poetry. thoughts and more than make-believe.

Friday, December 24, 2010

To all the Santa's

Reading a post over at Ramblings of an Emotional Idiot by Jess about whether to tell kids if Santa is real or not, brought about my own Santa related memories.

I don't ever remember believing in Santa.
I think I had it figured out between 4 and 5 years old.
I half recall seeing my parents put gifts under the tree in a multicolored-lit room and whether that memory is true or not--I know that is my earliest memory of Christmas and my own Santa-parents.
And if I wasn't 100% positive of Santa's aliveness or not, when new neighbors moved at 5 years old and the oldest brother took me down the street, behind a bush and questioned me:

Do you believe in Santa?
Do you know who Santa is?  Real Santa?
 Well.... my Mom and Dad? (Really I was going out on a limb here but he kinda led me there because in reality...who else could've have it been?)

And then he continued to tell me his little 4 year old sister, who became my BFF, didn't know and I better not tell her.  Or else?  Or else I would have had to deal with him and he was protecting his little sister. 

End of any Santa disbelief or belief.

Fast forward 20 plus years to my own daughters.
My oldest started asking whether Santa was real when she was about 4 years old.
My answer was "Well what do you think?" which generally led to some sweet conversation.
Then one snow-filled-almost-Christmas-time evening, we were going through our
"What do you think?" When she told me (more or less):
I think that Santa dresses up in normal clothes so that when he goes shopping no one
recognizes him..like he's just a regular person, but then he goes back and becomes Santa.

 I knew we were honing in on the end.
Within days she started linking the tooth fairy and the easter bunny and anything else fantastical together.
She got it.
And honestly I was thankful.
I could now live up the role of Santa without feeling like I was lying to her. 
Her sisters may not have ever truly believed because when the oldest sister knows..why not share the love? ... but I was less concerned over the long-term effects of knowing or not knowing, because it was all ok. 

Sadly funny and alittle ironic to the 5 year old left in me...during this time was the height of play-dates and acquintence moms.  Santa was the kind of topic that these moms liked to talk about...what an easy way to judge a parent, whether their child knew about Santa or not...when I had a mom tell me, because I non-guiltily admitted my girls all-knowing-ability, that my girls better not tell her kids.  Just like I better not tell my BFF so many years ago.

So much less cute though coming from a bully mom, rather than a big brother.

Merry Christmas to all the Santa's xoxxo

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Don't be mean to Grannie

I remembered very clearly why I may always hate Christmas shopping last night.
Was it the bumper-to-bumper carts sliding in front of me, trying to find the best deal?
Was it the woman talking extremely loud on her cell?
Was it the man wandering the aisles, avoiding his shopping talking on his cell?
Was it the rugs strung out in the middle of a narrow aisle,
not allowing me to take a short cut to get away from all the people???


All those reasons, though excrutiating, were the reason why I left
that store to opt for easy Christmas shopping...
stocking shopping at the next-door-dollar-store.

And which is exactly where I thought I might have to yell at someone if they didn't
stop yelling at their

Excuse me.
Yelling at your grandmother is hardly allowed.  In my case, it would have
NEVER even be thought of and I can't imagine the consciousness of it...
That said,  I'm sure there's some grandma out there that is just as mean and rotten as
this guy was...but clearly--this grandma was not one of them.

I'm in the craft aisle, attempting to find some marker or paper product my girls don't own, when
I hear "F**k" come from the next aisle.
Not thinking much of it, because it is Christmas and my best friends have sailor mouths, I go back to my happy-go-lucky-world when I heard the sister (I can only assume) tell him to keep his voice down because they're in public.
Of course, what the F**k does he care...he'll raise his voice if he wants to.
In pops Grandma's voice..and something about the time.
He insists he was home.
The sister half-hardily tries to stick up for him (because obviously he was lying)...
when he starts yelling at his grandma that she's a F**king liar..

Until I thought if he didn't stop, I was turning the corner and giving him a good
talking to...or getting the store manager or the biggest man I could find.

But he did stop.
And I heard her say, "If you don't like the rules, then move out."

The end.
I did turn the corner soon after..and she was the sweetest looking OLD grandma.
I didn't know--maybe she was a young 55 year old grandma raising her grandkids...
but NO...
an old one.

