a message for Mom and Wayne

Old Brother Vincent came to me in a dream last night

through dark fog I heard a rustle

felt a brush against my leg

heard his unmistakable voice

he said he was returning

from beyond the Jellicle Moon

and, tilting his head to show,

noted that only because of his latest name

[and the entwined love of those who gifted him it]

he had decided to keep his withered ear

we walked for a while and he told

stories of mousing, roaming and near-escaping

(not to mention the art of executing

the perfect cat nap)

he had begun a journey into the great beyond

it was cold and he felt it was time

life #7 must be completed

so across the road and down a gravel path he’d wandered

and just stopping to lick his paw when

out of curiosity

(and thus it seemed like destiny)

we all know how the saying goes, he chuckled

he felt inclined to inspect a miraculous pool that had appeared

behind the big red house

he said he’d been surprised

the transition was so easy

and even more peculiar

to find humans in Cat Heaven

for surely that’s where he had arrived

he sent word to his great old aunt

Lord knows it was her time!

and was only mildly appalled that his dark cousin came along

but that’s how I knew it was Heaven,

and the humans must be angels, he said

he sat on his haunches and purred

then turning a smiling amber eye up to mine

that Mowe was always a pestering little shank,

and they named him Sparkles anyway

he began to drift a bit

and I felt myself awaking

so I asked him where he would go now that he’d seen

beyond the moon

and he began to pad away into the mists of dawn

as morning crept into my mind

I’m going back to that Cat Heaven, of course!

then I heard a distant fluttering

and the gray mist swirled where his tail had been

I have a few lives left

and I always wanted to fly

so I asked for wings this time…



rLb 09/29/2013

the mysterious outgoing tide

I seem to blog more on Sundays than any other day. or. er. when I do blog, it's more likely to be on a Sunday than any other day of the week. But I write constantly in my head. It's what I do. I think. think. think. think. think. ponder. ponder. ponder. usually there is some laughter and crying intermingled. just for the full effect.

oh well

I'm trying to decide whether to go to the beach or commit to spending a beautiful day indoors reading....can't imagine I'll do the latter. I have a new book, but it's only on my nook, which is unreadable at the beach, even with our giant umbrella -- compliments of my husband who purchased it to replace my trusty $12 CVS umbrella which had lasted almost three years until he accidentally shredded it on a beach trip earlier in the year. The first time I took the new umbrella to the beach I couldn't set it up on my own. Talk about feeling like a wimp. I sent a frustrated text to Rob who left work and came out to open it for me, then went back to work. In my defense the damn thing is huge and it was very windy that day. I did take it another time and successfully opened it, but it's BIG...I felt like I needed at least one toddler, a bouncy baby and to be waddling around myself with another cherub on the way to justify taking that umbrella to the beach.....my husband, a giant cooler, toys and one set of grandparents would also be able to fit comfortably within its shade. It would appear I'm limited on the necessary # of humans required to justify it's use...and it will probably take me actually having children to coerce any of the others into going along...by then we'll live in the mountains. sigh. always something.

well, maybe I'll stop at CVS en route to the beach....

I did feel obligated to put something up here so the ole girl doesn't feel neglected, and below is really the only thing I had in mind to post...so I just rambled much more than I intended...damn road to hell

once in a....

talk about an incredible full [and blue] moon. a sixsome of us journeyed out last night for a full moon paddle but had no idea it would be so absolutely wonderful. standing on sea island beach looking out at the ocean and moon, every one of us agreed it didn't feel like we were on earth anymore. Rob looked at me and said "we live here" -- what a beautiful night. as we headed 'home' toward east beach i felt like i was in a dream i had a year or so ago--and if I'd seen a mermaid I would have been ecstatic (but would not have been surprised) it was THAT awe inspiring. makes me want to go to the beach tonight just to see if it was really real....and get another fix. yes. we live here. photos below. enjoy :)

manual labor = good

dear journal:

as you know the last two-three weeks have been qualifiers for an episode on twilight zone. I suspect there is more to come, but my brother announced the scheduling of an emergency probate hearing on the 22nd, and things have been looking hopeful for at least successfully contesting the aformentioned fraud and getting what monies are left heading in their more well-intended directions. 

the past week dragged by at work, but nothing loomed over me like the weekend. I've had the sensation of somehow existing for the last 2 weeks in a perpetual out-of-body experience. I'm aware of what's going on, but have very little to account for it as one evening stretches into another morning.  I knew I needed to do something to sort-of ground myself but I had no idea what that might be -- relaxing at home with a book? eh.  Ok, same book but on the beach?...nah.  Long bike ride around the island?....my ideas were just not cutting it. Then my friend Arnold asked if I could help out at the horse barn this weekend while he went to a funeral. Bingo. Then he texted that the funeral was moved to next weekend. Hmmh, so I asked him if he'd just like to have the morning off. Bingo #2. I met him Friday evening at the stables and walked through what needed to be done, and yesterday from 830am until 1pm I mucked 13 horse stalls and communed with the equines. I came home,  chugged enough water to float the ark, make sandwiches and drove over to Rob's work to share late lunch with him, came back home, read a random article about 9/11 (and allowed myself a respectful cry session), then drank more water. I considered how good a beer might taste but didn't really want one and knew I'd probably go right to sleep if I did - I was deliriously tired. But at 5:09 I decided to go back to help Arnold close up the stables.  Rob met us out there and we went to Coastal Kitchen for oysters and shrimp and a few beers. Back home I dropped my purse at the foot of the bed and pulled on a pair of pj bottoms that were on the floor. I do not remember my head touching the pillow.

