Another Day, Another Holler

Renee lingered in bed long after the alarm chirped. The snooze feature was deactivated because Darlys preferred to perform those duties in her own unique fashion. Renee counted down, 3, 2, 1 here it comes, "GET UP RENEE!" Darlys yelled from the bathroom. Renee emitted a grunt and a prolonged groan.


Darlys caught the tail end of that groan and pursed her lips to say for the umpteenth time, "if you don't like it, quit. Another groan followed closely by a sigh. Darlys kneeled down next to the bed, searched under the covers until she found Renee's hand, she squeezed lightly and whispered, "I understand honey, but it will be ok. We'll be ok." Darlys released Renee's hand as well as the topic. Renee would come to a decision in her own time.

This has been going on for weeks now. Each day brings a new frustration. Renee is no longer challenged by her work, yet she is rooted to the place, not just because it is her mom's place but also though she doesn't like what she's doing now, she doesn't know what to do next. She's conflicted and though she won't admit it, scared.

I wrote this some weeks ago for the Weekend Wordsmith prompt that week, but never posted it because I couldn't finish it before the next prompt went up. It still isn't finished but I figured what they hey, I'd didn't want it languishing in draft mode. I suppose I could have deleted it, but no, it shall serve a purpose as being the buffer to yet another CAT post.

This is about the other cat.

The first words out of my mouth this morning (to a human) were, "YOUR cat shat in the dog's bed." Had I been in a poetic mood I suppose it would have come out, "your cat shat on the mat."
But no, poetry wasn't on my mind.

When Buttah does something inappropriate HE is HER cat. Otherwise, he's mine (or our ) loving, lovely orange kitty. This morning he (and his shit) were all hers.

She groaned and asked, "is it soft?"

It wasn't (very) and I told her so adding, "he's cleaning his feet." To which she yelled, "HE JUST DID IT!!?" Another groan.

Buttah hasn't ever done anything like this before and we're hoping it's an aberration rather than a new bad habit. We are routinely quite diligent about cleaning the pans. I'll admit to being a tad slow about it this morning, but they didn't seem that soiled.

I stood corrected.

It would appear that the morning routine might need some tweaking to accommodate the little prince's early morning poo-ti-tude.

Meandering

Pete is sitting atop my cd/dvd/video cabinet. He isn't supposed to be there, he is not usually there. He is resting upon a placement one of the kids made in kindergarten. He is flanked by a Rubik's cube and a Rubik's(?) snake, currently fashioned into a sphere.

Pete is obscuring a blown-up, boxed framed photo of my former in-law's Mississippi front yard and road leading to (& away) from their front door.

In the background, Magda.

The sentry Magda is diligent about alerting about an open door (front or back), reminding us that it is now time to exit after she is armed and that she must be disarmed upon entering. When properly coaxed Magda will even relay a customized message, "greetings, have a pleasant day" was recently deleted.

Magda wasn't speaking during Pete's visit to the top of the cabinet. Pete isn't supposed to perch on the top of the cabinet. It is not a usual place for him to rest. Every now and again Pete sets out to explore. He discovers a nook, a cranny, a place to perch that he hadn't known existed.

Or hadn't cared.

For a few minutes, hours or days he is in kitty adventurer heaven. He is re-located to a more appropriate pet perch or he moves on, on his own, off on a new discovery.

I'm fairly certain Magda didn't object. Or, if she did, she didn't say.

Not Sooo Fried Day

Eleven AM, that’s when I realized that I’d dribbled some of my morning hygiene routine on my shirt. I’d been at work for 3 hours already. Traveled on public transportation with a big (well, not sooo big, but big enough) dollop of toothpaste infused dribble on my shirt.

Damn.

Some clean up, suffering a temporary wet spot, some pretzel pieces later, and onward went the day.

Which given the givens, wasn’t half bad. I did ride my bike to and from work on Monday and Wednesday. My knees were a little sore Thursday (and still but a little less so today) but not enough to stop the show. I’m sure the shock of so much (sudden) pedaling is making them moan. I have an {app} for that. Me and my knees will be back at it in the mid-morning.

My mind is moving in about 45 different directions in about as many different speeds, so I’ll close off with a summary update:

*Many months ago I put up a profile on a couple of meeting / dating sites. Zilch. Well, nearly but nothing to get excited about, much. note to canada: yo, you're in canada. I do enjoy chatting with you when we manage to catch up with one another.

*I started another recently on another site, but didn’t follow all the way through. As a result I’m getting (daily) matches by mail that are . . . male, kinda Christian, kinda don’t know if they want kids. I either need to finish or delete, as clearly certain presumptions have been made on my behalf.

*The owner’s new business (housed in the bank of rooms next door) has (so far) put on the payroll: Jeff, JR, Joanna, Jason, and most recently, Justin. Odd.

*I prepared eggplant for only the 2nd time in my life last night. I don’t recall ever seeing, having eggplant as a child and thus, no reference in my early adult-hood. I didn’t care for it (much) the first time, though that likely had as much to do with my preparation than the vegetable. I enjoyed it much more last night, more efforts to follow.

*I haven’t been cooking much lately, but I sense a shift in the making.

*I didn’t join FB to keep up with family. Mother provides all the updates and relevant (or otherwise) commentary.

*My fantasy football team, dubbed deb, won last week’s match-up. Yay. However, my Top Chef pickings are getting trounced, week after week, after week. Sigh.

*Tonight: stuffed peppers and spinach salad. Yum

*Tomorrow: (a) county fair, with some thrifty queer adventurers. Yay

*Every time I want to type county, I type country and have to correct.

*Though sickened and angry about much that is going on in the city, country, world there is goodness, there is positive energy flowing, and there is hope. Join me in serving up some good, positive vibes to all who could use a dose. Thanks

New (or rather Re-Newed) Attitude

I rode my bike to work Monday. I plan to ride again Wednesday and again to a meet-up event on Saturday. Each round trip to and from work is about 13 miles and the Saturday round trip will be closer to eleven.

Riding to work isn't new, but Monday was the first time this year for a few reasons. One, the weather for much of the bike season had been too un-predictable. Two, to be perfectly frank I was scared off the road. Riding a bike in city traffic is not for the faint-hearted. And while I've been riding Chicago neighborhoods since I was seven years old, and don't consider myself faint-hearted, last year I encountered some situations that proved a little stressful.

Third, Bella is ill. I've tinkered and tweaked, but what is ailing Bella will require more than I can manage right now. Luckily there was a long neglected bicycle in the storage area. I asked around and no one knew anything about the bike or owner. It appears she was left behind by a previous condo owner. Beyond some flattened tires and a broken rack she seemed in pretty good shape. I pumped some air in the tires, removed the broken rack and made a few other adjustments. I did some test runs around the neighborhood before venturing further out.

