NOT a human baby mind you but a baby of some sort. I saw a photo on Facebook of a darling 1 1/2 year old girl dog who just lost her home and family and the craving hit. She's in a shelter in West Virginia and is on hold until 5:30 this evening. If she isn't adopted by then, I want her. Husband and son are agreeable. Husband even suggested that we get a puppy instead but with what Charlie went through with his bacterial infection and losing Patty to Parvo, I figure an older dog will be much better. Beside I doubt a puppy could keep up with Charlie and Kali.
The West Virgina shelter only needs to see our driver's license to adopt. Howard County (where I live) wants a pint of blood and your first born. The do a house inspection and even refused the best enighbors in the world a dog simply because said neighbors have a goat... a pygmy.. B Boy... he and I have a bleating conversation every morning. The neighbors already have a dog that the goat doesn't bother so who knows what they were thinking? I know it's supposed to be the best for the animals but really now. And the local rescue groups want and average of $300 when you adopt. So to West Virginia we may go. If I don't get this girl it means another family did and that's what's important. As long as she gets a home.
I was also considering a rescued pot belly pig till I read up on them and then decided a pig is not the way to go. They get bored and destroy things, they can get their feelings hurt and destroy things, they are always on the lookout for food and can destroy things. They can also live 20 years and since I"m already in my sixties... well.. a pig is out of the question.
I don't want a car or kitten because I am sick to death of the remaining cat we have using whatever for a litter box (yes her box is clean) including the laundry bag with the laundry in it. I am quite sick of the smell of cat pee and the crunch of litter underfoot. I need something that will give me affection and not only 'allow' me to give it affection.
So.. that's the story morning glory. Maybe with a new baby in the house I won't be so awfully grumpy all the time. Fingers crozzed.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Thoughtz
Why is it that I love the look of messy collages and art journals on people's sites and yet mine are so constrained that they almost have chains around them. Tho, chains about them would be a rather fanciful idea to do but I'm wandering.
So I look at these creations with splats of color and doodles drawn on top and some clever saying and would give my eye teeth to do something like that.... but I can't. I can't let go. I wonder why not. Why can't I just say the hell with it and get messy. The craft room is messy, the table is in a deplorable state and yet... there the art journals or glue books or whatever you call them are so very prim and proper. It was the same with decorating the rebuilt house. I fussed and fretted and fretted and fussed for months to find just the right thing.
This morning the husband said that he agreed with me that the bathroom needed something and that something in his opinion was a Christmas scene decal that stretched along the length of the wall. WHA?????
There is a decal along that same wall, down near the baseboard where I have gold fish swimming beneath a stretch of bumpy waves complete with drips and spurts. It's a whimsical looking thing that always makes me laugh. The decal is above but as i said, mine is on the wall.
So now we're supposed to put a Christmas scene above that? I wanted to scream "NONONONONO" but instead I just walked away. Trust me... there will be NO Christmas scene..
Before the fire... I know, there I go again.... I could have slapped any old thing up on any old spot and been happy with it. Now I'm all matchy matchy and it makes me feel as if I am wearing wool underwear all itchy and scratchy. I don't like matchy matchy and if I really do think about it, I think I now want my house done in a way and ADULT would do it instead of the little kid that has lurked inside of me.
I don't know what to do about it. Or if I should do anything at all. I don't know which is the real me, the one who touches up splotches on the wall with the paint the contractors left or the me who would have ignored it or just slapped something over it. I don't know which of the me I want to be either.
I've had a sudden flash of insight. Maybe I am now so matchy matchy because it would be tantamount to a SIN to spoil those lovely bright walls or to clutter those lovely counters or ding a bit of woodwork. It would be as if I didn't appreciate the beauty around me now after all those years with paneling on the wall, scarce sunlight and things falling slowly apart. Cabinet drawers that were always crooked no matter how many times I tried to fix the thing they ride along, the thing that always went cockeyed again within a week. Some kind of odd stucco like something that was peeling away from the kitchen light fixture that I had no idea how to repair. Shower doors that no longer rolled, windows that rattled, floors that creaked, wall to wall carpet that was pulled up from someone else house and put down in mine instead of taken to the land fill. Furniture that didn't match and was on its last legs. SO now I should APPRECIATE what I have and keep it perfectly. But I suspect it isn't the real me and maybe until I can reconcile myself to the fact that this is home with all its color and light and I can do things that aren't so perfect, I really won't be at ease. I'll keep expecting someone to show up for an inspection and find me lacking.
