Doggy School

It took us 9 years to get our dog Whisky to behave and listen. We are old and are not as patient now. So, next Thursday evening me and my new doggy, Coco are going to school. We are going to be trained by an experienced dog trainer who is gonna be training her new golden lab pup. Then her and the pup will be going to school to get her masters in service dog training.

It's hard trying to be the Alpha when I am not always with her and there are so many men in her life. So just to add two or more men in her life, I am going to start taking her into work with me for a couple days a week so we can interact during the day. But, she'll have my boss and his dog, Buddy to interact with, plus, the guy at the shop up front and the maintenance guy.

I want to say, we just recently got a new vet for the dog(s). We had been taking Tommy the cat to her but Jim mostly took her cause I'm not a cat person. I can not believe the difference. The other vet was like ok, he looks good, here's his shots & heartworm meds and that will be $150.00 bucks. This vet and her crew are just wonderful. They are like physic. They are constantly touching and examining the pet and telling you things about your pet and telling you what you can do to help your pet be a better pet and how you can be a good pet owner. I went along with Jim last time he took Tommy and then I went alone the other night with CoCo to get her boosters. I just love these people and I can't wait until I see them again. They were just wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. I need to send them a card or something to tell them that.
I absolutely love them.

The trainer is associated with the vet and holds her classes there and she is just as nice and wonderful as they are. I am so looking forward to class next Thursday. Having the right people in your life can make all the difference.

Doggy Jail

Today I had to go to doggy jail and bail my little chocolate cupcake, CoCo out of jail. It was a very traumatic experience and she was quite upset, too. She somehow got out of the fence and run away from Bert when he tried to get her back in. Whisk ran off with her but came back. She wound up being caught by the doggy police and hauled off to jail.

I had her file with me at work because I had just made her a vet appointment yesterday, so I went straight from work to doggy jail. They had me fill out a form, then sent me back to these 3 red doors # 3,4 & 5 to go through and look for her. The first red door #3 led to a cold, hard room filled with kennels. Almost every one had a poor little doggy in them, although some weren't so little. Some were barking, some whining and others were just laying there. My heart was just hurting so bad to see all this poor little animals locked up like that. But, it's better than having them running the streets, I suppose. So, no little CoCo in cell block #3,

I went on to # 4 and once again started looking from right to left. I was almost back at the door when I seen this little brown doggy. It looked like my CoCo, yes, she had little white paws, yes, she had a little shaved belly. Yes, this was my little CoCo, but she was shaking and shivering from head to toe. She didn't act like the brave little girl that knocks heads & bites legs with old Whisky, I put my head to the cage and said, "CoCo, my little girl" and she didn't even lick me. She didn't like that place and she was beside herself. I checked the little neck tag they had on her and seen she was picked up just a couple blocks from the house. I told her she would be out soon and went up front to let them know I had found her. After more paper work and payment of $7.50, I told the girl to keep the change as a donation cause I was so happy I didn't have to go in door #5. After I told the story to my husband, Jim. He said he was relieve that I didn't come back with a whole car load of dogs.

I hope I don't ever have to go bail her out again. That place just breaks my heart. But, now my little girl has a record. She can never get to be a rescue dog, drug dog, or anything like that. Bert, my son, said she might still be able to be a police dog. Nine years we've had Whiskey and he's had his haydays of fence jumping and running around with the gang and has never been picked up by the dog cops. Her first day out and my little girl gets picked up. Ain't that just like people cops, they stay away from guy gangs but sees a young gal walking the street and they're all over her.

The Big Wind in the Big Easy.

My mother has taken over my mind, body and soul and there seems to be nothing I can do about it.

Hurricane Katrina was heading toward New Orleans and all I could think was that it was a good thing... that New Orleans needed a good cleaning. But, it didn't turn out to be as bad as they expected it to be.

One thing about the media, It's never as bad as they report it could be and never as good as they report it is. I'm sure that there are a lot of people that are and will have some really hard times. But, since my mother has entered my body...I really don't give a hoot. She hasn't taken completely over or hoot would have been a stronger word.

So since Hurricane Katrina has turned out to be a big disappointment to me like most things in this life. I will attempt to rattle on about nothing in specific just to hear myself think.

