Because This Is How Lazy I Am These Days

Hi, this is me, the laziest blogger ever. How lazy can it get, you might ask? I'm posting a letter, fer crying out loud! Granted, I'm going to be a lot perkier when writing the Cuz, because, well, she brings it out in me, kind of like how I desperately need a beer after visiting my deeply religious, teetotalling relatives, or the way I tend to utter random swear words, when passing a particularly large and pompous church. What? Everybody doesn't do that! Seriously?

Anyway, my thanks to the Velveeta Wingnut for her inspiring presence! Oh, and I cut out the parts where I was talking about animals, nudity, sex, and food, in a sort of food processor kind of amalgamation. Because I care.

Hey Woman,
I don't know what the hell my problem is these days - the kitchen is coming along, though I think we're going to hold off on the counter tops until next year, when we can afford to do solid granite, vs trying to lay granite tile. More money, but less bullshit, ya know? But the painting is coming along - about halfway done - the humid weather makes it hard to paint walls, so this week will be another big push to finishing that part. House updates - yikes - I know you
know what I'm saying!

But yeah, I've been in this funk for awhile now. Partly the whole losing several cats this past winter, partly I'm just feeling like a damn ancient whale - fat and old!!! WTF? How does this kind of shit happen? I'm thinking of joining a gym, that's how desperate I am - and I've NEVER joined a gym before. Film at 11.

We're going to be up in PA June 14th-21st, Sunday to Sunday. I want to go up to Buffalo on the 19th of that week, to see my aunt, and take the kids to the Allbright-Knox Art Museum (and hit the grocery store/ butcher shop while I'm there. Oh bright and shining TOPS MARKET, what siren call your aisles sing to me! Oh FEDERAL MEAT MARKET, how I long to stand in silent wonder, gazing at your dazzling array of beautiful meat, to smell your homemade kielbasa and hot dogs!)

BUT I digress -

So when do you want to get together that week? Do you want to go to Kittanning or should we try Butler this time? I've never been to the Butler Historical Society - don't even know if there is one, actually! What are you looking for?

Oh, I knew I had something for you. I found a reference to a Jeremiah Bonner, who was a blacksmith in the Armstrong County area, in the James Whisker book on PA gunsmiths. Isn't he one of your ancestors, or is he just a relative? Either way, I thought it was interesting, and thought it might be pertinent.I'll bring the book with me. I admit, I have a thing for blacksmiths!
By the by, nope, never received the Bowser book. I do remember you ordering it. If your desk is like my desk, it might just have gone to the black hole. I was thinking of dropping into Mechling Books, since they're near Butler. I want to ask them about prices for publishing a couple of different things, about family bible restoration, and maybe pick up a few books from them, if they sell them out of their store, as well as ship them. So if you can't find it, I can
always get a copy from them - I don't think it was a pricey book.

I don't have a ton of research to do this trip, although I could go to Kittanning again. The Snyders I'm tracking seem to have been in Armstrong county by 1800; a Valentine Snyder (nickname, "Felty") in Buffalo Twp (1800 census), and then him and two younger guys in Toby Twp, in 1810, one of which is Peter Snider, which was my grandmother's great great grandfather. So I've tracked back to her 3x great grandfather so far, and then the trail goes to Prussia, which apparently is one of the provinces of the Palatine region. Did you know that? I
sure as hell didn't!

I received an email from a guy in Franklin, PA who actually read the TOY family compilation - go figure! His SIL's grandmother was a first cousin to my grandfather, and she had some info I didn't have. Groovy, even groovier that anybody read and found something in that massive tome! But the goocher is, this guy's last name is SNYDER, which, while it's a lot like SMITH, in terms of commonality, still, he's in the right place to possibly be related. He did sign off with a
"God Bless You", which always puts my pagan neck hairs up, but he might have some useful links, who knows?

Anyway!!!

Just let me know when and where you want to meet up, m'kay? We just have the parental units going with us this year, so I might even be able to leave the kids with them, unless you WANT me to bring the whole circus, 'cuz your mom's going and she wants to see everybody, or something like that! I'm squeezy either way.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know - I'm supposed to be out in the kitchen, painting right now, dammit! All right, fine - I'm going!


Sheesh!

(So do you feel kind of voyeuristic now, dear reader, from getting a peek into my personal correspondence? I feel positively nekkid now - which isn't really as titillating as it sounds, sadly! But I'm working on it!)

We Interrupt This Blog To Bring You A Life

Yep, that's right - I am ass-deep in the here and now people, with very little time for the ether. I've written posts, while I'm standing half asleep under the watering can that passes for my shower these days (old pipes flaking are kill-ing me - there are days I could gleefully take a sledgehammer to my plumbing, but then I'd have no shower spray to doze under, and so it goes) but the distance from the shower to the computer is obstructed by some sort of time warp; you can't get there from here, so those poor posts withered on the mental vine, like water-starved cantaloupes.

