It's a new year, already. In a little over a week, my grandson will be five years old. That's just mind-boggling.
My life has been through even more weird twists and turns since I last posted here. I found myself editing previous blog posts to help remove traces of venom.
Ah, yes, I have now read all the Twilight books, though I have not seen the last movie yet. I may wait till it comes out on video. I recommend reading yet another Twilight book, if you are a fan. It's The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner . I was intrigued by the title character, especially since my glimpse of her (Jodelle Ferland) in the movie (Eclipse) made me think of the actress (Olivia Hussey) who played Juliet in the 1968 movie Romeo and Juliet.
Compare these two photos from IMDB.com:
http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2768404992/nm0272706
http://www.imdb.com/media/rm339063040/nm0001377
They don't look just alike, but she reminded me of her. I owned the book that had Ms Hussey on the cover (with the dishy Mr. Whiting) until its binding fell apart. I think the pieces are still in a box in storage with most of my other paperbacks from my pre-apartment days.
Yes, I live in an apartment now. I thought I was going to be living in another house before Christmas, but things changed. That was the theme of 2012.
Eve and Aaron moved to Allen County from Texas. I finally got to meet Spock, Bones, and Sulu, who are their two beagles and their cat, and my granddogs and grandkitty.
Paul and I are working at the track, which has been somewhat revitalized by Instant Racing games. One of these days, it may become a full-fledged casino, if the laws in the commonwealth change. At this time, our hours are in flux. I'm not sure how things are going to go.
Sometimes I think it might be liberating to pull up roots and leave. Entirely. Franklin. Maybe even Kentucky. Period.
Where would I go? Maybe just Bowling Green, or Glasgow, or Burkesville. Maybe Nashville. Or Columbus (even as much as I try to avoid snow!). Or perhaps somewhere like Savannah, or Charleston. I'm not sure what I would do there, but the job market couldn't be much worse than it is here. But at the moment, I would be happy with a decent work schedule and the possibility of finding a home where I can get my furniture out of storage. I miss the four-poster bed I bought when I was pregnant with Eve.
Which brings to mind the subject that inspired me to blog today. I have several guilty pleasures, some of which you know, if you have followed either this blog or Lorilei-tees, my more commercial publication. They include Harry Potter, Twilight, Jane Austin, Phineas and Ferb, and several I have not mentioned before. I also love "Good Luck Charlie," on the Disney Channel. And I love watching HGTV.
I may never own a home of my own. But since I was a kid, I was interested in designing, building, and restoring homes. I also had a sketchpad with plans for a solar-influenced home that would start with a log house my first husband and I owned when we were newlyweds. Of course, we divorced, and nothing ever came of the home idea.
But I can get the vicarious pleasure and live the dream, in my head, watching HGTV. My favorite programs are currently The Property Brothers and Buying and Selling, both featuring an amazing team, twin brothers Drew and Jonathan Scott. Besides being intelligent, well-spoken, resourceful, and talented at their professions, they are also humorous and upbeat, even when giving their clients an often-needed reality check. Besides that, I think they're both adorable. But I'm not always snagged by good looks, you know - my little sister was in love with Beany Boy on this show - http://beanyandcecil.com/ - whereas I had a soft spot for the big green guy. Go figure.
I think I'm missing The Property Brothers right now. Besides, it's time to make supper. I can get back online later.
Wednesday, January 02, 2013
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Ky-ote, Ky-ote, how'd ya get to Tennessee?
My favorite deejay of all time has passed away. Coyote McCloud will be remembered fondly by many. If you never got to hear him, you missed something special.
There are no words. Well, not now. Later.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Chewy, my babies, and my room
In the old Victorian house where I live, there's a northeast bedroom that used to be my room. From the time I was eleven years old and waiting to enter the seventh grade, through three children and two divorces, from the time I stood only 4'5" tall, until only a few years ago, it was my haven.
First, it was painted blue -- my choice because blue was my sister's favorite color, and it was my way of sharing it with her. Eventually, I went with green, my own favorite color. Then, a few years ago, I relinquished the room. I don't know why. I moved into the slightly smaller southeastern room next to it. We had painted it an odd mauvish pink to match a bedspread and sheet set I had gotten for my daughter Cathie, who actually ending up living with her dad instead. But that room was a catch-all for stuff that didn't have a home downstairs, as well as a place for my first computer. One summer, while I was still working at WKU Campus Child Care, I slept in there a lot. I think the sounds of the crickets at night and the pool filter outside through the open windows was soothing to me. I was writing a lot at the time. Are you surprised that I was writing the great American novel? I'd been working on it since the age of thirteen.
But I think the most breathtaking thing about the pink room was the sunrise. When daylight hit those pink walls, the room was aglow. It was magic. In a house with 11- and 12-foot ceilings and several north-facing windows, it was filled with light. It was amazing.
Maybe that's why I wanted to be in there. There are other reasons which I frequently ponder, but no one can tell me if my answers are correct. I do not know.
Today -- well, it's early AM on Friday, as I finish writing this, so that's yesterday -- I was working on my shops, twittering, modding the CP board. My computer desk is located in the green room now.
Chewy had been making little worried noises, over on the bed Cathie had temporarily left here, on the other side of my monitor. Those flea allergies -- even one bite could cause grief. I decided I needed to give her another bath soon, although she looked better than she had in months. Cathie had clipped her shaggy hair and given her a bath a week or so before.