And then, as I continue looking for useless stocking stuffers--I SEE people.
Not through my usual rose colored Christmas glasses,
but clear lens all-the-way...not the visual I care to live.

I thought--this is why I hate Christmas shopping--
because you see the shadows of people I try to avoid.
No TV news.
No drama.
Actually hardly an TV at all.
But when you're face to face...or aisle to aisle with guys who are mean to their grannies,
well then...Christmas shopping isn't that much fun at all.
Who knows...maybe he didn't get enough hugs as a kid.
So for him...I hope he gets lots of hugs for christmas--no shopping required.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Merry Tired

I'm tired.
I know this is the time of the year I'm supposed to be full of cheer--but
I'm having a hard time locating the internal energy to actually bring about cheer.
I'm happy.
And honestly, I'm cheerful--but mostly ready to hibernate.
And see some sunshine.

But--seeing how it's just beginning to actual BE winter, I'm less than optimistic
that I'll be seeing alot of sunshine.  In reality, I really don't mind winter.  I love watching the peaceful snowflakes..the quiet walks..bundling up...but right now this
tiredness is killing it in me.

And being over-analytical-me, I wonder why am I feeling this way?
Granted I've had a cold for two weeks and my ears have decided to give me a new
pitch to listen to..but is it I'm still sick or just need rest.


I'm sure.
Which the idea of that makes me tired, because I haven't even started Christmas shopping and hmmm...could it be just days away?  And I have 3 girls to buy for.  And family.  And BD. 
That makes me tired just thinking getting myself geared up enough to go.

And no--I'm not depressed if anyone is wondering.  I've been down before--this is not it or the pre-mode to it...

Then there's work.
And yoga.
All things I love.

I've created a new goal with the two--but envision some tiredness to be able to get to my goal.  Not exhaustion.  Just growth. 

And then be less tired.
And then the sun will shine.
And then it will be spring.
Merry Friday.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Making Her Wait

My middle daughter turned 13 last week.
She is an amazing young woman...who like all kids/people--want things...oh say--like a Facebook page. 
She began asking for a Facebook around 12.
My rule was she needed to be 13.
I am not here to pass judgement on those who let their 8 year olds get FB pages, because I don't do that--plus I know people judge me just because I let my child get a page at all. 

Anyhow--My rule was 13.
First-- that's the rule because I think that's Facebooks rule and I try to stick to those kind of ideas in life...plus I didn't let my oldest have a page till she was 13.  So--needless to say, because I wouldn't let her have a page, we spent most of year 12 WANTING it so so bad.  Two weeks before her birthday she almost had me beat down, trying to convince me she was
And then she even gave me, well I could make a page and you wouldn't know.

Needless to say that comment didn't go over well.
Even my oldest told her I would know--
And I reassured her I always know these things and she would get in lottsa lottsa trouble (though didn't quite know what the punishment would be)...and she knew.
So--she stopped asking.

And then it was her birthday.
Two days later, I let her know she could make a page.
Oh yeh..I know--not right now...

And I knew I TRULY had done the right thing by sticking to my words.
Of course--I knew it as a parent, but KNEW it...

Then yesterday, 6 days after her birthday, she told me she wanted to make her page.
So--we did.
And we went through, friending who she wanted to (my rule also is she has to friend her parents + close family friends who have our best interest at heart) -- letting her finally talk to her friends online and create what she needs to--to be 13.

Tuesday, December 07, 2010

I haven't been writing too much lately.
Or reading too much either...no, that's not true.  I have been reading plenty
of tween, young adult and yoga books--but blogs and adult literature are
scarce these days.
And I find myself missing both.
They'll fall back into place--somewhere...blogs before literature--only because reading
blogs is more simple--but I worry about my attention span and vocabulary --or lack
of if I don't keep up...

Anyhow--here I am now.
In bed sick.
After an amazing weekend of becoming an official yoga teacher (according to whoever
thinks you need to be certified) and understanding what this means to be...
After discovering my  brother-in-law -former-  passed away this past week...leaving everyone too too early...
After  a sick day--for me, but spending part of the day getting rid of a nasty
computer virus...

But doing well overall...and hoping for good sleep...so I can get back to reading
more teen books tomorrow.

Monday, November 29, 2010

project Believe

I will be the first to admit, I am a crier.  I cry for the happy.  I cry for the sad.  I cry because I feel one with life and when that life is nothing I've prepared for--I really cry.