I quit volunteering at school. I can't say why I quit, because litigation is a rampant, rabid animal in our downwardly spiralling society. Suffice to say it was a hard decision and even now I'm bitter and depressed about what had to be. But I'm moving on, because what the hell else is there to do?

We took the boys up to Washington DC during Easter break and made the fatal error of arriving smack dab in the middle of the Cherry Blossom Festival and a marathon going on at the Mall. I swear to you, I've never seen so many GD strollers and mini-monsters in my life. It seemed like each set of Uber parents/freaking idiots had three toddlers in tow. Because three year olds get so much out of being dragged through a museum, or two or three, and you know that Mom and Dad saw absolutely nothing but that same three year old, running six paces ahead through heavy crowds. People: that is why there are Children's museums in the world - so you can teach little kids how to go to the big museums. The Smithsonian has 14 museums - to see even 3 or 4 in a day requires longer legs, and more maturity than the average toddler possesses. and guess just how much of that trip to the museum those toddlers are actually going to remember? That's right - zippity do dah, nada, zilch. So what was the point?

I started the long awaited overhaul of my 1950s/redone in the 80s kitchen last week. Money is tight (is that really news to anyone?) so we're doing most of the labor to keep the cost low. I started with the paint, because it's the easiest and gives me the impression we're moving right along. The ripping up of the floor and the countertops will have to wait until summer, when the fascist regime's annoying schedules have abated for a few months (You did know I was talking about public school and their anti-family bullshit, right?) and we can live without a kitchen for a few days. It's going to be beautiful, even though right now I still have mauve (I shit you not!) counters and pink floor tiles, and I hate pink - oh my god I hate pink! When it's finished, the counters will be black granite with a stainless steel backsplash; the floor will be industrial grade black linoleum (because its easier on the feet, CHEAP, and belongs in a 1950s house) polished to a high shine, and the walls will be a lovely sap green (Home Despot called it "Scottish Isle") and the cabinets will be "Asparagus" green. The funny thing about those colors - they're really close matches to what was originally in there, before the rat bastards who lived here before us came along, made the kitchen mauve, and nailed giant nails into every damn wall in the house. I'm pretty sure I'll be cursing their name anew when we pull up the tile in the kitchen - they didn't think to tile under the appliances, because they were lazy DIY rat bastards with no taste or work ethic to speak of. And this is me, holding back the vitriol, because Oh Mein Gott in Himmel - you would hate them too, if you could have seen this house when they moved out.

Oh yeah, and I'm working on archiving an old family scrapbook of history, that I can't just do the way I want to, because there are too many family fingers in the pie. Because hell isn't complete without a little familial meddling and the omnipresent phone calls from my mother, whose special talent is calling right at the time of evening when Honey and I are thinking, "Hey! Let's get naked and get in love, baby!"

Riiinngg!

So this is me right now - a little frothy with the hate, but trying to focus on the positive. Oh, and definitely going out to buy a new phone, so we can SCREEN, dammit! "But other than that, I'm perfect!" - "Weird Science"

How you doin'?

In The Voting Line

Even though early voting started last week, it took until today for it to reach Bumfuck USA, where I live. I got there about 9 AM, thinking "Hot damn! There's hardly anybody here!" Then I realized they weren't open yet, not until 10 AM, Figuring it would only get more crowded, I lined up with the other two people already waiting.

We were an interesting trio: Me, your middle class bohemian white girl, another woman, roughly in her late 40s, wearing a man's quilted flannel coat, cigarettes in hand, and an older sweater-clad black man, who was fairly quiet at first.

We started chatting, to kill time, and at first, we didn't talk election at all. Then some campaigner came up to us and started handing out pamphlets, which I pointed out to him, was forbidden in that area. He mumbled something to the effect, "Oh I didn't know..." and wandered off to easier targets. My line buddies were visibly relieved as he left, and confided in me that they were both first-time voters this election and didn't know the protocol of where and when campaigners may accost you. As I was pointing out the sign that told campaigners where to stop, one of our local hopefuls for the House came up, all hand shaking jocularity. I shook his hand, as did my buddies, and the woman asked him what he would do for us if he was elected. He began his list of well seeming, albeit vague intentions, and when he paused, I jumped in.

I pointed out that our town is one of only a few towns that surround Raleigh that don't have impact taxes levied against developers, that our growth is unchecked, unsupported, and irresponsible. After his eyebrows came back down to earth, he agreed, and told us he wanted to see impact taxes that would include more money for building schools and hospital/rescue services, as well as just for roads. And then he drifted away.

