hammy whammy...

For the first time in many, many weeks the air felt wonderful. Not oppressive, hot and sticky as it has been. This air doesn’t sear your lungs when you inhale. This air feels fresh.

I walked my yard this morning in my jammies, cup of java in my hand, looking at the damage the heat and drought has done to my gardens. The leaves are starting to turn early, the maples and plums trees already shedding their foliage. Acorns are rapidly dropping off the pin oak and filling the pond, driveway and deck with their shells. The tomato plant is full of green tomatoes but none turning red and ripe for picking. The perennials all look forlorn and wilted like a dying man in a dessert asking for a last drink of water before he expires.

I gave up on watering. I had tried to keep up, watering both in the morning and evenings. Turning the timers on for the sprinklers to give the lawn and plants a soak. Then I got my water bill and decided that perhaps it wasn’t exactly within my budget to maintain a green lawn.

Looking about my neighborhood, everyone else has given up on watering as well. All the grass is turning a nice shade of beige-brown like shown in the fall decorating magazines. I hope no one drops a match while walking. The whole street will go up in flames. There are a few still standing out in the mornings holding a spray wand, trying desperately to keep alive the flats of annuals put in the ground in the spring. Back when they had visions of bountiful beds of colorful floral. Not any longer. The plants that remain look like those at the end of the season when they are 75% off. ‘FINAL SALE! No Returns! ‘ the sign exclaims. The stores don’t want the risk of having to refund money on plants they bet aren’t going to survive.

I lost a decorative cherry tree in this drought. Although the curly willow seems to love this weather. It’s doubled, maybe even tripled itself in size since it was planted last year. How is it that crabgrass has found its way into my yard when the Kentucky Blue is now singing the blues, unwilling to fight off invaders? Weeds have made purchase in the ornamental beds almost waving to me as I walk by. “Hey there! Yeah, you. Look who won this battle of the garden.” they cry out righteously. They know it’s been too hot to maintain the beds. The heat has knocked the ‘Oomph’ out of my green thumb. The heat has managed to flatten any motivation to work in the yard. Hell, I’ve only mowed twice in the last month. Only the weeds are growing, not the grass. Besides, who’s outside to see the yard anyway?

I haven’t hosted any summer lawn parties this year. I’VE not even sat out and enjoyed the yard let alone entertain others. Normally you can find me reading by the pond, playing a game of cards or just tossing the ball for the dogs. That hasn’t happened. Too hot to sit and the dogs aren’t going to run if they don’t have to. It’s been too damn hot. All that time spent staining the deck, spreading the mulch and edging the beds, getting the yard up to par for the par-ties. It looked probably the nicest it ever had earlier in the year. Not so much right now.

Usually in summer our yard is full of screaming children. Either tirelessly jumping on the trampoline, playing in the playhouse, swinging on the swings or running through the sprinklers. I go through gallons upon gallons of lemonade each summer hydrating Boo and her friends. All activities have remained indoors, except for swimming pools. I’ve handed the baton of Kool-Aid mom to those with pools.

But today it’s gorgeous outside. As I look at the yard, I’m not just accessing which plants need the most TLC or transplanted or removed, I’m also looking for a nice spot to dig a hole.

You see, last night Momma hamster died.

We’ve a household of animals. Two dogs, a cat, a beta fish, a plethora of pond fish (yes, all named) and a hamster. We actually had two hamsters. Then seven, when we found out Momma was indeed a Momma, instead of a Butterscotch. Santa Claus, whom the gift of hamsters was from, apparently had a keen sense of humor. All the babies we gave away to Bears friends except for one that had died. Poppa, or Pumpkin, died not too long after we removed him from the main cage. All he did was eat and sleep. He became huge and then one day, just died.

He’s out here somewhere. I know the vicinity, but the marker has since been trampled by running pooches. I thought it might be nice to have Momma right nearby. BooBear decorated a cigar box for her and filled it with the fluffy bedding that she liked so much. ‘Angel Hair - Night Night’ it’s so aptly named. The perfect fluff bedding for your pet.

Booest cried when I told her I thought Momma was dying. I could tell when we cleaned her cage the other day that she’d lost weight. She was also walking a little odd. On further inspection there seems to be some blockage in her intestine that is causing swelling to her underside.

I don’t know much about hamsters, but I did call the vet. She was polite, and caring, but her answer was ‘It’s a hamster. If it were a dog, or a cat or any other domestic pet….perhaps we would do something. But hamsters have short lives anyway. It’s really not worth the investment.’

I knew that before I called, but did it for BooBear. She was so upset.