"Chewy's a good baby," I said softly, and she wagged her stumpy spaniel tail at the sound of my voice. Chewy has been developing cataracts, something I hadn't expected for her age. She is the fourth cocker we have owned -- no, the fifth, since we owned one when I was a baby -- but this was my first encounter with cataracts in my dogs.
About 3:30, I heard Cathie's voice calling upstairs to me, with a note of alarm in her voice.
"Mom!"
I responded, but I went to the stairway, knowing she wouldn't hear me otherwise. Sometimes I think my voice is "invisible," except to E.J.
"Chewy's dead!" Cathie shouted. I knew it couldn't be true. She'd just been there a bit earlier. I hadn't even heard her leave the room. I rushed downstairs. Barefoot, I went outside to see her across the little one-lane steet from our driveway. Chewy was lying in the grass next to the pavement, still warm, but not breathing. I lifted her head, felt her silken chocolate curls beneath my fingers, and didn't want to believe she was gone. I wanted to hold her and comfort her.
Dusty is our cute little Shih Tzu/Peke mix, mostly white with buff-colored points, who can be seen in my shop here: Too Cute for the Dog House. And Winky is the handsome Basset/Beagle mix who posed for this design: Love You Forever. I just hadn't ever gotten around to doing a drawing of Chewy.
As nearly as we can put together, Mom had gone outside to look for Dusty, and Chewy had gone along to take care of her business (so to speak). Mom didn't notice her go out. Then Chewy followed Dusty, who has a bad habit of squeezing out from under our ancient chain link fence. Dusty can see fairly well, though. Chewy could not. A neighbor woman saw an old man driving through hit Chewy, then get out to see if she was okay. He moved her out of the road, but didn't ask around to find her owner.
I guess I should be glad it wasn't one of the children who live in our neighborhood, like my grandson. But I can't find anything about this situation to make me feel glad.
Paul and I spent over an hour digging a hole in a grassy area of the back yard where we buried her beneath the tall trees. I wept intermittently.
I would be going about doing things the rest of the evening and suddenly tear up again. There has been too much sadness and death in the world lately -- much of which touched me -- without its coming into my own personal life.
Now I'm sitting at the desk in the green room, typing at the keyboard, expecting to feel the soft furriness of my little brown shadow rub against my bare feet, thinking I might be required to fuss at her for accidentally turning off the power strip. But that isn't going to happen tonight. I came across her fleecy little doggie bed out in the hall just a while ago, and I haven't yet stopped crying since. Maybe after I post this, I'll try to go to bed. I have to work at 1:30 Friday afternoon. And maybe in a few days or weeks, I'll try to draw a picture to remember her by.
I wish I could have stopped her.
First, it was painted blue -- my choice because blue was my sister's favorite color, and it was my way of sharing it with her. Eventually, I went with green, my own favorite color. Then, a few years ago, I relinquished the room. I don't know why. I moved into the slightly smaller southeastern room next to it. We had painted it an odd mauvish pink to match a bedspread and sheet set I had gotten for my daughter Cathie, who actually ending up living with her dad instead. But that room was a catch-all for stuff that didn't have a home downstairs, as well as a place for my first computer. One summer, while I was still working at WKU Campus Child Care, I slept in there a lot. I think the sounds of the crickets at night and the pool filter outside through the open windows was soothing to me. I was writing a lot at the time. Are you surprised that I was writing the great American novel? I'd been working on it since the age of thirteen.
But I think the most breathtaking thing about the pink room was the sunrise. When daylight hit those pink walls, the room was aglow. It was magic. In a house with 11- and 12-foot ceilings and several north-facing windows, it was filled with light. It was amazing.
Maybe that's why I wanted to be in there. There are other reasons which I frequently ponder, but no one can tell me if my answers are correct. I do not know.
Today -- well, it's early AM on Friday, as I finish writing this, so that's yesterday -- I was working on my shops, twittering, modding the CP board. My computer desk is located in the green room now.
Chewy had been making little worried noises, over on the bed Cathie had temporarily left here, on the other side of my monitor. Those flea allergies -- even one bite could cause grief. I decided I needed to give her another bath soon, although she looked better than she had in months. Cathie had clipped her shaggy hair and given her a bath a week or so before.
"Chewy's a good baby," I said softly, and she wagged her stumpy spaniel tail at the sound of my voice. Chewy has been developing cataracts, something I hadn't expected for her age. She is the fourth cocker we have owned -- no, the fifth, since we owned one when I was a baby -- but this was my first encounter with cataracts in my dogs.
About 3:30, I heard Cathie's voice calling upstairs to me, with a note of alarm in her voice.
"Mom!"
I responded, but I went to the stairway, knowing she wouldn't hear me otherwise. Sometimes I think my voice is "invisible," except to E.J.
"Chewy's dead!" Cathie shouted. I knew it couldn't be true. She'd just been there a bit earlier. I hadn't even heard her leave the room. I rushed downstairs. Barefoot, I went outside to see her across the little one-lane steet from our driveway. Chewy was lying in the grass next to the pavement, still warm, but not breathing. I lifted her head, felt her silken chocolate curls beneath my fingers, and didn't want to believe she was gone. I wanted to hold her and comfort her.
Dusty is our cute little Shih Tzu/Peke mix, mostly white with buff-colored points, who can be seen in my shop here: Too Cute for the Dog House. And Winky is the handsome Basset/Beagle mix who posed for this design: Love You Forever. I just hadn't ever gotten around to doing a drawing of Chewy.