The cat out of the bag, so to speak, we began talking amongst ourselves about the candidates, although studiously not using names. The woman in the flannel coat muttered, "I don't want to see no hockey mom end up as president", acknowledging a fear many have, concerning McCain's advanced age, and his four-time fight with cancer already. I laughed and agreed, and turning to Sweatered Black man (and btw, I don't consider it denigrating to acknowledge someone's skin color, only to treat them differently for it) said to him, "I am very hopeful for this election, and it's potential to be of major historical significance." He nodded and told me that his sons had pushed him to go and register to vote, because they thought so too. "If my candidate becomes president it will go a long way to right a number of wrongs in this country", I said then, and he tilted his head and looked at me, as if just seeing me for the first time. "That's a really good way to put it", he said, and I went on to explain. "The divisions among us in this country have to end. So you're black, and I'm white, but we're both Americans, and we both want the same things out of life. Only by working together are we going to achieve that. A lot of Americans don't go and vote, thinking they have no representation or voice, but it's crucial that we all step up and cast our vote, and not leave it to a quarter of the population to decide everyone's futures."

I think I might have blown his mind, but in a good way, I hope. It's too easy to let our differences qualify us, to divide us, but what is this nation but a melting pot of ethnicities, of cultures, and should we let old rich white men call the shots for a culture of that kind of diversity?

I Blame The Cat

Oh my god, I am so tired - I can't think, I can't type. My brain is like bruised fruit - mushy, dented, and brown spotted. Coffee isn't working it's usual magic either; it's just giving my little mental hamster the shakes as he runs on his squeaky, creaky wheel, shrieking, "Never give up! Never surrender!" (My hamster is a big "Galaxy Quest" fan, in case you didn't know)

So why, you may ask, are you beyond fatigued, O She Who Tapdances through life? (Do you really talk that way, O Reader, my Reader? It's kind of freaky, but I like it!)

Well, it's not because I threw open my house for an impromptu dinner party on Saturday, in honor of Cleo. I cleaned like a mad woman all day, cooked a fabulous huge meal, and then threw down like the aforementioned lunatic as well. No, no, that can't be the cause. There weren't any Party Fouls to stress over - my brothers both managed to not set anything on fire, and I completely missed Bea lying on the kitchen floor for a brief respite, so I was all zen, in a skunked kind of way.

It certainly has nothing to do with me staying up too late, every damn night, in spite of the school regimen being in full swing. I have a mission and that mission is to kick Scrabble Maven's advanced ass so far down she can't ever get back up.

No, no, I blame the cat. Jezebel. The cat who sits outside my bedroom door every night, meowing piteously every quarter hour, like a Regulator clock, only with cat noises. I try to coax her to come in and get settled, I'll give you the pillow honey; but she's got a bad case of Perpetual Wrong Side Of The Door Syndrome, so either she comes in and out all night, with me getting up to escort her, or she has to sit outside and cry. Jezebel is otherwise my favorite cat, but she's killing my deep REM sleep single-pawedly (single cattedly?), every quarter hour of my night.

Yeah, that's it - it's the cat! It's ALL her fault!

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In Case You Missed It-
To hear all about the dinner party and how Bea ended up on the kitchen floor, go read Trapped Under Something Heavy - right now!!!