Lacking when I am expected to be perfect. Something that will never happen. No matter what.
So I look at these creations with splats of color and doodles drawn on top and some clever saying and would give my eye teeth to do something like that.... but I can't. I can't let go. I wonder why not. Why can't I just say the hell with it and get messy. The craft room is messy, the table is in a deplorable state and yet... there the art journals or glue books or whatever you call them are so very prim and proper. It was the same with decorating the rebuilt house. I fussed and fretted and fretted and fussed for months to find just the right thing.
This morning the husband said that he agreed with me that the bathroom needed something and that something in his opinion was a Christmas scene decal that stretched along the length of the wall. WHA?????
So now we're supposed to put a Christmas scene above that? I wanted to scream "NONONONONO" but instead I just walked away. Trust me... there will be NO Christmas scene..
Before the fire... I know, there I go again.... I could have slapped any old thing up on any old spot and been happy with it. Now I'm all matchy matchy and it makes me feel as if I am wearing wool underwear all itchy and scratchy. I don't like matchy matchy and if I really do think about it, I think I now want my house done in a way and ADULT would do it instead of the little kid that has lurked inside of me.
I don't know what to do about it. Or if I should do anything at all. I don't know which is the real me, the one who touches up splotches on the wall with the paint the contractors left or the me who would have ignored it or just slapped something over it. I don't know which of the me I want to be either.
I've had a sudden flash of insight. Maybe I am now so matchy matchy because it would be tantamount to a SIN to spoil those lovely bright walls or to clutter those lovely counters or ding a bit of woodwork. It would be as if I didn't appreciate the beauty around me now after all those years with paneling on the wall, scarce sunlight and things falling slowly apart. Cabinet drawers that were always crooked no matter how many times I tried to fix the thing they ride along, the thing that always went cockeyed again within a week. Some kind of odd stucco like something that was peeling away from the kitchen light fixture that I had no idea how to repair. Shower doors that no longer rolled, windows that rattled, floors that creaked, wall to wall carpet that was pulled up from someone else house and put down in mine instead of taken to the land fill. Furniture that didn't match and was on its last legs. SO now I should APPRECIATE what I have and keep it perfectly. But I suspect it isn't the real me and maybe until I can reconcile myself to the fact that this is home with all its color and light and I can do things that aren't so perfect, I really won't be at ease. I'll keep expecting someone to show up for an inspection and find me lacking.
Lacking when I am expected to be perfect. Something that will never happen. No matter what.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Obzezzed
I have become obsessed in covering glassware with clay canes. I post a pic of them a couple of blogs back and since then they are steadily growing in number. I don't know why I keep making them, other than the fact that I like making them but I have been without craft inspiration for so long, I'm thinking of following this to the bitter end. It may mean that I will have to go to a craft show to sell them or foist them off on friends as birthday gifts. That is if I can bear to part with them.
I think this lack of inspiration stems from the fire. Yes, I will blame everything on the fire. I wonder if it is that my brain won't give me ideas because what's the use? I'll make something only to lose it again. So I'm taking advantage of this spurt to clay and clay until my fingers fall off.
It's been a little more than a year since the fire. I have had only one dream about it and it wasn't even the fire itself. I had adream that I had Isabella (the missing cat) in my arms and I said something like "She's not hurt at all only dirty." I know now I won't see her again and it's hard, especially since the cat we have left had decided that anything on the floor of my bed room can be peed on. sigh.
