Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Making It Right

I had some bad news while out for dinner with my family for our Christmas Eve tradition. My uncle called me to let me know that his girlfriend, who he lived with in Wisconsin, had died last Friday. My heart just sank for what he must be going through.

I didn't know Phyllis, but had spoken to her on the phone when I would call for Uncle Jerry and he wasn't there. She knew she was dying, and he had wanted to go back home, but wouldn't leave while she was like this. I understood, and also understand the pain he is going through now. No one should lose someone they care about during the holidays. But we can't always choose who we will lose, at what time and in what way. In a strange way, I feel like this was Phyllis' way of making things right so he could go home, like he wanted to. She had said many times that she wanted him to divorce my aunt and marry her instead. I knew before he ever told me, that that would never happen. I think Phyllis knew it too. No matter what happened over the years, my aunt and uncle would remain married. And so it is. There are a lot of people who wouldn't necessarily agree with the way my uncle has lived his life and the things he's done, but I chose a long time ago not to judge him. My own life has not been lily-white, and I have no room to judge others. Instead, I chose to accept him and his new life, even if it was flawed, as we all are. We have always been able to talk to each other... always close. My decision not to condemn him made us closer. I'm glad. No one should judge anyone else too harshly. After all, are YOU perfect? Thought not.

This brought something to mind that happened earlier this year. Whenever I am in Chicago, I try to spend some time with family, and my Aunt Marge had come in for this funeral. I hadn't seen her in 40 years, since I was a young teen. We were visiting at the home of my sister, "Little Miss Greed", when she said something to my Aunt Marge that horrified me. She was talking about Busia, my grandmother, and said that Busia "was a horrible person". I was stunned. How could she say such a thing? Whatever Busia was to anyone else, she was a good grandmother to ME. She came through time and again for me.

I remember one Christmas when I was young and we lived at the house on Oglesby. I asked Santa for a Barbie doll. Barbie was new at the time, and I wanted one so badly. Santa brought me a doll, but it wasn't a Barbie. It was a "Barbette". I was crushed. It may not have mattered to my mother (who bought this doll) whether it was a name-brand doll but it mattered to ME. But it might not have mattered at ALL if I were able to use regular Barbie clothes for the Barbette. The whole idea was to be able to dress up the doll. The thing was, Barbette was larger than Barbie, and so I couldn't use them. I had a doll that I would never be able to dress up. I don't know if I told her, or if someone else did, but that's when Busia went into action.

Despite losing the thumb on her right hand (an accident with a drill-press machine at work), Busia went to work and sewed clothes for my Barbette. There were suits, dresses, blouses and pants. I remember looking at them in amazement. She put snaps on them... teeny, tiny snaps... and even put snaps at the cuffs of sleeves so they wouldn't hang ridiculously. She made small collars, and crocheted sweaters and ponchos for the doll. Barbette was the most fashionable doll around. Busia loved me enough to do this for me... to make hordes of clothes for my doll so her granddaughter wouldn't be disappointed. She made it RIGHT for me.

A horrible person? Your premise is incorrect.

Merry Christmas and Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Open Season on Rocky

I'm gonna kill me some dog. Yes I am. The next time Rocky tears up one of my Christmas angels or starts playing with the toilet paper. Rocky is our 6 month old rompin' stompin' bundle of dynamite. Everything is fair game to her and now she's started to teach Tucker some bad habits.

When the two of them get together, nothing is off-limits. And I caught them. Today. Rocky had the ribbon from one of my angels and Tucker had the angel itself, wedged between his front paws, and he was gently gnawing at the angel's clothing. The head was already long gone. This was not the first casualty this holiday season, nor do I expect it to be the last. The first poor soul lost was another angel. Then came a tapestry ball. Yarn. Oh, and the pedal kit for my sewing machine. What, is it open season on everything in the house? No, it's gonna be open season on dogs. I'm gonna kill me some dog. Yes I am.

Rocky has been a royal pain ever since she wandered, unbidden, into our lives last June. She has torn up just about everything, and uses the furniture as chew toys. And now that she is teaching Tucker to do the same thing (and he thinks it's just fine, thank you very much), it's time to think about what kind of restraints can be used. We have already employed the child gate at the door to our study, so that our computers are safe. It's only a matter of time before she figures out that she could probably climb over the gate by putting her front paws on the crossbar and then heaving herself over. If my computer ends up on the floor or with toothmarks on the mouse, I'm gonna kill me some dog. Yes I am.

We have used a muzzle on Rocky. When we weren't looking, she chewed it up. She has torn up my wicker furniture, and destroyed the backyard. I have given her toys that she has my permission to tear up, but does she want to chew on those? Noooooooo! She wants whatever is in the trash, my underwear and whatever candles she can find. She has taken plants apart, broken their clay pots and used them as toothpicks. She terrorizes the cats, the chihuahuas, and takes flying leaps at my ponytail when I'm relaxing or writing. Oh yes, I'm gonna kill me some dog.

Maybe someday she'll grow out of it. Maybe she'll stop chewing on the fence and digging in the yard. Maybe she'll stop hanging on Tucker's collar and stop trying to eat Gidget's tail. Maybe I'll live to see it. Or maybe I'll just kill me some dog.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

The Recliner

I believe that no house is really a home without the obligatory La-Z-Boy recliner in the living room. My own home is no exception. We have had this "country blue" recliner since the Stone Age, and I just don't have the heart to get rid of it. The poor thing has seen better days, and we are in the process of repairing it once again. I tend to think of the recliner as an old friend... and I don't just throw old friends out just because there is a squeak here or there. In this case, it needed a new bolt to keep the left side from sinking backward, and still it needs two extension springs to hold it together. The upholstery is tired and in need of replacing, and the padding on the arms could use a boost. Steve keeps telling me to get rid of it. But I remember a recliner that kept getting fixed, no matter what.

My grandfather (Dzia Dzia) had an old recliner that was covered in a blue/green leather-like fabric and occupied a place of honor in his living room. Although I only saw him sit in that old chair a few times, I remember well that it was HIS chair and we were not allowed to sit in it. So we didn't. We jumped on it, we played on it, we made the leg rest come out over and over. It was a great toy. And as a result of us using it for our own personal jungle gym, it was always broken. Dzia Dzia was always either getting it repaired or fixing it himself. Despite all the repairs, it remained in his home until after he passed away. I loved that old chair. And I loved the "old man" who sat in it. So when I grew up, I knew my own home would have to have a recliner in it.

I remember when I got our recliner for Steve. It was his only gift for Christmas that year, but it was a bargain at $200 at Sam's. It became his favorite place to "watch" a ballgame, and whenever I found his spot next to me in bed vacant in the middle of the night, I would find him in it, snoozing and snoring the night away. I didn't have the heart to disturb him, so would just tuck an afghan around him, and there he would stay until he woke to find all the lights out and me gone to bed.

Over the years, the recliner was shoved to the side and never really used like it was when the boys were young. But with the renewal of our home came a desire to see that chair put into use again. So despite the constant barrage of "let's just get rid of it" comments, the boys and I are doing whatever we can to fix it. So far, the repairs have only cost us $5. I figured that a new recliner costs upward of $400, and it would do my heart good to not have to spend that kind of money, especially around this time of year.

After replacing a bolt that has been long gone, it no longer sags to the left and comes apart in the back like it did before. A few springs ought to tie it all together and make it workable again. If it needs a few nips and tucks along the way, I'm sure we'll do that too. After all, you'd spend time to help an old friend, wouldn't you?

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Gob, Shrimper and Buck, Among Others

In my family, there is a "tradition" of giving the youngsters nicknames. According to my Uncle Jerry it all started with Dzia Dzia. It may have begun before then, but let's just start with what we have.

Dzia Dzia loved to have family around. He was so fond of family that over the years, he gave everyone a name that he would call us by... a nickname. The first came with his oldest son, my father, who he called "Gob". No one seems to know why, but Gob it was. Aunt Shirley was next, who was Dzia Dzia's only daughter, and was called "Shrimper". Then came Uncle Jerry... the youngest of the three, who he called "Buck". I understood "Shrimper" and "Buck", but never understood "Gob". Not very flattering, but it is what it is.