A Week at the Beach

At last! The epic saga of our trip to the beach. We left Saturday morning and headed east. About lunchtime, as we were getting ready to pass through Williamston, I remembered that there used to be a barbeque place we would pass, coming from Greenville, back in our college days. We looked around and there it was! Of course we stopped - I love eastern Carolina barbeque! It's always a good sign that there's a brisk business going on, and even at 2 PM there were folks waiting in line for some of this barbeque. They didn't have hushpuppies, which IS kind of lame, and I have to take points off for that, but the 'Que was lean and vinegary-hot, as it should be. It didn't top my brother's barbeque, but then, when he cooks a hog, it's a work of art. And a hell of a party, to boot. But I digress... I love the old churches and houses that still cling to the roadside down east. I'm intrigued by the cemetery that lies beyond that fence. The economy isn't as brisk out here, away from the Research Triangle, and it shows. But on the plus side, the wonderful old buildings haven't all been razed to make room for yet another subdivision or strip mall. The raping of Wake County by carpetbagger developers is a source of great distress to me. It was a beautiful place, once. This old house isn't long for this world, I fear, but it has a wonderful spookiness to it. I could easily imagine it as a sentient creature, peering at us from its empty-eyed windows. It's places like this that make me want to stop the car and get out to take a ton of pictures. That would mean we would never get to the beach, so I had to settle for this shot. There have been wildfires burning down east lately, affecting the air quality as far west as Greensboro. I don't know if this was part of the actual wildfires that are plaguing Washington County, but it's the right area. Creepy, isn't it? I saw houses bordering on woods that had dug trenches along the edge of the trees; a precautionary measure, perhaps? At last we reached the beach! The traffic during the week of the Fourth of July is ungodly - it took us over an hour to go 20 miles up the beach - a serious detriment to going during this time of year, and a powerful inducement to go in September, when the crowds are thinner.
The guys couldn't wait to hit the beach in their new swimwear (the old suits were getting a bit indecent). The Bohemian poses for me - isn't he the quintessential surfer dude here? They discovered some boogie boards in the closet and had tons of fun riding the waves. The ocean was quite calm, which isn't always a given this far out into the Atlantic. I think the Gulf stream might have been the predominant current, as opposed to the colder and rougher Labrador that also lies offshore here and vies with the Gulf. We sure saw a lot of seaweed and jellyfish!
We took walks in the morning along the tidal pools, looking for interesting shells and sea life. The Bohemian attempts rather futilely to keep his shorts dry. It seems weird to me too - he usually is drenched from just playing in the creek, so why worry about it now? Kids...psshhh! One morning we found a hermit crab in one of the tidal pools, and the Bohemian was pretty excited about it. I'm not big on catching and keeping wild creatures - I think it's a selfish and ecologically irresponsible lesson to teach. So we looked at the crab, took his picture, and let him go. Isn't he cute? Can you see us reflected in the crab's shell? Very cool and totally unplanned! As a career vampire, I normally don't rise at dawn, but it's usually worth it at the beach. I got up one morning and found the wild horses right outside the house. The story on these horses is that they're the descendants of horses left here by Sir Richard de Grenville in the 1580s. I think the original Arabian genes have gotten a bit diluted over the centuries, but they're still a big tourist draw. People come up the beach in droves of tour jeeps to get a look at these guys, and I'm always amazed that the horses don't kick or bite anyone - you should see the amusement park-bred idiots that think they should put their toddler, or their pregnant wife right next to one of these for a photo-op. The literature on the horses specifically says you should keep a distance of at least 25 feet from them - guess some folks either can't read, or just think it doesn't apply to them. I worry that if and when a horse bites one of them, the poor horse will be held accountable. This stallion on the left was quite the alpha male. He actually came after us one morning, as we were trying to get back the house from a walk on the beach. I advised the hubman to "walk quickly, but don't run, and don't make eye contact", which worked, but man! I can't believe anyone would want to get up close with this guy, other than his baby, and his baby's mama, seen at the right. Cheddar and Stilton enjoyed the fresh air and practiced their samurai sword techniques every morning. (I know - what????) They may look cute and cuddly, but they are in fact, deadly foes. The sunrises were awesome! I'm always amazed when I take pictures like this. Have I mentioned lately that I love my camera?
I love the bird balanced on the back of this horse (yes, that's the bad-ass stallion he's sitting on - go figure!). He sat up there to escape being harassed by a flock of black-colored birds (I couldn't tell what they were). He's some kind of fishing bird - look at that beak and those feet! Of course I had to have a red drink, in honor of Bea. The briny-ness of using Clamato instead of tomato or V-8 is especially yummy at the beach.
Looking at the world with an artist's eye reveals wonderful surprises in the mundane. I love the patterns made by the fence, the grass, and the sun upon them both.
It tickled me no end that this horse was up on the dunes one afternoon, watching the people. The people on the beach never noticed her there.
We had a birthday while we were at the beach - my sister's French exchange student turned 16, and my mother made her famous Million Layer Chocolate cake for him. I call this "Two Jewish Mothers Light The Cake" - aren't they the epitome of motherly? I'm afraid that poor guy will never be the same after spending a week with this gang - my father only speaks the International Language of Obscenities, and my mother; well, let's just say she has a certain je ne sais quoi. No, really, I don't know what it is. I love her dearly, but I need an aspirin - are you with me now?
So we survived the week at the beach, more or less. The scenery was beautiful, but the people were everywhere. I did manage to not get sunburned, which is a vast relief to those who have to live with me, and now my sister and I know exactly what we've been missing, don't we baby? Next time, we will be like the little rabbit, and RUN!!

I'm gone! I am on vacation you guys!

I left for PA on Saturday, and in the spirit of my trip, kind of like you're along for the ride, I've posted some of the stories I've collected from being up here. For my dad, a trip up here always means he's close in his thoughts to his grandfather, a man he idolized. The stories don't actually reveal a hero, per se. In fact, my great grandfather was a man of rough nature, raised in a rough place, but he was particularly charismatic. It's probably what kept my great grandmother from killing him. We call it the "smart-ass gene" nowadays, and its a gene that is alive and well in several branches (what up my cuzzin?). So with no further ado, I present to you:

Jacob Toy

Born 1882 in Venango Co. PA, he was the son of William Toy and Rachel Klotz.. He died in February of 1970. He was married October 12, 1904 in Oil City, PA to Minnie Belle Gahring (1888-1962), the daughter of Ross Gahring (b. 1861 – d. 1914) and Martha Ross (b. March 29, 1857 – d. March 1932). The Gahring family is listed as the next door neighbors to Jacob Toy Sr. in the census records of 1900. At the age of 54, Jake's father, William fell from an oil derrick he was repairing and died later that day.

