Snow Casualty or "Why We Should Build a Room Onto Our House"

We got hit by a freak snowstorm yesterday and awoke to 9 inches of snow on the ground and everything in sight. A nice ending to the month of February but really freaky, since it was 70 degrees 2 days ago, and we expect to see 70 degrees later this week. What could be really upsetting is that not only is the south not ready for this type of weather, but there was nothing we could do to prevent the destruction that awaited us this morning.

We have a canopy over the patio in the backyard.

Correction: We HAD a canopy.

The weight of the snow weighed down the canvas and bent the bars holding the canvas up. The result is an inverted canopy with lots of snow and ice still on it. Fortunately, we are not panicking about it. Casualties are to be expected during weather of this kind. I related to the boys how the roofs of shopping centers have been known to collapse under this kind of weight, and that we were lucky to have escaped serious damage to our house and garage. In fact, we were fortunate not to lose power and heat.

Memphis is known to be ill-prepared for any type of extreme weather. We lose power in the cold, in the heat, during storms, and for no reason at all. We had an ice storm here February 11, 1994 and it collapsed trees onto power lines. We lost power and heat, but we were lucky. We were only out of power for 40 hours. The rest of the city and suburbs were out for up to 3 weeks. When we found out the extent of the damage from that storm, Steve and I traversed the mangled city streets to get to where he works to borrow a generator. We were able to run 3 things from the generator. We alternated between the tv, lights, heat and the refrigerator. The Winter Olympics were on tv, and we sat watching them, while I made sweaters for the boys with my knitting machine. I made sweaters for both of them during that storm, and when the boys outgrew them, I put them safely away in the attic as memories.

Another storm gave us straight-line winds that toppled several thousand hundred-year-old trees in the city, and took down 2 of our own trees. Again, the city streets were a snarled mess. We were fortunate to escape that storm without damage to our vehicles. Down the street, a neighbor wasn't as lucky. Their large tree rested in the middle of their smashed car, right in front of their house. If the tree had fallen the other way, it would have collapsed their roof. Again we were out of power, but the weather was warm that time, so we could do without a generator for the most part. But we drove to West Memphis to take our showers at my husband's mother's house. The area has still not quite recovered from those winds. The forest at Shelby Farms looked as if a buzz saw had cut off the tops of the trees.

So back to our canopy. This is the second time we have lost a canopy over that patio. Since we tiled over the old broken concrete, the time may soon be arriving when we will put up a solid roof and walls there. It would be a nice addition to the house, and would add a weather-proof path to our workout room (garage) as well as about 200 more square feet. We could add a free-standing fireplace to the room or a hot tub, and my plants would have a nice sunny place to grow without taking up all the floor space in the rest of the house.

Or we could just move.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

A New Day and 4% Body Fat Loss

I was feeling pretty low about my body weight today because yesterday, a muscle between my shoulder blades decided to clench for absolutely no reason at all. Great. Just when I was starting to feel good about my exercise program. But then I remembered something from my training as a personal trainer and sports nutritionist. I hadn't taken my calipers in some time. So I got out my trusty body fat calculator program, calipers, measuring tape and blood pressure cuff and went to work.

First was the calipers. If you've never had your calipers taken, let me tell you that it can be an eye-opening experience. You come face to face with exactly what is going on in your body... the good, the bad and the ugly. What I saw today was not exactly ugly, and it showed progress. In comparing the calipers of today with the measurements I had taken last October, it was shown that I had lost 4% bodyfat since then. It stunned me to see that the last time I had taken my calipers was on the day my father died. It must have been before I got the news. I remember not really caring what happened to my body from that point until just before the holidays. I was pleased to see that the concentrated effort I have been putting forth since that time has borne fruit.

Tape measurements came next. I was pleased to note that my measurements had gone down. And by looking the history of these measurements, I was able to see exactly where I had gone off track. Between 2005 and 2008 I had put on 43 pounds! I think it's safe to say that I wasn't putting on muscle during that time. I had started working a horrible shift at a new place, and it was obviously taking its toll. I had the PE's in 2002, but was still on that horrible rat poison in 2005, and then shattered my foot in 2007, which didn't help my health any. I believe that was when my weight skyrocketed. I was stuck in bed for 6 months. The foot still isn't right, but I deal with it.

Blood pressure was the next stop on my list. I could plainly see that my blood pressure had gone from being healthy to being borderline hypertensive.

In view of all this, I am re-developing my program to kick myself into gear. I have a project coming up that has to be done at the client site, so will have to work around that. So far, I have been doing hatha yoga and vinyasa yoga, to help my body to adjust to the changes I am making. If that muscle in my back unclenches for tomorrow, I will begin the program I am outlining here.

Since I have about 130 pounds of lean body weight, I will need approximately 1700 calories to keep my basal metabolic rate working properly. That's the easy part. The hard part will be forcing myself to do cardio. So... I'm bringing in some dumbbells from the gym in my garage and going to use that to help my upper body strength. I wish I loved cardio. It would make this so much easier. But my lungs won't tolerate much right now, so I will have to increase my cardio slowly. I used to go walking for hours. I don't have anyone to walk with now (and the streets aren't safe), so I have to come up with an alternate plan. I have several different pieces of cardio equipment in my gym, and can work on those. I'm going to have to try and get a little cardio in every day. Strength training will have to be done on an increasing basis, 3 times per week. Yoga will continue to be done almost every day for balance and flexibility. So my tenative schedule looks like this:

Sunday - Saturday AM - Cardio
MWF - Strength training
Sunday - Saturday PM - Yoga

I have been used to getting my yoga done in the morning, because I feel that it is a good start to my day. I don't know how it's going to be, getting it in later in the day. Maybe it will help me to sleep better at night. If it gets to where I am unable to practice in the evenings, I will have to switch it back to the morning. Nope nope nope... already I am changing my mind. I can't do without yoga in the morning. So here's the revised plan.

