Then today I still had nothing and had to resort to calling tech support.

Which is always a study in personality at the best of times. Frustrated customer vs. human-being-with-no-people-skills-and-that’s-why-they’re-in-tech-support.

I will be the talk around that water cooler today, I’m sure, because after all of my homemade gyrations involving unplugging this, that, and everything remotely wired to my computer and cable modem, it seems all I had to do was push one button for a “quick reset” and - voila!

Smug bastards.

But at least I’m among the land of the living again. “Real world” afficionados, go away.

See, it was my day off yesterday. And see, I am deep into my total cult-like immersion into all things design - as in looking and looking and looking and searching and thinking and so on, on the Internet, for design-for-small-spaces ideas and how-to information.

Throw in a few sidestrips looking for really fun things like “ashtrays that are also artwork” and you have my down-time pursuits right now.

I couldn’t do that yesterday. And that was what I really wanted to do. And I responded about like a two year old - very un-Zen-like.

I was pissy. I was roiling in self pity. I took a three hour nap to get away from myself. I was crabby with the puppies.

Well, obviously, I’m fixed now. Er - my Internet connection is fixed.

I’m chagrined at how un-hippie-like of me it is to be so crazed about not having Internet connection for a brief time.

And tomorrow I will tell you all the fabulous ideas I have now for ripping out a ridiculously ugly and non-functional hall closet/pantry behemoth - and creating a wall of shelving storage on the half wall that separates living from kitchen. Complete with fold down desk for the computer stuff.

But for now I’m just going to google google google.

And giggle.

Wish you were here!

I Am An Encourager - And So Are You May 20, 2008

One time I took a “Spiritual Gifts Inventory”, a thing they do in churches (maybe other places, I don’t know) to help you to discover what it is you are especially gifted by God to do.

Of course, everyone wants the cool rock star gifts like the gifts of healing or prophecy.

I have the gift of Encouragement. Also known, in the King James version, as “exhortation”.

Which means that I am naturally inclined to encourage people. To make them feel welcome and included, to tell them when they look terrific or smell terrific or did a terrific job.

Britt and I were talking this morning about how she, having known the angst of feeling “different” at various times in her life, feels very strongly about never letting anyone else feel excluded. She is always the one who seeks out the quiet one, the one in the corner.

How much more proud can a mother be to say that about her child?

We talked about how many times bloggers are quiet people in their “real lives” (a term I take issue with personally - what in the hell defines a “real life”?) but who, in the blogosphere, can communicate brilliantly and eloquently, with great insight and wit. People who other people actually take the time to sign in, look up, and read every day because they have something to say. Who, in a group of other bloggers, blossom into these relaxed and confident people, comfortable with who they are.

You’ve heard me say before that “everybody has a song that needs singing” or some shit like that.

I really believe that.

Which is why I tend to have a motley, eclectic collection of friends and companions of all ages and socioeceonomic backgrounds.

If you can look past the various “hats” people wear, there are often some really fabulous finds. Gracious, wistful, parallel-plane people whose perspective is just skewed enough relative to mine to be able to provide a valuable perspective.

I also believe very strongly that “everyone needs a flock”, an emotional home to which they can return, relax, kick off their psychic shoes and just let it all hang out, secure in the knowledge that they will be safe and nurtured and just plain OK, exactly as they are.

It can be hard, if you’re a little bit “different”, to feel like you haven’t found your flock. (Think ugly duckling trying to fit in until she realizes she’s a swan.)

And a lot of us go through a lot of stages thinking, “Maybe this is my flock” and, “Ope, nope, surely that is my flock.” When what we’re really doing is trying on different personas ourselves to see if we can fit in with the great Them.

Lord knows, I’ve thrown myself headlong into my Evangelical Christian persona, my party girl barfly persona, my Man Hating Dianic persona. Let’s see. Always the Hippie Persona. The Soccer Mom (actually, wrestling mom) persona.

The thing is, I am all of those things, in part. (Except the Dianic one - I really don’t have the attention span to pull off that one.) What it has taken me a long time to realize (like in the last two months) is that I am a sum of the total of all those parts.

And we all are.

And that’s what makes people cool.

That none of us can be defined by these rigid “personas” like “the pot heads” and “the in crowd” and “the jocks” in high school.

All of us are a crazy patchwork quilt of lots of different personas - roles we’ve tried on over the years of our lives, keeping some parts of them, and dropping others.

And that’s what is the Great Adventure of being around other people.

To invest the time to see past the “comic book freak”, the “goth chick”, the “barfly” or whatever other labels we stick on people.