She did well on Monday, well enough that I'm confident she'll hold up for the subsequent rides. She's smaller than Bella and thus, just this side of being too small for me. As a result, rides longer than a six or seven mile stretch probably wouldn't be comfortable. The jaunts to work and back, and similar distance trips will be ok through the end of the season, I think.

I'm back out on the (city)road. Though still a little scared it felt good and I am determined. I need the work-out and I need to take back my streets. Careful, yes. I am. Very. Still, I made pretty good time (in) on Monday. Not shocked but a wee bit surprised. The ride home was longer only because there was more traffic and I wasn't as lucky with lights. I hope the pleasant weather we've been having decides to hang around a good while longer as it would be nice to get in three 10-13 mile rides a week through the end of October. In fact, it would be better than nice.

An aside to the woman with the short blue dress and fierce high heels, thank you, your legs are quite beautiful and double thanks for buying that ice cream cone. Yum.

Sunday Morn / Afternoon

• Curious about what is whirling in the minds of folks while they stand and watch their clothes whirling in the dryer.
• I'm trying not to read too much into mom delivering coupons, to D*nkin' D's, B*rger K*ing, Big Micky's and the like. She is fully aware of my quest.
• Speaking of the quest, yes still on it and yes, still some measurable success. Though, progress (in direct relation to effort) has slowed.
• Re-energizing focus in that regard as we speak (so to speak).
• Went to the Newberry yesterday to view this documentary and experience the panel discussion. Fascinating stuff.
• After the viewing and talking, went on a long walk and more talk with son. Fascinating stuff.
• The orange cat is almost never out of view. He likes to be wherever you are.
• I've gone hours now without speaking a word aloud to anyone (but the cats).
• I think I'll go across the street and place an order. I'm sure to get some vocalizing in there.
• During a recent purge of empty / near empty hair / body product bottles from the bathroom I came across directions? from one of daughter's many (many) products: use me: message me in. you'll forgive and forget with so much creaminess. rinse and rebound.
• And with that, I'm going to have some lunch.

September

So far September has been rather lackluster for me, or to put another way, lacking in the lust---but that means something totally different, doesn't it? Anyhoo...what I mean to say is September has been rather ho-hum, so far.

I don't blame it on the month per se though it isn't one of my favorites, if such a thing were to exist. As you may recall, I'm not big on the notion of favorites . . .

Favorite Books of All Time: I really don't like naming 'favorites'. So many books speak to me for so many reasons. Favorites of all time? There are many. Several. To name but a few would diminish the import of the others.

September is full of not so pleasant memories past . . . my older brother and dad have birthdays in September. My ex-husband's birthday is also in September. I always enjoyed the "back-to-school" excitement when I was a child and when I was raising my children, but that excitement was short-lived by all the hubbub this is back-to-school.

September signals the beginning of our busy season and this year it has been that, busy. Which, of course is grand for business but the affect on me has been less than grand. Though, all-in-all I'd rather be busy than not. And certainly, I pleased to 1. have the job(s)--oh, yeah, serving in the same capacity for the owner's new business--hence the need for an assistant (or two) the second, though, I haven't gotten to know very well because the owner has her assigned elsewhere (for now). hmpf. 2. that business appears to be re-bounding, the past couple of years were pretty brutal. We must exceed the budget these next two months or I fear at least one head will roll.

Still, even in the ho-hum that has been this September so far, I have found moments or even pockets of glee. The new show "Glee" contributed to some of the moments. Football got started, and that always provide gleeful moments, especially since I play in a Fantasy League. I haven't been very successful these past few years but it does add a little extra to the season. There are other teevee related moments, but what led me to this post was my commute the other day.

Normally, I'm in my own world. Sometimes, not always, ip*d shuffle providing my listening pleasure and a book providing enough of a distraction the keep me from obsessing about the coughing, sneezing, yelling, pushing, pulling and otherwise glee that is commuting on public transpo.

Though, trying to block out the world around me, I don't forget that there is a world around me. I remain alert, at the ready to deal with . . . whatever. Urban Living 101. Back to the story, the other day I'm reading, looking up now and again to assess the surroundings and across the aisle is a woman who looked to be in her twenties. Nothing spectacular, good or otherwise about her appearance. Average, I'd say. I heard her pop the top of a can and saw her take a drink. I nice loooooong gulp of something. I couldn't tell immediately what she was drinking, but when it hit her system moments later her eyes bugged out as if someone at popped her in the back and yelled, "BOO!!" at the same time. The eye (and subsequently, head) movement moved her hand and I saw that she was drinking an energy drink. I thought, wow, that stuff must really pack a punch.

The moment passed and some stops later I hear another pop and whoa, she was drinking another one. Downed it in just a few gulps. Yeah, the eye thing again. For the rest of the day I had moments of glee imagining 1. where she was going 2. what she did 3. whether she was in the company of others while she did whatever she did, wherever..

And oh, to have been a fly on the wall she must have been bouncing off the entire rest of the morning, if not the entire day.

Energy drinks, yay or nay? And...their tag, Feel Real? Energy drink for real people. What is that about?

And one more thing, while today is of course, thatday, it is also the day that a friend celebrates a birthday and to her I say, happy happy joy joy!! Here's a royal celebration!!

Silent Battle*

Sixteen days. Jasmine had been in residence for 16 days and that meant sixteen days remained. The hash marks on her arms were clear, sixteen days. What wasn’t clear was if this self-imposed quarantine would solve her problem, settle her mind. Jasmine needed to be in the room of secrets. She needed to know if giving herself over to the room would divest her of her own secret.

Jasmine was prepared for the necessary silence. She knew secrets lived in silence and that there was power in the silence. For the next sixteen days Jasmine would remain devoid of tone, yet she would speak or rather leak her secrets onto the floorboards, hoping they’d forge a path to the walls. Jasmine was hoping that by the end of the next sixteen days, she’d be able to leave this room with her secret happy to be cavorting with all the others left by previous occupants.

While Jasmine was prepared for and oddly comforted by the silence, she was not comforted by the cold. The cold was oppressive. And though her partner warned, “Secrets are silent as you know, but they are also cold. Don’t expect to be warm.” Jasmine was still taken aback even though she’d heeded her partners words and prepared accordingly. The extra blankets and sweaters did little to combat the stout chill. Jasmine had to reach deep down where the extra reserve of determination lived. Jasmine’s determination, dubbed warrior was vigilant as well as valiant against the burdensome cold.

