Be Mine

I was tooling around the 'net, trying to find inspiration or better, some funny. I'm in need of funny today. Not funny strange, but funny ha-ha. Anyway, I was looking around and got routed to a sight that proposed to show me a video in response to my search request: artistic lesbians.

Well, of course, before I could see said video, (which by the way, had me declaring to being over 18--yes!) I had to register. Ick. I don't have time, energy, inclination or .. well, you know, I didn't wanna.

But I did. I used nuggets of my data, shaded enough to not really be me but when it was all said and done, I couldn't even view the freakin' video. Or, I didn't know which (if any) video to view. There were hundreds,thousands, heck maybe even millions.

Oh well.

Anyway, since joining I've received half a dozen requests to my junk mail box to be friends with other members.

Wha??? Why do you wanna be my friend? You don't even know me.

Oh well.

I asked for it, that's what I get for playing around the 'net, especially at work. I need for it to stop raining so I can go outside, get some lunch, clear my head and think about being a friend.

Or not.

Another Day, Another Shot

So as you may imagine I didn’t go into Monday morning in the best of moods what with all those thoughts rattling around, going to bed much too late and rising much too early. Monday began with a whimper rather the bang needed for a Monday morn.

It was cold, but the sun was shining so I decided I would shine as well. Onward I intended to forge.

Very late Sunday night / early Monday, Pete, the cat took a walk across the entertainment center and sent my Granny Racer set to the floor. It scared him silly (he's ok) but the sight of him racing out of the living room & hiding under the dining room table . . . I told daughter about it before leaving work we both got a chuckle out of it and him. He’d been told time and time again to stay off the entertainment center. I’ll get the little dears back on track, but I don’t know where I’ll re-lay the track. His little escapade probably helps...something. So, anyway off I was heading into the Monday workday.

The ride in was un-eventful which is always a surprise and a big plus.The remainder of the morning progressed without much of a hitch. I got mama B’s (Neta’s mom) birthday gift shipped and while I wasn’t feeling tip-top, the sketching and punching out the post about Sunday's emotional ride improved the mood enough. I put my head down (metaphorically speaking) and forged ahead.

Then my daughter called, crying.

Frustration over her job and her future had her all choked up. I was able to talk her down, ease her tears. A brief chat with another of her mentors and the promise of a meeting with her boss had her feeling much better by the time she called later in the afternoon.

Shortly after my daughter, Neta called to say she wasn’t going to work (either job). She’d been feeling poorly all weekend (longer, actually), the fatigue and more hadn’t improved by noon Monday. I was (and continue to be) worried about her and tearing what little hair I have out over not being able to be there. But, she's following doctor's orders, taking meds and precautions. I have to just...well, be there for her, here.

In the meantime work beckons. I knocked out a few more to-do items and took myself to lunch (yes, I lunch late in the afternoon, a longtime habit developed back when there were small kids home, so I wouldn’t be starving immediately upon walking in the door, because dinner would still be a ways off yet). A sandwich and cup of soup later, I was beginning to believe the hype…”You CAN do IT!”

Then the space heater in the office crapped out. Poof, no more heat.

Well, damn.

Another minor work-related disaster later and finally, time to pack in it and go home.

A conversation with daughter, brief chat with Neta, a light dinner, a stiff drink and a viewing of “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” and some lighter fare later, I went to bed prepared to put my happy face mask on and go for the gusto this Tuesday morning.

So, here’s to Tuesday morn and more.

Quiet Day

A bit more than half-way passed the first day of autumn leading to the first day of winter, Sunday felt closer to winter than autumn. Cloud cover, whisking winds and cold temps made going outside an un-attractive choice. Were it not for walking diva dog I wouldn't have gone out at all. It was a nestle-in day. If only I'd had the foresight to whip up a hearty soup or stew.


Daughter had to work so it was just me, Pete, Buttah and Diamond. We all agreed I would clean in the morning and then we'd settle in and watch some football games and surf the channels for the odd Sunday surprise showing of...something, anything whenever we tired of watching our teams (lose).


It was quiet except for Diamond's periodic snores, Buttah's sniffling and eventually play-by-play. The chill and the quiet conspired to put thoughts in my head. Nothing in particular but everything in general crossing my mind.


I couldn't shake loose of thoughts of my father.

Seeing the images of President-elect Obama with his daughters (over this past week especially) listening to item after item contrasting 1968 Chicago with 2008 Chicago, mom's knowing prediction, "it's the kids who will suffer the most" with regard to the news that my sister-in-law intends to file for divorce from my repeat offender brother and that he intends to fight this action, "tooth and nail" put thoughts of my father in my head.

And try as I might, I couldn't let them go yesterday.

Thoughts like what it will feel like when I get the news that he has died, wondering IF I'll get that news. Thoughts like if the memories of our few good times will totally disappear, finally becoming swallowed by the decades of bad or worse, nothingness. Thoughts like when or if I'll ever see him again and what I'll say to him if I do. Thoughts like if he ever really thinks of me, my son or daughter and what he would say to me, us should we ever communicate again.

Normally I relish my quiet Sunday afternoons. This past Sunday, an aberration, I'm sure. Future quite Sundays will be heartily embraced and quietly enjoyable.

Note to self: For the rest of this season and into the next, Hearty Soup Sunday.

Word Up

Pssst, can we talk? This is me, Pete, the cat! I took over the contraption so I could talk with you, thought you might want an update. The outfits? Not happening, no way, now how. I'm trying to keep those goofy chicks (well, just one of them is all about 'dressing' us) in line. What the taller one said about me and Buttah, 'tis true. He's so cool. He's kinda nutso about moist food, he makes the most racket when it's time for the moist but otherwise, he's a pretty decent egg. I'm the 'bad boy' so he leaves it up to me to get tall chick up in the morning, at least I think it's morning, so we can eat. He thinks being all cuddly and loving is gonna move her off that thing she's laid out on, uh uh, you gotta get physical. Sometimes we forget about food while we're playing. We try to be quiet but, well, I guess sometimes we get a little rambunctious, she doesn't seem mad when she says, "good morning boys."

