Here is a list of ten things no one knows about me. I think.
(1) Sometimes after a stressful day at work, I, or someone who looks freakishy similar to me, will play country music full blast in her jeep on the way home. Not that I, or she, likes country music mind you. I-she just finds the corny lyrics played loudly after hearing the same non-obtrusive mind numbing music repeatedly force onto me-her, to have a defunkafiing effect. When coming to a stop light I-she will roll up her window so not to be overheard and nod her head in random rhythm as if to "fly" tunes.
(2) I once had a French Canadian boyfriend named Skeeter Minyeah. (min-yeah, I purposely misspelled his last name encase he googles himself and finds out what I geek I turned into and the fact I am now telling both our dark secreats.) Skeeter was three years younger than me at the time. Not a a big deal now but back in the day that was a big age difference. He gave me his blue soft flannel shirt after confiding in me his real name was Lawance, to keep me from telling anyone. During stressful times I would sleep in his shirt to self comfort. Without washing. Ever. I liked Skeeters smell that much. Not that he, personally was a comforting person. On the contrary, he could be somewhat of a hyper spaz. I continued to wear it occasional, unwashed for the first two years after I moved in with Hubby. Then he unknowingly threw it in with a load of darks. I would still were it now if it hadn't burned.
(3) I have owned my Harley now for twelve years but have never gotten my motorcycle endorsement. I hate tests that much. I took the safety classes and got the highest score out of the thirty attending (experienced male drivers included) on the written test and won a t-shirt. I had my permit on which I missed only one question but it long since expired. Authorities see a chick on a hog dressed in full ridding gear and think I'm legite. Someday. Maybe.
(4) When I was fourteen and staying at a fishing resort, living and working as a cabin girl, I ran off to see the pope whille he was on tour, up in Winnipeg Canada, with a bunch of drunken tourist resort goers. Colleen, my sixteen year old cabin mate and I were not catholic, it just sounded fun to see the pope-mobile. About a hundred twenty five miles on the other side of the border when they sobered up and realized we were minors, they made me pull the van over, so they could drive us back. The man who had me relinquish the wheel bought me my first Dairy Queen in a small town called Manitowakee. They told our resort owner boss we had been out fishing so we would not get fired. We stopped for fresh fish at the next resort over before returning as evidence.
(5) I have a stock pile supply of my favorite Popeye canned spinach that I hold out from my family. I tear the labels off the cans and write things like "pumpkin" or "sliced beets" on the can so they will not eat my beloved supply.
(6) If I think about what I am doing, I cannot walk down the stairs without falling. If I ponder about the fact I am actually going down the stairs, I then must stop talking to concentrate on what I am doing, and watch me feet. I have my stairs in my house counted so I know in the back of my mind how many times I have to pick my feet up. If I mess up , I try walking straight off the second to the last stair into the air. Or I will do that stupid little extra-one more step dance at the flat floor bottom thinking I have one more to go. Yes, must be a uncoordinated depth-perception thing I have missing. I want a stair chair lift for Christmas. Shoot, now I have psyced myself into it and over thought this too much and am gonna crash when I finish this to go downstairs.
(7) I once officially changed my name to "Cookie". I would not answer to anything but "Cookie". I was five years old at the time, I later changed it to "Bonnie". I now love my real name. I would not change it to "Cookie" for all the cookies in the world. (And I certainly wouldn't share them with Bonnie.)
(8) Once in an extremely intimate moment, my partner whispered to me, "Be my naughty little girl", encouragingly. To which I replied with all sincerity, "Yesss....I'm missing church!". I was. It was a Wednesday night.
(9)When my youngest son, K2 was an infant I actually did dress him up as a little girl just to know what it would feel like to have a daughter to deck out in frills. Please don't tell him that I did, as my version now is that I had only wanted to. It didn't work. I couldn't get him in the pink little outfit. My cat, on the other hand, looked quite sweet in it.
(10) When I first met Hubby, I told him I couldn't even boil water, much less cook, Granted, I certainly didn't know how to whip out the dishes I do now. But man, back then I sure was taken out to dinner a lot.
(10.a) I am secretly married to the Rock. You wonder why I refure to my other half as Hubby, and that he works out of town so frequent? We just like to keep our personal life out of the spotlight. That other "wife" is just an actress front for our protection. The little girl you ask? Take a close look. Our love child.
Ok so it 10 out of 11 true things about me that few know about. Guess all you want but I'm not letting you in on which is untrue. Not without some bribes here.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Smack Like That Leaves a Mark
I think I was born with skin problems. The nurse assured my surprised mum in that delivery room that the birthing rash would disappear once I subjected to some sunlight to my skin to eliminate the effects of jaundice. That helped somewhat for the first dozen years of my life but I've been plagued by acne ever since. Doctors told me it was excessive hormones and once I was graduated from puberty I would be home clear. In that interim, I've passed through adolescence, young adult, motherhood and yes, grandmotherhood. Now don't get your undies all in a bunch I am a grandmother by way of my Hubbies first marriage. Step Grandma-ma zit Munkay. Woaw is me, I now have pimples in my wrinkles.
I do ok with this superficial handicap. My family will tease me about my vanity. But I am real about my looks. I am nothing but average looking. Except for this harry tail that I keep having to shave or tuck up under my skirt. I do though have great self confidence. I like how I now look and am comfortable with myself. I have been called too skinny at one point of my life. When I weight fifty-five pounds more than I do now, my skin didn't matter as much. I was too wrapped up in the size of my thighs or my butt at the time. Ironically, my sweetheart Hubby loved my body more when I was larger. I, on the other hand loved myself less. My size, when I try hard, is something I can controll.
I do have my good days, along with my bad ones. One my good days my looks have gotten me things. Front row concert tickets to Aerosmith, were they fill the front rows with females for example. Bowie picked me out of the audience and asked my name. It was my picture that one the photography contest. Big bucks were my reward from the wet t shirt contest. (They weren't judging on size.)
