I GOTTA TROLL!!!!!!!

And not a Spammy, try to trick you troll. I think it's a Real One! The Trolls name is Anonymous, as most of them are because they're all related. Not by blood necessarily but by kinship.

HI TROLL!

For nearly four years I've been waiting. Waiting for someone to criticize my parenting. Waiting for someone to remark on my girls less than stellar moments. It never happened. Because people are mostly awesome like that. I have found so many lovely and supportive women through blogging. Some I feel I've gotten to know quite well and I consider them true friends who really know me, even if I never meet them in person. I'm amazed at how well this person knows me since they read a total of (1) ONE  Post,  I know because I spy on you like that. SURPRISE! Anyway. One post out of all this nonsense, not to mention, heartbreak and, oh yeah, LOVE, I have on here.

But this morning, on my post just previous to this one, which involves a Happy Birthday to my beautiful Middlest and some baby woodland creatures that my darling soft hearted Biggest and Littlest were helping, imagine my surprise when I found this:

** Potty Mouth Warning!

THAT BABY! CREATURE HAS BEEN SPUN OUT TO DRY! THANKS TO BLOODY YOU! YOU EVIL ABANDONING MOTHER! WHO HAS NOTHING GOOD TO SAY. ALWAYS BUTS HER YOUNG DOWN. DOESN'T EVEN GIVE THEM THE TIME OF DAY! YOU FLEA BRAIN INFESTED BITCH! ROT IN BLOODY HELL WITH ALL OF YOUR MANGLED FUCKED UP LITTLE BABIES.

YOU HEAR ME BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I only rarely use uncouth language on my blog because I think it's an ignorant way of expressing yourself, except in special circumstance. I'm assuming that, like myself, she/he feels that curse words are very effective when used sparingly and about something you are passionate about. So please excuse the profanity of My Troll.

But...I'm not really sure what this person is BABBLING about. They seem to have something against sweet little furry baby woodland animals that have been injured and abandoned and need help until they can survive on their own. I can't imagine why anyone would be so mean and call such sweet tiny creatures 'mangled F'd up little babies.' I don't recall any of them in a dryer... the squirrels are safely tucked in Biggest's boobs and the wood rat is still on my back porch and probably will be till the end of time....because My Young completely rule my heart and trod all over me as they got their big soft mushy hearts FROM ME. Dumbass...oops...just a little slip there....and if My Troll had read more than one post she might understand that my Biggest regularly saves animals of all kinds and perhaps might surmise that she learned that trait from HER PARENTS. Though I will say I am a big proponent of wild creatures being in the wild and not captivity once they are able to survive on their own.

anyway.....I don't normally 'BUT' my young down either but sometimes I tell them it's time to sit for dinner....let's see...they all own cell phones with time on them...that I pay for...except Biggest and I paid for hers till she was like 22....and if they don't have them on them and I do I will certainly look and tell them what time is..as long as I'm not driving or something....
and I never abandon anything. Including my 5 cats + a feral, 2 dogs, over the years countless, hamsters, birds and a guinea pig and the mouse I found hidden in a closet,  as well as the occasional injured wild creature. Not to mention my three daughters who, quite the opposite of being abandoned or ignored, would likely say, OK, have said, "I'm an adult. Quit hovering over me worrying and telling me what to do."

So anyway TROLL. If you haven't already, check out my reply to your original comment, it has some information that may interest you. Also, Please do return and clarify your babble. Or perhaps read more than one post so you actually know the person you're judging. Please.
You see, it's been nearly 4 years and you have finally given me what I was waiting for. Someone to ..um.. FUCK WITH ME : )

Kisses,
Ms. G

P.S. I did say in that post that I had hurt my back rather badly and was taking some medication and jokingly mentioned I might leave weird comments. Maybe I'm not the only one on drugs....




© 2013 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Life Is Good Whether I Like It Or Not

Thanksgiving is coming up and of course this is the time of year when we all look around and find things to be Thankful and Grateful for. Now, sometimes it’s hard to be thankful because things are, well, hard. Sometimes it’s hard to be thankful because they are..good. Doesn’t seem like it should make sense but it does. In the past months I have been inspired by several blog posts I've read which were done so much more articulately and succinctly than I can manage but please bear with me as I try to make my point in 2000 words or more, as usual,  while others can do it in 500 or less : ). 