My mother used to live in New Orleans. She moved there when she was about 16 or so some where in the early 40's. I don't know the time line completely but she was quite a looker and danced in a chorus line and hung out with some big shots associated with crime and politics, which in Louisiana is the same thing. She partied with Gov. Jimmie Davis and one of the Longs. She mixed with Carlo's family or what ever family was in charge at the time. She married a soldier and lived large with his money. He went overseas and sent all his money home to her. My aunt once told me that my mom would were these expensive coats and if she was out on the town and it rained, she would just throw the coat in the trash. Then they divorced because it was discovered that she couldn't have children and he wanted children. So she went on dancing and partying, then had the misfortune to run into another soldier who partied with her one night and drank champange out of her size 10 pump. He left but couldn't get her out of his mind and returned to New Orleans to woo her. She got wooed and took him to the res to meet the folks. The rest is history...just like this story. She wasn't infertile, they eventually married and her life became a living hell or something like that she would later lament.

I relay that story because I told my boss today that if I could do it all over again, I would live large until I was somewhere around 39 then jump off a bridge. I might assume that my mother would agree with me and when that soldier drank from her shoe she would have hit him over the head with her size ten. Before my children get to thinking they were unwanted and unloved that is not so. What I meant was that life before 40 was fun, somewhat carefree, and somewhat exciting. Now, I don't know if life changed or I did...but life sucks and then it sucks some more. No amount or combination of drugs seem to change my opinion on that. I think even though I went through some hard times and stuff when I was young, there was always hope that it would get better. Well, baby it don't get any better that this. Life can be illustrated like this; Run, run into brick wall, repeat.

So I end this now on a lighter note. #1 son coming for visit this week, so I've got to run. Ha!

I think outside the shower, therefore I have dry thoughts.

My sons' last blogs were about thinking and as luck would have it I have been doing some of that lately. First, a fleeting thought, similar to son #2's blog. I was thinking the other day that I was not actually living this life, merely thinking I was a real person living real (stupid) situations. I thought that my government or "power in charge" would not allow me to live for real because living was too dangerous or costly or something. I am allowed to think I'm living but I am not allowed to know I'm just thinking I'm living. Now that I'm smoke & alcohol free my mind is clearer and I can see these things. Now if only I can get off the drugs! Ha! Imagine what I might think is so. But, I may not live that long if the "power" realizes I am beginning to uncover the truth.
If some of you think this is a crazy idea...It is, but as son #1 was talking about the Hurricane coverage on tv, the coverage was continuous. Why? Because they had mandatory evacuation from Florida to Maine, while the "Newspeople" moved in to maintain constant vigil on conditions of the dangerous Hurricane and report to us unfortunate souls, who are unable to cope or save our selves from the danger, the terrible dangers of standing in a hurricane with a raincoat and microphone. They described the dangerous sights and sounds to us.
Just as they had with the bombings in London...They got me on that one because I hadn't been sleeping well lately and I was up channel surfing at 3am. I was glued to the tube, watching, waiting, wondering what had happen...As they interviewed and spoke back and forth trying to live for me and show me the dangers of riding on mass transit in Europe and working in tall buildings in America.
Not to sound cold or harsh, but I got to thinking, How does this really effect or is it affect my life? Do I really need news people to tell me how things are each day? Will I turn on the tv and hear them say..."traffic on Groveport Rd from Alum Creek to 1mile down to Saltzgaber is slightly heavy today, it may take you 7 minutes instead of the usual 5, if your heading that way to work this morning." No, because my imaginary life is of no consequence to anyone but me and the people I have designed to appear in my life for now. I'm not saying those terrible events don't have any consequence but I really don't want to overthink this whole meaning of life thing. I am not a Norwegian king and don't plan on writing a book on this theory. But I could be a Norwegian king if the "power" decided it was ok for me to be one. But for now, I'm just me.

Ta Da! I'm back!

Although it hadn't hit the morning news yet, I have not been able to blog lately. First, my computer did weird things and quit working for a while. Then, I finally get back on line and I forgot my password to my blog. Trouble is now I don't have any thing to say. But, ta da...I'm back!

Rude and Mean Spirited.

Today I got exposed to bad attitudes. My day started much like any other day. But, shortly after I had finished running the late letters, the boss called to let me know he was on his way but was stopping to pick up something he needed. While I was on the phone the guy who leases the building up front open the door and started f-ing this and f-that. I really wasn't getting very much else of what he was saying because with just one ear working and the phone up to that one, well you can figure it out.