As nearly as we can put together, Mom had gone outside to look for Dusty, and Chewy had gone along to take care of her business (so to speak). Mom didn't notice her go out. Then Chewy followed Dusty, who has a bad habit of squeezing out from under our ancient chain link fence. Dusty can see fairly well, though. Chewy could not. A neighbor woman saw an old man driving through hit Chewy, then get out to see if she was okay. He moved her out of the road, but didn't ask around to find her owner.
I guess I should be glad it wasn't one of the children who live in our neighborhood, like my grandson. But I can't find anything about this situation to make me feel glad.
Paul and I spent over an hour digging a hole in a grassy area of the back yard where we buried her beneath the tall trees. I wept intermittently.
I would be going about doing things the rest of the evening and suddenly tear up again. There has been too much sadness and death in the world lately -- much of which touched me -- without its coming into my own personal life.
Now I'm sitting at the desk in the green room, typing at the keyboard, expecting to feel the soft furriness of my little brown shadow rub against my bare feet, thinking I might be required to fuss at her for accidentally turning off the power strip. But that isn't going to happen tonight. I came across her fleecy little doggie bed out in the hall just a while ago, and I haven't yet stopped crying since. Maybe after I post this, I'll try to go to bed. I have to work at 1:30 Friday afternoon. And maybe in a few days or weeks, I'll try to draw a picture to remember her by.
I wish I could have stopped her.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Don't Forget
While I'm thinking about it, Demi Lovato's video "Don't Forget," currently getting lots of play on the Disney Channel, will always remind me of New Moon. I read that Demi has expressed a willingness to record music for the movie. I wondered if she was thinking about Bella and Edward when she co-wrote this.
This is the full version. The one I'm accustomed to watching is much shorter.
This is the full version. The one I'm accustomed to watching is much shorter.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Catching Up
Hi again. It's Lorilei.
Yeah, I know, I haven't written. I really meant to, but I've been so busy, out having fun.
Yes, I know. I'm a terrible liar.
So, what have I been doing? Let's see....
I've read the first two books in the Twilight Saga. Yes, I enjoy them, though I still prefer Harry Potter. But that's apples & oranges, to me, because no other books are HP, any more than they are Jane Austen.
Doesn't matter. I can't wait to read Eclipse. I just can't figure out how it will all end. I believe in love, but I think the unabated obsession from New Moon is just downright unhealthy. Yeah, I know what I'm talkin' 'bout, Willis. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. It still didn't stop me from crying for Bella. I'm a terribly empathetic person.
But, good golly Miss Molly, that chick is a magnet for pain, grief, and all kinds of bad news. And isn't there enough drama here? Sheesh, Simpson County could be the Forks of the midsouth. I just can't decide which are the werewolves and which are the vampires around these parts.
For a while, my daughter Cathie was trying to be a kind person, and to head off future repercussions with EJ, by setting up supervised visitation with He Who Must Not Be Named.
Yes, there's more. But the divorce is final, and EJ doesn't have to go for visits. Now the rest of the drama in my life can assume its usual place. Like the issues with my son and his former roommate. Ah, yes. They were introduced by Cathie's ex-DH. She was obsessed with DH after she slept with him, while Cathie was deployed, and DH decided to foist her off on someone else. But that's a story for another entry... or two....
BTW, much of this story has been edited out. I'm saving the storyline for my upcoming Great American Novel. But, seriously, the names have been omitted to protect the innocent. And other interested parties. And because I was tired of my blog being a place I didn't like to go anymore. So, as of January 2, 2013, this sucker is edited.
Yeah, I know, I haven't written. I really meant to, but I've been so busy, out having fun.
Yes, I know. I'm a terrible liar.
So, what have I been doing? Let's see....
I've read the first two books in the Twilight Saga. Yes, I enjoy them, though I still prefer Harry Potter. But that's apples & oranges, to me, because no other books are HP, any more than they are Jane Austen.
Doesn't matter. I can't wait to read Eclipse. I just can't figure out how it will all end. I believe in love, but I think the unabated obsession from New Moon is just downright unhealthy. Yeah, I know what I'm talkin' 'bout, Willis. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. It still didn't stop me from crying for Bella. I'm a terribly empathetic person.
But, good golly Miss Molly, that chick is a magnet for pain, grief, and all kinds of bad news. And isn't there enough drama here? Sheesh, Simpson County could be the Forks of the midsouth. I just can't decide which are the werewolves and which are the vampires around these parts.
For a while, my daughter Cathie was trying to be a kind person, and to head off future repercussions with EJ, by setting up supervised visitation with He Who Must Not Be Named.
Yes, there's more. But the divorce is final, and EJ doesn't have to go for visits. Now the rest of the drama in my life can assume its usual place. Like the issues with my son and his former roommate. Ah, yes. They were introduced by Cathie's ex-DH. She was obsessed with DH after she slept with him, while Cathie was deployed, and DH decided to foist her off on someone else. But that's a story for another entry... or two....
BTW, much of this story has been edited out. I'm saving the storyline for my upcoming Great American Novel. But, seriously, the names have been omitted to protect the innocent. And other interested parties. And because I was tired of my blog being a place I didn't like to go anymore. So, as of January 2, 2013, this sucker is edited.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Untitled, for now
I know, this looks like it could be a post from my other blog (http://lorilei-tees.com/), but this design just seems so appropriate for my life at the moment.
A lot has happened in my life since this post last March, and much of it has not been for the better.
The one constant has been that my grandson EJ is the light of our lives. He is so very precious to us, I would never give him up or wish him away.