I say all of this because reading Claire Montogomery's post at Car Dancing, I am reminded of my first visit to that hospital with her.  Even if you don't finish reading my blog--read hers.  Believe.  It is true. 

We walked into Mary's room and I immediately could see the difference in Mary.  I felt the difference all around. But then again,  maybe it was the hospital smells. The kids outside her room.  The staff.  The actual fact that Mary had been hospitalized behind locked doors.  All these little moments, that I brought into the room with me--watching Claire with her daughter...simply brought me to tears.  Not unheard of--even when Mary was discharged--tears again. 

But tears for a different reason...not that she was being discharged--which of course is a reason to cry, but because I saw in the time Mary was hospitalized she was the exception to every rule--whether that was Claire's parenting...... practically losing her very white-collar, corporate America job because of needing to take care and ACTUALLY VISIT her mentally ill daughter an hour away (because the mentally ill/challenged truly do not have centrally located facilities), a few times a week... 


Claire fighting for Mary's rights when other parents either have given up the fight or simply do not have the tools to bring to the table.  I will never forget the time I sat beside my friend with a room full of hospitalites, listening to Claire speak.  I had a moment of this is why she does her corporate job--so she can be THIS to these people...not just THIS mom who is fighting for her daughters human rights, but THIS woman who is standing up to what society says we can throw away...mentally ill people.

When Mary left the hospital, the staff and kids on her floor had a going away party for her..and of course--more tears fell from everyone's heart.  She had opened up more loving light, giving depth to why these people do what they do everyday.  She had made more friends, not only with her floor--but with adults simply working in this space.  We all sat in a large circle, watching Mary open her gifts and I recall a boy with a boombox- listening to music.  Adding more life to this surreal moment...

What you don't see about the kids in this space, at least for some--is that they have no one.  Most of their families are not available, whether it's poor parenting or being mentally ill themselves--these kids KIDS--CHILDREN--PEOPLE--LIVING LIFE...have no one to love on them the way Claire loves on her Mary.

So--thank goodness, again--because Claire happens to be herself--she has made it her intention to love on these kids in the way we all want to loved on at Christmas...with a gift to remind us we are acknowledged beings.  Isn't that why gifts make us feel good?  Ultimately, it reminds us we are being thought of and loved.

So love on Claire.
Love on Mary.

Monday, November 08, 2010

In My Voice

For a few weeks I've been thinking about my voice.
I don't know how many people think about this, but I do know I haven't
ever actually had a conversation about my voice...until tonight.
And I'm someone people share EVERYTHING with and since the topic of voice
hasn't come up, I don't think many people consider what their voice means.

I've been thinking about it more deeply lately, because I'm in the final
weeks of yoga teacher training and I've had to pay more attention to the way
my voice sounds in different rooms. The way it projects.  The way I use my words.  My tone. 

With this intense weekend of asana's, also came a decent amount of meditation
time...which has actively allowed me think about my teaching comments
in a loving space.  I appreciate that.

So--last night when I got home and BD called, I was telling him about
my classes and meditating.  His words: "So really--I don't get it.  What can you
accomplish by meditation?"  I am sure this morning that him asking me was
a continuation of my discovery.

First I explained to him how difficult it is for most people to sit for more than 5 minutes.
We are going to do this together this week.  I'll be interested in how that goes...but then
I told him about my voice "discoveries."

I explained that my first voice memory was when I was about 4 or 5.  I barely recall this, but have heard the story many times in my life--I was at church, singing with my sunday school class...and when I say singing I mean really LOUD.  You know the image..the one little kid singing in their own space, not worrying about anyone else--just being in it.  Sweet thought--I know I enjoy those kid moments as a parent, but as a child I know that people were laughing--kindly, but I didn't understand that.   Voice issue 1.

Time continues.  I live in an all-boy neighborhood.  Nothing says finding your voice and losing your voice with boys/brothers.  I'm sure the same can be said with girls, but I have my memory with boys.