You see, I do appreciate and give thanks for my blessings. I also feel guilty for them. Because things are bad. In a lot of ways and a lot of places. And part two, which I’ve mentioned here before, is that I often have trouble enjoying the good that comes in my life because of,

BUT-what happens next?

Because I have had bad times. I have had my ass kicked. And I know it can happen again.

 And I don't like that.

Let’s take a detour for a minute to talk about faith. I have faith. I have absolute faith in God and am also absolutely certain that faith has nothing to do with preventing bad circumstances. If I am blessed it is by Grace not because I deserve it or have been singled out. I feel it is not so much given as allowed. The same goes for difficulty and strife. It is not what we are given. Faith is maintaining love and belief throughout it. So faith, is what it is. It doesn’t rely on anything else. We have it regardless. Otherwise what would be the point? If everything was perfect imagine what self involved shallow creatures human beings would be. We already are. Without some empathy and the circumstances to feel it we would be insufferable.

Now here is a fact. We, as a family, have had a very good year. No huge disasters. We are even financially stronger than we have been in some time. I feel guilty. I felt guilty the other day when I was on a job location and a janitor came very close to me and quietly asked if we were hiring. He quickly slipped in that he used to do the same type of work we do for a very large company. And I had to say no. He said it kind of sucks having to be a janitor after being what he was before. He’s right. I felt really bad about it. But we are a small company. We can’t afford more employees. And the reason we are doing well is because we work our asses off.  I truly worked my ass of this year. I don’t feel bad for having this blessing. I feel bad that others don’t have it as well. But he did have some work. He had an imperfect way to survive but a way all the same. And I know,

“There, but for the Grace…you know the rest…

There is something else too. I know many bloggers who write about this but I have not.

Since I was a child I have suffered from generalized anxiety that creates a mild form of OCD and cyclical depression that fluctuates approximately on a 2 to 3 year basis. When I was fifteen my parents took me took a psychologist who taught me some basic skills to deal with these problems and they actually helped. I never used medication until my late twenties and have only used them sporadically over the years when absolutely necessary. Most of the time the clues are so small you would never know. Though at some point my children did notice the six dots I make in the condensation on a bottle every time I pour soda and my husband occasionally will ask, “why are you clicking, what’s wrong?”

 Now I am the one in my family who holds everyone else together. I reassure and calm. I keep the faith. When things seem to be falling apart I’m the one chasing them around with a needle and thread saying, it will be fine, it will work out in the end.”

The strangest part about this is that when things do seem to be going well, that is when I fall apart. Because of the " BUT-what happens next.”

Earlier this year the bigger signs started. The sudden need for organization. The hand washing. The fear of pulling out in intersections, the constantly checking and rechecking my paperwork and still panicking that I missed a mistake.  The not wanting to go out. The feeling that just getting through my normal life was an overwhelming ordeal and dealing with the people around me was a crushing weight I couldn't shake off. I ignored it..cause..that's what I do..and then, a couple months ago, the tears. The despair. The knowing that even though everything was fine it will not stay that way and I couldn’t bear the thought of it. Houston, we had meltdown. Which leads my family to questions along the line of; “But you always say…”. I know, I know, but this is genetic and chemical apparently and can’t be helped.

 

The gist of this is, I had to get back on my medications. The depression seems to be under control. The anxiety is reduced-as long as I don’t think about anything very hard or very long. If I focus on my family and keep my faith I’ll be alright. If I acknowledge the blessings I have been given this year and accept that, yes, I should enjoy them when I can because they are what I have right now and we don’t know the future. BUT-that’s ok. Because my faith teaches me that love is all that is enduring. That life is not always pretty and I may have to get out my needle thread and patch things up again. It teaches me to be thankful for whatever comes my way, no matter how small or inconsequential it may seem. It teaches me that faith is not found in Big and Beautiful and Perfect. Sometimes it is found in imperfection and making do and inferiority. That Life Is Good even when it's not exactly what we would wish for.