That diva dog thinks she's the boss of us, but she's w-r-o-n-g. We just let her think that because, well, it's just easier that way. Besides, we feel kinda sorry for her, she has to wear those dorky looking sweaters and stuff. The shorter chick has a few sweaters for the dog. She put one on Buttah once but he slipped out of it, it was sooo funny. We talked about it later and we made a deal, the sweaters will be for that kooky dog, us cats will not be clothed, hatted or otherwise accessorized. We both could use new collars though, new collars would be good. Buttah keeps taking his off and mine has seen better days.

Well, I have to go now, it's time for my afternoon-evening nap.

Hope you guys have a fantastic day.

Seasonal Change

When I left for work this morning the sun was shining and there was a light breeze and the temperature moderate. In short, it was a pretty typical autumn morning.

he sun has since disappeared. The winds have picked up considerably, the temperature has dropped and there is a chance that by the time I leave at 5:00 it will be raining or snowing or both.

I have an umbrella for the rain.

I have on sweater(s) and had a coat hanging in my office space to protect my body against the cold.

However, I forgot to stash a hat and other colder weather garb.

Shit.

I Lied

. . . to my mother. She called last night on the land line while I was talking with Neta on my cell. I know it was mom because of the programmed tone. It was late (for her) so that concerned me a bit, so I screened. When I heard her message I decided not to call her back until this morning.

Mom: So, you were out. Did you get my message?

Me: Yes, I got your message.

She presumed I was out and I didn’t correct her. Had her message been of an emergency, health or otherwise issue, I would have picked up, but it wasn’t.

The call had to do with family bullshit drama. There has been a death, a cousin of mine and every day since that event there has been family bullshit drama.

Mom (on the machine): I don’t understand what they’re doing. I’m sick of this shit. Portia wants to have food at the house. Reggie thinks sandwiches at the Temple are plenty. Daniel’s not going and Ronnie IS his son. What kind of shit is that? Portia wanted to know if you would sit with him at their house. I told her I couldn’t answer for you, she should call you. Call me when you can.

Call me when you can, just so you know, is code for WHY AREN’T YOU HOME TO ANSWER THIS CALL? & CALL ME AS SOON AS YOU HEAR THIS MESSAGE!

I called her this morning and after side-stepping question after question about where I was, whether I was with M or D, how late I was out (since it was after 9 and I didn’t pick up the phone), yada x 3. I got the answering machine version with details, many, many details. There is some back-story that I can't get into here, but basically my mom feels and has felt short-changed by her family for many, many years and events like this tend to bring those emotions to the surface.

After she wound down about that, the election, folks running around trying to get ‘historic’ newspaper editions, needing to find another way to cart her stuff around, her newest therapy and most recent diagnosis, she needed to know if I could braid her hair on Saturday, when no doubt there will be even more and / or more of the same to relate.

Me: Of course.

Beginnings

Election day started at four a.m., dog snoring and cats roaring through the condo, Buttah leaving tufts of orangery, furry balls in his wake. The alarm (a useless appliance these days) is set for 5 and I try to stay in bed for a bit longer, hoping to catch a few more zzzzzs .

When the “the boys” realize I’m awake their daily campaigning begins. By 4:30 I realize it’s futile. The day has begun.

I flip on the bedroom and kitchen lights, moving through the unit to the bathroom to dispense with that little task.

The cats follow me as if they don’t believe I’ll return. They camp outside the door. Diamond is slower, but eventually stirs. She stretches and moves from her bed. By the time I return from the bathroom she is lying in the doorway separating the bedroom from the kitchen…waiting.

The cats hover, whine, meow and bump my legs, “bring on the food, woman!” scream their antics. Diamond, the silent sentry peeks up at me through her own tufts of hair, eyes pleading, screaming just as loudly, “bring on the food, woman and this time, me first!” The day has begun.

I’m out the door and on to the polling place by 5:55 arriving just a shade past 6. There are already 30-40 people lined outside. I join them and in just a shade over an hour I’m done.

Off to work and then home again. The day and now evening progressing as most do with a couple of exceptions; this evening I have an telephone interview and of course, election results to view. In addition to the interview I talk with mom, daughter and Neta. I watch with wonder, shed a few tears and go off to bed.

Now, another day has begun, again at 4, again to the snoring of a dog, cats tearing through the unit and me with the same duties to be done as the day before. This day has begun, but oh, what a different day it is. The ride down on the bus with the too many stops further illustrates that fact. There were smiles, excited utterances, preaching and more.

The owner of the company is in town today from his home base of Denver, CO looking tired but jubilant. He told of making phone calls well into the evening, watching results and then...the speech. He spoke as so many have, of being inspired of being filled with.... h-o, you know, that four-letter word. He said like so many others have, "he has a very tough job ahead of him, but not just him, we all have a very tough work ahead. This is only the beginning."

Yes, the election is over. Now, the work must begin.

In a Word

I’m going to say one thing about the election: If you haven’t already done so, V-O-T-E!! (Emphasis intended).

Ok, two things: California NO to Prop 8, Arizona NO to Prop 102 and Florida voters NO to prop 2--- Great. And Thanks.

Dreams

I don’t have many dreams or rather I hadn't had many. i seem to be having them more, or rather, remember them more. The memories, the dreams of late, anyway, are not beginning, middle and end events. I'm remembering snippets only--those leading to wakefulness.

A couple of weeks ago I was driving a bus. Not a school or even a city bus, but a tour bus, a tour bus without tourists.

I was handling the very large vehicle with relative ease until *thwack* something smacked the bus. I don’t know what it was, but there wasn’t time to ponder the what, for the smack down had made me lose control. In fact, the impact of whatever it was had thrown be about the bus. I reached my arms out, trying to grab hold of the steering wheel from several rows back.