Then cheerleading.
Yes--oh sigh, I've come to terms with my cheerleading years--but if you knew me you just wouldn't see me as one...anyhow--my first year of cheering we went to a cheer camp with hundreds of girls at a local college.  I was in 7th grade. I hadn't planned on being a cheerleader at all--I just tried out on a fluke and here I was.  The cheer coaches were going around teaching us a cheer and it was making me nervous.  I couldn't remember the movements with the words as quickly as I wanted.  The coach came up to me and told me she couldn't hear me.
Cheer louder.
Still she couldn't hear me.
So what does she do but demand that the hundreds of other girls do not cheer and I am
to do the cheer alone.
My voice only.
I did it.
I don't have fond memories of that moment though.

Time continues.
See Bad Relationship post.
Voice issue 4.

Then it hit me in the shower last night that as my marriage started to
dissolve, I lost my voice in that too.  Not in the beginning--but by the end
I was too tired to speak up.
To work.
To fight.
To cry.
I was being who I was--but without my voice.
Without being heard.

Now--I am finding the thoughts behind my voice.
Behind the strength.
Realizing when I am teaching, working, laughing...that when my voice
is clear and strong is when I am the most confident.
I feel my voice in my heart.
And when it is soft, I am either insecure or truly exhausted.
Sometimes I just am too tired to speak.
But finding the truth behind those moments.

In my voice.

Tuesday, November 02, 2010

Once upon many

little bit
outside box
one night
once upon many
so wonderful to love
with friends

Friday, October 29, 2010

Chaplins Time Traveler

I stumbled upon this yesterday, as I'm sure alot of other people did...

I showed it to my girls this morning.
First--the concept of not having cell phones was almost inconceivable.
They also didn't know who Charlie Chaplin was.
Wow--I need to work on my parenting.
But then onto time travel.

I've watched this over and over again.
I generally don't watch things like this because I see it as a PR stunt...kinda
like the balloon boy.  I still haven't watched that and honestly don't know what
the story is behind it.
I try to keep it real.

So, why is this so fascinating?
Do I want it to be real?

Of course.
I believe in so many metaphysical aspects of life--but I've never thought
much about time travel--outside of the Back to the Future movies.

Who wouldn't want to go
Back to the Future?
Who woulnd't want to go
to the

I have no desire to alter the course my life because I believe things
happen for a purpose...and we all have lessons to learn.
If I changed something from the past that just doubles my lesson plans, doesn't it?
And as for the future--I'd love to see what clothes we wear.
How we live.
How we treat each other.

As I read the comments to this mans finding, I was surprised at the
the absolute dismissal of the idea of time travel.
I realize it's a scientific website and scientists want cold hard facts...but please people
just relax and consider the possibility.

Whether it ends up being a PR stunt or actual footage--I at least know my girls and I
had an interesting morning conversation.
Time travel.
Cell phones.
Charlie Chaplin.

All over a cup of coffee.

Friday, October 22, 2010

I am 1 in 4

"I think I love you," he told me after one week of dating.
Even at 16 I understood that was impossible.
I laughed, "No you don't."
"Yes I do."
"No, you can't.." and then explained all the reasons he loved me, which again
I found funny.
The next week he wanted me to wear his highschool varsity jacket. 
I didn't take it.
It was too quick.
First love, then his varsity coat.
Even my oldest friend found it moving too quickly.
She saw the first sign of the next 5 years of my life.

Just like Tarastar's post, this boy was very charming.  I always felt part of the problem was the huge crush I had on him the year before.  He was two years older and our paths crossed, but didn't have a reason to meet.  He dated a girl, I was alittle afraid of, and they were constantly on-again-off-again.  On our first date he showed me scratches up and down his arm, claiming she abused him. Now I am sure she was fighting back, but during that time, I simply didn't know what to think.

Also like Tarastar, my family was (and still is) very laid back.  My parents had the occasional argument, along with some passive-aggressive issues...but that was about it.  They were generally content with suburban life--dancing in the kitchen... kissing till they embarrassed my brother and I--just loving each other. 

We began dating in November, but I didn't think it would last.
Maybe that's why I didn't take any of the signs too serious.
On our first date, when I mentioned I bought a peace-sign poster that day (oh yes the 80's) he told me he "didn't like any of that hippy shit."  I knew that was the end of that.
Oh how many times I thought that.

We continued to date.
My next memorable obvious sign was him picking me up from school one day.
I was dressed in all black.
I don't recall what he said I looked like but I do remember him
making me change my shirt before he'd take me to his house.
He didn't want his parents to think he was dating whatever
I looked like.