And don’t kid yourself. We all label people. We have to, in a sense, just to minimize the input that comes screaming at us every day. We categorize and profile people for a reason.

I’m just saying we don’t have to stop there.

I have to tell you about a lovely little treasure in my life, a high school girl I work with.

She’s a “goth chick”. She wears all black, all the time, and her eye make up would make Cleopatra envious. She’s all into “emo”, whatever the hell that is. At 17, she’s pierced and tattooed everywhere.

And she has a giggle like pink lemonade - which bubbles up all day every day. You can hear her down the hall, and it makes me giggle myself every single time.

She’s also devoutly Catholic, and just flat out happy. Not things I thought were part of the whole “goth” thing.

She displays the most consistent patience and affection with the residents I work with, and she and I have sat and had the most in-depth conversations about everything under the sun.

Now take my little friend, and multiply her by the dozens or hundreds of people I encounter every day.

Imagine the endless possibilities.

No, I’m not saying I like everybody.

Part of the payoff of taking the time to get to know people is the ability to say, with clarity and integrity, nope, I really don’t like them personally. Not someone I’d like to hang around with.

But the other part is to be able to say, I wouldn’t want to be married to that person, or be their roommate every day. But certainly to spend some time listening to them, hanging out with them, that is a gift.

And so, I try to make sure I tell them that.

There are people who come here and comment a lot whom I have never met. Not even sure how they found me. But when they do comment - and of course, espcially when they comment positively, and take the time to leave well thought out feedback, it damn near brings me to tears every time.

That someone would spend their precious minutes to read, reflect, and respond.

When you do that, you are an Encourager.

And thus you are an antidote to alienation and cynicism and defensive postures - all things we all see too much of in our “real lives”.

There’s that freaking term again! Damn it!

Ode to the Inner Bitch May 19, 2008

I have said the same sentence so many times to my baby. “Honey - release your inner bitch.” If you’ve read or met Britt at all, you know she has some very strong and well thought out opinions on a lot of things.

But like her mother before her who taught her - and like a lot of women I know - there are times we feel justified in expressing those strong opinions - strongly. And times when we sit back and mewl like kittens, all in the name of “being nice”.

“Release your inner bitch.” I became so enamored of phrase I coined that I started using it with other women I talk to. Mothers whose teenage kids talk to them with disrespect. Wives and girlfriends whose men do something we wouldn’t tolerate in a girlfriend.

And I am all about live-and-let-live. And compassion, and everybody has a reality from their own perspective. And listening. And letting it roll off my back. I’m a hippie, remember?

But there are times, damn it, when it’s time to draw the line in the sand, bare one’s teeth, and dare some stupid ass to cross it.

Everybody has their own triggers.

I have two.

One is to insinuate, or say outright, that I lie. Because I don’t. I think it’s childish - what are you going to do if you don’t like my truth? Spank me? Ground me?

I also don’t have the attention span to lie because then I would have to remember what story I told you, in order to perpetuate it.

And foremost, I hate having to try to have any kind of a relationship with someone who lies, because I’m building my half of the sand castle leaning against yours - and if you lie, there is no support on your side for the castle - er- relationship.

I taught my kids when they were little that the two worst things they could do in the world were to lie and be mean to people. All three of them, plus various other kids who I “mothered” over the years” can repeat that phrase by rote.

So don’t fucking ever say to me that I lie. Or sunny sweet Nanna will turn into rabid nasty Nanna with a vocabulary arsenal that will cut you to shreds.

The inner bitch is released.

That happened to me this weekend. Someone knowing my aversion to lying, in an attempt to get my goat, implied that I was a liar. And the needle buried itself in the red zone in less than a second.

I let loose and said all (no, most) of the things I’ve always bit my tongue from saying before because, typically, women have brakes on their tongues. You can fight and argue and say hurtful things but there are always those things that are never brought up. The deepest insecurities. The most putrid wounds.

But damn it, you asked for it.

And afterward I felt a little ashamed of myself because I really do try to be a “good person”.

And then today I thought to myself, nope.

There are times when you have to let people know that here is the boundary. You may trespass this close and no farther. Because if you do, I will fuck up your world. I will remind you that I took the time to get to know you, and I know where your skeletons are buried.

My number two trigger is to threaten me. Not so much with bodily harm because, seriously, I’ve had my ass beat before, and lived through it. At this point in my life, someone who raises a hand to me is going to have a scrap on their hands, because I’m not at all afraid.

But don’t ever threaten my ability to take care of myself, to support myself. I’m paycheck to paycheck as it is, and will be for a couple more years yet (or longer, if I join the cultural trend), and I lay awake sometimes at night trying to figure out how to gracefully make it to payday.