My bad days I try not to remember as well. A well meaning stranger once asked my if I used soap on my face. "No, just the stuff my dermatologist gives me", I answer knowing full well what her next question would be. When you are zit challenged, you learn to grow a thicker skin. I cannot count the times I have been asked if I have ever thought about seeing some one for my skin.
When I was diabetic I assumed it was just the toxins from the sugar my body could not use that caused my flare ups. In desperation I went on a four month detox diet and would not touch meat of any kind, dairy, white flour, sugar, caffeine or soda. I lost a large amount of weight which only caused my pimples to stand out more pronounced on my thin face. "You are starving your skin, eat!", my dermatologist, Dr. Feelgood told me. Then he asked me out to dinner. I still am unsure if he was attracted to me or the fact I was a professional challenge.
My Hubby is the only one aloud to tease me about my face. That is because he does without cruelty and in good humor. "You growing yourself another head there baby?" he will ask when seeing a new pimple. "That one I'm gonna name Shela", he will anounce as if it were a welcome addition to our family.
There are days when I wake up and my skin actually hurts. But nothing hurt as much as when a longtime friend Mitch gave a cut that wount just disapear.
I certainly did not chose Mitch as a friend because of his looks. I thought his beauty to be internal and it was his personality that attracted me. He was quite the extra-extrovert and had a habit of turning people off in most social settings. I always had felt uncomfortable when acompanying him in public. I was more than alittle ashamed of being seen with him at events when he was unable to find a date. But I had always looked for the good in him, and had felt sorry that for him that he was single.
A group of friends were at his place and I was cooking all of us dinner. I had left the room but was not out of ear-shot when I heard a Heidi make the comment to him, "You should really go for that Munkay, then you would have it made." I lingered longer to hear the words that would fall on me like bricks. "Never. No way. Not with that face." I do not remember the rest of that dinner after I picked my ego up off the floor and brushed my tears off it.
Maybe Mitch had always felt my embarrassment at being seen with him. He probly had his own self esteem issuses. Could even be why his teenager cuts school when his acne flares its ugly head. I just hope Mitch's internal beauty was worth my attention. "Sticks and stones may break my bones but its words like that that scar."
I do ok with this superficial handicap. My family will tease me about my vanity. But I am real about my looks. I am nothing but average looking. Except for this harry tail that I keep having to shave or tuck up under my skirt. I do though have great self confidence. I like how I now look and am comfortable with myself. I have been called too skinny at one point of my life. When I weight fifty-five pounds more than I do now, my skin didn't matter as much. I was too wrapped up in the size of my thighs or my butt at the time. Ironically, my sweetheart Hubby loved my body more when I was larger. I, on the other hand loved myself less. My size, when I try hard, is something I can controll.
I do have my good days, along with my bad ones. One my good days my looks have gotten me things. Front row concert tickets to Aerosmith, were they fill the front rows with females for example. Bowie picked me out of the audience and asked my name. It was my picture that one the photography contest. Big bucks were my reward from the wet t shirt contest. (They weren't judging on size.)
My bad days I try not to remember as well. A well meaning stranger once asked my if I used soap on my face. "No, just the stuff my dermatologist gives me", I answer knowing full well what her next question would be. When you are zit challenged, you learn to grow a thicker skin. I cannot count the times I have been asked if I have ever thought about seeing some one for my skin.
When I was diabetic I assumed it was just the toxins from the sugar my body could not use that caused my flare ups. In desperation I went on a four month detox diet and would not touch meat of any kind, dairy, white flour, sugar, caffeine or soda. I lost a large amount of weight which only caused my pimples to stand out more pronounced on my thin face. "You are starving your skin, eat!", my dermatologist, Dr. Feelgood told me. Then he asked me out to dinner. I still am unsure if he was attracted to me or the fact I was a professional challenge.
My Hubby is the only one aloud to tease me about my face. That is because he does without cruelty and in good humor. "You growing yourself another head there baby?" he will ask when seeing a new pimple. "That one I'm gonna name Shela", he will anounce as if it were a welcome addition to our family.
There are days when I wake up and my skin actually hurts. But nothing hurt as much as when a longtime friend Mitch gave a cut that wount just disapear.
I certainly did not chose Mitch as a friend because of his looks. I thought his beauty to be internal and it was his personality that attracted me. He was quite the extra-extrovert and had a habit of turning people off in most social settings. I always had felt uncomfortable when acompanying him in public. I was more than alittle ashamed of being seen with him at events when he was unable to find a date. But I had always looked for the good in him, and had felt sorry that for him that he was single.
A group of friends were at his place and I was cooking all of us dinner. I had left the room but was not out of ear-shot when I heard a Heidi make the comment to him, "You should really go for that Munkay, then you would have it made." I lingered longer to hear the words that would fall on me like bricks. "Never. No way. Not with that face." I do not remember the rest of that dinner after I picked my ego up off the floor and brushed my tears off it.
Maybe Mitch had always felt my embarrassment at being seen with him. He probly had his own self esteem issuses. Could even be why his teenager cuts school when his acne flares its ugly head. I just hope Mitch's internal beauty was worth my attention. "Sticks and stones may break my bones but its words like that that scar."
Innocent Evil
So I'm not into the halloween thing bigtime. Being that every day is scare day here, and dressing up in a costume and eating essive amount of candy is considered the norm anytime in our family, halloween holds nothing special for me. Being based on wicken and pagan beliefs, the Christian in me is offend that our school allows for the decorations to be put up and a party celebrated in honor of the day while Christmas is now looked at as politically correct only if camouflaged by the title Seasons Holidays. I live with two boys here, blood and gore happen in real life way too often. But by no means am I against kids having a good time and acting out of normal behavior. Throw in some mini chocolate bars and the party is one.
The only decoration I have is a picture of my youngest son. He is about two and a half years old. I snapped it while I was sitting at the dinner table and K2 is standing on the chair at the sink. It is his third day straight of wearing his costume. He is standing with three quarters of his body facing me. Black turtle neck and cape. Arms out to show off the draping wings effect of his cape. He is staring proudly straight at me through lowered lash rimmed eyes. Best of all, he is pantsless.