Ok. I realize his making me, was allowing it--and going through with it, but
one thing that many people don't realize (or atleast I think) that
is when things moments happened--they were very surreal.
It was like I was suddenly outside of myself.
And I fought most of his issues.
Which didn't help.

Time continued.
The first time he hit me was August 13.
I had gone dancing the night before and when I told him I danced
with someone that was all it took for a good hard slap, maybe.
I don't recall.
Some fights were much worse than others.
Some slapping.
Some punching.
Pizza smashed in my face.
Some choking.
Some pinning down.
All of the some though equals too much.

My family never knew.
My friends knew something wasn't right.
I had friends who tried to shun me for awhile to "help" me...
that just left me with more of him.

Eventually I knew the only way to break up once and for all,
because he was constantly breaking up with me for getting coffee with
her or spending money here...was to go away.
So--I went away to college and broke up completely for a few months.
But then came I back.
I missed him.
So in my now 18 year old brain--meant I must be with him.
Lesson learned early on that is not true.

18 and suddenly--engaged.  I should've been estactic but my college friends knew
I was being rash and immature.
I had told them the truth.
And then I knew after months of deciding whether I was coming home to college,
I gave it up and gave in.
And as soon as we were out of town he announced,
"Now I'm breaking up with you...so you can know how it feels."
Instant tears.
This was not the love I signed up for.
He took it back, but within 3 months he was hitting me again.

The difference this time though was I wasn't going to take it.
I knew I didn't have to.
For 6 months we were in constant flux again...until the last year of our dating.
We suddenly had some sort of pattern worked out.
He had stopped hitting me.
I was confident.
We were both busy with school and working Domino's together.
But by this time it didn't matter--our relationship was damaged beyond repair.

And then I knew it was time to really break it off--
we were sitting at my parents kitchen table one night when he asked what
was wrong.
I told him, "I don't think I love you anymore."
Just like that.
I told him to leave.
I needed to think about things.
And really had the next week not transpired the way it did, who knows
how much more I would've put up with.
But that week did happen.

He started calling at 530 am...claiming I wasn't being myself. I was bi-polar.
Crazy--simply because I was done with the behavior I shouldn't have allowed
from our first few weeks together.
Again, like Tarastar--the police were involved.  Days before the police incident,
he had tried to semi-kidnap me..claiming he was taking me to Utah, the one
place I told him I wanted to travel to.  In reality he ended up taking me back
to his parents house.
We fought over the car.
Car keys.
It's all hazy.
I was bruised for days.

And then the day the police were involved, I foolishly had gotten into his
truck to reclaim some of my belongings.  As soon I got in he power locked the doors.
Being near a neighborhood park, I layed on the horn, yelling to call the police.
People did.
I ended up back at his house.
I didn't tell anyone there what happened.
I was so embarrassed.

My brother, best friend and another friend (I think) showed up to get me.
As we left, the police pulled up.
Then another.
Then 2 sheriffs.
Seemed I caused a stir.
Needless to say when I didn't press charges, because "I just want it be over" they
were not happy with that.
They threatened to charge me.
They didn't.

I went home.
I knew it was over.
For real this time.
No more bruises.
Mind games.

I will follow up to say he stalked me for a short time, but ended up marrying someone
else months later.  I looked up his public record not too long again--he had a
domestic violence charged dropped.
My heart ached for his wife and children.
I suddenly thought had I pressed charges, maybe she would have.
Maybe she wouldn't have had his babies.
But he was charming.
He had money.
He created this lie I believed for a short time.
I hope she stops believing it too.

Saturday, October 16, 2010


Originally I had another blog planned, but too many random thoughts are creeping in and I suppose the best way to blend is to get it all out...

Last week was my 20 year highschool reunion...and what I envisioned as being kinda ho-hum, ended up being pretty amazing.  I couldn't get as crazy as I wanted, because yoga teacher training is keeping me semi-straight and narrow.. Really all I wanted was to visit with people I didn't remember and I had a few happy surprises..so yay:)  Of course in the end, probably like all past visits, it caused me to do a lot of thinking---but that's copacetic. 

