*~BlOgGiN' wHiTe TrAsH~*

A couple of nights ago C* and I were watching Ghost Adventures on the Travel Channel on this particular episode they were at the old WV prison and one of the stories they mentioned was about an inmate who died from a drug over dose. C* was puzzled about how that could happen (obviously she hasn’t been paying attention when we watch ‘Lockup’ on MSNBC!) she’s been under the impression that prison is just that, prison. You can’t get drugs. I told her, yeah, they can smuggle drugs in all sorts of ways, even though the CO’s have procedures and try to keep up with all the new ways of getting drugs smuggled in, it’s pretty much a game of wits & they keep coming up with new ways to get and do what they need. In fact, during the time my (estranged) Husband has been in prison, he’s personally known 2 people who have died from a drug overdose. C* looked at me, scrunched her face up and said; (referring to how inventive, creative and capable of complex thinking and doing we as an entire species are, not just prisoners with too much time on their hands) “Human’s are just a bunch of animals that can do too much! We know too much for our own good!”
I sat back, proud and satisfied that she just might come through this insane shopping, partying and MTV obsessed teenager thing with some intelligence after all.
It took me at least 10 years longer than her to realize the same thing.

Over the last few days Tony has developed pneumonia.
I don’t have to tell you what that means.
He’s been sleeping almost constantly. He talks in his sleep. Words you can’t understand, but he’s having conversations, I believe with whomever will be helping him cross over, some of his family believe this too. How could you not when while he’s been awake, he’s told us details of ‘visitors’ he’s had, describing family members he’s never seen. And everyone has heard the footsteps in the hall, the whispering of ones own name, and just tonight, the front door, under an unknown force, opening quite deliberately and to a wide berth, then stopping firm, followed by an electric chill distinctly separate from the wintry weather outdoors that even after the door was shut tight up again by a puzzled family member, had crossed the room and concentrated itself next to Tony’s bed where he lay sleeping. His only reaction? His breathing pattern changed.
We wish we could see, but it must be just between them. We wonder who it was and what they came for… just to sit beside him like he’s told us has happened before (that someone has come in and sat beside him on his bed)? Did they have some important words for him or we’re they just unseen visitors come to check in on him briefly like the endless stream of family and friends.
When it’s my turn, I’ll have my answers.
Whatever it is, whoever they are, please take good care of him when he’s with you.

this is the second year in a row that I haven’t wanted to put up any Christmas decorations, not even a single string of lights. Actually, it’s the second year I haven’t decorated for Halloween either. I used to LIVE for Halloween, and decorating for Christmas was a wonderful, glittering, colorful, blinking array of Holiday happiness flashing, sparkling and chiming the bitter cold, dreary darkened days and dirty slush and back aching shoveling & back breaking ice away for a few weeks every winter.

I wonder how many other people are like me. I celebrate Christmas, it’s not a religious thing, but I just haven’t felt the desire to decorate for it.  And I don’t miss it. Yes, some of it is depression, I am manic-depressive and winter always makes the depression seem heavier and stickier inside me. But something else is going on that I just don’t understand yet, why is it so easy for me to just not care or even miss having all my years of collected Christmas themed items decorating the house?

My three amazing Grandbabies. I’ve loved you before I even met you, and it only grows just as you do.
Transcend the dark and acrid; embrace love, honesty, family, truth and happiness.
We are bound together in blood, love, spirit and mind. My heart beats with the same strength and rhythm and soul that helped create your own.
I will always be here when you need me.
Gods and Angels watch over and protect you, listen to them, when they say ‘Yaya loves you’, and you smile, my heart will feel it no matter where we are, how near, how far.

Yaya LOVES & ADORES You!

I’m not (yet) very WordPress/Blog savvy. I’m still learning. I try and correct my spelling whenever I (or the faithful spellcheck) catches a whoopsie, but I’m not a spelling Nazi and I’m dang sure not a grammar Nazi! I don’t bother with stuff like proper sentence structure or anything resembling rules that are supposed to be followed when writing poetry or prose or anything at all.  I just write it the way I feel it needs to be written. I put the words where & how I want. So if that bothers anyone, if  you happen to be a stickler for the rules of proper writing, this blog will probably annoy the daylights out of you.

I’m not writing or blogging anything to demand anyone change their own viewpoint nor to get into comment wars and arguments, I am expressing my own thoughts, opinions, feelings and experiences mostly for my own benefit and future reference. I’m not searching for sympathy, pity, advice or lectures, just putting down my life experience as I see and live it.