For whatever insane reason, I hauled my sore self out of bed this morning and went out to help with Sunday duties. Apparently something inside me determined it was necessary.  Yesterday was overcast and breezy but today was sunny and hot. I took a jug of water and I'm pretty sure I sweat it out as soon as I drank it. We finished up in the stalls around 1pm and saddled Eagle, Arnold's lanky young Appaloosa, for a jaunt around the farm. Then, almost begrudgingly, we called it a day. The tendinitis in my right wrist has been flaming since last night, I have a relatively painless blister on my right thumb knuckle despite leather gloves and anytime I move I can feel every muscle in my back, shoulders, arms and hands. I haven't smelled as awful, sweat as much or had so much grime on me in years. I could not have paid for better therapy.

Also worthy of noting. Prior to and in the meantime of fraud-snafu, there have been good things going on in life that do not deserve to be overshadowed by The Dark Side [of Polish con-artist murderers].

werps...stuff like that still sneaks out from time to time....

a little history: last year I took a deep breath and bought a car. An 06 G35. Wanda. It was a lovely car to look at and to drive (tribute photo below)

Sadly, 28 days later it was done-in by Tropical Storm Debbie and the street where one of her related flash-floods developed while I was on it. There is a distinct reason why they're called 'flash floods'...one second it's raining. Two minutes later the light hasn't changed yet and suddenly you're in 2 feet of moving water that has risen up around you before you could realize what was happening. Hopefully the first and last natural disaster style trauma I ever have to experience. I made two payments and Geico covered the funeral expenses (eventually). I console myself with the knowledge that something was probably wrong with it and while the insurance claim did slightly irritate my future premiums, it's probably not as bad as whatever repairs might have been needed. RIP Wanda.

I returned to driving old reliable Black Betty. What a car. 365k and counting. And I was never wowed by another car in a way that made me feel okay about saddling myself with car payments for the next several years. Then one day (July 30th) I saw a little Honda out in front of a local dealership where I know the GM. I took it home that night as a tester. And I bought it the next day (July 31st -- always buy new cars at the end of the month).

Welcome to the family Vanna!

Yay!

AND last but certainly not least, a few weeks ago Rob, who [tomorrow] starts his next to last semester of "so you waited 10 years to go to grad school" post-bachelors & pre- grad-school course work, was offered a part time position at a nearby outpatient therapy clinic where he's been logging observation hours over the summer. That was great news. His hours there work perfectly with his class schedule and a few of the PTs there graduated from Armstrong which is one of two schools Rob will be applying to (next month!). I'm sure I have been too distracted to adequately acknowledge how happy I am for him because I know he is happy. But my happiness only compliments my confidence that he will succeed and should never be confused with surprise, because people love my husband wherever he goes, and if they don't they're unworthy idiots. He's one of the most dedicated, smart, hard-working and genuinely good people I've ever known.  I can't wait for him to become a Physical Therapist.

Neither can my back and right shoulder ;)

annnd tomorrow is Monday. sigh. but it's not here yet.

Worth The Risk: stuff humans should not do to each other

I traveled to SC this past weekend to spend some time with my brother and my mother who had been there since Tuesday afternoon. I've struggled with the reasons I needed to be there not because I doubted the underlying cause, but because there is nothing I can say or do to make either of them feel any better. And that sucks.

Charles was man my mother dated after my father died. He was not good to me. But he was good to my mom and he was close to my brother. Those are the main reasons why I forgave him for just how not good he was to me. 3-5 years ago he was diagnosed with an aortic aneurysm and asked my brother to be executor of his will and estate after he died. Left untreated that diagnosis isn't necessarily a death sentence but it is pretty much a ticking time bomb and you never know when the great hand of the universe might push the red button. A lot of people die from other things before it goes, but his father had died from the same thing, so I suppose there was a sense of fate there. Despite his frailties as a person, he willed all of his assets to SmileTrain, Furman University, Woodruff Library, Adventist Church, BBN radio and Pacific Garden Mission. He asked my brother to make sure his wishes were carried out.

I worried about my brother then. He feels a lot. I used to think that I felt too much because I was a thinker (I. Think. All. The. Time.). But he does more than me. And our coping strategies are simultaneously the same and somehow polar opposite. Bottom line is I knew it would be hard for him to navigate the waters of probate and grieve for Charles effectively. But that was then.

Tuesday morning my brother called me and said he'd randomly found out that Charles had died. No one called or told him even though he's listed every as the emergency contact. He found out by going to the house to check in because he hadn't been able to get him on the phone and hadn't heard from Charles in about a week -- and that was unusual. Stefan and Charles were pretty close. Eventually he found out Charles had died 3-4 days before. He found out a woman that no one knows had signed the death certificate as a member of his family, except Charles had no family. He found out that this woman had the body immediately cremated. She says she threw the ashes around a pond down in the woods at Charles' house. She forged a quit-claim deed of his house and property into her name. She'd also written a Will assigning herself as the executor and forged his estate to herself as well. His signature looks uncannily like that of the notary public who also signed both documents. The notary public turned out to be the woman's daughter. The woman says she was his house cleaner. She's a registered nurse in the state of South Carolina and has two other expired licenses between NJ and Penn.