When I was young, I got my own nickname from my beloved grandfather. "Stinky". Ugh... couldn't he think of anything better than "Stinky"? How in the world was I going to justify "Stinky" to a potential boyfriend/husband as I grew to gangly teen? And although I never said anything about it not being the most flattering name for a cutie like me, I grew to like it, because it came only from Dzia Dzia. I remember the last time I heard myself called that. It was the last time I saw Dzia Dzia, about a week before he passed away, when I came to the hospital to visit him. He and I had an understanding about hospitals. They weren't pleasant, and you should have as many visitors as often as possible. So I went. I hated seeing him that way, but I sat there, nonetheless, not knowing what to say or how to say it. I didn't stay long. I saw a tube that Busia was "fiddling" with, and there was blood coming through it. One end of the tube went to a bag. The other end went to Dzia Dzia. I closed my eyes tightly when I saw it. I knew he wasn't going to make it. I got up to leave and all he said was "Oh Stinky..." Thud.

As the years went on, I found myself giving others nicknames, if only for the fact that I could do so. Steve became "Bubba", Jason was "Puddin' Head" and Rhys was "The Rhyster". I don't know if they ever gave me a nickname, but I can just imagine the names they called me under their breath when I was chiding them for one thing or another. Whatever it was, I'm sure it wasn't a term of endearment.

I've given others names over time. I once worked for a man that I called "The Demon Seed". He was horrible, and the name was appropriate. Our first dog, Rebel, I called "Puppy". You'd have to understand how large Rebel was to have an appreciation of the name. Rebel was 72 pounds of coonhound. But he always had the heart of a puppy. Tucker has been "Tucker Bug". Who knows why. But he's been Tucker Bug since day one. Lexie has been "Lexarinapuss". Shelby is "Speed Bump" (she's got a slight weight problem). Samantha is "Sammy Toes". Rocky is "Rockamania" or "Rock Monster". Gizmo is "The Giz" and Gidget is "Gidgy Goo". Ginger was always "Ginger Lee". I said that she was the only cat to have a southern accent, because she would yell "me-OWOW".

My older brother Wayne became "Butch". Other nicknames in my family were "Itsy-Bitsy" AND "Droopy Drawers" for Cheri, "Butterball" for Don, "Red" for Julie, "Peggy" for Peggy (I guess she already had enough baggage with Marjorie Mary for a first name), "Holly Terror" for Holly (in honor of the holy terror she was when she was little), and although I don't remember a name that Joe was called by everyone else, I called him "Giuseppe".

Do I have a favorite? Well... I guess I wouldn't mind being called "Stinky" again.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Chicago - Day Three

Repost from August 7, 2006


Chicago - Day Three and the trip home
Current mood: tired

Where do I start with this... there's so much...

Yesterday (Sunday) wasn't very eventful, which was just fine with me. After the previous two days, I was hurting pretty bad and needed the time to rest.

We did go out for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The lunch was the best part. We went to the world famous Gino's East Pizzaria downtown and had the deep dish pizza that Chicago is famous for. This was always our favorite place to go for pizza, and we haven't been there for quite a few years, because whenever we would go visit my family, it seems that if they get north of Route 30, they get a nosebleed. But I digress... we had an absolutely marvelous time there and decided to take some random pictures around town, including the Bartman ball inside Harry Caray's, Marina Towers, The House of Blues, etc. Hope you enjoy them!

Now... for our trip home...

We had an early pickup at the hotel (5 fucking AM) and got to Midway Airport well before boarding, went through security, and found a place to have breakfast (another Harry Caray's... so sue me!). We knew our new-found friends from the Billy Goat and Parrothead Porkers (Gayle and Tommy Lancaster) were going to be on our flight, so we got a chance to talk a little ahead of time. When we got on board, there were a few problems.

First, it seems that the airline switched planes on us and we went from a 717 to a 737, which for some reason caused a whole lot of double booking. This double booking caused us to remain on the ground for about an hour past our schedule takeoff time. When we FINALLY got in the air, the captain told us that air traffic control routed us about 150 miles out of our way, and this would put us in Atlanta at about 12 noon, which was just 3 minutes from our connection. Well, so much for that, I thought. But as we were taxiing up to the gate, we saw that our connecting plane was still at the gate we had to board at, which was just one gate away. So when all the bozos who were blocking us (on the plane) were taking their sweet time getting their carry-ons, I yelled (I've got a 3 minute connection!!!) and quickly the waves parted. I ran out into the terminal, and heard someone say "Connecting flights"... I yelled out our flight number and was directed to the customer service agent who would help us. He started telling me how we had to wait for the next flight, which was 4 hours away, and we couldn't get on the flight that was still on the ground. SO ran over to the gate and started putting the squeeze on the agent there, which did no good. They had already given our seats away and were not opening that damn door for anything! So... everything has an upside, right? We found the Budweiser bar and spent our little comp tickets on Buds and lunch. We had the most marvelous time swapping stories with the Lancasters, and honestly, I hated that we had end our good time to get on the plane. I thought there would be nothing more to report at that time, but I was wrong!

We were having our usual good time with the people boarding, but then the male flight attendant (Bob) came over to us and asked us if we would mind changing seats with this couple in the very back of the plane because the woman was extremely claustrophobic. Bob told us he would comp our drinks if we would do it. Quickly (like a split second) I said sure... sign me up! Little did I know that I would have the same reaction that woman had... I sat down in the rear of the plane... with a wall to my right (no window), a seat in front of me, SO on my left and a wall to my back, and suddenly I had this overwhelming urge to escape or I would die!!! I told SO to move, and if he hadn't, I was going right OVER him! I'm pretty fearless on most things, but this really got to me. I kept apologizing, saying "I'm sorry, I didn't realize it would affect me like this." Bob asked us if we would like a cocktail... that he appreciated that we tried... but I politely declined and tried to get comfy again. The sight of that closed-in area lingered in my mind, so I tried reading. We weren't off the ground yet... in fact, the flight attendants were still trying to fill 4 seats, including the two we had just vacated. We heard this oriental woman giving Bob a hard time about having to move back to where we were before. Poor Bob... he was being as nice as he could be, but this woman was on stand-by, so she should have just taken what she was given and shut the fuck UP about it. Bob came over to us and said, "I'm about to slap Yoko". We just died laughing and it took all the pressure out of the situation for me.

So we finally took off... and this young woman sitting next to me was reading... and I asked her if she would mind opening the window shade so I could watch the takeoff. Actually, I was still feeling a bit claustrophobic, so I wanted to be able to see out. She quickly opened her shade, but it dropped about 1/3 of the way down. She kept putting it back up and it kept dropping. It really got comical. We were laughing about that too, when I told her that it was okay, as long as I had some light coming in. The plane went through a lot of turbulence coming into Memphis, and I sighed a bit as we came in... Memphis is such a downer after being in such a wonderful place all weekend. Oh well...

Going through the Memphis airport pissed me off... mostly because when we were departing Memphis, security took away my leatherman, which I had forgotten was in my laptop case. When we came back, I went to security and demanded to have it back. I didn't get anywhere with the so-called "supervisor" who just wasn't going to go look for it and would rather sit there and stuff his face. I told him that I would write and letter and that that son of a bitch owed me $50 for a new one. Asswipe...

Our sons came to pick us up at the airport, and we took them out to eat... all three of them... my chosen adopted son, Ron, had been staying at our house all weekend, so we invited him to dinner too. Rhys' 18th birthday was Sunday and the birthday boy always gets to go where he wants to go. He chose Coletta's, so we had pizza again... I had to get to Wild Oats before going home so we'd have food for the morning. Now we're doing laundry and settling back in.

Work tomorrow... and I'm so tired...



Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Chicago - Day Two

Repost from August 05, 2006


Chicago - Day Two



Another eventful day! After a great breakfast at Houlihan's, we
decided to go down to Navy Pier and go on a cruise on one of the
tall ships that are in harbor this week. This is something that
I've always wanted to do, and I have also never been on Lake
Michigan, which, for a native of Chicago that loves the water,
is quite unusual.

So after some trial and error, we finally found where we were to get
the tickets for the cruise. The problem was that we had to wait our
turn... which was another 3 hours! So we decided to see what we
could on Navy Pier. We came across a stained glass exhibit, which
featured astounding pieces of German stained glass, which had mostly
been used in churches in the Chicago area which were no longer in
existence. I have included some pictures below.
I hope you can see them.

When it came our turn to sail, we boarded the Windy II, which was
the larger of the two sailing ships. My SO was all OVER that ship...
trying to get me to come to the other end... which didn't work!
I'm not very sure-footed on water, and since I was already exhausted,
I opted to stay where I was, and met a very nice couple from
Montgomery, Illinois... on the northwest side of Chicago. We took
their pictures; they took ours. We exchanged life histories and
vowed to get in touch and send pictures their way.

