OK, so I collected a bunch of them in one place, uploaded and created a slideshow. Only the freaking html for the slideshow has an error in it somewhere. Fucking image shack! GGRRRR!!!!!!
So here's the link in case you want to see what it looked like when, as my daughter's best friend says, "the apocalypse occured."
Warning, they're pretty fucking depressing pictures.
Ice Storm, December, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
So.....about cleaning up all that debris
There's a buttload of downed wood in both my front and back yards. The front yard is filled with the remains of the pecan tree. Breaks my heart to look out there. It's always been one of my favorite places to sit, out in the front yard under the pecan tree on a soft summer day. It was so beautiful. Sunshine chasing shadow all around my home. All the downed wood has been cut into lengths that can be hauled to the curb.
In the backyard are the downed remains of a peach tree, a baby pecan tree, and an apple tree. Because they grew along the fence line, and because the fence line between mine and my neighbor's land follows the line of the electrical connections, the tree trimmers and linemen came into my backyard and cut down all my trees. I guess they figure they don't have to worry about them growing into the electrical lines ever now. They also cut down all the weeping willow that was hanging over my backyard from my neighbor's tree. They were literally laying on the electrical lines, frozen in ice. So there's all that debris to haul. It all just makes me so sad. It's like this all over the city. Thousands of trees broken. I've never seen anything like this. Not ever. I hate it.
I walked into the backyard to begin the process of hauling all that shit out of there. My yard looks naked. :o( I walked into the front yard. The pecan tree looks like a wounded warrior, spearing the sky with broken and splintered arms. No more sunshine chasing shadow. I think I'm going to lose the whole tree. There's not enough left to salvage it, I'm told.
This sucks.
Christmas fun!
OK, so I went to Tucson for Thanksgiving with my brother and his family. I have to post more about that because it was really fun and we had a blast. But first, this. My brother's best friend is a DJ at one of the radio stations there. He took my brother and his girlfriend to this show in Phoenix this year. Jonas (the DJ friend) knows the guy who does advance ticketing for this group. He arranged to have tickets waiting at the box office for us in OKC tonight. So we're driving over this afternoon. I've loved their music for years. I can't believe I get to go see them. :o)
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Short list
1. Sicker than snot
2. Hospitalized w/pneumonia
3. Daughter drove to Tucson for Thanksgiving since I couldn't hold my head up very well. 19 1/2 hours straight through. Never again.
4. It was totally worth it. They tucked me into bed and took care of me like no one has in nearly 20 years.
5. I like my brother a lot. I love him too. Both very good things.
5. Came home thinking I feel better, I can get caught up on life.
6. The next day there was a major computer crash at work.
7. Spent the next 10 days living in the office.
8. Then the ice storm hit.
9. That was December 9th/10th.
10. We got electricity back today.
11. I don't ever want to do any of that again.
12. I am alive.
13. I think.
14. More later.
Love,
The one whose life is a walking disaster sometimes
2. Hospitalized w/pneumonia
3. Daughter drove to Tucson for Thanksgiving since I couldn't hold my head up very well. 19 1/2 hours straight through. Never again.
4. It was totally worth it. They tucked me into bed and took care of me like no one has in nearly 20 years.
5. I like my brother a lot. I love him too. Both very good things.
5. Came home thinking I feel better, I can get caught up on life.
6. The next day there was a major computer crash at work.
7. Spent the next 10 days living in the office.
8. Then the ice storm hit.
9. That was December 9th/10th.
10. We got electricity back today.
11. I don't ever want to do any of that again.
12. I am alive.
13. I think.
14. More later.
Love,
The one whose life is a walking disaster sometimes
Saturday, November 10, 2007
#$@#$%$#^%#$@^(
In case you can't translate, that's me swearing because I'm sick again.
Fever, sore throat, congestion, ears hurting. Funny. Two women at work had the exact same thing last week. You think that's where I got it?
Totally pisses me off when people don't stay the fuck home when they're contagious.
Inconsiderate assholes! They had sick/vacation time left. They didn't want to "waste it."
GGGRRRR!!!!!!
OK, I'm done. I'm going back to bed where I belong. Because every time I stand up I fall down. I think it's because my ears are clogged.
Fever, sore throat, congestion, ears hurting. Funny. Two women at work had the exact same thing last week. You think that's where I got it?
Totally pisses me off when people don't stay the fuck home when they're contagious.
Inconsiderate assholes! They had sick/vacation time left. They didn't want to "waste it."
GGGRRRR!!!!!!
OK, I'm done. I'm going back to bed where I belong. Because every time I stand up I fall down. I think it's because my ears are clogged.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Instructions to medicate your cat
This is a list. For the future. Lest I forget.
How to put meds into Puff Ringo:
Required:
1. Three adult sized humans
2. A bowl of shredded beef cat food, and a couple of blobs of cheese
3. A syringe
4. A bowl of water
5. Two bath sheet size extra thick towels
6. One heavy duty, extra thick, super duper pair of work gloves
7. An evening to waste
Puff Ringo acquired her third case of tapeworms recently. I noticed yesterday. Picked up the meds today on my way home from work. I've done this with her before. It is never fun. For either of us. She ends of up extremely pissed. I end up extremely bloody. Why this stuff doesn't come in liquid form, I have no idea. Probably because it was invented by a dog person who has not the slightest clue what the hell it takes to shove meds down a cat's throat. But, hey! The last two times I had to do it alone. This time, I have help! It'll be easier!
It takes one and a half pills to dose her. The pills are large. Puff is not. So I break them into quarters. Yes, I know. I am an ass. That means I have to put my fingers in her mouth six - yes, I said six - times. She's pretty pissed after the first time. The other five I'm just asking for trouble.
I start off hoping I can fool her. I put 1/4 of a pill into a couple of tablespoons of cat food. She eats all the way around it. Of course. I try molding some cheese around the 1/4 of a pill hoping she'll scarf it down and not notice. She spits the meds out. Swallows the cheese. This cat is smart. I forgot. This is the one who plays fetch with pipe cleaners rolled up in a ball, like a damn retriever!
OK, time to get determined. I wrap her in a bath towel, holding the closed part under her chin. The idea is to a) hold her still and b) keep her from ripping me to shreds with her claws. I tell Andy hold her gently, but firmly and no matter what, DO NOT LET GO! I pry her jaw open, drop 1/4 of a pill down the back of her throat, hold her jaw closed, and gently stroke her neck while encouraging her to swallow. She is growling in the back of her throat. I hold her like that for a good 2 to 3 minutes. When I let go, she spits the pill out. And hisses at me. Andy gets scared and lets go. The cat escapes. Of course.