Her husband runs a home inspector business out of Greenville and boasts "encyclopedic knowledge of the housing industry" as well as offering risk management in brokering. In all "fairness" they claim to be separated, but it's difficult to ignore the potential level of teamwork here. Team Con. Yesterday they installed a gate across Charles' driveway and mounted two big flags on it. One is the American Flag, the other is the famously absurd "Don't Tread On Me" -- I struggle with the symbolism there. This is America.

Everyone who gave any level of shit (bad or good) about Charles (including his lawyer) is baffled, appalled, infuriated, perplexed...etc. We're all upset. My brother and mother especially. Anyone who never knew him couldn't possibly care any less about what has happened. This includes Laurens county police, Lauren's county coroner (may he rot in hell), the county judge, SLED (who have thus far referred us back to Lauren's county police... "Thanks!")...the list goes on....I will say my brother seemed optimistic about the response from the county solicitor. There's hope yet.

Had this happened in Georgia any of us have contacts out the wazoo. An estate lawyer who is a friend of mine has offered what she can. Mainly I wanted to know time frames so that I could try to help Mom and Stefan get their heads around what has happened and what to expect (as in, nothing overnight). An estate in probate can take up to a year when nothing goes wrong. Liken this to that, but add identity theft and (gasp) most likely murder. This could take years. There are at least 2 other instances where she's done the same to others. She's a woman who identifies older individuals who have substantial assets, seem to be socially isolated with little or no family or close friends. She cases them for months. She is meticulous and bold and I'm not afraid to say she is absolutely, without a doubt a dangerous person (only she will ever know how Charles really died). She's a sociopath and she has continued to get away with these things because she's never been challenged by anyone.

Until now. And unfortunately she wronged someone who, despite appearances, did have a family in his life who cared. All of us cared differently, but our feelings are all the same now--we are all pissed--and I believe we will not stop until she's exposed. 

funny co-worker quote of my Monday thus far

"Ok. I. Well, gosh, I really hate to say it but I think I'm gonna have to go to Five Guys. Again, I know. I don't know whats wrong with me. I've got to have some of their fries. I've just got to. I think about them all the time. I dream about them. Alright, I'm just going. You want anything?"

Freddie (aka "Handsome Fred" aka "Gilligan")

unexpected exhumations

I started this posting a month or so ago. I think. I logged in today to post something and just noticed it hadn't been finished. Since part of my latest self-help torture has been finishing things you start, I felt inclined to address it. I decided it was continue-worthy.
_____

It was October of 2007 when I purchased a house in Newnan, GA. This is what it looked like last time I was there.

In 2007 it had been renovated, but not so much that it wasn't still a 'fixer upper' (still is) ....unfortunately at that time, even though I was in a good position to buy a house,  I was essentially single, working long hours on the other side of Atlanta and had a dumb boyfriend who gave me please-don't-break-up-with-me puppy that needed all of my free time and more that I always felt guilty for not being able to supply.
That house I still have--for some unknown reason that I'm sure will be revealed to me at some point in this life...or the next....or the next....who knows (it's that much of an enigma to me).


Anyway, it was probably the summer of 2008 that I had begun digging up a little plot in the front yard to serve as an 'accent' herb garden (my terminology there).  One afternoon as I was hand-tilling the dark brown Georgia clay my little claw shovel caught something. I pulled it up and knocked off clods of mud to reveal an old horseshoe. It has graced each doorway I've lived in since.

5 years and several moves later I was [again] tired of our living quarters. My husband moved here from WV in 2011 and we lived together ["in sin"...I love saying that] in a renovated ship-builders house, then moved again in 2012 to an apartment [2 bathrooms!]. So in February when I announced my decision, he just stared at me, blank-faced -- I think I heard a little noise come from the back of his throat...sounded like a cross between a whimper and a stifled growl.

I'd said, "What? Look, the beauty of renting is that after a year, if you don't like it, you can move...."

p.s. If I really decide to convince you of something, chances are you're going to want it as much as I do by the end of my spiel. I'm just saying.

Well, we searched high and low, even contacting agencies. But it was Craigslist where I discovered the jewel of a condo that even my husband couldn't deny was perfect for us. It wasn't just coincidence that landed us this place--it was 100% bonafide MINT 2 B. In all sincerity I'm totally comfortable saying he and I are both creatures of our environment. We jokingly called our old apartment "the cave"-- but it was no joke the place was psychologically suffocating both of us. I didn't want to be there a day longer. Just like I didn't want to be in the previous house with only one bathroom and a lot of rodent and moisture problems.

There must have been a hundred responses to the lease listing. It was a wee bit smaller than what we'd been in (errr.....about 500sq feet smaller), but the shockingly low price they were advertising made me feel sure we had some advantage over the other applicants. I had a hunch that, save for a random bachelor, we were probably in the older category of interested folks, which meant a few things. 1. we are generally more financially stable than young'uns. 2. had more time to build good, solid credit, have low[er] debt and a sparkling rental history (with all the stress that being a "landlady" brings me,  I'll be damned if I'm not a fabulous tenant). And let's not forget, we're a sweet young married couple--and for whatever insane reason, that makes most older adult people feel better about you when you're up for judgement....