Anyway... sailing on...

We were on board for about an hour and 45 minutes. The cruise itself
lasted an hour and a half, and was the most relaxing part of this trip
yet. Away from the city's heat, I was finally able to cool off...
with the spray from the Windy II cooling me down. The crew
"volunteered" some of us to hoist sails and tighten the ropes. The kids
on board had a ball with that! Along the way, we met up with the
Windy I and exchanged some staged cannonfire. Again, the kids on
board were the ones to help out with that chore, and we turned back
toward land when we were certain that all low-down no good yellow-
bellied egg-suckin' scalawags were properly put back in their place in
the pecking order. My SO took over the ship at one point, and I was
certain that I was going to have to enlist the rest of the people on
board to mutiny so we would have a safe return. That turned out to be
an unneeded precaution, as the captain soon took the reins once
again and ably guided us back to dock.

After our wonderful experience aboard the Windy II, we (read that I)
decided that I was not going to leave Navy Pier without riding the
giant ferris wheel. After all, this is a trip for making some long-
held dreams come true. So up on the ferris wheel we went, which went
around so slowly that you really didn't know you were moving. And for
someone like me who really isn't fond of heights, that was perfectly
fine.

We ended the day back at the hotel, with the lights of the city coming
up for the nighttime bustle. Day is done...




Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Chicago - Day One

This is a repost from August 4, 2006.



Chicago - Day One

So here I am... in the most beautiful city in the world... Chicago. My SO won tickets from 93X to go to Lalapalooza, and we were whisked on a plane and down to the House of Blues Hotel. After getting settled in, we decided to take a walk and see what we would find.

The first thing we found was Harry Caray's Restaurant, which I have always wanted to go to, being the Chicago baseball fan that I am. We had a marvelous lunch... everything was simply perfect. And when we were done, we looked at all the memorabilia in the place. Harry certainly had a long career, and was well loved! One of the items of note in the restaurant was a shattered baseball, touted as the Bartman Baseball. This ball was intentionally shattered, as it was the ball that a fan (Steve Bartman) grabbed out of the hands of Moises Alou, during a game that would have brought the Cubs to the World Series in 2003. That catch would have been the last out of the game. Everything went downhill from there. By the end of the inning, the Florida Marlins had put 8 runs on the board, forcing Game 7. The poor schmuck had to be escorted from the stadium by 3 security officers when fans started chanting "ass-HOLE, ass-HOLE" and pelting him with cups. Ah yes, only in Chicago. The ball was bought at auction by the managing partner of the Harry Caray restaurants with the intent purpose of destroying it. And what did he pay for this honor? A whopping $106,600!!! Ugh... makes me sick to think about it, but hey... REVERSE THE CURSE!!! (We'll come back to this later.)

After lunch, we decided to stroll around downtown and take some pictures of the wonderful architecture that engulfs the city that I call home. I stood at the exact spot where Fort Dearborn once stood, at the Chicago River. I felt a little like Mary Tyler Moore at the beginning of The Mary Tyler Moore Show, wanting to throw my hands open wide, twirl around, and throw my hat in the air. I'm HOME!!! Downtown Chicago has always been my home, even though I grew up in the suburbs. It was in downtown Chicago that I had my first real taste of independence, and it was here that I felt I had a real life. Ah yessssssssss... to be young again and have all that ahead of me yet.

So back to my story about the curse...

We decided to find the world famous Billy Goat Tavern, which I had never been to. (The world MUST be coming to an end, because I'm getting to do things I've always wanted to do, and some of my deepest wishes are coming true.) Anyway... the Billy Goat Tavern was made famous by John Belushi and Bill Murray on Saturday Night Live, as the home of the "Cheezborger Cheezborger". We went into this little place, which really isn't any bigger than the Poplar Lounge in Memphis, and were having a great time with the guys who were working that shift, with them teasing us, and we, teasing them right back. We took some pictures and read up a little on the lore associated with the Billy Goat. This is where the curse comes in. As Wikipedia tells it: "The Curse of the Billy Goat, or Billy Goat Curse (curse supposedly began in 1945) is the name of an urban myth, superstition, used to explain the World Series drought that Major League Baseball's Chicago Cubs have had to endure since their last appearance in the 1945 World Series, and their last World Series championship in 1908. The curse is a classic example of a scapegoat.

As the story goes, Vasili "Billy Goat" Sianis, a Greek immigrant who owned a nearby tavern (the now-famous Billy Goat Tavern), had two 7.20 USD box seat tickets to Game 4 of the 1945 World Series between the Chicago Cubs and the Detroit Tigers, and decided to bring his pet goat, Murphy (or Sinovia according to some references), with him. Sianis and the goat were allowed into Wrigley Field and even paraded about on the playing field before the game before ushers intervened. They were led off the field. After a heated argument, both Sianis and the goat were permitted to stay in the stadium occupying the box seat for which he had tickets. However, before the game was over, Sianis and the goat were ejected from the stadium at the command of Cubs owner Philip Knight Wrigley due to the animal's objectionable odor. Sianis was outraged at the ejection and allegedly placed a curse upon the Cubs that they would never win another pennant or play in a World Series at Wrigley Field again and left the States to vacation in his home in Greece.

The Cubs lost Game 4 and eventually the 1945 World Series, prompting Sianis to write to Wrigley from Greece, saying, "Who stinks now?" Following a third-place finish in the National League in 1946, the Cubs would finish in the league's second division for the next 20 consecutive years, this streak finally ending in 1967, the year after Leo Durocher became the club's manager. Since that time, the cursed Cubs have not won a National League pennant or played in a World Series --the longest pennantless drought in Major League history. Sianis died in 1970."

We were having a great time with everything there, when nature called and while in the restroom, I started having a conversation with this lady I recognized from my flight into Chicago. I couldn't believe it when I heard the things she was saying... she is on the PARROTHEAD PORKERS Barbecue Team for Memphis in May!!! And not only that, I've gotten drunk in their booth more than once! We have been invited to the booth several times, by friends of ours, who no longer live in Memphis. Anyway, she told me that the whole group was RIGHT THERE in the Billy Goat!!! They are in town for a Jimmy Buffett concert taking place in Tinley Park tomorrow night. Needless to say, I grabbed my SO and we spent the next 3 hours with some of the most fun people I've ever enjoyed! The stories they told!!! I think it's safe to say that we will be more than welcome in their booth from now on... in fact, we have been invited to their booth at the barbecue fest in Arlington in October.

So... all that said... enjoy the pics we took today!



Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Monday, December 1, 2008

Clear and 2° in Ely, MN

As much as I love Ely, MN, there are times I'm really glad I live in the south.

Take today, for instance. I have been working around the house, getting rooms cleared out, and generally, I leave the windows cracked open to let fresh air mingle with the old oxygen-depleted air typical of the indoors. But this evening I'm cold. And when I say I'm cold, I mean I had to close all the windows... except the one in the powder room, which I keep cracked open almost all the time. But as cold as I have been this evening, it's nothing compared to the bone-cold of the Northwoods.

The weather report for the greater Ely area this evening is clear and 2°. Brrrrrrr! Whenever I think about how I would love to move up to the BWCA, with its crisp, clear water, unpolluted skies and abundant wildlife, I slap myself around and try to remember how cold COLD can be. Since moving to Memphis in 1982, I have had to adjust to milder weather than I was used to, growing up in the Chicago area. I can count on one hand the times we have had temperatures below the freezing mark, and snowfalls of four inches or more are equally as rare.

Usually, one inch of snow in Memphis is enough to close the schools. I guess the school system doesn't want to be responsible for the safety of their students once it starts to snow. But "White Death Panic" is not exclusive to the school system here. Colleges, churches and community activities shut down immediately. Some businesses close, but most have an "inclement weather policy" in which they outline what to do in case of a snow emergency. This policy generally states that although the employer will be open for business, they caution their employees to take care in traveling to work. Nice. Especially since mass pandemonium ensues once the first flake hits the ground. I remember one winter in particular, when we received 8 inches of snow. Weather forecasters went on the air saying "Do I see snow in the forecast? Details at 10." Just the mere mention of snow in the forecast is enough to cause unrest in the city. Grocery stores were emptied of all bread, milk and toilet paper the night before the storm hit. The city shut down for a week.

