Memoriez

Getting old has its perks, I suppose. Senior citizen discount is one but I don't like getting old. I don't like looking at the end of my life that is certainly closer than the beginning of my life. I'm not afraid of dying. It happens to all of us. What I hate is the memoriez that pop up unbidden and remind me of all that is past.

My favorite time of my life was when the boys were small. Too young, yet for school but no longer babies. The days stretched endlessly before them as they shared their childhood with me. There were days in the sun, days inside, days where we danced and sang and acted silly and days when we sat and created something that was our alone.

I loved the way they smelled after a day in the sun. They smelled of little boy sweat, sunshine and whatever was growing in the herb garden where they liked to sit. They would run and play until it grew too warm and then they would come inside for lunch and a rest before settling down with something in the cool of the house.

I miss that. I miss the curve of Casey's very brown cheek and the softness of his very blonde hair. I loved the lankiness of Josh's little boy body and the sound of his laughter. I loved the way they announced to the world that they were brolees, their word for brothers, and heaven help anyone who came between them.

I miss their giggles. Giggles so powerful that sometimes they couldn't run from me because of those giggles. I miss them powdering themselves and the whole living room with cornstarch in what they called "We Powder Weselves". I miss Casey's foot speaking to me and the notes he would slip under the bathroom door announcing that the ahn-du-nope man was delivering the mail. I miss little kid words frotmockl (motor cycle) Floptopker (helicopter) and Rah nah nee (Fire truck... listen to the sound of the siren rah na nee) I miss their cuirosity, the goofiness, their hunger to be read to, the silly dances, the belly juicees and all the rest that would make sane people look at us as if we had lost our mind.

When Josh was so very small and Casey hadn't made his appearance yet, we would find him sitting under a forsythia bush at the back of the yard. He called the bush his recipe and when I asked him why it was called his recipe, he told me quite simply because it was something he made. Such as a recipe. I miss that amazing ability of theirs to put a name to something that, while adults would scratch there head wondering what the heck, made perfect sense if you knew the boys.

When Casey was small and his speech garbled, he was tested by the county and the tester would pull me aside and tell me where he was failing. He had just turned three and the tester told me that Casey held his pen oddly, that he had 7 lines on the letter e when he printed it, and he didn't know the letter Q. When I asked they told me no one had then shown Casey how to hold the pen correctly, asked why there were so many e lines and how often does someone actually NEED a q anyway, I was told no to the first to and got a look for the third. I handed Casey the pen and told him to hold it the grown up way, the way he was "Supposed" to hold it. He did and wrote his name. (He had JUST turned 3) When I asked him about the E he told me that he put those extra lines in it because he liked the way it looked. And then after all of this, the tester tells me that he had scored as high as a 7 year old and would probably have scored higher but that was where the test cut off and she was bugging him about e lines and the way he held his pen? I miss people being amazed by my sons. I miss hugging that to me, of taking pride in what came so easily to them.

Now we are all grown, though I do think the sons are more grown up than I, and it makes me melancholy that I will never be able to hold those hot squirming bodies in my arms, or laugh so hard thatsoda squirted out of our noses which only made us laugh harder. I miss laughing with them.

I guess it's just an old poop sort of day for me. A day when all I have lost overwhelms me and threatens to knock me to my knees.

I know I can't have any of that back but I can wish, can't I?

The Bluez Again

I hate my brain.

I'm going along easily, not thinking of much of anything when WHAM!! my brain kicks in and suddenly I'm crying or depressed or both. I don't do this to myself, no matter WHAT my husband thinks, it just comes along and smacks me hard.

It hit me on Saturday and when I went to bed Saturday night I slept for 14 hours into Sunday. What a waste of a day off.

I just want to go home and as the builders are ahead of schedule, I find myself even more anxious to get back home. We picked out wall colors on Saturday, bright colors that did not match my mood at all but ones I hope we can live with. I'm impatient to get going and buy furniture and curtains and all the rest. I hate this rental house with its pumpkin room and the bedroom painted a terracotta brown and makes you feel as if you are sleeping in a flower pot. Arrgghhh. The basement is even more depressing and I don't know how Josh stands it.

It's really hard living with things that aren't yours. We own a narrow side table, a four foot table in my craftroom and a card table for Josh. That's it. the rest of the stuff is rented: Bsheets, beds, furniture, dishes. I fret when I see a scratch on the floor, I spaz over a stain on a sheet, I broke a glass and it nearly knocked me to my knees... sheesh. I want to live among stuff that I can destroy if I want and not worry about what will happen when we move.