I woke just as the bus was careening over the side of a bridge.


A couple of days later the dream was about the cats and a mouse. They caught a mouse, but instead of the images being live action, they were animated, “Tom & Jerry” inspired animation to be precise. They were having a grand old time with the mouse. My role was that of the human you see only from the knees down. I woke to legs chasing the trio down a flight of stairs.


A couple of days ago the dream was about my bedroom light switch. Inexplicably it had fallen from the wall. Instead of moving to repair it, I fussed over how to get the lights off (apparently glossing over the fact that if the switch were repaired . . . voila). I woke at the height of frustration at not being able to extinguish the overhead lighting.


I know folks believe that dreams mean something, heck, they probably do, in fact I'm pretty sure they mean something if not the dreams themselves, certainly the fact that I'm more active in that arena lately.

Still, I haven’t given either of these too much thought, well, except for the cats and mouse one. I’ve thought about that a lot. Not about what it means but rather, why my feet were wearing such ugly house slippers, especially considering I don't wear house slippers.

Good Night.

The Week Has Ended, Almost

I'm not looking forward to the commute home today. The bus ride, barely tolerable on the best of days, degrades 400% on Halloween. I was hoping to bribe convince my daughter with a dinner in one of the many eateries in the work neighborhood if she'd drive down after her own work and then we'd ride home together. She wasn't exactly snapping up my suggestion. She served up a counter that included going to see Saw V , me still taking public transpo home, footing the bill for dinner and a movie.

I don't think so. Last I heard, the weather is supposed to be pleasant, maybe I'll take the train home. That will mean walking several extra blocks on both ends, but that's ok as I've been kinda lazy tired this week, the walking will do me good.

Saturday = Martinis. Yum.

Tone

Please advise asap! Thank you!

The email from a representative of the collection agency we use to help with some delinquent balances arrived yesterday with the ending you see above. It rubbed me the wrong way. I felt like I was being yelled at or at the very least that the agent was being snappish with me I didn't like that, not one bit.

We don't know one another and I felt that she was presuming I wouldn't take her request seriously or worse, would ignore the message altogether. My perceptions could have been off, I acknowledge as much in the email I sent back. I allowed as to how punching up her sentences and requests with exclamation points could just be her writing style with no (negative) connotation or intent on her part whatsoever.

The agent writes back (sans exclamations) thanking me for the information and for expressing my thoughts. She further writes, "I am a happy person and like to use the ! to express that although not always used properly. Thank you for advising me of that no telling how many other people feel that way."

It's pretty easy to mis-read or mis-interpret tone in emails. You don't have body language or vocal inflection to guide you. All you have are the words of the text and the images and punctuation the author chooses to add at their discretion. If the author is known to you pin-pointing their tone might be easier, but it is in no way a snap. I've stepped in some mis-read, mis-interpreted doo doo and will probably have to wipe my shoes a time or two or more in the future.

With business emails I usually just let these things go to my "oh well" bin and leave it at that. Yesterday was not an "oh well" day. I had to say something to the agent and in so doing I learned that she's a happy person. Good to know.

So It Begins...Again

When can I see you again

When can my heart beat again, baby

When can I see you again

And when can I breathe once again

And when can I see, babe, again

Wanna see you again

Again...*

The wait until the next time. At present that is tentatively February. Could be a small, short trip before then, but then again . . .

The trips are hard. The travel part is becoming easier and in some ways, sad yet routine. This trip down there was the usual: constantly chattering toddlers (& mother, aunt and grandma heading to Tennessee for a family wedding), someone who couldn't quite grasp the concept of the overhead bin door, a chronic (fill: cough, sneeze, wheeze, whine) and a cowboy hat wearer. The return travel featured the oh so routine sit-on-the-runway-30 minute-weather-related delay, the must make 400 phone calls before cellphones must be turned off person, sarcastic flight attendant, the "oh, is this row 7 I thought this was 6" person and the frantic fleeing of patrons trying to make connecting flights. Routine.

Though ecstatic at the thought and overjoyed at the actual experience of seeing, touching and being the the company of Neta I am always sad when our time comes to an end. We are always sad. This time and each time, even more so. This time after I returned we had...words. Many, many words later we are coupled in a different way and though not much closer to shrinking the physical distance, emotionally we couldn't be closer.

Long distance relationships are hard, everybody has told me so. 'Tis true. In general, though relationship are tough, especially in the beginnings and even more especially when you have the extra added pressures of all the coming and going.

Relationships go through phases. The transitions through said phases can be bumpy. Neta and I are able to talk and more importantly, listen to one another. It remains to be seen if, or rather when when we will be able to break through the barriers rooting us to our respective turfs. But at the end of the day we have a deep and abiding love and respect for one another. She is quite simply, my heart and I will move heaven and earth to be with her, always.

*When Will I See You Again Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds

Buggin' Out

You know what bugs me? Well today most every little thing but on the top of that list is the head guy’s penchant for walking the distance (his office is two doors down) to my doorway to tell me he’s forwarded me an email. In addition to telling me that, he goes on to tell me what to do about the email (note: these emails are almost always from a vendor reporting that our order can’t be shipped because the account is delinquent and wanting to know when payment will be sent).

“….check it out, email {them} and copy me.” 9 of 10 times the payment had already been processed.

1. S O P
2. I’ve been doing this type of work for nearly 15 years*
3. S O P



2nd day back, I really should have taken the rest of the week off. I wish I could have. In honor of the head guy, ::heavy sigh::

*he’s been my boss for 9 of those years. He knows (or should) how I operate. Sheesh.

Up, Up Away

And soon I'll be there with her! YUM! and YaY! and Happy, happy, joy, JOY!