This Thanksgiving I am Thankful that I have my family and that we will all be together for the Holidays because there is a good chance that will not happen next year. I have my faith and had some icing on my cake and a doctor to help me remember that. Plus it’s been cold and gray and drizzly all week which puts me in a wonderful mood.

 And ‘whatever happens next’ will happen, whether I like it or not. With my imperfect family I will make do with whatever inferior materials life gives me to patch things together. I still have Love and Faith for added strength and It's All Good.

Life will always show us good, even if it's hidden in unlikely places, if we recognize it and accept it for what it is.

 I think a text message from my Middlest this week sums it perfectly:

 

Mid: I just found God and I’m feeling pretty good about it.

Me: Most Awesome. Where was he?

Mid: taco bell

 

Have a Happy and Blessed Thanksgiving Everyone.

 

You know what comes next!

 

 

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Road Tripping...Me Out

I think that when you travel by car you can see a microcosm story of life. I always wonder about the people in very small towns. How did they get there? What is their life like? What are they like? But the answers might be right in front of me. Little clues left on the side of the road. It's possible that human nature, and my nature, can be witnessed without ever leaving my vehicle.

I've been traveling a lot lately. Our work normally covers three adjoining states, so when we have an out of town project we drive. My husband doesn't like interstates. He hates the lack of change. The semis. I hate the semis. So whenever possible we take the back roads. My parents often did the same. When I was a child I would lie in the back seat and read. If we were traveling to Pennsylvania to see my sister, I would tell them, "Let me know when you see the mountains." The southern states held no draw for me. I don't hide in back anymore but oftentimes on these trips I reach for my bag and pull out my book. Lower my head. I know he'll let me know if he sees something interesting.  It's just when I see the long stands of everlasting pine trees. Identical. One after the other, the base slippered in palmetto scrub. Within the car with a regulated cold breeze blowing I watch the side of the road.  I know the feel of the crackly brown grass and crunch of pine needle interspersed with the white sandy soil in small break through clumps. I know the still, overbearing heat of that forest. The feel of that sand, hot and sticky in my shoes. The relative coolness of the needles. I know the fact that in the middle of a summer day no amount of shade those pines produce would cool me. We pass a blackened, charred acre of fire remnants. I agree with the view. The scent of hardened pine sap, heart of the conflagration, infiltrates the interior of the car and I know in my soul the sucking of oxygen, the suffocation of that heat. I pull out my book.

The shoulders of the road depress me. Carcasses litter the white line. Wild creatures, sometimes still recognizable. Maybe not so attractive to begin with, like Armadillo. The peaked white face of opossum, a striped raccoon tail, the only part of a lump still intact and occasionally a deer. That moment of question. "Is that a dog?" It's large, no, the tan coat gives away the waste. Sometimes it is a dog. Heartbreaking thoughts fill my imagination. Someone opens a back door, calling with no response. Someone heartlessly opening a car door and speeding away. I catch my breath, "Oh no. That was a kitty." Sometimes even worse are the  discarded pets that still live. They return to my memory time and again. Emaciated hounds sniffing along roadside trash. Lost on the hunt. Small creatures running haphazardly in zig zags, searching. In a long stretch of unpopulated state road in South Carolina you suddenly come upon a crossroad. Marked by a single small store with gas pumps. The parking lot full with pick ups, road crew trucks and tractor trailers. A lovely red and white spaniel, her flowing fur does not disguise the horrific site of her ribs, sharp and clearly defined at her sides,  though her teats are full and dragging low with milk. She cautiously inches toward a  big rig parked alongside the building. My heart swells. A hand reaches out the window and waits, while with head lowered, eyes upraised, one tiny step at a time she approaches. Finally the arm arcs a half eaten sandwich,. It lands at her feet and she grabs it quickly, looking up for a moment at the kind trucker and wagging her tail before scurrying back towards the woods. How did she get here? Where are the puppies? Why was she so full? Are they dead? Was she dumped without them? I'll never know but my heart broke that we were packed without an inch of room and even if we were not, we had a deadline. Didn't even know if she could be won over. I cried. I hoped that having found this store someone would care for her. I think about her every time I travel. If I pass that way again I will be searching the edge of the woods. Looking. Hoping.