“She’s the best hamster I’ve ever had!” Boo said in broken speech through her big crocodile tears.

“I know Baby.” I replied, “She’s also had a really, really good long life.”

“She never bit me once….she was such a good hamster!”

Which she was. We’ve had many hamsters over the years. A few escaped when the kids over playing had left the cage door open. Sometimes I could find them. Or trick them into returning to the cage with extra good treats. One I found had been played with and practically de-headed by the cat before it could be returned to sanctuary. That had upset Boo as well. Her and her friends never left that cage door open again after that. I now always remember to put on slippers or turn on the lights when checking on things in the middle of the night. I had almost stepped on the darn thing in my bare feet when going downstairs for more drinking water. I didn’t find it until first light when I awoke to make the coffee. It was not more than a half an inch from where I could see my footprint in the freshly vacuumed carpeting. Wouldn’t that have been quite a surprise awakening for me while drowsily making my way in the dark.

Ick.
I find my toes curling just thinking about it again now!

I asked Bear if she’d like to shop for another furry friend to take Mommas place. She said that maybe she should wait a little while. ‘In respect to the best hamster ever, Mom’.

Smart kid, my Boo.
So, in respect to our just past away hamster, if you would now all bow your heads.

“Please Lord, keep our Momma hamster safe and comfortable on her journey. Amen.”

Oh look. That's where Poppa is! The marker is trampled but not unsalvageable. And it’s in a nice, cool, shady spot here in the back. It’s a perfect resting spot for anyone.

Even for the best hamster ever.

:-)

eek on one more...

The cosmos is aligned.
The stars are shining down.
Everything is right with the world, or at least my world. (knocking hard on wood)

Isn’t it amazing that there are some days when nothing happens as planned and then there are others that everything seems to go right? How does or can that happen? It’s like everyone was given the memo to make sure that you…have a glorious day.

The good happening seems to cover everything. From the traffic lights changing serendipitously in your favor allowing you to cruise along to your destination without a single stop. To expecting a long line (per usual) at the post office and finding that you are alone in the building three tellers waiting for your package. From finding the perfect outfit to wear to the wedding this weekend, on sale mind you, to winning twenty dollars in free gas for being the 10,000th customer.

I had one of those days the other day.

When I popped into Marc’s Discount store, which is notorious for it’s low prices but unbelievable long lines at the checkout, I shopped and then with trepidation approached the cash registers. There's normally a big traffic jam near the checkout. People with their full carts jockeying for position at one of the few registers open. The store itself isn’t planned out quite right. The area near the registers is small, to accommodate longer shopping aisles which crams in more merchandise. This makes navigating the aisles a nightmare. It’s hard enough to coax your cart past another in a row, but when you near the end cap at either end of the lane, making the turn is near impossible. Especially at the north end of the store where the registers are.

Trying to make your way around with those waiting to find a line to pay for their goods and you are just trying to get to the coffee, well…let’s just say I’ve found it easier to make several small trips to Marc’s carrying just a basket than to do big shopping with a cart.

As I turned the corner, I did in fact see about 8 people eyeing each others carts and baskets gearing for a possible line jump if one moves along faster than another. I scanned the area and decided that staying towards the left of the store would be most prudent. Only registers 8, 5 and 4 were open but those by 5 and 4 seemed to have overly filled carts which would , for obvious reasons, take a long time to make it through the line.

Marc’s is truly a deep discount store. You can buy pints of locally picked blackberries or raspberries for a buck. I bought a pair of Converse tennis shoes the other day for three dollars and a Coleman cooler for ten. You never quite know what’s going to be there. And they only take cash.

It has a pretty full grocery on top of all the rest of the items available. I used to avoid Marc’s because of the lines, a little on the worn side (i.e. beat up carts and shelves) and many of the consumers haven’t probably even heard of Nordstroms. The Marc's consumer is a good heaping slice of the socio-economic pie.

They have large displays of whatever close out they got their hands on at the register lines, which actually create the line space. Thousands of cans of tomato soup or Cheez-its. Spontanious purchase buys there for the taking. I always looked at these shoulder high stacks and wondered how long it took to pile these all up so perfectly. And what would happen if I accidentally on purpose drove my cart into it.

One day while waiting in line I looked over to see what other items were lined up. I’m a ‘didn’t know I needed it until I saw it’ kind of shopper. Three aisles down were cases of Ramen noodles. Oooh! And at a really good price too! As I reached over to grab the supposedly chicken flavored variety the man in the next lane blew a huge luger into the stack. Needless to say, I was disgusted.