Maybe I woudl get over this all the faster if Michael didn't keep asking me if I wanted to go back to the hotel to live or if he would stop threatening to drive past the rental home. Neither place ever made me feel really comfortable and, tot tell, the truth, home still doesn't feel like home. It still feel impermanent as if I am just visiting and waiting to go home. I love the house now with its colors and sunlight but it still isn't quite home. Maybe come summer when I'm on the deck or visiting with the animals who have made the trip over the rainbow bridge, I will begin to feel settled. I hope it happens soon. I am weary of bursting into tears at the drop of a hat. Like now. Maybe I should just stop dropping hats.
I think this lack of inspiration stems from the fire. Yes, I will blame everything on the fire. I wonder if it is that my brain won't give me ideas because what's the use? I'll make something only to lose it again. So I'm taking advantage of this spurt to clay and clay until my fingers fall off.
It's been a little more than a year since the fire. I have had only one dream about it and it wasn't even the fire itself. I had adream that I had Isabella (the missing cat) in my arms and I said something like "She's not hurt at all only dirty." I know now I won't see her again and it's hard, especially since the cat we have left had decided that anything on the floor of my bed room can be peed on. sigh.
Maybe I woudl get over this all the faster if Michael didn't keep asking me if I wanted to go back to the hotel to live or if he would stop threatening to drive past the rental home. Neither place ever made me feel really comfortable and, tot tell, the truth, home still doesn't feel like home. It still feel impermanent as if I am just visiting and waiting to go home. I love the house now with its colors and sunlight but it still isn't quite home. Maybe come summer when I'm on the deck or visiting with the animals who have made the trip over the rainbow bridge, I will begin to feel settled. I hope it happens soon. I am weary of bursting into tears at the drop of a hat. Like now. Maybe I should just stop dropping hats.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Almozt a year
It's been nearly a year since the fire and I'm wondering when I'm going to stop getting upset over what I lost. I don't think it's just the fire that gets to me but losses over the past number of years. It seemed to have started when I lost my Rocco and then my precious Ollie. Just when I decided I wanted to be a dog mother again and got Charlie, he nearly died and there I was in crises mode. Charlie recovered but it felt like I had missed his puppyhood. I guess it's hard to be a bouncing ridiculous puppy when you've faced death. So once he was strong we got another puppy, Patty who was dead within days. More vet visits, Parvo this time, and a puppy dying alone in the bedroom.
I feel that I let Patty down so. We had to keep her quarantined so that the parvo wouldn't spread to Charlie and only after she was gone that it dawned on me that maybe she should have had a heating pad. Charlie had Frankie our ancient cat to curl up against when he was ill and maybe it was the warmth of her body or just her touch that helped. Patty had none of that. I couldn't even cuddle her as I would have liked for fear of carrying the infection out of the bedroom and onto Charlie. I feel as if I let that poor baby down. We wanted to adopt again, up and down with here's a pup and there's a pup and , eventually we got Kali. Old cat Frankie died, a cousin died and only then did I find out I had lost more relatives that my sister neglected to inform me about. It had always been in our family that one person in each family group is called to spread the word to the others. Since my sister had decided to disown me, she couldn't be bothered to tell the rest of the famiily about that and so, I am sure, certain cousins looked at me as some kind of heartless shit.
Then came the fire and the cat the disappeared. My dear little Isabella the timidest cat in the world. Who knows what happened to her once she got out of the house. Then there was living in a hotel and then the rental, sandwiched in between two households that weren't reluctant to show their dislike of us and added to that, the breakdown in my relationship with my son.. Well, you know how it goes, I have written of this before.
And all through that, I was NOT allowed to cry. Everytime I broke down there was a lecture. Crying over Rocco and Ollie were ridiculous, they were only dogs. Crying over Patty, the same, and why did her death make me so unhappy, I hardly knew her. Why cry over the house, everyone got out fine, it's only things, look at how beautiful it is once rebuilt. Only it still doesn't feel like home. It doesn't feel permanent. It doesn't feel right and still I should not cry because it was a blessing.