There was an EPO (Emergency Protection Order) against my daughter's future ex as of March, 2008, first in Sumner County, Tennessee, then in Simpson County, Kentucky.
The terminology has apparently changed so this is now called a DVO (Domestic Violence Order). It disallows him from possessing weapons or ammunition, and it restricts him as far as physical proximity to Cathie and other family members. He resigned from the police force rather than be fired, after the local judge made the order official in our commonwealth.
Unfortunately, the DVO will most likely expire in March of this year, and then he will think he can do anything he wants. Mainly because he has already thought this for a long time, and the legal restrictions placed on him have hampered him very little in the last ten months.
Cathie lost the best job she'd ever had when she took an honorable discharge from the army. She was due to be shipped to Iraq for the third time, and custody of EJ would have reverted to the pother parent. That was just unacceptable. A female officer Cathie worked with had warned Cathie to get out of the army and protect her right to be a mother, since she had gone through a similar situation. The woman had lost her own son and daughter to her ex-husband while she was deployed in the Middle East; her ex had charged her with abandonment.
Cathie is a strong and sometimes stubborn young woman. She is a natural leader. She did not want to back down and submit to intimidation, but I have seen the fear in her when he is near. Ever since he found out she had filed her 2007 taxes separately and he would not be getting all the return, when he called her to threaten and yell at her, she has lived with the fear that he'd eventually go over the line and try to hurt her.
He once lost his temper with her (while they were still together) and tried to hit her, but he missed. Frankly, I think in a fair wrestling match, she could kick his @$$, but he doesn't believe in fair fights any more than he believes in the truth.
Friday, September 12, 2008
live racing at kyd...
quoted from the twin spires newsletter -
Kentucky Downs - Opening Weekend at Kentucky Downs!
It's opening weekend at North America's only European style racecourse, Kentucky Downs. Enjoy all the action as some of racing's best turf runners, take to the lawn for this official rite of fall.
Things kick off with a bang this Saturday with the annual Kentucky Cup Turf Festival. Three turf stakes are carded for this day including the $200,000 Grade III Kentucky Cup Turf. Silverfoot returns to his old stomping grounds in search of another graded stakes victory. Can this eight-year-old take the cake, or will a fresh face shock the field?
- Saturday:
- $200,000 Grade III Kentucky Cup Turf
- $100,000 Kentucky Cup Ladies Turf
- $100,000 Kentucky Cup Turf Dash
- Live racing: Saturday, Monday and Tuesday with first post on Monday and Tuesday at 2:30 p.m. EDT and first post on Saturday at 1:10 p.m. EDT.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
The Seven Things...
I saw the part of this that's shown on the Disney Channel. Then I found it that was only half of the song.
Who can't relate to this song? I have to admit, it brings tears to my eyes.
Billy Ray's little girl is growing up to be quite a singer.
Who can't relate to this song? I have to admit, it brings tears to my eyes.
Billy Ray's little girl is growing up to be quite a singer.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Monday, May 05, 2008
Kentucky Derby 134
We interrupt my life to watch the 2008 Kentucky Derby.
This was my ninth Derby, working as a teller at Kentucky Downs Race Track.
I watched the mass of 20 horses streaking for the wire, thinking that my personal pick (Big Brown) was near the front, if nothing else. I couldn't hear the announcer above the excited cheering of the crowd. You'd have thought we were at Churchill. I had a WPS bet on Big Brown, as well as a {5,9,10,20} exacta box. Knowing that it would be several minutes before the race was final and payoffs were available, I took a cash return to the money room. I had so many bills in my box, I nearly couldn't manage them all, and I had almost passed my limit on the total amount, as well.
Afterward, I slipped out to use the restroom and stretch my legs. When I returned to my machine, I saw the race results on the screen. Not only did I have my win-place-and-show bet, but I had my exacta. Since those were the only two bets I had placed, I was two for two. If I had had more time, I had planned to do a trifecta wheel as well. I would have added a couple more horses for good measure, including #16. But since the tri would have been a tax ticket, it's probably just as well. (Yet it might have been cool to win $3,000+, just once....)
Moments later, Paul came downstairs from the TV room to tell me the fate of Eight Belles. I didn't know she had even gone down. With two shattered front ankles, she had collapsed in the cool-down stretch, after finishing second in the race.
The memory of Barbaro is too near. I cry when I think about them. Thoroughbreds are so strong, and yet so fragile.
My daughter Cathie said she thought that injured horses should be kept alive, allowed to live peacefully in retirement. I thought so too, yet I know that a horse that cannot stand will die after a while. And a horse that cannot run might not want to live. I just wish we could figure out a way to keep them from being hurt while doing the thing they love best.
This was my ninth Derby, working as a teller at Kentucky Downs Race Track.
I watched the mass of 20 horses streaking for the wire, thinking that my personal pick (Big Brown) was near the front, if nothing else. I couldn't hear the announcer above the excited cheering of the crowd. You'd have thought we were at Churchill. I had a WPS bet on Big Brown, as well as a {5,9,10,20} exacta box. Knowing that it would be several minutes before the race was final and payoffs were available, I took a cash return to the money room. I had so many bills in my box, I nearly couldn't manage them all, and I had almost passed my limit on the total amount, as well.
Afterward, I slipped out to use the restroom and stretch my legs. When I returned to my machine, I saw the race results on the screen. Not only did I have my win-place-and-show bet, but I had my exacta. Since those were the only two bets I had placed, I was two for two. If I had had more time, I had planned to do a trifecta wheel as well. I would have added a couple more horses for good measure, including #16. But since the tri would have been a tax ticket, it's probably just as well. (Yet it might have been cool to win $3,000+, just once....)