Min was a school teacher in Kaneville as a young woman, and Jake, her future husband, was once one of her students. She is remembered by her grandchildren and her daughter-in-law, Ruth, as a sour and sometimes unhappy woman, who nonetheless, was somehow also the first to pack a picnic and take the family for an outing. She loved to drive, and did all the driving in the family, taking Jake to and from work. She is also described as a “wonderful grandmother”, who wanted her family, and extended family as close to her as possible. She could be verbally intimidating and was known to hold a grudge. She died in 1962 from an abdominal aortic aneurysm (AAA) in her sleep. I never knew her, but my sister adored her, and I believe, hung the moon for my great grandmother as well. It's her house that is the Grandma's House of my memories, and maybe she was still there, somehow, imparting her love to us all. Maybe that was part of why it's so hard to let go of that house. Whenever I hear trains in the night, coming through town, it takes me back to that place.

Jake was listed as a driller in the Oil City directory of 1925. He also shot wells on more than one occasion, once in particular, when he took his grandson, my dad, with him to “shoot a well”. It's a process involving slowly lowering nitroglycerin down into an oil well shaft, dropping a “torpedo”, of metal down the shaft, and then, in the interest of living, “running like hell”. Whenever he brought a well in, he would drink a shot of the raw crude. It was believed then that crude was a tonic.

My father and his sister recall going to the movies with their grandfather and watching him physically move along with the action of the film, usually westerns. He once split his lip on the seat in front of him, shadow boxing.

He is remembered as a generally genial, sometimes liquored up and feisty man, whose energy and sense of humor seemed boundless. On one occasion, he bought a new outfit for hunting, but instead of going hunting, he spent the day at the bar. Returning home that evening, he was considerably impaired, but quite jovial, leaning against the large tree in the front yard, and amusing everyone present with his antics and jokes concerning his pissed condition. When Min appeared she began to rail at him for drinking. Jake became enraged and had to be held down by his son, Bruce and his son-in-law, “Pat”, although I don’t doubt that Min could have held her own. He liked to tell a story and act all bad ass, but she was a tougher cookie than him. Because of Jake’s penchant to drink away his paycheck, Min made a deal with the bartender to allow Jake to have one drink and then to keep the rest of his paycheck until she could come and get it.

Into middle age, when repairing the roof with his son-in-law, “Pat”, on one occasion, Jake was cautioned to be careful while standing up, or else he might fall, whereupon he stood up and danced a jig upon the rooftop.

Even as an old man Jake was known to be rowdy. Once, he and a much larger man got into a fight, no doubt, after tossing back a few drinks. The larger man threw Jake down repeatedly, but Jake refused to be beat, and kept getting back up. When the larger man finally tired out, Jake, who had never seemed to get tired, finished the fight, or in my father's words, "beat the shit out of him." Once, he made a crack in a bar at a lady and my father had to intercede to keep the husband from punching him. He was 70 at the time.

He died at the age of 88, in a nursing home, which haunts my father to this day. We don't go see his headstone much, when we're there. I think that's too real, too hard for my dad. He prefers to walk the streets of his childhood home and carry his grandfather with him. The giant old rig up at Drake's Well evokes such vivid memories for him, that sometimes we have to leave him there for a time, alone, but not really.

Birthday Bash

It was the Bohemian's ninth birthday yesterday. We decided, since it was also the last day of school, a legendary day of rejoicing for children everywhere, that it would be fun to meet up with his fairy godmothers,Ms. Q and Bea, for a little dinner out on the town. We went to a Japanese steak house in Raleigh that's been there for at least 30 years, and a guilty pleasure for me. My frequent dinner partner, Bea, likes to eat a little more haute cuisine, and I'm usually just jazzed to be out of the house.

But we thought it might be fun for the boys to have the grilled up in flames experience. They've gotten to a place where they can appreciate at least trying new things, even if they don't always like them. I can live with that.

Isn't he droll?

You really have to give it to them - they know how to put on a show! These guys couldn't take their eyes off the chef, who was, surprisingly, a slender woman with Fabulous! nails, and a voice as deep as Harvey Fierstein. She cracked jokes and scared the piddle out of the Bohemian with a fake ketchup bottle she squirted him with. We loved it!

Mesmerized

There was a couple who sat with us, who were very nice, and a lot of fun. The gentlemen caught three pieces of chicken in his mouth that the chef threw him, and we all applauded each time.

Volcano of onions, with a side of tempura

The guys ordered green tea, and actually enjoyed it! The tempura was a big hit, but that was no big surprise. The hub and I split a beer - I know - serious party animals, eh?

She was a blur

Who can resist the smell of sizzling onions, shrimp, zucchini and mushrooms, combined with sesame seeds, soy sauce, and oil? While we waited, I did my not-so-famous Fan Dance; a variation on an Isadora Duncan choreography. Are you buying this? Do you know me?