I crawl my rather rotund ass under the bed to pull her out and try again. And again. And again. By now, her back legs are shredding the towel, so we get a second one. She is trying to bite me so I put on gloves. I finally hit on the idea of using a small syringe of water, squirted into the side of her mouth while I'm holding her jaw closed, to make her swallow.
Worked like a charm. I got the first 3 down. Now she's REALLY pissed off. Andy loses his courage and bails. Katie takes his place. She offers to put the pill in the cat's mouth, but has second thoughts once she sees those lovely sharp fangs. Still, she's a more faithful assistant. She doesn't let go when Puff hisses and growls.
When we were finished we carried her outside and let her go. No way I'm letting a cat that is THAT pissed off loose in my house to terrorize the rest of them. She came back a couple of hours later, walked by my desk, swiped at my shin with a claw, curled up on my bed, and is sleeping. She'll probably bite me in the middle of the night.
But she won't have tapeworms anymore!
How to put meds into Puff Ringo:
Required:
1. Three adult sized humans
2. A bowl of shredded beef cat food, and a couple of blobs of cheese
3. A syringe
4. A bowl of water
5. Two bath sheet size extra thick towels
6. One heavy duty, extra thick, super duper pair of work gloves
7. An evening to waste
Puff Ringo acquired her third case of tapeworms recently. I noticed yesterday. Picked up the meds today on my way home from work. I've done this with her before. It is never fun. For either of us. She ends of up extremely pissed. I end up extremely bloody. Why this stuff doesn't come in liquid form, I have no idea. Probably because it was invented by a dog person who has not the slightest clue what the hell it takes to shove meds down a cat's throat. But, hey! The last two times I had to do it alone. This time, I have help! It'll be easier!
It takes one and a half pills to dose her. The pills are large. Puff is not. So I break them into quarters. Yes, I know. I am an ass. That means I have to put my fingers in her mouth six - yes, I said six - times. She's pretty pissed after the first time. The other five I'm just asking for trouble.
I start off hoping I can fool her. I put 1/4 of a pill into a couple of tablespoons of cat food. She eats all the way around it. Of course. I try molding some cheese around the 1/4 of a pill hoping she'll scarf it down and not notice. She spits the meds out. Swallows the cheese. This cat is smart. I forgot. This is the one who plays fetch with pipe cleaners rolled up in a ball, like a damn retriever!
OK, time to get determined. I wrap her in a bath towel, holding the closed part under her chin. The idea is to a) hold her still and b) keep her from ripping me to shreds with her claws. I tell Andy hold her gently, but firmly and no matter what, DO NOT LET GO! I pry her jaw open, drop 1/4 of a pill down the back of her throat, hold her jaw closed, and gently stroke her neck while encouraging her to swallow. She is growling in the back of her throat. I hold her like that for a good 2 to 3 minutes. When I let go, she spits the pill out. And hisses at me. Andy gets scared and lets go. The cat escapes. Of course.
I crawl my rather rotund ass under the bed to pull her out and try again. And again. And again. By now, her back legs are shredding the towel, so we get a second one. She is trying to bite me so I put on gloves. I finally hit on the idea of using a small syringe of water, squirted into the side of her mouth while I'm holding her jaw closed, to make her swallow.
Worked like a charm. I got the first 3 down. Now she's REALLY pissed off. Andy loses his courage and bails. Katie takes his place. She offers to put the pill in the cat's mouth, but has second thoughts once she sees those lovely sharp fangs. Still, she's a more faithful assistant. She doesn't let go when Puff hisses and growls.
When we were finished we carried her outside and let her go. No way I'm letting a cat that is THAT pissed off loose in my house to terrorize the rest of them. She came back a couple of hours later, walked by my desk, swiped at my shin with a claw, curled up on my bed, and is sleeping. She'll probably bite me in the middle of the night.
But she won't have tapeworms anymore!
Sunday, October 28, 2007
An award has been bestowed upon me
By sweet Nina over at Closer To Fine. It's a lovely award, but I think this means Nina thinks I'm nice, as opposed to the bitch I really am. Nina? How could you???? *smile*
Seriously, thank you, sweetie. It was very thoughtful of you. I get to pass it on too, yes? I can think of no more deserving person than Deborah at Middle Girl. She was one of the first bloggers I communicated with, is one of the gentlest souls I've met out here in internetland, and is someone very special to me. Go check her out! Oh yeah, and she's got this amazing lip thing going on over at her blog too! *smile*
More real posting later. There's a pot of coffee with my name on it in the kitchen.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
76 hours
In.One.Week.
Work, that is. My brain is fried.
I'll post for real tomorrow. Today, I do Halloween costumes; Katie's for her Rogue party tonight, Andy's for the Boo-Ha-Ha Parade. He marches at 3 with the rest of the band, dressed as a Sith Lord from Star Wars. She parties at 7 dressed as Mr. Rogers.
I am beyond tired.
Work, that is. My brain is fried.
I'll post for real tomorrow. Today, I do Halloween costumes; Katie's for her Rogue party tonight, Andy's for the Boo-Ha-Ha Parade. He marches at 3 with the rest of the band, dressed as a Sith Lord from Star Wars. She parties at 7 dressed as Mr. Rogers.
I am beyond tired.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Sleep is the great equalizer
OK, 3 1/2 hours of sleep and I'm better. Not shaking anymore. Katie woke up a little while ago and is sitting on the porch drinking tea and eating toast. No hives, no swelling, no abdominal pain, "but I do still have my cycle, damn it!" LOL She's looking extremely pale but I guess that's to be expected.
Off to the store for meds and groceries while Andy's still here.
Then more sleep for both of us I think.
Off to the store for meds and groceries while Andy's still here.
Then more sleep for both of us I think.
Children should be height/weight proportionate to their parents
It should be a law. Really. It should be. Children should be height/weight proportionate to their parents. So that when you have to carry them to the car because they're horribly sick, you can actually do it. When you find you can't, and they are frighteningly close to passing out and sliding down the wall, you should be able to pick them up off the floor. You should also not be scared shitless when one of the people you love most in the world is that sick.
Katie came home from an overnight trip to Norman with friends last night not feeling well at all. It was the first day of her cycle, and those are usually difficult, but this was brutal. She was doubled over, crying, and she's not a whiner. I tucked her into the couch with pillows and blankets and a heating pad, gave her two tylenol, and we tried to rest. She woke me at 3:30 this morning saying she'd gotten sick and needed help. I cleaned up, got her changed, decided I'd call the doctor's office first thing as soon as they opened. She's finally agreed with me to talk to the doctor to see if there's anything we can do about the pain associated with her cycles.
