Feelin' Crafty

So, a while back I posted that the first five people to comment on that particular post would get a handmade, crafty something-or-other made by me (with possibly some help from my son). A whole TWO people replied that they would like to receive such bounty (thanks, Jessi and Suze!) So, I decided on what I'm going to make each of you, and got extra materials just in case I get some last-minute sign-ups. C'mon people! Don't you want some craftiness? If you do, go here and drop me a comment in the affirmative. (There's a teeny catch, but it isn't too painful, I promise!)

Oh, and Jessi and Suze? I need your addresses. Yes, I know you've given me yours before Suze, but that was several smartphones ago, so no telling where that data went! You can drop me an e-mail at jenn(dot)(my last name - and no it has not changed since high school)(at)gmail(dot)com.

Pardon Me If I'm a Little Choked Up

Today was my boy's first day of the new school year, and his very first ever day of life as a MIDDLE SCHOOLER!!!! Ack!!!!!!!! How did that happen? A month ago he was in diapers, a week ago he started Kindergarten, and just yesterday he was starting fourth grade. When did he grow up into a great big middle school student? How did this happen when I wasn't looking?

This is what he looked like two weeks ago, or it least it seems like it was just two weeks ago.

And this is how he looked this morning, bright and shiny as a new penny in his 6th grade uniform. Yellow polo, khaki bottoms, belt, socks and sneakers. Only solid colors allowed (even the socks have to be solid colors, and match), no mismatched shoes, belt required.

I must admit I teared up a bit when he came out looking so grown up. Then I got misty-eyed again as we got to his school. Today being the first day of class, I had to take all his medications to school this morning. I decided I would just go ahead and take him to school since I'd be going there anyway. On the way to school, he asked if I could drop him off first before I parked so the other kids wouldn't see him being brought to school "like a little kid." Then I was told I wasn't allowed to hug him in front of the other kids. After that remark, he hopped out of the car and got ready to leave, taking big pieces of my heart with him. They were soon mended, though, when he opened the door again and popped his head in to say, "But you can hug and kiss on me all you want when we get home tonight." I immediately started to feel better, until he added, "Just so long as no one sees you doing it."

A Knitterly Question

So, I'm browsing through my absolute favorite place in the world yesterday - a used bookstore - when I find an entire section devoted to knitting! Books on knitting basics, Debbie Bliss books on sweaters, ponchos and hats (oh, my!). All kinds of knitting goodies. I didn't buy anything, though, because I thought: But, I'm not very good yet. So I left there with no knitting books, but when I got home, I thought again: I'm an idiot. I should have bought some of those books anyway!

So my knitterly question is this: Should I practice knitting by making dishcloth after dishcloth, or scarves, or just swatching all the time? Or should I just pick a book of easy patterns and start already? I'm the kind of person who doesn't like to start slow. (Bet'cha didn't know that! wink, wink) If I'm going to do something, I just want to dive right in and do it already! So what do you think? Practice first, or just go ahead and start (and plan on lots of frogging?)

Friday Freebies!

I gleefully stole this from Jessi, and am glad to post the same game/meme on my blog. The game goes thusly: The first five (5) people to respond to this post will get something made by me (either singly or with my son's help).

This offer does have some restrictions and limitations, so please read carefully:

1. I make no guarantees that you will like what I make.
2. What I/we create will be just for you, with love.
3. It'll be done this year (2009).
4. I will not give you any clue what it's going to be. It will be something made in the real world and not something cyber. It could be anything! It could be a short story or poem written just for you. It could be a painting, drawing or sculpture. It could be something knitted (good luck identifying anything either of us in this house tried to knit!) It could be baked goods, or something crafted. You don't know when you'll get it (other than it will happen sometime this year) or what it might be! It's for me to know and you to find out!
5. I reserve the right to do something extremely strange or whimsical.
6. In return, all you need to do is post this text into a note of your own and make 5 things for the first 5 to respond to your note.

Please note that my responding to your game/meme does NOT preclude you from entering mine. I'd be more than happy to swap goodies with any one of yous guys! If I entered yours, or even if I didn't, feel free to enter mine! (Wait, that sounds vaguely naughty, doesn't it?)

IMPORTANT: This offer is null and void if I do not see you post your own note to pay this forward. So, there you go: You have been tasked. First five... And... GO!

Patting Myself (and J) on the Back

First, I’ll let you know that Dru’ is driveable, but only for short distances at this point.  Hopefully, by tomorrow night everything will be peachy keen again.  Note to those with 2004 Chevy Aveos – if you have a plastic thermostat housing, it WILL bust, it is only a matter of time.  Go NOW and buy a metal version of the same part online (~$55) and put it on.  Another note:  if you do so, do NOT tighten one side all the way down before starting on the other bolt.  Do them both evenly, or your new part will break off at the bolt hole, and all your coolant will leak out again.  I found this out the hard way (no, I didn’t do it.  The person helping me did).  Also, do not use the old gasket (“O” ring).  Spend the $2 to get a new one.