I call it "Butterfly and Boobs"

This lovely pair of little Japanese ladies were very shy of my camera

I think this was supposed to be the birthday boy - and then we eat him! Yeah, the Bohemian was a little weirded out by that too. But he loved it when all the waiters and waitresses came and sang a song in Japanese. I think it was a birthday song, but I couldn't swear to it. It really was a fun way to have dinner out with a couple of kids, and the big kids didn't mind too much, did they Bea? After dinner we went and saw "Kung Fu Panda", which was wonderful. The story was engaging and funny, and the casting well matched. It had seamless animation and the texture and ambience of it's style was very reminiscent of Japan. We laughed our heads off and loved the whole big screen experience of being sucked into another world.

All in all, a great birthday!

Digging In The Dirt

I am no stranger to depression - it's been my companion for far too many years. I recognize the symptoms as expertly as I would the symptoms of the flu or any other illness. It comes from years of living intimately with it. I've examined my personal causes, or triggers minutely, made a science of pinpointing the underlying reasons and how to exorcise them.

As a child, when the fighting between my parents would crescendo, or they had just vented their rage at each other on one of us, I would slip away from the house and look up at the night sky, praying for my real family to come and take me away.

In the teen years, unable to pretend I belonged somewhere else, I thought about suicide almost constantly. I wore black from the age of 12 onward, and sat in my room in the dark, writing very morose, very bad poetry. I stole prescription drugs from the medicine cabinet of my friend's mother and stockpiled them for my planned overdose. My parents would occasionally take their heads out of their self-absorbed asses to notice and their loving response was always, "Do we need to take you to see someone?" Not that they ever followed through - not that I would have talked to a shrink if they had. When you grow up in the house of a shrink and see just how batsa they are after hours, it makes it pretty much impossible to trust any of them.

I was actually lucky, in that I had brothers and a sister. I think we decided fairly early on that our parents were totally fucked up in the head and couldn't be relied on. No matter how bad it was, we had each other. My father likes to think he had a hand in making us such a close family, and he's right, but he's also way off base. He was never home, except on the weekends. My mother couldn't deal with four kids alone and saved both our punishments and her resentments for Friday night, and that's how she lost her authority as a parent. Their need to publicly vilify one another led us to form our own family dynamic - one that didn't include them.

As a young woman I tended towards relationships where I put my entire life's happiness into the keeping of another, and naturally, they always seemed to end badly. Then I would plummet into a pit of darkest, most desperate despair, only surfacing to pin my self worth on another poor unsuspecting schmuck.

I was about 24 when I had the epiphany that I was living my life like it was a Greek tragedy, and decided I was really tired of it. It was time to try living life like it was worth it. That was the year I met both Bea and my husband and you know how those stories went.

That's not to say I don't ever end up in that dank, windowless cell known as depression - I certainly do. The toddler years were hell, and there were times I literally hit my head against the wall, trying to deal. But I look at it differently now. I know there's a sunny day outside of that cell. I also know I'm not the only one who ever feels that way, and strange as it may sound, I find that comforting. It took some work to get to this place, in the form of confronting my demons, both personal and familial, but the dark days are fewer and further than they used to be.

How can we appreciate the exquisite joy of being alive, if we've never seen the other darker side as well? Life is a balance of both good and bad, I believe, and in the quest to find wisdom, or grace, or deeper illumination, we have to be able to embrace both sides.

*Note - I wrote this piece after reading of Ray's demise into the dark tunnel over at Nitro Vista. This isn't a solution to anyone else's depression - it isn't even a full confession of the things that set me off. This is simply what came up out of the bubbling swamp that is my mind after reading his post. I also want to say that as an adult I recognize there are no perfect parents and whatever botching of the job my parents may have done, they did their best with what they were given. Family dynamics and dysfunctions often go back many generations, and for what its worth, my parents did break out of their respective molds in many ways.

Crazy-assed, Cyclical Whirlings of My Brain

How can I feel so blah, so (dare I say it?) depressed?

Spring is here - school is almost over - family life has been on a fairly even keel for a while now - I even have a Girls' Weekend coming up.

What the hell is my problem?

I think I worry too much (Oh, and thanks for that legacy, Dad!)We've planned a few vacations for the summer, and the planning of them makes me anxious.

*Note - Please don't offer me platitudes - I'm a Solution Person - I always find a way to fix the situation, but sometimes it has to stew first.

The first vacation - a trip up to PA has actually been resolved, so I can stop worrying about it. The whole not having a reservation and/or a paper trail to show for our down payment was making me squirrelly, but the renters have finally gotten their fecal matter together and now I can just obsess on what to pack.

Again - don't try to make me feel better - have you read the title of this blog recently? That would be me, the tapdancer. Its all part of my stage act, see?