As I was settling her back down on the couch, she said her stomach hurt really bad, and she was "itchy." Eh? Itchy? What the hell? She had a slight rash on her arms.
Two hours later, at 5:30, she walked into my room said, "Mom, I feel really weird." I looked up and her whole face was swollen. I sat her down on my bed, checked the rest of her, she was solid hives. What the hell??? OK, ER now. I went to walk her out to the car because at 5'9" to my measly 5'2" carrying her was not in the equation. She stood up, flushed bright red, then dead white, and started to go down to the floor. I propped her up against the wall and yelled for Andy. THAT child sleeps like the dead. He didn't hear me. I let her slide to the floor. She's starting to wheeze. I ran for the phone, smacked his bedroom door with my hand on the way through the house and yelled for him to get up and help me. Called 911, the ambulance was here in minutes.
Two hours later and we're back home. They gave her steroids and Xantax, both for the histamine reaction. We can't figure out what the hell did this. She didn't eat or drink anything she hasn't had a million times before yesterday. No spider bites, or bee stings or anything like that. The only meds she had was Tylenol and she's taken that since she was a baby.
I'm stumped. But my blood pressure's back to normal, I think. Jesus, she scared me bad. Oh yeah, and in the ER, when she finally came around, her only comment was, "Can we go home now? This all seems a little excessive for a rash, Mom." She doesn't remember any of it.
Katie came home from an overnight trip to Norman with friends last night not feeling well at all. It was the first day of her cycle, and those are usually difficult, but this was brutal. She was doubled over, crying, and she's not a whiner. I tucked her into the couch with pillows and blankets and a heating pad, gave her two tylenol, and we tried to rest. She woke me at 3:30 this morning saying she'd gotten sick and needed help. I cleaned up, got her changed, decided I'd call the doctor's office first thing as soon as they opened. She's finally agreed with me to talk to the doctor to see if there's anything we can do about the pain associated with her cycles.
As I was settling her back down on the couch, she said her stomach hurt really bad, and she was "itchy." Eh? Itchy? What the hell? She had a slight rash on her arms.
Two hours later, at 5:30, she walked into my room said, "Mom, I feel really weird." I looked up and her whole face was swollen. I sat her down on my bed, checked the rest of her, she was solid hives. What the hell??? OK, ER now. I went to walk her out to the car because at 5'9" to my measly 5'2" carrying her was not in the equation. She stood up, flushed bright red, then dead white, and started to go down to the floor. I propped her up against the wall and yelled for Andy. THAT child sleeps like the dead. He didn't hear me. I let her slide to the floor. She's starting to wheeze. I ran for the phone, smacked his bedroom door with my hand on the way through the house and yelled for him to get up and help me. Called 911, the ambulance was here in minutes.
Two hours later and we're back home. They gave her steroids and Xantax, both for the histamine reaction. We can't figure out what the hell did this. She didn't eat or drink anything she hasn't had a million times before yesterday. No spider bites, or bee stings or anything like that. The only meds she had was Tylenol and she's taken that since she was a baby.
I'm stumped. But my blood pressure's back to normal, I think. Jesus, she scared me bad. Oh yeah, and in the ER, when she finally came around, her only comment was, "Can we go home now? This all seems a little excessive for a rash, Mom." She doesn't remember any of it.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Something bumping around in my head
There's this stuff that's been running around in my head since the Indigo Girls concert. Thoughts that keep bumping into each other. Lots of them. I need to get them outside my head because a) it's really very crowded in there, and b) I need to view them with some distance.
Now if only I could find a way to put them down on paper (screen?) without self-editing.
Crap.
Now if only I could find a way to put them down on paper (screen?) without self-editing.
Crap.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
The Sax Man
Homecoming Parade, 2007 - the sax man marches. I like this picture. He's concentrating, focused on the drill and the music, blocking out everything else. I love watching him when he's like this.
The music is a living, breathing thing inside him; the beat of the drums, the other instruments, nothing outside the bands registers on his radar screen.
A voice from the recent past
Remember a while back I was supposed to have dinner with Dee and she cancelled? Had to go help a friend change out the locks on doors at her house. She asked for a raincheck and I said sure, I understand. I was disappointed but hey, stuff happens. That was the last time I heard from her. Nearly 2 months ago. I called and left a voice mail message once, dropped her two emails and never got an answer. I heard from another friend that she seemed to be fine, was in church every Sunday.
Well, I got an email from her today. It said she had Ms. X move in with her and they were doing great. How was I doing? She hadn't seen me in a while.
Um...nope, you haven't. Short term memory loss on her part, I guess.
I wrote her back, told her I was fine, working a lot of hours, I was glad to hear she was happy, and I wished her well.
I'm still disappointed but for different reasons now.
Well, I got an email from her today. It said she had Ms. X move in with her and they were doing great. How was I doing? She hadn't seen me in a while.
Um...nope, you haven't. Short term memory loss on her part, I guess.
I wrote her back, told her I was fine, working a lot of hours, I was glad to hear she was happy, and I wished her well.
I'm still disappointed but for different reasons now.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Workday Woes
I walked into work at 7am today, to a war zone. I could hear them from halfway down the hall, long before I actually got to the office door and opened it. M came around the corner just before I turned into the hallway that our office door opens off of. Her face looked like it was set in granite. I asked her what was going on. She never said a work. Kept right on going. As I rounded the corner I heard, "WELL THEN THE MOTHERFUCKIN PATIENTS CAN WAIT ANOTHER FUCKIN 15 MINUTES FOR ME TO GET HERE! AND ALLA Y'ALL BITCHES GOT NO FUCKIN BUSINESS TALKIN ABOUT ME BACK HERE SO GO FUCK YERSELF!!"
Excuse me? WHAT did you just say? I could not believe my ears. First, who in their right mind screams something like that, at the top of their lungs, when anyone walking by will hear them? Who does that? At work? Where patients and doctors and other staff could hear you? OK, stupid thought. No one in their right mind. Right mind being the operative phrase here.
I opened the office door and walked in to find E and C in the middle of the aisle that runs between the cubicles on my side of the office. E was less than 2 inches from C, and she was the screamer. Five of us are having to split the duties at registration at this location, on a rotating day basis, while the company is in the midst of moving/remodeling the area we'll be moving to in about 6 months. The weekdays are split up between E, M, T, A, and myself. It's made for some harried days at times. Still, it's part of the job. Suck it up, slap a smile on your face, and be a professional about it. Not these 4.
All four of them, on a regular basis, have bitched and moaned, whined and complained, bitten heads off too often and, in general been really immature about the whole thing. All four of them. They range in age from mid 30s to my age, and they're acting like teenagers; immature, unprofessional, backbiting, bitches.