I guess I should mention here that there is no snow removal equipment in Memphis. Okay, "no snow removal equipment" is not quite accurate. There are four snow plows in the city of Memphis. Got that? FOUR! And what about salt-spreaders? None! They spread "cinders" here. Cinders = ash. Huh? How am I supposed to get around the scores of idiots who, instead of waiting it out a little, immediately take to the roads to get home before they melt if they are not using something that will give a little traction?

Add to that the fact that Memphis winters are not pretty anyway, and you have a place that has milder temperatures, but all in all, is not worth staying in for the winter. Suddenly, clear and 2° isn't sounding so bad.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Shards of Glass, Broken Dreams and Picking Up The Pieces of a Shattered Life

My husband and I were jolted out of our reverie yesterday evening by the news of the death of an acquaintance of ours, a very promising bluesman in Memphis by the name of Corey Osborn. We had seen Corey perform on numerous occasions, had numerous friends in common, and his death came as a shock to us. You see, Corey was only 23. Corey had been driving on an unfinished part of Tennessee Highway 385, and was found dead at the scene. His vehicle had rolled several times before coming to rest in the opposite direction of where he was headed... home from work. He had just called his parents to let them know he was driving home, but never made it. Visitation is tomorrow from 5pm to 7pm. God rest him.

I suppose it was fitting then today, when I did something stupid (like trying to open a window in the office) and knocked over my grandfather's coffee mug and the lamp on my desk. Both were broken in the process. It seemed to be a message for me. I worked feverishly gluing the mug back together, and when completed, it only vaguely resembled the keepsake I remember seeing in my grandfather's hands so many times and that I fought so hard to save. Oh, it still looks like a mug, but it looks like it has been through a war. It will never hold anything in it again, but will remain dear to me nonetheless and will be up safely out of reach on a shelf, in a place of honor.

Looking at the mug made me think of the hearts of Cory's parents, Scott and Lisa Osborn, shattered beyond belief, and never again to be the same. They too are battered and broken, and will gradually glue their hearts back together, but they will keep their memories of their beloved son safely tucked inside, and will somehow find the strength to hold together.

It also made me think of my own family... that of my brothers and sisters and my parents, my grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins that, in all likelihood, I will never see again. It's saddening. Somehow you all go on, and forge your own lives after someone disappears from view, but I wonder sometimes if anyone feels the loss of family the way I do. I lost a great portion of my family at a young age, and although I haven't written about it and, won't in a public forum, it still plays an enormous role in my life today.

With the passing of my father last month, it closed a chapter for me. I suppose all the cleaning out of my house has something to do with purging my soul. My husband and sons have told me "you never get rid of anything". I'm doing so now. It's not that I don't love the family I grew up with or cherish some of the things I'm forced to live without... but that's just it... I have to live without. But... age brings maturity (I hope) and with that maturity may come acceptance. I certainly hope so. I'd hate to have to live with shattered hopes and dreams like Corey's parents. We all have to learn to let go.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Secrets Of The Filing Cabinet

There I was... minding my own business... and getting ready to tackle emptying the roll-top desk so it could be moved. I really wasn't ready to go through it just yet. I just know it's going to take either a bulldozer or a blowtorch to get rid of some of the stuff we have in it, so I decided to try something smaller... the oak filing cabinet. In cleaning out the filing cabinet, I found a plethora of old memories, just waiting to be dusted off and tossed out. I cannot believe I kept these things this long... just more testament to the packrat I had become. I decided to start by taking the drawers out. Easy enough, I thought. I'll just have someone with more testosterone than me remove them. Ugh... what a mess. I cringed as I began to go through the accumulated junk. Wait a minute... maybe some of it wasn't junk!

I found the boys' old school records... pictures of them when they were in school... report cards. This is a no-brainer. Keep... keep... keep. Boxes of old Christmas cards that had yet to be used. Okay, I can keep those too. I'll just use them up. Who am I kidding? I hardly ever write Christmas cards because I just never get to it. Last year was the first time in memory that I actually got to the Christmas cards along with the rest of my routine during the holidays. So I kept them. I had an awwww moment when I found a card to the boys in my mother's handwriting. I read it and almost cried. Okay, I'm keeping that too. I found things that were addressed to the boys... a couple of letters from and an article about a monk that I used to go to for counsel and that I insisted Jason go to see when he was going through an angry spell as a youth... schoolwork that Rhys had done when he was very young... a prayer card from my Uncle Dick's funeral. I kept all that. A letter from President George H. W. Bush, addressed to Jason, with 2 photographs and his signature. I insisted that Jason keep that. He wouldn't, so I did.

What I didn't keep amounted to a sizable stack resembling a small mountain. There was a stack of brochures from Vermont. Once upon a time, Steve and I had toyed with the idea of moving there. I think it was around the year 1895. Chunk. Brochures from Gatlinburg. We visited Gatlinburg about 7 years ago and loved it. We always said we were going to go again, but we haven't made it yet. Chunk. Brochures from Seattle. Who am I kidding... with the amount of rain and overcast sky they have, I'll never make it past a week. Chunk.

Then there were items that were from very specific periods in my life. All the cards and letters from Mary Kay Ash, when I was a promising consultant and rising star selling the Mary Kay line of cosmetics. True, Mary Kay is/was a famous lady and did a remarkable thing with her business, but did I really need to keep all of this? Chunk. Pictures from when I WAS this budding consultant... keep. I can't believe I was that young or that thin. An old resume showing me as an administrative assistant long before I took up my screwdriver to become a computer tech. Keep. You never know, I might decide to do that again since I'm making a career change right now. Old "funnies" that used to be circulated around offices before the days of computers. Chunk. An old brochure and a letter from Moats Resort. DEFINITELY keep. A program from the 1999-2000 season of Opera Memphis, my last year as the Wig and Makeup Designer. DEFINITELY chunk. I don't know who most of those people are anymore. And they wrote such nice thank-you cards. All of which I chunked.

Then there were the instruction manuals from appliances I hadn't had since the Ice Age. Oh please, why am I keeping these? Okay, you got me. I was never THAT bad about wanting to keep those. That was Steve's phobia... that we would get rid of an instruction manual we would need. I got rid of most of them. I got the stack down to a respectable pile and put the keepers back in the drawers.

Maybe someday I'll go through it all again and get rid of more. But then again... the roll-top is tomorrow. God help me.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Friday, November 28, 2008

Our First Aquarium

In the process of making our spare room into an office/study, there were some major changes to be made. The walls had to be painted, the carpeting installed, additional internet access obtained, the computer desk and bookshelves moved. As of this morning, all those tasks were accomplished. The biggest move, however, was to come today.

Moving our 55-gallon aquarium from the living room to the office was a major undertaking. The water had to be drained, but a small amount (several gallons) had to be preserved so the ecosystem could be duplicated. The large landscaping stones and driftwood had to be removed, as well as all the plants. When the water level was low enough, I gave Jason the go-ahead to capture the fish and put them in a smaller vessel until everything was in place, the water cured and the temperature an even 80 degrees. Some of the fish didn't want to cooperate, so it became necessary to mound up the pea gravel to cut off an avenue of escape. One of the fish thought he was pretty smart, jumping the levee we had built, but the errant swimmer was finally caught and moved to its temporary home. The behavior of that fish prompted Jason to recall the times when he had found a flopping fish on the floor of the living room and rescued "Flipper" to return him to his aquatic habitat. The very same thing happened to me as a child, when my father brought home our very first aquarium.

It was a 20-gallon aquarium, set up in the basement of our first home in Calumet City, Illinois. It was a brand-new adventure, and as Dad was setting it all up, he was telling me about how important it was not to make sudden changes in water or temperature, and to feed the fish regularly. I don't know whose idea it was to get the aquarium, but I know who had to take care of it... ME! But I loved it. There was a bottom filter, with two tubes, one on each side, and at the top of the tubes were extensions with bits of charcoal. There was a grid-like top to each of the extensions, so air could escape. The air resembled playful bubbles to me! I loved watching them.

Dad wanted real plants in the aquarium, and did all he could to get their roots plants firmly in the gravel. There were also some stowaways that came with the live plants. Snails were a common site, and if you couldn't dispose of them, they would multiply rapidly and eat the plants! My Dad used to take the snails and crush their shells between his fingers and then deposit them back into the tank, where they became free food for the fish. The first time he did that I was horrified! How could he do that, knowing they would be eaten? It was then that I learned the law of nature. The strongest survive. And Dad was always on the side of the fish anyway.