The only decoration I have is a picture of my youngest son. He is about two and a half years old. I snapped it while I was sitting at the dinner table and K2 is standing on the chair at the sink. It is his third day straight of wearing his costume. He is standing with three quarters of his body facing me. Black turtle neck and cape. Arms out to show off the draping wings effect of his cape. He is staring proudly straight at me through lowered lash rimmed eyes. Best of all, he is pantsless.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Crazy Marge's National Cake Day
She was unraveled when I met her. Call it what you like, paranoid, delusional, senile, her real name was Marge. She might of once been a kind, sweet lady, but that type of behavior I was never witness to when I knew her. She did one thing really well to her credit. As a single mom when there were few devorced women, she did a fantastic job of raising my husband. I just pray to God, Hubby doesn't inherit her dementia.
The first time I met her I started out the relationship totally on the wrong foot. I turned down the piece of lemon meringue pie she had offered me. I had not realized back then in my naive state, that the one of the few foods I dislike was the very same food she loved to make. Often. Or perhalps she never liked to make lemon meringue pie until she knew I hated it. "You don't get much out of this world, but the little bit of food you put in you", Marge would always comment when I turned down her pie. Anyway the bonding never grew with my mother in law. Perhalps because I stole her Oil of Olay. (she would hide it and lose it, then blame me.) Or maybe it was the men that she imagined living in her walls that whispered foul things about me to her. I feel bad for her now, that must have been horrible for her to have believed such awful things were going on around her. At the time it was fustrating for us. But her antics were always sadly humorous as well. "Don't get wind on your neck, you'll catch cold", she would warn me in July. The day she moved all her belongings into our old hunting truck were she planned to live, we knew we could not take care of her any longer. She was not my biological Mum or even related, but the older I become, the more sense that woman made.
Yesterday started out very stressful. It was one of those days that I woke up late and behind schedule for my busy day ahead of me. I was to work before going into work. I needed to bake a large special order cheese cake and take it into the bistro for the catering job I was preparing for. Hoping to make use of my kitchen before the rest of my family invaded my clean work space, I came down stairs to my quiet area and stopped dead in my tracks. A pack of cackling jackals destroyed the room the night before while I had slept. Dirt everywhere and on everything. I had to do a thurow cleaning before I could begin to bake. I was almost finished with sparking suroundings when my boys woke up and came bounding into my territory. 'Morning Mom! What's for breakfast?" they greeted me. "Cereal, later when I am done" is my reply. Three hours or so later I convince them to leave me alone to work in my kitcken. I had just started mixing the ingredients with my stand mixer with my back to it when K1 sneaks back in and I catch him with his fingers in my batter. "ARRRRRRGHHH- NOO!", I howl knowing full well I cannot sell a cake someone's fingers have been in. I start a new cake, scraping together enough cream cheese for the five pound monster I am to bake.
My second attept at gastomic success is just about ready to come out of the oven when the manager of my work calls to tell me that she was mistaken, the party is NEXT weekend not today. Sorry I don't need to come in. Sorry my cheese cake loving ass I think as I slam around my kitchen in a disgruntled huff. Waste my morning will you.
"Mom! Mom! Mom! Can we have the cake? And can you pick up the Jakes and take us over to Eli"s with it?", the kids plot. "Your not going into work?", my hubby skeams. "Good you can give me a hair cut and help me winterize my boat", is his brilliant plans for my now "free" day. "Mom! Hurry- we gotta be at Eli's already!" Everyone now has plans to fill my time off.
I am searching through my utility door for my car keys and my eyes spot Marge's silver pie server sitting there seldom used. "I'll show them", I thought as I grabbed up that instrument of torture along with that hog swamping cake and headed for my couch. "Your dad will drive you- I'm on vacation."
When hubby came back he found me on the couch, were I spent the rest of the day bonding with that cake. I was in the cake zone. I was one with the cake. I was behind that cake. I was all about cake. It took me all day but I finished that cake, eating it with my silver spoon if you will.
Yes it was five pounds I know because I put four pounds of cheese in it.
I once made a friend of mine a French silk chocolate pie for his birthday and Mitch ate the entire thing. I marveled at his ability at the time but he told me, "I enjoyed the whole thing immensely, it was delicious, but I can tell you truthfully, the last bite wasn't as good as the first." I beg to differ Mitch, the last bite was a challenge, finishing that last bite was a reward in its self.
But I wasn't lazy on that couch. I read while I ate. Between chapters of Anna Korina , I'd eat and nap. I'd even change positions occasionaly. Whenever family members got too near I'd yell things like, "Damn men in the wall ate my cake!" Or, "One step closer and I'm moving out to the truck without a scarf for my neck!" scary but effective words around here.
That Marge was onto something good. You don't get out of this world with much but the little bit of food you put into yourself. In her honor I proclaim yesterday as National Cake Day. Do yourself a favor and eat a cake or a pie for her, please. Scarves optional.
The first time I met her I started out the relationship totally on the wrong foot. I turned down the piece of lemon meringue pie she had offered me. I had not realized back then in my naive state, that the one of the few foods I dislike was the very same food she loved to make. Often. Or perhalps she never liked to make lemon meringue pie until she knew I hated it. "You don't get much out of this world, but the little bit of food you put in you", Marge would always comment when I turned down her pie. Anyway the bonding never grew with my mother in law. Perhalps because I stole her Oil of Olay. (she would hide it and lose it, then blame me.) Or maybe it was the men that she imagined living in her walls that whispered foul things about me to her. I feel bad for her now, that must have been horrible for her to have believed such awful things were going on around her. At the time it was fustrating for us. But her antics were always sadly humorous as well. "Don't get wind on your neck, you'll catch cold", she would warn me in July. The day she moved all her belongings into our old hunting truck were she planned to live, we knew we could not take care of her any longer. She was not my biological Mum or even related, but the older I become, the more sense that woman made.