So don’t freaking ever threaten my income.

I will come barrelling out the door with the zeal of every peasant woman who ever brandished a broom to protect her home.

Except that my broom is my mouth - and it has spikes on it.

Today, instead of having that anger hangover that I dreaded, I feel finally more centered. As if I took hold of the leash someone had been yanking me around with and yanked it back into my own two little hands.

This is my life. My best advice to anyone who has a problem with my life is to stay the hell out of it. Find your Zen elsewhere, if I’m so damn upsetting. This is my dance space, and yours is way the hell over there.

I don’t get headaches, baby. I give them.

I’m almost 48 years old, and I don’t need another parent figure. I don’t need a moral compass. I don’t need teenage relationship drama.

What I need - and what I can create for my own self, thank you very much - is peaceful surroundings splashed with beauty.

I need stimulating conversation about things that matter to me - my kids and their kids, the environment, the upcoming election, the sad decline of Christianity into the Pharisaic mentality that my Lord died to free me from.

Stuff like that.

You can clutter my life with whining and moaning and a list of “should’s” for me for so long. But when you cross that line, look out.

I will release my inner bitch.

And I promise you. You will come away remembering her.

My Sunday Advice - Do It Anyway May 18, 2008

Actually, this makes me laugh. I am the least qualified person I know to offer anyone advice - and typically people don’t want anyone else’s “advice”.

But I had to come up with something for a headline, right?

Don’t Wait Until _____ To Be Happy. We can all fill in the blanks with any number of things - which would be a fascinating survey in itself.

When we get these bills paid off. I do that one myself. In 2-1/2 years my financial situation will look a lot different than it does now. Unless I get hit by a feed truck and die in the meantime.

When I lose ____ pounds. This one breaks my heart. I’ve never met a woman who doesn’t chain herself to some stump with this one.

When the kids are grown. Or in kindergarten. Or when summer gets here. Or when school starts up again.

When my kitchen is “done”, I will have friends over. Unless, as I said, I die first. Which could happen. Do it anyway. If your friends don’t want to come into a screwed up kitchen, get new friends. Furnish your kitchen first with warmth and memories. The rest will follow.

When I’m done with my degree, then I can start doing stuff I want. Except - uh - you won’t. Because then you’ll be working at your first big job and exhausted and buying stuff you could never afford before and then working more to pay for it. Creed. Do stuff you want right now, and treasure every minute of it.

When we move in together/get married/have kids, our relationship will really blossom and settle into an idyllic fairy tale. Until I get the flu and shit the bed. Or you have a heart attack and can’t work anymore. Or get sent off to war and come home a paraplegic. Or in a box. Make the fairy tale now. Or shut up.

We’ve all talked about the movie “The Bucket List” and even I, the last person to ever get in on anything, saw it. Loved it.

And I don’t have a grand list like “See something truly majestic” on it.

Because I see something majestic every single day of my life.

And so do you, if you truly “saw”.

My baby is going to New York next month because it’s something she’s always wanted to do, and I am very very proud of her.

But it doesn’t have to be that big and grand of a thing.

Get a pedicure if you’ve never had one. Or even if it’s just been too long since you’ve had one. Unless, like me, you’re kind of “meh” about pedicures. Nice, but, eh, I can live without it.

Don’t let anyone else tell you what you should want.

Just want. And then go do it.

This weekend, I really want to make gumbo and eat it with my son. So I’m off to the store to buy the ingredients.

In my life, I have known the following people:

A young man in his early twenties who went out hunting with friends for a day, and came home a quadriplegic. Who then finished college, bought a house and fitted it all out for his needs, and got an awesome job. Who has a wicked sense of humor.

A man who worked all his life the way he was “supposed to”, saw his lifelong employer go belly up and his pension disappear, and his wife develop and live with Alzheimer’s under his care until she died. Who is one of my best and most favorite friends.

A woman who left all she knew and had to follow a man to another continent, only to have said marriage dissolve, and then created a fascinating and colorful life for herself with her own two hands. Not without its mishaps, but without her, I would not exist. She was my mom.

I am acutely aware of how precarious life can be, how comically our plans can turn out, and how very very unaware of how much joy there is to be had - that we blithely and irresponsibly ignore.

If we want a more joyous world in which to live, we have to start being more joyous people.

And we already have everything we need right now to be at least a little bit joyous.

Do it for me. I need more joyous people around me.

Cynical, whiny ass people suck the life out of me.

I’m your girl if you need a sympathetic ear when you’re going through a rough patch.

But if you want to stay there and build a cozy little nest in misery, constantly cataloguing everything that’s ever not turned out your way, everyone who’s ever disappointed you or not appreciated you or hurt your feelings or broke your heart - please go elsewhere.