This weekend, we spent a lot of time at home because we didn’t want to be driving the car everywhere until we’re sure everything is a-okay on the car.  Saturday, we did have to drive J to an appointment, but other than that, we stayed home and watched TV and played/read that day.  On Sunday, J and I got up early and rode our bikes up to J’s old elementary school and played on the playground.  We played for about an hour before it got too hot/bright to be outside.  Then we went home and played a couple games of checkers, and later played a few games of chess.  We also watched a cool show on the National Geographic Channel called “Drain the Oceans”.  Scientists have mapped parts of the ocean floor, then used CGI technology to create virtual replicas of the ocean floor.  NatGeo then broadcast what the ocean floor topography looks like sans water.  It was very cool!

What I’m patting J and myself on the back about is the amount of work we did on the house yesterday.  We had a lot of fun playing, but balanced it with work.  Previously, the entire hallway floor was covered in laundry that needed to be done.  No carpet was visible.  It was not pretty!  Yesterday, we sorted all the laundry, got it up off the floor, and did about 6 loads!  I’ve already done one load this morning before going to work.  Not only did we do the laundry, but then we hung it up/folded it and put it away!  This is a big deal for us.  Usually clean clothes land in a basket until we wear them, then they go back in the dirty clothes.  But yesterday, I was determined to get the house organized before school starts. We also did two loads of dishes in the dishwasher and unpacked two boxes of kitchen stuff.  This may not seem like much to organized people, but to me, this was a great start and a major accomplishment!  My goal is to have everything unpacked  and  put away before my school starts on Aug. 31.

Another Freaky Life Episode

When Jamie was a baby, like most parents, I kept a baby monitor in his room so I could hear him if he started crying, listen to him breathe as he slept, etc. etc. etc. As he got a bit older, it was common for me to hear him babble, and later to hear him turn his babbling into actual words and make all the other cutesy baby noises, laughter and silliness that warms a momma's heart to hear. By the time he started serious efforts at talking, we had moved out of my mom's house into an apartment of our own. I was still unpacking things, and hadn't started putting out any of the homey touches yet - figurines, candles, family pictures, etc.

One night, after I had put Jamie to bed, I heard him laughing and babbling excitedly in his crib. Then, he painstakingly formed two syllables - "Jo......deeeeee!" - with a happy little shriek and more laughter. The babbling and laughing continued, and I thought I must have imagined what he said, or that it was just coincidence. How could he know the name of my sister who died approximately 12 years before he was born? Furthermore, it wasn't like my mom and I sat around saying her name over and over in front of him. We really rarely talked about her - it was too sad for all of us - and certainly didn't make a habit of saying her name in front of a baby who wouldn't know who the heck she was, anyway. Just as I had convinced myself of this, he started laughing and babbling, and said "Jo.......deeeeee" again! I walked into his room, to find him standing up in his crib, looking fixedly at one spot in the room and babbling like he was trying to talk to someone! Again, I convinced myself it had to be coincidence and tried to put it out of my mind.

To take my mind off thinking about Jodi - she would have loved a little cuddly baby nephew to spoil - I decided to start putting out my homey things in the livingroom. I put out my candles and knick-knacks (up high where a curious baby couldn't reach, naturally), and hung some family photos on nails the previous tenants left in the walls of the short hallway leading from the livingroom back to the kitchen. Just as I finished that, Jamie started fussing and acting cranky in his room. I figured he was probably hungry because he hadn't eaten much earlier in the day -plus, he seemed like he was always hungry. I figured a warm bottle and some baby food would put him in the mood to finally go to sleep.

As I carried him in my arms down the hall toward the kitchen, Jamie suddenly let out a squeal and shrieked out "JO....DEE!" I turned to where he was looking, and almost dropped him; he was looking right at an 8 x 10 photo of my sister taken not too long before she died! That's when I knew that Jodi was not only watching over me, but over my son, as well.

John Hughes' Movies Were the Best

I just read the sad news that John Hughes, writer/producer and sometime director of some of my favorite movies of all time, is dead.  I LOVED his teen movies, and still love to watch them to this day.  My all-time favorite would have to be “The Breakfast Club,” followed closely behind by “Pretty in Pink” and “Some Kind of Wonderful.”  I also found “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” hilarious, once I got old enough that my mom would let me watch it (what with that “R” rating and all).  I think I may just have to have a John Hughes marathon this weekend in tribute – that is, if I can get my car running.  More updates on that later.

R.I.P. Druscilla!

Okay, maybe I'm being a little melodramatic here. Druscilla isn't DEAD, maybe just in a coma. For those who don't know, Druscilla is the name of my car. Today, Dru' up and went kaput! I had to run some errands for work, so I swung by the house to pick up J and take him with me. He loves to get out of the house, I get work errands run, and everybody is happy. Just as we were pulling up to the office supply store and parking in a spot, I heard a big "BOOM!". At first, I thought someone had slammed a car door really hard and the sound echoed off the walls of the big box office supply store. But no, it was not so. The sound had come from my car, just as the smoke and steam we saw was rolling forth from under my hood!