Then, Sunday at yoga we did a chakra cleansing.  I am not going to go deep into this because that will be another blog--but what I thought was going to be a comforting chant became the most powerful experience I've connected with in years.  I was on a chakra-high for days and recentered myself..the self I am..not this working, single, dating, be-it-all, to everyone..just simple me.  Joy.  And really if you ever get the chance to be a part of a chakra cleansing..enjoy.

Skip ahead to the middle of the week--this weekend in town is something called  Harvestfest...kinda like a Halloween party for adults.  The town blocks off part of a street by a local restaurant, a band plays..people are drinking and dressed up in their Halloween costumes.  Last year I went as a saultry Pippi-Longstocking (even more funny since I'm a librarian)  but this year I could not commit to going.  I've had people ask, text and facebook me about it...yet I couldn't decide.  I finally did. 
I guess I am.
But no dressing up this year.
Simple going.
Simple drink.
At least thats the plan,
for now.

There's much more..I just don't have it in me to think too hard at the moment.
I'm watching moments in the library basement.
Remembering the little girl who is all grown up
walking in
everyday to
in her barefeet
now her fall-sock-feet
with the boyfriend suddenly wheelchaired
tattoed eyebrows
who are just trying to figure it out..


Wednesday, October 06, 2010

Baby boy

Yesterday was a baby day.
A baby day, not like I have one--because my three babygirls are tween/teen growing babies...but a day I got to HOLD babies.

Two boy babies, but it actually started with a semi-funny baby concept.

I was walking out of my area when a pregnant mom of two little girls walked up to me.  We did the typical how-are-yous, when I asked how she was feeling and how beautiful she looked.  She told me she felt how she thought she should feel, which I think may have meant INVADED because at a certain point, I know I felt that way.  Anyhow she then said, 
"So did I tell you I'm having another girl..."
And we laughed like we belonged some great girl-birthing club...but then she told me a friend just told her :) that they read some women may have enzymes in their uterus that kill off the male sperm...AND boy did we laugh.  Sorry men. No offense.  But it was a funny moment, that continued with me hold two boy babies afterwards...I'm sure there's a cosmic sign there if I meditate long enough on it.

Minutes after another mom walks up to me and starts chatting.  Her oldest boy in school, middle girl on computer, babyboy in her arms lunging to me...Well--whats a girl to do, but give some baby loving. :))

Because I do love babies.
They come natural, but thats beside the point.

We stood there and talked.  She is an absolutely stunning woman who is trying to figure out if she's done having babies.  She's not in my opinion, but her husband is...and all along this talking, I'm loving this baby moment I'm getting--because my baby will be 11 soon.

And then I go home for my lunch to discover my friends sister is visiting with her two boys--one 3, the other 6 mo.  Aaahhhh...more loving.

And I felt this overwhelming gratitude to have these few moments with these babysouls--but also a gratitude to not have the longing of being pregnant.  I love/d being pregnant, I love the nursing...but it took me years to get over the true clock-ticking-whacha-gonna-do-with-the-rest-of-your-life-if-your-not-prego/littlebabyfied...that now, I'm grateful for where I am.

I miss those days of chaos and youth, but feel great at 38 I'm young enough to enjoy where I am too...able to love on babies and know it's all good:)

Sunday, October 03, 2010


fighting mad upon
Good Morning Sunshine
throw those covers off because coach didn't play
first half
25 years later

soft sips
my cheeks
skin touch love undercovers


you sat on the morning porch smoking the first
of the day
trying to refocus

while I
sat on your
watching the train roll on
     a blue cooler in the middle of the empty car
     made me smile
     wondering if it was on purpose
          traveling cooler
          or completely accidental from the working man
drinking my first
camp-coffee of the day

till we went back
artificial air
outside humidity
the day began
peacefully rising

Friday, October 01, 2010


I walked back from the bus stop
this morning
Oct 1
has been the first day in weeks that I have a morning
to sit
to be

for a moment

before laundry

just be

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Best story I heard today...

It was after storytime and I was trying to sort through the pile of papers and books overflowing my desk...I looked up and noticed grandparents taking their storytime grandson home.

"Have a good afternoon," I said smiling.
The Grandma says to her husband...oh do you know Not Emily?
He looks at me and you could see the husband oh-no-I-don't-know look on his face..and I said, "no we don't."

She introduces me as my Grandmas grand-daughter, which I love, and then I said to him..."Oh I've seen pictures of you."