I stepped in between them and told them this is neither the time nor the place for this, whatever your differences are you need to walk away right now and cool off. I have to give C credit. She'd already said, "I don't have to listen to anyone talking to me this way," and turned away.
E stormed out, M stormed in a few minutes later, and both C and M asked me what I thought. I told them I wasn't here when it started, I don't want to be in the middle of it, but I sure hope somebody has some explaining they're able to do. I can't be the only one who heard that, and you can bet our boss is going to know it 5 minutes after she walks in here today.
Turns out our boss was onsite at another location all morning. Each of them emailed her their version of the events. C is a coder, and not part of the registration rotation. M had covered for A during lunch on Wed., then covered her own full day at reg on Thursday, and when she walked in this morning, there were patients already waiting to be checked in with E, whose assigned day it was, nowhere to be found. M did the right thing. She clocked in, checked in the patients, and opened up the waiting room for them. Granted, they were extremely early. It was about 6:40. Their appts were for 7:30. They're told to come in at 7 so we have time to get the paperwork done. Someone almost always shows up before 7. M checked in the patients, locked the computer as she is supposed to for security reasons, and headed back to our office area to find out who was supposed to cover reg today and where were they. Apparently she and C were standing there talking it over and trying to figure out what to do when E walked in at 7:05. That's when all hell broke loose.
M packed her stuff, refusing to discuss it. Mainly because our supervisor sided with E, saying that she was raked over the coals as soon as she walked in the door for not being there before the patients arrived. To my mind, that's just plain wrong. No matter what the reason, no matter what's gone down, I don't give a good god damn what the hell happened, there is absolutely NO reason that excuses talking to anyone the way she was screaming at them, especially not in the work environment. Yet she is not being reprimanded, not disciplined in any way. Nothing. I doubt that M will be back on Monday and that's a damn shame. E gets away with treating people like shit, M and C get away with this drama/gossip shit, and we all lose in the longrun.
They called a meeting. They told us all we're under a lot of stress. True. They told us all we need to be more tolerant. Probably also true. End of meeting. What???? That's IT? You're not going to say anything at all about what happened here this morning? Nothing? Not a word? No one asked me what I'd seen/heard. I guess it didn't matter to have an objective recount of the situation. Or maybe that's what they were trying to avoid.
I've lost every iota of respect for these people. How can they expect anyone to want to work for them if they know nothing about setting professional boundaries? How can these women, grown women, act like this? Take so little pride in how they present to staff and patients?
I am confused and disheartened.
What the hell is happening in today's world where this type of behavior is rationalized, even in the workplace? It makes no sense to me.
Excuse me? WHAT did you just say? I could not believe my ears. First, who in their right mind screams something like that, at the top of their lungs, when anyone walking by will hear them? Who does that? At work? Where patients and doctors and other staff could hear you? OK, stupid thought. No one in their right mind. Right mind being the operative phrase here.
I opened the office door and walked in to find E and C in the middle of the aisle that runs between the cubicles on my side of the office. E was less than 2 inches from C, and she was the screamer. Five of us are having to split the duties at registration at this location, on a rotating day basis, while the company is in the midst of moving/remodeling the area we'll be moving to in about 6 months. The weekdays are split up between E, M, T, A, and myself. It's made for some harried days at times. Still, it's part of the job. Suck it up, slap a smile on your face, and be a professional about it. Not these 4.
All four of them, on a regular basis, have bitched and moaned, whined and complained, bitten heads off too often and, in general been really immature about the whole thing. All four of them. They range in age from mid 30s to my age, and they're acting like teenagers; immature, unprofessional, backbiting, bitches.
I stepped in between them and told them this is neither the time nor the place for this, whatever your differences are you need to walk away right now and cool off. I have to give C credit. She'd already said, "I don't have to listen to anyone talking to me this way," and turned away.
E stormed out, M stormed in a few minutes later, and both C and M asked me what I thought. I told them I wasn't here when it started, I don't want to be in the middle of it, but I sure hope somebody has some explaining they're able to do. I can't be the only one who heard that, and you can bet our boss is going to know it 5 minutes after she walks in here today.
Turns out our boss was onsite at another location all morning. Each of them emailed her their version of the events. C is a coder, and not part of the registration rotation. M had covered for A during lunch on Wed., then covered her own full day at reg on Thursday, and when she walked in this morning, there were patients already waiting to be checked in with E, whose assigned day it was, nowhere to be found. M did the right thing. She clocked in, checked in the patients, and opened up the waiting room for them. Granted, they were extremely early. It was about 6:40. Their appts were for 7:30. They're told to come in at 7 so we have time to get the paperwork done. Someone almost always shows up before 7. M checked in the patients, locked the computer as she is supposed to for security reasons, and headed back to our office area to find out who was supposed to cover reg today and where were they. Apparently she and C were standing there talking it over and trying to figure out what to do when E walked in at 7:05. That's when all hell broke loose.
M packed her stuff, refusing to discuss it. Mainly because our supervisor sided with E, saying that she was raked over the coals as soon as she walked in the door for not being there before the patients arrived. To my mind, that's just plain wrong. No matter what the reason, no matter what's gone down, I don't give a good god damn what the hell happened, there is absolutely NO reason that excuses talking to anyone the way she was screaming at them, especially not in the work environment. Yet she is not being reprimanded, not disciplined in any way. Nothing. I doubt that M will be back on Monday and that's a damn shame. E gets away with treating people like shit, M and C get away with this drama/gossip shit, and we all lose in the longrun.
They called a meeting. They told us all we're under a lot of stress. True. They told us all we need to be more tolerant. Probably also true. End of meeting. What???? That's IT? You're not going to say anything at all about what happened here this morning? Nothing? Not a word? No one asked me what I'd seen/heard. I guess it didn't matter to have an objective recount of the situation. Or maybe that's what they were trying to avoid.
I've lost every iota of respect for these people. How can they expect anyone to want to work for them if they know nothing about setting professional boundaries? How can these women, grown women, act like this? Take so little pride in how they present to staff and patients?
I am confused and disheartened.
What the hell is happening in today's world where this type of behavior is rationalized, even in the workplace? It makes no sense to me.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Linking to here
I've been thinking about this since Nina asked in a comment when I unlocked the blog. It's hard to think about. Will she find me again? Make my life a living hell again? Then I stopped and thought, that's pretty ridiculous. I have a restraining order. She can't physically contact me in any way, can't come near me or my kids, my home or my place of employment. This is just my blog. I back it up frequently. The comments are moderated. She can't really hurt me here. The worst she could do is contact my online friends. I don't worry about that. You'd figure out in a heartbeat that she's really all that I've said she is.
So, link if you like. Thank you for asking first.