Apparently, 2004 Chevrolet Aveos have a nasty habit of busting their thermostat housings, which results in the whole thing popping off, and all the coolant and water pouring out of the engine. Unfortunately, this is a part that can only be gotten from a GM dealership or ordering from some obscure parts website online. If I go to the GM dealership, they won't just let me buy the part. They have to be the ones to put it on (and charge me a gazillion dollars for parts and labor). I can get it relatively cheaply (>$30) from said obscure online parts store, but to get it here in anything less than 2 weeks would cost me double the cost of the actual part, just for the shipping. Unfortunately, these types of things only happen when I'm broke and desperately counting the days until payday or my student loans come through. So, for now, Dru' will just have to chill in the driveway (I got her towed here - TYJ for "roadside assistance" plans on the cell phone bill) until my school money comes in at the end of the month. In the mean time, I'll be catching the bus to work and praying Jamie doesn't have an asthma attack or other medical emergency in the middle of the night.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not (exactly) whining. More like I'm grousing about it, but subconsciously thankful that all appearances indicate it is something highly fixable. All indications are the engine was not ruined or needing replacement. If I can get one of the guys from work to install it for me, all told it should cost less than $100 to buy a new housing, install it and replace the coolant and water. But still, I'll be on pins and needles about J's health until Dru' is up and running again!

Uniform Crisis

It never fails.  Jamie left his cell phone charger at the old house. I have already turned in the keys, so bye-bye phone charger.  We turned the house upside down looking for it to no avail.  Monday night, I broke down and ordered him a new charger ($7 on eBay).  Last night, I realized I hadn’t seen his uniform shirts for this school year anywhere.  In fact, I haven’t seen them since we started moving from the old house to the new.  (I bought the shirts at the end of the school year when they were deeply discounted.)  So Jamie and I spent a large portion of the evening trying to find the shirts, again to no avail.  However, I did find another charger that fits his cell phone.  {sigh} Since it seems I find things only AFTER I’ve already purchased replacements, I went ahead and ordered three more of his uniform shirts.  I figured it wouldn’t hurt anything for him to have eight instead of five.  Being a boy, and a messy, klutzy kid at that, I figured at least one or two of them will have to be used as a dust rag due to stains/tears at some point in the year.  Still, I’m hoping that by purchasing more shirts, and looking for something else this evening, I will come across his missing shirts.  One funny note, though – I went ahead at the end of last year and bought his shirts for 7^th grade, too, (each grade level wears a different colored solid polo) one size larger than he currently wears.  I figured since they were $3 a piece, it just made sense for me to buy them in advance.  Well, I can’t find his 6^th grade polos anywhere – but the 7^th grade ones were easily found and are currently waiting merrily in the top of his closet.  If you were five canary yellow polo shirts, where would you be hiding?

Things That Make You Go "EWWWW!"

I have a secret confession to make - I enjoy reading the tabloid-ish fodder to be found in Yahoo!'s OMG! section and some other gossipy web pages (NOT Perez Hilton, but Access Hollywood, etc). I don't enjoy tabloids themselves, but I love me some Internet gossip pages (go figure). Yesterday, I read something that was disturbing on soooo many levels - I hoped it wasn't true. Then I found references to it in several other news sources where both parties involved confirmed it was true. That's when I wanted to gag.

It's bad enough that Ryan O'Neal (aging ladies' man wannabe) chose to hit on a woman at Farrah Fawcett's funeral (hadn't they just announced plans to marry before she died?). Turns out, the "babe" he was hitting on was Tatum - his DAUGHTER! Can we all spew together? I feel unclean now. This is so wrong on sooo many different levels. Am I the only one who is seriously creeped out by this? Normally, I don't talk Hollywood-type gossip here on my blog. True, I will occassionally gush about upcoming movies and show what a fangirl I can be. But I generally leave stuff like this alone. But the above-described scenario was so disturbing and gag-inducing that I had to talk about it. How can a grown man not recognize his own daughter, and hit on her? How can a grown man hit on a woman young enough to BE his daughter at the supposed-love-of-his-life's FUNERAL?

And people wonder why I avoid the dating world like the plague.

Band/Song Meme (Stolen from Jessi)

I stole this from Jessi, who had previously posted this meme to her facebook page. I've been very lax on facebooking lately, so I hadn't seen it prior to Jessi posting it on her blog. I'm not ready to share my freakiest Guardian Angel story of all time yet (that's coming later this week), so I'll post this meme instead. Anyone who reads my blog, consider yourselves tagged - but you need to post a comment here so I know you've done it (my blogger feed doesn't always update as it should).

Here are the rules:

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions.
Pass it on to 15 people you like and include me.
You can't use the band I used.
Try not to repeat a song title. (It's a lot harder than you think...)