So now I find myself breaking down over inconsequential things. A photo of a strangled pup on Facebook that sent me into hysterics, a stray thought, a memory. As if to make matters worse, I was found crying one day only to to be told that they reason I was crying now is that the stress was over and I allowed myself to cry.
WHAT?
Perhaps that is why I had a breakdown at the elderly neighbor's funeral. One where I had to hide myself away so that my tears could not be seen.
So what is all of this about? I don't know. I suppose I still feel so lost and broken and fragile that I am reaching out for any life line. Even if it is putting down all of these losses and this pain down into the written word will help to ease them out of my head. To make me whole again.
Will it work. I don't know but I do wish I could find my laughter again.
I think that was a victim of the fire as well.
I feel that I let Patty down so. We had to keep her quarantined so that the parvo wouldn't spread to Charlie and only after she was gone that it dawned on me that maybe she should have had a heating pad. Charlie had Frankie our ancient cat to curl up against when he was ill and maybe it was the warmth of her body or just her touch that helped. Patty had none of that. I couldn't even cuddle her as I would have liked for fear of carrying the infection out of the bedroom and onto Charlie. I feel as if I let that poor baby down. We wanted to adopt again, up and down with here's a pup and there's a pup and , eventually we got Kali. Old cat Frankie died, a cousin died and only then did I find out I had lost more relatives that my sister neglected to inform me about. It had always been in our family that one person in each family group is called to spread the word to the others. Since my sister had decided to disown me, she couldn't be bothered to tell the rest of the famiily about that and so, I am sure, certain cousins looked at me as some kind of heartless shit.
Then came the fire and the cat the disappeared. My dear little Isabella the timidest cat in the world. Who knows what happened to her once she got out of the house. Then there was living in a hotel and then the rental, sandwiched in between two households that weren't reluctant to show their dislike of us and added to that, the breakdown in my relationship with my son.. Well, you know how it goes, I have written of this before.
And all through that, I was NOT allowed to cry. Everytime I broke down there was a lecture. Crying over Rocco and Ollie were ridiculous, they were only dogs. Crying over Patty, the same, and why did her death make me so unhappy, I hardly knew her. Why cry over the house, everyone got out fine, it's only things, look at how beautiful it is once rebuilt. Only it still doesn't feel like home. It doesn't feel permanent. It doesn't feel right and still I should not cry because it was a blessing.
So now I find myself breaking down over inconsequential things. A photo of a strangled pup on Facebook that sent me into hysterics, a stray thought, a memory. As if to make matters worse, I was found crying one day only to to be told that they reason I was crying now is that the stress was over and I allowed myself to cry.
WHAT?
Perhaps that is why I had a breakdown at the elderly neighbor's funeral. One where I had to hide myself away so that my tears could not be seen.
So what is all of this about? I don't know. I suppose I still feel so lost and broken and fragile that I am reaching out for any life line. Even if it is putting down all of these losses and this pain down into the written word will help to ease them out of my head. To make me whole again.
Will it work. I don't know but I do wish I could find my laughter again.
I think that was a victim of the fire as well.
Monday, February 4, 2013
So the Ravenz won
which is great because I was about to vomit purple.
It seems my head bands were a hit and others have taken up the feathers, for which I'm grateful. For now I'm putting the feathers and ribbons etc away and won't crak it out till next year.
I am not a football person but Josh and the best neighbors in the world were all excited about the Superbowl so I am glad their team won. After the win I could hear Josh hootn' all the way down the street as he went out to find other hootners and, perhaps, the people setting off fireworks.
I wish I could get that excited about something. I used to get excited about stamp conventions but then got saddled with a person who, frankly I wouldn't be the friend of normally, and it all ended badly. You see, I felt sorry for this person because she had no one to hang with and felt self conscious on her own so I offered to go to ONE just ONE convention with her. Oh my. She complained about this and she complained about that and she really didn't like me in the rubber pit at Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers, yet refused to go off on her own. Why did I go with her the next year? Because her husband drove her and he and Michael would go get something to eat or go to the movies and once to a strip club where they stayed for a beer and left because according to Michael it certainly wasn't what people believe a strip club to be. He found it kinda sad, actually. Now this person lives in Florida.... life coaching away... supposedly and I suppose I could go again on my own but the convention has moved to Allentown PA which is much further then Pennsauken.