To make a very long story short. He had a bad attitude and decided it was o.k. to be rude and mean spirited to me. I might have been surprised and somewhat shocked if this was the first time. It wasn't. I told the boss I think the guy is a manic or schizo. Every other day it's something. One day, he's had enough and he ain't gonna take it anymore then the next day everything is ok and things are picking up. The last time he was overly rude the boss had to talk to him. He asked him to leave his profanity at his shop. It's not that I don't know the words it's just that I don't want to hear them...Especially at work. What if that was a customer on the phone. That would have been rude, rude, rude.

Well, the man is on a roller coaster ride I don't want to take. Since he moved his shop in, I have gone out of my way to help him and be nice even when he's been in a foul mood. But, he has reached my last nerve. It takes a lot to piss off Little Zookie but when she gets at that place it takes a lot to get her away from it. People have been known to die from it...not literally but figuratively. I have erased people out of my life because of their bad attitude and how they "act" when they're in one. I take all the beating anybody should have to stand from my husband's bad attitudes. I don't need anymore. I especially don't like what it does to me. It puts me in a bad attitude and stresses me out. Luckily if I busy myself, I forget all about it until something reminds me.

However, he wasn't the only one today. Two other people came off as rude today, one on the phone and one in person. The one in person acted like I should have told the customer I was taking care of to "excuse me but evidently this women and her PROBLEM is much more important than you, and you will have to wait until I GET HER OUT OF MY FACE!!! I didn't. She went off in a huff, I politely asked the customer if he minded if I call the boss to go help the lady. He said it was fine. So I got the boss to go handle the rude lady. That's what's nice about not being your own boss. The boss gets to handle the rude people. Except for the one on the phone. He just seem disturbed that I interrupted his life to deal with something so menial and insignificant as having to drop off a key. I think he thought we should have a maintenance person standing watch over his unit, awaiting for his arrival, whenever he decided when he wanted to come so the guy could fix his door then.

I just can't help it. It hurts my soul to be exposed to so much rudeness and mean spiritness. Life is much too short to be that way. Why do people have to be that way. In this country, people can win a million dollars for being the rudest and most mean spirited. They call it Survivor. I was never one to play king of the hill. I don't care what they say I won't stay in a world without love. Oh, if I wanted to think about it I could hurt an awful lot. People can be so mean. Heck, people are so mean to the people they love and so much more to the people they don't like or they disagree with. Nothing could be ruder or meaner then a suicide bomber. This person doesn't just use words or gestures, they are so mean, so rude they are willing to die in order to make others suffer. I don't think it can get meaner then that. Oh, people are so strange. It hurts.

Whatta I know??

If I hadn't mentioned it before, my sons got me blogging. They have the most interesting sights. Some times they talk way above my head, and they might as well be speaking another language, but most times they have very entertaining entries. I know how to get by with a computer but most of the stuff they do with their blogs are beyond my capabilities. So if it's something new or difficult to me, I call on my younger son's assistance. If I knew how I would have their blogs listed on my site. Well, enough of that because just thinking about how ignorant I am is making me feel really ignorant. Maybe I can get that to work the other way?

I am smart and truly enlighten. I am smart and truly enlighten. I am...wasting my time.

My eldest is having a birthday this week, so I thought I would devote some time reminising about his life.

T'was Cinco de Mayo 1974. The earth was quiet as we enter the atmosphere around 2am edt. I was going over the final paperwork and debriefing before touchdown. I had been carrying now for nearly 9 earth months and I was getting quite tired of the whole charade. This was just too long to carry, how did human women stand it, and then go through it again some as many as 10 or 12 times. I was ready for my little piglet to pop after the 3rd pilour, but I had to suffer these past "months" to keep everything appearing normal.

Yes, normal. To me way too normal. I am a sleeper. A sleeper from Pigmania. Many, many earth years ago I was placed with a "normal" family. They chose a Native American family to place me with. I grew up with this family in a normal sort of way and now the time had been chosen to continue my own family. When the time would be chosen, I would return home for good and my offspring would take over. Until then, we were to observe.

In 1972 they had set me up with a partner and we started living a normal life preparing for a family. Soon I would hold my little piglet in my arms. We hovered over the small home my partner and I had chosen for our little one. We beamed down and all was now set for our little piggy to enter this world. All that was left was to wait for the time of birth. That happen May 7, 1974.