When all was ready, Dad disappeared to the pet store, returning with fish of the most beautiful colors! He explained that in order to reduce the shock to the fish, we had to let the bag float at the top of the aquarium for a half hour, while the water in the bag was allowed to become the same temperature as the water in the tank. I couldn't wait! It was so exciting to see the project come together. The magic moment finally came, and the fish were released into the tank. I sat for hours watching them. (Looking back on this, it wasn't a bad way for my parents to get me to settle down for a while.)

In the mornings, I couldn't wait to get downstairs to the aquarium. It was my job to feed the fish every day, so I would hurry down the stairs and watch them eat. There were quite a few mornings when I found find a half-dried up swordtail on the floor. As I ran crying to tell my father about the fish, he came and put it back in the tank. In a few minutes, the fish came alive and swam away! Of course, putting the fish back in the water didn't always work. Swordtails are notorious jumpers and we didn't have a top to the aquarium, so there were always a few casualties along the way.

This memory surfaced while my family and I were putting our aquarium back together in the office, and I tucked this away in my heart, noting that this was something they would always remember, just as I remember my first "fish tank", and the care of it made my love of the aquatic world grow.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Our Thanksgiving Without A Dishwasher

This morning, we awoke to no power in the house. The situation quickly remedied itself before it affected our traditional holiday meal, but it brought to mind a Thanksgiving about 5 years ago, when clean-up took an unexpected turn.

That Thanksgiving Day had started like any other Thanksgiving Day. I got up early and started preparations. The pies were done the day before, the turkey was stuffed and roasting in the oven, sweet potatoes cooked and candied, and all the other assorted vegetables, rolls and cranberry sauce were prepared, the table set and water glasses filled. We have a tradition of passing a "blessing cup" before the meal, when everyone has a chance to say what they are thankful for that year and takes a sip out of the cup. (I actually remember a year not too long ago when all I was thankful for was that the cooking was over.) We dug into our meal, with all the assorted goodies mounted so high on our plates that one wondered how you were going to eat all that you took. "Take all you want, but eat all you take" is the motto at our Thanksgiving table.

We were enjoying our meal, with several different conversations going on at the same time, and everything went off like clockwork. It was a successful gathering... UNTIL... we tried running the first load of dishes after the meal was over. As the water began draining from the dishwasher, the kitchen sink began filling with the discarded water. Our first clue that something was wrong was when I went into the kitchen to find the floor flooded with the water that had spilled over the edge of the sink. We were able to catch the event before it got too far out of hand, and proceeded to soak up the excess water with any towel at hand while Steve quickly diagnosed the problem as a clogged pipe. Since our children had a habit of shoving everything they could down the garbage disposal, his diagnosis was not far-fetched.

Several attempts at unclogging the pipe were unsuccessful. Usually there are 3 or 4 loads of dishes on Thanksgiving, and our children could not fathom not having a dishwasher or even a sink to do the dishes in. Thinking that there was no way to clean up the kitchen, Jason said "Well I guess dishes will have to wait until tomorrow." HAH! Mom to the rescue!

I quickly had the family take all the dishes out to the backyard, where the washtub lay waiting. Several buckets of hot water were brought out to the washtub by bucket brigade, and the hose was at the ready for rinsing. All of us were out there, washing, rinsing, drying and carrying the dishes back into the house to be put away. In an hour or so, all was under control. All the dishes, pots, pans, silver and glassware were back in their appropriate spots in the house. The boys were astounded, saying "how in the world did you know what to do?"

I just smiled my mother's satisfied smile.

Here's hoping that all your holidays are wonderful, filled with happy memories and your loved ones lift one more glass to remember those who are not able to be with us.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

I Should Have Known Better Than To Turn My Back

It has become my practice, as of late, to take some time away from my computer every evening in order to spend time with my family before everyone settles in for the night. Then I usually come back to the office to write about whatever is on my mind. This is my time for solace, my time to gather my thoughts before moving on to a new and exciting morning. This evening was no different... at least until I returned to my computer.

When I came into the office, my son Jason was in tow, and immediately he began laughing. At first, I didn't see what was so funny. Then I found the source of his amusement. Our cat, Lexie, had decided that my keyboard was a nice, warm place to lie down. I was tempted to laugh as well, but instead, just shooed her off the desk. However, when I turned to look at the screen thinking that everything was just as I had left it, I found I was gravely mistaken. It seems that Lexie decided to try her "hand" at writing. She had synchronized my bookmarks, close several windows and opened others. As I began correcting her "errors", I burst out laughing, realizing that she had tapped on a Notepad window I had open: "xdzuyjhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhqaFGGGGGGGGGGGGVVXCCCCC". What a way to end the night!

Lexie has been a constant source of amusement over the years. She adopted us as her family when I visited the Humane Society one afternoon 10 years ago. We had just been through the euthanasia of our cat of 17 years, Ginger, and we were still side-stepping a cat that wasn't there. Our home was in mourning, and when I first saw Lexie, she was in a cage that was marked with the name "Sprinkle" on it. Lexie is a pure white cat, with large black spots on her head and back, and a small black spot on her nose. (I was tempted to call her "Booger", but wisely chose not to inflict such an awful name on her.) I had wanted to get a younger cat, possibly a kitten. But as I bent down to a lower cage, she grabbed at my hair. I looked up and Lexie turned her head on its side, sticking her paws between the caging, non-verbally saying "play with me". I was sold. A cat this playful had to have a home... OUR home. Ginger was so sick for so long, it would be nice to have a healthy animal in the house. As I was driving home, I called ahead to say "I'm bringing home a surprise", but it turned out that Lexie decided to announce her arrival ahead of time by emitting the loudest "MEOWWWWWWWW" I had ever heard while I was on my cell phone. Needless to say, my cover was blown. There was a cat on the way, and everyone knew it.

Lexie was not what my husband expected. While Ginger was a brown tabby, Lexie was this completely different-looking feline. Steve's response was not what I had expected. "Why did you bring THIS cat home?" My heart sank. I just knew that Lexie was the right medicine for our low spirits. But how to convince him? It turned out I didn't HAVE to convince him. Lexie did it for me. As Steve sat in his favorite chair that evening, he had Lexie on his lap, petting her softly as he did for Ginger so many times. And even though he was still mourning the loss of Ginger, I knew I had done the right thing.

Lexie has been an extraordinary animal and very good company when I needed it. She has always been very playful, but over time we noticed that she never responded to her name. She also didn't respond to sudden loud noises. Sadly, we realized that our sweet baby was deaf. She did, however, respond to some instinctive sounds, like birds, so her deafness was not complete. It was as if a light bulb had gone off in my head. Lexie was so playful BECAUSE she couldn't hear well. It was a blessing in so many ways. She couldn't hear us yell at her when she would knock something off a shelf or climb on the birdcage, so she wouldn't be jaded by our raised voices, but she also couldn't hear a car coming or other dangers. We have had to keep a close eye on open doors, so she wouldn't instinctively run out and get hurt. Most of the time, we don't have to do much more than watch the door. But there have also been times when she would follow us into the backyard, and unless we watched carefully, she was up on a fence post in one graceful leap. She has always moved like a lion, with a full-shoulder gait reminiscent of the king of the jungle, and she pounces without warning, showing herself to be a true hunter.

Lexie... playful companion, aspiring writer, and queen of the jungle.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

My Busia and Dzia Dzia

After hearing from Uncus last night (who was crying like a baby, watching the DVD of old family movies I had sent him), it brought to mind his parents, my grandparents... who we called Busia and Dzia Dzia (Polish for Grandmother and Grandfather).

Busia and Dzia Dzia were the best people I ever knew, and they were responsible for me feeling as good as I did about myself, when there were seven other siblings that demanded my parents' constant attention. They were from old Polish stock, and I was their first granddaughter.

Busia (Sophie) was a crusty woman, but in her younger days, she had dark wavy hair, and was a real knockout. She once showed me a picture of herself when she was 19 years old. If I had dark wavy hair, we could have been twins. The resemblance was uncanny. I was 18 at the time.

Busia was the eldest daughter, and she had a younger sister, Anna. Their parents, Mary and Felix, came straight from the old country, and when they didn't want us (grandchildren) to know what they were talking about, they would speak Polish to Busia. I always wanted to learn Polish just so I could understand what they didn't want us to know. Busia worked hard and played hard. She used to work on an assembly line in her younger days, and lost a thumb when her hand caught in the conveyor.