Sunday through Saturday AM - Yoga
Sunday through Saturday PM - Cardio (I should have Steve and the dogs to walk with.)
MWF PM - Strength training

That should get me through. A bath after the workouts would be good, so I can wind down and get to sleep at a decent hour. Ugh... I hate to have to plan all this, but my progress will stop if I don't. I guess I'm going to have to go back to my weight training log as well. When is my deadline for starting all of this? There's no time like tomorrow (Friday) to start. With warm weather starting up, it should be easier for me to stay on track (literally).

The boys and I were just out in the gym, surveying what needs to be done so that we can use the gym again. A few things made their way into the attic, and my rebounder and 3 pound dumbbells came into the house, where I suspect, I will be doing most of my workouts until the weather turns warm enough for me to be outside. We have several space heaters for the cold, and an air conditioner for the hotter weather, but for now, I will start inside. Tomorrow we will make some strides in cleaning up the gym. On my list of to-do's includes oiling up the bikes and test riding them in the neighborhood before taking them on the greenway.

Ah yes... it's going to be a lovely spring.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Judy, Getting Out, Books and Another Pound Gone!

I had the opportunity to go to lunch with my friend, Judy, today and had a wonderful time. I have not seen Judy for about a year, when I stopped working at the place where she and I met. It was really good to see her.

Judy had been a really good friend to me, a better one than I have been to her. Judy loves to talk on the phone, and I don't. Maybe it's because if I'm on the phone too long, it feels like I've been running a marathon. I used to love it when I was younger. I guess as I got older, I got away from the habit. I don't like to talk on my cell phone at ALL! I don't mind as much when someone calls the house number. But I digress. Judy loves to talk, and I love to listen to her. That makes for a very good relationship.

Judy has been working as a security guard for a really long time. But that wasn't always her profession. She was in 3 different branches of the armed forces, something of which I am very envious. I think it would be wonderful to have had that kind of experience. To be able to serve the country and travel all over the world. Yes, I am envious. But in a good way. I am glad she was able to do it. I think it made her the person she is today.

Judy is very outgoing and full of common sense. I love being around her. She lives 40 miles away from me, so it's very difficult for me to get there. She came to see me today (well, really she went to get her glasses replaced, but I was on the way). Jason dropped me off at the mall so I could meet her. I found her exactly where she said she would be, and was surprised to see that her hair is actually longer than mine, which has never been the case. As we always do, we picked right up where we left off, laughing and cutting up. We did a little (okay a LOT) of walking around the mall and window shopping. I never had the opportunity to do any window shopping with any of my birth family, and was surprised at how much fun it was. And okay, Judy was making me walk a bunch. And that's good. But it's very hard for me. My legs don't work like they used to, but I did my best, and she would slow down for me when she noticed I was doing all the huffing and puffing.

Bless her for making me walk. This was good for me, because I really do HAVE to be made to do it. A few days ago, I walked for the very first time (in the past year) all the way around the block, which is 4 blocks total. I am trying to up my exercise quotient, and Judy knew that, so we just started wandering around the mall. Before I knew it, we had gone almost completely around. We did a little stopping here and there, with our favorite place being the bookstore. I love books. I have hundreds of books in my home. They are like old friends to me. I love getting used books... the kind that show they have been used. My favorites are hardbound classical literature, and I have quite a collection. Unfortunately, the two used bookstores in Memphis are no longer in business. *sigh* I used to go in there and browse for hours and come out with my arms full. I feel like the old books have a life. I love to hold them and to run my hands over the worn covers. They have more than one story to tell. They are comfortable. I love them.

Back to Judy... she didn't know that I have been on a fat loss regimen, but when she found out, it made the mall walking all the more important to her. She would do anything for me, and this proved it. She wants to see me healthy and feeling well. I have stopped all medications and she is concerned about this, but since the medications were making me really ill, I decided to let nature take its course and fight it off naturally, if I can. If I fall, I fall. I would rather go out like this than to be on 20 different medications that don't work.

We went on to lunch, which was the $6.49 lunch special at On The Border. It had been SO long since I'd been out to lunch. I had the chicken quesadilla and salad, and loved every bit of it. I couldn't really afford to go to lunch, but I also can't afford to stay home when I haven't seen a friend in that long. Judy made comments about what I was eating, asking if I could "have that" on my "diet". Sure I can!

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Knowing Where You Came From

In the course of my genealogy research, I have been waiting for pictures from a cousin of mine to help me get a firm picture of where I come from on my father's side. I already knew what my great-grandparents on my mother's side looked like, but never knew what my grandfather's parents looked like. Today I got what I was waiting for.

As I looked at my great-grandfather's face, I took note of what a nice face it was. Not necessarily handsome, but a strong face, and a good face. He was definitely the force that drove his family. He had to be strong. He had 8 children, and times were tough back then. He had two brothers, one of which died when he was 21 years old. I can't prove it just yet, but I think he took care of this brother. The other brother was a bartender, and they all lived within 3 houses of each other. Imagine being that close to your family... that you'd want to live that close. Maybe they didn't have a choice. Maybe times were SO tough that it was necessary. I feel that families took better care of each other back then. I feel they were closer.