The animals aren't the only heartache. As we reach the outskirts of small towns they begin to pop up. Almost every bend in the road like a monument to human misery. Rounding the corners revealing the signs. Simple white crosses. Sometimes with a name painted on them. Or posts with a circle inscribed, Drive Safely. Ringed with flowers and occasionally stuffed animals. The more recent bearing zip locked cards and messages, fogged with dew. These markers are commonplace in my home town. I'm used to them. Many are familiar landmarks in my daily drive but nothing more. In some cases I know what happened. A testament told on the evening news. But these markers standing out on lonely country roads seem to hold more grief. They often mark the entrance to the return of human habitation. Tiny communities. These markers call to mind a whole town grieving. Places so small that every person who passes may know the whole story. May have known the person lost. A friend, a co worker, a relative. A sad reminder in a place where truly, everybody knows your name. Again my imagination fires. Bored teenagers in a town with no place to go, racing through the night for thrills? Old Mr. So & So from the mill, blearily winding his way home from the ramshackle No Name Bar and drifting off the road? Mrs. Such & Such coming home late from bible study and swerving to avoid one of those poor raccoons she always hates seeing squished in the road?

But that isn't all of course. The pines begin to filter out and you know there is water nearby. A lake. a river. Giant spreading oaks might mark the beginning of humanity returning. Hand lettered signs announcing tomato's, fruit, nuts For Sale up ahead. In early spring fields open revealing sprigs of some sort of crop, which we might guess at. Is that cotton? Corn? Strawberries? Rows of majestic Pecan Trees mark the edge of a sprawling farm. Horses, goats, I hear my mothers echo, Look at the cows!" No wait, that's my husband. He smirks, knowing my family's private joke on me. I see the damn cows.  My husband and I have a game. We guess which store the next town will frequent, A Family Dollar or Dollar General Store. If both show up we know we are in a good sized place. There might even be a fast food restaurant. Always, even if there is just one, there is a Chinese restaurant. Without fail. Even in the tiniest places. I love the local businesses in these small towns. Susie's Beauty World contained within in a small pink clapboard house. Joe Joe's Best Barbecue. The sign peeling and faded but the smoker in the parking lot is going full on. It smells heavenly.
Mama Mary's southern fried chicken. You know that would be heavenly too. Bo's Fish camp. Dottie's Special Occasion Flowers. And of course, Tiny Town Thrift. There is never a lack of church. Baptist leads the numbers in the south. First Baptist. Missionary Baptist. Primitive Baptist. First Pentecostal Missionary Baptist. But there is always a healthy scattering of other denominations. White steepled Methodist. A fairly modern peaked roof Lutheran. A rather fancy brick Presbyterian and the occasional Catholic. All of them with messages of hope neatly lettered on their front lawn welcome signs.
You see the most interesting things in 'the middle of nowhere.' I recently saw a Cherokee Seminole meeting circle. A huge confederate flag marked the entrance to another fenced compound bearing a large sign: Sons of the Confederacy, Join Now! No thanks. But just when you think you've warped back a few decades you see something unexpected. In a place that you would swear still lives in the 1930's we suddenly happen on a huge yoga retreat camp. On a tiny block building deep in farm country a bright yellow banner joyously invites, Join Zumba Fitness Now!
Then there are the roads. So many named after people. J.R. Smith Lane. Nancy M. Cotton Ave. Who are they? How did they warrant a street name? Some of them are dirt roads that appear to be deserted and leading absolutely nowhere. Cemetery Road and Old Mill Lane speak for themselves of course, but last week I saw Old Soldier Road. I liked that one. I would like to know the story.
 Last week we passed through a town called Enigma. Only a few scattered buildings could be seen from the road. We did pass a road sign for Main Street with an arrow pointing to the Post Office but that's all we saw. I was intrigued. I want to live in a town called Enigma. Then again, the enigma may be how did these people got here and what exactly are they doing here? It took all of 5 minutes to pass the town.