Oh my Piking! Human children are plain and simply UGLY! They are red and wrinkled and bony and ugly. How much more did they expect me to bear? I swore right then and there, nothing, absolutely nothing they could do or say would make me go through all this again, ever. Humans must of not thought too much better of their babies, you are not allowed to take them home unless they are wrapped up tight and a blanket placed over their faces. I had no problem with that custom. I didn't want any one to see that puny human looking child I had carried for too long. With all the excitment, I had completly forgotten another human custom...making over a baby. You hear, "Oh, he's sooooo cute.""He's adorable." "Such, cute toes"...etc, etc. Why couldn't these PEOPLE just leave us alone. But everyone we had come to know had to come see the baby. I just wanted to grab my little piglet and catch the next piji back to Pigmania. There he would be able to be himself...plump and pink and I could be round and routing in the ground. Instead, I had to put on a happy face and bear all the awful comments and raise my piggy as a human, in human form. The shame of it all.

Steak Nite! Yee Ha!

Saturday Night is Steak Night at the American Legion Post 677 in Lithopolis. For $8.00 you get a great tasting strip steak, baked potato, salad and cookies. Lemonade, water and coffee are free or you can buy pop or beer at the bar. The people are friendly and the food is great. It's better than going to a restaurant. One of the brothers usually join us, usually Tommy, he enjoys viewing the waitress. For me it's a way to get my husband out of the house and around the people he has known most of his life.

Today I was thinking about truth. My husband alway says he has to tell the truth because it's too hard to remember a lie. I remember twice (that's twice that I remember) in my life that I didn't tell the truth as I knew it to be. Both times I was convinced by somebody else that it would be better not to tell the truth to protect the other persons feelings. Both times things turned out terribly wrong and in the long run their feelings were hurt.

I think it was because without the truth, they could not understand what was going on. Because that's how I feel when I find out an explanation or situation was not what I was told or perceived it to be. The exodous from my tribe was due to not being able to distinguish what was the truth and what was what they wanted the truth to be. That and feeling like the girl strapped to a wheel while the knife thrower shows off his skill. Every time I got hugged or patted on the back I had to check for a knife in my back. So anyway, I guess I'll continue to be a truth seeker and speaker. I will try and learn not to listen to others who advise me to spare someone's feelings.

I survived!!! But, I'm still not living. My hand was just sore enough to remind me I am not running things. I am still somewhat bitter but I am working on coming to peace with life. I try not to think too much about it or I get terribly depressed. So instead I rely on my mind to ease me through the day. My mind is a wondrous vast dark chasm. Things go in some come out some evaporate instantly.

For example, I quit smoking January 1, 2005. I had smoked about 35 years quitting only when I had my babies some 30 years ago. Now, most days, I forget I ever smoked. My husband reminds me from time to time. But, as far as I "remember" I haven't smoked.

Another example...I just finish reading The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. I truly enjoyed reading the book. I couldn't wait each day to come home and find time to read it. I finished it in about 4 days. Now here's my review from memory. Its about this boy and his father's servant's son growing up in Kabul, then parting and life's cruelities. I read about traditions, cultural differences and the tragedies of war. The best part of the book was the first part which covered him growing up and he was cruel to the servant's son but the servant's son adored and admired him, but they had fun. This a book I just finished last night.

So as I was saying, What was I saying? If I had a good memory I don't think I could get up each morning. It would drive me crazy. I drive my one son crazy 'cause I say something like, Hey, could you bring in the thing from that place out there and leave it so I can do something with it. What's even crazier is he is starting to understand me. Of course, there is usually some hand signals in with my general sentences. What I don't understand is although most of my memory sucks. I can still function at an above average level at work and stuff. But even my boss is getting to understand me when I say I left the thing for the stuff on my desk if you need it tomorrow for that thing. He knows what ever I am talking about is on my desk and it's just what he needs and it is done neatly, concisely, and explained in detail on the note left with whatever it is. Yeah, at work if it wasn't for poste notes I could not function.

But it's not just me lacking of the English language. It's a whole thought process. Like I said, if I wasn't reminded of it...I truly do forget I smoked. I like playing Bejeweled (I had to look that one up) and when you set off the wirly ball and it strikes all those jewels with a lighting style...that's how I feel things happen in my brain. Every once in a while my brain does that lighting style strikes and kills off some of my memory jewels.