This one guys lack of personal hygiene and manners caused me to set down my little basket of home grown goodness and promptly walk out of the store. I went home and scrubbed my hands until they were red and showered. I witnessed this instance. How many others might there have been? Could I possibly have been handling merchandise with dried foreign substances on it? The thought just made me want to gag.

It was eight years before I returned.

I can’t remember how or why I went back to Marc's to shop, but when I did the bargains were so great (ream of colored tissue paper for two dollars) that I vowed to just examine with my eyes thoroughly for any questionable matter before touching anything and watch my pocketbook grow with the savings rather than shrink while shopping at Target to get 10 sheets of tissue for five dollars.

But on this shopping day, as I eyed the checkout, mentally tallying how long this is going to take me to get out of this damn store, a cashier said, “Hey…I can take you right here.“ Aisle 10 was now open for business.

Sort of.

He hadn’t turned on the lanes light yet and as I set down my basket of blackberries and wine his manager told him to ‘Take your break after this customer’. So he hooked the chain behind me blocking anyone else from entering the hollowed realm of 'I'm next!', rang me out and I was quickly on my way. As I walked towards the exit door I noticed all the other people that had been right were I was were still all tapping their feet, looking at their watches and overall looking rather exasperated with the slow process of buying their goods.

It’s a trade off. Good prices? Or good customer service.

But for me, this day of all things gone right has turned into all things gone right…for a week! It’s been amazing. I think that maybe I shouldn’t have written that, I may jinx this spell. (fingers crossed tight!) 

Only this weather has really blown. So oppressively hot you perspire without even moving. While watching sweat slowly drip down the back of Charlize Theron’s thigh might be extremely sexy in the movies, feeling beads of sweat running down my back into my crack….is not.

Thank God my neighbor has a pool in which I take a daily dip. They have been gracious enough to allow me free access. It’s sort of like the water house in Thailand that my friend Melissa tells me about. She spent a year with the Peace Corp in Thailand. Each day when the heat became unbearable you'd enter the water house, disrobe and splash cool water from a large basin of rainwater with a ladle to bring down your temperature. When I complain of the heat (which she concurs has been bad) she says, “You don’t know heat unless you’ve spent a year in the back country by the equator.’

True that.

I don’t. The chances of me spending a year there are pretty close to nil. Unless they build a Ritz-Carlton and ask me to run the concierge floor, with my own room there to live in….thank you very much. God bless her that she has had this experience that I can listen to and live vicariously through her, but in the meantime when the sweat starts to bead…you’ll find me floating blissfully in my neighbors pool.

Coolest thing about that?

Yesterday Andy brought me out a beer while I floated on their raft.

What was he doing? Yard work.
Mine was completed, so I had the time to relax. In his pool.

You see, the teenager neighbor on the other side has been seeking some extra spending dosh….so he did my work. As I lounged at the other neighbors house in the pool. With a beer. Listening to the drone of the hedge clippers in the mid-day heat.

See, I told you it’s been a good week.

Hope yours is the same….
:-)

once upon a loon...

Simplicity.

Many times it’s the most simplistic of things that makes me smile; that makes me happy. Yet all around me things seem to continually get more and more complicated. Which does not make me smile. It makes me frown.

I do not like to frown.

So I’m doing my best to streamline. Get back to basics. Go back to when things were so much simpler. Or at least my perception of when I thought they were.

I was out walking with my labradoodle Sienna (aka: the best dog ever) and as we strolled the streets on this wonderful summer night; I smiled. I smiled on the outside for all to see and I smiled lots on the inside. The evening was pleasant and warm. A light breeze lifted my spirits and hair seemed to add a little more spring to my step. All was right with the world.

The past several weeks the air has been heavy with humidity that made even breathing laborious. The weather has matched my mood. Dark; heavy and somewhat sad. It was nice, for a change, to feel good. Really good. To forget about what's past and focus on the now. And now is gorgeous.

We turn into Lakewood Park to walk the pedestrian trail that runs around the perimeter of the park along the shore of Lake Erie. It’s nice to be able to finally legally walk my pet in the park. I like to go and see the sign that I sponsor. It has my dogs names on it and houses bags and instructions for others with pets to clean up after them, if needed.

I see this night there are few others in the park walking their dogs. Many residents are still unaware that the law banning dogs from city property has been lifted. At least on a temporary basis until the council is sure that dogs owners are responsible and won’t add their pets dung to that of the Canadian geese on the ball field.

A gal runs up and stops to give me her card and ruffle Sienna's fur. Sienna is looking quite beautiful as she had a day of doggy beauty at the Paws and Effect dog grooming salon, compliments of Jason and Angel that owns and run the place. Sienna loves going to the salon. Somehow she knows she looks and smells good, you can see it in her gait. She almost preens.