Moments later, Paul came downstairs from the TV room to tell me the fate of Eight Belles. I didn't know she had even gone down. With two shattered front ankles, she had collapsed in the cool-down stretch, after finishing second in the race.
The memory of Barbaro is too near. I cry when I think about them. Thoroughbreds are so strong, and yet so fragile.
My daughter Cathie said she thought that injured horses should be kept alive, allowed to live peacefully in retirement. I thought so too, yet I know that a horse that cannot stand will die after a while. And a horse that cannot run might not want to live. I just wish we could figure out a way to keep them from being hurt while doing the thing they love best.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Life is strange
Every day I see more proof of the strangeness of life. The last three months have made this fact more clear to me than probably any other three months of my life.
My life has become more wonderful because of the birth of my grandson, EJ.
My daughter's life has fallen apart, and she has picked up the pieces to carry on, because her marriage has ended. The fairy tale and the romance are finished. Her husband has shown his true colors.
Cathie said she fell in love again with her childhood sweetheart. Yet he couldn't maintain the fantasy world he created for too long. Eventually, the wedges he tried to drive between her and friends and other family members gave way. Her heart broke down the barriers until she finally saw the truth.
The girl Cathie's husband had dated before Cathie was pregnant. He let me believe that this girl had become pregnant before she became involved with him, and that he had found her out and broken off their relationship. Since I worked with her, her mother, and her grandmother, it became a rather sticky situation, or at least an uncomfortable work atmosphere for me. I couldn't freely talk about my daughter's marriage. Then I couldn't openly share the news that she was expecting. We felt like spies, hiding from the KGB or the CIA or something, watching over our shoulders for the people who were out to get us.
I started seeing signs that the other young lady in question wanted to make peace. But dear hubby filled Cathie's mind with fear and prejudice, at least as much as a spouse could do. Cathie wanted to trust and support him. She believed in him.
My younger brother has a girlfriend, a young single mother with adorable children I happen to be very attached to. Cathie's husband - oh, let's just call him "DH" for Dear Hubby - told both Cathie and me that this woman was dealing drugs, and that he had her on videotape. According to him, her arrest was imminent. Likewise, Cathie's brother Paul was involved in all manner of shady business, along with his girlfriend. DH told Cathie that Paul's girlfriend -- another young single parent -- had tried to seduce him (DH), and that she had announced her intentions to either break up his marriage or cause him to lose his job.
EJ was born three weeks early. Just as they were preparing Cathie for a C-section, EJ decided to come naturally. The umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck, but he was still healthy, if tiny, at 5 lbs and 10 oz.
A few weeks later, I was gravely concerned about Cathie's emotional health and the state of her relationships. She had been trying, since December or so, to find and talk to her DH's former girlfriend about his daughter and him. She wanted to make peace, even though DH did not want her talking to this young lady or any of her friends and relatives.
I had managed to help her get back on speaking terms with Paul, and he gave Cathie's cell phone number to the young lady.
That's when things began to get interesting....
Cathie told me she and the former GF had gotten along fine, and the babies were so cute together. Former GF agreed to let DH see their daughter, even though the hearing had determined that DH would not get formal visitation for a year.
Cathie also told me she was beginning to doubt some of the things her husband had told her. I was already taking some of it with a grain of salt. After all, wives of cops don't have to be cloaked in complete secrecy. I was married to a state trooper for years, and my older brother has been in law enforcement of some kind ever since he became a police dispatcher at the age of 18. I had thought DH just needed to learn to be more laid-back about things.
Cathie had been fighting against rumors she had been hearing, only a few of which I'd heard too. Rumors that he'd had an affair with Paul's girlfriend before she started dating Paul, that he'd been caught having sex with a girl in the WalMart parking lot in the back seat of Cathie's extended cab pickup truck, and that he was currently dating a teenaged girl. We actually drove around town looking for his car.
We were back at their house in the baby's room where Cathie had been sleeping for weeks in an extra bed (she'd said because she kept DH awake when he was home), when we heard a car in the driveway. DH's mother was dropping him off. I had long since become uncomfortable being there when he came home because I didn't want him to feel I was trying to be a third wheel or interfere with their relationship in any way. I told Cathie and baby EJ goodnight and went home.
A few hours later, my mother was trying to wake me to tell me Cathie's cell phone number was on the caller-ID. I was so groggy, I hadn't even heard the phone ringing. I was trying to call Cathie back when I heard her at the front door. She was on the phone with either my brother or her stepmother, EJ's carrier and the diaper bag in her arms.
Last year, March signaled the beginning of change at the track, with a new group planning to purchase the controlling shares the company. There were significant changes at CafePress that impacted them as well. Even their Google ranking dropped like a rock for some time.
I had doubts about both of my jobs. I was at a phase in my participation in the Vanderbilt study on depression where I was kind of winging it, going solo, like Dumbo when he finds out he doesn't have a magic feather in his cap anymore. (Oh, you know, the cartoon. If you have never seen it, you are deprived. Go rent it.)
All this stuff sent me into a dark place for a while. I needed a flashlight to find my way out. And then I found my wand to guide me. Lumos. But it took several more months before I really felt better. Life did change at the track when it changed hands. For one thing, my brother no longer worked there. For another, Paul worked in Bobby's place, though not for the same pay. My hours changed, getting worse, then better, partly because several other tellers began to leave.