(and yes of course I hid my heathen tattoo, lest they think I was secretly a Harley-riding lesbian, dominatrix, or budweiser drinking redneck)

My latest response to ppl acknowledging my tattoo (apparently still a social obligation), "eh...it actually wasn't alcohol, it was being a 20 year old art student who was into classic rock." I never thought I'd write it off, but I have. I've even gone the way of fading creams and one lazer removal treatment before giving in and deciding that if I ever really want it gone I'll just save enough money to have it lanced by a plastic surgeon.

it's not really a bad tattoo. I don't hate it. I just don't need it anymore.

...but for the record I prefer bicycles; women are their own worst enemy, why the hell would I date one?[except for Naomi Watts...I'd totally date her--and people, c'mon, don't read too far into that statement, I love women and detest what we do to each other for what? who? men. that's it. yeesh ]; moving on...I think the need to equate pleasure (esp the nice, warm intimate kind) with pain is a sign of maladaptive or unaddressed and possibly dangerous emotional issues--see "Fifty Shades"; I enjoy micro-brewed IPA; I appreciate the good and fun side of southern hospitality, not the ignorance 

"oh where are my manners! now, what can I get you to drink? water? lemonade? vodka tonic?"

that was fun

but I've digressed

It also helped that Rob and I knew about a dozen people that the owners either were best friends with, had worked with (pleasantly thank goodness), or lived on the same street as. Glory of a tiny island community. It was too good and it was true.

But for weeks we heard nothing and were trying very hard to accept that the condo had probably been leased to someone else--but nothing we saw was better. We were pining, even reduced to low measures like secretly hoping whoever the imaginary person they'd chosen would have some terrible, disturbing, un-ignorable disqualifying revelation. I'm not kidding, it was bad--we were like a couple of heart-sick teenagers.

Then one day my cell rang, and it was the owner asking if we were still interested--the renovations were almost done and they'd narrowed the list of possible tenants to...well, us. We were quietly ecstatic. We went out for another look that evening and we signed the lease a few weeks later when the condo was finished.

In the meantime I ALMOST sold my house in Newnan. The woman's financing fell through 4 days before we were to close. Damn. Blast. So I put it up for rental again and I became very picky about tenants and very open about my position on the house. I don't make any money on the place, I just want to pay the bills and have someone live there who isn't going to trash it. A couple moved in who were expecting their first baby (actually born a few days ago....they texted me pics. how sweet). They're a nice couple about our age. I doubt they'll buy it but if they don't at the end of their lease it'll be about time for Rob to start grad school and it's between Armstrong in Savannah and Georgia State in Atlanta. If the latter we'll just move back in and start working on it. It'd be ideal really, closer to my parents if we decided to have children of our own. But we'll see what happens. It'll work out. Always does. 

We've been in the island condo since the end of April and already it makes me sad to think of ever having to leave (I know we will some day). A few weeks ago I decided to dig up a little space beside the front porch steps to plant herbs. At first I thought it was another root and I even hacked at it once, but it came up easily. No telling how long it's been there. I brought it inside and scrubbed it clean. It was a tiny plastic figurine of St. Joseph. Here he is.

St. Joseph, the husband of Mary and earthly Father of Jesus Christ, is honored as the patron saint of married couples, families, carpenters and workingmen. March 19, his feast day, is especially celebrated by people of Italian and Polish descent.

Over the years, the tradition arose of St. Joseph having a special power in real estate transactions. European nuns buried a medal with his likeness on property they hoped to aquire for convents. Gradually the medals were replaced with statues and the focus changed from buying to selling.

The statue is buried upside down in the front yard with the feet pointing to heaven. It may face towards the home (or towards the street if you want your neighbor's home to sell!) The location of the statue can vary: by the "For Sale" sign, in a flower pot (popular for condo owners), etc.. As long as you can find it once the home has sold. 

After the home has sold, the statue should be removed from the ground and given a place of honor in your new home.
Description found here:  http://www.catholicsupply.com/christmas/stjoe.html 

(You can also buy your very own St Joseph Home Selling Kit at the above link!!!! exciting :)

I know what I'll be doing next time I'm in Newnan...

let's go over this again...

the bird and I want to know exactly who gave you permission to be gone all weekend...

I came home from work yesterday and after several short drives back and forth on the island I finally reached a point where all the errands I could get done were done and all I could think to do was buy a 6 pack of beer and find a place to enjoy a few of them. (The post office had closed at 12 so I could not mail the two packages I intended to but I assumed the world would continue turning despite my small disappointment)

Disappointment which was neutralized when I arrived home and found new books in the mail box. I had been fretting for WEEKS about the arrival of this package, stalking the "order status" page and obsessively tracking the shipment, especially when I realized that I had placed the order when we were in our old condo and we had since moved. Yesterday morning I asked Rob to go to the island PO with the shipping information in an effort to increase the chances of them holding it there or delivering it to our forwarding address -- Rob later called and said the man had written a few things down and gave him comforting assurance (intended for me I'm sure) that the person assigned to our route was "a good lady who usually catches those things."

Why I didn't give Rob the two packages I wanted to mail to my mother and brother is beyond me. I guess I saw my day panning out differently and certainly didn't think about shorter hours on Saturday. But I occasionally cling to tasks that I want to be done because I know that if it isn't done, no one has to experience Rachel's disappointment except me.