She’s a docile dog with a friendly manner and wonderful, soft light brown eyes. People are always drawn to her. This gal tells me she works for American Greetings as an artist but has started doing dog portraits. The thought of her coming over to paint my dogs as they sit on velvet pillows, still and regal, makes me chuckle. I can see hanging this portrait over the mantle in the living room. I smile a little bigger. I’m easily amused.

As we stand there chatting, a few other little kids come by. “Big doggy!” a little boy about two squeals. The mother gives me a look of ‘Is it okay?’. “Yes, she’s very gentle. She loves kids” I tell her.

Once her son has his hands deeply embedded into Sienna's fur, my pup gives him a big lick and he again screeches his delight. Sienna is sitting there on her bum with her legs askew watching as the little boy rolls around on the ground directly in front of her. She places a paw on his stomach and he laughs. A few other kids see this and come over to join in the festivities. Sienna is loving the attention but after a time she gives me a sideways glance of ‘Enough. Can we go now?’ So I take her direction and extricate her from the growing crowd of little kids all trying to get her to lick them next and we continue down the path.

There’s a group of nine adults trying to get a group photo. One person takes a picture, then rejoins the group as another takes the next photo with the previous photographer in it and them not. As I get closer along the path I see them do this particular switch three times. It’s a rather amusing little dance they’re engaged in. My mind sets it to a waltz by Brahms. One and two, one and two, one and two...snap!

“Can I take the photo of all of you?” I ask.

“Really?” comes the response, “You would do that?” Her tone is incredulous. Like I've just given them a winning lottery ticket or something of that nature.

“Why sure! It’s really no problem at all.”

So I take all their expensive digital cameras and run away….

No.
That didn’t happen, but the thought also made me chuckle.
And smile even bigger, again. I’m thinking, ‘people must think me a loon’. I arrange them all and one by one take several photos on each of the cameras dangling from my arms.

“Oh…thank you! It’s perfect!” The lady in the back tells me. “Stan, take her photo as well! I want a photo of the nice lady and her dog that stopped to help out.”

I really don’t like to have my photo taken. But I oblige and pose with Sienna so these people can look at the photo one day and say, ‘who the heck is this gal?’

I learn that this group is all in town visiting from Iowa and Washington for a wedding. They are enjoying the fine weather as well. We chat for a few more moments and then Sienna and I are back on the trail. As I walk away I am saddened that this simple act of stopping and helping out this group with a photo drew so much praise. Isn’t that just the right thing to do? Wouldn’t anyone have done that?

I look around me and the park is indeed busy on this beautiful summer night. There’s a couple lounging and canoodling on a blanket, some people unsuccessfully trying to volley a ball over by the sand volleyball court, the tennis courts and playground is filled and many other groups are sitting on the bench swings. There are many walkers, bikers and joggers on the path. I think back and try to remember how many people I passed as I approached this group before I asked them if I could help.

Twenty-four.
In my minds eye I counted twenty-four.

That’s twenty-four other people that passed this same group, that watched the same switching photographer dance and didn’t bother to change their course and stop to assist.

Why is it when passing people on the street, many cast their eyes downward? Or away? As if all of a sudden the most interesting of birds was found nesting in a high tree branch. If they met your gaze they would have to acknowledge you. But by being otherwise engaged by the interest of the pavement, or in the trees, or in the cars driving past, they have avoided contact.

I test this scenario over and over and am always amazed by my results. It seems that the majority of people would rather not have contact with a stranger. They would prefer to load their groceries and not greet anyone between their car, the store and back to their car.

I, on the other hand, like to see how many people I can force into saying “Hi” or “Good morning/afternoon/evening” whatever the case may be. I’ll settle for a mere nod or slight smile. Just an acknowledgement of sorts. Maybe I am a loon. But wouldn’t people be less suspicious of others if we all were friendly with one another?

Back to a simpler way? A simpler time? A time when people helped others out?
Even with the simplest of things like taking a photo.

I’m doing my part.
Can you?

In the meantime I’m content to continue in my own fashion. Who knows? Stan and his wife may actually remember my name when they print out my picture and add it to their album. I may have altered some course of action by my little photographer skills and my loon-ish ways.

I suppose in the big picture, it doesn’t really matter all that much.
But it makes me smile.

And that’s all I need.
:-)





Sorry I've been gone for several weeks. I put some of my thoughts down on paper, but it was all very caustic. So I just waited for the cloud to pass. I know Carlos would say, welcome to the dark side if I did indeed post my rantings. But maybe sometime. Now isn't that time.