I also quit doing the Kentucky Downs gear through Horses-Around on CafePress. The wife of one of our new owners was an Equine Artist (because they are apparently superior to the rest of us peons), so the track is now filled with her work. There's a monochromatic screen printed t-shirt and sweatshirt now on sale, replacing my designs and t-shirts. I rescued my stuff from the cabinet where they had been stashed and took them home. Even though I had legal signed permission to use the KYD name and facilities to sell merchandise, I decided it would useless to complain. All I would likely do is endanger my job as a teller.
When the truth came out about DH, it enabled me to redirect the distrust I had felt toward several other tellers to the real owner of all the trouble, DH, and it was great. A sense of relief and freedom accompanied the new anger, so it empowered me. Finding out her husband had been cheating on her since day one did the same for my daughter. She was nothing but courageous, changing from the remorseful hermit I had worried about, hiding in her house across town, to a woman with a purpose, a single mother with an innocent child.
There's more to this story, but as of January 2, 2013, it won't be told here.
My life has become more wonderful because of the birth of my grandson, EJ.
My daughter's life has fallen apart, and she has picked up the pieces to carry on, because her marriage has ended. The fairy tale and the romance are finished. Her husband has shown his true colors.
Cathie said she fell in love again with her childhood sweetheart. Yet he couldn't maintain the fantasy world he created for too long. Eventually, the wedges he tried to drive between her and friends and other family members gave way. Her heart broke down the barriers until she finally saw the truth.
The girl Cathie's husband had dated before Cathie was pregnant. He let me believe that this girl had become pregnant before she became involved with him, and that he had found her out and broken off their relationship. Since I worked with her, her mother, and her grandmother, it became a rather sticky situation, or at least an uncomfortable work atmosphere for me. I couldn't freely talk about my daughter's marriage. Then I couldn't openly share the news that she was expecting. We felt like spies, hiding from the KGB or the CIA or something, watching over our shoulders for the people who were out to get us.
I started seeing signs that the other young lady in question wanted to make peace. But dear hubby filled Cathie's mind with fear and prejudice, at least as much as a spouse could do. Cathie wanted to trust and support him. She believed in him.
My younger brother has a girlfriend, a young single mother with adorable children I happen to be very attached to. Cathie's husband - oh, let's just call him "DH" for Dear Hubby - told both Cathie and me that this woman was dealing drugs, and that he had her on videotape. According to him, her arrest was imminent. Likewise, Cathie's brother Paul was involved in all manner of shady business, along with his girlfriend. DH told Cathie that Paul's girlfriend -- another young single parent -- had tried to seduce him (DH), and that she had announced her intentions to either break up his marriage or cause him to lose his job.
EJ was born three weeks early. Just as they were preparing Cathie for a C-section, EJ decided to come naturally. The umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck, but he was still healthy, if tiny, at 5 lbs and 10 oz.
A few weeks later, I was gravely concerned about Cathie's emotional health and the state of her relationships. She had been trying, since December or so, to find and talk to her DH's former girlfriend about his daughter and him. She wanted to make peace, even though DH did not want her talking to this young lady or any of her friends and relatives.
I had managed to help her get back on speaking terms with Paul, and he gave Cathie's cell phone number to the young lady.
That's when things began to get interesting....
Cathie told me she and the former GF had gotten along fine, and the babies were so cute together. Former GF agreed to let DH see their daughter, even though the hearing had determined that DH would not get formal visitation for a year.
Cathie also told me she was beginning to doubt some of the things her husband had told her. I was already taking some of it with a grain of salt. After all, wives of cops don't have to be cloaked in complete secrecy. I was married to a state trooper for years, and my older brother has been in law enforcement of some kind ever since he became a police dispatcher at the age of 18. I had thought DH just needed to learn to be more laid-back about things.
Cathie had been fighting against rumors she had been hearing, only a few of which I'd heard too. Rumors that he'd had an affair with Paul's girlfriend before she started dating Paul, that he'd been caught having sex with a girl in the WalMart parking lot in the back seat of Cathie's extended cab pickup truck, and that he was currently dating a teenaged girl. We actually drove around town looking for his car.
We were back at their house in the baby's room where Cathie had been sleeping for weeks in an extra bed (she'd said because she kept DH awake when he was home), when we heard a car in the driveway. DH's mother was dropping him off. I had long since become uncomfortable being there when he came home because I didn't want him to feel I was trying to be a third wheel or interfere with their relationship in any way. I told Cathie and baby EJ goodnight and went home.
A few hours later, my mother was trying to wake me to tell me Cathie's cell phone number was on the caller-ID. I was so groggy, I hadn't even heard the phone ringing. I was trying to call Cathie back when I heard her at the front door. She was on the phone with either my brother or her stepmother, EJ's carrier and the diaper bag in her arms.
Last year, March signaled the beginning of change at the track, with a new group planning to purchase the controlling shares the company. There were significant changes at CafePress that impacted them as well. Even their Google ranking dropped like a rock for some time.
I had doubts about both of my jobs. I was at a phase in my participation in the Vanderbilt study on depression where I was kind of winging it, going solo, like Dumbo when he finds out he doesn't have a magic feather in his cap anymore. (Oh, you know, the cartoon. If you have never seen it, you are deprived. Go rent it.)