So now I need to find some sort of excitement in my life. But what? Any suggestions?
And when I say excitement I do NOT mean fending off an enraged sow, chasing after bank robbers and/or burning my house down. Something where my life is NOT in danger would be great.
Sometimes I take the oddz bodkinz part of my life a bit too far.
It seems my head bands were a hit and others have taken up the feathers, for which I'm grateful. For now I'm putting the feathers and ribbons etc away and won't crak it out till next year.
I am not a football person but Josh and the best neighbors in the world were all excited about the Superbowl so I am glad their team won. After the win I could hear Josh hootn' all the way down the street as he went out to find other hootners and, perhaps, the people setting off fireworks.
I wish I could get that excited about something. I used to get excited about stamp conventions but then got saddled with a person who, frankly I wouldn't be the friend of normally, and it all ended badly. You see, I felt sorry for this person because she had no one to hang with and felt self conscious on her own so I offered to go to ONE just ONE convention with her. Oh my. She complained about this and she complained about that and she really didn't like me in the rubber pit at Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers, yet refused to go off on her own. Why did I go with her the next year? Because her husband drove her and he and Michael would go get something to eat or go to the movies and once to a strip club where they stayed for a beer and left because according to Michael it certainly wasn't what people believe a strip club to be. He found it kinda sad, actually. Now this person lives in Florida.... life coaching away... supposedly and I suppose I could go again on my own but the convention has moved to Allentown PA which is much further then Pennsauken.
So now I need to find some sort of excitement in my life. But what? Any suggestions?
And when I say excitement I do NOT mean fending off an enraged sow, chasing after bank robbers and/or burning my house down. Something where my life is NOT in danger would be great.
Sometimes I take the oddz bodkinz part of my life a bit too far.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Of Ravenz and Headbandz
I have been making feathered and glitzed headbands for Josh to give away to the Ravens' (football) fans that he knows. Apparently they have been a big hit since neighbors who have never said a work to me in the 30 years I've lived in the neighborhood have been asking me when they will be getting their free stuff. Pfui.
Anyhow, I am Ravened out but they are playing in the Superbowl so I decided to really glitz up a new headband for the Greatest Neighbor in the World who just lost her mother. So I bought some more purple and gold decorations and ribbons... Joann's had 70 and 90% off their Christmas stuff and sat down to create. Pfui twoey. So instead, I carried box o'purple stuff next door and Becky.. the greatest neighbor in the world... and I sat and made headbands. Ok... Becky made most of the headbands and they are sooo much better than mine. I made 2 while she made five or six. She made herself one and the others were going with Josh to work to hand out there. Josh and Becky's son both work at the same bar/restaurant. I didn't slack off entirely on Saturday, I did make two headbands BUT I made a couple of bracelets for Becky. She was having such a good time, it was fun just watching her have fun. Sometime during that session her son came home said he wanted to make headbands but couldn't that day. His days off are Monday and Tuesday so box o'purple stuff went back next door and he and his girlfriend made stuff. In fact, Josh even made himself a headband when he went over there yesterday after work.
I know.... headbands for a guy? Well Josh came home on that Sunday wearing a headband... in fact the one I had made that I thought was too masculine looking. So now everyone at Daniels has a feathered beribboned glitzied head band, men and women alike. I could have probably made a fortune if I sold these things.
Still the big box o'purple stuff isn't emptied. I feel as if I'll be dragging around all that purple stuff for the rest of my life.
It is really amazing how something as simple as feathers and ribbon glued to a dollar store headband (3 for $1 at dollar tree) makes so many people happy. I'm happy to pass on the headband torch. There is only so much purple one person can stand.
BTW Go Ravens! (I'm not a football fan but it seems my world is.)