Bring me your gifts of joy, and I will share mine with you.

Or get the fuck outtahere.

*giggle*

Random thought: A long time ago I met a guy who told me, very seriously, how “vulgar” he thought it was to hear a woman use the word “c*cksucker”. And actually, I kind of think so too. But being who I am, what word do you suppose I used 48 times in the next five minutes in every possible combination I could think of? Hehehehehehehehe

An Unplanned Night That Turned Out Fabulously May 17, 2008

Did you ever notice how the very best nights out aren’t planned at all? They’re the result of somebody’s “Let’s go do something” and may wind up anywhere. But maybe it’s because there aren’t any expectations other than a little unwinding that suddenly everyone’s having the time of their lives.

I really needed a few hours away with friends, especially after a long few weeks work wise and holing myself up by myself to do some much needed thinking. It’s good to spend time by yourself - and I’m really glad to have that opportunity, when I know a lot of people (women especially) don’t.

But I am - as we all know - a social creature. And sometimes just to sit and mingle and laugh with a bunch of people is exactly what the doctor ordered.

I got my hair cut Thursday. I am one of those women who typically drags her feet about getting her hair cut because I’m so afraid they’re going to screw it up. I have long curly hair that I love, as you’ve probably seen, and it’s not as common as you would think to find someone who knows how to cut hair like that and have it come out looking good.

Well, to make a long story short, I did. Someone actually who also has curly hair. So she layered the shit out of my hair and then, for fun, she straightened it with a flat iron. I felt like I was wearing a beautiful disguise.

So when my friend called and asked if I wanted to go out for a few hours after work, I said sure!

Now, I get off work at 10:30 at night. Bars here close a little before 2. Obviously, we aren’t talking about even the possibility of an all out bacchanalia.

We made it to the local hangout at 11 and had a drink. Not much going on there, and we had to go pick up my friend’s daughter at a friends’ at some point.

So we headed out of town, I called another friend, and off we went to meet her. In a bar in the town I just moved away from two months ago.

And wouldn’t you know it, they were having karaoke.

No, I didn’t sing, but my friend did. “It’s My Life” by Bon Jovi. I ran into a bunch of women friends I hadn’t seen in so, so long. Hug - hug. Air kiss - air kiss.

I don’t know how to explain it to you but it was just very cool. There was a gaggle of young ones doing a lot of the singing, and there was one young girl who seriously rocked. In fact, she and another girl sang a song that took me back to my daughter’s teen years - “Shoop”? And that made me very tickled.

At two we headed over to get the daughter in yet another town and met these two very cool women - the moms of the daughter’s friends. One of them said, offhandedly, “Yeah, my kids call me a hippie.” and I almost swooned.

I got home far too late for someone who knew her dogs would wake her early - but it was before four, so that’s good.

And of course, I have to work today and tomorrow. In fact, I have to train today, which I hate under normal circumstances. But it’s part of my job, and a part I take seriously.

Now I feel defensive, like “I didn’t do anything wrong.” The results of past conditioning and continued harranguing. I’m not the minister of a megachurch caught trying to boink a 13 year old girl like this guy, after all.

I saw some friends my kids had graduated with, in town for a wedding. And as I said, some women friends I really really like whom I haven’t seen in a long, long time. And of course the random faces that exist just to entertain me. No old boyfriends or ex-husbands on the horizon - no drama - everyone just having fun.

I love those unplanned things!

Things That I Really, Really Like May 16, 2008

This is kind of a silly post. But then, I am in kind of a silly mood. Just, you know, happy.

I was going to title this post “Things I Love” but then I would have to do the whole disclaimer thing about how, most of all of course, I love my children, my grandchildren, blah blah blah. Or be branded a bad mother and shallow person.

I do love those things - er, people - with a fiery passion and fierceness that would scare you, were you to run afoul of it.

But that’s not the point of this post. This is merely a “fluff” post, written to celebrate a lovely, contented and grateful mood I’m in.

Here is a list of things that I Really Like a Lot, that Make Me Happy:

My Washing Machine and My Clothesline: Because I can make my entire world look and smell and feel better simply by washing my bed linens, hanging them out to dry, and then snuggling into them at night.

My Puppies: No, they are not my children. But they are indeed, my roommates and friends. When I tell people that “we” are going to the park or for a walk or to Dollar General, they are the companions to whom I am referring. They are the “people” I spend most of my time with, outside of work. Not because I am a lonely loser, but because they are funny as hell, adore the shit out of me, and make me laugh consistently.