Pick your Artist
Concrete Blonde

Are you a male or female?
Little Sister

Describe yourself
I Don't Need a Hero

How do you feel
The Sky is a Poisonous Garden

Describe where you currently live
Cold Part of Town

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
Walking in London

Your favorite form of transportation
Mercedes Benz

Your best friend is
True

You and your friends are
Close to Home

What's the weather like
Sun

Favorite time of day
Someday?

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called?
Your Haunted Head

What is life to you?
Dance Along the Edge

Your last relationship
Love is a Blind Ambition

Your fear
It'll Chew You Up and Spit You Out

What is the best advice you have to give
Beware of Darkness

Thought for the Day
God is a Bullet

How I would like to die
Simple Twist of Fate

Dental Dysphoria

I (thankfully) have health insurance through my job. Unfortunately, I don't have dental insurance. Luckily, I found a local technical school that offers a dental clinic at (drastically) reduced prices three days a week. The clinic is very small (two dental chairs for exams/cleanings, one x-ray station). Before you freak out, let me explain a bit. The technical school trains dental assistants. They have several licensed dentists on staff to assist in their training. The dentists see the patients, while the dental assistant students get to practice taking x-rays, assisting and such on live people, instead of mannequins or computers. Knowing it was an actual dentist who would be working on me eased my mind quite a bit, so I scheduled an appointment for yesterday (Wednesday).

I haven't been to the dentist in (gulp!) 6 years. I desperately needed a cleaning, and also had a cavity I noticed recently. I also have a "filling" that is actually what was originally a temporary solution for a broken tooth that needed a crown. The dentist in G-town used filling material to seal up the broken off area and build it up to look like an actual premolar. I was warned this would probably only last about a year and that I needed a crown. And this was six years ago! So I knew it would need to get checked out to see how sound the tooth was.

Yesterday, I arrived for my appointment five minutes early, because I knew I would have to fill out some papers. I was the first person to sign in, and the first appointment of the day. However, since I had to fill out paperwork, they let another person go in front of me. Then, the students couldn't figure out how to get the x-ray machine set up properly, so another person (who didn't need x-rays) got to go in front of me. 30 minutes after my appointment time, I finally got to go back to the x-ray station. I was being nice and patient; I could tell the girl was very new and was struggling with getting the x-ray films properly into the little doohickeys that a patient bites down on while they get the films. I didn't even bite her fingers when she tried to put the plastic thingie in my mouth the wrong way and almost sliced the soft tissue under my tongue with it. See? To me, that's being nice. Finally, another 40 minutes later, all my x-rays had been developed and all the improperly positioned ones were retaken. I was asked to wait back in the waiting area while the dentists finished up the current exams.

The "clinic" is basically just a big open room, where - if an impatient and nosy person (um.... "me") turns around - anyone can see what's being done to anyone else at any given time. Unfortunately, I happened to get impatient and nosy enough to look around just as the dentist stood up and used her own body weight as leverage to extract a bad tooth from another patient. And I got to see a whole lot of blood go dribbling out of his mouth. At this point, I was starting to rethink my desire to save money.

Just as I was getting ready to get up and pay for the x-rays and leave, they called my name. I could have still left - it was, after all, two hours past my original appointment time. But I was already there and I wanted the cavity taken care of. I was also anxious to see what condition the rest of my teeth were in. So, I went on back. I got a little concerned when the dental assistant couldn't figure out how to make the suction thingie work. Still, I told myself, she's a student so give her a chance. I REALLY got concerned when she managed to hit herself in the head with the overhead light. I reasoned that someone that clumsy had no business being anywhere NEAR the inside of my mouth. I anxiously asked her if she would be doing any of the cleaning, or if the dentist does all of that. When she replied that all she does is hand the dentist the tools and do suction, I felt MUCH better.

The dentist arrived, a nice woman who said she'd been practicing dentistry for about 15 years. This also made me feel better, but I was still a little stressed about how she had to extract the last patient's tooth. However, I was not there for a tooth extraction, and comforted myself with that thought. She looked at all my teeth and only found the one cavity. She also stated that my teeth were in excellent shape for someone who hadn't been to the dentist in as long as I had, and that the "temporary" tooth was just fine and didn't need to be replaced. The only bad thing was, my teeth were so sensitive that she couldn't do a normal cleaning with the little swirly brush thingie, she had to just use the scraper doohickie - and only after thoroughly numbing my gums. This sensitivity lead her to use a shot of novacaine on me before filling my cavity.

Keep in mind, though, that I was supposed to go back to work after my appointment. Do you know how hard it is to answer the phone when half your face feels like it is gone? I looked at myself in the mirror and I looked like Tw0-Face from "Batman." When I smiled, only the right side of my face did anything. The left side didn't move at all! When I talked, my words slurred and stumbled. This is the state I was in when I left my appointment - three full hours after I arrived.