It was day sixteen and each moment crystallizing the truth; Jasmine was in for the fight of her life, one she was determined to win.

The hash marks were clear, sixteen days spent with sixteen remaining. Jasmine cleaved to the belief that these days would end the haunting of those frightful days of last year. Jasmine trusted that her efforts during these days would allow her to leave the silence of her secret far, far behind.

Bring on the noise

*weekend wordsmiths writing prompt.

No Intervention Needed

I was running late one morning and decided to stop in McD's (across the big street at the end of our block) for a coffee and possibly a hash brown pattie thingy. As a general rule of thumb I avoid McD's. But they fit the bill in a pinch. That morning I decided against the hash brown pattie thingy and went instead for the McGriddle TM thingy. I opted for the bacon (over sausage) and egg, minus the cheese. Cheese is just wrong here, but different strokes . . .

I didn't expect to like the sandwich. (I know, why order if I didn't expect to like it? I had some notion that I needed justfication for my wholesale panning of the thought...maple infused "pancake" bread paired with egg, meat, cheese. Ick). Anyhoo, I didn't expect to like it, but the sandwich was okay. I'm sure the cheese would have confirmed my initial icky thought, but sans cheese the sandwich wasn't half bad.

As a result, I've been averaging one McGriddle a week for the past several. But, I say here and now, the affair is over. Over. Over Not, however because of the sandwich. No, I still like the sandwich. But, not only is going into McD's regularly contrary to my goals (on a few fronts) it is also not the most pleasant experience.

A typical order event:

McD clerk: Welcome to McD's, may I help you / take your order ?(depends on the day / clerk)

Me: I'd like a medium coffee, one cream (on the side) no sugar.

McD clerk: How many sugars?

Me: No sugar.

McD clerk: No sugar?

Me: No. No sugar --I'm sure I've mentioned this McD trait before and one would think: lesson. learned.

McD clerk: Ok, anything else?

Me: Yes, a bacon and egg McGriddle. No cheese.

McD clerk: You want egg?

Me: Yes, egg (and bacon) but no cheese.

McD clerk: You don't want cheese?

Me: No, no cheese.

McD clerk: you want the meal or just the sandwich

Me: Just the sandwich, please.

Each and every time, the only variation is the greeting. So, while the sandwich satisfied and itch I didn't even expect to have, the thrill is definitely gone.

We're getting a Dunkin' D's in the neighborhood (eventually, slowest construction, except for the transformation of the building that is due to become a Chicken and Waffles establishment). But fear not, I will not be lured there for my quickie breakfast fixes. Their breakfast sandwich is narsty. Double Icky. And the ordering experience can be as vexing.

A Typical Sunday

Typical of Buttah. Pete is not usually this docile.

Remembering A Time

Memes, I’ve done a few, in fact, two in the past 30 days. Both asked, “Who was your 1st grade teacher?”

:::blank:::

I’m sure the woman was quite lovely, capable, endearing, and engaging. I remember having fun, in class. I recall some of what was covered in first grade. I recall being praised for my grasp of the material. I recall much, but her name…gone.

Going to first grade was exciting for me, I recall that as well. I remember being all atwitter at the thought (and experience) of being in school all day. In first grade we came home for lunch, and at that time mom (and still for a bit, dad) worked outside the homestead, “home for lunch” meant going to Mrs. Booker’s, our caregiver.

Mrs. Booker kept a few kids in the neighborhood, along with her own grandchildren while parents worked. She provided before, during, and after-school care. During the school year Mrs. Booker provided breakfast, lunch, after-school snacks, and in some extreme cases dinner. In the summer-time she made ice cream. She sold cones to the neighborhood at-large but those in her care got our cones (limit of one per day) for free. Of course, we got to help too.

I recall the first grade days being some of the most glorious, carefree days of my childhood, except . . .

My older brother was in 3rd grade, during my first grade year. He, by all accounts, was a terror and had been wreaking havoc at Samuel F. B. Morse Elementary school since his K days. I discovered in my first grade year that my older brother’s teacher was beside herself and quite frustrated (note: I didn’t have the language for that IN first grade, only the notion). She tried reaching out to our parents, who were also beside themselves and quite frustrated.

The primary mode of communicating with parents back then was to send notes home. The notes would be (in first grade) pinned to the first grader’s shirt or jumper. In the older grades the notes were inserted into book bags. I remember my older brother being punished (severely, sometimes) after the first few notes were discovered. It wasn’t long into my first grade year when my older brother’s third grade teacher discovered that notes were no longer making it all the way home.

When brother’s third grade teacher came to her discovery, she decided it genius to pin my brother’s notes to my jumper. My older brother got wind of the crafty maneuver during supper one fateful evening.

From that point forward, older brother, who had not shown any interest in walking with me from school (as he was directed) before, now intercepted me routinely. If he saw a note pinned to my jumper he would push me down and take the note. Sometimes as often as twice a week this was the ritual.

Finally, only a few weeks before first grade year would come to a close, no more written notes. My older brother’s third grade teacher came to my first grade classroom and asked me to deliver a verbal message to my mom. I was to ask my mom contact older brother's third grade teacher. She asked, “Will you remember?”

I told my older brother’s third grade teacher, Mrs. Stanley that I would remember.

And I did.

Walk On By

My parents separated (and eventually divorced) when I was very young, six or seven. At the very beginning of the separation, the first few days (perhaps weeks) I was very happy as my father was mean. He seemed especially mean to his only daughter for some reason.

He, rather than mom, was the disciplinarian. He delivered discipline by hitting. A leather razor strop was his instrument of choice, but he'd use his hands in the forms of slaps and even a punch at least once.

I caught it often, not only for my own mis-behavior but also for my younger brother's. For it was my job to keep him from mis-behaving, depending on the day. You see, in addition to being mean dad was also erractic.* He'd lay down the law on Tuesday, on Wednesday he'd tell us to, "lighten up" and on Thursday we'd get beat for acting on the "lighten up" cue.

It went on like this for the entire time he was home. No surprise then, that early on I didn't miss him. But, later . . .

Part of me wanted him to be part of my life. Or at least, wanted him to want to be part of my life. I couldn't help but miss him. I couldn't help feeling devastated by his apparent disregard for me and my life.

Throughout the rest of my childhood and until this very day, he was more out than in my life. Years went by where we didn't speak. He was notoriously bad about returning letters and at least once reported that he couldn't afford to call. I've created all kinds of scenarios about our next meeting, when, where, and under what circumstances.

I figured I'd see him on the street somewhere. We'd recognize one another instantly but neither would make a move to acknowledge the other. We would simply, "Walk On By".