I turned my attention to the face of the great-grandmother I had never known. It also was a good face. She looked a little care-worn, but I guess I would too if I had 8 kids and was marrying one of them off. She had been through a lot. Medical care wasn't good at the time, and I know that both of them were gone by 1940. I wish I had known them. I think I would have liked them, and I think they would have liked me.

I have always known what my mother's grandparents looked like, at least on her father's side. Funny that I never thought about the 4th pair of great-grandparents. My mother didn't talk about them much, except to say that she didn't know her grandmothers' names, and she wanted her own grandchildren to remember her name.

One of her sets of grandparents was an arranged marriage. I can't imagine having to marry someone that your parents chose for you, have his children, live and die, all without making a single choice for yourself. It must have been incredibly difficult. I suppose that women didn't have many choices back then. Without a dowry, a woman was lucky to have a husband at all. A husband meant security and protection. A wife meant someone to "take care of things", i.e., clean house, cook and take care of children. Not much more was expected, but that was enough.

As I go forward in my life, I will at least have the security of the faces of three pairs of my great-grandparents. That's more than most people get.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

My Aunt Marge

I got a call from my Aunt Marge the other day, telling me that she was having surgery this coming Friday. She is my mother's younger (and only surviving) sister, and has suffered from a hiatal hernia for a long time. They are operating on her to "take care of" this condition. I worried at little as I talked to her, because she could not stop coughing. She said that the coughing is caused by the hernia, but as a layperson, I don't know the slightest thing about that condition and hope that the doctors are right. However, they also told her that she has a mass on her right lung. She asked if it was cancerous, and they told her "If it was cancer, it would have killed you by now." The doctors' flippant answer did nothing to assuade my fears. Aunt Marge is 70 years old, and although she seems strong, she's had 2 strokes, and that's serious enough for anyone.

As is always the case, our conversations go on and on. She tells me about things that happened a long time ago, how it was when she grew up, and the early life of my family as she remembers it. It has been my pleasure and my honor to know her, even though we didn't grow close until after my mother died. I regret that I haven't had enough time to know her better, and haven't kept in touch with her children. Her oldest daughter, Daphne, and I used to write letters back and forth when we were teenagers. She's one of the sweetest people in the world. I reconnected with her at my Uncle Dick's funeral last year, and it was wonderful to see her. She looks exactly the same as she did when she was young. I wonder how it was, growing up without her extended family, and know that my own sons must know that better than I. Her paternal grandmother told Aunt Marge years ago that she didn't want anything to do with her granddaughters. What a horrible thing to say! Even in the worst of circumstances, I cannot imagine a grandmother saying such a thing.

Even though Aunt Marge told me about the things of her past, there is such a big gap there. She went through so much... and much of it I did not know about until the other day when she called. I didn't know, for example, that when she was being abused by her father and his new wife, she ran away to Ohio to be with Aunt Flo (another of her sisters). The police came, and both Aunt Flo and Uncle Walter told Marge that she had to go back. She did, but ran away again before she was 18, lived with a girlfriend, and then joined the Navy. I had no idea. I had heard snippets here and there from my mother, but nothing like this.

Aunt Marge got married and had two daughters from her first husband. When she found her husband had a girlfriend on the side, she left him. He never even touched his second child, Krystle. He never picked her up. Marge said "here's your daughter", but he just looked at the baby on the bed. I can't imagine how he could do that. I guess he got it from his mother. They divorced, and she met and married my Uncle Fred. They had two sons. Thank God she got out of that first marriage and into a good second one.

In the course of our conversation, I told Aunt Marge what I had written about and the reactions of my birth family and their "friends". She said unreservedly, "I believe you". She went on to tell me about how my father had tried the same thing with her when she was a teenager, and she told him that "You are married to my sister, and if you don't stop it, I will tell her!" God bless her for telling me.

She has been through so much in her life. I certainly hope that she makes it through her surgery all right. She has her doubts, but I will be praying for her, as I know the rest of her family will and hope for the best. I love you, Aunt Marge!

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Wrapping It Up, Dr. Pierce and More (or Less, depending on how you want to view it)

Wrapping It Up

It's funny how making people accountable for what they write makes them stop writing it. On this blog, I have made it impossible for anyone without an account to post here. So you may read, but unless you have an account, you're SOL. And I still have the option to ignore you if you DO send a comment. Considering the negativity has come from my former family and their "friends" (you know who you are and so do I), know this. You are not in our lives. What you say and do has no effect, and I want no further contact with you... now, or ever. Since I have been the one to send flowers when someone was in the hospital, to call on people's birthdays and send cards at Christmas, I have stopped doing that.

Goodbye and God Bless.

Now, on to better things.

Dr. Pierce

There was an account today of an asthma physician, Trent Pierce, who got in his car in his West Memphis garage, and it blew up. Dr. Pierce is in critical condition at The Med, and our prayers are with him and his family. The authorities have stated that they do not suspect foul play, but you have to wonder, with all the stuff that Hollywood produces, Soprano-style. I once saw a show (or movie, can't remember which), where the hero put a piece of scotch tape on the hood of his car, with one end of the tape on the hood and one end on the top fender. The idea was that if the tape were dislodged or broken, he would know that someone had tampered with his car. It turned out that someone DID tamper with the engine, planting a bomb with a trip wire, so that the car would blow when the engine started. I sincerely hope that someone did not intentionally sabotage the good doctor's car, but he is in the hospital all the same. I do not know him, but can imagine the horror when his wife found him in the flower bed in front of his home. We are praying for you, Dr. Pierce.