My New “Outdoor Living Space”: Which sounds a lot cooler than it is, aesthetically speaking. I dragged my old wicker loveseat around to the south end of my house, which faces very little. And I sit out there of a morning smoking cigarettes, drinking a great big travel cup of hot coffee, listening to the birds and feeling unseen, because of the big tree which has finally leafed out and which shields me.

My New Bathroom: with virgin vanity territory, that I can leave stuff out on, like my new flat iron, and go to work and not worry about it being in anyone’s way or “space” or looking untidy. I like everything about it, from the peel and stick tile floors that look like stone, to the cabinet doors I primed and painted and put hinges on and hung all by myself - and they work! To the hidden nook for my laundry basket. I like it a lot.

Reading Other People’s Blogs In The Morning: There are really some fascinating people around. It’s like, when I read the paper newspaper eons ago, I always went to the Op-Ed section and read the columns and editorials first. Because people, and their perspectives, are amazing. I can’t list one without listing a lot, and then surely I’d leave someone out. But it’s a treasure in my life.

That’s my short list today.

What are some things that you really like, that make you happy on an ordinary day?

My Idea for a “Shit List” May 15, 2008

My best friend, this morning, was sleeping in her bed. Her ex-husband, who is psychotic, came to her door because she didn’t answer any of the 10 threatening and insulting voicemail messages he had left her calling her a “tramp”, a “whore”, and a “loser”, and their daughter let him in the house.

She heard his voice and escaped into the bathroom, which he proceeded to enter, called her a few more names, and then whacked her across the face and knocked her right off the toilet onto the floor.

She got herself up, attempted to chase him out the door, while he is continually calling her names, and finally lost it, whipping a set of keys in her hand at his back.

He finally left, she called the cops, and discovered that if she presses charges they will both go to jail because “it was all said and done with” and then she threw the keys at him - making it a double assault.

Sigh. Deep heavy sigh.

She also can’t get a restraining order “until he does something”. I stood right there next to the officer telling her “not in ____ County, anyway”.

So what are we to do?

By the way, said psycho ex-husband hates my guts with a fiery passion because I have dared to tell him, to his face, to knock it off, leave, and that, oh, by the way, I think men who talk to their wives and hit them like he has for years should be buried up to their necks in the sand and a lawn mower run over their heads. You know - kind of as a public service.

I am also, in his book, a “whore”, a “tramp”, and a “loser”.

Which - whatever. I’ve had my ass beat by bigger men than him and should push ever come to shove and he make a threatening move toward me, I know without a doubt I could tear him limb from limb.

The point is - the nutty fucker drives by here day and night. (My friend is also who I bought my palace from and lives about - I don’t know - 30 secs walk away from me.) He calls her day and night repeatedly.

OK, so the law is set up so that “they” can’t do anything to him until he kills her, or somes close.

What about the rest of society?

I don’t know who said that evil exists - nay, even thrives, when good men do nothing.

And I absolutely believe it is my job, as a woman hell bent on leaving the world a better place for being here, that I have the right, even the obligation, to confront shit like this by standing up calmly and saying, “Alright, knock it off. Your behavior is not acceptable here, it will not be tolerated, so go away.”

And then someone told me, yeah, but if you do that, you just inflame the situation.

So I guess what we’re all supposed to do is just sit there and be called names by needle dick freaked out wife beating assholes?

Um. No.

There has to be a better alternative.

I really don’t care about being called a bitch or any derivative thereof. I am one, certainly, at times.

At one time I had the brilliant idea of publishing a “shit list”. You know, as in “Oh, I’m on her shit list today.” And just taking submissions from women and publishing them with men’s names, not with hearsay and mean spirited revenge stuff, but just with verifiable stuff like “doesn’t pay his child support”, “beats his wife”, “cheated on his wife” - and leaving that list in places like bars where women and men run into each other.

That way, should a man and woman meet and there be some interest generated, the woman could say, “Hold on,” look him up, and see what his past “references” are.

Yes, there would still be the morons like me who would say stuff like “Oh, he’s not like that with me” and “Oh, nobody understands him like me.” Which makes me laugh to think about, I am so predictable, and why I want to be alone because I know the kind of mental contortions I do.

But maybe - maybe? - it would have the effect of old fashioned shunning. Maybe those little pukes would all go somewhere where they could hang with like minded pukes and leave the rest of the world alone.

Maybe it would change the world.

Yes I know. I KNOW, Adam - who will invariably point out the flaws in my idea from a legal point of view. I love you Adam. I really do. You would never be on anybody’s shit list, except maybe - temporarily - on Britt’s sometimes.

I’m open to ideas for refinements.