Thanks for your patience.
It's nice to be back.
Again.

And thank you to those sending me condolences on my mothers anniversary of her passing. It really means alot. {{{hugsback}}}

good trait or bad...

After years of introspective analysis, I’ve determined that I’m tolerant.


tol-er-ant adj. 1. showing the capacity for endurance; 2. showing respect for the rights or opinions or practices of others; 3. tolerant and forgiving under provocation; 4. showing or characterized by broad-mindedness.

Many times in my life I’ve been at a crossroads. I’ve had to make a decision. Once that decision has been made, I’ll stick by it and see it through. But this doesn’t mean that there aren’t times that I wish I could go back and perhaps react differently, say something, stand up or run away…but different than what it is that I’ve actually done.

Growing up, in our home, we learned tolerance. We learned acceptance. We learned consideration. We took others thoughts and feelings and many times placed them above our own. Not that we didn’t stand behind our convictions, mind you, but just that if others had opposing thoughts or theories, we never criticized or disparaged their views. We listened. We might debate, but we still listened.

We got all the facts before jumping on any band wagon or cause. We didn’t rock the boat. I wonder if I had grown up in a family that automatically jumped and then apologized later if wrong, if I would have a different approach to life. And in turn, things in my life would have turned out differently?

Once when visiting my parents, a friend came along with me for the drive. Carol had a new kitten and although it would have been fine left alone for a few hours, Carol wanted to bring it with us on my pilgrimage home to Sylvania. Cats don’t like cars. They make horrible guttural sounds. The drive is 2 hours long. I was about to lose my mind.

At my parents’ house, the cat had free reign. We were at the dining room table and this cat, whom I’m decided is most definitely possessed, is laying track through the family room, the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, the foyer and then back around all over again. And again. On one of its rotations it leapt up onto my brothers back, made a sharp 90 degree turn and grabbed onto my mother’s formal draperies directly behind him.

My brothers face was in pain. You could tell it hurt. His eyes were watering, his lips drawn tight, his shoulders now contorted into odd angles. But not a sound came from him. He didn’t cry out. He didn’t scream…although you could tell he most definitely wanted to. But that would be impolite. We were at the dinner table after all.

My mother spent weeks, months even picking out the right silk and having them made for their house. To see this kitten hanging with its claws halfway in the middle of these draperies…well, it didn’t please my mother. But this was a guests pet. She wouldn’t have said anything. That would be impolite.

Carol got up and removed her cat, as carefully as possible from the drapes, but even where I sat you could see the small tears that those little claws made. You could see the little drops of blood pooling on my brothers shirt where those little claws had been. But we just took it in stride and passed the brussel sprouts.

That’s tolerance.

My mother would offer the devil himself lemonade if he appeared on her doorstep. She was tolerant.

Recently my tolerance was tested. A woman that my family has known through church for years has tested it. And my dad. My dad has been on a kick to ‘clean house’ since my mother died. She wasn’t like on the television shows, but she did have a tendency to be a mild hoarder. My dad would throw away mail or newspapers and my mother would retrieve them, put them in a brown Krogers bag and stick it in one of the spare rooms to ‘take a look at later’. Sometimes later never came. And by that time there were 3 more bags of the Blades newspaper Peach section for her to look at before it was deemed ‘ok’ to throw out. It’s the 2 steps forward 1 step back syndrome. This went on for years.

When my mother was ill and at home, she thought that people were taking her things. And in truth, they were. My father never disturbed her ‘bags of things’ when she was 100%. He wouldn’t dare, although you knew it had bothered bothered him for years. But with her not running at full capacity, he thought this the perfect time to do something about it.

He had the cleaning lady start removing the bags from the spare room. Pretty soon she went onto the other storage space. And the hallway closet. And the eaves.

After my mom died, I went through her belongings. Icleared our her closet space. Some of her dresses I wanted to keep. The purple silk Schrader Sport dress that she wore to school when teaching was one of my favorites. It just looks like her. I wanted to keep that one. Her dressing gown that still smells like her. I wanted to keep that too. I wanted to keep some of the beautiful costume jewelry, and all her fine jewlery items. And some of the dressy gowns that I knew would make fun dress up costumes for Boo in the future. I don’t necessarily have that much room in my own home, but I transferred the items of mention into the closet in my room at my parents house.

My dad and I had an agreement. Louise, the cleaning lady, can go anywhere she wants in the house and take anything out…but no one is to go in my room. I mean, you can go IN my room, just don’t go through anything in my room or remove stuff. There are items in my closet that belonged to my grandmother. Some stuff that belonged to Grandpa. My wedding dress was in there and my graduation dresses from high school and college. I used to collect vintage cashmere coats with ¾ sleeves. My collection of those and the antique hats were in there as well.