US History and Barbie
Seeing Sassy's comment on my blog got me to thinking about when I first started reading her blog. Yep, I've been a lurker for a long time. Actually, I'll fess up and say that I lurk at a lot of places. Too hesitant to comment often, but I'm working on that, little by little.
Anyway, there was a part of Sassy's site that linked to some stuff from her old site about Barbies. Stories from people who'd owned them or whose daughters had owned them. Yep, I have one of those daughters. I never, EVER wanted Katie to have Barbie dolls. I absolutely despised them, mostly because I thought they made little girls strive for a physical perfection that's just not possible. My ex husband's mother bought Critter her first one. Pissed me off to no end because he knew how I felt about them, he was in the store with her when she bought it, and he let it go on anyway. Of course, once Critter had it, I couldn't very well take it away. He knew that would be the case. However, Critter had her own ideas about what Barbies were good for.
She collected quite a few of them in the next few years. She was about 4 when she got the first one and collected probably about 15 or so of them until about age 9, all from my former mother-in-law or other husband related relatives. In 4th grade they were studying the early days of our country and the immigrants who arrived here. One Saturday Critter was in her room playing. I peeked in and found her making "something special" from a box of odds and ends; scraps of material, string, cardboard, construction paper, plastic beads, etc. It was her catch all box for crafts, and I was constantly replenishing it.
About 2 hours later she came out of her room, laughing and smiling. Her brother was with her and chuckling too. When I asked her what was so funny she said she had something for her teacher. She pulls this Barbie out from behind her back who is wearing a handmade outfit of dress, stockings, "boots", and a scarf. She looks.....financially challenged. LOL I asked Critter who this Barbie is supposed to be. "Indentured Servant Barbie."
Anyway, there was a part of Sassy's site that linked to some stuff from her old site about Barbies. Stories from people who'd owned them or whose daughters had owned them. Yep, I have one of those daughters. I never, EVER wanted Katie to have Barbie dolls. I absolutely despised them, mostly because I thought they made little girls strive for a physical perfection that's just not possible. My ex husband's mother bought Critter her first one. Pissed me off to no end because he knew how I felt about them, he was in the store with her when she bought it, and he let it go on anyway. Of course, once Critter had it, I couldn't very well take it away. He knew that would be the case. However, Critter had her own ideas about what Barbies were good for.
She collected quite a few of them in the next few years. She was about 4 when she got the first one and collected probably about 15 or so of them until about age 9, all from my former mother-in-law or other husband related relatives. In 4th grade they were studying the early days of our country and the immigrants who arrived here. One Saturday Critter was in her room playing. I peeked in and found her making "something special" from a box of odds and ends; scraps of material, string, cardboard, construction paper, plastic beads, etc. It was her catch all box for crafts, and I was constantly replenishing it.
About 2 hours later she came out of her room, laughing and smiling. Her brother was with her and chuckling too. When I asked her what was so funny she said she had something for her teacher. She pulls this Barbie out from behind her back who is wearing a handmade outfit of dress, stockings, "boots", and a scarf. She looks.....financially challenged. LOL I asked Critter who this Barbie is supposed to be. "Indentured Servant Barbie."
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Nothing like jumping in with both feet, Cate
Well, I've never been one to procrastinate when it comes to relationship issues so I jumped in with both feet. Here's hoping I haven't screwed everything up.
I decided that, since Andy's away on a BS camping trip, I would take the opportunity to lay it all out there to him. He came for his Saturday visit (in fact, he's still here, in the living room with Katie). They spent an hour or so messing with her bike, and then I sent her off to the store for groceries. Yeah, it could have waited but hell, it's now or never.
I put on a pot of coffee, bummed a smoke from him (yep, fell of the friggin wagon, Deb), and said, "We need to talk." He got that deer in the headlights look. I hate it when he does that. Like I'm going to beat him up or something. As if I could. No, actually I think it's that he knows I'm about to lay some hard stuff on the table and he's going to have to suck it up and deal with it.
I sat on one couch, he sat on the other, and I laid it all out on the line. I talked for like an hour or so. I asked him first how he was doing, how he was feeling, and I really listened to the answer. No sense in doing this if he's not connected to reality very well. Then I told him we need to talk about the kids. Actually we need to talk about you and the kids, your relationship with them and theirs with you.
I told them how the kids have been feeling about his visits, how they're feeling and reacting to spending time with him, what I think and feel about how little effort he puts into relationships with his children. I wasn't mean about it, but I didn't sugar coat it either. When I was done, I listened to what he said in response. I told him some of it was valid and, to be honest, some of it was pure bullshit, him copping out and taking the easier route because it's the least effort.
Then I told him he could take what I'd said, think about it, decide what he wanted to do about it. But he also needed to know this was the last time I was going to try to help, try to do anything to mediate. I told him your daughter will be off to college in a year and a half, your son in three and a half. If you haven't figured out how to rebuild that bridge by then, it's not going to be built. I told him if they get to the point where they are really resisting spending time with him, I'm not going to force them. It's up to him to try, to make the effort. Call them during the week, write them a letter and drop it in the mail, send them a card. Hell, send them a damn email, it doesn't cost anything. But this was the end as far as I'm concerned. You make it or break it with them on your own, buddy. You were a fantastic Dad when they were really small. But they don't remember those days much. You can't ride on that carpet for the rest of their lives. It's what you do now that matters. And if you're not there for them now, they'll be gone from your life for good before you know it. It's up to you.
I hate this shit. I feel like his mother. I hate it! But for them, anything. Whatever they need, anytime, anywhere.
She got back from the store about 1/2 hour ago. They're sitting in the living room, talking quietly. I'm trying to stay out of the way. OK, I'll tell the truth. I'm sitting here shaking. That's how much I hate this crap.
I decided that, since Andy's away on a BS camping trip, I would take the opportunity to lay it all out there to him. He came for his Saturday visit (in fact, he's still here, in the living room with Katie). They spent an hour or so messing with her bike, and then I sent her off to the store for groceries. Yeah, it could have waited but hell, it's now or never.
I put on a pot of coffee, bummed a smoke from him (yep, fell of the friggin wagon, Deb), and said, "We need to talk." He got that deer in the headlights look. I hate it when he does that. Like I'm going to beat him up or something. As if I could. No, actually I think it's that he knows I'm about to lay some hard stuff on the table and he's going to have to suck it up and deal with it.
I sat on one couch, he sat on the other, and I laid it all out on the line. I talked for like an hour or so. I asked him first how he was doing, how he was feeling, and I really listened to the answer. No sense in doing this if he's not connected to reality very well. Then I told him we need to talk about the kids. Actually we need to talk about you and the kids, your relationship with them and theirs with you.