Though I'd rather circumstances were different, traveling to TN gets easier and easier. I always used the same airline, the gates are usually the same (or very close), I generally even have the same kind of plane and my seat assignments (though totally random) have been eerily similar.

I wore this shirt last summer when I visited. On the Tennessee end some guy yelled out, "so, who is he?" I wish I'd said, "I'm sure you wouldn't know her." But I didn't, I just smiled and kept walking toward her because I knew she was there, waiting.

When I visited in the spring I missed my flight. Ayup, missed it. As excited, ready and anxious as I was to go, I was late. I was crushed. Oh sure I got on another flight 3-4 hours later, but still...

I will not miss my flight tomorrow. And to be clear, Neta is in TN and she loves me and I love her right back.

Soon, ah...very soon, I'll be there and we can love face-to-face, eye-to-eye, heart-to-heart.

YaY! and Yum!

Be Still My Heart

. . . well, not still. If it were still then I'd be, well, you know.

What I mean is slow down to, you know, normal. It's been racing you see. As has my mind. Racing with thoughts of being down there. By there, I mean in TN. Not just anywhere in Tennessee, but her part of Tennessee.

She'll be there at Nashville's airport, waiting in baggage claim, standing as usual, at the bottom of the escalator looking up to me with those eyes. The heart and mind will begin to slow and settle immediately upon sight of her. Of that, I am sure.

However, I could use some interim salve, for getting through this day and the next will be hard enough without the vroooooms booming the heart.

These Eyes

...are calling out to me.

Who Needs It?

We have to what amounts to 3 or 4 dates (albeit somewhat extended) a year. These buggers better be gone by Friday, or I'll... I'll... Well, I don't know what, but they just better vanish!

The Look of Love

The look of love is in your eyes

a look your smile can't disguise

the look of love

is saying so much more than these words could ever say

and what my heart has heard, well it takes my breath away

I can hardly wait to hold you, feel my arms around you

how long I have waited

waited just to love you, now that I have found you

don't ever go

You've got the

Look of love, it's on your face

a look that time can't erase

be mine tonight

let this be just the start of so many nights like this

let's take a lover's vow and then seal it with a kiss

I can hardly wait to hold you, feel my arms around you
how long I have waited
waited just to love you, now that I have found you
don't ever go
don't ever go
I love you so…

Upon seeing my frame (with photo installed) mom's only comments were, "Who is Herman Hesse? and That's a nice frame." I related what I knew of Herman Hesse which, to be frank, was a lot less than I now know. I thanked her for her compliment and thus ended that conversation.

Months later she spied some of the shots from Neta's visit this summer, framed and prominently very lived in living room. Mom didn't have much beyond, "those are nice pictures" to say.

. . . and I've totally lost where this post was meant to go, but I do know how it was meant to end:

Neta is prominent on my walls, my mind and my heart. I love the look of her eyes. I love even more what I see beyond them. When I see her I see the miracle that is life, I see hope, I see togetherness and I see joy.

Joy to my girl lady.

The Look of Love penned by B. Bacharach / H. David and performed by nearly everybody.

Miss October

That smile, it flashes and the room, seriously, lights up. Electric, that smile is purely electric. My former slugger is also fiercely loyal, sensitive, compassionate, funny and strong. Stronger than she realizes sometimes. She is incredibly sentimental and saves e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. Seriously.

Miss October, lover of big ball sports, animals, high heels, make-up, skulls and crossbones, Nikes, shoes, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, reality tv, entertainment gossip, cars, trucks, sweet and colorful cocktails, shoes, cooking, creating in th kitchen, horror films, video games, purses, rock and roll, hip-hop, old school, shoes, clothes, clothes and more clothes, family, friends, Diamond, Buttah and even Pete celebrates her 23rd birthday today.

Cheers to the girl woman who calls me mom and thereby making my smile as bright as her own.

Happy, happy, joy, joy.

Her Name

A friend asked Ellen DeG to give me a wake-up call. She did and I was tickled pink. Thanks friend.

I, in turn, asked Ellen DeG to call Neta (and a couple of others). Ellen DeG had a problem with my request for a call to Neta. "I'm sorry, I cannot say that name." I was given the option to have the call made without a name (boooo) or choose another name. Well, Neta has a middle name so I tried that. Nope. "I'm sorry, I cannot say that name." Well, fudge.

I went back to Neta, spelling it the way it sounds: n-e-e-t-a-h. No go.

I tried n-e-a-t-a. "Sorry, I..."

I thought about trying any one (or all--until accepted) of our endearments for one another. Then I thought, screw it and just went with the message without a name.

Well, double fudge.

I'm inclined to think it was just a glitch. Neta isn't a rare name nor particularly hard to pronounce. Oh sure, some folks might say Net-ta instead of Nee-ta, that would have been acceptable. But unable to say any variation at all? Odd.

Then again, my mom has a difficult time with Neta's name too.

Mom: How is...uhm, your friend, in Tennessee, what's her name?

Me: Nee-ta.

Mom: Oh, I thought it was Net-ta.

Me: No, it's Nee-ta and she's fine. (aside: yum).

Mom: Oh, I thought...well, you know your father's wife is.. Me: Yes, I know, but her name has two Ts, it's Net-tie.

Then, of course, we get on to a conversation about 'dear old dad' which is where I sign off.

Do It

We are approaching the 2nd annual Feel Your Boobies (TM) week. I understand that October has been designated Feel Your Boobies (TM) month. So go ahead, feel free to feel your boobies. And if you haven't already, make time for a visit to the mammomat.

I visited a mammomat week ago Thursday. While I found the mammomat cold and impersonal, the technician was warm and personable. The very vocal technician wanted me to know those were her hands touching me there. She was very good as we only needed one go-round. The entire visit (including registration) was accomplished in under 30 minutes.

Most excellent. Ta ta to mammomat. See you next October. In the meantime, feeling those boobies.