Anyhow, I am Ravened out but they are playing in the Superbowl so I decided to really glitz up a new headband for the Greatest Neighbor in the World who just lost her mother. So I bought some more purple and gold decorations and ribbons... Joann's had 70 and 90% off their Christmas stuff and sat down to create. Pfui twoey. So instead, I carried box o'purple stuff next door and Becky.. the greatest neighbor in the world... and I sat and made headbands. Ok... Becky made most of the headbands and they are sooo much better than mine. I made 2 while she made five or six. She made herself one and the others were going with Josh to work to hand out there. Josh and Becky's son both work at the same bar/restaurant. I didn't slack off entirely on Saturday, I did make two headbands BUT I made a couple of bracelets for Becky. She was having such a good time, it was fun just watching her have fun. Sometime during that session her son came home said he wanted to make headbands but couldn't that day. His days off are Monday and Tuesday so box o'purple stuff went back next door and he and his girlfriend made stuff. In fact, Josh even made himself a headband when he went over there yesterday after work.
I know.... headbands for a guy? Well Josh came home on that Sunday wearing a headband... in fact the one I had made that I thought was too masculine looking. So now everyone at Daniels has a feathered beribboned glitzied head band, men and women alike. I could have probably made a fortune if I sold these things.
Still the big box o'purple stuff isn't emptied. I feel as if I'll be dragging around all that purple stuff for the rest of my life.
It is really amazing how something as simple as feathers and ribbon glued to a dollar store headband (3 for $1 at dollar tree) makes so many people happy. I'm happy to pass on the headband torch. There is only so much purple one person can stand.
BTW Go Ravens! (I'm not a football fan but it seems my world is.)
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Of Funeral and Handcuffz
As I had mentioned in an earlier post, the elderly next door neighbor had died. She treated Josh like a grandson and to Josh she was the grandmother he never had. Oh he had a grandmother but she wasn't much of one.
Josh works as a cook at night and so he couldn't go to both viewings but did get out of work early to go to the evening one. Josh usually walks to and from work, even tho there is a car he can use, and that night, on his way home, two cops stopped him. Their reason was .... ready?... he was wearing a hat and a winter coat and carrying a bag. So he ended up in handcuffs. Apparently the police had been looking for a guy earing a hat and a coat and carrying a bag. It's winter hoo haas. Of course he is going to wear a coat and a hat. As for the bag, he takes his own knife to work. We got it for him at Christmas and it comes with a platic sheath for the blade so he doesn't dice himself while he was carrying it. So , of course the cops go tall over him about the knife and he kept explaining he uses it for work but doesn't leave it there because it is HIS knife. So the police take his ID and do whatever it is they do and the next thing Josh knows is that he is unhandcuffed, given back his bag and knife and the cops get back into their car and leave without a word of explanation or a "Sorry". Needless to say, Josh didn't make it to the viewing. He was so pissed.
I can, sort of , understand the cops' actions. There is this mentally ill young man who is wandering the neighborhood. Joey carries a hatchet with him and a bag so that the shadows that are after him don't get him AND he has been known to threaten people with the hatchet, peep in windows and generally creep people out. I don't know if Joey is dangerous but the poor boy is so ill. Here's what's rankles... Josh must be about 10 to 15 years older than Joey. Joey and Josh don't resemble each other and Joey is even smaller than Josh. Now I do know that the police are trying to run him out of the neighborhood but come on. They should have checked Josh's ID immediately. The cops had been to the neighbors' house when Nan died, even talked to Michael and I about our fire. In fact the neighbors are the ones who told the cops that Joey had been released from jail. So if they had looked at Josh's ID they would have known he wasn't Joey.
Josh did make the funeral, but was late,, because the younger funeral goers had been told that the funeral was at 11;30 instead of 11. But Josh did get to be a pall bearer.
The funeral was beautiful. There was lovely live piano music. It was what Evelyn deserved. That and more.
The people at the funeral could not have been a nicer friendlier bunch. I have realized how socially awkward I can be and usually don't know how to interject myself into a group. But these wonderfully people just drew me in as if I were family myself and I am forever grateful. .