Dad will celebrate his 71st birthday in a couple of days. Despite our estrangement, I do wish him the best.

*Upon learning of dad's recreational drug use, I elected to lay the blame for much of his behavior at that door.

C. A. T. Tales

No, this isn't Buttah but I couldn't resist. It soooo could be him if he was the kind of feline to flatten himself tummy down. He's a tummy up kinda cat. However, title and photo aside, this posting isn't about the cat(s) again.

I'd like to talk about climate control. Not world climate, warming or otherwise, but office climate. The office space I spend much of my time in during the weekdays does not have central air (or heat for that matter). The cooling efforts are accomplished with the aide of four window units. Three in the warehouse area and one to cover the offices.

You may have heard, in fact perhaps it has been a theme around the country, this summer has been most un-summer-like. I don't know how many 90 degree days we've had, I do know that there have been very few. That day back in June might have been our first real taste of it. That day may have been IT for summer. We've spent most of the summer hovering around the mid to upper 80s. Most evenings have been cool-to-cold (to me). The humidity too, for the most part has been moderate to low. So, in my mind the need for any A/C has been minimal, at best. That is not to say that guys haven't cranked it up every day since June. The guys (especially the warehouse guys, and the boss) are always hot (so to speak).

Me? Not so much, flash moments aside. Though I have experienced, in recent years a greater tolerance for cooler temperatures and don't layer up nearly as much or as often, I am still more often than not, cold over warm. I do feel that my body temperature has risen, is rising and I do feel warmer more than ever before. But still, I am hardly ever flat-out hot in that sense of the word. I certainly haven't felt a need for A/C ever before and this summer in particular.

For years now I've often been the odd person out. The majority would always vote (if such a vote were to ever take place) for A/C. So, I have had to deal. I keep extra long sleeve shirts, fleece jackets, or sweaters available for use to fight off the the chill from the A/C on any given day.

Today is such a day. It is overcast, damp, barely 70 degrees. In fact, I doubt the air temp topped 70 today. I'm wearing a t-shirt, a long-sleeve denim shirt, and a fleece jacket. It is friggin' cold. To elaborate, I hardly ever drink coffee after 10 AM but here I am in the late afternoon chug-a-lugging the hot beverage.

I once had a co-worker, Gladys, who couldn't stand the cold, she and I were the odd ducks in the pond during that time. She'd sit at her desk, typing away, with a hat on her head and a scarf around her neck. In between projects she'd don her mittens. Gladys was cold when it was hot because the A/C would be kickin' and she was cold(er) when it was cold because that was Gladys.
I didn't have it bad like Gladys then, and don't have it that bad today, but I do wish they'd turn off the freakin' A/C. Open a window for cripes sake, there is a nice breeze and since the Air and Water show is long gone, no jet noise over-head. Heck, there aren't even any jack-hammers in use today.

On the upside, it is Friday and a new assistant has been hired. The adventure begins anew.

Inaugural Video Effort

Shot this with an K*dak Easy Share back in June. Added the audio (from YT's files) today.

Just because.

Shit Storm

The day started pretty much as any other work day. My body clock woke me around 4:00 or so. I knew going back to sleep would mean rushing out the door, so while I lounged, I avoided sleep mostly by watching Abe Lincoln special on The History Channel.

An hour later, time to rise. The cats and dog camped outside my bedroom door, Pete making his presence known by throwing himself into the door.

After tending to bathroom needs, I feed the animals, clear and clean the litter pan (Oh Mah Goodness, The Boys!!) wash and have my breakfast of multi-grain Cheer*os with skim milk.

My daughter sent me a message that . . . well, angered me. Greatly. I didn't have time to deal with the issue and the shit storm it will cause, work beckons. The hardest work being ditching my attitude before I make it to the office.

Success, almost.

I'm the second person in the office. My early arrival allows me time to gather myself, thoughts and emotions and by the time folks started filing in, I was my usual self. Everyone arrives, files past my office door, speak a greeting, which is returned in kind. Chatterer didn't speak, but in about 30 minutes it wouldn't matter.

Having foregone coffee or tea before leaving home, it isn't long before the body begins to crave. There wouldn't be time to satisfy this craving as this is when the shit hit the fan. The owner is in the outer office, just beyond my doorway faxing. Chatterer had been assigned to the space next door. For whatever reason she came back into our space supposedly to report her whereabouts to owner, "I just wanted you to know where I was. I'll get back to the spreadsheets..." The exchange went back and forth with him finally saying, "just go do the work."

She leaves, briefly. Returns, slamming the door on her way in, grabbing up her belongs, punching her time card and working up a head of steam to storm out. Owner slows her progression, asking if she had keys (or any other property) calling me out to witness. He asked, "are you quitting?"

Once I confirm she never had any keys and she didn't appear to be in possession of any other company property, she exits. He follows. A short time later he returned noting that she'd uttered some very vile words while getting on the elevator and threatening him with her daddy's lawyer.

And so . . .

The day progresses more than the usual ups and downs. The owner is frantic, not over chatterer's leaving or her threat, but over the fact that he wanted the (new) company to go live days ago and the highly touted software isn't working, the freight carrier he was looking to contract with won't stand by their original quote, the secondary carrier has communication issues, the phone system isn't working properly, and then the guy he hired to be his GM decided he needed to be home (he lives in another state, comes in for the week and heads home on the weekend) full-time. He'd like to remain with the company with a smaller role.

And so, it seems to me that the very full litter pan first thing this morning, as it happens, turned out to the quite the literal interpretation for the day. I don't know what the recent turn of events will mean for the (new) business over time. Immediately, it means I'm back on the recruiting train and it means me, my GM, and the rest of our staff will work to mitigate the impact the additional support we'll be called upon to provide will have on (our ) business.

I suppose, given the givens, having a job is preferable to the alternative, but still . . . Friday, please, or better yet, Saturday. And if the turd rain could be kept to a minimum, that'd be good.

Thank You.

Weekender

The hours sandwiched between work weeks 33 and 34 found me doing more or less nothing. That is to say, nothing that needed doing. Except for make it to the dentist appointment, which turned out to be a huge disappointment (more on that some other time) and participate in a fantasy football draft, not much of anything else was accomplished.

Long story short, I spent too much time after the work days during work week 33 sitting, sipping, and staring. I didn’t do any yard (or grounds) work, no laundry, no grocery, no…nothing. Well, except for those little things that must be done to avoid living in squalor.

I could blame it on the rain as we did have a lot of rain and threats of rain, but no, it wasn’t that, at least, not just that. The net result of my sloughing off things, regardless of the reason(s) was facing a Saturday and Sunday with a mountain (and in terms of laundry, that statement is quite accurate) of things to do. And not wanting to do any of it. I just couldn't muster up the verve.