Mermaid, Roosters and Jesus

Minus the dad, one liners and sassy, sexy neighbor, we could have been Good Times. In fact, part of the exterior shots for the opening credits were of our housing project. My painted on smile aside, the times there were as bleak as the concrete floors and as stifling as the cinder block walls.


Though hope was hard to come by, hard to hold, it did exist.


It, the dissolution and destruction of little family unit went into hyper-drive during our 'projects' stint. Not very close when we moved into the projects, (mostly the usual sibling stuff) our time there drove a wedge into us that continues to mar our interactions (what few we share) to some degree. We were, remain, as disparate as the plaster mermaid, wooden roosters plaque and Jesus portrait you see there behind our respective heads.

My brothers both joined gangs, albeit different ones and very little was good from that day until I moved out of the the family shelter some six years later, having endured all the verbal, physical and emotional trauma perpetrated by my brothers and their various crews I could take. I was the "good one" trying with all my might to be all that they weren't and to make that be enough, more than enough. Accepting that my mother couldn't protect me and I couldn't save her, eventually had no choice but to leave them all to their own devices during Spring 1978.

I look back on those times and I recall going with mom to police stations to claim one or the other brother, the many fights, running from the bangers, crying myself to sleep or losing myself in tv programs, books and music. I recall any number of horrors that I experienced first hand, more that I witnessed and even more than I heard about.

Thankfully, remembering what good there was embedded with the bad comes easier as time goes on. My academic achievements, the piano my mother scrimped and saved to rent for me, my joy in playing it despite the teasing I took, the few celebratory moments we shared as a unit, the easy like Sunday morning times we had, like caring for the puppy little brother rescued from a gang banger who thought she too puny to live are but of a few pockets of memories it is a pleasure to recall.

My older brother turned fifty a few weeks ago, the card I sent him went un-answered. But that's ok as that is what I expected. I hope it made him smile. I hope it drove him to recall a pinch of whatever goodness we shared. I hope that one day we three can put that past and that which has transpired since behind us. Hope, it still exists.

Sofia the Beagle

Seriously?

Post Season

When the kids were kids we rooted for the White Sox. D was a softball player, a rather large (as compared to the other girls her age) player with a big swing. She was dubbed "lil Frank" by her teammates. Unlike Frank though, D wasn't just a big bat, she could field the ball. She was awesome at first base, if I do say so myself. But alas, softball gave way to soccer and volleyball.

As a kid I rooted for the Cubs. When I played ball with the other kids my player name was "Billy Williams" primarily because I batted from the left side. I also threw left-handed but was otherwise rigged to pursue the right-hand mind-set.

As adults we (D and me) kinda, sorta root for both teams. We are not big baseball fans but we are fans of the home town teams. M is not much of a fan either. But since he lives on the north side, a couple of miles from the "friendly confines", he has to at least pretend to bleed Cubby blue, especially on game days. He says the atmosphere is insane on game days, Win days.

Both home town teams have made it to the post season. I'm rooting for both for what it's worth, though truth be told I don't want to be anywhere near the city if by some chance they both make it to the World Series. Oh Me. Oh My. I think though, if they both do make it to the big show, Chicago is a shoo in for winning the 2016 Summer Olympic bid.

Big news, yes, but our eyes are also trained on the Fire and we are looking forward to the inaugural season of Women's Pro Soccer ( re-vamped form of the defunct WUSA) next year.

Chicago, it seems is building a pretty impressive team.

The LA Sparks are not playing for the championship and in that case, Go Silver Stars!

Another Cat Tai..Tale

Buttah. deciding that Pete's ears needed attention, tending them with loving care.

The daughter hasn't given up the idea of dressing the cat. However, now she has her own cat to embarrass dress. Someone donated a bag of pet costumes for a variety seasons and occasions to the shelter. Daughter snagged a few items for possible consideration.

So far, only the rubber band ball will wear the pilgrim hat. I'll keep you posted.

Woman's Work

For September's Wordsmith's Challenge: Woman's Work

The drink order was delivered without benefit of eye contact from the morose waitress. The absence of that little bit of familiarity and camaraderie would normally upset this customer. Not today, today is not a normal day. The customer, Dusty, was in a funky mood and the plan was to drink her way to a more agreeable mood, fast.

Dusty Lickliter’s funky mood was caused by her termination. She was fired from the job she loved as the number one taste tester for the Kook-ee Candies and Confections Company. For three years Dusty poured her heart and soul into this job. She never missed a day and she applied for extra hours whenever she could.

Proposed all-day-sucker flavors always warranted extra hours.

There would be no more extra hours though. Dusty was fired. No reason to get up in the morning. Gone was the sniffing and licking ritual that defined tasting. Gone was Lickliter’s joy except for that which she hoped would be found at the bottom of this drink. Well, truth be told, many drinks.

Deep into drink number four, Dusty began to accept that her termination was justified. She recalled the day the Pink Pulse samples were delivered to her cubicle.

Pink Pulse, a new hard candy flavor sensation, was slated for a vigorous round of tasting. Dusty gave it all she had. She sniffed and licked the Pink for five days before finally awarding the flavor four tongues up, the highest praise a hard candy could achieve. Pink Pulse went into production almost immediately, based exclusively on Dusty Lickliter’s trusty tasting skills.

The Pink bombed.

Kook-ee Candiies and Confections lost millions. While the business survived the fall-out, Dusty was not so lucky. She was out, a taster without a purpose. Her tongue was once considered the best little licker in town. That’s all kaput now.

Though content to drown her sorrows in as many of the tasty concoctions the morose but pretty waitress of the garishly decorated restaurant / bar could bring her, Dusty was pleased to have been able to walk home under her own steam.

Checking her receipts several days later, Dusty saw that the delectable concoction she’d been drinking that night was called Pretty in Pink.

If there were such a concept of ‘lucky color’, Dusty Lickliter has decided that the color pink is certainly out of the running as her charm.