I am still (and hopefully always will be) learning and growing and becoming as a human and as a Woman, Mother, Grandmother, etc.  My own views are not set in stone, they can change as I learn more and expand my wisdom. I do have a hard time with change, but I do it when it’s the right thing for me.

I’m not a social person, I’m not a happy person. I love my independence but at the same time, love belonging somewhere and knowing I’m a part of something. I am a control freak, but I have learned how to let things go to some extent for my own peace of mind. I think a lot of it is that I am 40, and I’m becoming set in my ways and comfortable with that, I can do what I need to do for myself, if not, I try and find a way around it. I don’t like having to rely on others for help with things I can learn how to manage on my own.  I have learned how to admit when I’m wrong, which was a huge step for me and has been nothing but positive.

I grew up knowing (have no idea how I knew though) I didn’t think like everyone else did. That I was different and ‘alien’ to some degree. I learned to fake and blend in and ‘act’ my way through life so as not to stand out and draw attention to myself for being ‘different’.

I was given up for adoption at birth. My birthmother was (going by records and information which all, none or part of  may or may not have been altered to some degree) 19 and single at my birth, the story goes, she was pregnant by an older man whom she had babysat for while he was separated from his wife. He had 3 children (my half-siblings). Her name was/is listed on my ‘original birth certificate’ and on my hospital birth records, the name is very common and may as I mentioned above have been changed in whole or part. My birthmother was told I was a girl and she named me, but did not see nor hold me. She had been living at a well known unwed mother’s home. Apparently, her mother was also single.  Anywho, I lived with a foster family until I was adopted at 6 months of age my my parents. My dad was in the Air Force, my Mother and he met while he was stationed in England a decade earlier. They tried for 9 years to have children of their own and finally adopted me and then a brother while stationed in Kansas. I was born April 2nd 1968 in Topeka. I do have one or 2 very vague but distinct memories of Kansas, we moved from there when I was around 3 to Northern California, to England for a year (my mom and us went to live with her family while my dad went TDY for that time period) then he was stationed out here in Northern Utah, where he retired after doing 20 years and here we stayed, up until 4 years ago when they moved to SouthWestern Colorado (where my dad was born & raised) and retired. I have never been able to track down any birth family and have recently came to terms with probably never finding anyone. I figure they could also look for me, if at all any of them wanted to find me.

*This is getting long! It is a work under construction, so I will be adding to, taking away from and revising & polishing this entry frequently until I get it the way I want it.

I will admit, I’ve had nothing but a MySpaz blog for the last 3 years and am unfortunately clueless to much of the workings, bells & whistles of an actual dedicated blog site like WordPress. I hope that anyone who is kind enough to stop in & read will understand and be patient with me.  I’m also pretty much a blundering mess when it comes to navigating and searching the help forums as well. I’ll figure it out soon, I hope ! I will admit I have a mild learning disorder that makes it difficult to grasp some types of written instruction, so I spend a lot of time with trial and error, fingers-on experimenting. Which is how I’ve come to learn a lot of things during my life.

Also, much of this (now that I’ve already put up all of my writing/poetry & such that I wanted to put up) will be journal/diary type or entries. The best therapy besides ‘retail therapy’ (shopping) that I’ve found is writing and although I have no delusions of becoming any kind of  ‘rich & famous blogger’ I decided to share my life publicly for probably the same reason most everyone else does, I just want to feel heard. That I’m not just existing in a vast, unfriendly, empty space and after I’m gone, something of who I was and how I thought will always be here.

Which now leads me to ending this as I’ve gotten off my original subject and lead into my next subject which would be something along the lines of things you should know about me (which may or may not help).

~L

I write a bunch of babble, calling some of it ‘prose’, some of it ‘poetry’ not really knowing what any of it is besides ‘My Writing’. So I write it somewhat expecting someone else will eventually read it, but do I read it (other people’s)?
I actually don’t like reading it. When I do, I’m incredibly picky about the Poetry/Prose I do read. I think most of it is either incomprehensible, and a good portion was actually meant to be written that way; or its just junk. So why do I write it and expect other people to read it?
I have no fucking idea.
That said; I apologize for wasting anyone’s time who was kind enough to read any of my blather and hated it.

As a rule I do read blogs of and return comments  to those who leave me a link to theirs (I haven’t figure out how to get to a commentors blog yet).