Yesterday started out very stressful. It was one of those days that I woke up late and behind schedule for my busy day ahead of me. I was to work before going into work. I needed to bake a large special order cheese cake and take it into the bistro for the catering job I was preparing for. Hoping to make use of my kitchen before the rest of my family invaded my clean work space, I came down stairs to my quiet area and stopped dead in my tracks. A pack of cackling jackals destroyed the room the night before while I had slept. Dirt everywhere and on everything. I had to do a thurow cleaning before I could begin to bake. I was almost finished with sparking suroundings when my boys woke up and came bounding into my territory. 'Morning Mom! What's for breakfast?" they greeted me. "Cereal, later when I am done" is my reply. Three hours or so later I convince them to leave me alone to work in my kitcken. I had just started mixing the ingredients with my stand mixer with my back to it when K1 sneaks back in and I catch him with his fingers in my batter. "ARRRRRRGHHH- NOO!", I howl knowing full well I cannot sell a cake someone's fingers have been in. I start a new cake, scraping together enough cream cheese for the five pound monster I am to bake.
My second attept at gastomic success is just about ready to come out of the oven when the manager of my work calls to tell me that she was mistaken, the party is NEXT weekend not today. Sorry I don't need to come in. Sorry my cheese cake loving ass I think as I slam around my kitchen in a disgruntled huff. Waste my morning will you.
"Mom! Mom! Mom! Can we have the cake? And can you pick up the Jakes and take us over to Eli"s with it?", the kids plot. "Your not going into work?", my hubby skeams. "Good you can give me a hair cut and help me winterize my boat", is his brilliant plans for my now "free" day. "Mom! Hurry- we gotta be at Eli's already!" Everyone now has plans to fill my time off.
I am searching through my utility door for my car keys and my eyes spot Marge's silver pie server sitting there seldom used. "I'll show them", I thought as I grabbed up that instrument of torture along with that hog swamping cake and headed for my couch. "Your dad will drive you- I'm on vacation."
When hubby came back he found me on the couch, were I spent the rest of the day bonding with that cake. I was in the cake zone. I was one with the cake. I was behind that cake. I was all about cake. It took me all day but I finished that cake, eating it with my silver spoon if you will.
Yes it was five pounds I know because I put four pounds of cheese in it.
I once made a friend of mine a French silk chocolate pie for his birthday and Mitch ate the entire thing. I marveled at his ability at the time but he told me, "I enjoyed the whole thing immensely, it was delicious, but I can tell you truthfully, the last bite wasn't as good as the first." I beg to differ Mitch, the last bite was a challenge, finishing that last bite was a reward in its self.
But I wasn't lazy on that couch. I read while I ate. Between chapters of Anna Korina , I'd eat and nap. I'd even change positions occasionaly. Whenever family members got too near I'd yell things like, "Damn men in the wall ate my cake!" Or, "One step closer and I'm moving out to the truck without a scarf for my neck!" scary but effective words around here.
That Marge was onto something good. You don't get out of this world with much but the little bit of food you put into yourself. In her honor I proclaim yesterday as National Cake Day. Do yourself a favor and eat a cake or a pie for her, please. Scarves optional.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Silly Words
This is an list of sentences actually spoken in my house the past couple days. You do not need the entire conversation or text to get the jest of the importance of thinking before speaking.
"Mom! Mom! The bus is coming! Quick give me your car keys!!!"
(umm- huh? you are years away from drivers ed there bucko)
"I'm sooo glad when we had this house built, we had them put the hand rail for the stairs on the right side, as my right side is my strongest."
(think munkay girl, are you planning on backing down the stairs to use your right side?)
"I love you more than I should".
(when did the quota go into effect?)
"Mom, are you gonna finish that?"
(darn straight- watch your back, yours is next)
"Your dog asked ME to dance."
(see previous "secret life of betty post")
"The only thing I like more for breakfast than pork is bacon, or ham."
(hello?)
"I need a picture of Rush Limbaugh".
(when did I have my lobotomy?)
"G&# D!#$ M&^%$* F^*#%@# door!!!!!"
(this said to my jeep tail door after hitting my head loading flowers into it across the street of the church in front of Sis Heidi"s flower store-as if it ever touched my mum)
"Shit! I'm late for church"
(when caught yelling unrelated obscenities at my car door by innocent passer-by)
"You want me to use new or used rock for your retaining wall?"
(how new is new in rock years? 1 million years? 2 million?)
"Am I wearing your pants?"
"You are so much nicer than my west coast wife."
(grrr not anymore baby)
"If a slug and a leach were in a contest, would the winner let me stay up later than 9:00 p.m.?"
(no- tell that to any slimy crawly things that inquire)
"I'm gonna vote for Bush just because I think Kerry is a cadaver"
(well he does look and act the part)
"Can I have a cell phone so I can call you from the bathroom?"
(sneaking cell calls from school bathrooms is now edgier than smoking)
"Why can't a girl have two husbands?"
(after gripping about men in general)
"Can I have another piece of gravy?"
(C'mon, it's not THAT lumpy)
Yes, the conversations held in this house are varied and interesting. Think twice and speak once would be a good rule to put into effect.
"Mom! Mom! The bus is coming! Quick give me your car keys!!!"
(umm- huh? you are years away from drivers ed there bucko)
"I'm sooo glad when we had this house built, we had them put the hand rail for the stairs on the right side, as my right side is my strongest."
(think munkay girl, are you planning on backing down the stairs to use your right side?)
"I love you more than I should".
(when did the quota go into effect?)
"Mom, are you gonna finish that?"
(darn straight- watch your back, yours is next)
"Your dog asked ME to dance."
(see previous "secret life of betty post")
"The only thing I like more for breakfast than pork is bacon, or ham."
(hello?)
"I need a picture of Rush Limbaugh".
(when did I have my lobotomy?)
"G&# D!#$ M&^%$* F^*#%@# door!!!!!"
(this said to my jeep tail door after hitting my head loading flowers into it across the street of the church in front of Sis Heidi"s flower store-as if it ever touched my mum)
"Shit! I'm late for church"
(when caught yelling unrelated obscenities at my car door by innocent passer-by)
"You want me to use new or used rock for your retaining wall?"