The picture I was thinking of was my Uncle (who I never met--he died when my mom was a baby from a motorcycle accident) and this man, plus a group of other boys who all were around bicycles.  It was from the 50's.  Black and white.  Snazzy.

And then this man says to me, "OH you probably don't know about post World War II and your uncle and I."


He explains that post WWII alcohol was rationed and you had to get a card to be able to buy it.  He somehow ends up with 4 cards and of course my uncle had to have a card.  My uncle was old enough to buy alcohol, but you could get more maybe? with this card.  So, my uncle plus this grandpa-man would buy as much as they could for .64 cents and then turn around and sell it to "the alcoholics" for 5.00...he said they were easily making an extra $20 a month, which was alot back then.  Heck! I'd like to make an easy $20 even today.  Of course we got a chuckle from it...I'm sure he's laughed about that for 60 years now...
Best story from storytime today!

Wednesday, September 22, 2010


I don't like to write about work--because mostly I like to leave work at work and I'm highly paranoid of some big-brother-blog-police--but really I'll make an exception, mostly because it has little to do with work and more with little, schmarmy salesmen.

During days and two nights a week I am a librarian..for those who think we sit around reading all day--THAT is a dream job..I work with the public, which is always challenging--but also deal with smalltown politics, which can get old.  That is not the point--the point,

One in particular...

Not Billy Mays or this other guy, but a library salesperson.
I dealt with him one time in the past and wasn't horribly offended, so I thought when I got a phonecall from his office and I had a few hours to spare--I'd take the time and peruse some books he was trying to sell.

Unfortunately for him--trying is the key word.
He may have sold me a boatload, but as the library chit-chat turned into him asking me about my personal life (I kinda am an open book) turned into his dating life and his long distance girlfriend...all the way to his being on Match and if I was ever on Match.com and what did I think of it?

(umm..no and I work in a library..match to me is on the computers all day long by people who don't seem to want to actually meet people.  Now I know this isn't always true.  I've known people it worked for, whether dating or marriage--but I'm pretty negatory on this)

Then went so far as to say I've probably gotta beat off the boys...

(umm..no.  1st I have a big strong BF who would surely beat them off first:)) and REALLY? DID I JUST HEAR THAT? Do you not see I am trying to do my job and look at books to buy?  Really???)

He asked if I went out (because I don't often and again--I have a BF) where would I go?  I should've said, "Nowhere close to you."  I said I don't.  My BF and I do more family parties.

I continued to talk about my boyfriend and realized by the end of the booklooking--how he didn't let down.   And really--if I were someone different--he could have some problems to deal with.  I am all about connecting and learning about people, which I'm sure is why he felt comfortable enough to open up about his life--but when it infringes into my professional life, that is a problem. 
Or at least for him.

Sadly, I won't be buying thousands of dollars of books from him.
Not even a dollar.
And really yes I should have said from the first personal question that I don't want to talk about it, but I thought he'd pick up on my ignoring and my vagueness--but I guess some people don't see the obvious.  I just like connecting with people, but sometimes you have to let the dots-to-dots not make any pictures--just random images.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Job or job?

Job Less America

was what I thought I read
bumper sticker on the mini-jeep
backyard street

When in reality it said

God Bless America

and I started thinking about words

God vs. Job
Dog vs. God
But no one thinks of
Job vs. Boj

words within words
how it must be to have created Facebook
without so much the money
but to think language has changed
because of you
what you create
energy stored for the world

I will Facebook you
I will Google you

No one says:
I will AOL you
Yahoo you..

and what if Job Less America is really
God Bless America
in the opposite Jerry Seinfeld world

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

tomato balls

years ago
this picture made tammie laugh
she said
it looks like you're holding someones balls
in your hand
and we laughed

now i see sunburnt madness
ready to go

Wednesday, September 01, 2010


"You can't find a can of pumpkin in the country,"  the manager grocery-man explained to the older woman.

She was at the check-out across from mine and that sentence caught my attention.  My cashier girl was busy scanning and bagging, and when I laughed at the idea of no canned pumpkin she just smiled at me.

Manager-man went on telling her she wouldn't find a can in the area and wasn't sure when they were going to get any in...and I stood there thinking it had to be a joke.