And so I didn’t do most of it.

Work week number 34 has to see a different Deborah.

An observation: Dani had a house- sitting / pet care gig Thursday evening through Sunday morning. She popped home a bit but spent each night at the gig. These little gigs offer a taste of what it might be like to live alone. (I never have, you know). I’m finding that I’m getting more and more warmed to the idea. I did spend some moments Saturday night serenading a cat, which truth be told had me a tad concerned, but it was groove time and Buttah insisted on being included.

Meme: Adult Sized

Lifted from Pat:

Pat describes this meme (generated on FB) as a more grown up quiz, separating it from so many of the others that pop up there, apparently. I haven't been out there that long and though I've seen some, I've avoided most. Anyhoo . . .no tags, no pressure . . iffin you wanna, go for it.

1. What bill do you hate paying the most? I don't know about hate but I'd sure be happy when all car related bills are paid. (not -my- car).

2. Do you miss being a child? Not. At. All.

3. Chore you hate the most? Grocery shopping.

4. Where was the last place you had a romantic dinner? Romance? What's that?

5. If you could go back and change one thing what would it be? I would have left Illinois after HS.

6. Name of your first grade teacher? Kindergarten (Mrs. Stomper) Second (Mrs. Kelly) First? drawing a blank.


7.What do you really want to be doing right now? THIS !


8. What did you want to be when you grew up? A grown up woman

9. How many colleges did you attend? One

10.Why did you choose the shirt that you have on right now? It's black and was the first one I put my hands on.

11. What are your thoughts on gas prices? Outrageous.

12.First thought when the alarm went off this morning? Who needs an alarm?

13. Last thought before going to sleep last night? Maybe I should open the door. Naaaaah.

14. What famous person would you like to have dinner with? Toni Morrison

15. Have you ever crashed your vehicle? Crashed? No. Dinged? yes.

16. If you didn’t have to work, would you volunteer? Volunteer where I work? NOOOO. But, somewhere else, at something else, absolutely.

17. Get up early or sleep in? Get up early.

18. What is your favorite cartoon character? ----no opinion.

19. Favorite thing to do at night with a guy/girl? See Number 7.

20. When did you first start feeling old? I'll get back to you on this one. ;)

21. Favorite lunch meat? turkey, pastrami, corned beef, salami, ham, . . uhm....hard to choose.

22. What do you get every time you go into Wal-Mart? A headache and batteries.

23. Do you think marriage is an outdated ritual? No.

24. Favorite movie you wouldn’t want anyone to find out about? . . .and you expect me to spill it here? Uhm..let's see..."The Abyss"

25. What’s your favorite drink? Martini w/habernero stuffed olive(s) or classic margarita.

26. Who from high school would you like to run in to? Ick. except for Dorothy

27. What radio station is your car radio tuned to right now? No car. No radio.

28. Sopranos or Desperate Housewives? Bada Bing! Sopranos. If those are the only choices.

29. Worst relationship mistake that you wish you could take back? Well, considering the divorce and all...that'd be the one. Though, thanks to that relationship I've a lovely daughter and son.

30. Do you like the person that sits directly across from you at work? Well, no one sits across from me, unless I'm "in a meeting" . . . so, that varies.

31. Have you ever had to use a fire extinguisher for its intended purposes? No I haven't. I haven't even been in an area where one has been used.

32. Last book you finished reading? Word: On Being A [Woman] Writer

33. Do you have a teddy bear? Several including Molly.

34. Strangest place you have ever brushed your teeth? Define strange.

35. Do you go to church? Not anymore.

36. How old are you? I'm a 49er.

That's . . .

Happy Belated Birthday

I have finally made an appointment to see a dentist. I haven't been to a dentist since I left a former dentist's office after being kept waiting forever . Wow, that was over three years ago.

My medical doctor has been pushing me to get to the dentist. Dental health is as important . . yada x3. I know, but I can't stand the dentist. Plus which, there was the rigmarole of finding a new dentist, dropping the old dentist, getting a new dentist authorized as primary. She'd given me the name and number for her dentist on at least two of our visits. Her dentist is not in my insurance network so I couldn't see him.

I searched the insurance company's data base for possible good fits and eventually came up with three prospects.

Each office was contacted, asked some questions toward me getting a feel for the staff and office procedures. One office stood out among the other two. The person who took my call was friendly, professional, patient, and thorough.

That was months ago, and having danced the insurance administrative paperwork jig, all that was left was to make the actual appointment, which thanks to yet another nudge from Doctor F, I have finally done.

The staffer who assisted me last week was as friendly, thorough, and efficient as the one (possibly the same, point being...consistency) who answered my questions those many months ago. As you might imagine, I was the one answering questions this time around, Name? First time here? Carrier? D. O. B.? At hearing my reply, kindly staffer wished me a happy belated birthday.

How is that for being in the moment? Anyhoo...

Here's hoping the dentist is as nice (not to mention being good at the dentistry stuff) as this staffer presents.

Thought For The Day

We were in a truck that wasn’t her Escape, pulling up and walking into a yard that wasn’t our yard. The cats, Pete and Buttah were in said yard digging at the grasses. Perplexed, I asked, “you let them out?” Dani replied, “I didn’t let them out, they got out through the hole in the refrigerator.”

And that is where the dream ended or rather all that I can remember.

I have chosen to believe that the meaning of this dream is no deeper than my desire and need for a new refrigerator, plain and simple. No, there aren’t any holes in my current refrigerator nor as far as I know, no portals to the outside world, but yeah it is in a state and must be replaced.

The assistant survived last night's meeting. The owner told me they had a talk, she was very defensive, didn't see where she was "chatty" and / or how disruptive she was being. She didn't say a word to me all day. No good morning, no good evening. She did say, "thank you" when I held the door as we were leaving for the day. However, throughout the day she gifted me with the queen of cold shoulders she even hummed whenever we were in the same space, to avoid any direct interaction.

She avoided eye or any other contact with me all day. Like the "Laugh-In" line, this is getting verrrry interesting, but stupid.

C'est la vie.

Red Letter Day

First, let me say Buttah's habit of lying on his back with his feet in the air is a tad disconcerting, especially when I find him in said position during the middle of the night, early morning trips to the bathroom.

Second, mom's habit of bringing me food items to try is a tad disconcerting. I can't say how many times I've said, "I'm avoiding boxed and bagged, sticking to fresh as often as possible. Yet, on Saturday, two more . . .