I told them how the kids have been feeling about his visits, how they're feeling and reacting to spending time with him, what I think and feel about how little effort he puts into relationships with his children. I wasn't mean about it, but I didn't sugar coat it either. When I was done, I listened to what he said in response. I told him some of it was valid and, to be honest, some of it was pure bullshit, him copping out and taking the easier route because it's the least effort.
Then I told him he could take what I'd said, think about it, decide what he wanted to do about it. But he also needed to know this was the last time I was going to try to help, try to do anything to mediate. I told him your daughter will be off to college in a year and a half, your son in three and a half. If you haven't figured out how to rebuild that bridge by then, it's not going to be built. I told him if they get to the point where they are really resisting spending time with him, I'm not going to force them. It's up to him to try, to make the effort. Call them during the week, write them a letter and drop it in the mail, send them a card. Hell, send them a damn email, it doesn't cost anything. But this was the end as far as I'm concerned. You make it or break it with them on your own, buddy. You were a fantastic Dad when they were really small. But they don't remember those days much. You can't ride on that carpet for the rest of their lives. It's what you do now that matters. And if you're not there for them now, they'll be gone from your life for good before you know it. It's up to you.
I hate this shit. I feel like his mother. I hate it! But for them, anything. Whatever they need, anytime, anywhere.
She got back from the store about 1/2 hour ago. They're sitting in the living room, talking quietly. I'm trying to stay out of the way. OK, I'll tell the truth. I'm sitting here shaking. That's how much I hate this crap.
Ex husband angst
OK, this is going to be long. Feel free to skip by and come back later when there's a far more interesting post. But I have to try to sort this out and I don't have much time. This is the safest place for me to do it. So 'scuse me while I talk out loud to myself for a while.
My ex-husband and I have been divorced for....mmmmm.....2 1/2 years, almost 3. If I'm remembering right. Some days time plays tricks on me. Anyway, the original divorce decree said a certain amount of child support, visitation every Saturday from noon to 6 pm. He could have them alternating holidays for the whole Thanksgiving/Christmas deal.
Background...he's bipolar. We were married 16 years. He was dx'd 4 years into the marriage. At the time, he became manic, wouldn't see a doc, and eventually tipped into psychosis. A few violent days later, he was hospitalized. The kids weren't home. Thank the baby jesus that eb often references. They kept him for 10 days, sent him home on meds that hadn't had a chance to hit therapeutic levels yet, and enrolled him in an outpatient program. A few days later he wigged again and tried to put my head through the fireplace. It wouldn't fit. :o/
Back to the hospital, two more weeks or so inpatient, and he came home heavily medicated this time. Like, zombies r us time. Eventually he stabilized, they backed off on the heaviest meds, and he abided by the rules I set down for the safety of all of us. He'd take his meds in front of me. If he didn't, he'd take them again. I didn't give a damn if he od'd. That was his problem. He'd see a therapist, a psychiatrist for meds, and do whatever they said. If he ever laid a hand on me again, I was done. It worked for a long time. It wasn't a great marriage, but it was stable at least. Most days I felt like I had 3 children, but it was what it was. I poured my energy into loving and raising my kids.
Fast forward 8 years later, and we've moved from California to Tulsa because he was transferred. Another long story all in and of itself. He worked from home for the first 18 mos. We bought the house a year after we got here, after having paid off all of our debt. Life was bumping along, the kids were settled into new schools. Then he got laid off. The telecomm company he worked for had been laying off thousands, literally thousands. We knew it was coming, but he did nothing about it beforehand. No resumes out there, no feelers put out, nothing.
He got laid off, I went out and found a job 3 days later. He was out of work for nearly a year, wouldn't try, wouldn't look, nothing. Depression had reared it's ugly head and moved in with us. I tried everything to get him to go to a doctor, have his meds adjusted, something, anything. Nope, not doing it. Eventually he got a job at the local bus plant, where they make school buses. Great. Paint fumes do wonders for brain chemistry. Still, he wouldn't hear about anything else. He'd found a job and that was it.
Not long after he flipped. Again, thank that little baby, the kids weren't home. This time was worse. When it was over he went to sleep. I think I sat in a corner and rocked until dawn. I called his doctor. I woke him up just enough to slip his meds into him. He went back to sleep, never knowing that I'd given him a double dose of one of them. I didn't care. I needed time to figure things out. Eventually, I took him to the psych hospital. They kept him. When he was lucid enough, I went to see him. I told him it was over, I was done. I won't risk my safety or that of the kids ever again. I felt awful for doing it, but I did it. When he was released he went to the homeless shelter. He'd lost his job, his home, and his family. I felt like shit for making a bad situation worse. Until I found the extra meds in his drawer. Instead of taking them, he'd been cheeking them and then putting them back in the bottle when I wasn't looking. He made his choices. He'd have to live with the fallout.
Eventually, the divorce was finalized. In the beginning, I wouldn't let him anywhere near the house. If he wanted to see the kids, he had to meet us in a public place, and he had to bring his AA sponsor with him (who happened to be built like a friggin linebacker. Yay!) Yeah, he'd fessed up to drinking for years, without my knowledge. He'd joined AA, was living in a program designed for those with mental health issues who stand a fairly good chance of becoming functional.
So the kids would see him from time to time. Each time he had to bring me his labwork to show me he was med compliant. Otherwise, no deal. It sucked, but I stuck to it because of our safety. He grew more stable, and eventually got a job working as a janitor for the Mental Health Association. Sometimes, I weep for what he had and lost. This man had a career as a Hardware Engineer for 15 years, he had kids and a wife, a good home. And he threw it all away, for a six pack of beer and the chance to not take his meds.
Now...he sees the kids every Saturday usually from about 3 pm til 7 pm. His AA meeting is at 7 up the street. I go pick him up because he doesn't have a car and probably couldn't drive anyway. He comes here, lab results in hand, and sits. He plays video games with his son. They don't talk. His daughter avoids him at all cost, not knowing what to say to him. He's never talked to them about what he did, about what happened. Not a word. He's apologized to me, but not to them.
Today, Critter asked me if he was coming over. I said yes, she sighed. I asked her what was wrong and she exploded. Literally just exploded. She ranted and raved about how he doesn't talk to them, about how he just sits, often falling asleep, about how it's great that he was a good Dad when she was little but unfortunately she doesn't remember any of that, about how he's been shit for a father for the last 12 years that she does remember. I listened to everything she had to say. I explained that when she's 18, she'll be able to choose what she does about their relationship. Not good enough, she said. She doesn't want to hurt his feelings, but "I don't want to know him, Mom! He's a fucking stranger to me!" is what she said.