Knock On Wood

You’ve had one of those days, I’m sure. You wake to a shining sun. You’re hair is working with you instead of against. You don’t burn your breakfast and the pets manage the morning without too much fuss. Your mind is as clear as your goals for the day. Your very workable things-to-do list will rule the day. You are feeling good, so good you are literally humming on your way to work.

The first hour is good. Your commute is un-eventful, you don’t spill your tea and you’re not nearly killed by a crazed motorist.

Into the second hour is when it starts. Barely half-way through your list, Justin appears in your doorway. Somehow he has managed to erase the system administrator password for the antiquated phone system. Helping him reset and restore kills too many minutes and much momentum. Yet, the rest of your list looms.

You take a break, get some air and eat an apple. After your burps, you get back on the case.

No sooner do you get humping on the rest of the list items, the phone rings. It is your mother. The topic—doesn’t matter, the conversation rips into the next several minutes the way the kids in the neighborhood rip into flamin’ hot chee-tohs.

Then a flurry of minor, mind numbing disturbances swirl around like dumpster flies.

Your last ditch effort to salvage any remnant of focus is thwarted by the ache creeping up your back and deciding to nestle itself at the base of your skull. Thankfully it is close enough to 5 to call it a day.

You head home, done in before you could finish the list which now adds to the challenge for the next day.

However, you’re met at the door by the smiling eyes of one curly haired pup, a sauntering orange tabby and a wary grey one. They all are happy to see you, but they want to eat so they’re happier to see food. You walk the pup, take care of some essentials and prepare your own dinner.

You share a meal of turkey tacos with your daughter who relates the best and worst of her own hopeful day. You talk (by phone) with girlfriend and then your son and then your girlfriend again. They both make you laugh and you feel relaxation taking over where tautness once reigned.

The night ends with you and girlfriend exchanging, 'I love you', giving one another a virtual kiss and you dreaming of her sparkling eyes.

You wake the next morning (much too early) but you know the sun will be up soon. You prepare breakfast for you and the pets. You move onward to the rest of your day. Another shot to crack that augmented list and then some. If you succeed fantastic and if you don’t, well, knock on wood there is another day.

You understand your days can turn on a dime, your well-laid plans melt like ice cream in the summer heat, leaving residue all over your hands (unless you had a napkin). You never seem to have a napkin when you need one. But there is soap and water, all is well.

The day will go the way it goes and then you’re home. You talk with son, daughter and girlfriend. You go to sleep dreaming of sparkling eyes knowing that each day that passes, brings you closer to days without work and with those eyes (and the rest of her).

Knock on wood.

Cel-e-bra-tion

D-dog, Diamond, the diva is seven years old today. Since coming to us a year ago (next week) she has revealed a feisty, sweet, fierce, perpetually hungry, loving, happy, hefty bundle of curly grey fur.

The plans for the day, I think, were to eat, sleep, punk the cats, sleep, lick her paws, punk the cats, sleep, beg for daughter's cheeseburgers (or whatever she decided to have for lunch), sleep, walk, piss, poop, sleep, drink some water, punk the cats, roll over many times for belly rubs and for good measure, punk the cats. She lived in one household prior to being surrendered to the shelter. Daughter scooped her up before anyone else, even before she was deemed "adoptable." She sure knows how to pick 'em. Happy 7th Diamond girl.

As an aside, Syd talked about meat, more specifically BBQ which of course, made me want some, bad. I entertained thoughts of tossing the cottage cheese that was lunch out the window, but decided just to save it for another day. I did go out for BBQ (flavor anyway). I don't go just anywhere for BBQ and there isn't anyplace around work that comes close to being acceptable. There is a fairly new place that I thought might work for flavorful sauciness. I tested them with a grilled chicken sandwich a couple of weeks ago. It wasn't bad, but they could do better by the chicken by upgrading the bun. Wimpy buns bum me out.

Well, I decided today (since Syd was all over meat BBQ) to try their BBQ chicken breast sandwich. Now, the wimpy bun I expected and was willing to give a pass, but the limp lettuce? Ewww

Worse than the wimpy bun and limpy lettuce was the crap-tastic shit swill they were passing off as BBQ sauce. I don't say (or rather write) this often but...WTF? Seriously. I needed 2 cups of water to wash that muck out of my mouth.

I'm going to go brush my teeth now.

Happy, happy, joy, joy to daughter's dog.

Bits on a Thursday

Mom has called every day this week asking about my labs. I had blood drawn on Saturday morning for the routine screenings connected to my routine annual physical. No, I don’t have the results (as of yesterday). “You are very patient”, says she. These weren’t urgent, it is routine. Anxious is her middle name.

I was nearly run over yesterday. Shhhh, don’t tell Neta (or my mom or my daughter). I had a rant all booted up to talk about the dipshit who blew a red light and nearly turned off my lights. I’ve calmed down some, mostly because this kind of thing happens much too frequently. Such are the hazards of walking and pedaling among thousands of motorized vehicles, handled by moronic, inconsiderate speed demons.

Holly sheets!!

A friend of my daughter’s had to swim away from his car on Monday. He was driving down River Rd. when suddenly it became…a river. A mis-calculation had him stranded in the middle of a flooded intersection. Daughter drove out to rescue him, bummed by the fact that Micky D’s was closed. Of course it was…there is a river of water where the sidewalks used to be. He was able to salvage his tools and textbooks (studying to be an auto mechanic) and his teacher says car may not necessarily be toast.

It is harder to be a daughter than a mother. That may not be universal, could just be in my universe. Not, mind you, that mothering son and daughter didn’t have challenges along the way (or still) it’s just that I felt surer of my own steps in those regards.

I got word that dad (& wife) evacuated for Gustav by heading to Georgia. For all I know they may still be there. dad James celebrated his 70th birthday at the beginning of this month. I have no idea what form that celebration took. I wasn’t in that loop.