Third, the new assistant cried today, not once but twice, perhaps even three times. When I left today at 5:05 she was in a closed door meeting with the owner and general manager. Long story short, this was the third of three "meetings" with the owner, the first was one-on-one. Office grapevine reports she cried sometime after. I was the third wheel in the second meeting and no rumor, she cried afterwards. I suppose I'll discover in the morning the aftermath of meeting number three. I know she went into the third meeting wondering what she did to incur his wrath. Perhaps he explained it to her in more detail.

Fourth, it was warm today. But, I was hot. All day. Uncharacteristically so. Today I experienced a few of these moments. My first. Talk about disconcerting.

My, How Time Flies

A year ago last Friday, Buttah (incorrectly identified as Butter) joined the menagerie. It feels like longer, as his presence and personality has permeated every fiber, every corner of our lives. He has taken over the cat title from Pete, as Pete, more often than not defers to Buttah's judgment.

Buttah, the younger of the two cats often assumes the dominant role in their play, he teases Pete into chasing him. Though, it happens the other way as well, just not as often. Buttah, seems more interested in going outside, he's always at the door ready to dart out whenever one of us enters. He languishes in the open windows.

Diamond is still wary of Buttah and the attention he commands. She's quite jealous of his ability to hop in laps and doesn't waste any time camping by your feet, darting her nearly covered by fur liquid eyes up at you to plead her most adorable case.

Lately, Buttah has decided that five minutes before I leave for work is the new "cuddle time". If I'm sitting he'll take over my lap, or try to . . . I don't like shooing him, but shedding...I'm on my way out. the. door. almost. If I'm standing, sipping the last of whatever beverage, soaking in the last of whatever I'm listening to or watching he will pace in a circle at my feet, mewing up a storm. If that doesn't get me to sit, he'll leap (from behind) as though trying to snag a piggy-back ride or something. He can only manage to get as high as my waist.

His addition has been an experience i a very good way.

Because I'm Not Sleepy Enough, Yet

It could be blamed on the energy drink, R*ckstar, I think. But, then again, maybe not. I haven't been sleeping very well lately, again. I'm reluctant to go to bed when I'm not tired or rather, sleepy enough, yet. I lie there thinking, reading, listening to the radio, watching television. Toss, turn, toss and turn again and then finally, sleep.

Only to be awake an hour or so later not remembering in full the dream that jolted me to rousing. I can only remember being chased or being the chaser . . . probably a side effect of falling asleep to too many episodes of "Burn Notice".

I try again and the pattern repeats, until finally the cats are bouncing themselves off the bedroom door, lobbying to be fed. It is 5:00 a.m. And a new day begins.

The plan was to work my way into exhaustion tonight. I wanted to fall into bed with no energy, no thoughts, but so far, I'm not there. I haven't been able to burn enough energy and equally unsuccessful at turning off the thoughts.

My cleaning effort resulted in me breaking a figurine. The few I had (not a huge knick knack fan) are falling at an alarming rate, thanks to my clumsiness and Buttah's curiousness.

I tried to fix my flat tire (on bicycle) only to find out I need a new inner-tube (maybe) but, moot anyway, since I didn't have any patches.

I played on-line, hung around, keeping my *light* on hoping a new friend would come by and chat, but alas, no...not tonight.

I played one too many games of Bejeweled on F*cebook, had to best Danielle's score. Certain folks who shall remain nameless will never be beaten, not by me anyway.

Mom called. She's having issues with her urologist, with home care agents not being able to find her street, twice in as many weeks. We won't discuss her concern that correspondence with watermarked stationery is meant to "track" her is some way. The paranoia seems worse.

And then there is work. It seems Ms. Memphis might chatter herself right out of a brand new job. I don't know if it is specifically her chatter that the owner is, "not crazy about" but there is something. He prefers not to spell it out, but I've been put on notice . . . we will re-visit the subject of Ms. Memphis, soon. He'll be looking for my (& the GM's) considered opinion . . . is Ms. Memphis a good fit?

In too few hours the cats will be clamoring for their Friskies.

'night.

At Week End

"Knees" - Dora Natella

I have a standard 40 hour work week. Tack on another half-to full hour on either end for the commute, you have about 50 hours give to take devoted to work and work related travel.

That doesn't leave much time for laundry (I do not have facilities on site), routine house-cleaning, cleaning around the building, grounds, yard work, and / or any diy projects I might decide need attacking. Throw in a trip to the barber, grocery store, workouts, a chore or two for mom, and a little thing called sleep that leaves even less time, during the week.

Still, I try to do as much as I can during the week to allow a little bit of pure leisure time over the weekend in keeping with my concerted efforts to get out, be more active and sociable.

Never-the-less, more often than not, my weekends are full of said routine tasks and chores. I find that there simply isn't enough time before or after work to do too much beyond a perfunctory (ok, maybe a little more than perfunctory) workout.

The week ending 5:00 p.m. 8/7/2009 ended one of the longest work weeks in recent memory. By 5:10 p.m. I'd thrown my brain into full leisure mode, preparing for my evening out with some Thrifty Queer Adventurers and yes, Friday night was karaoke night and no, yours truly did not perform, this time. On Sunday I communed with some woman made artwork.* I only wish I'd known before this weekend, last Friday was the artist reception. That would have been cool. Next time, for sure.

One day down, four to go, here's to the weekend.

*click on photo for link to site.

New Recruit

First, thanks all for the happy birthday wishes!!!

Some time ago I made mention of a search for an assistant. I had the field narrowed down to two, with final interviews scheduled with me, general manager and owner. Well, the owner chose candidate one without even seeing candidate two. So, now after having spent three days with candidate one, I am hoping that the non-stop chatter Ms. Memphis has displayed is the result of nervous energy.

The woman can talk. And not just innocuous chit-chat like the merits of soft serve over hand-packed ice cream. No, she's broached politics, religion, private schooling, social justice programs, racism, bigotry, suicide, drug addiction, and elitism, all before lunch.

Soon (hopefully) the IT folks will have her computer up and the software the new business will employ will be viewable so that we can begin the tutorials. Soon (hopefully) I'll be given clearance to adjust her current schedule to part-time, as previously discussed. Hopefully, if all the chatter is nervous energy, it will burn off P D Q!

However, if she continues to underwhelm the owner, well . . .

Mayhaps she's just nervous. For her sake, I sure hope so and hope she can and will . . . chill.

11:50 A. M.

I celebrated a birthday recently. Well, point of fact, I'm still celebrating. There remains a brunch to share with the son. Given the mixed schedules of the three principals in my life and because of the fact of our lives, celebrations are varied and spread over a few days.