When other people would say that they wouldn't know how to exist without their thumb, Busia was busily sewing doll clothes for my Barbie. She would still do all the things that life required of her, including cooking, cleaning house, making clothes, crocheting and fishing. She was one of the best fishermen I had ever known, overshadowed only by Dzia Dzia.

Dzia Dzia (Joe) was the love of my life. I adored him and the feeling was mutual. He came up hard, often referring to himself as the black sheep of the family. I never understood why, or how someone with so much love to give could ever be so ostracized by his own family. Dzia Dzia was the second of eight children, with 3 brothers and 4 sisters. (Hmmm... there's a similarity here. I was the second of eight children, with 3 brothers and 4 sisters also.) Dzia Dzia loved to go hunting and fishing, and was good at both. But he loved his family even more than that. He had 3 children, who brought him 16 grandchildren, over 20 great-grandchildren (at this writing) and at least 3 great-great-grandchildren thus far. He would have loved that. He worked at a steel mill for most of his life, and although I never understood how he could stand the smell, I guess it was a small price to pay to keep his family afloat. It was just after the Great Depression, and times were hard. You took whatever job you could get and were thankful to have it. Many Poles in South Chicago made this their way of life.

But along with working hard, Dzia Dzia also believed in playing hard, and family was all-important to him. Family gatherings were big on his list of how life should be lived. We often took family vacations together, where we would all gather at a fishing resort in Minnesota, with Busia's parents, her sister and her husband, their children with their spouses and the grandchildren. I am blessed to have known such fine times and to know what it is like to "rough it" in a cabin on a lake, with nothing to do except relax, go fishing, and visit with family. Evenings at the resort would consist of the adults getting together for their card games and booze parties. Stories about the "one that got away" would get larger with each telling, and on special nights twice a week, the adults would get together for a sauna and a swim afterward. The bracing cold of the water was just the refreshment needed after the searing heat of the sauna. What were the grandchildren doing all this time? We were shuttled off to bed, so the grownups could make merry. Good times.

Birthdays, Christmases, Easter and all our assorted religious events required a party, and of course, the entire family would attend. I remember having Christmas Eves at Busia and Dzia Dzia's house, and we had to fast all day and could not eat until the first star came out. They relaxed the rules a little for the grandchildren. We were hungry and didn't care who knew it! When the time came, after working all day in the kitchen making all our Polish delicacies, the women would bring dinner down to the basement, where all our hungry mouths watered. But we still couldn't eat until the aplotek (Christmas wafer) had been broken by the heads of the family, and then shared with everyone. Each person would take a bit from someone else's wafer, wish them a Merry Christmas, and give them a hug and a kiss. It's a wonderful tradition that my family and I continue to this day. After the aplotek, we were finally given the go-ahead for dinner. Grace came first, but then we dug in! On the table, there were always 10 items for the Wigilia dinner. It is a meatless dinner, and includes fish (caught while on that fishing vacation and frozen for the trip home), pierogi, kapusta soup, assorted vegetables and desserts. After dinner, it was time to open gifts. The adults saved this for very late in the evening, right before they left for midnight Mass. The grandchildren all had to go home. (It was much too late for us to be up because Santa Claus was still coming that night!) These sights, scents and sounds will be in my memory forever, as I try to uphold these traditions for my own children.

It was from these traditions and these two very good decent people that I learned that even if you work hard, you should play harder. Watching them helped me to understand that life was not a bowl of cherries, but if you work it right, you can turn those cherries into a pie, filled with love and a little spice.

I will forever miss them.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Monday, November 24, 2008

Uncus and The Big Payoff

I don't know about you, but there are times in my life when something I have done pays off in a big way, just exactly as I had hoped it would. I'm not talking about money. This has to do with doing something out of the goodness of your heart, just because you want to do something special for the ones you love.

Anyone who has been following my writings knows that I had been working on a DVD of old family movies and got it completed last week. This DVD was very important to me, as self-proclaimed Keeper of The Flame, to preserve family memories before they are gone. With the help of my wonderful sons, I created this DVD, duplicated it several times, created a cover and a label, and shipped out seven of these beauties to my very nearest and dearest relatives, all of whom would not otherwise have had access to them.

I received a call from my uncle today (whom I call Uncus), saying that two of my cousins, to whom I had sent copies of my labor of love, are coming to see him for Thanksgiving dinner, and are going to bring their copy of the DVD so Uncus can reminisce with them. You see, these two cousins of mine have no memory of their father, who is present throughout the DVD, in living, breathing color. Uncus is going to tell them about their father, which is one of the best payoffs I could ever have. The other payoff, even larger, is that Uncus will not only be able to share with my cousins about their father, but also about his own parents (my and their grandparents). They have few memories of my grandparents, who I consider to be the best people I ever knew.

To know that this is going to happen in 2 short days is the biggest payoff I have ever had, and well worth all the trouble I had to go through to make the DVD happen. My heart is warmed by it, and I will die a happy woman knowing that this is going to complete the circle for three very dear people.

Nazdrovie'

A Very Happy Paczki Puta

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Return From Deliverance

Due to extreme exhaustion (painting and the stress that goes along with my house being a wreck), I am reposting this from my blog on myspace. It was originally posted on April 8, 2006.



And here the morning started out so well...


After a wonderful breakfast at our usual Saturday haunt (Brother Juniper's for those of you who are familiar with the area) my SO (significant other) and I decided to trek into the unknown country in search of property to build our house on. We set sail in the old 4 wheel drive sleigh down I-40 into Arkansas. MY SO wanted to check out a piece of property that he had known as a teen. There was a lake there, and in his youth, it seemed like an idyllic place to have a home. I was game, so off we went.

As we left Memphis, we saw the familiar sights of the downtown area, the Mississippi River, the dogtrack and the last Walmart for miles. We were optimistic and talkative on the trip. I saw the last vestiges of civilization growing smaller in the distance and felt a bit uneasy, but decided that we were going on an adventure, and I was going to give this a shot. I'm ready to handle anything... or so I thought.

Any of you that have been through this portion of Arkansas... the portion between Memphis and Crowley's Ridge, know that it is not the most picturesque part of the state. But knowing this didn't dampen my enthusiasm. We had printed off a map of the area before leaving Memphis, but it didn't give a whole lot of detail about the area... but it looked like serenity on Google Earth... lots of trees, some rivers... very little development. What Google Earth didn't show was a lot of unmarked roads, watering sloughs that were mistaken for creeks, and the "antique" vehicle graveyards that we were to come upon. I kept thinking to myself that this is the way it is in the country... certainly no civilized person would live this way. And surely it would get better as we got close to Forrest City. Boy, was I wrong.

After we missed the cut-off, we decided to turn around and see if we could find it. As I said, the roads are mostly unmarked in this area, so we found ourselves turning the car around again. We had narrowed it down to one of two roads... and we slowly took the first one. As we rounded the corner, we slowed the car... and noticed a pole on the ground with a street marker on it. Upon close inspection, we could read the name of the road... Good Hope... the road we were looking for! The fact that the marker was down on the road made us laugh, but it should have given us a glimpse of what was to come.

There were some houses on the road... nice, middle-class houses... a good enough distance away from each other to be respectable. We had to find another crossroad. Again, the roads are not always clearly marked, so we had to guess which one to take. We guessed right... and turned again to our supposed utopia. The first home we saw was very nice... a sweet A-frame up on the hill. It could have been the first piece of what the original owner of the land envisioned to be a beautiful homestead. It went downhill from there...

We saw some homes that were nice, although neither they nor the lake were impressive. It was what we were about to see that neither one of us was prepared for. Another turn took us down what I can only say reminded me of the hill country in Deliverance. It was where old trailers went to die. It was worse than that... it was where perfectly respectable people (us) were uncomfortable in their own skin... and made us feel as if each of the... oh let's call them "residents" shall we... were eyeing up our 14 year old car as if it was a prized pig they were about to chop up for parts on Thanksgiving. We looked around, then looked at each other, laughed nervously, and said "let's get the hell OUT of here!" As we continued to attempt to find the original road we came in on, I looked to the left side of the road. Here on the "lawn" of one of these semi-permeable dwellings I saw a complete dashboard and windshield (broken of course), which made me wonder what the story was behind the rest of the missing vehicle. I wasn't curious enough to get OUT of my vehicle to find out! I was too afraid that I might run into someone who thought I had a "real purty mouth".