I broke down and gave a cousin my email address, hoping that maybe we could “re-connect” in some meaningful way. I thought that she, being 5 or so years my senior might be able to offer some insight from the over 50 point of view. A few of her messages so far:
FWD: Guurl I just got my nails did FWD: Men! ! FWD: Prom day in the ‘hood

Sometimes I feel like I sprang from a pod. I am one of them, but I’m not.

Neta’s newest nickname for me is “Detail Deb” as my tales tend to go a little long. Heh!

My wasband took to calling me “chocolate” for a time. Yours truly didn't feel endeared by the term.

Such a Little Thing

If you ask me (or anyone really) for directions and I (or anyone) offer the directions, your response to same is: Thank You or thanks, I appreciate your help or some similar variation.

A grunt, some other noise or worse, nothing at all is not a similar variation.

If you ask me (or anyone, really) for directions and I (or anyone) relate, "I'm sorry, I'm not sure how to get there from here." Your response to same is: Oh ok, thanks anyway or some similar variation.

A grunt, some other noise or worse, nothing at all is not a similar variation.

And if you shove me (or anyone) trying to do, whatever it is you're trying to do--excuse me, I'm sorry or some similar variation is appropriate.

"Get da F#*# outta... "
Well, you know...not a similar variation.

Stimulus Query # 200

Paranoia strikes deep in the heartland

But I think it's all overdone

Exaggerating this and exaggerating that

They don't have no fun

*Paul Simon's Have A Good Time

Nature Au Naturel

Five days is average, normal and . . . ok, acceptable. Even at 48, 5 days is acceptable. Barely.

Nine days is above average, maybe normal but skirting the edge and nearing the realm of un-acceptable. Seriously.

Twelve days, though not the longest I’ve experienced in the past 2—3 years is well beyond average, has tottered over the edge of normal and is quite totally unacceptable.

Always Maxi with wings, I am not singing your praises. You are better than your competition but you leave much, well, let’s just leave it there.

However, it isn’t raining today, I didn’t have any electrical issues or flooding (though a couple of co-workers did), the new barber (I had to get a new one, Norman passed away) did an ok job a few days ago and I am not Joe. Joe lost his job on Monday because he was irresponsible and inconsiderate on Friday. Joe was not pleased with losing his job on Monday. He became belligerent and vulgar. I thought we’d need to summon the police. Joe ultimately left quietly.

To everyone who has suffered the forces of nature this weekend past, here’s to recovery.

Expectation Express

Back in 2006 the public transpo option to / from work nearest my home and work-place went express. Overall I was happy about this service improvement though even after two years, nearly every day someone shouted, "LET ME OFF! I DIDN'T KNOW THIS WAS AN EXPRESS!!"

Some weeks ago the public transpo authority decided to de-express the express (partially). They decided that for part of the route (the longest, most populated part) the bus would make all stops for about a 2 1/2 mile stretch. That's about 20 city blocks (give or take). There are 23 bus stops in that stretch. TWENTY-THREE vs. the 6 it was making as a pure express bus. SIX and that includes the end-of-the-line turn around. Keep in mind that over this same stretch of 23 stops is the regular route bus making the same stops.

Think the express patrons were confused before? 'Taint nothin compared to the confusion reigning now, not to mention the anger.

The route does maintain the express concept for the second part of the trip, making only another 10 stops before it hits the down-town area. I get off at stop number seven. So in theory the bus could stop 30 times (not counting traffic lights and stop signs) before I get to my destination. THIRTY vs thirteen.

Change, it happens. I get that. I adjust. I deal. What continues to burn my buttons about this change is that the patrons found out ON THE DAY of the change. There were no hearings, no notice and no signage along the route until the day of the change. Further, I don't see how they can call this an express bus, when it is clearly no longer express (at least for most of the route). The CSA responding to my emails spouted the company line about servicing the maximum number of customers in the most efficient manner. It was / is my position that this change does the exact opposite.

Partly as a result of this change and partly because I'm working on working in more exercise in my daily routines (more about that later) I found an alternative to the non-express express bus and the elevated trains with all those daunting stairs. I take the on-ground train, but I have to walk (or ride my bike) several blocks to get to the station.

Now and again, I'm not up to the walk (especially in the rain) so I resort to the non-express express bus. This morning was one of those times. This morning there was a public transpo authority service rep on the bus handing out survey forms about this route. Trust, I stated my opinion.

I expect one of two scenarios. 1. the non-express express will be cancelled altoghter or 2. will only run from that 2nd part through the downtown area, which will effectively take it off my service radar.

In either case, I expect that I must embrace walking (or riding my bike) the several blocks to the on-ground train, come rain (wind, sleet, snow) or shine. I suppose considering the overall health benefits of the alternate travel plan, they can take this express bus and shove it.

Veggie Tale

I bought and prepared a small (though not small enough) head of cabbage for the Labor Day meal. The cabbage was at the daughter’s request, but as it turns out due to her drugged out state she didn’t eat that much that day or the days immediately following.

I don’t care for cabbage. I don’t hate cabbage but it certainly is not among my top 10 veggie likes. Son apparently is not a big fan either. Though he ate a healthy portion that day he didn’t take any home. He did, however, clear us out of spaghetti and apple pie.

Yesterday, we finally finished the Labor Day cabbage, re-heating a little for dinner (and even once for lunch Saturday).

My mom stopped over on Sunday. She brought me a container of almost done cabbage and 2 ears of corn (frozen).

On Monday she called wanting to know if I wanted more cabbage. It seems the large head she bought at the farmer’s market keeps getting . . . bigger.

No. More. Cabbage. I respectfully declined the offer of more cabbage.

Then, “well, what about Brussels sprouts?”

The previously delivered almost done cabbage was resting in the freezer.

I respectfully declined the Brussels sprouts offer.