Update: 12:48pm Officials have found an explosive device (or parts of it) that were planted in Dr. Pierce's car. They are calling it a "terrorist attack on one person". Hmmm....

More (or Less, depending on how you want to view it)

In other news, I was pleasantly surprised this morning when I weighed in to find that I was a whole 10 pounds down from where I started. This is a milestone, and one I will not take for granted. I have had great success on www.sparkpeople.com, which is unmatched in its program of support, encouragement and tracking tools. And it's all FREE! I don't know about you, but FREE is a magic word for me. I can't wait to log in every morning and track my food and activities. I have 63 pounds to get to where my body will function without hindrance, so I am on my way. It seems like a long way, but I've come this far in only 6 weeks. This is a journey for me, not a destination. This is something I know I can stick with. The first 10 pounds are the hardest, I think. I went through my first plateau... or at least I thought it was a plateau, and broke it. Now the weight is coming off a bit easier.

The thing that is astonishing me... well, two things, actually... is that I am eating SO much, and that I seem to need at least 10 glasses of water daily, to make this change happen. It's all right with me; I love water. And I love to EAT! AND I love to cook! So this is great. As long as I have the time right now, I will continue doing all the cooking necessary. However, when I get one more website project, we may have to re-evaluate the cooking duties. We have so much on our plates right now, that I'm not sure if we can even take on another project, but it's a very happy dilemma to have to solve. Film at 11.

Okay, boys and girls, that's enough for now. I've got work to do, and yoga to practice.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Cockroaches Analogy

It has been my pleasure to read all the hate mail and comments that have come my way as a result of telling the truth about my father and the abuse I suffered at his hands. My extended family has shown themselves to be nothing more than cockroaches, who skitter away when light is shined upon them. Let it be known here, that I do not run, and I do not hide. I do not shrink from a fight and never have, especially when truth is on my side. You may not like the truth, and you may not want to hear it, but it doesn't make it any less true.

Let me recap some of those hate messages for you.

1. I received hate mail from my youngest sister, telling me to "get some help you sick f**ng B**ch". I'm sorry you don't know how to spell those words and have to use symbols to help you out. I believe the words you were looking for are "fucking bitch".

Here are the definitions from dictionary.com:

fuck (fŭk) Pronunciation Key
v. fucked, fuck·ing, fucks

v. tr.

1. To have sexual intercourse with.
2. To take advantage of, betray, or cheat; victimize.
3. Used in the imperative as a signal of angry dismissal.

AND:

bitch

   /bɪtʃ/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [bich] Show IPA Pronunciation

–noun

1.	a female dog.

2.	a female of canines generally.

3.	Slang. a. a malicious, unpleasant, selfish person, esp. a woman. b. a lewd woman.

4.	Slang. a. a complaint. b. anything difficult or unpleasant: The test was a bitch. c. anything memorable, esp. something exceptionally good: That last big party he threw was a real bitch.

---

Please make sure you use the correct vernacular when attempting to insult me as a result of your denial. And also, if you do not intend to be subject to public ridicule in the form of a rebuttal, show some courage and let me reply directly to your email. Cowardice does not earn respect.

2. This same person sent hate mail to my husband, which is unforgiveable. And she did it twice. Let me answer those for you now.

Holly, I am not mentally ill. It is common for the family of the abused person to lash out when the truth is revealed. Your comment for my husband to keep me on a leash shows exactly how little you know about the bond of marriage. Although, having your own marriage fail, I can see how you would have no knowledge of such a bond.

As for your comments about us never even thinking about going to Minnesota or Chicago, let me say this. Nobody made you custodian of either place. You do not own it, you do not rent it, and you have no say over what we, or anyone else does with their lives. We will go where we please, when we please. There have been many times when we have been to both places and never told any of you we were there at the time, because we chose not to deal with you. Not seeing you in the future is no hardship on us. We chose this a long time ago.

3. Then there was the nastygram from my nephew, Joseph. To him, I say this. Joey, you're nothing but a spoiled punk without an authentic thought in his head. I'm glad you're out of my life, as I am glad that your alcoholic camera-whore sister, Nicole, is out as well. I choose not to have your influence in my life or that of anyone I love.

4. Then there was the nastygram left on my blog, from this Janet character, telling me all about how she and her mother LOOOOOOOOOOOOOVED my father and he was the "grandpa they never had". I'm glad for you. I'm glad you had to wipe his ass and clean up his vomit, as well as listen to his tired old stories of heroism of yore. As I remember, I thanked you for doing so at the wake. I would have signed his sorry ass over to the state and let them deal with his care. And that's the truth.