All this stuff sent me into a dark place for a while. I needed a flashlight to find my way out. And then I found my wand to guide me. Lumos. But it took several more months before I really felt better. Life did change at the track when it changed hands. For one thing, my brother no longer worked there. For another, Paul worked in Bobby's place, though not for the same pay. My hours changed, getting worse, then better, partly because several other tellers began to leave.
I also quit doing the Kentucky Downs gear through Horses-Around on CafePress. The wife of one of our new owners was an Equine Artist (because they are apparently superior to the rest of us peons), so the track is now filled with her work. There's a monochromatic screen printed t-shirt and sweatshirt now on sale, replacing my designs and t-shirts. I rescued my stuff from the cabinet where they had been stashed and took them home. Even though I had legal signed permission to use the KYD name and facilities to sell merchandise, I decided it would useless to complain. All I would likely do is endanger my job as a teller.
When the truth came out about DH, it enabled me to redirect the distrust I had felt toward several other tellers to the real owner of all the trouble, DH, and it was great. A sense of relief and freedom accompanied the new anger, so it empowered me. Finding out her husband had been cheating on her since day one did the same for my daughter. She was nothing but courageous, changing from the remorseful hermit I had worried about, hiding in her house across town, to a woman with a purpose, a single mother with an innocent child.
There's more to this story, but as of January 2, 2013, it won't be told here.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Monday, December 17, 2007
Christmas Bears and Penguins, rockin' out to the Beach Boys
I love this ad. Even though I no longer drink Coca-Cola, I always love their Polar Bears. I also admire their taste in music.
Cheers!
Cheers!
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Granddog #2
One of my granddogs lives here. Cathie's dog is Chewy, short for Chewbacca Brownie, a chocolate cocker spaniel. (Even her nose is brown.)
But now there is another.... yes, but not Leia or Luke. It is Mister Spock.
Eve and Aaron have adopted a beagle puppy. This video was when he was 11 weeks old. Eve says he is about twice this size, now that he is 18 weeks.
He isn't doing much in this video. But he's being little and cute, which is enough.
This may be the new house. I am not sure. It sure doesn't seem possible it could have been over 7 weeks since they moved. Wow!
But now there is another.... yes, but not Leia or Luke. It is Mister Spock.
Eve and Aaron have adopted a beagle puppy. This video was when he was 11 weeks old. Eve says he is about twice this size, now that he is 18 weeks.
He isn't doing much in this video. But he's being little and cute, which is enough.
This may be the new house. I am not sure. It sure doesn't seem possible it could have been over 7 weeks since they moved. Wow!
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Can you hear me now?
I think I need to start yelling at people.
No, I really hate that idea. It does something to my insides.
I purchased a card to send something to a friend of mind on Tuesday. She lives north of San Francisco. I live north of Nashville, TN, in a rather small town. But we do have a local art gallery. So I bought a card with a reproduction of a watercolor, an autumn scene in Kentucky. Very nice. I talked to the gallery director about the weather (here and in San Francisco), upcoming art shows, and the current requirements for art reproductions for sale.
I wrote a message to my friend inside the card. I labeled and sealed the envelope, and then I waited in line at the post office. There were liberty bell stamps and flag stamps in the vending machine, but I wanted something pretty and different for the card. My friend notices things like that. Thinking of the smile that would be on her face when she saw it made me smile, too.
"Can I help you?" said the woman at the counter, when it was my turn.
"I'd like to mail this card," I said, extending the envelope. "I didn't want to get one of the stamps from the machine. What kind of stamps do you have today?"
She punched a button swiftly, tore off the stamp that popped out, and slapped it on my card. I watched as the envelope disappeared into a slot. She looked back up at me.
"Anything else? You need a book of stamps or anything?" she asked me, obviously unaware I had been saying anything of importance.
"No, nothing," I said. I left.
The woman at the gallery must have better hearing or something.
No, I really hate that idea. It does something to my insides.
I purchased a card to send something to a friend of mind on Tuesday. She lives north of San Francisco. I live north of Nashville, TN, in a rather small town. But we do have a local art gallery. So I bought a card with a reproduction of a watercolor, an autumn scene in Kentucky. Very nice. I talked to the gallery director about the weather (here and in San Francisco), upcoming art shows, and the current requirements for art reproductions for sale.
I wrote a message to my friend inside the card. I labeled and sealed the envelope, and then I waited in line at the post office. There were liberty bell stamps and flag stamps in the vending machine, but I wanted something pretty and different for the card. My friend notices things like that. Thinking of the smile that would be on her face when she saw it made me smile, too.
"Can I help you?" said the woman at the counter, when it was my turn.
"I'd like to mail this card," I said, extending the envelope. "I didn't want to get one of the stamps from the machine. What kind of stamps do you have today?"
She punched a button swiftly, tore off the stamp that popped out, and slapped it on my card. I watched as the envelope disappeared into a slot. She looked back up at me.
"Anything else? You need a book of stamps or anything?" she asked me, obviously unaware I had been saying anything of importance.
"No, nothing," I said. I left.
The woman at the gallery must have better hearing or something.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
My daughter, the poet
No links here.
Sometimes I find things on the internet which I was never meant to read. Poems, short stories, stream-of-consciousness philosophy from my middle child. I dearly love all three of my children, but each of them has given me sorrow as well as joy -- even now, as adults.
Sometimes I feel so unworthy of her, and yet mortally wounded by her. When I read her words, so beautiful, pure, and terrible, that I cry. I have let her down. I have disappointed her. She was incredible, innocent, natural, and yet frighteningly intelligent. I feel stupid by comparison. And so unworthy.