There were lots of really cool things in my closet.

They are no longer there.

At my mothers funeral, Gigi and her husband Bob attended. I personally don’t like Gigi OR Bob, but I’m tolerant. Gigi’s a busybody. Both she and her husband do not do anything without knowing that somewhere, someone will say, “Oh…that Gigi and Bob! What good people! What good Christians they are!!!!” I call bullshit. People shouldn’t do good deeds for the accolades they might and expect to receive. They should do it because it’s the right and good thing to do.

Gigi and Bob took aspirin and over the counter medications to South America on a mission trip. They like to tell people about it. To gain a listening ear, hear their voice congratulating themselves and get sympathy because of the hardship they endured while trying to ‘do good’. Whatever.

Gigi was a deacon at my parents church. She liked the recognition. Actually, she loved the recognition. It made her feel important. She busybodied herself into a place of importance when the church was between pastors. Once the new pastor arrived, he thanked Gigi for her service and her input, but she was no longer needed. She didn’t like that. So she left the church, in a huff. Gigi isn’t quiet about her thoughts of the new minister. It’s not good. And personally, I really like the new guy…the sermon he gave at my mother’s funeral was most amazing. It was moving. Most in attendance were in tears. It was a beautiful tribute to my mothers life.

Afterwards, Gigi and Bob were in the foyer. I stopped and thanked them for coming. I was raised tolerant. They wanted to talk…a lot. I tried to excuse myself.

“Gigi, Bob. Why don’t you join us for the luncheon? The ladies of the church have been busy; please join us in the fellowship hall.” I asked them, gesturing towards the other wing of the church.

“Oh no. I couldn’t. I can’t be in the same room with that man...”, Gigi responded with disdain in her voice. (She was talking about the minister.) “Because of him, we had to leave our church home.”

Now….this is bullshit as well. They didn’t have to leave. They chose to leave. They didn’t feel as if they were getting the right amount of attention for all their “good deeds”. Bah.

At this point, I’m mad. But I’m tolerant, so I don’t say anything. But DO NOT use my mother’s funeral as a platform to gain sympathy for yourself. Please. So these are my thoughts about Gigi and Bob.

I bet at this point you wonder, 'What does this have to do with her closet?'

Gigi’s daughter, who apparently is a self deemed expert at garage sales, resale shops and the likes, is in town from Tennessee. Somehow Gigi has filled my dad’s ear with her daughters skills and he invited them over to help sort through things for potential garage sale, resale shop or Goodwill. Where did they go? My closet.

This woman and her daughter went through all my things. Packed them all up and took them away.

All the stuff that I’ve saved over the years? It’s all gone. Why? Because of a woman whom I abhor.

My dad said that they told him there were some valuable items. No shit. And now they are gone.
I’m mad.

I’m mad at my dad for reneging on a promise to not allow anyone into my room. In his overzealous efforts to 'clean house', there are items lost that cannot be replaced.

I’m mad at Gigi for thinking it was okay to the rest of the family members to take MY belongings and those of MY mother and MY grandmother out of the house. What possibly could she have been thinking? Why wouldn't she double check before running off with my wedding dress, and my mothers wedding dress?

I suppose they are just items. Stuff. Clutter.

But they were MY items. To be sorted through and given away at MY discretion. Not Gigi and Bob and her daughter. Not even my dad. Had I known what he was planning, I would have removed everything long ago…but I didn’t know that my room was no longer my room. I didn’t know that anything left at the house where I grew up and what belongings I left behind would become rummage sale items. I just didn’t know.

And now I’m pissed. And I’m mad.

And I’m still damn tolerant.

I SHOULD call and give her a piece of MY own Christian mind for imposing on my belongings. But I haven’t, because that would be impolite. So I am presently choking on my horse sized tolerant pill.

I’ve done it before and lived, so I assume I can live through this as well.

Did I ever mention way back when I was married, I awoke from a deep sleep to hear my Land Rovers engine idling in my driveway? After looking at the clock and seeing it was past midnight, I went down to see what was going on. My then husband was in my car. There was a woman in my car. He said he couldn’t find his wallet and thought he had left it in his car. He was giving this gal a ride home, or downtown or somewhere, I can't remember. The excuse seemed lame at the time. It's still lame today. I was in my nightshirt with no shoes, no makeup, and the baby sleeping upstairs. I asked who she was and what she was doing in my car. Her response was to my ex, "I told you not to drive up the driveway." What?