(how new is new in rock years? 1 million years? 2 million?)
"Am I wearing your pants?"
"You are so much nicer than my west coast wife."
(grrr not anymore baby)
"If a slug and a leach were in a contest, would the winner let me stay up later than 9:00 p.m.?"
(no- tell that to any slimy crawly things that inquire)
"I'm gonna vote for Bush just because I think Kerry is a cadaver"
(well he does look and act the part)
"Can I have a cell phone so I can call you from the bathroom?"
(sneaking cell calls from school bathrooms is now edgier than smoking)
"Why can't a girl have two husbands?"
(after gripping about men in general)
"Can I have another piece of gravy?"
(C'mon, it's not THAT lumpy)
Yes, the conversations held in this house are varied and interesting. Think twice and speak once would be a good rule to put into effect.
Monday, October 18, 2004
Can't Burn a Memory
My new house now sits right on top of were my first house was. When we decided to buy a house, my Hubby went and looked at only one while I was at work and came home to the travel trailer we were then living in and announced he found the perfect home for us.
When he brought me to my "Green Acre's" type dwelling I cried. He had to be joking. Tiny, cramped house, older than me, held together by staples and shelving paper. Acreage full of generations of garbage. The place was an eyesore. Honey was delighted with the future prospects of the place that I could not yet envision. Being in construction he had big reconstructive plans for the place. I prayed we would never have house guests to see the shabby conditions we lived in.
We spent our fist years together working on our home at every opportunity. Week ends we cleaned the yard and pasture. Hauling away refuse and burning dilapidated old out buildings and trash. Scary vermin who were long term residence were soon made homeless. We filled dumpster and hired a company to rid of us of the hundreds of tires that filled our land. We used spare building material from hubbies construction jobs to revamp the house.
We never did make it to the point of a major house addition that we had always planned and so badly needed. Years past, life got in the way. Kids happened. Funky Scottish highlander livestock filled our pasture. Dogs and cats replaced the vermin. Hubbies job took him out of state more than in. I worked as an antique dealer, dragging my young babies to auctions and to the shop with me, filling our abode with far more treasures than I ever sold. Our little home now had charature and charm. Far from perfect but I loved it.
Hubby was working on a job in the southern part of our state, three years ago. "Let's surprise your dad and go visit him!", I told the boys one Saturday when I came home from work at the antique shop when Hubby was unable to come home for the weekend. "Yeah!!!!", the kids exclaimed happily at the thought of spending the night at their fathers apartment three hours away. We didn't bother packing a change of clothes, I had planned on coming back early the next day to change before going in to the churches nursery where I was skedualed to help. We jumped into my jeep without a backwards glance in the rearview mirror. I never did see my first home again.
The fire chief dug threw our trash at the end of our driveway for a name. The fire that had started during the night quickly demolished our little cedar thatched home.Thinking we were burned in the house, because of the spare jeep in our driveway, he called my hubbies brother who shares our last name. John was unable to tell them for certain were we were. It was the police who woke us up in the apartment the next morning, happy to be able to tell us the bad news. Happy that they could tell us, and not have to tell John that they didn't know our wereabouts either.
It was during the long drive back to what used to be my home that the horrible realization of the amount of our loss started sinking in. Gone was everything I ever owned. My collections, my childhood relics, my Moms keepsakes I had recently inherited from her passing. My wedding ring. Tears started pouring down my face when the little voice came from my back seat. "Mom what are you crying about?", K1, then in kindergarten asked. "All your baby pictures are gone", I sobbed thinking of the snapshots of my little premie son dressed in doll clothes. They were the constant reminder I hung in my kitchen to remind me how fragile and precious life is least I forget when life itself testes me. "That's ok Mom, you still have the memory's."
The rest of that ride home I spent planning the new toys I would buy him for that.
I lost everything in that fire but nothing that wasn't replaceable. I walked into my new closet for my warm winter socks that Hubbies mum had knitted now that the chill has returned to the air. I forget that they are now just ash. That's ok, they itched anyway.
When he brought me to my "Green Acre's" type dwelling I cried. He had to be joking. Tiny, cramped house, older than me, held together by staples and shelving paper. Acreage full of generations of garbage. The place was an eyesore. Honey was delighted with the future prospects of the place that I could not yet envision. Being in construction he had big reconstructive plans for the place. I prayed we would never have house guests to see the shabby conditions we lived in.
We spent our fist years together working on our home at every opportunity. Week ends we cleaned the yard and pasture. Hauling away refuse and burning dilapidated old out buildings and trash. Scary vermin who were long term residence were soon made homeless. We filled dumpster and hired a company to rid of us of the hundreds of tires that filled our land. We used spare building material from hubbies construction jobs to revamp the house.
We never did make it to the point of a major house addition that we had always planned and so badly needed. Years past, life got in the way. Kids happened. Funky Scottish highlander livestock filled our pasture. Dogs and cats replaced the vermin. Hubbies job took him out of state more than in. I worked as an antique dealer, dragging my young babies to auctions and to the shop with me, filling our abode with far more treasures than I ever sold. Our little home now had charature and charm. Far from perfect but I loved it.
Hubby was working on a job in the southern part of our state, three years ago. "Let's surprise your dad and go visit him!", I told the boys one Saturday when I came home from work at the antique shop when Hubby was unable to come home for the weekend. "Yeah!!!!", the kids exclaimed happily at the thought of spending the night at their fathers apartment three hours away. We didn't bother packing a change of clothes, I had planned on coming back early the next day to change before going in to the churches nursery where I was skedualed to help. We jumped into my jeep without a backwards glance in the rearview mirror. I never did see my first home again.
The fire chief dug threw our trash at the end of our driveway for a name. The fire that had started during the night quickly demolished our little cedar thatched home.Thinking we were burned in the house, because of the spare jeep in our driveway, he called my hubbies brother who shares our last name. John was unable to tell them for certain were we were. It was the police who woke us up in the apartment the next morning, happy to be able to tell us the bad news. Happy that they could tell us, and not have to tell John that they didn't know our wereabouts either.