I told Tony or actually ‘warned’ him that the next time I came over we were going to ‘have the talk’ about if we had any ‘unfinished’ or ‘unsaid’ business between us. He and I have a rare opportunity many people would pay untold amounts for, to be able to say everything we need to say to each other before he departs to the great beyond be it Tír na nÓg, Elysium, Valhalla, Aaru, Nirvana, Svarga, Valinor or Summerland.

My point was to make sure he knew that as far as our relationship goes, he had never done anything wrong, in fact, the only problem we ever had was because of a mutual friend of ours that I no longer have anything to do with and even that could have even been avoided (my bad).

Tony never did anything unbecoming of a perfect gentleman and a perfect friend during our years of friendship. I had hoped to be of some comfort to him, helping him feel (as he is) blameless and proud of who he has been to me as a friend and more. My goal was to be the one comforting and assuring him… didn’t do so good. True to Tony form, he ended up being the one comforting me. By the end of our conversation I was bawling all over him… I kept trying not to cry; I didn’t want to upset him, I didn’t want to go all weird and emotional on him. I take my job visiting/talking with Tony to be more keeping things humorous & silly and away from the serious, emotional stuff, since he has more than enough of that to deal with. I’m more comic relief, I just had to make sure he knew how I felt and what he’s meant to me, but like he said, he knows all that. And I know he know’s what I said was more for my own peace of mind than his. The only unfinished business I’ll have concerning Tony is why someone as wonderful as he is, is being taken away from us.

I’ve decided for now (although it’ll most likely change in future) to not use anyone’s complete first name in my blogs, the only obvious exception is my good friend Tony, for two reasons, one is it’s such a common name and two is that he’s dying from liver disease (NOT alcohol/drug related) and it just seems disrespectful.

I decided to post a help chart of sorts, which will probably end up being much more confusing in the long run!

I will add too/change this around as needed.

C* -is my youngest daughter, she’s 16.

S* -my oldest daughter, 22… I only have 2 children. My oldest daughter has 3 children, my beloved grandbabies; D* 5yrs(a boy and my oldest grandchild)  N* 4yrs and T* 18mo both girls.

M* -is my Son-in-law, married to S* he is the father of the 2 girls.

K* -is C*’s boyfriend

J* -is my current husband, #5. We’ve been married 12 years in Jan ‘09 and have spent 85% of that time separated in some way or another.

My girls both have different fathers,  J* is not one of them.

I have one dog, Toby. He is half Chihuahua half Miniature Pinscher. He’ll be 2 years old the end of Feb.

I have 3 cats, one that is actually mine, Blight (3), and two, Flower (12yrs in April) and

K*2 (almost 1, who, yes, is named after her bf) who are actually C*’s but when/if she moves out in all reality will stay with me and I’m wonderful with that.

*Note; Pics have NOT been posted on this blog.

Wednesday, March 05, 2008
FrankenZombiePlague Arm

If ur easily squeamish, use caution if u go look at my latest arm pics.  Maybe don’t be eating anything…lol.
It looks worse than it feels, it feels wonderful, considering what its gone thru. The only thing that hurts is wen I try to rotate it, like just enough to face palm up…ow. Thats going to be what I’m working on in physical therapy, (haven’t started that yet, prob in 2 weeks) that and I still have quite a bit of numbness in my index finger and thumb. Dr thinks those nerves should heal to close to 100% eventually, again…phys therapy. But if my phys therapist hurts my wittle arm, I WILL kick! I can’t help it, thats my automatic reaction, lol.
I don’t see Dr again for 2 weeks, he just pulled off the steri-strips & cleaned up the top incision, snipped the stitches out of the side one, scrubbed it down w/ Betadine & peroxide, slapped some gauze on it, re-wrapped it & re-splinted it. He’s thinking we may not even have to put it in a cast at all; I just have to be careful…no hockey playing or teenage daughter smack down wrestling (most of you know by now what really happened & why).
As for my little friends, the metal plates, if they end up needing to be removed, it’s usually a year down the road.
My girls stomached it better this time; C* even got picture happy above & beyond what I’d expected she’d do, she was directing me, ‘hold it this way, the lights better’. S* even pulled herself outta her cuddly bed, got Lola put together and drove me to my appointment, and while there, she didn’t even throw up, even tho she had an empty tummy! I’m so proud of my girls. S* didn’t even complain while she taxied me all over town to pay bills.
Then I had to come home & take a nap.
I’m a Grandma…I can do that.