And yes, I did have my cry, though not where anyone could see and I made Becky, the grown daughter, wear my hat at the cemetary despite her protests that she doesn't wear hats. It was too cold not to wear one and my coat had a hood. So I just pushed it down on her head and told her to hush.then I found myself directing people to chairs as if I were running the show. See. Awkward.
After the funeral it was food at the place where Josh, the grandson next door and the grandson's girlfriend works and Josh's bosses had the nicest things to say about him. They love his work ethic, his sense of humor, his cooking and the fact that he sings away in the kitchen when he works. They also mentioned the Ravens' hair doodles that I've been making and Josh has been giving away until nearly everyone has their feathers and glitter and ribbons. Now it's time to make glitzier, over the top ones for the Superbowl. The Ravens are bound to win... Josh isn't shaving or cutting his hair till the superbowl and doesn't care if he looks like, in his words, a Sasquatch. Ah my son the cryptozoological beast.
Josh works as a cook at night and so he couldn't go to both viewings but did get out of work early to go to the evening one. Josh usually walks to and from work, even tho there is a car he can use, and that night, on his way home, two cops stopped him. Their reason was .... ready?... he was wearing a hat and a winter coat and carrying a bag. So he ended up in handcuffs. Apparently the police had been looking for a guy earing a hat and a coat and carrying a bag. It's winter hoo haas. Of course he is going to wear a coat and a hat. As for the bag, he takes his own knife to work. We got it for him at Christmas and it comes with a platic sheath for the blade so he doesn't dice himself while he was carrying it. So , of course the cops go tall over him about the knife and he kept explaining he uses it for work but doesn't leave it there because it is HIS knife. So the police take his ID and do whatever it is they do and the next thing Josh knows is that he is unhandcuffed, given back his bag and knife and the cops get back into their car and leave without a word of explanation or a "Sorry". Needless to say, Josh didn't make it to the viewing. He was so pissed.
I can, sort of , understand the cops' actions. There is this mentally ill young man who is wandering the neighborhood. Joey carries a hatchet with him and a bag so that the shadows that are after him don't get him AND he has been known to threaten people with the hatchet, peep in windows and generally creep people out. I don't know if Joey is dangerous but the poor boy is so ill. Here's what's rankles... Josh must be about 10 to 15 years older than Joey. Joey and Josh don't resemble each other and Joey is even smaller than Josh. Now I do know that the police are trying to run him out of the neighborhood but come on. They should have checked Josh's ID immediately. The cops had been to the neighbors' house when Nan died, even talked to Michael and I about our fire. In fact the neighbors are the ones who told the cops that Joey had been released from jail. So if they had looked at Josh's ID they would have known he wasn't Joey.
Josh did make the funeral, but was late,, because the younger funeral goers had been told that the funeral was at 11;30 instead of 11. But Josh did get to be a pall bearer.
The funeral was beautiful. There was lovely live piano music. It was what Evelyn deserved. That and more.
The people at the funeral could not have been a nicer friendlier bunch. I have realized how socially awkward I can be and usually don't know how to interject myself into a group. But these wonderfully people just drew me in as if I were family myself and I am forever grateful. .
And yes, I did have my cry, though not where anyone could see and I made Becky, the grown daughter, wear my hat at the cemetary despite her protests that she doesn't wear hats. It was too cold not to wear one and my coat had a hood. So I just pushed it down on her head and told her to hush.then I found myself directing people to chairs as if I were running the show. See. Awkward.
After the funeral it was food at the place where Josh, the grandson next door and the grandson's girlfriend works and Josh's bosses had the nicest things to say about him. They love his work ethic, his sense of humor, his cooking and the fact that he sings away in the kitchen when he works. They also mentioned the Ravens' hair doodles that I've been making and Josh has been giving away until nearly everyone has their feathers and glitter and ribbons. Now it's time to make glitzier, over the top ones for the Superbowl. The Ravens are bound to win... Josh isn't shaving or cutting his hair till the superbowl and doesn't care if he looks like, in his words, a Sasquatch. Ah my son the cryptozoological beast.
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