My best friend for the last two years, Kristina (and her family), lives about 5 miles from us. We're mid-island and they're north-island. If we were south-island it would add a whopping two miles to the distance but the point is I never get tired of appreciating that we live so close to each other and are such good friends. I don't try to but have always had one best friend at a time, and it seems to take me a long time and odd circumstances. I suppose that gives it character. hehe. Kristina and I were an extremely unlikely pair to become friends and I still remember how quirky it felt I was when I realized we genuinely enjoyed each-others company. I thought we couldn't stand each other. We even exchanged heated debates at work about patient care--looking back I think both of us were right. Both of us passionate about the people we cared for. Then sometime weeks later when there was a lull in our combat, I texted her from a dermatologists office asking if she would mind being my emergency contact because it made sense for a good nurse to be an emergency contact in an place where I was about to go through a painful laser treatment--she laughed (in text) and said she'd be honored and asked me if my vaccinations were up to date and what my advance directives were.

Anyway, this entry is getting longer than what my mind imagined. But that's the nutshell of how we became friends.

I went to her house after my errands yesterday and any time I go there I'm usually happily sucked into to their household chaos of neighborhood kids running in and out, Kristina yelling about the back door being open, spontaneous board games and their slightly stinky but sweet little dog, Charlie. And we usually end up trying to figure out what to order out for food so that Dan doesn't get cranky and Rob has a reason to come hang out with us when he gets off work. Last night was no different. Kristina and I ran through hours of entertaining each other with elaborate stories of the PTSD we have from our last employer, she recreated hilarious stories about working in hospice, I described the latest odd pet-walker sighting on our street (a very old woman wearing ONLY a hot pink raincoat) and presented at least one re-enactment of a laughable event that was mortifying at the time it was actually experienced. Basically our only goal is to make each other laugh, even if sometimes we end up crying.

On the way to her house I saw a kitten that had been hit and killed. It was right in the middle, right on the yellow line and it was very young--a soft gray, orange and white little tabby. It was pouring rain and I imagined the driver either never saw it at all or tried in vain to avoid it, although the latter honestly should have resulted in moving it from the road--I do try to give us humans the benefit of the doubt in such situations. I didn't tell Kristina about the kitten until we were about to leave and I asked if we could borrow a shovel. Rob said he had one in his truck and we would get it up if it was still there on our way home.  Rain was still peppering down and I don't like driving after dark or in the rain if I can help it, so I was following Rob as we headed home in separate cars. He drove slowly all the way to the end of the street so we wouldn't miss seeing the kitten. When we approached the place where I'd seen it earlier, there was no kitten--but the mother cat was there. I knew it was her. She was grey and orange, sitting in the oncoming lane in the rain. As we passed she shuffled to the side of the road and sat back down on the shoulder. I cried the rest of the way home--for the kitten, and for a mother's undeniable, stunning grief from the loss.

I started reading Gaiman's novel this morning (I have no intention of reading it in one sitting--that seems gluttonous) --and I already read the forward online so I leafed through it to chapter one. The boy receives a kitten on his 7th birthday....a special little creature who later is the unfortunate victim of an auto driver (who is not kind). Thinking it out loud on a screen here I always feel like I have to explain that I realize it's a fictional story -- but to me they may all be real and they often make more sense anyway. Chapter one freshened my sadness from last night, but in it's odd little way was also comforting--a hand from the universe reaching in to gesture these things we share.

The sun was out for 30 minutes or so. Long enough to hear children squealing by the pool across the hedge behind our lovely condo. It sounded like wind but I realized it was rain as the rushing sound started moving across this part of the island toward the marsh. The people at the pool scurried to put their things away and get inside and its pouring rain again. I originally wanted the sun to stay out so I could go to the beach, and the cats aren't thrilled if I leave the patio door open when it's raining -- but it does make for an excellent background on this Sunday morning.

Chapter two

The view from here--what Father's Day means to me.

The story of my life is, like most, rather multifaceted. So it's difficult to adequately give credit everywhere that it's due. And like most, here are many influential people in my life--my mother undoubtedly in the lead.  But as Father's Day approached this year, it got me to thinking. In my life, as a child of this Earth, what has "Father" meant to me in my life? The simplest version is I lost a good Father and later I gained a good Father. The other version that has stuck in my head since I began considering it, is that I have had the amazing fortune of knowing and loving three very significant, very important Father's of mine. Their stories are all novel-worthy to me, but I'm operating within the parameters of what this blog will allow...and so it goes. Here is my ode.

My Father, William Jay Barnes 
From the time I was born until a little after the age of twelve, I had a wonderful father who nurtured my imagination and prodded my intellect (sometimes to a fault). He guided me and taught me during all those strange, wild and new years of life. I couldn't imagine having a better Father during those years. He gave me knowledge to get through all the fantastic complexities of young life and a giant lot of what I would learn to appreciate and use throughout my entire life.

My Papa, Louis Herman Oalmann
What a guy. During my fantasy childhood, through tragedy, headlong into the vicious confusion of teenagedom and all the way through college. He taught me and he showed me the meaning of hard work, bravery, perseverance (and stubbornness), gentleness, commitment to family, Cajun food and the uncommon grace of unconditional love.