I spoke out about God, so He took my voice.

Yesterday I spoke out about God. I have not been feeling well and to add to the misery yesterday I felt like I was coming down with a cold. I sounded off to my boss about my question of faith. You know "if there's a God" and "why does He make things so hard". I thought I was presenting perfectly legitimate questions. However, this morning I woke up with laryngitis.

I questioned how we are suppose to be His children and He our father, yet He does not seem to care that we suffer so. I mean if I was an all seeing, all knowing deity, I would not toy with my creations. I would want, like any parent wants for their children, the best. I mean, if I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. Who wants everlasting life, if life sucks!

I am really having a tough time of this since I have gotten older, for one excuse. I was raised to believe in God the Father, and Jesus His Son, but I am finding it very hard to swallow now. For years I have had a hard time dealing with the Christian concept that if you believe and ask God to forgive you, you will go to heaven. That means if someone like Ted Bundy becomes a "Christian" in the last minutes of life, they get to walk around heaven being treated as an equal to someone like Ned Flanders.

I know I need to have a sit down with the pastor and talk about these things. I'm sure he'll have some very rational explanations, but that another problem. I am having trouble believing anything that mankind says. History is not the whole truth, it's only the truth as seen by someone at sometime. Biographies and autobiographies tell only what the writer wants to tell. People believe in almost anything, so what is real and what is not?

I should be allowed to think and speak about the questions I have. I suppose I'll find out tomorrow and see if I wake up with my hands wracked with pain, where I'm unable to type.

Tad

I did not begin my life as a tadpole. First, I was terry cloth turned into a wash cloth. Oh, that seems so long ago. I came to this house...now my home, and I have become Tad, the terry frog. I am not some brainless, mouth wipe. I am a talking, thinking being, perched between the kitchen and living room. I live! Mush Mouth & Fred Snout, side by side on the computer have told me stories of their lives. They tell me they both were quite active at one time but life has dealt them a more quiet time now. Mostly they do as I, watch, listen and learn.

Observation, a very good way to learn, but not the only way, or how would blind children learn to walk. I listen not just to Mush and Snout, as they like to be called, but to the humans and animals that come and go in this house. I have learned that the cat is tolerated but otherwise not welcome. Whisky is the boss animal. Zookie, the female human calls him her baby dog. Zookie is the boss human. Cookie, the male human...isn't. Oh, I can not forget to mention the "Boy in the Barn". He comes and goes mostly to eat, then he goes back to the barn. I see him mostly when no other humans are around. Someday I may even star in one of his blogs. He is so talented and smart. At least, from what I have learned. Cookie says he's real smart, smarter than him, because he doesn't have to get up every morning at 6AM and go to work like Cookie does. Mush and Snout are real smart too and they don't go anywhere, that I know. So what is better being smart or being employed? I may need to gather more information on that.

There Oughta Be A Law!!

Today I was saying to my son that the one phrase I could not stand since I can remember, is There Oughta Be A Law! I told him that ,and I stumbled for the right words, ever since say the 70's there has just been too many new laws. I am upset that the government thinks they need to protect us from ourselves.

Well, I stumbled for the right words because just as I was saying the words, I realized that in the day and time I was an activist. Ever since I can remember, I had rallied and spoke out on a number of subjects. I fought a private war with the high school principal to "relax" the dress code. I was a party to getting smoking allowed in the outside courtyard. But, what flashed in my mind as I spoke to my son was the time I lead a petition drive to get a railroad crossing barriers and lights.

Back in 1970, my older sister and her young son was killed when a train hit her car when she was crossing the tracks at an "unprotected" crossing. It had the stop, look & listen sign, but it did not have the crossing barriers or lights. This was not unusual, many crossings were like this because we lived in farming country, heck, we lived in the country, our little towns were connected by a bunch of country roads. Most of the crossings started as dirt crossing made by farmers. Over the years some became paved roads, others where just gravel roads.

So after their funeral, two of my friends and I decided we were going to gather signatures and petition the rail road to put up lights and barrier at all crossings. At the time we thought we were doing the right thing. My sister and nephew would not have lost their lives so tragically if the crossing had had barriers and lights. My youth and suffering didn't allow me to see, even after people from the scene, trying to comfort us said that she probably didn't even see the train because the volume on her radio was set real high. We, as family agreed, She always did play her radio way to high. That and having her a/c on and windows up, also lead to the tragedy.