 I often wonder how these people came to be here. Tiny places. Sometimes huge sprawling homes and fenced land abutting worn trailers with rusting cars and toys strewn through the yard. Tiny houses neatly painted white with carefully planted flower beds and the yards decorated with miniature windmills, iron deer and doll sized gazebos resting just feet from the road. Homes built on quiet country lanes, later widened for the convenience of civilization. The front porch holds a rocker and I imagine a woman sitting there trying to catch a breeze at the end of the day. Staring with satisfaction at the gee gaws and ignoring the intrusion of traffic that they distract from. The personality of the residents sometimes breaks through the hum drum ride and it's always worth it. I know of a place where a house, that can't be bigger than two rooms, sports a front yard with a three story flagpole sporting an enormous American Flag waving over a life size statue of Jesus with his arms outstretched, patiently watching over the traffic. I feel honored and blessed as I pass. Is that what the resident wants to say? I don't know. But it works for me. Many years ago, driving alongside cow pastures in Vermont I saw a mobile home completely painted like a black and white cow with a mailbox to match. Driving through a another town I see an old house in bad need of repair. Sagging porch, peeling paint. An old wooden business sign stood in front, it's original message long ago faded away but fresh spray paint tagged an new one, Happy Birthday Mom with a Smiley Face). I imagine Mom's smile when she came home. I see her tired and walking slow with sore feet at the end of the day and looking up to see this message of love. Maybe there was cake too. I've seen mailboxes shaped like sharks, personal diatribes written on buildings and fences made of bicycles. But last week I think I saw my all time favorite.  We rounded a deep bend in the road, passing a worn looking yellow house set under huge ancient oaks. The deep shade and time of day made it blend to almost invisible but at the last moment it caught my eye. I had to do a double take because to my surprise, beneath the tall trees stood a full size topiary brontosaurus. Perfectly executed just a couple yards from the road. It reminded me. People live in many different ways. We come from myriad goals and walks of life. It added to my question of,  how do people end up here? I don't know that but I know this for sure. Regardless of how or why they land where they do, some people are a trip. And make it a trip worth taking.


© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Time Capsule

Back in October I decided to chance the deep dark depths of the closet under the stairs. I took some pictures while I was doing it and in keeping with the system by which I created my time capsule I'm just getting around to organizing this into a post. If this is the first time you are visiting my blog let me recap that my daughters are 24, 18 and 16 years old. We moved into this house when they were 2,4 and 10. At that time there was only one thing in the closet and it's still there. This was a very emotional experience. I am sentimental and so are my daughters. I have tried to do this before and they prevented me so I finally waited till they were not here and dove in. The SeaMonkey has been complaining and threatening to throw it all away for years.

Let's start with what I would find when I opened the door. Don't ask why there are blinding blue walls with big white splotches all over them. It was a family project. That's all. See that pile of stuff to the left? Middlest left these things when she moved in with Biggest-in September-and back in- last month- and has been asked to move them to the shed or back in her room.

Want to know where they are now? Just a second, let me turn around.

That's right. In my office.

So anyway. Beyond the norm like luggage and sleeping bags,

 I find more of my most recent child to reach adulthood.

Mid practices painting using old cardboard to save money so I had a whole lot of cardboard

 and also canvas in there.

More Mid. wth? Seriously.

This is a box of stuff left from when my mom lived with us in 2007

 and it's all junk but I didn't want to deal with it at the time.

Then a little further back to when Biggest moved out.

 This is a really nice pair of handmade cowboy boots that she says she has no place to wear. She admired a pair a regular customer was wearing when she was about 18 and working at a sandwich shop. The next week they brought her a pair.

 Because that kind of stuff happens to Biggest.

I put them in Mids room.

Ah, and then I hit the dress up bag. Oh boy. The mommy hormones started to hit about that time but I persevered. The doll is gone. The costumes? Ok yeah, They're still there.