On the way back to work, I almost got side-swiped by a teenager in a suped-up ride. I can only imagine what the cops would have thought was wrong with me if they had been called to the scene of an accident. I probably would have been arrested for DWI.

Luckily, no one called us for the hour I had to be at work yesterday afternoon. If they had, they would have had a very hard time understanding me. I, however, would have probably been highly entertained by my own efforts to make understood the words "scanning electron microscope" or "energy-dispersive x-ray spectroscopy" when slurred out of only half my mouth.

My Sister Saves My Life - Years After She Died

When I was a freshman or sophomore in high school, I hated riding the bus to school. It was crowded, we had to wait outside early in the morning when it was freezing out, and it took forever to get to school (all grade levels rode the same bus, so we had to drop off the elementary kids, then the middle schoolers, then the high schoolers finally got to get off). Fortunately, I had an older brother who had an awesome car (metallic blue 1966 Ford Mustang), and my mother had told him he had to take me to school sometimes. She was smart enough not to insist on all the time - because nothing steals away the coolness of your hot wheels faster than having a tag-along little sister.

Anyway, one night, I made arrangements to ride to school with my brother the next morning. I had to stay up late working on a homework assignment, and riding with my brother meant an extra 45 minutes of sleep in the mornings. He agreed, and I stayed up late to finish my homework.

The next morning, my brother came in my room and snottily informed me that I was not riding to school with him, so I had better get my butt out the door and on the bus! Thoroughly confused (not to mention ticked off), I argued with him, asked him why I couldn't ride with him. His response was an adamant, "Because I don't want you to."

At this point, I could hear the bus coming down the hill getting near the stop. So I grabbed my toothbrush, threw on some clothes (didn't even have time to SHOWER, ugh!), and raced for the bus. I grumbled and glowered the whole ride, thoroughly working myself up into a state. I was determined that, as soon as I got to school, I was going to call Mom at work - she had already left for work when my brother and I had our argument - and tell on him! As we all know, tattling is the secret weapon of little sisters everywhere. But when I got to school and went to use the payphone in the attendance office, the line was way too long. I knew if I waited, I'd be late for homeroom. I also knew Mom would already be out delivering the mail by the time I got another opportunity to call. This just ratcheted my bad mood up to a whole new level. I spent all of homeroom glowering at everyone, muttering under my breath and being as miserable a human being as I could. After all, there's nothing worse for a teenage girl than having to go to school - not only not having a chance to shower - but not having a chance to put on make-up and/or fix her hair, either. It was a humiliating experience!

But when I got to first period, my attitude changed completely. My brother's homeroom teacher happened to be my first hour teacher. When she saw me, the first thing she asked me was "Where's your brother?" I was stunned! What did she mean, where's my brother? He should have been there. I'd seen him myself getting ready for school. What was going on? My anger at him began to turn to worry. I knew he wouldn't have skipped school that day. He had plans to meet up with friends and do something (I don't remember what, now) right after school, on school grounds. He wouldn't risk skipping school then being on school grounds later. He was smarter than that. Something had to be wrong!

My brother and I shared another teacher, so when I got to her class, the first thing I asked her was if my brother had been in class. She said no, as well. By this time, I was really freaking out. By the end of the day, I was frantic to know where he was and what had happened. Of course, this was all before cell-phones were affordable/popular (or smaller than the size of a breadbox), so I couldn't call him. I also couldn't reach my mom, because she was out on the mail route.

When I got home, I discovered what had happened. There was a real dipstick who lived on our road. One of those drivers who doesn't pay attention to anyone else, drives down the middle of narrow country roads just because she has a big vehicle and thinks she's entitled, you know the type. She crested the top of a blind hill and stopped in the middle of the road just over the apex. My brother was behind her, and - since she was right over the crest of the hill, in the middle of the road in a blind spot - he hit her square in the rear of the vehicle. This was a long hill, so my brother usually had a pretty good clip going by the time he reached the top of the hill. This day was no exception. He wound up totalling his car, his windshield shattered, his bottom teeth banged against the steering wheel,got partially flattened and shoved back in his mouth (the only thing that saved his teeth was the fact that he had braces), and - because he had long hair and dressed all in black - he got extensive questioning by the local law enforcement who responded. They thought he was on drugs and had caused the accident! (Fortunately, there was a neighbor who saw everything and set the record straight.)

Anyway, when I got home and ascertained he was in one piece, I asked him why on earth he wouldn't let me ride to school with him that morning. His reply? "Jodi told me not to." My sister had come to him in a dream the night before and told him under no circumstances was he to let me in the car with him that day. Jodi told him to say or do whatever it took to keep me out of the car that day, so that's why he was so mean to me about it. If she hadn't insisted, I might not be here to relate this story.

In the course of surveying the scene and looking over my brother's car, one of the state policemen made the comment that it was a good thing no one was riding with my brother at the time of the accident. The front passenger side seatbelt was defective, and would not have worked at all. If anyone had been sitting there, they would have gone clear into the windshield - causing either horrendous disfiguration or even death, according to the state trooper.

Wow. That last post was something, wasn't it?

Sorry, guys.  Didn't realize just how much spewage I was spilling, but it felt good to rant a bit and get it off my chest.  Thank you for all the comments and encouragement.  And Jamie, you didn't tread on my feelings, you spoke truth.  It was something I obviously needed to hear.

 

Tonight, I am sitting at my computer waiting to go out to dinner with my Jamie, Spencer, Julie and Jon.  We've been planning for weeks to get together and just chit chat.  The more I get to know these people, the more blessed I am by knowing them.  They are smart, funny, compassionate, loving Christians, and I am lucky to know them.  After dinner, I think we're going to hit the used book store.  They like to read as much as I do, and I am hoping Spencer's love of reading is rubbing off on Jamie.

 

We worked for three hours on the old house today, and got a lot accomplished.  We might go back out there tonight after dinner, but more than likely it will be tomorrow after church.  We need to make some major progress, though, because I have to turn in the keys on Friday.  Yikes!

Absence From His Grave

One of my relatives has been sending me e-mails asking me to send pictures of Dad’s gravestone.  I’ll be happy to oblige, once I actually go visit his grave.  I keep meaning to go but just can’t bring myself to do it.  I’m still very angry with him for so many, many things: the way he treated his children, the way he treated my mother, DEFINITELY some of the things he did and said to my son.  Most of all, I’m angry with him for not going to get the tests he was told repeatedly to get! No fewer than four doctors stressed urgently he needed to get the mass in his neck looked at because it could be cancer.  Did he go? Nope.  He found excuses and blustered and fussed and failed to keep his appointments each time.  I’m also angry at him for leaving a huge mess behind for me and my brother to clean up.  Typical Dad, leave the sh!t for someone else to clean up.  I’m angry about the lies he told everyone, the times he wasn’t there, basically a lifetime of betrayals, in several different forms.  So I haven’t worked myself up to be able to go to his grave yet.  Not because I’m horrendously sad, like I was when Mom died.  More because I know I’ll wind up getting arrested if I start defacing a tombstone in a National Cemetery – even if it does belong to my father.  I’ve learned over the past several months that just because he’s dead doesn’t mean my anger went away. 

Guardian Angel, Episode 1

Some of you have heard me tell stories about my sister reassurring me when times were hard, saving my life once or twice, and even watching over my son. Only problem for "rational" people when hearing these stories is that - in most cases, my sister was already dead when they happened. If you've heard these stories before, or read them here several years ago (I think I posted about some of them), I'll forgive you if you decide to skip these posts. I hate reruns, too! :-)

Before my sister died, my mother and father had put down an offer on a house in my mother's hometown of Mount Sterling. It was a bigger house with a private bedroom and bath my sister could use exclusively. At that time, for a full year after a bone marrow transplant, they recommended the patient be secluded from everyone else and have a sterile, dedicated environment. So the plan was for my sister to have the master bedroom and bathroom, and the rest of us would use the other 1 1/2 baths and other bedrooms in the house. My brother and I had never been to this house and my parents never showed us pictures or described it - not out of inconsideration for my brother's and my feelings, but because they were so darn exhausted trying to be with Jodi, take care of me as I recovered from the donation procedure (very traumatic for me!) and tried to spend equal time with my brother so he didn't feel left out.

Well, as you know, Jodi never got to come home. She contracted Hepatitus C from a contaminated blood donation, her liver failed, and she died. Right after she died, we found out that - regardless of the fact that Jodi was now dead and we didn't really NEED that house - we had to go through with the move because somewhere along the way Mom and Dad signed a contract, so they had to go through with the sale.

Fast forward a couple of nights. I was feeling really down about Jodi dying, hearing over and over again my father tell me "You should have been the one who died. Jodi was the good daughter," and generally feeling it was my fault she was gone (no one had yet explained to me she died from the hepatitus, and that the bone marrow transplant was actually a success). That night, Jodi came to me in a dream, and told me it wasn't my fault, and warned me that Mom would need me to be there for her. Jodi said Mom was going to go into a depression, that Joel and I would fight all the time, but that we had to stick together. She also told me to forget what Dad said, he was a jerk and that he and Mom would be divorcing again and things in that department would get better. The strange thing during this dream was not that Jodi was having a conversation with me. That part felt perfectly normal. The strange thing was that I was trying to follow her, and she wouldn't let me. I kept begging her to let me go with her, but she said no, it wasn't my time yet. I kept chasing her around and around a house I had never seen before. It was a split level, three story house, with a strange, spooky crawl space in the lowest part of the house, and a roof that drooped really close to the ground in the back. In the dream, I kept chasing her over, around and through this house, until finally she told me her time was up and that I would have to be strong, but ultimately I would be fine.

I woke up with tears on my cheeks, and my room even smelled like her favorite perfume (Love's Baby Soft) when I woke up. But no Jodi.