The second vacation - OY! Let's just say that my mother is the one who thinks she planning that trip, and that should sum it up. I love her - I really do - but she can't plan for shit, child, and god help the fool who tries to tell her that. No, no - "these things must be done delicately". The plus side of this trip is that my sister is also going on it, so together we can handle her, I'm sure. We were talking about it the other day and we confessed to each other our sense of dread, our secret thoughts of "is it too late to cancel?", which strangely, made me feel better. I think its just a knee jerk reaction to taking a trip with Mom-zilla, but we are mighty in our solidarity, right? Right?

See, now would be a good time for the soothing platitude! Oh, wait, I said not to, didn't I?

The third vacation is my very own fault and I can't blame anyone else for the insanity of it. I'm supposed to take a trip up to NY with my mom later this summer. I signed up for it in a moment of weakness (I think a shipment of NY rye bread was involved), and as much as I have tried to find ways to weasel out of it, I think I'm going to have to do it. I have a sneaking suspicion that all is not well with my mother. She won't tell us anything, she won't go see a doctor for any of the myriad issues she's been having, and she's taken up smoking again with a vengeance. Maybe I'm just over the top paranoid - I would really like for it to be just that - but I have this terrible feeling there's something wrong. So maybe this trip up to NY has to be this year - maybe there won't be another chance to have a quality moment with my mother. Maybe its all in my head and she'll be here for another 20 years, driving us all to the brink of insanity. Either way, I think this is one of those Carpe Diem things I have to do, so that when I'm standing by her deathbed I can say goodbye with as little conflict or regret as possible.

Hey! I never said I wasn't toting a dufflebag of batsa! I freely admit my logic may not hold up under another's scrutiny, but ultimately, we have to do what we think is the right thing, don't we?

And really, once I stop to think about it - life IS good!

Bea's Surprise Birthday Party

Let's start with a bit of back history. Last year, when Bea turned 40, I proposed throwing a party for her. She was having a bit of a bumpy adjustment with the whole Four-Ought thing and completely refused the notion outright. But this year, when I asked her what she wanted to do, she said, "I don't care - do whatever you want. All bets are off."

Oh, Hot Damn! I'm throwing a party!

So two weeks before, I called everyone up, and got the ball rolling. Everything was coming together, but as of last Thursday, I still had no idea how we were going to pull off the surprise factor. It was decided that on Saturday, my dad and my hubby would take the D.R. Field and assorted yard tools over to Bea's house to help get her yard tamed and ready for spring. Of course she had to be there to supervise. Okay, so she's busy all day, while we set up, but how to stage the surprise? I decided to tell Bea that Ms. Q. was coming out on Saturday, to take us all out for a birthday dinner somewhere nice, so Bea would be sure to change from her yardwork attire. Then I told her that Ms. Q. had this huge present for her that she didn't want her to see right off, so could she wear a blindfold down to my house? "What the fuck?" Bea asked, and I laughed on cue. "Well, you know how Ms. Q. likes to make a big statement on birthdays! Just go with it." I advised gleefully.

So on Saturday, in spite of all the Murphy's Law kind of mishaps that occur, like the canopy of the tent coming up missing, and the impending thunderstorm on the way, we got everything ready. The hub-man, nattily done up for the bogus dinner out, went to fetch the birthday girl, while the rest of us got our party on and tried to pipe down.

Here Bea arrives at the party in her stylish blindfold, escorted by the aforementioned hub-man.

"You're taking my picture blindfolded?" Bea gasped between giggles. Hub-man couldn't be reached for comment; he was laughing too hard.
We walked her down the driveway, cracking jokes loudly, to cover any crowd sounds. When we took the blindfold off, she was, at first, shocked to see all of us there.
Then the coup addition of my sister, from The Fairies Nest caught her attention. "What are you doing here?!" Bea was a bit overwhelmed. Her hands were shaking. She needed a special birthday beverage...STAT.
It was really a lot of fun to scare the hell out of her. See us all laughing at her near heart attack?
Everyone brought parts of the spread and we ate so much of the appetizers we could barely think of grilling make-your-own quesadillas. Here your hostess and tour guide refurbishes the cracker basket. The homemade hummus, egg salad, guacamole, salsa, cheesy chicken balls (I just like calling them that!), and 7 layer dip, accompanied the veggie platter, cheese tray, and assorted crackers and chips quite well. I feel stuffed all over again, just naming everything! (Note the small roman in the foreground - does that boy know how to accessorize or what?)
Mmmm! Those chips sure are tasty! Bea chats with Sis (Who really was happy, I don't know why she's frowning here; the administration would like to apologize for any unintended inferences or misrepresentations of her as anything but a lovely and happy, HAPPY individual.)as she works on another round of drinks.
Bea smiles for the camera (that's how I know the drinks are kicking in - she would have ducked if she was sober!) from across the pavilion. No party games were planned, but the balloons lent themselves to a bit of frolicking. (Note both Ms. Q. and my sister-in-love are in the background here.)
You will notice that the pictures are becoming blurrier as the day goes on. I would LIKE to blame the darkening sky and looming thunderstorm, but the truth is, I can't stand still for shit after a few drinkey-winkeys. Really a shame, because all the action shots of the balloon frivolities are too grainy and blurry to do justice to anything but the fact that we were hammered.And the pictures of the awesome cake made by my mom for the occasion? Well, I kind of forgot to take pictures of it, the whole drinking thing coming into play again. But it was FABULOUS - six layer chocolate cake with coffee cream and chocolate frosting. Its the kind of cake you feel compelled to eat until its gone, regardless of how ill you might feel afterwards. Needless to say, I'm going to be fasting for a portion of this week, having eaten way too much on Saturday.