Jesus. What the hell do I do? The only reason he sees them is because I make it possible for him to see them. They don't want to see him. What the hell do I do?????
My ex-husband and I have been divorced for....mmmmm.....2 1/2 years, almost 3. If I'm remembering right. Some days time plays tricks on me. Anyway, the original divorce decree said a certain amount of child support, visitation every Saturday from noon to 6 pm. He could have them alternating holidays for the whole Thanksgiving/Christmas deal.
Background...he's bipolar. We were married 16 years. He was dx'd 4 years into the marriage. At the time, he became manic, wouldn't see a doc, and eventually tipped into psychosis. A few violent days later, he was hospitalized. The kids weren't home. Thank the baby jesus that eb often references. They kept him for 10 days, sent him home on meds that hadn't had a chance to hit therapeutic levels yet, and enrolled him in an outpatient program. A few days later he wigged again and tried to put my head through the fireplace. It wouldn't fit. :o/
Back to the hospital, two more weeks or so inpatient, and he came home heavily medicated this time. Like, zombies r us time. Eventually he stabilized, they backed off on the heaviest meds, and he abided by the rules I set down for the safety of all of us. He'd take his meds in front of me. If he didn't, he'd take them again. I didn't give a damn if he od'd. That was his problem. He'd see a therapist, a psychiatrist for meds, and do whatever they said. If he ever laid a hand on me again, I was done. It worked for a long time. It wasn't a great marriage, but it was stable at least. Most days I felt like I had 3 children, but it was what it was. I poured my energy into loving and raising my kids.
Fast forward 8 years later, and we've moved from California to Tulsa because he was transferred. Another long story all in and of itself. He worked from home for the first 18 mos. We bought the house a year after we got here, after having paid off all of our debt. Life was bumping along, the kids were settled into new schools. Then he got laid off. The telecomm company he worked for had been laying off thousands, literally thousands. We knew it was coming, but he did nothing about it beforehand. No resumes out there, no feelers put out, nothing.
He got laid off, I went out and found a job 3 days later. He was out of work for nearly a year, wouldn't try, wouldn't look, nothing. Depression had reared it's ugly head and moved in with us. I tried everything to get him to go to a doctor, have his meds adjusted, something, anything. Nope, not doing it. Eventually he got a job at the local bus plant, where they make school buses. Great. Paint fumes do wonders for brain chemistry. Still, he wouldn't hear about anything else. He'd found a job and that was it.
Not long after he flipped. Again, thank that little baby, the kids weren't home. This time was worse. When it was over he went to sleep. I think I sat in a corner and rocked until dawn. I called his doctor. I woke him up just enough to slip his meds into him. He went back to sleep, never knowing that I'd given him a double dose of one of them. I didn't care. I needed time to figure things out. Eventually, I took him to the psych hospital. They kept him. When he was lucid enough, I went to see him. I told him it was over, I was done. I won't risk my safety or that of the kids ever again. I felt awful for doing it, but I did it. When he was released he went to the homeless shelter. He'd lost his job, his home, and his family. I felt like shit for making a bad situation worse. Until I found the extra meds in his drawer. Instead of taking them, he'd been cheeking them and then putting them back in the bottle when I wasn't looking. He made his choices. He'd have to live with the fallout.
Eventually, the divorce was finalized. In the beginning, I wouldn't let him anywhere near the house. If he wanted to see the kids, he had to meet us in a public place, and he had to bring his AA sponsor with him (who happened to be built like a friggin linebacker. Yay!) Yeah, he'd fessed up to drinking for years, without my knowledge. He'd joined AA, was living in a program designed for those with mental health issues who stand a fairly good chance of becoming functional.
So the kids would see him from time to time. Each time he had to bring me his labwork to show me he was med compliant. Otherwise, no deal. It sucked, but I stuck to it because of our safety. He grew more stable, and eventually got a job working as a janitor for the Mental Health Association. Sometimes, I weep for what he had and lost. This man had a career as a Hardware Engineer for 15 years, he had kids and a wife, a good home. And he threw it all away, for a six pack of beer and the chance to not take his meds.
Now...he sees the kids every Saturday usually from about 3 pm til 7 pm. His AA meeting is at 7 up the street. I go pick him up because he doesn't have a car and probably couldn't drive anyway. He comes here, lab results in hand, and sits. He plays video games with his son. They don't talk. His daughter avoids him at all cost, not knowing what to say to him. He's never talked to them about what he did, about what happened. Not a word. He's apologized to me, but not to them.
Today, Critter asked me if he was coming over. I said yes, she sighed. I asked her what was wrong and she exploded. Literally just exploded. She ranted and raved about how he doesn't talk to them, about how he just sits, often falling asleep, about how it's great that he was a good Dad when she was little but unfortunately she doesn't remember any of that, about how he's been shit for a father for the last 12 years that she does remember. I listened to everything she had to say. I explained that when she's 18, she'll be able to choose what she does about their relationship. Not good enough, she said. She doesn't want to hurt his feelings, but "I don't want to know him, Mom! He's a fucking stranger to me!" is what she said.
Jesus. What the hell do I do? The only reason he sees them is because I make it possible for him to see them. They don't want to see him. What the hell do I do?????
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Memories.....
I read this just a little bit ago on MSNBC
First concerts
And it got me to thinking back, waaaaay back! OK, let's not talk about how far back.
First concerts. At first I was going to say John Denver, because yep, I saw him a bunch of times. But then I realized there was another one, really far back! I can remember seeing Sammy Davis, Jr. at the old RKO theatre in Yonkers, NY when I was really little, like maybe 7 or 8. He had to fight his way down the aisle and out the door at the end of the show. I remember wondering why he didn't just go back out the way he came in, from behind the curtain on the stage. I don't remember much else except a whole lot of screaming people and my older brother repeating, "YES! YES!" about a thousand times.
Between then and high school I don't remember seeing anyone else. I loved music, but I was a weird kid. I liked the old guys; Sinatra, Martin, I loved the way their voices sounded. My friends thought I was weird. They were all nuts about David Cassidy and Bobby Sherman. Blech!
I remember seeing Twisted Sister a bunch of times at clubs my junior year in high school. My best friend always dragged me along with her dozens of boyfriends. This was not a fun time for me.
But then there was John. I fell deeply in love with his music. Yeah, he looked like a muppet, but the man had a voice that would soar to the rafters in any venue. He sang about places I only dreamed of. I was a kid growing up in the slums in and around NYC, amidst the filth and decay that went with all those places. I hungered for green and growing things, for clean air that didn't reek of alcohol and urine. He sang about places that I could picture deep in my soul, but never dreamed I'd ever see.