My current Dad, Wayne Hubert Matthews
Just as the years when the tricky stuff of learning to be a successful adult began to seep in, then flood, then take over, Mom met and later married Wayne. Years after my father passed away I would think to myself that one thing I would miss out on the most was having the opportunity to sit at the dinner table and carry on an adult conversation with my Father. Wrestling faith, politics, finance and social issues--and in turn becoming a stronger individual. I haven't missed out on that at all. Wayne and I have enjoyed evening conversations that last well into the morning hours. He taught me about good bourbon and scotch (and the proper way to enjoy them). He bought me my first Apple laptop when I was a senior in college. He serves as a sounding board when I have big decisions to make and empathizes with his own experiences when I tell him about my mistakes. He takes interest in my writing and talks to me about it. He is sensitive to and embraces the history of my family. He cried when our family cat, Plato, passed away--and drove mom (and the cat--lovingly swaddled and kept on ice) to South Carolina for a proper funeral and champagne toast. He walked me down the aisle when I was married and stood as my brothers Best Man when he was married a few months later. He has even surprisingly begun entertaining the notion of having grandchildren around someday (and no longer only refers to such hypothetical little creatures as noisy destructive miniature human nuisances).  He knows my deepest dreams and my darkest secrets. He adores my mother, my brother and me.

Father's Day means this to me--my fathers passed on and instilled in me how to live life--and I'm an incredibly fortunate and grateful child. Happy Father's Day to all the good Dad's out there. And to those with us in spirit.

island sightings

seen in a shop window on the way home from breakfast yesterday

my [1st grade] heart is pretty

thank God parents save stuff like this --  I still feel the same way about my mom -- but as an adult, I couldn't put it into such words :)

hippies and astronauts

last night I explained to my friend
I did witness the 80s and 90s
wore some of the clothes
watched some of the movies
said some of the words
but for the most part I was outside
on the farm
in the woods
with stringy blonde hair
hand-me-down clothes
bitten nails and grimy shoes
humming songs from the 50s or 60s
and trying to become a fairy
see a unicorn
watch a fern unfurl
but I did witness the 80s and 90s
just instead of a New Kid
I fell in love with a Jedi

;)

since I occasionally post my appreciation for good commercials. I feel obliged to also voice my apathy for the low, shitty ones. here's what I think, and what I've always thought about the last few years of this company's commercials...

hey, AT&T! 

exploiting, harassing, corrupting and demoralizing children is disgusting and wrong

 YOUR 

PIECE-OF-SHIT

COMMERCIALS 

 SUCK

  (...doing it regularly on NATIONAL TELEVISION gets you bonus evil points--bastards)

  

I know beggers can't be choosers, but...

it'd be really cool if he were bored when he came to my copy ;)

Neil GaimanAuthor, Graphic Novelist, "Stardust"

more from Neil Gaiman »

"Neil Gaiman on WhoSay"

snakes on a sidewalk

For the record, I do not consider myself a "snake person," nor do I feel 100% comfortable around people who have and/or collect snakes (or  lizards or frogs) as "pets"

THAT BEING SAID

This little buggar was trying his best to catch some sun yesterday when I returned from moving a few things into the new condo. I wasn't sure what it was at first, but I didn't think it was poisonous because the shape of the head and rounded eyes are non-viper. I might have also texted a picture to Rob for safe measure before entertaining further contact :)  -- this is a baby Rat Snake

I tried to shoo him into the bushes but he was determined to stay right there on the sidewalk, no doubt hoping for a few rays of sunshine to peep through the clouds. Maybe he just ate a little lizard and was stuck in the open trying to digest. Maybe the recent sharp drop in temperature left him feeling too aware of his cold blooded existence...who knows.

And I would have just left him there except I knew one of two things would probably happen: 

1. The neighborhood cat (and avid snake killer) "Puddles" would take it as his next victim (until now the only snakes I've ever seen here have already met Puddles), or 

2. another person passing by would have the ever so common reaction of "KILL THE SNAKE!!!" and the same sad fate would occur

So I scooped him up in a glass bowl then transferred him into a small bucket with leaves and some water. He seems to be a very perceptive little snake and would look right at me even if I wasn't moving around or making noise. 

He may not know it (or appreciate it) but spending a few days in our apartment until later in the week when it warms back up might just save his little reptile life. Or at least extend it somewhat. 

Having had the experience we had with rodents in our last abode, I'm more than happy to support the rat snake population on this island!

Rob said he couldn't believe I caught it and honestly, it was just a spur of the moment thing but it had a lot to do with the fact that he was clearly somewhat disabled. Which reminded me of a time when I was little (really little...like, 5 or 6) and was playing in the yard while mother was humoring the Jehovah's witness who had just stopped by the house. I discovered a little green snake and picked it right up to take in and show mom. I was so proud of myself.

(they look like this)

The Jehovah's witness nearly fainted and of course fled the scene. We've since joked that she probably though I was Satan's spawn bringing the serpent to tempt the unfaithful.

Mom saved it in a shoebox until Dad came home from work, at which time I was educated on exactly what kind of snake it was and on NOT picking up ANY snakes even though I not only felt I would sense which ones were bad or good (haha) I also loved all animals so much that I truly believed they would sense this and never hurt me (but I've always thought children are so much more in tune with the world than adults...so there's still a chance I might have been on to something ;)

(UPDATE:...umm...the snake died anyway. so it goes)

AD WINNER OF THE MONTH (possibly year)

KMART - Ship My Pants

praise be....I finally finished my damn taxes. I even made myself (and Rob) wait on dinner so that I had them done and submitted.