You wanted to know why I came to the funeral. To make sure the bastard was dead, of course. And also to see people that I knew I would never see again. I accomplished that. I established contact with the only "real" people I know, who are keeping in contact with me through letters and phone calls. All that you accomplished by writing your comments were to show that you did not know the true nature of the man. He was more than demented. He was vulgar. He was several different people, depending on who you were to him. Look it up in any book regarding sexual abuse. The abuser generally seeks one person out, and tries to cover for it with others. The victim is generally abused further from family when the truth comes out. Read the story about Ronald Gene Simmons, who murdered his own family, including his daughter that he had an incestuous relationship with, and a receptionist who had rejected his advances. This is the same kind of person my father was. When his hands were around my throat, choking me until I submitted, he was not the "grandpa" that you came to know. I cannot tell you how many times he backhanded me down a flight of stairs and then told everyone "she's so clumsy... she ought to be more careful". It was well known by the elders in the family what he was, and several of my cousins and my Uncle Jerry know of his abuse and intended abuse toward others. You are not family, and as such, your comments do not count. Even if you were, your comments do not eliminate the truth. Denial serves no purpose and attacks on me do not work.

As a result of all of these nastygrams, I will continue to tell the truth, only more so. It matters not to me if it disrupts anyone's version of reality. The fact is, that the only people that matter to me are the ones that accept the truth. Any comments to my blogs will continue to be moderated and shot down. Any comments to me or any of my Memphis family on Facebook will result in reports of harrassment and further written revelations. I have no qualms about pressing charges against people who have done me wrong. Wanna try me? My father was lucky I didn't have him prosecuted.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Paczki Puta Tells The Truth About Her Father

I thought that I would finally tell all about my father. Those of you who are squeamish should get off this blog right now. And for those of you who refuse to believe the truth, God help you.

My father was a good father to me while I was young. I remember idolizing him, thinking him the most handsome, smartest, "bestest" dad in the world. But that was until I got to my teen years. My father turned into the worst kind of predator, and betrayed me in the worst possible way.

When I was about 14, I started to notice my father watching me. It was to the point of making me very uncomfortable. He would watch me change my clothes, through a slit in a door that wouldn't close all the way. I was becoming a young woman, and was astonished at the changes that were happening to me. One day, I was standing in front of a mirror in the bathroom, and was shocked to see some marks on my breasts that I had never seen before. I called my mother into the room and asked her what they were. She said she didn't know, and called my father into the room to look at me. Here I was, naked to the world, and she was calling him into the bathroom! He took a look at my breasts, and said "oh that's nothing... nothing that can't be taken care of through massage". And he put his hands on my breasts. I was horrified! I looked at my mother, who turned away and left the room, with my breasts in his awful hands! He told her that he would "massage" my breasts every night so the marks would go away. They turned out to be stretch marks, but he took that opportunity to start the abuse he had been planning since my body began to develop from a girl to a woman.

What an asshole. What a fucking asshole. I hate him to this day. And I'm glad he's dead.

Just as promised, he abused me nightly. He would wait for everyone to go to bed, and tell me to stay up. He would take me in the downstairs bathroom and put his hands on me, and it didn't end there. My father thought he was a great hypnotist and tried to use that crap on me. It didn't work. One day, I came home from school (I was in high school at the time and my first class was at 7:00am) and went upstairs to take a nap. He came in the room and tried to give me suggestions as I lay there, trying to sleep. He thought he would "hypnotize" me into submitting. As he whispered "you're getting sleepy" in my ear, I shot my eyes open and said "I'm AWAKE!!!" He left the room. But that didn't stop him. He would overpower me, get on top of me and shove his dick in my face. Mind you, it wasn't even large and definitely nothing to be proud of. Then he'd run his dick on me until he had an orgasm. Other times, he would shove my head down on his dick and force me to suck it until he orgasmed. Then there was a time when he brought home a porn film for me to watch with him so I would know how to please him. It was the worst kind of betrayal. I heard the cheesy music start, and I said "I don't want to watch this" and left the room. I used to wonder why he didn't do this crap to my sisters instead of me. Why ME??? What the hell had *I* ever done to deserve this??? NOTHING!!! I never had a boyfriend and didn't know what was happening to me or why. I wanted it all to stop, but it wouldn't.

It got to the point where I wouldn't wait for everyone to go to bed anymore. I went to bed early. I stayed in bed. I went out and stayed out. I did everything possible to limit the amount of time I had to spend with that asshole. I looked for a way out and considered suicide. Then I met my future first husband, and realized that he might be able to help me get away from my father and that abusive situation. My mother? Oh she hated me. She would hit me on the back as I walked up the stairs, hit me when I came around a corner, shout nasty things at me, scream at me. All because this fucking asshole she married was abusing me. What... did she think I was her COMPETITION???? I hated him. I still do. She would scream at me to pack my clothes and get out. I heard that all my young life. I swore to myself that when I was 18 years old and I knew they couldn't bring me back, I would leave the first time she screamed it at me and never come back. That's what I ended up doing.

One night, I came home from my future first husband's parents' house, and my mother was in a snit. She started screaming at me. She was telling me that I "couldn't go" over to "that boy's house anymore. He will come here." I said we were getting married. We had just decided it the night before. She started screaming again "oh you are, are you? Where's your ring!!!" What should have been a joyous moment was nothing of the kind. I wanted the screaming to stop, so I turned to go up the stairs to bed. She started screaming at me again, to go pick up my brother from work. I stopped in my tracks and for the first time, I realized that I couldn't stay there anymore. I was the family nigger. I was working full-time, paying "board", doing the cooking, the cleaning, the ironing, "servicing" my father, and being told I "couldn't" go out on dates unless my sister Cheri wasn't on a date. NO MORE!!! My mother's screaming never stopped. She screamed to pack my clothes and leave. I went back up the stairs, put on my coat, picked up my purse and keys, walked back down the stairs, waved "bye" and walked out the door. My mother was screaming "get her keys". I left anyway. I went over to Bob's parents' house, where he still lived. We called his parents, who were on vacation in Wisconsin, and asked for permission for me to stay, since I had nowhere to go. They were very nice to me and allowed me to stay as long as I needed to.