Turns out it was his mistress.
But I didn’t learn that until over a year later.

I should have insisted she get out of my car.
I should have insisted that my husband turn off the engine and go back in the f*ing house.
I should have screamed, or thrown a tantrum, or been a bitch.
I should have done something.

But I didn’t.

I was tolerant.
What a great attribute to have….
Bah.

But this morning is a glorius morning! I'm leaving soon to go pick up Boo from camp. I feel enlightened. I feel good. Today...there are going to be some internal changes for Nancy. I can be tolerant, but I don't have to be silent.

And I have Gigi's phone number.
Yup. Today is going to be a glorius day...God help her.
:-)





Update:  5:45pm...I talked to my dad. He assured me that he will do everything that he can to see if he can get the items back. He apologized for not understand OUR understanding. He said that he didn't know there was anything in there that I would want, or wanted, or did want. I don't quite believe that. I think a little of it is lip service...but hey, I guess he's trying. He's never been good at admiting to wrong or apologizing.

Gigi and Bob? Or Gibob (as Julie named them!) They didn't answer the phone. I was very polite, yet firm, with the message I left. I let her know that I was displeased...VERY displeased that she and her daughter went through my personal belongings. I let her know that I was indeed incredibly disturbed by the fact that they would have the audacity to ASSUME that wedding dresses could/would not be of any significance...and take them away. I asked to have anything that they removed from the house returned.

I'm not sure if they will call me back or not. I'm going to assume they will call my dad and deal with him instead of me. Oh....but I did also call and vent about this to my brother. He does not like Gibob either, and now his view is even less of them. He is going to see what HE can do about this as well. There is a crawl space behind my closet that has many of HIS things in there. If they got to his stuff? In comparison, my verbal attack will be nothing....
:-)

Oh, and Boo is back, sunburnt and very, very tired. But had a wonderful week. She's like the Pet Detective in ALL the animals in the house are presently trying to see who can get closest to her.

a little Pitt-y party...

I’m beside myself.

Easy to do as a Gemini, there are usually two of us at all times. Invite one and it’s automatically a party. But no, this is no regular party. This is a pity party. Or a Pitt-y party to be perfectly correct.

Boo’s at summer camp this week. She's in Pitt cabin this year. Third time return camper, she’s old hat at this camp thing. No more ‘missing Mommy’ sessions, it’s more of a ‘yeah. Got it…time for you to GO.’

It’s not that bad, but still. I can’t help but see that she’s grown up quite a bit since I took her to her first residential summer camp two years ago. That year I didn’t make it out of the parking area before tears welled up and I had to pull over because I couldn’t see.

One whole week of no contact. No phone calls. No mail. No nothing.

I awoke this early this morning with the flashes of heat lightening illuminating my bedroom. I immediately reached for my cell phone on my nightstand. I’ve got the Weatherbug App on it and have Camp Tippecanoe programmed in to monitor the weather in that area. Camp Tippecanoe is about 115 miles south of here. It’s been unusually hot this past week and I lamented signing her up for camp in July. Seemed like a good idea a few months ago, plus it fit into the rest of the busy summer schedule…but July? It’s usually the hottest in July! What was I thinking? It’s supposed to stay humid and in the high 80's and 90’s all week. There is no air conditioning. How will they manage? Is it raining there? Is it too hot to sleep on that upper bunk? Leslie, the cabin counselor, had said when I emerged from the cabin sweating after helping Boo unpack her things said that one of their fans broke and she was hoping to get a new one. With that info, instead of heading back home perhaps I should have located the closest Wal-mart and brought one back for them.

But they're kids. It probably won't bother her. I shouldn't worry.

As I looked at my phone I saw that not only was a storm approaching Lakewood, but that there was a storm front moving swiftly in on the Little Town of Tippecanoe as well. I wonder if she'll remember where I put her poncho? I left it in the duffle bag. I thought that perhaps by leaving it packed away I was creating a positive mojo to keep it from raining during her week at camp. Doesn’t look like that plan worked. But perhaps the rain will bring down the temperatures.

Camp Tippecanoe is run by the YMCA. I like that it is a rustic camp. It’s not very built up, located on an undeveloped lake in Stark County. They have all the amenities that they need; running water, flush toilets, electricity…roofs. But they are secluded enough to be part of the wilderness. Or as much wilderness as they want. But no cell phones, no Nintendos, no TV’s, no iPods. This is about camping and bonding with new friends.