Are you kidding Ms. G.?

GONE!

This is Ouchy.

Ouchy belongs to Littlest. There is not much of her stuff in there because there is yet another big closet upstairs and it is still full. But Ouchy?

Ouchy stays.

This was one of my dads hats. He died 11 years ago.

This? Oh yes! This IS a totally Awesome purse from  the 80's.

What do you mean? Where do You THINK it is? : )

Mm Hmm. Doesn't fit a single toilet in the house. But! You never know.

 Then we hit another clean the kids rooms out session. Thomas the train, cars and a naked Barbie.

I was going to dispose of these. Guess who saw them in the trash pile and asked me to put them back? The Seamonkey. Mr. "Just throw it all out." Mm hmm.

 And whales. Of course there where whales. And there still are.

Pooh and boxing gloves. The story of my children in one photo.

Yes. That is exactly what it looks like.

Feel feel to use the photo to confound the children on family trivia game night.

Alright. Sometimes being a pack rat is very cool. No these have not been under the stairs since World War II ended.

 But they had been under there so long I forgot I owned them.

Do you know what all this is?

Neither do I, so I just put it back in the box and left it under there.

Back a few more years to Pooh.

 And Grumpy

At the very back a box of Biggest. The first one. Softball trophies and Birthday Barbie.

You know those stayed too.

Last of all was our crib comforter. My parents bought it for us when I was pregnant with Biggest. Yes. It stays.

All in all I sorted thru 7 large bags of stuffed animals to be donated or disposed of.

There are two left. (One entirely filled with whales). I was troubled by the lack of apes and when questioned by Biggest realized she doesn't have them either. The monkeys have escaped!

God help us if we don't find them somewhere. You should have seen her face.

I also threw away a few boxes of junk and am proud to say you can now walk five feet into the closet. Or at least you could until The Seamonkey said, "Look at all that space"and put his stuff in it.

But while it was empty I saw something I haven't seen in many years. At the very back the closet takes a left turn and reduces to three feet high. Just the right size for a young child to sit and play Barbies in the Barbie house their mother contorted herself to create and stenciled and hand painted the walls of. There are actually six rooms but my knees didn't allow me to stay in there long.

I still refuse to concede that, as my children claim, "they are screwed up because I kept them in a closet under the stairs when they were little. "

Ingrates.

I even let all three of them paint the clouds all over that blue sky.

And no, this will never be repainted as long as I live.

Do you have trouble saying goodbye to pieces of the past? Or are you a ruthless clutter killer?

© 2011 All Rights Reserved

Yeah.........

So..... they sent me home! Good thing,  because I have to work out of town all next week and now I can flood my blog with posts this week to get it out of my system. Tomorrow I have A Very Long Post. So make a Pot of tea if you are going to sit long enough to read it.
 I saw a lot of good stuff I want to read but am saving it all for morning when I can peruse at my leisure.  Here is a random list of thoughts.

1. Court is a scary place and though it was interesting i am glad i didn't have to stay there and decide the fate of scary people.

2. Middlest waited till the last minute to decide to go to prom,which is this friday. All the dresses were on sale. Littlest picked the perfect dress for her and it was marked down $70.00 % off. She fell in love with a pair of "Perfect" shoes that were originally $55.00 bucks and marked down to $20.00, but they were out of her size. She froze in the chair and refused to move without those shoes. A fairy Godmother with a name tag on finally walked up and said"I actually do have 1 pair in the back in your size but some one left a mark on them so I had to put them away for no sale as defective." Middlest said I don't care as long as I get those shoes, I'm probably only wearing them once. And she got them for $15.00. And the scuff is on the bottom, you can't see it. So I got off amazingly cheap and middlest is going to prom, even though she doesn't have a date because she dumped her boyfriend. But she is going to be stunning. I can't wait to dress her up, it's like having a life size Barbie Doll. When Middlest was little Biggest and I used to make her up sometimes just to freak ourselves out.