So I went to see him perform every chance I got. Madison Square Garden, a bunch of times. Later in Phoenix, a 6 1/2 hour drive to get there but damn well worth it. Later still almost every year at the Concord Amphitheater in CA. For nearly 10 years, every single year he played and I went to listen. Cheap tickets up on the hill in the grass but I didn't care. I'd lay back on a blanket and just listen. It was his voice that mattered. It's always been about the voices.
I was about 50 miles away from where his plane went down that day he died. I heard about it in the car with the kids and my XH. I remember just going numb. I remember dreaming that night, about the time I saw him play St. Andrew's Cathedral in NY. I went backstage courtesy of the friend who took me there. Got to meet him, he was noodling around with a guitar and some friends. I remember being struck dumb when my friend said, "Hey, she sings too" and pointed at me. I remember singing with him for a little bit, and feeling like I was going to burst.
When I left Arizona at age 28, I spent six weeks driving most of the Pacific Northwest. It was the only chance I'd have, so I took it. Just my dog and I, in my old car. I stopped when I got tired, slept in the car, showered at KO campgrounds and truckstops. I stayed off all the interstates and took all the little backroads. It was a peaceful, healing time in my life. I remember literally standing at the top of the Continental Divide at dawn, at the highest point somewhere in Colorado if I remember right, literally singing at the top of my lungs. hehehehe It was a trip! I filled my soul to overflowing with sights and smells of all the places I'd dreamed of as a kid. I loved every single second of it.
Music is so much a part of my soul. I learned to play piano, guitar, and flute. I sang for a while in NY, small places. I loved it. Haven't sang for anyone but my kids in decades. I used to tell friends they were my "evening set" because I did "tickle and a song" every night before they went to sleep. Tickle their backs lightly and sing for them. Good memories. "Momma, tickle and a song time, k?" You betcha, baby.
I love music, all kinds of music. From classical and jazz, classic rock to the blues, opera to celtic. The only thing I don't like is rap, and that's mostly because of the lyrics that usually accompany it. Two years ago Marcy got me tickets to go see Cathy Ryan. I'd never even heard of her, but Marcy was sure it was just the thing for me. She was right. I laughed and cried, sang along with her, it was one of the "filled up and overflowing" kind of things.
It's the voices. Always. It's the voices that draw me. Pure, beautiful, powerful, haunting voices....they get me every time. When I went to see IG, I didn't expect to enjoy their opening act. But Trina has a voice that just grabbed hold of me and didn't let go. It's not beautiful in the classical sense, but it's powerful, strong, and there is beauty in what pours from her throat.
Yeah, I'm a music addict.
So....what about your first concerts and the ones since? What kind of music draws you in?
First concerts
And it got me to thinking back, waaaaay back! OK, let's not talk about how far back.
First concerts. At first I was going to say John Denver, because yep, I saw him a bunch of times. But then I realized there was another one, really far back! I can remember seeing Sammy Davis, Jr. at the old RKO theatre in Yonkers, NY when I was really little, like maybe 7 or 8. He had to fight his way down the aisle and out the door at the end of the show. I remember wondering why he didn't just go back out the way he came in, from behind the curtain on the stage. I don't remember much else except a whole lot of screaming people and my older brother repeating, "YES! YES!" about a thousand times.
Between then and high school I don't remember seeing anyone else. I loved music, but I was a weird kid. I liked the old guys; Sinatra, Martin, I loved the way their voices sounded. My friends thought I was weird. They were all nuts about David Cassidy and Bobby Sherman. Blech!
I remember seeing Twisted Sister a bunch of times at clubs my junior year in high school. My best friend always dragged me along with her dozens of boyfriends. This was not a fun time for me.
But then there was John. I fell deeply in love with his music. Yeah, he looked like a muppet, but the man had a voice that would soar to the rafters in any venue. He sang about places I only dreamed of. I was a kid growing up in the slums in and around NYC, amidst the filth and decay that went with all those places. I hungered for green and growing things, for clean air that didn't reek of alcohol and urine. He sang about places that I could picture deep in my soul, but never dreamed I'd ever see.
So I went to see him perform every chance I got. Madison Square Garden, a bunch of times. Later in Phoenix, a 6 1/2 hour drive to get there but damn well worth it. Later still almost every year at the Concord Amphitheater in CA. For nearly 10 years, every single year he played and I went to listen. Cheap tickets up on the hill in the grass but I didn't care. I'd lay back on a blanket and just listen. It was his voice that mattered. It's always been about the voices.
I was about 50 miles away from where his plane went down that day he died. I heard about it in the car with the kids and my XH. I remember just going numb. I remember dreaming that night, about the time I saw him play St. Andrew's Cathedral in NY. I went backstage courtesy of the friend who took me there. Got to meet him, he was noodling around with a guitar and some friends. I remember being struck dumb when my friend said, "Hey, she sings too" and pointed at me. I remember singing with him for a little bit, and feeling like I was going to burst.
When I left Arizona at age 28, I spent six weeks driving most of the Pacific Northwest. It was the only chance I'd have, so I took it. Just my dog and I, in my old car. I stopped when I got tired, slept in the car, showered at KO campgrounds and truckstops. I stayed off all the interstates and took all the little backroads. It was a peaceful, healing time in my life. I remember literally standing at the top of the Continental Divide at dawn, at the highest point somewhere in Colorado if I remember right, literally singing at the top of my lungs. hehehehe It was a trip! I filled my soul to overflowing with sights and smells of all the places I'd dreamed of as a kid. I loved every single second of it.
Music is so much a part of my soul. I learned to play piano, guitar, and flute. I sang for a while in NY, small places. I loved it. Haven't sang for anyone but my kids in decades. I used to tell friends they were my "evening set" because I did "tickle and a song" every night before they went to sleep. Tickle their backs lightly and sing for them. Good memories. "Momma, tickle and a song time, k?" You betcha, baby.
I love music, all kinds of music. From classical and jazz, classic rock to the blues, opera to celtic. The only thing I don't like is rap, and that's mostly because of the lyrics that usually accompany it. Two years ago Marcy got me tickets to go see Cathy Ryan. I'd never even heard of her, but Marcy was sure it was just the thing for me. She was right. I laughed and cried, sang along with her, it was one of the "filled up and overflowing" kind of things.
It's the voices. Always. It's the voices that draw me. Pure, beautiful, powerful, haunting voices....they get me every time. When I went to see IG, I didn't expect to enjoy their opening act. But Trina has a voice that just grabbed hold of me and didn't let go. It's not beautiful in the classical sense, but it's powerful, strong, and there is beauty in what pours from her throat.
Yeah, I'm a music addict.
So....what about your first concerts and the ones since? What kind of music draws you in?
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