I almost forgot about the dream, until moving day arrived. When we finally pulled up in front of our new house, I got chills up and down my spine. It was the house I had chased Jodi through in my dream! Every single detail was the same, from the roof pitching so low, to how big the yard was, to the spooky crawl space. And when I went upstairs, my mother didn't have to tell me which room was supposed to be mine. I could already tell. When I walked in, it smelled just like Love's Baby Soft.

Next time: My sister saves my life, six years after she died.

College Updates

Some of you may have noticed by my Twitter stream that I somehow managed to pull off an “A” in both my Criminology class and my Spanish class.  I’m now enjoying having seven weeks of concentrating on my kid, my house(s), and myself.  I’m enjoying this newfound sense of peace and relaxation so much that I dropped the two classes not required for my degree program that I was going to take in the Fall for fun.  I decided that peace of mind and a chance to help my kid through the worries and trials of middle school life – i.e., more homework and stricter homework deadlines, fitting in, making new friends, etc. - as well as a desire to be able to be more active in church and community, was much more important than taking two classes I don’t really need to finish my degree. This way, I can be more present for Jamie’s needs, join Spencer’s church (and sing in the Christmas cantata), and possibly even join a book club or work more on knitting.  I am much less stressed at the prospect of one more semester of school now, and Jamie is much less stressed about starting middle school.  It seems he was afraid I’d be so boggled down with homework and so stressed out all the time, I couldn’t be as readily available to help him adjust to being a middle schooler.  Two much less stressed people equals a much happier household!

From Devil Dogs to Stupid Dogs

I’ll interrupt my series of spooky true stories (or truly spooky stories) to illustrate for you how stupid my dogs are.  Yesterday, Jamie and I went to the old house to do more cleaning, packing, disposing, etc.  While there, we picked up the sliding door insert that contains a doggie door so I wouldn’t have to keep letting them in and out all the time.  After a bit of coaxing, Ziggy was persuaded to go out the doggie door (he doesn’t like things that flap so close to his face); Buddy already knew (I thought) how to use one because my dad had one for him.  This morning, I opened the lock on the doggie door to let them out (we lock it at night to keep the neighborhood critters from barging in).  Fifteen minutes later, the dogs are sitting outside the door – barking and yipping to be let back in!  They understood they could use it to go out, but couldn’t comprehend that the same door would let them back in!  Stupid dogs!

Devil Dog

When I was in 5th grade, I had a friend whom we'll call A- for the purposes of this story. A- and I both attended the old SG elementary and were in the same class. A- and I were both outcasts of a sort - me because I was considered so durn weird, and she because she was so durn poor. We often paired up together to work on projects, and by default played together at recess. One fall day, A- invited me to spend the night at her house that upcoming Friday. Her mother called my mother, and my mother reluctantly let me go, but impressed upon me the fact that no matter what time of night I could call her to come get me at any time. (I found out later this was because my mother had heard rumors about her mother, but there were no actual charges and no concrete reason to say "no" without seeming like a hypocrite, so she let me go.)

That Friday, I rode the bus home with A-. She lived way out in the backwoods of the county, where the roads were literally paved over cowpaths. She only lived marginally closer to SG than she did to S'ville, so that's how she wound up going to SG elementary with me. The bus actually couldn't get all the way back to where her house was, so her mother had to meet us in her car quite a ways from their house. The rest of the road (and I use this term loosely) was so narrow I was afraid their car would plunge off the edge of the road and down the steep hillside. We pulled up outside their house, and my heart sank. The steps were wobbly and barely held on to the rotted and warped porch by a few rusty and bent nails. The house had holes in the walls. As I walked up those steps, A- told me where to step so I didn't fall through. The porch was the same way. She told me to walk where she walked, lest the porch fall in. This wouldn't have been so bad if the porch hadn't been about five feet up off the ground. I knew if I fell through that, I could be seriously hurt.

The evening went downhill from there. A- turned surly and churlish; she'd hardly talk to me. I tried to get her to play cards or something with me, but she ignored me. Her mother started drinking beer the minute we got in the door, soon followed by straight vodka out of the bottle. Then her mother sat on the floor and shot rubberbands at the mice and rats that scurried across the floor, laughing hysterically and saying "Betcha ain't never had no entertainment like this afore!"

I tried to stick it out. I was so adamant that my mother let me go on the sleepover, despite her misgivings, that I didn't want to prove her right (I was a stubborn cuss even then). As the night got later and the house got colder, I became more miserable and finally made up an excuse that I didn't feel well and needed to call my mother. Even though she was drunk as a skunk, A-'s mom was able to give my mom directions. It helped that my mom was a mail carrier and had once substituted on a route in that area. Otherwise, I doubt she would have found the place based on A-'s mom's directions.

It was fully dark by the time Mom picked me up. I remember that it was cold enough to see my breath, and there were dark clouds scudding over a nearly-full moon. The house and all the area were surrounded by bare, tall trees. It was quite spooky outside so I rushed to the car, hoping I was moving fast enough that if the porch did fall in, I'd have already gotten across it before I fell through.