It was during the long drive back to what used to be my home that the horrible realization of the amount of our loss started sinking in. Gone was everything I ever owned. My collections, my childhood relics, my Moms keepsakes I had recently inherited from her passing. My wedding ring. Tears started pouring down my face when the little voice came from my back seat. "Mom what are you crying about?", K1, then in kindergarten asked. "All your baby pictures are gone", I sobbed thinking of the snapshots of my little premie son dressed in doll clothes. They were the constant reminder I hung in my kitchen to remind me how fragile and precious life is least I forget when life itself testes me. "That's ok Mom, you still have the memory's."
The rest of that ride home I spent planning the new toys I would buy him for that.
I lost everything in that fire but nothing that wasn't replaceable. I walked into my new closet for my warm winter socks that Hubbies mum had knitted now that the chill has returned to the air. I forget that they are now just ash. That's ok, they itched anyway.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
The Secret Life of Betty
Landscape Mitch is building our yard. Heavy equiptment is involved as is major renovation to our surrounding area. Landscape Mitch is quite a caricature. He runs by his own clock, what we have deemed as Landscape time. You would think one doing yard work would thrive during the daylight hours. Not Landscape, he is nocturnal. Has a habit of showing up right at dinner time. With his affinity to working in the dark in the soil, I reckon his ancestors were moles. He is quite proud of his digging ability, and of the tools he uses to do so.
My boys are quite taken with Landscape. He speaks to them as adults and is using them as his "crew". K1 was delighted to find out Landscape is also dyslexic and as also had the same special tutor help him learn to read. From inside my house I can hear the sound of the bobcat running, then the sound of it's engine idle, followed by a sharp whistle as Landscape waits for one of my boys to move what ever object is in his way or for the rock he has just unearthed to be picked up.
Every afternoon when Landscape finally shows up with his ever faithful companion Magic, his black labador retriever, he first holds a briefing meeting with my boys. "Today crew we are going to tackle the front drainage crest area. K2, you move all the bikes out of the way while I start up the cat. K1 wait for my signal and start a new rock pile east of the house." Then they get a couple of good hours of labor in. Before leaving each night, Landscape leaves directions for his crew to accomplish before he returns. The first night after work it was, "Before tomorrow afternoon I want to see all the shovels picked up, the garden hose wound up, and the wheelbarrow put away." "And don't play with the bobcat", he tells them. "Who is Betty?", my youngest son, K2 asks, not hearing the ending of Landscapes last sentence. "And why can't we play with her?" "NO", answers Landscape, "Don't play on the bobcat while I'm not here". "Ok, but can Betty play on your bobcat?", is their next query from K1. "NO", Landscape is losing patience, but his frustration eggs my kids on, "NO one, not even Betty can play on my bobcat while I am gone. "You named your bobcat Betty?", K2 questions. "Oh Betty!! My Betty!! Kiss-kiss!!", the boys taunt Landscapes retreating form as he stomps away towards his truck. Landscape opens the door for his dog to climb in with him and trys one last time. "Stand away from the bobcat and noon will be hurt." "Don't worry Landscape, Betty is safe with us".
My boys have started a photo journal of Betty's secret life during the hours Landscape is not here with her. Using my ditgital camera they painted and constructed a large "For Sale-Cheap" sign and propped against her and snapped a shot. Then a "Rides 1 Buck" sign. Wearing black face masts as to hide their identity, we took a picture of K2's legs sticking out from what looks like underneath Betty as if run over with "ketchup" blood splattered on the ground and K1's back side as he runs away from the crime scene. The boys placed their dirt bike ramp jumps in front of Betty and scratched what looks like tire burn out marks behind her back tires as if they were performing trick jumps with her. I parked my jeep facing Betty and the picture of the boys playing chicken with Betty vrs. jeep turned out hillarious. One shot they are standing on her roof holding fireworks. K2 whent so far as to pose so it looked like he was driving her naked and holding a beer while wearing his ski mask.
We hope Landscape enjoys the book we will give him once he has finished our yard, and Betty leaves our foster care. We know Betty yearns for this fun lifestyle, instead of being a beast of burden. If not, and you don't here from me for a while, please come dig threw our yard were the big tire marks end come spring will you?
My boys are quite taken with Landscape. He speaks to them as adults and is using them as his "crew". K1 was delighted to find out Landscape is also dyslexic and as also had the same special tutor help him learn to read. From inside my house I can hear the sound of the bobcat running, then the sound of it's engine idle, followed by a sharp whistle as Landscape waits for one of my boys to move what ever object is in his way or for the rock he has just unearthed to be picked up.
Every afternoon when Landscape finally shows up with his ever faithful companion Magic, his black labador retriever, he first holds a briefing meeting with my boys. "Today crew we are going to tackle the front drainage crest area. K2, you move all the bikes out of the way while I start up the cat. K1 wait for my signal and start a new rock pile east of the house." Then they get a couple of good hours of labor in. Before leaving each night, Landscape leaves directions for his crew to accomplish before he returns. The first night after work it was, "Before tomorrow afternoon I want to see all the shovels picked up, the garden hose wound up, and the wheelbarrow put away." "And don't play with the bobcat", he tells them. "Who is Betty?", my youngest son, K2 asks, not hearing the ending of Landscapes last sentence. "And why can't we play with her?" "NO", answers Landscape, "Don't play on the bobcat while I'm not here". "Ok, but can Betty play on your bobcat?", is their next query from K1. "NO", Landscape is losing patience, but his frustration eggs my kids on, "NO one, not even Betty can play on my bobcat while I am gone. "You named your bobcat Betty?", K2 questions. "Oh Betty!! My Betty!! Kiss-kiss!!", the boys taunt Landscapes retreating form as he stomps away towards his truck. Landscape opens the door for his dog to climb in with him and trys one last time. "Stand away from the bobcat and noon will be hurt." "Don't worry Landscape, Betty is safe with us".