No canned pumpkin?
Insane in the membrane.
And also--who wants to make pumpkin pie when it's 95 degrees right now?  Well--older people do.  And maybe those who love pumpkin pie for breakfast, yummmmm....

But then I thought, really who says those kind of things unless there's a bit of truth behind them.  So I went to play librarian and googled pumpkin shortage...and
low and behold--there's some truth behind it.

What about Halloween?
What about Thanksgiving?

And then I started considering our farming.  Our American farming.  According to The Washington Post, in central Illinois their farming pumpkinlands make for 95% of the US's canned pumpkins--and then when you read on further you see that Libby's which is affiliated with Nestle is responsible for 87% of pumpkin sales from Sept. to Dec. 
that's alot of math and I generally suck at statistics, but I definitely see that the average farmer isn't in the loop on pumpkin sales.  I find that hard to comprehend, having pumpkin farms in my hometown area--but after watching the movie
Food, Inc. I believe it.  And if you haven't seen it--I recommend it.

So really to save Halloween and Thanksgiving I say we all start growing and canning our own pumpkin -- sharing it with each other:)..especially the old people.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010


As I left for work this afternoon I watched the neighborlady get her husband ready to get into the car.

He had a stroke a few years ago.  I didn't really know them.  I still don't KNOW know them, but can have pleasant neighbor conversation.  He has struggled with walking and for a few years has only used a wheelchair.  On occasion I see a PT working with him, teaching him how to use his walker, but for his wife I'm sure the wheelchair works the best.

And as I glanced their direction the word INDEPENDANCE came to mind.  We want it.  We teach it.  We hope our children are capable of taking care of themselves...
Then I thought of the newest neighbors with young kids and her vacuuming her van.
INDEPENDANCE from kids for the moment.

INDEPENDANCE--what does that really mean though?  For the stroke-man, I'm sure it is simple living. Walking. Eating. Making simple life decisions. I'm sure the wife hopes for it, but has accepted it is most likely not attainable. And is it different for a man than a woman?  I do think independance is different between the sexes.
For the mom, it could be time alone--I know for me it is wanting my girls to be able to take care of themselves incase I die at any moment.
Ok--alittle dramatic, but true.
When the girls were little, that was a fear--death with small babies at home and who would find them?  Us?  How long would it take?

Now that they're older, it's simply wanting them to know who they are--be true to themselves. 
Be able to do laundry.
Get themselves ready, brushing teeth--oh sigh, --and most days, I feel pretty great about those things.

Other days I wonder where I've gone wrong, but we all have those days.

And then I want them to know that through their independance--they also need to connect, because that's what keeps us growing and going.
The people waiting on them at the grocery store.
The folks on the bike trail.
School friends.
Quiet peace.
Inner joy.

Sunday, August 22, 2010


You either believe in fate.
or you don't.
Or you fall somewhere in the middle...
not knowing whether it's possible because if you do believe-- well, then is everything predestined? Or just the big things?  Or what???

Once upon a time or 16 years ago I met my former husband.
I don't like the word ex:
Sounds so death-like ...
So--I met my FORMER husband and without sounding wistful,
it was fateful.
I was 22, getting ready to graduate from college and living the urban fun life.
I wasn't into dating.
I was into dancing and drinking with my friends.
I had just gotten out of a horrible relationship a year before and spent a good year doing whatever my heart desired.
Then I met my former.
He asked me out.
I said no.
He asked me out for another night.
I said yes.
September 22, 1994.
Listening to music and drinking beer.

September 22, 1995.
A year of dating... I got him an anniversary gift...he said, "it's not like a real annivesary" and we laughed about it--and I didn't let him forget it.

September 22, 1996.
He proposed.  Our first baby girl was 4 months old.  He told me..."now it'll be a real anniversary" and we laughed...and cried.

Then life happened for many years and like how many couples..I hate to even think about myself being yet another statistic...we separated 1 1/2 years ago with 3 girls, amicable. 

This past week I received the court date for our dissolution.

September 22, 2010.

And I cried.
Cried because my dream of whatever family I had created had been altered, but also because of the
FATE of this date.
I felt/feel there was/is a reason.
It's poetic, as Tammie would say...and I see that sometimes it's ok to believe in fate--even if you don't what that actually means.
"Happiness is only real when shared".....from Into the Wild

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