I realize I could have waited a few more days to really maximize on the experience, but in a moment of weakness I felt inclined to get it over with.

I've struggled for weeks with my returns, convinced I've missed something. And, well, knowing I surely have because I haven't had or made the time to earn the degree in forensic tax and finance required to file a really impressive return...sigh.

but it's done! wooooo!

(and now my thera-flu is kicking in)

I did it....

a few weeks ago as I climbed out of my car after work to head into our condo (aka 'the cave') I had that "hmmm, feel like I might get a cold" feeling....you know the one. really hard to describe. it's sortof a back-of-the-throat / sinus / head thing...weird

that night I dreamt I woke up with a cold, and the next day....you guessed it....I woke up with a cold--sore throat and everything.

I only left work early one day of last week (though I probably should have been out -completely- for two...hey, I'm no whiner...I had to go in and prove to others I could be at work sick -- if you don't at least infect one or two others you're just faking it)...seriously, there is no compassion for the cold in the workplace--all my working years (all of them. hah) I've never understood why that is.

anyway, the last few days I have suspected my cold had evolved into something that may or may not go away on it's own...I have probably had two or three true blue [bacterial] upper respiratory infections in my life--but one thing I have never had and never want to have is an ear infection, so all morning and early afternoon as I wobbled around at work thinking the floor was surely going to come up and smack me any second (there's no way I'm passing out between my office and the front desk...especially not in this dress...) I thought about it. I don't feel all that bad, but I kindof do....and finally when a trip to the boss' office seemed downright perilous, I did it

I made the call. And it was much easier than I thought it would be (or perhaps should be). I called my doctors office and told the nurse what I thought I had/needed. I even offered my very sincere rendition of why I don't think people should arbitrarily take antibiotics...I gave him multiple opportunities to turn me away, even offered to come in for a listen...nope, says he, the doctor is sick too....which pharmacy do I use

so. off to CVS I go.

(walks delicately away from computer...I wonder how driving will be?)

"next up: bs-o-meters around the world continue to hold firm in un-measurable, off-the-meter positions..."

(for the record, I try to focus the majority of my energy toward supporting, encouraging and sincerely appreciating 'good' -- but I gotta confess, I firmly believe the disease is chronic and terminal)

not to undermine the other staggering buffoon moments in just this week alone, but this guy deserves a highlight....

In a statement Thursday, [Republican U.S. Rep. - Alaska, Don] Young said that during an interview this week with KRBD Radio in Ketchikan, he used a term that was commonly used during his days growing up on a farm in Central California. The congressman says, in his words, "I know that this term is not used in the same way nowadays and I meant no disrespect."
http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2013/03/29/alaska-congressman-migrant-slur/2030259/

umm....well, I hate to break it to you dude, but I'm pretty sure that term is used EXACTLY THE SAME WAY 'NOWADAYS' 

idiot

SOLD!!! my contributions to capitalism. And a few notes on the spring-fall phenom

Yesterday I went to the grocery store after work--and since I had to pick up a prescription at the CVS on the north end of the island, it worked out perfectly that I could shop at Harris Teeter instead of going to the more economical Winn Dixie. But honestly even if I was going to the other pharmacy I'd have driven a few extra miles anyway because I was needing a fresh market/gourmet grocery store fix. And buddy, I found it. I was so excited when I got home about all the NEAT stuff I'm going to cook this week. A person who really knows me knows that for me, $100 at a specialty grocery or farmers market is better than $300 in counseling.For a long list of reasons, but the bottom line is it makes me happy. I mean, seriously, happy enough to blog about it the next day- that's enthusiasm.

Before I go further, let me do a little theres an app for that advertising. I have a nifty app on my Nook called Smart Foods - Organic Diet Buddy

it's not as extensive as I'd like, but it's great for the basics and tells you what produce you really should buy organic and which ones don't matter so much. Some of it is common sense -- we all [should] know that apples and citrus are heavily treated with chemical pesticides (that DO sink into the skin) while potatoes, onions....things that grow underground...not so much (unless you live in certain parts of Washington state...sad sigh (one time in 8th or 9th grade I wrote a very amateur little essay that was anti-nulcear anything--I had a wonderful genius as a father--I was a smart fucking kid)

ok. on to my shopping adventure

last night I was making French Spring Soup and I needed carrots for it, so at first I grabbed a cheap bag of carrots, but THEN I saw these

followed by a very brief, slightly awkward & somewhat inwardly embarrassing moment as my first thought upon seeing them was, holy crap! REAL carrots

in my minds defense, by "real carrots" I was thinking about any time in my life that myself, any person of my family and/or any of my friends have ever tried to grow carrots, THIS is what they look like!!!....normal people don't grow those hulking things you find in the bags. I want normal carrots!