3. I need to Thank Oikology 101 at this link for the instructions on making my  blog button. This was the easiest I found after trying forever!
It took me two extra days because I am ornery and bullheaded and refused to accept that I couldn't do it with picasa because I have this weird quirk (psychosis) about registering for things and I just didn't want to have to remember another username and password but I finally caved and have a button. I don't even care whether anyone grabs it I'm just tickled with it myself.

4. Umm, I forgot what 4 was gonna be and I'm hungry......so yeah...Later!

5. Oh wait, A long time ago in the dark ages of fall when I started this I listed 3 books for helping with teen problems. They are all useful. In particular this one: Parenting Your Out Of Control Teen by Scott P.  Sells was a GodSend to me. I was reading all kinds of stuff and when I found this I was so relieved because a lot of what it covers was exactly what we were experiencing and it was the first time I had found things put this way. It made perfect sense. I found it a little late in the game with my oldest but was still able to put some of it to use and I learned some techniques that are very useful with my other daughters too. I highly recommend it if you are having problems with your teen. Even if you aren't read it anyway, just in case! That's All!

© 2010 All Rights Reserved

To 57 Chevy from C.S.

This post contains the initials of strong language....and some general being pathetic.

Letters Never Sent

To 57 Chevy,
 
Today I miss you. This doesn't happen every day, just from time to time. I know it is not uncommon to grow away from childhood and high school friends. If that was the case and I was curious I could look you up, catch up and move on again.  But this was different. As I am writing this blog it has crossed my mind that though I am writing it for myself, I might also be writing it for you. Like I always did. I know if you came across it and started to read, you would recognize my voice. It has not changed much except for the subject matter. No more skating rink stories and crushes.  I saved the notes for years but finally threw them away so the kids wouldn't get in to them and know how horrible we were as teenagers. But I kept the tag team poetry. It is in the carboard box in the hall closet. We still rock, my girls love.. There once was a guy named: _______fill in the blank:  Along with the yearbook, do you remember what you wrote in mine,

We have alot of years ahead of us & I know we'll be friends forever. We've been through alot of things, good & bad, so I know we can make it through a lot more. I wish the very best for you in life and I intend to be around to watch it happen.

 Do you remember the poem I wrote in yours? The thank you for being my friend. The lines: "For all of the wise things you knew, that I never listened to" and "For every year that you've been there, I hope we have ten more to share. "

  But we didn't. And that sucks. Are you even allowed to use the internet? Is it monitored? Have you been there long enough to gain their trust? 16 years since I've seen you. I am still married , 2 kids you met though one was an infant and another you haven't seen. I know what you would say about my oldest, but you would be wrong. I know what you would say if you had never left here, and it would be right. I remember you saying that all you ever wanted was to get married and have kids, and that I didn't want kids but even though you married 1st, the babies weren't coming but mine did and now there I was "perfect mom".  Would you be surprised now, or secretly pleased. It wasn't long after that you got your wish and though it took several years I know you have 3 now because I ran into your Mom at BJ's a couple years ago and she told me you just had another, unexpectedly. How do you have an unexpected child? The possibilities kinda creep me out.  She told me what a lovely young woman M has become and that when she tried to give her some spending money that she turned around and gave it to you.  She said it proudly, but her eyes looked sad.  When I think of how badly you wanted those kids and think now of what they are being taught it p's me off, but I know it really isn't my business.  I know what it's like there because B&A are grown women now and they told me. T's husband was stationed here awhile back and we met for lunch. She was worried about her sister & her family. But at least they talk.
 She told me about your hair. Would I recognize you. Yes, you know I would. Sometimes when I drive past your Mom's house, not stalking, J's son lives in our old house, anyway... If there is a stange car I check the plates to see if they are from you state. I think about walking up to the door and surprising you. I know you are only allowed to come very rarely for short periods. I know you have to call and check in several times a day because that's what C&B had to do when they visited us, before they came to their senses and left there. Fled there. Since your parents did not follow I don't know how much access they are allowed.
  Years ago when this started I called your Mom and tried to tell her, to see if she would help. She said as long as you were happy she was happy. Pardon me but wth?!  Previous sentence probably another reason you act like I'm dead. But I shouldn't have been surprised.  Maybe if you were in another state she wouldn't have to see your messy house. I ran into L still working at the grocery store. She asked about you. Are you angry that all those years ago I told her Mom what was going on and she stopped her from coming. I don't feel guilty. She has always been unusually naive and trusting and you knew she had some mental issues. You didn't have much security to lose. Her pension is in her bank,  not WOFF's and she's getting older.  I feel guilty for ever giving you that damn tape. More bad language, I know I'm Satan but whatever. I gave it to you because I thought you would recognize that it was evil and help us with C&B. I felt sick when you called and said it was incredible, you wanted to talk to C about visiting there. It was like the twilight zone. They woke up! Why didn't you? When I wrote to you that time I received a letter in return that was not your voice. You forgot I had since elementary school to know your voice. Since 6th grade to have the daily writing, the football shaped notes dropped by a careful arm reach through the History class door and set on the bookcase, while I rose to sharpen my pencil above it. Not your voice. Not your words. A strangers.
In these years. My brother is dead. My parent's are dead. Not even a generic card. The person I knew would never have let that happen. Your church only consorts with it's own? Very Christian of you... But I'm not really here to be bitter or give you a guilt trip. I'm really not. But you always were, the thoughtful one.
  Like your Mom I hope if nothing else you are truly happy. I stated my concern once and that is all I needed because I do respect that you have your beliefs even though I don't share them. I wish you respected mine enough to still be my friend. I know they can't allow you to be exposed to any one who might question them.
And I'm supposed to be an honest blogger, so do I really respect your beliefs? If I got a hold of you would I try to de-program you? I don't know.  I know  your phone number is listed but I haven't tried so give me brownie points for that. I don't want to call because I don't want to talk to that stanger. I think I could over look it if I could just have you know about my life and know about yours like we used to without anything getting in the way. You know how I am. That except for my husband I have not bothered to put the effort into another close friendship in all these years. But my Mom is gone now too. She really was gone long before that so I pretty much stopped talking altogether. I never liked to much anyway. I always preferred to just have quiet company. You were good for that. I didn't have to say much but we could laugh uncontrollably at 2AM falling off my parents couch in tears over something stupid or nothing at all. Harmonizing Amazing Grace for your Mom in the backseat on the way home from church. Riding around in your cherry red 65 Mustang with the top down, wearing fedora's and smoking Swisher Sweets while we cruised the strip. It broke my heart when you traded that car in for something family practical, but then, you were always the mature one. All the way back to, what ?  3rd grade when my then best friend MJ was bullying me into carrying her stuff home from school you walked up and said " I would just drop it there and leave it." It had never occured to me that I could stand up to her, and I did it. You were always the strong one. Weren't you?
  And I was not always an easy friend. Cracking up during your solo. Rolling up and saying " you picking up guys again?" to tease you not realizing of course that you had just met and were talking to your future husband.  After repeated warnings about lifting the hem, still stepping on my gown going up the stairs in your wedding and saying the Sh part of the sh... word out loud before I caught myself in front of your minister, friends and family. You see, I always was better off keeping my mouth shut.  Did you really need  to join a cult to stop speaking to me? : )
  At least I was willing to take the title and the rap of the wild one when,  well.. we know the truth about that.
My anniversary is coming and every year I think about that whole day, not just my ceremony. You are a part of it. My only bridesmaid. Our wild bachelorette party having tea with my Mom and Aunts. Your nice husband understanding us spending the night at my parents house for one more silly sleepover before we all were "grownups".When we woke up at 6 and it was snowing,.... here? And driving to pick up the cake.Your awful driving and slamming on the brake and  reaching out as our shared giant copy of East of Eden slid across the dash and catching it at the corner just as the edge hit the 2cd tier and....barely knicked it. And filling the moments before it was time to start, waiting in the church nursery, playing Heart and Soul on the piano like we had 5 million times before. Which you were always willing to do because it was the only song I could play well.....except Lean On Me.
And I did.....
So nowadays.....
I spend a lot of time falling on my ass.

Love,
C. Shadow











© 2010 All Rights Reserved