We finally did find our way back out of that area... and found ourselves back on I-40 and headed back in the direction of Tennessee at last (thought I'd never hear myself saying that). On the way back, I took notice of all the things I didn't let completely enter my consciousness during the trip out... the bus graveyard... the Volkswagon beetle graveyard... the shack that once served as a grocery store which was now a "atfish eafoo" restaurant, which was proudly displayed on the building. There was a house that had a very nice white split rail fence all the way around the property... a very sizable area... and the owner had his very own gas station. Characters, I thought...

But never was I so glad to see the sign proudly proclaiming "WalMart this exit"... I'm home!


Nazdrovie'


Paczki Puta

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Opa! Or... How Rhys Was Introduced to Greek Food

In the course of ripping our house up today (in the name of improving it), we decided to take a well-deserved break and go out to get something to fill our famished stomachs. The boys fought us on going to this little Greek restaurant, Pyramids, which by the way, is right in our neighborhood and so conveniently located to our house that I insisted they go. I won them over by telling them it was an all-you-can-eat buffet, and the desserts were like none they had tried before.

Of course, I insisted they try the lamb. Neither of them had taken lamb onto their plates, but like the dutiful mother that I am, I cut a piece or two off the precious bits I had on my plate and said "EAT!!!" Mind you, these are not children I'm chiding. These are grown men, 23 and 20 years of age. They looked at me as if to say, "if we don't try this, she will nag us into oblivion", which, I'm sorry to say, would be the truth. Fortunately, they loved the lamb. We went through the buffet, like kids on a playground, trying each new thing and quickly discarding it to taste the next. It would have been a perfectly delightful experience... but then... evil in the form of a screaming child came in the door.

At first, we tried not to pay any attention to this monster. But after a short period of time, during which we were trying not to choke on our food, I turned casually to see if I could find the source of the trouble and give a glaring eye to Satan's parents. I forced back a smile when I saw his young mother, draped in a Middle Eastern headwrap and her husband (very non-descript to me, I'm sorry to say), attempting to make the unruly monster sit down and eat dinner. But the tirade continued. It seems that the creature wanted to play the video games that were in the restaurant (on the other side of the wall from where we were sitting, but still within piercing earshot) and made no bones about letting the world know that he was going to get what he wanted. To our sons' stunned looks and comments about child-rearing, Steve and I shared our experiences that entailed the times we had to remove them from whatever restaurant we had gone to, due to their tantrums. Yes, my angelic children were once brats. When they asked how we stood it, I merely said, "I beat it out of you." Jason replied, "thank you". I smiled a mother's satisfied smile.

We went on with our meal, but after one especially ear-splitting shreik, I said to my family, "I wouldn't be allowed to live after that one". The young mother must have heard my comment, because she finally got up and told her child that he could play the game later, but he had to eat now. The demon's reply was, "but I like that game, Momma". She won the battle after allowing a few more volleys of "no, you eat" and "but I want to play the game". At one point, she even stuck something in the child's mouth to his gruesome protests. I couldn't help but laugh. I was remembering the time when we had gone to Cracker Barrel for breakfast, and a young girl was running back and forth between the tables. I followed her with my eyes, and gave her a more glaring look each time she passed within inches of our water glasses. The child made the mistake of pausing briefly while looking me in the eyes, and with the voice of authority, I said "go sit DOWN!" Her mother shot daggers at me during the rest of our meal and their exit, to which I say if you don't want ME to parent your child, then YOU do it! But I digress...

The rest of the meal went smoothly and we tried the various desserts. After a new plateful of delicacies and a bowl of lentil soup, Rhys confidently proclaimed that he had had enough and he would enjoy visiting that establishment again. Got him!

There's that satisfied smile again.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Friday, November 21, 2008

Chaos and Transition

Oh my God... what have I started?

When I began this idea of redecorating my former bedroom into an office, little did I realize the chaos that would envelope the rest of the house. We have 5 days to live through this phase and I just hope we make it out alive.

You know how it is when you come from a Polish immigrant family and you're always afraid to get rid of something because "you might need it later"? That's me in a nutshell. Never letting loose of anything, including socks with holes in them. I always say "I can darn those socks, and then when we get a snow or ice storm, we'll have warm feet." Uh huh. That's the way things were in the old days when I lived in a suburb of Chicago. But I'm in Memphis now. Snow storms are rare. Socks go for $5.00 for a pack of 10, so what am I actually saving by holding onto these hole-y socks? Or the cough drops that seem to be melted into the end tables that came out of that room... ? Am I going to "need" them any time soon, or can I carry my happy butt down to Walgreens and get some more if I really have to? And tell me why, oh why, do I have so many plants in there? Am I afraid that the species will die out if I get rid of just ONE of the 10 philodendrons that I keep propagating?

Okay, you got me on the philodendrons. They're pretty and they provide oxygen to the house. But you get my idea. My house is full of things I haven't used in at least 10 years, don't look at, and absolutely won't get rid of. I found out how bad it had gotten while cleaning that room out. And we haven't even emptied the closets yet. Oh Lord, I hate to think of what's in there. I have shoes I'll never wear. Clothes I'll never fit back into (nor do I want to wear them again). Half-finished craft projects that are just sitting there taunting me.

All of this has made me realize just how much of a packrat I had become. I think decluttering your house is a 12-step program of realizations.

1. Admit that you're keeping things that should have gone out with the Crusades.

2. Realize that in a civilized world, you'll never again have to hang that glow-in-the dark Bobby Sherman poster.

3. Know that nobody needs more than 2 bellydance costumes. (I'm not even gonna explain this one.)

4. No one is going to pay top dollar for your coffee mug collection.

5. You CAN have too many baskets.

6. Knick-knacks are expensive dust-catchers.

7. So are mini-blinds... except for the expensive part.

8. Why are you saving all those little ketchup packets from Sonic?

9. There are beings living in your closet that shouldn't actually be there.

10. There's a reason you can't find anything.

11. You're never going to find the missing piece for that 1500-piece jigsaw puzzle.

12. More is not necessarily better.


Okay, RESOLVED: This is going to stop now. If I don't live up to that resolution, just pack me up with that old showgirl lamp and ship me off to the 1950's.

I'll keep you posted.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Dad's Hidden Talent

In surfing the internet today, I was reminded of something that my father used to do when I was very young and the world was still a magical place for me. I was looking for the music from the movie "August Rush", which Steve and I watched last night and has quickly become one of my favorites. In the process, I came across some harp music on YouTube. I have long wanted to learn to play the harp, and sometimes I wonder if I will ever have the money to pursue this dream of mine. But I digress... If you've ever been on YouTube, you know that when you watch one video, others are suggested for viewing.

So there I was enjoying the harp music, when I noticed another video of a gentleman playing the harmonica. That brought back a favorite memory of asking my father to play the harmonica for us. When Dad was young, he was smart, handsome and talented. And he knew it. He used to love to entertain us. Anything to make you laugh. He would play "You Are My Sunshine" and the theme from the Woody Woodpecker show on the harmonica. I don't remember any other songs he played, but I know there were more. Dad would play and play... and we loved every minute of it. I wonder how many of my siblings would remember that. He knew my love of music, and I remember him teaching me how to play the harmonica. "It's a matter of inhaling and exhaling at the right time," he told me. "Just practice and you'll get better". And I did. I never got as good as he was though. He would move his hands and make the music sound like it had a vibrato. I loved it. I wish he had kept it up in his older years. I guess life's stresses took precedence over making music. It's a shame. The music should never leave your life.

The music died on October 26, 2008. I will miss it, and the one who brought it to life for me. So Dad, this one's for you.



Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Various Stages of Disarray

In the process of purging my life of negativity and replacing it with positive energy, I decided it was finally time to start replacing carpet in the house. Coming up with money for this project is difficult at best. We have decided to start with the room I used to call my bedroom. This room is being made into an office, so we can have all our work-related activities in one area of the house, instead of having it spread throughout.

The first major hurdle (that of convincing my husband to let go of the money needed for this project) has been accomplished. We have found a nice indoor/outdoor carpet at a carpeting outlet, and they will install it for us at the whopping price of $400 inclusive (this is my Christmas present). Finding a decent/livable carpet for a good price (installed of course) was a hurdle in itself. Do you know how much carpet costs these days? There's no way we could afford to do the rest of the house right now. Not to mention the disarry (hence the title of this article) that would ensue in the rest of the house.