Happy Birthday Bea! Hope you enjoyed your big family party!

Bea's Birthday Beverage

Yes, it has been a while since I've been in here. It was really crazy-busy last week in Real Time. ('member? That place you wake up in every day, and have to attend to the washing of clothes, dishes, bodies, etc? Is it coming back to you now? Okayy then!) There was the day trip to the coast to take assorted cats to the vet, mid week, and for the past two weeks, I've been planning and executing Bea's Surprise Birthday Party. Since she is usually on the front line of my nervous breakdowns, its been close to excruciating planning this party, and not being able to vent or spitball, or nuthin'. At one point I just went all Monty Python on her; "Burma!" I shouted out, inexplicably. At her raised eyebrow, I explained, "I just felt like saying it."

But it went off wonderfully. Somehow.

The big hit was our new beverage, Raspberry Lemonade, which slides down so easily, you don't even realize you've drank half of a fifth of vodka, until its too late. Even our loyal constituent of beer drinkers tried a few of these and declared, "M R Good!"

Want to know how they were made?
I knew you would!You will need:
1 package of frozen raspberries, thawed. Puree in the blender until smooth, strain through a sieve and add just enough water to make it pourable.
All natural lemonade. You can make your own, if you want, but I bought Simply Lemonade, because its straight lemonade and no extra crap.
A nice bottle of vodka.

In a pitcher, filled to just under halfway with ice, add vodka to about the 1/4 level.
Add about 1/2 cup of raspberry puree and swirl together until they are mixed, more or less.
Fill the pitcher with lemonade and stir to combine.
In a tall glass, squeeze two round lemon slices and drop the slices in the glass.
Fill to the top with the Raspberry Lemonade. Garnish with a bendy straw.
Suck down quickly and repeat as necessary.

More to come, once everyone signs their release waivers.

Blog Interrupted

Its been a little over four months since I began this blog, in the hopes it would spark some creativity and help me hone my writing. I have to say, that for the most part, it has been more stifling to my creativity than nurturing. I find myself not saying what I want to say, because I might not get the all-important traffic, and that bothers me. I also find it keeps me from getting to the easel as often, and that is a really bad thing, in my opinion, as I don't need any extra reasons to procrastinate.

I look around the blogosphere and see a vast range of quality in the blogs I have come across. It isn't for me to criticize what makes someone else happy or fufilled, but I wonder sometimes at the wisdom of offering up one's life to such an inconsistent yardstick for measurement. According to the blog-ruler, I don't measure up at all, which actually is somewhat comforting, but the question remains: To blog or not to blog. To get caught up in the artificial popularity contest that appears to be the impetus to having a sucessful blog, or to simply step away from it and get back to real life.

I've read blog after blog wherein the writers confess to us that they cannot control their children, cannot relate to their husband, cannot feel in synch with their life, and it occurs to me that there is a giant elephant in the blogosphere no one wants to address, and that is the addictive potential of computers and the internet. Of course no one in blogland is going to go unplugged, and their kids are going to be plugged in as well (I believe that's called enablement), and if anyone dares to raise the questions of "how soon should a child be plugged in", or "how much is too much" they're going to receive a raft of ugly verbage. It does seem to me that a disproportionate number of bloggers have kids with ADHD or autistic-related issues, and rarely do I read about these parents considering the benefit of making lifestyle changes, like unplugging those kids from TV and computers, or giving up junk food, or setting a bedtime and sticking with it; all of which could reap just as much benefit as slapping them on a drug, just so Mom can get back to her virtual world.

Ugly words? Only if you're in denial. What is ugly about wanting parents to grow up and take on the job they said they wanted? Parenting is a full-time job, so if you're only doing it part-time, who's picking up the slack for you? If what you're doing isn't working, shouldn't you WANT to try something new? Does anyone really appreciate a martyr who isn't ever pro-active about making change/making things happen?

These are some of the questions that come to my mind, as I surf the blogosphere, and ask myself, "why am I here?" If I am here to speak my mind, and not pander to some sorority for acceptance, then I have to say what I think; not what I think you might want to hear.