The next day, I went to work, in the same clothes that I had on the day before. My plan was to go to my parents' house after my mother left for work, and pick up my things. I went there, and found a note on the table in my mother's handwriting telling me to "come home and we'll talk". I turned the piece of paper over and wrote a letter on the back of it, so she would know I'd seen it. I told her that I wasn't coming back, that I'd had enough, that I'd been told one too many times to go, and I was gone. I took my clothes and my stereo, which was all I owned, and left.

A week later, my clothes were still in my car, when I got a call at work, from my father, telling me that they had taken my car while I was at work because they "pay the insurance on it". I talked to Bob and told him what happened. I asked him to take me to my parents' house after work so I could get my clothes. He agreed. So we pulled up in front of the house, in Bob's brother's truck, and I opened the trunk of "my car" and started taking my clothes out. As I did, I was converged upon by everyone in the house, including my mother. I took the keys to "my car" and threw it at the people in the yard, telling them that if the car meant so much to them, TAKE IT!!! Bob and I got in the truck and left.

A week or so later, I got a call from Aunt Shirley, asking me to come over and talk to her and Uncle Jerry. I did. They wanted me to go live with Busia, my grandmother, for the time being. I did. For a month. Then I found an apartment and moved out. I didn't make enough money for the rent, so Bob moved in with me and we got married a week later. There were 7 people at my wedding: Bob, me, his parents, his brother and a family friend. That was it. No ceremony, no music, no pomp and circumstance. I wore a green plaid dress that I had worn to a wedding. It was over quickly. Bob's parents took us out to dinner and they made a big deal out of it all. I remember there being champagne, and Bob's mother wore her mink stole. I never felt more special. THEY made me feel special. They gave me the love that my parents should have given me but denied me. It was December 14, 1973. I was 18 years old.

About a week after that (must have been around December 21) I got a call from my mother asking me to come for Christmas Eve, stay the night and stay with them for Christmas Day. I told my mother that I couldn't come. I had responsibilities now. I had married the Friday before. All hell broke loose then. It was a feeding frenzy that I wouldn't wish on anyone. There were constant phone calls to the place I worked, and my father would come there, trying to disrupt my workplace and get me fired. I finally told them to leave me alone... don't call me and don't come there. I was an adult and I was going my own way. My father told me I was dead to them.

The abuse... no, it didn't stop there. My father would come to the first house that Bob and I owned, during the day and try his bullshit again. I told him to get out. It got to the point that I had to pretend I wasn't home. I wouldn't answer the phone. I changed the phone number several times and kept the doors locked and the window shades drawn.

Bob and I divorced 7 1/2 years after we got married. I finally felt like I could make it on my own, and did. But the abuse didn't stop. I was invited to go swimming at my parents' house... my mother invited me. So I went... and what happens? My father comes behind me and unties the top of my bathing suit. I yelled at him and he laughed. Oh, it was all SOOOO funny, wasn't it? No boundaries. I tied my bathing suit again, and he untied it. This time I told him to keep his fucking hands off me. My mother was sitting right there. She didn't say a word.

I knew that I was going to have to get farther away from them than just Richton Park. When Steve came into my life, I knew that he would be good for me, and moving away from Chicago was what I was going to have to do. So I did. I moved to Memphis. I realized that I had to keep my sons away from my father, since I didn't know if he had "atoned" for what he did to me. So I kept them safe in Memphis. They grew up knowing what had happened to me. There are no secrets here. My mother and I made peace about 8 years before she died. We got close, but we never talked about what happened.

After my mother passed away, I got a call from my father, telling me he was ready to let go of some of my mother's jewelry, and he wanted me to come to Chicago to help take care of that, as the eldest daughter. I foolishly thought he actually wanted to be a father to me, so I went. And I went alone. I was very mistaken. He didn't want to give away my mother's jewelry, or have me there for any reason except that he wanted to see if I'd help him get his dick to work again, since he had his prostate removed and had all that radiation. I told him I was the WRONG person. He started telling me about the times that he had abused me and how those were "good memories" for him and he hoped they were for me too. I told him in no uncertain terms how what he did to me FUCKED ME UP for YEARS!!! He didn't say anything, but looked down. But that didn't stop him from trying to stick his tongue down my throat. I sat there in astonishment. He sat there in his living room at the condo, with his head hanging, and cried because he had taken Viagra and his dick just looked at the floor. I left in the middle of the night, and resolved to never stay in the same room with him again, much less under the same roof. I went home to Memphis and told Steve and the boys what had happened. If we had all been in Chicago, I'm sure my father would have been killed by my husband that night. As it is, I am settling for knowing that we have a very JUST God. He doesn't get mad, he gets even. He got even in the very best way. He took away my father's use of his dick. And since my father thought he was so smart, God took his brain later. Rest in peace, asshole. Good riddance.

And so... as a tribute to my GRANDfather... who was the only true father I've known, I sign my posts with...

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Addendum April 7, 2014:  I found out recently that I was not the first one to be abused by this awful man.  I sincerely hope I was the last.

Making Friends With Aging

For years now, I have been battling the onset of sudden aging, and to my regret, I am losing the battle. However, in conceding, I must survey the damage to see what has been done and what can changes can be made in the future so as to live the best life.