We pulled out of the driveway and started our way back toward the main roads. Mom couldn't drive very fast because it was dark, the road was very twisty, and there were no reflectors or lines to speak of to show where the road ended and a long slide down a steep ravine began. The tree tops closed up overhead, only letting patchy moonlight through their bald limbs. Even with Mom's headlights on bright, it was difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. Mom was concentrating on the road, so we weren't talking much. I was just relieved to be in the warm car, knowing I was safe with her. Then the hair on the back of my neck and my arms lifted straight up.

I don't know why, but I slowly turned my head to the right to look out my window. Running along beside our car was a big black thing. I couldn't see much of it in the backwash from my mom's headlights, other than to tell it was HUGE. The little bit of light from the night reflected red from its eyes. It was irrational, but I reached out and slammed the lock down on the door. Mom glanced over to see what was wrong with me. When the car swerved to the left and I heard her suck in her breath, I asked her "Do you see it, too?" I was hoping it was just a figment of my overactive imagination. That hope was dashed when Mom muttered "Oh, shit" and started driving faster.

Whatever it was, it kept up just fine with our car. Mom had a Ford Taurus at the time. I remember thinking whatever it was outside our car must have been really really big, because it seemed like it was having to duck its head to look in the window at me as it ran along beside us. It even snapped its teeth at the window, as though it were trying to get to me through the glass. Mom went faster, and the thing kept running alongside. I had moved over as close as I physically could to Mom without actually climbing into her lap. Part of me knew not to get too close, though, because she needed both arms to get us the hell out of there.

Mom looked down at the speedometer and noted she coudn't go much faster and stay on the twisty road. She was already going 50 mph and the thing seemed to have no trouble keeping up, snarling and snapping at my window. Mom just kept on going, and finally we approached bigger, straighter roads with less vegetation. Mom floored it to 70 mph, and when I looked up again, the thing was gone. I'm not even sure when it disappeared - one second it was there, the next it was gone.

When we got home, I asked Mom to describe what she had seen. Naturally, she was concentrating mostly on the road, so she didn't get a good look at it. But her general description fit mine - humongous, black, and scary as hell. It was bigger and faster than a dog, but somehow conveyed the impression of something canine.

To this day, I get nervous when I'm in wooded areas after dark - even if I'm driving through. I still don't know what that thing was, and I hope never to find out. I think if I got close enough to it to see what it actually was, I'd probably be on its menu.

The Presence in the Attic

In the early years of college (the first time around), I drove over to visit with Mandi at her parents’ house.  For those of you who don’t know, Mandi lived way up in the north end of the county, in an area still heavily wooded and (at times) downright creepy.  True, she lived right off of a U.S. highway, but the house was old and set back off the road.  I’m not sure how old, but it was old enough that at the time there was no indoor plumbing other than the kitchen sink.

When I arrived, it was late afternoon.  I’d never really been in Mandi’s house before; I knew where it was, I had been in the downstairs living room briefly to pick her up for us to head to a dance club in Cincy, but I hadn’t spent any real time there.  Mandi and I headed up to her room to listen to music, chit-chat and the like, when her dad (I think) hollered up the stairs at her that she needed to get down to the kitchen and do the dishes.  I got the feeling from his tone he was a little peeved they hadn’t been done yet.  I could be wrong, though.  Anyway, Mandi told me to go ahead and listen to the radio and paw through her books to see if there was anything I wanted to borrow and then went downstairs to do the dishes.

Mandi’s room was basically a converted attic, with lots of rooms opening up off of what she used as her main room.  The stairs to her room were accessed by a door downstairs, then you climbed up a fairly steep staircase, then the whole upstairs just kind of opened up into several rooms.  The ceiling pitched at steep angles in places (or so I remember), and there were lots of blind corners.  I wandered around a bit upstairs, but stuck mainly to the room where Mandi’s stuff was.  I could occasionally hear the clink of dishes and water running coming from downstairs, but it was mostly muffled because the door at the bottom of the stairs was closed.

After a bit, I got bored and went to listen to the radio.  As I was sitting on the bed fiddling with the radio dial (her stereo was on a shelving unit next to the bed), I heard the door at the bottom of the steps open and close, then footsteps coming up the stairs.  I turned around to ask Mandi what station she wanted to listen to, but there was nobody there – even though I could hear the footsteps approaching me across the floor.  The footsteps stopped right beside the bed, then the mattress next to me sank down a bit, and the radio started flipping up and down through the channels.  I don’t remember exactly what happened next; I remember thinking that I better not freak out too visibly, because obviously that’s what it wanted.  I slowly walked downstairs and asked Mandi if we could go hangout elsewhere.  I think I suggested we go to the movies or something.  I don’t remember what happened after that, if we went to the movies, or Mandi couldn’t leave or what.  My memory is fuzzy (this was, after all, more than a decade ago). However,  I do know I never went upstairs in her house again.