Calculations and the Cat(s) and a Dog

I’ve lived with the two cats and a dog for a few weeks now and I'd like to share a few observations:

Buttah tolerates the crunchy kibble but he goes cuckoo for co-co puffs over the moist food, i.e. cat crack. His fervent mews for moist food time are second only to those reserved for the appearance of human food. Pete likes the moist food too, but much like his response to most everything, he’s… heh, whatev.

Speaking of Mr. Personality his early morning wake-up routine has altered a bit since Buttah’s arrival. He is still the designated waker upper, but he’s a lot less insistent about it. No more leg humping, no nipping at the elbows, no chin chucking. Just few mews, some finger licks and one (or two) trips across the chest or around the head. And best of all, inside of 4 am it’s more like 5.

Buttah, we think, spent a lot of time outside before D found him. That or his previous family fed him human food often. The kitchen is clearly his favorite room and chicken (as in wings) is clearly his favorite, most coveted food stuffs. He calms down once he sees we won’t give in to his performance. It is, quite the show.

Diamond must be policed around any food, especially since her diet. She gobbles hers down and stalks theirs. If left on her own she will push them out of the way and eat their moist food. She pushes them around just on general principal, being the oldest and heaviest. They, however, can leap out of her reach. Still, she’s the big ticket around here, and she doesn’t let them forget it.

At least twice in the last few weeks the three of them got a bit rambunctious in the early morning hours, chasing one another back and forth through the unit, barreling to and fro. The sound my steps freeze them in their tracks, the ‘it wasn’t me’ look plastered to each furry face.

Diamond is a major league snorer. Today, for some inexplicable reason she ate the feather toys belonging to the cats. She may be acting out because of the diet.

Buttah pees like a racehorse and hair ball? It’s more like hair log.

Daughter. October. Twenty-three. Hmm, Not

If daughter got this cake for her birthday celebration, she might be put off cakes forever.

Check out some other wrecks.

It Is Time

. . . or hail to those * who wish to be chief.


*not my creation. appears to be making the rounds via emails.

Before the Weekend Update

Remember the break-in a year plus ago? Well there has been a development. Lead detective Unzngr came over last night to discuss the development and the possible next steps.

The development: The state lab has completed the fingerprint analysis. Finally, a suspect has been identified. This suspect has a very extensive arrest and conviction history. A ‘rap sheet’ they call it, one as long as my arm, the detective relayed.

In fact, the suspect is currently serving time, convicted a few weeks ago for retail theft. The detective notes that though the suspect was sentenced to two years, he’ll likely serve half that, even less depending on the state-wide convict population.

The file will be delivered to an assistant district attorney who will look at the evidence, statements and reports toward deciding whether to charge the suspect. The ADA might send the detective to question the suspect. However, lacking witnesses or any other physical evidence, coupled with the non-recovery of the stolen items, a charge is not likely.

I’ll have to be ok with that, mostly I am, for outside the occasional heart-wrenching thought of what might have happened had daughter awakened to find the suspect in our home….the episode has been pretty much laid to rest.

And oh, the suspect is not my younger brother. Of course, I have no way of knowing if my brother's path ever crossed that of the suspect. They both seemed to have spent a life-time criss-crossing the state, visiting one correctional facility after another.

Buggin' Out

You know what bugs me? Well yes that too, but also this:

A company I've known for a couple of decades as: Joe Friday Company* has changed their name to: Friday Company, Joe

A customer is charged sales tax. They know that they are exempt from same, they just need to provide documentation (an exemption certificate) which they do--with their payment. Instead of deducting the tax from the payment and asking us to credit the transaction to even, they pay the tax, ask for a credit and then a refund for the overpayment.

Our order processing software does not identify billing documents as invoices. The software issues order numbers instead. I stamp every order document meant as a billing document, submitted for payment: INVOICE PLEASE REMIT Additionally, every document has a message center. The message center has the following statement: PLEASE PAY BY ORDER NUMBER / INVOICE. REMIT "BALANCE". Customers call to say they can't find the invoice number on order number 123456A.

Save a heart attack Ain't nobody humping around Happy Wednesday.
~B. Brown

*an example for illustrative purposes only.

Connect

A life-line, for I’d be lost without certain telephone conversations. In a former life I detested talking on the phone outside of work and I did it only as needed to conduct business, shore up plans or obtain information. It was not my socializing tool. With rare exception, still isn’t. Two of those rare exceptions are my son and Neta.

In addition to talking with my son frequently via telephone, I also see him every few weeks. And though I miss seeing him more often I know that we could visit more as he is merely a couple of commuter train rides away. In theory we could have lunch as often as our respective schedules allow. That understanding is a great comfort and lessens the intense loneliness for him I might feel otherwise. Besides, he’s “out on his own” and that makes me happy.

It is different with Neta. She is my lady love and we are working toward being together 24/7. But right now she is 500 miles away and seeing her takes planning, commitment, money and optimally, vacation days. And though we talk on the telephone every day, two, sometimes three or more times a day, I do get lonely for her, very lonely and often intensely so.

During those intensely lonely times, even the telephone conversations don’t seem to provide the salve needed put the loneliness to rest. I try masking the feelings when we talk because I don’t want to bring her down with me. I try fighting or minimizing the feelings by throwing myself into tasks at hand; taking my daughter to have a boil drained, assisting my mom with . . . whatever, the yard and condo association business, studying feline interactions, not to mention dealing with all the additional hair and poop, just to name a few.

Though all these things and more require action, demand my attention and for a time even take my mind and soul from realm of despair, a nugget of emptiness remains. Time though, does heal. Planning helps hurry the utterly desperate times to go on their way. As the days pass, the day for our next visit looms larger and appears fogdog-like on the horizon.

When I break through the haze the sheer joy and happiness felt by knowing she is IN my life and that her feelings for me mirror that which I have for her rests on the other side filling me and pushing me forward.

...here’s my number and a dime, call me anytime.

Skyy