For example, what can be made of the graying of the hair? Certainly I can and do color it, but wish that it would all go white so I could just let nature take over. I have my mother's white streak on the right side (hers was on the left). If all my hair were gray or white, it would be a badge of honor. But noooooo... mine has decided to come in little spurts. A little here, a little there, a huge streak THERE! So for now, I guess I have to contend with the monthly colorings. Maybe I should just go platinum.

What about wrinkles? Yes, unfortunately, I have them. And they are, of course, right where I don't want them... under my eyes. I would have gladly succumbed to laugh lines (crow's feet), but this is difficult. I have to be very careful how much concealer I put in this area, because too much of it will show the wrinkles further! They don't show on a regular basis, but when I laugh or smile, there they are! So I'm guessing that as my weight goes down, as long as good nutrition and skin care remain the order of the day, this problem will get better. But it's a guess. Maybe I should laugh with my head thrown back so no one notices. They will think "what a great laugh". But what about the dark circles? Unfortunately, this is genetic, and will never go away. My mother had them, as do some of my cousins, and my firstborn son. Whenever I have a sinus infection, the circles deepen. Ugh! Talk about adding insult to injury! Other people tell me they don't notice it, but I notice my skin thinning, as the blue vein under my eyes becomes more pronounced. Thank God for Maybelline.

I notice the elasticity of my skin failing and sagging... Hurry, before my face hits the floor! Losing weight does help a little, as does weight training, which of course I have not started. I am using yoga right now to ease my transition from sedentary to active. Is it working? Well... not on my face. Not yet anyway. It's too soon to tell, since all I've taken off so far is about 7 pounds. But I look at my driver's license, which was renewed only 3 years ago during a period when I was working out heavily, and I look too healthy for words. Scary.

Maybe with the onset of spring weather, I will make the transition complete and add cardio and weight training to my yoga regimen. That's the plan. There are no quick fixes for this. I don't have money for a facelift, nor would I get one if I had it. I will never have a tummy tuck or liposuction. For now I have to sit back and accept that this body of mine is all I've got, whether it works or not, and do the best I can with what I've been given. It's too bad I didn't appreciate good health when I had it. Maybe I can get someone to paint a Dorian Gray portrait of me and that'll make all this go away. Think it'll work? Nah, I didn't think so either.

So will I accept aging and become a funky old lady? What choice do I have? I will still take care of myself and put on a face daily. But you know what I noticed? My makeup doesn't have to be heavy anymore. My hairstyle doesn't have to be severe. My body doesn't have to be perfect. And maybe, just maybe, I'll don hats and wear purple. Maybe I'll get back to some of my hobbies that have been put on a shelf during my years of child-rearing and working in the corporate world. There is value in sewing, quilting and crocheting as a means to achieve peace. And maybe I'll just get a pair of rocking chairs and rock out.

Self-acceptance can be wonderful.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Therapy as a Deterrent to Progress

I haven't written anything since January 12, and here is what I think has been going on in my head.

I began seeing a counselor. Not "seeing"... but seeing (for those of you who think evil thoughts). I wanted to be able to deal with my past so I could go on to a brighter future. However, I feel like just the reverse has happened. Since I went to the counselor the first time, I stopped writing. Well, I had written a blog on the 12th, but it looks like a 12-year-old wrote it. I used to pour my existence into my writing. But after some family conferences in which this was the topic, I decided to pull the plug.

I know where the problem is/was in my life. I know it's not me. But the issue is how I handle things now. I can't change the past, and digging up and breaking open old scabs is not going to help me. Things scab over for a reason. It's so you can grow from your experiences. I can, however, change the hair-triggers that I have had for so many years. There is so much to be experienced yet and so much life to be lived. To continually break open old wounds is counter-productive to the way I want to live the last part of my life. I can choose my reactions. I can choose to be happy. I can choose to succeed. I can choose NOT to put 110% into wherever I am working at the time, and enjoy myself a little more instead of being the company pack mule. So let it be written. So let it be done.

Like Captain Kirk says in the last Star Trek movie... "I want my pain. I NEED my pain. Our pain makes us who we are." What a profound statement. It's not that other people have less pain than I do. But my pain is different from others'. The way I choose to live with my pain is a statement in how deep it has affected me and what kind of person it has made me. Does time and pressure make a diamond? Yes it does. But at what cost? I don't have to be perfect. Thank God.

So my decision is to give myself permission to be happy. I can still grieve for the little girl who had everything taken away from her in one fell swoop, but I can also choose to not let it affect how I treat others, or how I treat myself. I am going to be good to myself. I've earned it.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

A New "Do", A New You

It's amazing how a new hairdo can re-energize your outlook. On Saturday, I took the plunge and cut it off! Eight inches! My hair is finally up to my shoulders, and is giving me the impetus to make more changes. I'm working on "making over" the total ME! In making myself over, I decided that I couldn't do what I intended with my health unless I got rid of the hair. So it's gone. And it feels good.

So here I am... working up energy on my new workout and nutrition plan. I refuse to call it a diet. The fact is, it's a nutrition plan that is helping me to feel better than I have in a really long time. A little of this, a little of that... and LOTS of cooking! I don't mind cooking... in fact, I really like it when I have time to do it right. This is a little more than I expected, but this site that I'm using to help me (www.sparkpeople.com) is making it all very easy for me. Not only does it work up a nutrition plan that works, it allows me to print out a grocery list and keep track of my water intake and servings of fruit and veggies, not to mention keeping track of physical activity. I have found a lot of support there, and I'm grateful for it. It's slow-going, but it's working. Three pounds down, and another 67 to go.

It's a very difficult thing to make the decision to take care of yourself and follow through on it. The weight gain over the past 6 years has been abominable. One thing seems to lead to another as well. The weight gain has caused physical problems, and the health issues have led to medications which fuel the weight gain. It's a never-ending downward spiral if you don't stop it in time. That's what I'm doing. Stopping it. NOW. I inherited my mother's body, and I want mine back! My mother spent a lifetime battling morbid obesity and paid the ultimate price in her health. I don't want that to happen to me or anyone in my home. In fact, it should never happen to anyone. I want to be able to walk without pain, to dance, and to have enough strength in my legs to be able to mount a horse. The last time I got up on a horse, I couldn't get up there without help. Even with a boost, my poor husband had to give my behind a shove. How embarrassing! Now I know how my mother felt, not being able to do things that she wanted to do... things that her body wouldn't let her do. It's funny, when I was growing up, my mother used to tell me to watch my weight... that my father had never cared whether she gained weight or not, so she kept putting it on with each child. The result was 235 pounds on a 5'2" frame and a lifetime of health problems.

You don't think about the high price you're going to pay for not taking care of yourself... of putting everyone else first. But it's there... ticking away like a time bomb set to explode at any time. "But I was just busy taking care of everyone else", you say. But it's wrong. Dead wrong. You're drawing from an empty well if you put yourself last. Seeing what obesity did to my own mother makes me want to do more than just lose weight. When I get through this, I want to spend whatever time I have left on this planet helping others who, like me, have to wage this battle. It's uphill all the way, but more than anything, I want to feel comfortable in my own skin. And I will. This time it's for keeps.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Lighting Up The Snow and Winter Fun

We took down the Christmas tree this week. I was really sorry to see it go this year. We had put it up a week late, due to our home being a wreck during the recent redecorating of our office/study and I guess I didn't get my fill of the lights, so I was sorry to see it come down. It's like the light going out of your life (and whatever am I going to put in that dark spot in the living room?) However, we have a way of keeping Christmas in mind through March every year. We leave our lights up outside until after the first snow. Yes, we have snow in Memphis. We just have less of it than say, Chicago, New York or Detroit. We get about 4 inches per year, and if we get it all at once, that's a good snowfall! A snow that big begs to be celebrated. It goes without saying that the city shuts down, due to all the slippin' and slidin' going on on the road. And when it snows those big, wet flakes... ahhhhhhh... there's nothing like it. But I digress.

Snow is big news here. Whenever there is even a HINT of wintry weather coming our way, as was the case TWICE in the past week, you'll hear Dave Brown doing a teaser "Is snow in our forecast? Find out at 5." Uh huh. Most of the time, we don't get it. But when we DO... and it looks like it's going to be a good snowfall... by that I mean that it's the sticking kind, not the "I'm gonna make Memphis look worse wet than it does dry" kind, we hook the extension cord up to the lights that have been patiently waiting since everyone else kicked their Christmas trees to the curb the day after Christmas, and voila! Instant holiday spirit! We go out in the snow and let Tucker get a good romp in it, and watch as the chihuahuas pick up their tiny feet and look up at us as if to say "I don't like it, I don't like it, I don't like it..." We watch as cars go by, swerving all over the road as the driver tries to get a glimpse of our lights and keep both hands on the wheel while trying to avoid the next crazy motorist. A common sentiment here is "I know how to drive in it, it's just all the other idiots don't!" With that logic, it would seem that all Memphians know how to drive in snow. (Most of them can't even drive when it's dry, but again, I digress.)

Last year, we had a 4 inch snowfall, turned on our Christmas lights, took pictures, and sent them to the local tv station with a picture of Tennessee Tucker Blue in it. No surprise that it ended up on the news. Anything with "Tennessee" in it, will usually garner a few minutes of air time. And with the "Great White Death" coming out of the sky... well, you know it's definitely going to hit the news.

I remember one year when the boys were small, that we had a decent storm come through. There was ice, then snow, then ice again. Of course, we stayed home from work and school... long enough to get our sled out and trek over to the nearest hill. The boys had never been sledding before, and as a seasoned Chicagoan, I was anxious to show them the joys and travails of traveling down a frosty slope on two thin blades of metal at breakneck speed. The boys were asking us "how do we do it" so I took that occasion to put my behind on that poor little sled and mushed down the hill. What a great glide! The boys wanted in on the action, and fought over who went next. First was Jason, then Rhys rode with Steve. Over and over again, they took to the hill with gleaming smiles and rosy cheeks. I think I only got one more turn down the hill, but I didn't care. Just watching the guys made my heart glow. Our neighbors caught up with us at the very same hill, armed with nothing but a piece of cardboard box for a sled. Everyone had a blast. And when our fingers and toes were good and frozen, lips numb and noses running, back to the house we went for some homemade hot cocoa and apple pie. Mmmmmmmm.... Sounds good! I think I'll go have some. There's no snow, but that's no reason not to have pie!

So... no snow for now. But it's still January, and the latest snowfall we remember is March 7 of 2008. But those lights are ready, just in case...

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

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

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

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

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

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... Get Your Own! | View Slideshow

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!

Get Your Own! | View Slideshow

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

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