Works for me. Birthday celebrations should extend beyond the day, especially after a certain age, yes? Anyhoo . . .

Much of the actual day, Thursday was spent with mom. Apropos, I suppose given that she was a key player in the very first.

Hanging out with my mom can be challenging primarily because her conversational gambit is 20 (or 100) questions and the impending or actual death (of others) one of her favorite topics. She opened our lunch by re-visiting the topic of Rose. Days earlier she'd related Rose's death:

Mom: You remember me telling you about Rose?

Me: No.

Mom: You know, the lesbian?

Me: Oh yes, the lesbian. I just didn't know her name was Rose. What about her?

Mom: She died. And she was your age. She would have been 49 in August.

As of Thursday, some 13 or more days since Rose's death no burial or other disposition has taken place. It seems the family or partner don't have the means and . . .

. . . well, I won't subject you to any more of the conversation, it wasn't (as you might imagine) very chipper. Looping in my mind was the thought, the best thing about turning 49, is turning 49, happy birthday to me.

Still, given the givens, it was not a bad restaurant (oh, my mom and restaurants, a whole other issue) experience. There was another woman celebrating her birthday with a woman (I presumed was her mother, though could have been, a partner--no, on closer inspection, certainly not a partner, but perhaps not mother either) anyhoo, the woman, after hearing my mother order (very loudly) a piece of cake for me (she pretended to be afraid that the staff would start to sing, "happy birthday" thankfully, they didn't*) came to our table and announced, "it's my birthday too!! 7-30-1966!" We exchanged pleasantries and happy birthday greetings.

While sitting on a bench outside the restaurant (mom's breathing is becoming more, and more labored. Troubling, that. And yes, we're looking into the causes and possible remedy) in the midst of talking more about Rose, adding the deaths of John and her sister's (another Rose) displeasure with her son, she announced, "you look younger than she did, that woman in the restaurant."

Well, now . . . I don't know about me looking younger but I sure was looking (she was pretty cute).

Anyhoo . . . one of mom's many questions of the day was, "do you know what time you were born?" I hadn't committed the time to memory and I don't peer my birth records very often, but I did take a look, because I knew she would ask again and the next time, I'd have the answer, 11:50 a.m.

*one day I'll share the Joe's Crab Shack birthday celebration.

Flutter Butters

For much of her soccer playing days my daughter served as goalie and as the last line of defense the team’s fortunes often rested in her hands, literally. I felt the flutter butters at the beginning of each game and every time the opposing team mounted an attack.

She stopped more than flubbed because she was a pretty good keeper and she was prepared.

Still, I got the flutter butters.

I felt the same way all day Friday before Michael’s show. I wasn’t surprised by the fluttery buttery feeling, I’ve gotten flutter butters prior to seeing him on stage from the very beginning. It is a 50/50 mix of nervousness and excitement. I want so very badly for him to do well and so excited for him to be where he most wants to be.

The nervousness 50 fades once he’s on stage. The nervousness that I probably shouldn’t be experiencing yet, I am powerless to stop, because I know him. I know his preparation is legendary. His confidence is boundless. His excitement for being on stage drives him to excellence. I know all this and have witnessed it for years, yet . . . nervous flutter butters.

But, like I said, the nervousness side of the flutter butters make way for the excitement side once I see him on stage, for he’s Paul (or Othello or whomever) on stage. On stage he is . . . home.

Friday's performance went well. I have it on some authority, that the opening went well also. Still, as Michael (who won't read the reviews until the end, if ever) says, “it’s the beginning not the end, there are 20 more performances. I, or rather we, have to be on point every time out!”

And though I may be a little bit nervous I can hardly wait for my next trip to the theatre, for I have little doubt that Michael, channeling some of a goal keeper mentality of his own, will give everything he has for the performance.

It is so much fun watching him play!!

Twice In One Week

Going to the grocery store is not my most favorite thing to do. In fact, it is pretty far down on any favorite things list I might ever compile. It is a necessary thing as we (the humans and fur babies) must eat and so to the grocery store I must go.

Part of what makes the trips to the grocery store so distasteful is the check-out line. As often as possible I use the self-check out, but even the self-checkouts can be a trial. I could go on and on about the various aspects of line waiting antics, check-out clerk ineptitude, self-checkout fails, and various other factors that serve to rankle one’s calm, but I won’t.

Ok, just one:

I was in line behind a mom who was balancing her ‘bux drink, talking on her phone (via Bluetooth), trying to corral her wandering toddler, while writing a check (yes, an actual check—but don’t hate, I do to on occasion, though I usually have it written long before getting to check-out) for her purchase of organic peas and Greek yogurt.

After the fact, one can find humor in such a scene. While in the midst of it, not quite so funny.

. . .and speaking of ‘bux drinks, I was riding shot-gun with daughter recently and we passed a woman on a bike. I know, you’re thinking, ‘big whoop Deborah’! Hear me out: the woman was on a bike outfitted with one of those rickshaw type covered child carrier carts, she had two tots in tow, riding along side of her were two older kids on sidewalk bikes…they were all in the street, a side-street with little traffic, but still…the street. The kids on bikes were helmeted, but the woman (I’m presuming mom) was not. And now you’re saying, ‘Deborah, what does this have to do with the ‘bux drinks statement you started with’. Well, let me tell ya, the woman was leading this caravan of kid-lets on her bike while trying to balance a ‘bux drink, grande I think.

The drink, not the action. The action was . . .well, thankfully no one else was on the street. I don't know how far she rode, though I do know she had to navigate a cross-street. . .

Beyond that, my week has been mostly un-eventful, except the recruiting (have I told you about the recruiting?) is done and someone has been hired. I have to check, but I don’t think I’ve told you anything about the recruiting…I’ll get on that after the weekend.

I get to see my young man on stage tomorrow. Wooooo Hooooo! AND I get an early birthday gift, daughter scored tickets to a Red Stars game for Sunday.

The Young Man

You know my son.

Well, you know of him.

You know what I’ve written, you may have seen the post of one of his old poems to me, and you’ve seen pictures of him.

He’s an actor, you know, my son.

During his sophomore year in high school, he joined a spoken word club. He and a class-mate formed a spoken word team and they won a school sponsored competition. The team performed outside of school at local venues; coffee shops, clubs, and the like. One of the drama teachers caught wind of Michael’s performance, and suggested he take a drama class. During his junior year he auditioned for three plays and got roles in each one, playing the lead at least once. Over the course of the next year he was in several more plays, performed in poetry in many more venues. Somewhere in the midst of all this performing he made the choice to attend Columbia College, where he continued in the same way he finished high school. He was in no fewer than two shows a year through-out college and since graduating has had a number of acting jobs and though

I haven’t seen any of his writing since he moved out two years ago, I know he’s writing, still.
Now, though he isn’t able to make a living through acting alone, he’s developing a repertoire of work and a following among the Chicago theater community. They guy is a networking fiend, I tell ya.

I’ve mentioned before he’s garnered a role that has fascinated him since high school. The play, currently in rehearsals, opens to previews next Thursday. I’ll be in attendance on opening night, Sunday, the 26th after which, I’m sure I’ll have more to say. In the meantime, hear a bit of what he has to say.

Game. Set. Match.

Serena beat her sister Venus (again) to capture the 2009 Wimbledon crown. The victory edges Serena ahead of Venus in their head-to-head match-ups, 11-10. I had one eye on the match while the other was watching me braid my mom's hair. She asked, "how'd that be for you, beating your sister?" Odd query, considering I don't have a sister. But, I considered the question in the hypothetical, in the spirit it was posed, I presume. I'd want to be better than my sister, but I don't know that I'd want to beat her on the world's stage. But then again, I don't have a sister, I might want the world see me beat her butt. Just once. Maybe.
The conversation got me thinking about my two. A bit more than three years apart, different genders and not having much in the way of sporting interests in common beside park district basketball and soccer, there wasn't much in the way of competition between them of a sporting variety. There was (and is) however, a healthy rivalry of the sibling variety, but it is all very friendly.

They are friends and frankly, I'm a little surprised (plesantly) by that fact. I wonder what they used for a model.

Throughout most of my children's my relationship with my brothers has been fractured. And while I may yearn for such better, friendly or even cordial relationship with my brothers, I don't have any illusions that such will ever come to fruition.

That my two champion one another's causes and cheer one another's victories is a great gift. That they are friends as well as siblings, the greatest gift.

Score: 3 - Love

The End? No, Somewhere in the Middle

You know about the quest. The Shrinking Piggies have come to the end of the term. I've written a brief account of the journey. As noted, this is not the end. Though I didn't achieve the goal within the term, I'm very much encouraged by what I did achieve.

I know that weight loss is inextricably tied to moving my body; walking, riding, dancing, jumping (rope), tennis . . whatever form the movement takes, moving must happen. daily.

I find it fitting that I completed this leg of the journey with 0 loss. I knew going into the weigh-in Monday morning that the 8-mile ride on Sunday would be too little, too late, for the previous six days yielded very little movement, or at least, much less than previous weeks.

The goose egg provides added incentive, and illustrates yet once again, that a body must M O V E it to L O S E it.

Simple.

Loquacious

Remember? Remember, when I made that art project for you, spelling out your name and assigning a description of you to each letter? You asked what loquacious meant and agreed that the descriptor fit you to a Tee. You were very much then, you are very much now, loquacious.


I adore your loquaciousness. True, I like peace quiet now and again however, I admit when you are not talking I grow concerned. For often times with the talking, what usually inevitably follows is that beatific smile. A really good talk-fest yields not only the beatific smile but also that snort filled guffaw. That? Love. It.



From the very beginning, dear daughter you've been a talker. Your very early mutterings weren't discernible to anyone but you, but talking you did. All. The. Time. I won't lie and say that it was always a joyful noise, but there was much joy to be had. Having you for a daughter has been a treat, and to be frank, an un-expected treasure trove of yum. I didn't know I wanted a daughter until you decided to gift me with the quintessential daughter. My, my only daughter.



Granted, we have had some trials. At least two of your teen years had my intestines twisted beyond their normal configuration. Your leaving to live with your father broke my heart, but I realized it was something you needed to do, an experience you needed to have. The move very likely saved the both of us for very different reasons.


We've survived that time. We are here to tell the tale.

The woman I see shaping before my eyes very nearly mirrors the the young woman I wish I'd been. You have a sense of self, bravado, and gumption (most of the time) that I lacked in my early twenties. You know very much who you are and what you want. I know that with diligence, fortitude, and hard work you will get to where you want to be.

You possess and flash a wisdom that beyond your years. You also possess a joyful playfulness that speaks to the exuberant child that lives within your heart. You exude life and all the glory, joy, pain, ups and downs that is life, the kaleidoscope.

The many faces of Danielle are etched forever and beyond on my mind, in my heart, and throughout my soul. Keep on smiling (and talking) my daughter, my friend.

Message to Michael

Not that Michael, but my Michael.

Some have labeled you an enigma. These folks, I trust do not know you well at all. Because, an enigma you are not. You are not a puzzlement, nor contradictory. Your goals, motives and actions are clear, at least to this trained eye.

Well, when put that way, I guess to some you may in fact, be an enigma. I can see how others might be puzzled by what they see when they meet you, what you present when they do get to know you a bit. You are not what most folks deem, typical. So, I suppose to those folks painting you with the enigma tag may seem appropriate.

You are a classic, gentle man. A talented man who found a calling and are pursuing it not only with fervor but also with sense and sensibility. A man who weathered the typical teenage storms as well as some not so typical. Much had been asked of you as the first born elder son and big brother Michael and you have delivered on every score.

Folks are quick to congratulate me, praise me for the man you have become. To my mind, I am not the one to praise, not that I'm discounting my role and my input relative to your carriage, but some credit belongs elsewhere, as you've have marvelous teachers, mentors of other stripes, and influences from a number of avenues. For your willingness and ability to glean the best of what these folks presented, to utilize the tools and resources at your disposal, I submit you deserve some credit as well.

You did the work, the traversing up each rung, I simply held the ladder in place.

How so very lucky I am to have been graced with a boy child possessed with a spirit such as yours; the light in your eyes, bright, your laughter, infectious, and your style, impeccable.

The puzzlement for me is pointed elsewhere. I am puzzled as to why and how mediocre has become the standard. I am puzzled as to why the excellence you seek to achieve is seen as a superlative. I am puzzled as to why this is seen as a-typical for so many. Given that is the case, then I guess yes, you are an enigma for some.

To me you're Michael, All-American Male, as enigmatic as apple pie. That is not to say, however that you're not a super man, for that you truly are.

So typically...you. Cheers!!

Meet Molly

This is Molly. Molly McBear. Molly hangs out (literally) in the living room. She was a dumpster dive rescue many, many years ago. Molly's greatest quality is her ability to be "every" girl-bear. As you can see, she has a style all her own.

Molly wishes everyone on this wet (in our part of the country) a happy, safe fourth.


As an aside Molly won't mind (much) if the fireworks are cancelled due to the rains. But, if they do go on, she'll roll with it, she's that kinda girl-bear.