Just to give you an idea of exactly what it is going to take to make this ONE room happen...

First of all, we had to remove the mattresses from the bedroom I am now sleeping in. Then the newer mattresses (purchased for me when I got sick) had to be moved to the bedroom and the old ones disposed of. All the bedding had to be cleaned (I seemed to have picked up some allergies to certain fibers now) or replaced. I still have to repair the bed ruffle (today, I promise).

The hide-a-bed had to be re-assembled into a couch, which meant we had to find the hardware for it, put the old sofa mattress back in it and fold it up. That hide-a-bed has never been easy to put back together, but for some reason, it went back in remarkably well.

Now comes the real carnage...

We had the room measured and now we have a firm date of November 25, before noon, for installation of the new carpet. What that means is that we have to move everything out of the room (into the living room, no doubt), tear up the old carpet and pad so I can clean the concrete with bleach (to remove any organisms that decided to take up residency) and paint the walls and ceiling. I also have to arrange for the internet cabling to be moved that afternoon, so our main access point is in that room. I am hoping to have that appointment scheduled for Tuesday afternoon, after the carpeting is installed.

Another point that is going to have to be addressed is the moving of our 55-gallon aquarium. It is going into the recessed area of the new office, which was once reserved for our entertainment center and all the accumulated dust bunnies that have manifested themselves behind it. The aquarium is now full of water, rocks, plants and fish, and it will take some doing to get it all dismantled, cleaned and moved, and then re-assembled successfully in the chosen spot. I figure it will take 3 days minimum for that alone.

The computer desk(s), file cabinets, etc., will all have to be moved into the office and set back up. All plants have to be pruned and/or re-potted, and any repairs to the sofa will have to be made.

The sofa is going into the living room, where I hope to once again have a conversation area for the family to gather in, and a place for us to have our movie nights. (Usually Sunday night is reserved for whatever movie we have decided to watch, complete with soft drinks and popcorn.) I am dearly looking forward to that again.

When, you ask, is all of this to be done by? Thanksgiving... yeah RIGHT!!! I'm hopeful that some of these things can be done ahead of time, like dismantling the aquarium. I have to wash all the pea gravel that is in it along with the rocks and plants before I can put it all back in. The water that is now in the aquarium will have to discarded, and the eco-system will have to be rebuilt over a period of about a week. I have a place for the fish... an older (smaller) aquarium I kept just for this purpose.

Once all of this is done, it will be time for us to decorate for Christmas, and get on with the bustle that comes along with the holidays. I am also looking for a job at this time. (I'm feeling strong enough to handle it, I think.)

What a mess... pray for me... pray that it all goes according to plan, and pray that we make it through this with our sanity intact.

Nazdovie'

Paczki Puta

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

IF - for girls


My mother gave me this for my 8th grade graduation.
I always thought there was great wisdom in these words.


IF - for girls



If you can hear the whispering about you
And never yield to deal in whispers, too;
If you can bravely smile when loved ones doubt you
And never doubt, in turn, what loved ones do;
If you can keep a sweet and gentle spirit
In spite of fame or fortune, rank or place,
And though you win your goal or only near it,
Can win with poise or lose with equal grace;

If you can meet with Unbelief, believing,
And hallow in your heart, a simple creed,
If you can meet Deception, undeceiving,
And learn to look to God for all you need;
If you can be what girls should be to mothers:
Chums in joy and comrades in distress,
And be unto others as you'd have the others
Be unto you - - no more, and yet no less;

If you can keep within your heart the power
To say that firm, unconquerable "No,"
If you can brave a present shadowed hour
Rather than yield to build a future woe;
If you can love, yet not let loving master,
But keep yourself within your own self's clasp,
And not let Dreaming lead you to disaster
Nor Pity's fascination loose your grasp;

If you can lock your heart on confidences
Nor ever needlessly in turn confide;
If you can put behind you all pretenses
Of mock humility or foolish pride;
If you can keep the simple, homely virtue
Of walking right with God - - then have no fear
That anything in all the world can hurt you - -
And - - which is more - - you'll be a Woman, dear.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Desiderata

I received this from a dear friend at the beginning of the year.
It's time to read it again.

Desiderata


-- written by Max Ehrmann in the 1920s --

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.


Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

A Matter of Health

During the last 2 years, I have been dealing with a cough that wouldn't go away. I finally had the necessary tests done, and the verdict was something that I can't accept... a lung fungus that will never heal.

I went through taking all the poisons (medications) that the doctor wanted me to take to combat this "never healing" fungus. They made me sicker than the disease. So I stopped. Cold. But I didn't give up. I decided to go on a holistic approach to killing this thing. I have long been a believer in holistic medicine, having used it to help me several times in my life. After all, if you had a choice between taking rat poison (anti-coagulant) or drinking a glass or two of wine every night, wouldn't you choose the wine? Thought so.

I started this with a complete body and parasite cleanse. It's just a series of herbs that help your organs to push out all the creeping crud that accumulates in the body. I am in Week #2 of the cleanse, and am feeling better than I have felt in a really long time. It hasn't been harsh on my system either.

The idea of doing a body cleanse came to me after talking to one of my cousins (thank you Amy), about how she did the same thing before her cancer surgery. She said she never felt better, and the meds she had to take after the surgery worked so much more effectively than if she hadn't done it at all. It made a lot of sense to me. I don't want to end my life having to take more and more medications just to function normally. Since that is what was happening, I concluded that the crap is building up in my system, making it less effective than it would have been otherwise. I'm sleeping better now, eating less (I'm just not hungry), and am stronger physically than I had been the last few months. I am actually cleaning house now! (Pick your jaw up from the floor...) It's still a little rough going, but I am SO much better than I was just a short month ago. Maybe soon I'll be able to get back on my workout program. Oh hell... housework IS a workout!

I haven't gone back on the meds for the lung thingy. I'm going to try a homeopathic remedy after the cleanse is over. I'll keep you posted.


Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Creating DVD's - A Labor of Love or Beating My Head Up Against The Wall?

I did it! Finally. I kept a promise I made to myself to put our old family movies on DVD, not at all an easy task and most likely to challenge your sanity. I finished it all yesterday. With the help of my wonderful sons, I was able to find 2 computers (out of our 5) that had the capacity to do what I needed it to do.

First, was the task of trying to figure out how to take a very old vhs tape and copy it to a computer. This old movie was taken from 8mm movies that my father had originally shot years ago. (We won't say how MANY years. Let's just say that I remember the signing of the Declaration of Independence!) We tried to copy the footage several different ways. At first, it seemed that it would be an easy thing. After all, I had the cabling necessary to hook up a vcr to a computer. That wasn't enough though. It needed a go-between. So I tried hooking up our old video camera to the vcr. It's too bad that we couldn't figure out where the cables hooked up to the camera. That would have made it easier. But we couldn't, so we used Option #3... using a gamebridge as a go-between from the vcr to the computer. Bingo! That worked, but it took us 4 days of trial and error, and several dozen cups of hot chocolate, and it also put my son, Jason, out of a computer for a few days. If any of you know my son, you'll know that he lives and breathes his laptop and the programming he does on it.

After we had captured the video file(s), we had the daunting task of trying to get the file burned to a dvd. It seems that most of our computers didn't want to cooperate, and that made this even more difficult. The files were larger than the ordinary dvd. I tried several programs to get the files to compress just right and gave up when I found out there WAS such a thing as an 8.5GB DVD disc! After finally getting an imaged burned (again after more chocolate), we had to make sure it would play on a dvd player. Just because you burn a dvd is no guarantee that it's going to play. We had success after another day or two. We copied that dvd, and burned enough copies of it to ensure my sanity in case something catastrophic were to happen to the original. I did the fancy label on the dvd and put them in a case, again with a fancy insert. All in all, a job very well done. I just wish I'd done it sooner. The quality of the vhs tape had gone down considerably with age.

Note to self: Don't wait. Time slips away before you know it and then all you've got is... well... nothing.


Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

In The Beginning...

Here I am, starting a blog. Who in the world came up with that word...

Here I will write about the events of my day, my thoughts, or the way life is unfolding. I will even insert a few witty comments (as supplied by my witty family) here and there, and will definitely post memorable events.

At points, you will see that I am moving my blogs from another place to here. Please bear with me. I don't want to lose those blogs or the slideshows I made to go with them.

Feel free to send comments or items of interest you would like to see posted here.

That said... enter at your own risk!

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta