I had a dream right before I woke up. I have no idea what the heck I ate before bed that would create such a dream but dream I did.
And now I'll share it with you.
I was at a library picnic (they only had one in the years I was there). I was standing at the edge of the water when a guys in dress pants, white shirt and a tie comes floating past, face up and dead. Right behind him floats a young kind and a woman, both on their backs, she in a dress. I wade in, pull the kid out, carry him up the hill, lay him on his side and get the water out of him.
Once he was breathing I went for the woman but could pull her out of the water so I got her to the shore then ran up the hill to get the head of security (which the library didn't have unless you count me with a shag carpet rake but that's another story). The head of security comes running down, he moved fast for a big guy who was on some tv show sometime, and picked up the woman to lay her next to the boy.
By this time the dead guy had an escort, a shark ??? and a crocodile (not alligator I could tell by the snout). Security guy wades in nonetheless, kicks the shark, bops the crocodile on the nose and grabs the guy...uh ah... the part of the guy that's left and runs back up the hill past me holding the lower body of the guy by the guy's spinal cord. No idea what happened to the other half.
But WAIT the dream isn't over.
The crocodile comes crocodiling out of the water heading for the woman and the boy but is momentarily side tracked by a side by side row of carved and painted wooden fish arranged on a blanket. It nips one and decides it's not dinner and heads for the woman and boy so I grab a wooden fish and bop the crocodile on the head with it. Croc turns and goes back into the water.
The boy lived, don't know about the woman and the man, well I doubt that half a man is better than none.
As I told the Old Pooh this dream this morning he asked why the security guy brought out the half of guy. DNA I told him, instead of how the heck would I know why anyone in my dreams do what they do.
I think I need a nap.
Friday, January 13, 2017
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
The Voices
Tra La.
Back again with this blog that I can never seem to keep up. I was telling you all about the paranormal in my life but even I found it boring. So I'll tell you about the lighter paranormal bits of my life.
For instance: The Voices. Those Voices I would hear when I entered the office building. The conversation that I could never understand but could hear. It got so that I would greet them aloud every morning with a "Hello, Voices", hoping that they would answer back. They never did. Someone else in the building heard typing in a room with no typewriter and there was the loud knocking on the closed office door that I answered only to find the guy next door at his door asking if I had knocked. I hadn't.
I also saw one of The Voices only once. Didn't scare me. I thought it was great but it did get me thinking. Did The Voices really want to be there. Stuck in that historic building for the rest of their eternities? Did I want that to be their fate? I'd grown fond of those Voices so I thought I would help them out. I told them they were dead, that they could leave, that they could move on to their reward and the building went silent and empty. I was proud of myself.
But then....
The water was out in our half of the building. To use a bathroom I had to go down three flights of stairs, cross the wide vestibule, take those stairs down, through the garage and into the icy bathroom there. I do mean cold. So there I sit doing my business and what do I hear? Yep. The Voices. I didn
t sent them on their way. I sent them into the cold lonely garage. So I put myself back together, waited till the toilet stopped flushing and addressed The Voices basically telling them that they could go upstairs, the could go anywhere they wanted, that I was just trying to send them to their loved ones.
The Voices were back.
I don't work in the office anymore but do my stuff from home. I did make it a point to tell the voice goodbye.
The Voices are happy. Two churches meet in the building each Sunday. A regular service and a Hispanic service that if full of people. Imagine the energy!
The Voices. My best office friends!
Back again with this blog that I can never seem to keep up. I was telling you all about the paranormal in my life but even I found it boring. So I'll tell you about the lighter paranormal bits of my life.
For instance: The Voices. Those Voices I would hear when I entered the office building. The conversation that I could never understand but could hear. It got so that I would greet them aloud every morning with a "Hello, Voices", hoping that they would answer back. They never did. Someone else in the building heard typing in a room with no typewriter and there was the loud knocking on the closed office door that I answered only to find the guy next door at his door asking if I had knocked. I hadn't.
I also saw one of The Voices only once. Didn't scare me. I thought it was great but it did get me thinking. Did The Voices really want to be there. Stuck in that historic building for the rest of their eternities? Did I want that to be their fate? I'd grown fond of those Voices so I thought I would help them out. I told them they were dead, that they could leave, that they could move on to their reward and the building went silent and empty. I was proud of myself.
But then....
The water was out in our half of the building. To use a bathroom I had to go down three flights of stairs, cross the wide vestibule, take those stairs down, through the garage and into the icy bathroom there. I do mean cold. So there I sit doing my business and what do I hear? Yep. The Voices. I didn
t sent them on their way. I sent them into the cold lonely garage. So I put myself back together, waited till the toilet stopped flushing and addressed The Voices basically telling them that they could go upstairs, the could go anywhere they wanted, that I was just trying to send them to their loved ones.
The Voices were back.
I don't work in the office anymore but do my stuff from home. I did make it a point to tell the voice goodbye.
The Voices are happy. Two churches meet in the building each Sunday. A regular service and a Hispanic service that if full of people. Imagine the energy!
The Voices. My best office friends!
Monday, May 9, 2016
Oranges
I have a miniature orange tree that we bought on our honeymoon. This year the tree will be 43 years old. It's not just a small orange tree. Its oranges are the size of a small superball and bitter as anything. The tree is now taller than me, and I'm five foot four or thereabouts.
It was too big for the windowsill in the winter. So it spent winter in the basement under a light. In summer it was outside. When the sons were old enough to hang out downstairs the tree seemed to do better as if it liked the companionship.
The boys would gather and play video games and one boy, in particular would be poked. When he'd look, he'd discover that it was the tree poking him. So the tree would be shifted back, they'd start to play again and the kid would get poked again. Eventually the boys had to shift positions because the tree wouldn't behave.
Fast forward.. the sons each have a crowded room int he basement with no room for the orange tree. Upstairs it came located near the front window, where I hoped it would get enough sun.
Fast forward some more and.... yep... house fire.
It was cold. It was February and the firemen had chain saws and what not. Walls were cut into, the front window broken. There was water and vile yellow smoke like something from Hell. The basement was a loss. Contents stank of wet and that vile, yellow smoke.
As things were winding up, I noticed that the tree was hanging out of the window. No. That's not quite correct. It looked as if it were reaching outside of the window trying to breathe. The tree was not close enough to the window so that the branches would have come out when the glass was broken. It's pot was upright and not tilted so maybe the trunk bent somehow. No. It was upright when the fireman carried it out of the house. (They wouldn't let us take anything but my purse and the tree and those the fireman carried out.
I know that trees don't move. That they don't reach out to purposely poke someone or to lean out for fresh air but the orange tree did. Maybe the house Angels hang out in it. I don't know. I only know what happened as strange as it seems.
Marmalade anyone?
It was too big for the windowsill in the winter. So it spent winter in the basement under a light. In summer it was outside. When the sons were old enough to hang out downstairs the tree seemed to do better as if it liked the companionship.
The boys would gather and play video games and one boy, in particular would be poked. When he'd look, he'd discover that it was the tree poking him. So the tree would be shifted back, they'd start to play again and the kid would get poked again. Eventually the boys had to shift positions because the tree wouldn't behave.
Fast forward.. the sons each have a crowded room int he basement with no room for the orange tree. Upstairs it came located near the front window, where I hoped it would get enough sun.
Fast forward some more and.... yep... house fire.
It was cold. It was February and the firemen had chain saws and what not. Walls were cut into, the front window broken. There was water and vile yellow smoke like something from Hell. The basement was a loss. Contents stank of wet and that vile, yellow smoke.
As things were winding up, I noticed that the tree was hanging out of the window. No. That's not quite correct. It looked as if it were reaching outside of the window trying to breathe. The tree was not close enough to the window so that the branches would have come out when the glass was broken. It's pot was upright and not tilted so maybe the trunk bent somehow. No. It was upright when the fireman carried it out of the house. (They wouldn't let us take anything but my purse and the tree and those the fireman carried out.
I know that trees don't move. That they don't reach out to purposely poke someone or to lean out for fresh air but the orange tree did. Maybe the house Angels hang out in it. I don't know. I only know what happened as strange as it seems.
Marmalade anyone?
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Growing up
I suppose that, during childhood the unusual became usual because nothing more than the crab stands out. We moved to New Jersey and when my parents moved back to Baltimore, I stayed behind. Imagine, at 18 I asked for permission to stay. Certainly something that wouldn't happen today. Arrested development or simply fear of my mother? Whatever it was I moved in with a friend's family and stuff started happening again.
First off there were my car lights. This was back in the early 70's and to turn on my car's lights I had to pull a lever out and, to turn them off, push that lever in. I had to park on a piece of unused land across the street from the house because there were already too many cars in the household. This piece was in clear view of the mechanics at the end of the street who called regularly to tell me I had left my lights on. First time, ok maybe I didn't turn them off. Second time, I was certain I had but maybe.... By the fifth, sixth and seventh, I knew I had. I'd push in that lever so the knob was flush and would come out to find the lights on, lever pulled out. I always locked the car so I knew it wasn't some kind of prank. I finally got fed up and sat in the car, yet again to turn out the lights and said, aloud that I had enough and it had to stop. Then it did.
Christmas came and I was helping to decorate the tree. The little sister picked up a blue ball on a hook. Apparently it wasn't on the hook correctly because it fell. I watched it wondering it if would smash into dust on the tile floor when it simply disappeared. One minute there, one minute not. I said nothing but little sister kept asking where her ball went. That she had a blue ball and now it was gone. I still said nothing, only handed her a new ornament to hang.
Next came the letter. A letter appeared on the kitchen table one day. Part of a letter, I should say, one page talking about the D'arcy Fisks and how they were coming for a visit. No one in the household had even heard of the D'arcy Fisks and they had been in that house for years. No one admitted to the letter and the next day it was gone.
Things started to ramp up then with noises and sensations and the knowledge that there was something haunting the basement. Eventually I figured something out and managed to put an end to it. My friend and I had made an appointment to see a well known local psychic. The psychic was so popular that appointments had to be made months in advance and the moment we cancelled our appointment, the nonsense stopped. There was, however, something else that occurred after the grandfather who had lived in the home with us all died. I would hear him get up in the middle of the night, shuffle to the bathroom and back again. He never flushed. I guess spirits don't feel the need to flush.
I wonder now why this didn't freak me the hell out but it didn't. I guess I just filed it in my head under weird stuff. I mean, who else would marry a man they met at a funeral? A man who never had weird in his life till he met me. That, however, is a story for another time.
First off there were my car lights. This was back in the early 70's and to turn on my car's lights I had to pull a lever out and, to turn them off, push that lever in. I had to park on a piece of unused land across the street from the house because there were already too many cars in the household. This piece was in clear view of the mechanics at the end of the street who called regularly to tell me I had left my lights on. First time, ok maybe I didn't turn them off. Second time, I was certain I had but maybe.... By the fifth, sixth and seventh, I knew I had. I'd push in that lever so the knob was flush and would come out to find the lights on, lever pulled out. I always locked the car so I knew it wasn't some kind of prank. I finally got fed up and sat in the car, yet again to turn out the lights and said, aloud that I had enough and it had to stop. Then it did.
Christmas came and I was helping to decorate the tree. The little sister picked up a blue ball on a hook. Apparently it wasn't on the hook correctly because it fell. I watched it wondering it if would smash into dust on the tile floor when it simply disappeared. One minute there, one minute not. I said nothing but little sister kept asking where her ball went. That she had a blue ball and now it was gone. I still said nothing, only handed her a new ornament to hang.
Next came the letter. A letter appeared on the kitchen table one day. Part of a letter, I should say, one page talking about the D'arcy Fisks and how they were coming for a visit. No one in the household had even heard of the D'arcy Fisks and they had been in that house for years. No one admitted to the letter and the next day it was gone.
Things started to ramp up then with noises and sensations and the knowledge that there was something haunting the basement. Eventually I figured something out and managed to put an end to it. My friend and I had made an appointment to see a well known local psychic. The psychic was so popular that appointments had to be made months in advance and the moment we cancelled our appointment, the nonsense stopped. There was, however, something else that occurred after the grandfather who had lived in the home with us all died. I would hear him get up in the middle of the night, shuffle to the bathroom and back again. He never flushed. I guess spirits don't feel the need to flush.
I wonder now why this didn't freak me the hell out but it didn't. I guess I just filed it in my head under weird stuff. I mean, who else would marry a man they met at a funeral? A man who never had weird in his life till he met me. That, however, is a story for another time.
Monday, May 2, 2016
Time flies or do flies time?
I joined a paranormal group on Facebook and after reading a number of the posts I have come to the conclusion that my life isn't an Oddz Bodkinz kind of life, rather it is a paranormal kind of life. Funny that I should think that anything with the word normal in it would have anything to do with me.
In fact, my normal is paranormal and I often wonder how the real people live. How do they manage to go through life without knowing someone is going to call and have the phone handy. Or be given a heads up when something awful is about to happen. And, to tell the truth, they are never realy clear about WHAT is going to happen, I just have to wait and see.
Doesn't everyone hear someone call their name? Have their door swing open? Find meaning in repeating numbers? Feel what those around them feel? Talk to animals? Know how they died in a past life (Titanic no less)? Well no wonder people look at me funny.
There has just been SO MUCH in my life that I could write a book. Title it something like.... When the Paranormal is Normal.
So, instead of a book, I will write it here. No one will read it anyway but that's ok. Sometime you just have to sit down and get something out, even if you are the only one to ever read it. I suppose, for me, it would make it seem.... oh I don't know... true, even though I know it's true. Whatever the reason, here goes.
The very first experience I remember is the giant crab that crawled out of my bedroom wall.
It was summer in Baltimore without air conditioning. We used to go watch boring movies at the local library branch simply because the room was air conditioned. No air conditioning in the home but a big bad assed fan that was installed in my bedroom window. The fan blew out so it sucked all the hot air from the house through my bedroom and out into the night. To take advantage of the air flow, I slept with my head at the foot of my bed. Never being a good sleeper I often woke in the middle of the night and laid there like a lump waiting for sleep to return. It was such a night when that crab, claws clicking appeared out of the wall at the head of the bed. It scared the crap out of me and I went screaming into my parents room.
I was sent back to bed with a terse "It was a dream". Bullshit. I was old enough to know a dream, to know pretend and what I saw was not pretend. It was a crab coming out of my wall.
Of course, I never said anything about it again. I said nothing about the other odd stuff that would happen. The stiff, starched, for display only dolls on the top of my book case that would come alive at night and dance or just move about. Or my grandmother riding past in the passenger seat of a cae when she had already been dead for 6 months or so. Or the way I simply knew things.
Needless to say, I learned to keep my mouth shut. Why bother telling anyone when they wouldn't believe you and give you 'that look'. You know which look I mean. The look that tells you they don't believe that they are hearing what they are hearing and then they back away from you very very slowly as if your insanity is contagious. I grew to hate that look and yet I wanted to share what was going on. It made me feel special. I was never special. I always couldn't do or be something good enough but I could sense things and see things and know things that others couldn't or maybe they wouldn't.
Now I don't care about that look. I'll proclaim to the world, or my small section of it, the oddities that pop up. the unexplained things that make perfect sense to me. It's my way of saying to the world that I am different and I don't care. In fact, I like being odd. It sure beats the heck out of normal.
In fact, my normal is paranormal and I often wonder how the real people live. How do they manage to go through life without knowing someone is going to call and have the phone handy. Or be given a heads up when something awful is about to happen. And, to tell the truth, they are never realy clear about WHAT is going to happen, I just have to wait and see.
Doesn't everyone hear someone call their name? Have their door swing open? Find meaning in repeating numbers? Feel what those around them feel? Talk to animals? Know how they died in a past life (Titanic no less)? Well no wonder people look at me funny.
There has just been SO MUCH in my life that I could write a book. Title it something like.... When the Paranormal is Normal.
So, instead of a book, I will write it here. No one will read it anyway but that's ok. Sometime you just have to sit down and get something out, even if you are the only one to ever read it. I suppose, for me, it would make it seem.... oh I don't know... true, even though I know it's true. Whatever the reason, here goes.
The very first experience I remember is the giant crab that crawled out of my bedroom wall.
It was summer in Baltimore without air conditioning. We used to go watch boring movies at the local library branch simply because the room was air conditioned. No air conditioning in the home but a big bad assed fan that was installed in my bedroom window. The fan blew out so it sucked all the hot air from the house through my bedroom and out into the night. To take advantage of the air flow, I slept with my head at the foot of my bed. Never being a good sleeper I often woke in the middle of the night and laid there like a lump waiting for sleep to return. It was such a night when that crab, claws clicking appeared out of the wall at the head of the bed. It scared the crap out of me and I went screaming into my parents room.
I was sent back to bed with a terse "It was a dream". Bullshit. I was old enough to know a dream, to know pretend and what I saw was not pretend. It was a crab coming out of my wall.
Of course, I never said anything about it again. I said nothing about the other odd stuff that would happen. The stiff, starched, for display only dolls on the top of my book case that would come alive at night and dance or just move about. Or my grandmother riding past in the passenger seat of a cae when she had already been dead for 6 months or so. Or the way I simply knew things.
Needless to say, I learned to keep my mouth shut. Why bother telling anyone when they wouldn't believe you and give you 'that look'. You know which look I mean. The look that tells you they don't believe that they are hearing what they are hearing and then they back away from you very very slowly as if your insanity is contagious. I grew to hate that look and yet I wanted to share what was going on. It made me feel special. I was never special. I always couldn't do or be something good enough but I could sense things and see things and know things that others couldn't or maybe they wouldn't.
Now I don't care about that look. I'll proclaim to the world, or my small section of it, the oddities that pop up. the unexplained things that make perfect sense to me. It's my way of saying to the world that I am different and I don't care. In fact, I like being odd. It sure beats the heck out of normal.
Monday, August 25, 2014
It's been a mighty long time
Since I posted anything here. That's the way it is in Oddz Bodkinz Land. sometimes, no matter how hard you try you just Life gets the better of you. Maybe forcing myself to write will help.
Here goes.
So what's new in Bodkinz Land? Well, we are inundated with those tiny annoying fruit fly that spontaneously appear whenever the Old Fart bring homes bananas,. He was walking around smacking them with a fly swatter and leaving the flattened carcasses stuck to wherever. So I came up with a vinegar and epson salt spray that kills them but now the salts crystals are reforming on the walls and it's like living in a cavern.... with out the drippy water. He's promised to help me scrub the salt off all surfaces but since he's emptied the dishwasher only 5 times in the years since we moved back home, I doubt I'll have salt scrubbing help.
Charlie's insatiable need for food, gets to me sometimes. I understand the need but I wish he'd let me pet him and NOT have to give him food afterward for payment. I just can't pet him to pet him.
Kali has really come out of her shell. I didn't even know she was in a shell until she came out. It started with her trilling to us in the morning and us singing back and her latest is actually playing tug of war with us and a pool noodle.She's even at my side in the kitchen and I don't think it's just because food 'accidentally' slips from my hand.
Then there is Sparky, our texan. They sure birth them odd in Texas. I have never known a dog like him. The other day I found my bed pillow, a dog toy and an unopened bag of tortilla chips at the bottom of the outside basement stairs, right by the doggie door and on top of the drain hole. Had he planned to leave them there or did he get side tracked? Sparky hides his bones about the house. He was vigorously covering a bone with plastic bags in a neat corner behind the craft room door. Charlie wandered in to see what Sparky was doing then wandered out again. Sparky gave me a look equivilent to a human shoulder shoulder shrug then sighed, uncovered his bone and found a new place for it. I have never known a happier dog.The
The fire alarm in the house still screams when I make pork chops. It's kind of hard to get to the button with the broom handle because Kali and Charlie actually push me toward the door and won't leave the house until I do. The sound had GOT to be killing their ears. Oh and fire alarm lso occasionally tells us, usually in the middle of the night, in a conversational tone "fire' AND THEN IS SILENT AGAIN. I swear it's giggling somewhere in the recesses of where ever it is where it hides.
For the best news, and yes, it will show just how petty I am, I am over the moon that the neighbor from hell also known as Hagatha had lost her house to foreclosure and is forced to move out. She has been a thorn in the side of the same people in the neighborhood for years. Her next door neighbors even had to fence their property to keep her dogs from crapping on her land. we all have huge yards so it was a big undertaking. When he dogs would crap in the street she would fling the turds over the fence into our yard. It isn't just dog turds.. she lied to the police claiming my sons did something they didn't, her daughter ran into Casey with a sled busted his lip to hell and back and when he went to show Hagatha, she turned him away. Then there was the music, the drunken parties, the fights in the yard, he refusal to take responsibility for anything, the drinking. Her youngest suffers from fetal alcohol syndrome. Her nephew who was living with her nearly killed himself in a drunken accident on his 21st birthday and it took him years to die, all the while in a coma. What did Hagatha do? She wanted the drunken teenagers at yet another drunken party to kneel and say a prayer for her nephew, all the while she was holding a beer. she has her sister living in a mobile home on her property, which is against zoning or so I was told when I suggested something similar for our housing after our fire. Her son steals from everyone and when she's confronted she says her children and do and say whatever they want. The summer we were displaced, she even pissed off all the blacks in the neighborhood by her racial slurs and suddenly no one was talking to her. Which was good because people who didn't even live IN the neighborhood would show up at her house to hang out on the street in front of them. The cooler crew we called them because that was their favored seating. I even heard a cop tell her one time that he was sick to death of having to respond to calls about her and her family all the time.
Her husband died a number of years ago and she told everyone that she got $600,000.00 From his insurance. Where the hell did the money go? Either down her throat or up someone's nose.
I don't like to see anyone lose their home. I would have preferred if she had moved on her own but since that was never going to happen. So, yes, I am doing the happy dance was will the best neighbor in the world next door and the we had to fence our yard to keep your dogs out of it neighbors next to her.
I'm just wondering if she told her sister in the mobile home about this. If not, the sister is in for a BIG surprise!
So that's it. Who knows how long it will be before I write again.
Here goes.
So what's new in Bodkinz Land? Well, we are inundated with those tiny annoying fruit fly that spontaneously appear whenever the Old Fart bring homes bananas,. He was walking around smacking them with a fly swatter and leaving the flattened carcasses stuck to wherever. So I came up with a vinegar and epson salt spray that kills them but now the salts crystals are reforming on the walls and it's like living in a cavern.... with out the drippy water. He's promised to help me scrub the salt off all surfaces but since he's emptied the dishwasher only 5 times in the years since we moved back home, I doubt I'll have salt scrubbing help.
Charlie's insatiable need for food, gets to me sometimes. I understand the need but I wish he'd let me pet him and NOT have to give him food afterward for payment. I just can't pet him to pet him.
Kali has really come out of her shell. I didn't even know she was in a shell until she came out. It started with her trilling to us in the morning and us singing back and her latest is actually playing tug of war with us and a pool noodle.She's even at my side in the kitchen and I don't think it's just because food 'accidentally' slips from my hand.
Then there is Sparky, our texan. They sure birth them odd in Texas. I have never known a dog like him. The other day I found my bed pillow, a dog toy and an unopened bag of tortilla chips at the bottom of the outside basement stairs, right by the doggie door and on top of the drain hole. Had he planned to leave them there or did he get side tracked? Sparky hides his bones about the house. He was vigorously covering a bone with plastic bags in a neat corner behind the craft room door. Charlie wandered in to see what Sparky was doing then wandered out again. Sparky gave me a look equivilent to a human shoulder shoulder shrug then sighed, uncovered his bone and found a new place for it. I have never known a happier dog.The
The fire alarm in the house still screams when I make pork chops. It's kind of hard to get to the button with the broom handle because Kali and Charlie actually push me toward the door and won't leave the house until I do. The sound had GOT to be killing their ears. Oh and fire alarm lso occasionally tells us, usually in the middle of the night, in a conversational tone "fire' AND THEN IS SILENT AGAIN. I swear it's giggling somewhere in the recesses of where ever it is where it hides.
For the best news, and yes, it will show just how petty I am, I am over the moon that the neighbor from hell also known as Hagatha had lost her house to foreclosure and is forced to move out. She has been a thorn in the side of the same people in the neighborhood for years. Her next door neighbors even had to fence their property to keep her dogs from crapping on her land. we all have huge yards so it was a big undertaking. When he dogs would crap in the street she would fling the turds over the fence into our yard. It isn't just dog turds.. she lied to the police claiming my sons did something they didn't, her daughter ran into Casey with a sled busted his lip to hell and back and when he went to show Hagatha, she turned him away. Then there was the music, the drunken parties, the fights in the yard, he refusal to take responsibility for anything, the drinking. Her youngest suffers from fetal alcohol syndrome. Her nephew who was living with her nearly killed himself in a drunken accident on his 21st birthday and it took him years to die, all the while in a coma. What did Hagatha do? She wanted the drunken teenagers at yet another drunken party to kneel and say a prayer for her nephew, all the while she was holding a beer. she has her sister living in a mobile home on her property, which is against zoning or so I was told when I suggested something similar for our housing after our fire. Her son steals from everyone and when she's confronted she says her children and do and say whatever they want. The summer we were displaced, she even pissed off all the blacks in the neighborhood by her racial slurs and suddenly no one was talking to her. Which was good because people who didn't even live IN the neighborhood would show up at her house to hang out on the street in front of them. The cooler crew we called them because that was their favored seating. I even heard a cop tell her one time that he was sick to death of having to respond to calls about her and her family all the time.
Her husband died a number of years ago and she told everyone that she got $600,000.00 From his insurance. Where the hell did the money go? Either down her throat or up someone's nose.
I don't like to see anyone lose their home. I would have preferred if she had moved on her own but since that was never going to happen. So, yes, I am doing the happy dance was will the best neighbor in the world next door and the we had to fence our yard to keep your dogs out of it neighbors next to her.
I'm just wondering if she told her sister in the mobile home about this. If not, the sister is in for a BIG surprise!
So that's it. Who knows how long it will be before I write again.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Sticky Brain
I don't know about anyone else, but I have a brain that will NOT let go of a thought once said thought infiltrates the dark recesses of said brain.
For instance... I got the notion in my head yesterday that when Michael and I die, Josh and the dogs will have no place to live. If they find one, will the yard be the size of ours where the dogs can roam all day and come in exhausted at night?
OK. It's not as if I could do anything about it. Michael and I are both is good health so this is ridiculous, right? Tell my head that. It keeps playing and replaying and replaying the same damned thing till a panic attack sets in and my nerves are jumping. I don't know how to stop it or why it decided to rear its ugly head. All I do know is that I hate it when I get like this.
I blame the dogs.... for this endless thought anyway.
Watching the dogs over the weekend, I again marveled at how much they love their lives and the big yard with its various places that can mean so much to a dog. There's the bamboo jungle, not to mention a stack of cut and dried bamboo that makes such delightful sounds when Kali and Sparky "dance" on it.
Then there's the overgrown part, the mowed part, the hill of dirt for digging, the deck for basking in the sun as well as the driveway for that and the front porch. There's smells and people walking up and down the street and the dogs across the street and birds and squirrels and places to bury stuff. The dogs are lean, their coats so shiny you would think we polished them and a doggy door that allows them access to all that yard whenever the mood strikes. so it's no wonder I wouldn't want them, in their youth to lose all of that. But why think of that now?
I swear that parts of my brain are controlled by some evil troll that whispers these things over and over making my life unbearable at times. It's as if this troll does not want me to have a good thought or enjoy something. I love watching the dogs in the yard and so the troll whispers. If I'm happy (which isn't often) the troll whispers again and if there is trouble, the troll builds on it till my head is spinning.
I take prozac and that helps somewhat but this troll is strong. I just have to find some way to be stronger.
For instance... I got the notion in my head yesterday that when Michael and I die, Josh and the dogs will have no place to live. If they find one, will the yard be the size of ours where the dogs can roam all day and come in exhausted at night?
OK. It's not as if I could do anything about it. Michael and I are both is good health so this is ridiculous, right? Tell my head that. It keeps playing and replaying and replaying the same damned thing till a panic attack sets in and my nerves are jumping. I don't know how to stop it or why it decided to rear its ugly head. All I do know is that I hate it when I get like this.
I blame the dogs.... for this endless thought anyway.
Watching the dogs over the weekend, I again marveled at how much they love their lives and the big yard with its various places that can mean so much to a dog. There's the bamboo jungle, not to mention a stack of cut and dried bamboo that makes such delightful sounds when Kali and Sparky "dance" on it.
Then there's the overgrown part, the mowed part, the hill of dirt for digging, the deck for basking in the sun as well as the driveway for that and the front porch. There's smells and people walking up and down the street and the dogs across the street and birds and squirrels and places to bury stuff. The dogs are lean, their coats so shiny you would think we polished them and a doggy door that allows them access to all that yard whenever the mood strikes. so it's no wonder I wouldn't want them, in their youth to lose all of that. But why think of that now?
I swear that parts of my brain are controlled by some evil troll that whispers these things over and over making my life unbearable at times. It's as if this troll does not want me to have a good thought or enjoy something. I love watching the dogs in the yard and so the troll whispers. If I'm happy (which isn't often) the troll whispers again and if there is trouble, the troll builds on it till my head is spinning.
I take prozac and that helps somewhat but this troll is strong. I just have to find some way to be stronger.
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