Back then I thought I was doing the right thing. I shook my fist and screamed, "There Oughta Be A Law."

Our petition drive somehow caught the attention of the press. We got coverage. Public officials spoke up and got involved. We thought we were movers and shakers and WE were going to make a difference. When the railroad was confronted by the public officials and our petition they agreed that something had to be done so no more people would lose their lives crossing the tracks at "unprotected" crossings. They closed all crossings except main road crossing and made sure all had barriers and lights.

We had won, but the farmers and/or other people that used those crossings were not thrilled. Yes, they were cross about the crossings being closed. But, public opinion was not on their side. A young mother and her 18 month old son had been killed. That didn't go away easy.

Now, some 40 years later I see the err of my ways. That train did not kill my sister and nephew. Nor did not having barriers and lights shorten her stay on earth. My sister chose to take her own life and that of her son's or at least took a gamble and lost, when she did not STOP, LOOK and LISTEN!

Crappy or Happy?

I have to learn the difference between publish and save as draft. My last post sort of covers how I was feeling at the time. However, I don't want to fill my blog with woe is me stuff, even though sometimes I have to mention it because like I said it's a part of my daily life.

This morning I was feeling some better but still having trouble walking or standing for more that a few minutes. I got to work, opened up and started putting together this computer I had found to see if I could find all the parts, when my boss & his dog, Buddy arrived. I could tell right away he was feeling crappy. Then the guy in the front building came in and he was in a crappy mood also. My usual chin up, cheer up attitude was not wanted. So, I kept quiet and let them compare notes on how crappy things were. All I told them was, if I could give you guys a brain like mine I would...because I'm always forgetting how crappy things are and I just smile and act happy. Then some idiot reminds me I have no shoes.

This will be a short post 'cause CSI is new tonite. So I got to go.

Some days later. I need to learn the difference between publish and save as draft.

Wacky T Cells

Lately it has felt like my wacky little T cells have been running amok, but my meds have been keeping them from a full blown attack. Which isn't a whole lot better, cause I have just been feeling yuck! I have been trying to keep a stiff upper lip, staying chipper, etc., but it isn't easy. And today being Easter, I felt like I should be counting my blessings, not my aches and pains. So, I was thankful that the pain in my leg decided to be at it worse of the last few days on this a Sunday instead of on a weekday. I don't like to, but I took a pain pill. That I could do because I don't have to be to work until tomorrow at noonish. Pain meds make me brain dead. Even writing this some 8 hrs later is difficult. I lose track.

Stand Up & Shout!

This is our dog. I named him Whisky as a pup, so my husband would always have "whisky" waiting at home for him.
Just a few words about Whisky. He thinks he's our only child. He doesn't realise that in dog years he is the oldest and still living at home. But in human years, he's our 8 yr old baby. I call him my puppy & baby dog. As far as he's concerned, he is still a pup.
I was just practicing posting pictures. I must say my first run with Picasa went rather smoothly. My sons think they're geniuses, well the apple doesn't fall far from the tree!

The other evening while checking out some music videos on my internet home page, I fell in love with Amos Lee. http://amoslee.com. Now, I am one of those people who hasn't bought any new music, ever I think. I don't buy it, I don't listen to it. Every once in a while like I was doing the other night, I listen to a few new things on line so I can say I'm not completely closed minded and that way I can pick and choose and shut it off right away if I want to. But, when I heard him singing "Arms of a Women" I almost cried and believe me, I don't cry easily. I asked my musician/librarian son if he had heard of him and he sort of blew it off, I made my boss listen to him, he didn't seem too impressed, I told my husband and again no reaction. Don't they know they were suppose to stop in their tracks, turn to the sun and yell at the top of their lungs..."Praise her, praise, she has found some new music that she likes. (enough to buy!). Yes, I bought the CD. But, they just didn't realise what excitement I was feeling. I'm not such an old fuddy duddy, there's still a little spark in me after all. I don't feel so dead to the world out there. If I can discover something new in the world that I like, maybe just maybe there is still something else out there worth me taking a few more breaths for.