I also keep in mind the bigger picture. It helps that they left the stalks on because of (in no particular order and certainly not an exhaustive list) A. hello marketing appeal--from hippies to Sea Islanders, it looks cool, B. the presence of the stalk helps the buyer somewhat ignore the obvious--that they're actually rather small (this consumer is happy to buy smaller carrots), and C. they make the produce at least LOOK as though it has been as minimally processed as possible--and if you look you'll see there's even a little dirt still on them...if that's fake then I'll take it for the sheer effort

and I made soup but not for eating last night. It's supposed to sit overnight--much like true New England lobster stew--for the full flavor. So I also made some [really half-assed for me but tasty] spaghetti and meatballs. We opened a nice botttle of Sangiovese and even ate at the table. AND after dinner Rob humored a Rachel Recital of the memorized-since-childhood "Jabberwocky" AND a very spiritual reading of "The Cremation of Sam Mcgee."

ahem

Now on to the last commentary of the day--today I believe is the first of spring. Yay :)

I'm not going to generalize it to all Live Oaks along the southern coastal regions, but I'd be willing to bet that if I looked into it I would find that it's mostly true. Along with several other features, in the south where Live Oaks grow, they do not shed their leaves in the fall as other oaks normally do--they hang on to them, and the leaves even stay green all the way through winter and into early spring. Then, when new growth starts pushing out, last years leaves fall off, sort-of like baby teeth. So right now, as we enter spring, the parking lots, roads and sidewalks are littered with dunes of brown oak leaves. And yesterday when I stopped to get the mail and it was just starting to cool off I thought "if one didn't know better, anywhere else this would be a perfect fall day"

and that's the end

oh, and I don't mind sayin' -- the soup -tonight- was awesome! ;-)

hello thirty-one

It's easy to believe in magic when you're young.  Anything you couldn't explain was magic then.  It didn't matter if it was science or a fairy tale.  Electricity and elves were both infinitely mysterious and equally possible - elves probably more so.  ~Charles de Lint 


It's Saint Patrick's Day, are you wearing green? 

Mom and Wayne just took off for their home on the other side of the state. They arrived around 3pm yesterday so it was one short but sweet visit....always a rare and happy surprise to have the parents at our place. Especially on me birthday! This will be two years in a row that both of them have come to St. Simon's. 

Last year was the big 30 -- even my brother and his wife came to the island. Rob took the day off and the whole bunch of us spent all afternoon at the beach. 

My mother and father brought my brother and I up in a way that I believe wove our minds more deeply into our souls and taught us the ability to see beyond the initially observable world...things that many people were unaware of seemed obvious to us. I think that gets harder to do as you become an adult, so I'm grateful that we learned this early in life and I intend to do them same with our children when we have them. 

Last year, as we were collecting our things to leave the beach, mom showed us what she'd been working on almost the entire time we were there.  Were weren't allowed to look at it until then, and it will probably always be one of my most cherished birthday "gifts" :)

...when the tide came in, she jumped free of the beach and danced on the waves

de gah?

yesterday I realized that without even intending to do so,

I have been having a birthday week

:)

EXHAUSTOMUNDO!!!

(damn, i think those exclamation points took the last of my energy)

my face and chest are SUNBURNED....lord a mighty. no spf could stand against a sunday so absolutely wonderful that i could only force myself to go inside long enough to trade an empty cup of coffee for a bottle of water and a few new magazines (and later, a bottle of wine, a frisbee and a fresh towel)

first day of new job made me feel like a fish out of water...this is what it's like to change careers!

can't believe i'm finally saying that after all the years i've threatened it....sortof thrilling in a holyshitdidijustdothat? kind of way

night #2 sans spouse. there are times when a night to myself is great. a hot bath, a new book, catching up with an old friend on the phone, a vampire movie i've seen 98.6 times, painting fingernails with a color i'll undoubtedly pick off only hours later...
but i do not dig extended absence. in this situation traveling with Rob (which was the original plan, before the previously mentioned decision I made) would have been equally if not more draining b/c going to WV with Rob is like being on a week-long stand-up roller coaster that you have to really hang on to lest you find yourself flying off into the wild blue yonder...and the only times in my life I've ever experienced genuine car sickness

at some point in the day, almost every day for the last few months, I find myself peering at the calendar, calculating the days until I can take a legitimate vacation. a real live honest to goodness vacation. not wedding or a honeymoon. not time off work where we're navigating the hurdles of someone else's wedding.....a 100%, out of the country (but not overseas -- that deducts relaxation points. not to mention I may just decide to stay), warm, sunny, clear water, good coffee, good wine, fresh local food, little spoken English and no cell service

(i suppose i should also be peering at a map considering my requirements. hah. but i feel better just dreaming about it)

and speaking of dreaming, i may be doing just that in about 4.26 minutes

big decisions in a little life in a big world......finding the balance

thirty days ago I thought really hard, prayed to the universe, felt a peace, took a deep breath, made a decision, shook a hand and turned in a resignation

so as of yesterday I officially and respectfully extricated myself from the realms of healthcare

and for the next howeverlongittakes I'm not going to work for money as a clinical social worker.

i've been called an "under-achiever"

and i've come to know now that their measure of "achievement," (along with other ideals) was and most likely continues to be based on something rather shallow

about a month ago, while on my lunch break, I had a sudden realization that at this point in this life and at this exact time it's important to pay attention to how my mental and emotional energy is spent. and until now, I believe I have been unable to really direct my attention--in as speedily a way possible--toward effectively saving money, going back to school and actively moving toward what it is I feel I desperately need to be doing with my life. I want to work toward improving the whole-person wellness in older adults and their loved ones, because somethings gotta give, but as much as I have loved working one-on-one with a handful of women and men and their families, and as much as I know I made a difference in their lives, I have absolutely no doubt that I need to be heading somewhere so I can do more.