I know that many of these pieces were written years ago, in her teens and her very early twenties, and yet they haunt me. So why do I read them? Because part of the child that she was speaks to me, and I crave the communication.
Her younger sister tells me I am the worlds's best mother, and that I have sacrificed everything to give each of them all the love and encouragement they needed. Listening to her, I could nearly start to feel like Rosie the Riveter or Wonder Woman... except... I know, in my heart, how many times I have failed.
I need to remind myself of the things that make me happy, and the reasons I feel I am lovable. Reading, writing, drawing... sleep is an elusive thing.
Sometimes I find things on the internet which I was never meant to read. Poems, short stories, stream-of-consciousness philosophy from my middle child. I dearly love all three of my children, but each of them has given me sorrow as well as joy -- even now, as adults.
Sometimes I feel so unworthy of her, and yet mortally wounded by her. When I read her words, so beautiful, pure, and terrible, that I cry. I have let her down. I have disappointed her. She was incredible, innocent, natural, and yet frighteningly intelligent. I feel stupid by comparison. And so unworthy.
I know that many of these pieces were written years ago, in her teens and her very early twenties, and yet they haunt me. So why do I read them? Because part of the child that she was speaks to me, and I crave the communication.
Her younger sister tells me I am the worlds's best mother, and that I have sacrificed everything to give each of them all the love and encouragement they needed. Listening to her, I could nearly start to feel like Rosie the Riveter or Wonder Woman... except... I know, in my heart, how many times I have failed.
I need to remind myself of the things that make me happy, and the reasons I feel I am lovable. Reading, writing, drawing... sleep is an elusive thing.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Watching the clock...
I'm waiting for time to head to the theater to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
Well, I still need to make supper. Just for me, tonight, though, since Gran is at my older brother's house, and Paul and Ian are hanging out with Paul's half-brother, Chris.
I'm getting caught up on a few online tasks before I change. I'm not taking a robe or a wand, just wearing this t-shirt -
- and possibly the cap that goes with it.
I used Fandango to try to get 11:59 PM tickets for tonight, but they goofed, and so I goofed. Now I have 11:59 PM tickets for the regular showing. Since IMAX's showing at that time is now sold out, I'll be changing the tickets for the 3:00 AM showing. The IMAX tickets cost a little more, but I know it will be worth it.
Some critics have said the yelling and angst in OotP are a little over the top, but I say you just can't expect to get everything in a movie that you do in a book. Make no mistake, I love movies. It's just that they and books are apples and oranges.
I am terrible about watching the Harry Potter movies and saying, "But in the book, this happened..." or "But they left this out! And it's important!" I recently made myself watch the earlier movies on DVD again, trying to free myself of expectations. They are still far and away better than most fanfics I've read! They are abbreviated versions of the books, with illustrations. Moving illustrations, like the paintings and photographs in the wizarding world. Yes, a few things annoy me, and a few things amuse me, about changes that are made. I am still saddened by Richard Harris' passing, because he will always be my Dumbledore. My Dumbledore is gentle, even though he is a force to be reckoned with. My Dumbledore would never shake Harry or any other student to get the truth. Dumbledore does not resort to violence to learn facts. He is the epitome of wisdom.
Hermione is brilliant, but earnest, not snug. Ron doesn't realize that he is smart. He has a wealth of knowledge about the wizarding world. He's just been in the shadow of five uniquely resourceful brothers all his life. And Harry? He is no slouch. Almost everything we know comes through him. He is our eyes, our mind, and our heart.
Sorry. I'm getting too caught up in this again. I can't help it. I so love a good story.
Well, I still need to make supper. Just for me, tonight, though, since Gran is at my older brother's house, and Paul and Ian are hanging out with Paul's half-brother, Chris.
I'm getting caught up on a few online tasks before I change. I'm not taking a robe or a wand, just wearing this t-shirt -
- and possibly the cap that goes with it.
I used Fandango to try to get 11:59 PM tickets for tonight, but they goofed, and so I goofed. Now I have 11:59 PM tickets for the regular showing. Since IMAX's showing at that time is now sold out, I'll be changing the tickets for the 3:00 AM showing. The IMAX tickets cost a little more, but I know it will be worth it.
Some critics have said the yelling and angst in OotP are a little over the top, but I say you just can't expect to get everything in a movie that you do in a book. Make no mistake, I love movies. It's just that they and books are apples and oranges.
I am terrible about watching the Harry Potter movies and saying, "But in the book, this happened..." or "But they left this out! And it's important!" I recently made myself watch the earlier movies on DVD again, trying to free myself of expectations. They are still far and away better than most fanfics I've read! They are abbreviated versions of the books, with illustrations. Moving illustrations, like the paintings and photographs in the wizarding world. Yes, a few things annoy me, and a few things amuse me, about changes that are made. I am still saddened by Richard Harris' passing, because he will always be my Dumbledore. My Dumbledore is gentle, even though he is a force to be reckoned with. My Dumbledore would never shake Harry or any other student to get the truth. Dumbledore does not resort to violence to learn facts. He is the epitome of wisdom.
Hermione is brilliant, but earnest, not snug. Ron doesn't realize that he is smart. He has a wealth of knowledge about the wizarding world. He's just been in the shadow of five uniquely resourceful brothers all his life. And Harry? He is no slouch. Almost everything we know comes through him. He is our eyes, our mind, and our heart.
Sorry. I'm getting too caught up in this again. I can't help it. I so love a good story.
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