It’s considered an Adventure camp. They have horses, swimming, archery and hiking. There are old Indian caves and acres and acres and acres of woods. To get there you follow a gravel road that isn’t located on my cars GPS. It winds you higher and higher into the rolling hills of Ohio around a large meandering reservoir. There is no cell signal once you leave the county road. Actually, even on the county road there is no cell signal. Even my satellite radio lost its oomph 20 miles from camp.

I went to an Adventure camp when I was a kid. I remember it well. For many years I went there. I looked forward to the two weeks spent each summer. Camp Todemeka was even more rustic than Camp Tippecanoe. We slept in covered wagons or teepees. We cooked our own food. We would order the food that we desired from a list and each day they would deliver our daily meal plan. But we wee campers were responsible for our own meals. Cooked over an open fire, no less. We all had ‘kitchen’ duty for meals and if you burned the bacon for breakfast?…well, everyone ate burnt bacon. There were some times that we had to wait for the next meal to get anything somewhat passable to eat. But that was the fun of it.

I’ve felt a little lost since I dropped Boo off on Sunday. I didn’t cry coming home this time. I waited until the morning when I realized I couldn’t wake her as I usually do. The fact that I can’t talk to her makes me want to hear her voice all the more. I've felt very vunerable and emotional these past few days, constantly on the verge of tears.

Some of it I’m sure has to do with missing the Bear. But I’ve been thinking of my mom a lot lately as well. The feeling of not being able to talk to Boo has brought back the feeling I had when I could no longer talk to mom every day. After her last stroke, she lost her ability to communicate…so I couldn’t just call like always when I wanted to hear her voice. It was horrible. Prior to that stroke I spoke to my mom every single day on the phone and I no longer could.

This afternoon I took a nap in Boos bed. Why? Because I could. I didn’t have anything else on the schedule this afternoon. The way I feel presently, it’s an amazing feat that I even showered or got somewhat dressed. But I also did it because the sheets smell of her. It gave me a little comfort. Made me miss her a little less.

While lying there with my eyes closed I saw my mom’s face, like it was hanging above me. It made me cry. It’s a year to the date that we got the first of several “she may not make it through the night’ calls. I remember leaving home immediately to be at her side. She was a fighter, my mom, and she wasn’t quite ready. At least that time. But she deteriorated fast and died on the 20th. That date is fast approaching. I try not to think about it but some invisible time clock inside me must know that. So I’ve been schmeeshy.

Bear’s camp has an online thing called BunkNotes. Since they’ve no mail there, you can bring mail to be delivered each day at dinner or send e-mails that they print out and give to the campers. I brought notes and cards so she’ll get one each day. The one that will be delivered at dinner today is a music card blaring the Hampster Dance. That should bring a smile to her face. Enclosed in the envelope is a new whoopi cushion that she can terrorize the counselors for the rest of the week. I’m sure she’ll put that to good use. Bear’s cabin mates will be glad that her mom thinks up such things ahead of time. They are allowed a care package on Wednesday. I decorated a big box for her and filled it with goodies to share. That should make up for the whoopi cushion debacle I’ll have created. (amongst others) Hopefully Bears fellow campers and the counselors won't egg me when I come on Saturday to pick her up.

Bunk notes posts photos taken of the campers doing daily activities. So I’ve seen Bear busy being a tie-dyed Ninja, whatever the heck that is. Between stalking the Weatherbug page and Bunk Notes, it makes me feel like I kindof know what’s going on down there with my Booest. Makes me a little less antsy. A little more connected. Slightly closer even though we both know it's miles and miles away.

The parent handbook suggests to hold off on the ‘Miss you terribly' messages so they don’t get the midweek 'I want to go home. I miss my mom' scenerios. They say that it’s usually the parents are child sick, not the kids being home sick. I get that. And I’m feeling it.

I am full fledged child sick.

So I’m having a pity party, or Pitt-y party, with both of my Gemini sides. I’m left here wanting to talk to my kid and my mom and unable to do either. Some might celebrate being kid free for a week, but I’ve no desire to go out. I’m going to see if I can last the week without dressing in anything but yoga pants and tees. I’ve a nightstand of books I’ve been wanting to read, but have been unable to find the time.

Now I have the time, but not the desire to delve in. Perhaps I should check to see if they’ve posted new photos instead? Bah. Turn off the computer to stop watching the camp from Google Earth and monitoring to see if BunkNotes has posted new pictures that might give me a glipse of the Booest. Oh, and shut off that weather app. As if knowing that it rained .26 inches and is 73% humidity with a heat index of 88 degrees with a south west wind of 5mph is going to help at all.

Camp Tippecanoe is Bears stepping stone into being independent of her mom.

Now, if I can learn to become independent of my Bear…
:-)