My boys have started a photo journal of Betty's secret life during the hours Landscape is not here with her. Using my ditgital camera they painted and constructed a large "For Sale-Cheap" sign and propped against her and snapped a shot. Then a "Rides 1 Buck" sign. Wearing black face masts as to hide their identity, we took a picture of K2's legs sticking out from what looks like underneath Betty as if run over with "ketchup" blood splattered on the ground and K1's back side as he runs away from the crime scene. The boys placed their dirt bike ramp jumps in front of Betty and scratched what looks like tire burn out marks behind her back tires as if they were performing trick jumps with her. I parked my jeep facing Betty and the picture of the boys playing chicken with Betty vrs. jeep turned out hillarious. One shot they are standing on her roof holding fireworks. K2 whent so far as to pose so it looked like he was driving her naked and holding a beer while wearing his ski mask.
We hope Landscape enjoys the book we will give him once he has finished our yard, and Betty leaves our foster care. We know Betty yearns for this fun lifestyle, instead of being a beast of burden. If not, and you don't here from me for a while, please come dig threw our yard were the big tire marks end come spring will you?
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Dance for the Day
This week my Hubby finished up his currant construction project on the coast. Having completed building yet another gaming casino, Hubby walked the new owners through the facility, signing off on all punch list items before handing over all the keys, codes for the security systems and control. He then walked over to his temporary office of two years to close it down, say goodbye his satellite office staff, and arrange for the shipping of his computer systems and paper work back to the main office here in Minnesota.
When he opened his office door for the last time before climbing into his company truck for the long drive home, there were all the Native American tribe waiting for him. Everyone from the Chief up to the high end of the totem pole, (If you are high on a totem pole, you are low in tribal status) to the part time laborers. They had assembled to give my Hubby a goodbye chanting drum ceremony. They circled Hubby and performed a song "Brave Heart Home", which they had written for him. As gifts they presented him a Pendleton wool coat to keep him warm on his next project in Michigan. Then they gave him a tape of their songs, and tucked an eagle feather into his windshields visor for good luck and a safe journey. Hubby watched them from his rearview mirror as they continued to drum as he drove out of the parking lot heading for home.
Honey proudly played us his tape once he got home. The boys and I listened wide-eyed for the first couple opening notes of the chant whose words we were not familiar until we couldn't take it and broke into movement. We swooped around my kitchen island waving our arms as wings and skipping to the rhythmic beat. We hopped and twirled and spun without abandon. We danced as hard and as fast as we could for longer than we should of. We had our own mini celebration.
The next day I was called into work at the bistro early. We were having a musical group of Vikings from Norway and Sweden perform and put on a show on the journey they had reinacted across Scandinavian as the first tradesmen had done using horse drawn sleds. I went in early to make some special ethnic dishes to go along with the theme.
I talked my family into coming and seeing the special entertainment by bribing them to a free meal. They managed to get the last table, the one right in front of the stage, next to eight member group. Directly behind the musicians was the screen showing scenes of the film the members shot of their adventure across the frozen wilderness. The place was packed when I hand delivered the Swedish meat balls dodging in between standing customers to my boy's table. They ate their dinner with an awed look on their faces to the strains of violins and fiddles and guitars. "Skol!!!" "Hewha!!!They cheered at the end of each song.
After the Bistro closed I came back out and sat drinking "Shullsplitter" beer and listening to a private performance. The little English my new friends spoke was very difficult to understand. When I got up to bring them some of my food I danced. The group sang a song just for me. "The Lamb". They performed their prettiest music without the benefit of a large crowd. They had to translate the lyrics for me, as once again, the words were useless.
I was giving one of their CD's. I played it this morning as we ate kringa anf fry bread. We swooped around my kitchen island waving our arms as wings and skipping to the rhythmic beat. We hopped and twirled and spun without abandon. We danced as hard and fast as we could for longer than we should of. Our life is it's own celebration.
When he opened his office door for the last time before climbing into his company truck for the long drive home, there were all the Native American tribe waiting for him. Everyone from the Chief up to the high end of the totem pole, (If you are high on a totem pole, you are low in tribal status) to the part time laborers. They had assembled to give my Hubby a goodbye chanting drum ceremony. They circled Hubby and performed a song "Brave Heart Home", which they had written for him. As gifts they presented him a Pendleton wool coat to keep him warm on his next project in Michigan. Then they gave him a tape of their songs, and tucked an eagle feather into his windshields visor for good luck and a safe journey. Hubby watched them from his rearview mirror as they continued to drum as he drove out of the parking lot heading for home.
Honey proudly played us his tape once he got home. The boys and I listened wide-eyed for the first couple opening notes of the chant whose words we were not familiar until we couldn't take it and broke into movement. We swooped around my kitchen island waving our arms as wings and skipping to the rhythmic beat. We hopped and twirled and spun without abandon. We danced as hard and as fast as we could for longer than we should of. We had our own mini celebration.
The next day I was called into work at the bistro early. We were having a musical group of Vikings from Norway and Sweden perform and put on a show on the journey they had reinacted across Scandinavian as the first tradesmen had done using horse drawn sleds. I went in early to make some special ethnic dishes to go along with the theme.
I talked my family into coming and seeing the special entertainment by bribing them to a free meal. They managed to get the last table, the one right in front of the stage, next to eight member group. Directly behind the musicians was the screen showing scenes of the film the members shot of their adventure across the frozen wilderness. The place was packed when I hand delivered the Swedish meat balls dodging in between standing customers to my boy's table. They ate their dinner with an awed look on their faces to the strains of violins and fiddles and guitars. "Skol!!!" "Hewha!!!They cheered at the end of each song.
After the Bistro closed I came back out and sat drinking "Shullsplitter" beer and listening to a private performance. The little English my new friends spoke was very difficult to understand. When I got up to bring them some of my food I danced. The group sang a song just for me. "The Lamb". They performed their prettiest music without the benefit of a large crowd. They had to translate the lyrics for me, as once again, the words were useless.
I was giving one of their CD's. I played it this morning as we ate kringa anf fry bread. We swooped around my kitchen island waving our arms as wings and skipping to the rhythmic beat. We hopped and twirled and spun without abandon. We danced as hard and fast as we could for longer than we should of. Our life is it's own celebration.