I am a wreck. I don't know what to do about it. I've tried all of my tricks to divert my thoughts and feelings but have not been successful. So I just bumble along and hope it won't be much longer. I can't wait for the day when I can start packing up my craft stuff to take it all back home.

I am really lucky in my on line friends. They have been so patient with me and my ranblings and have sent craft supplies to make my life easier. I don't know what I would do, if I couldn't make things. Thye may not be great things I make but they do keep me out of trouble and from running the streets with wild men.

I do know that this could all have been worse. I could have lost dogs or people or we could have had NO insurance but, somehow my head doesn't seem to remember that when it plays its nasty games with me. Oh well.

Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow. If not, I'll keep it to myself. Thanks for listening.

WHAT? Two postingz on the same day?

Can't help it. I am so tied in a knot over this fire loss that even thinking of college cannibals has lost it's effect to make me want to giggle.

Now, I know I am organized. maybe overly organized, after all I had inventoried all of my craft supplies and labeled every drawer, plus put like color of beads in their boxes together.

Still I cannot understand why the clerical idiot at the Maryland Insurance Adjusters CANNOT get our loss inventory right.

When I spoke to her boss he told me she was confused as to what was receipts and what was loss. Hmmmm. I guess the LABELS told her nothing. Or the headings on the faxes. The receipts were sent separately from the inventory loss just so I wouldn't confuse anyone. I even printed out items that are craft related and if you aren't a crafter would you really know a rollabind or a xyron? I emailed all 63 pages, only to be told 10 days later that they couldn't open my attachments, so I sent it by fax. And then I'm told it has to be noted as to how old the item is and where it was found in the house. Took me hours to do it, then I faxed it. She emails me the list and everything that I took my time listing was simply lumped under basement. HUH? The the other sons inventory list was missing and we got some story about recipts or somehting. So I spoke to this ninny's boss and we had it all clear on Friday.

Monday I get an email saying I will have the list by 5pm. This morning (Tuesday) I finally get it and it's even MORE SCREWED UP than before. Casey's inventory is missing but the receipts are added to the list. Then the bill for the fiber optic boxes with verizon list quantity one when there were 2 AND she had a copy of the bill. So when I tell her we're coming in tomorrow to get this straight she tells me the boss won't be in. I DON'T CARE. He's not th eone screwing this up, she is.

I have my huge folder full of stuff and copies of the emails sent and I dare her, I just dare her not to be there. This has gone way beyond ridiculous now and while I love a good ridiculous every now and again... not when I'm in danger of having a house done and ready for move in and I have no furniture for it.

Grrrr

This Ticklez me

I know I shouldn't laugh but I just can't help it but lately, in the news, there has been a story about cannibalism. Seems a Morgan State student was beaten over the head with a baseball bat. Now I would have just taken it as a guy hitting another over the head with a baseball bat but WAIT!! No! We can't have just a case of assault. The reason the batter hit the student is to prepare him for being eaten. Seems the batter claimed that he had eaten someone else not to long ago and, of course, he was tenderizing the student.

What is even funnier, unless you are the battered student, is that the batter was in jail for the first attack and was OUT ON BAIL!! Since prisons are always yapping about over crowding, why not tuck a few cannibals and and among the population and let them take care of the over crowding.

I am sure this is probably a serious matter but this is Maryland for god's sake, 45 minutes to DC and CANNIBALS?????????

When's lunch?

Thoughtz

We drove by the house today to admire the windows and found the workers scurrying like ants all over the roof... we're getting a new roof as well.... and I was again amazed at the energy these guys were putting into rebuilding my home.

Now just yesterday I mentioned to the builder (who looks about 12) that I don't care WHAT people say about the hispanics/latinos that come to this country but I have found them to be hard workers and am willing to slap anyone who wants to argue with me. These guys are working their asses off. They all greet me with smiles and a murmured hello and go about their jobs. They do actually eat a lunch, we arrived at their lunch time yesterday but took only a half hour before they were at it again. The builder said that he agrees with my assessment and that the young white guys just don't want ot do that hard of a job but his crew take it all on happily. All legal may I say and taxpayers.

So that dragged my thoughtz to other times when I've seen this ethnic type at work. Take a road grew. Say white guys and blacka nd what do you see? All the guys save one are standing around and watching what one guy is doing. Pass a crew of hispanics (what IS the proper title?) and you see all but one guy working and the guy that isn't working is, in a way, because he is holding the flag.

Not all hispanics etc are hard workers just as all whites aren't but this is what I see and I have noticed. .