Friday, October 08, 2004
These Lips Aren't Kissing Themselves Here Chicken
Shut up
come here and kiss me
you know i want you so
stop your talking already
and just bring it
don't make me walk over there
conversation time is over
got better things to do
pucker up and plant one on me
bla-bla time is through
my lips are glossed and ready
read their softness that's your cue
pour the sugar on me
kiss me till i'm blue
hey come back here
what you afraid of
i address the top of your feet
talk now
scared to look at you
maybe you should leave
come here and kiss me
you know i want you so
stop your talking already
and just bring it
don't make me walk over there
conversation time is over
got better things to do
pucker up and plant one on me
bla-bla time is through
my lips are glossed and ready
read their softness that's your cue
pour the sugar on me
kiss me till i'm blue
hey come back here
what you afraid of
i address the top of your feet
talk now
scared to look at you
maybe you should leave
Sunday, October 03, 2004
Rock my World
I have loved him ever since I first laid eyes on him. That would of been on a Thursday, during the WWF smack down, when I first noticed my giant of a soul mate. I do not watch wrestling, know nothing about the sport. I do know I like big, no, huge muscular men. The Rock falls nothing short of larger than life. My dream man.
I know his cornball drama in the ring is an over the top act. That's why I love it. Slice me a slice of that Rock ham please, I wanna smell what that big boy's got cooking.
My hubby is well aware of my juvenile fastenation with The Rock and is man enough not to feel threatened by him. That and the fact I have a one in eight billion chance of ever hooking up with the man. Yes, I am well aware there are only four billion people in the world, I'm bright enough to realize he would take quite a few of them twice over me. But hey, I like a good challenge. If I had just had a little more time and energy I would stalk him in person. With a super sized net.
To me, The Rock is every thing good rolled into one buff package. All five of the things I want in a man. Smart, strong, handsome, funny, and strong. I have seen him crack Martha Steward up baking his chocolate chip cookies. We know how I love chocolate. I know he is an adoring husband and dad. A good family man. My boys have asked me why I love The Rock so much. I answer, "It's because he is your real father." Too bad the other hollywood family will have to go.
It is not lounging by a luxurious pool or watching him from the sidelines of his current movie set that I think about with him about though. I dream of taking a run at him, my ultimate fantasy. I have only had the chance to run at a man twice in my life, both with disappointing results. Both times alcohol helped influence me. One man I knocked over. The other bruised both my contact points on impact. A run at The Rock could not go wrong no matter what the outcome. Win-win.
I woke up on my last birthday and turned on my computer to see The Rocks face as my screen saver. Opened my cupboard door for my tea cup and there was his face taped to the inside of the door. He was also on my mirror. K2 bought me The Rocks life story at his schools bookfair. When my boys wanted kisses they put on my Rock t-shirt and then ran until I chase them down and kissed them, or his face on the shirt they were wearing. It was a good Rock day.
I came home to a quiet house after work late last night. The TV was left on, its screen bright in my dark kitchen. There was The Rock's last movie in the DVD player. A close up of his face frozen with a plussed expression on his face. I walk straight over to that image and puckered up myself and kissed the glass lips. "Hi honey, glad you waited up for me", I said and heard the giggles from the boys rooms above. "Glad to be home".
I know his cornball drama in the ring is an over the top act. That's why I love it. Slice me a slice of that Rock ham please, I wanna smell what that big boy's got cooking.
My hubby is well aware of my juvenile fastenation with The Rock and is man enough not to feel threatened by him. That and the fact I have a one in eight billion chance of ever hooking up with the man. Yes, I am well aware there are only four billion people in the world, I'm bright enough to realize he would take quite a few of them twice over me. But hey, I like a good challenge. If I had just had a little more time and energy I would stalk him in person. With a super sized net.
To me, The Rock is every thing good rolled into one buff package. All five of the things I want in a man. Smart, strong, handsome, funny, and strong. I have seen him crack Martha Steward up baking his chocolate chip cookies. We know how I love chocolate. I know he is an adoring husband and dad. A good family man. My boys have asked me why I love The Rock so much. I answer, "It's because he is your real father." Too bad the other hollywood family will have to go.
It is not lounging by a luxurious pool or watching him from the sidelines of his current movie set that I think about with him about though. I dream of taking a run at him, my ultimate fantasy. I have only had the chance to run at a man twice in my life, both with disappointing results. Both times alcohol helped influence me. One man I knocked over. The other bruised both my contact points on impact. A run at The Rock could not go wrong no matter what the outcome. Win-win.
I woke up on my last birthday and turned on my computer to see The Rocks face as my screen saver. Opened my cupboard door for my tea cup and there was his face taped to the inside of the door. He was also on my mirror. K2 bought me The Rocks life story at his schools bookfair. When my boys wanted kisses they put on my Rock t-shirt and then ran until I chase them down and kissed them, or his face on the shirt they were wearing. It was a good Rock day.
I came home to a quiet house after work late last night. The TV was left on, its screen bright in my dark kitchen. There was The Rock's last movie in the DVD player. A close up of his face frozen with a plussed expression on his face. I walk straight over to that image and puckered up myself and kissed the glass lips. "Hi honey, glad you waited up for me", I said and heard the giggles from the boys rooms above. "Glad to be home".
Friday, October 01, 2004
Anemia
He is sitting on the edge of my bathtub, watching me as I get ready for work. "I love the sight of my woman in a dress", he says. I meet his eyes in my vanity mirror above the fire engine red lips I have just painted . "You should try finding yourself one of those", I mock. His large body recoils back from the sharp words and he falls back into my tub, floundering. "Owww, cut me bad, mean old woman, why must you be so cruel ? I am bleeding out here." I bend over for a towel from the floor and toss him a life line. "Don't leave a ring", I taunt as I turn to walk away. 'I'm missing you already", he says quietly as I slide my heels on at the door. I hesitate but do not turn back. I am not always with him, but he is with me. If he only knew.
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