So since we really don't hav eany money to tip these guys or buy them lunch (there are 8 of them) I told the builder to tell the guys that if there is anything in the dumpster or in the back yard that can be recycled and put some extra money in their pockets they are to take it with our blessings. I know that all of the old window frames are aluminum so that's a start. I also had a sewing machine that came down from the attic that I have never used and don't know what kind of condition its in. That's been sitting on the porch ever since I left it for trash and I guess that the guys didn't want to throw away something good of mine. I told the builder that if any of the guys want it for his wife etc they could have that as will with the understanding that I have no idea of its condition. Not much but my way of saying thank you.

So still talking about the house, I had pulled out of a magazine this interpretation of Russian kitchen cabinets where each panel of each cabinet sports a different tole painting design. I love the look of that so I cut it out and glues it into m y ever handy notebook. So i scurried up to the builder (who doesn't want us to call him Mister) and told him this is what I wanted... ta da! He took one look, gulped then went white beneath his tan till I took pity on him and told him I was kidding. Cabinets with handles are enough for me.

So then I had another thought... aren't you glad you don't live in my head... that we had a sudden infestation of mice in our house right before the fire and were they all roasted meaning the pull apart the insides guys found all of these little micey bodies or did the mice take a lesson from their rat cousins and desert the house al la Pied Piper fashion. Or did they know earlier than we did that the house was burning and were the first to escape, via the way they got INTO the house. I have a picture in my mind of the two cats zooming out of the house in the midst of a mouse stampede. It was a fire... so why are the mice in my head wearing life jackets?

Sometimes my head makes no sense.

So until the next episode.. Stay odd you little nutballs you

Ztuff

We had a hellacious rainstorm the other day where the rain actually came sideways. There was a tornado alert which wouldn't have bothered me if we were home, but I hadn't even thought about finding a safe place in the rental house. The only spot I could find was under the steps in the basement and when I told Old Poop it was the only place because of the location of the furnace and water heater was where the best corner would be and I didn't want to be scalded and or blown up. He blinked and asked if it was the correct corner. Sometimes I swear I exist in only my own mind which would explain why the Old Poop never hears me and all along I thought he was simply ignoring me.

So, if I do exist in my own head, I would like wings, thank you very much.

We took the dogz to the house on Saturday. The minute I told them they were going bye bye the were standing at the back gate and ready to go. We had to wait for the Old pOop to do whatever it is Old PooPs do that takes so long and not once did either dog so much as move a muscle. Collared and leashed we opened the gate and they went right to the car. Charlie sits in the front seat like a person while Kali is a little more restless in the back seat beside me but I noticed that the closer we got to home the more excited she tended to get. She knew we were going home.

We let the dogs in the house so they could see what was going on but the minute little dog next door barked for them, they were out of the house in a flash. We stayed for a long visit and the dogs crashed when we got back to the rental and didn't move. I am really looking forward to that doggy door we are going to get in the basement door. Frankly my legs are killing me from my spectacular fall two saturdays ago and those endless trips up and down the steps from the craft room to let the dogs in and out. They really have been very very good. Better than I have been.

I actually got a bit creative the other day tho I must admit that I kinds copied something I saw on the internet. It's a polymer clay totem kind of figure and when Maureen Carlson made hers, hers were pretty. Mine are oddish, of course. It felt good to finally make something that I like, tho I am not certain that the creativity will hang around. I really do hope so.

No pics... still don't have a camera and no extra $$ right now to buy one. I have a phone that takes pics only I can't seem to take a pic of what I want but have a number of lovely shots of the inside of my purse.

I found a kindred spirit on The Experience Project. Her house fire was the day after mine. She lost her cats and the pics she posted of the remains of her house make me realise how lucky we were. She and I email back and forth sharing our woes etc. It's what I need because I didn't want to keep loading my crap on my friends who have lives of their own and don't have to hear me whine. In fact, I get tired of hearing me whine.

And there is no cheese with that whine either. Or maybe their was and the dogz ate it.

Speaking of ate and eat and eating... I made my first pot roast yesterday. Yes, I'm older than dirt, have been married forever, and never made a pot roast. The Old poop doesn't like pot roast so I don't make it but said the heck with it yesterday and threw a hunk of beef in the crock pot with veggies etc and let it do it's own thing.

Guess what? The Old Poop likes pot roast. So do the dogz who had a feast this morning with bits of fat and potatoes and onions and the juice it all cooked in. Charlie licked his lips so much I'm surprised he didn't lick them right off.

So that's it for Monday in Oddz Bodkinz land. Stay Odd my friendz.