Another Life, Another Time

In another life or another time I might have been or will be a sociologist or researcher of some sort. In college, I excelled in sociology and research writing. College wasn't that long ago for me, I got my associates degree when I was 41, then went on for a few more years but stopped short of my bachelors degree. But, any way, I bring that up because I have noticed that like me, there are a lot of blogs out there where the theme or individual feels as though they have one foot in the looney bin.

My take on that is that insanity is a source of freedom. I knew this older lady a while back, she lived in her own little world. She always had a smile on her face and generally talked to her self and walk around selling Avon. I told people that when I got old I wanted to be like her. She was just a bit crazy and seemed not to have a care in the world. Which in truth is what we all get from a bit of insanity...Freedom! Craziness is not anyone's fault. It releases you from the ordinary rules of the world. So in a sense we are all striving to be crazy...To be free.

Now Janis sang, "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." I always liked that line, for the truth it stated. As long as there is something you hold near and dear to you, you are not free. Even if you're crazy and you hold something near and dear, like your little dolly, your cigar box full of trinkets or every thing having its place, you can not be completely free.

My mind, although complex, is as simple as a blackboard. Somehow, I manage to function but as far back as I can remember (and that's not saying much) I can't remember. It's like the black board keeps getting erased but if you look hard enough there is still a slight sign of it under the dust. Over the years, I had been many peoples confidant. I had gotten a reputation of keeping other people's secrets. They knew they could tell me their deepest darkest secret and it would go no farther. However, later I could be reminded of stuff that would bring the memory back to the front. But, most times it was gone, lost, misfiled or something. The things I do remember are the stories from family and friends that have been repeated several times. So most times I feel as though I have a free mind. I don't have a whole lot of preconceived notions. But, then again unless I write things down a lot of my decisions are not well informed decisions. I can't always give a good reason for why I'm doing or saying something.

I watch all those forensic shows, CSI's and Law & Orders and still can't come up with the best way to put my husband out of my misery. Because what comes out of my head is I seen that if I take this certain kind of stuff that might be poison or a common household item and put it in his food or maybe it was placing it under his pillow I could get rid of him in a completely painless or was it a long and terrible death...Either way there is no way to trace it unless you call 911 right away or was it after 6 hours. In college, I took notes and did very well. As my mind becomes freer, I'm thinking I might have to start taking notes on every thing.

Let's start the show.

I am deaf in my right ear due to auto immune inner ear disorder. I basically went deaf in the matter of a week a couple years ago. As for now there is nothing to bring it back and prednisone keeps the left ear going. However, I can sit here on the computer with my headphones on listening to some good old Motown, my husband will have both tv's on...The kitchen and living room, both at a high volume, some times not even the same station, and I can still hear him moaning about his aches and pains over all that. Most of the time I can't believe, I'm the one going deaf.

Ever since I can remember my time with my husband, he has been saying I should record our conversations and submit them for a sit-com. I do have to admit our time together has been pretty funny at times. I have always been good with the one liners. He plays the stooge and I'm the straight man. Like when he tried to tell me how much he loved me, he said, "Honey, I'd catch a bullet for you." I said, "Let me get a gun and you go long." He loves that one. He tells it to almost everyone we meet.

My husband is a talker, he's got so many stories that we tease him that his stories are numbered and all he has to do to tell us a story is yell out a number, like #47. We say, Oh that's the one about you and Danny knocking Tommy out! Yeah, that one of our favorites.
Which is one of our favorites. Him and his brother Danny was playing ball or keep away from their little brother Tommy and accidentally hit him in the head and knocked him out cold. They were afraid they would get in trouble so they grabbed Tommy by the feet and drug him over to some bushes and hid him in there. Of course, they still got into trouble. But Tommy was no worse for the wear. Yeah, he has a bunch of stories.

The Birth of zowaco

Words do not just appear out of no where. This being my first attempt at blogging, I am having trouble trying to come up with something to say. My sons have blogs and I did some quick research on blogs before I tried to start this, but it's not easy.

I was telling my boss today that blogging is like having your own radio show and people can comment on what you say or they can just read what you have to say instead of listening. It's a written show, where you are the host.

So welcome to the zowaco show. I will be posting on my thoughts on me, my family, my life, cause thats all I know. I'm sure somewhere out there in web land there will be someone or something that might get something out of my blog.

To start I will be mentioning the subject of autoimmune diseases and disorders from time to time, because they were introduced into my life in 1997. Now they are a part of my daily life. I will talk about my hobby, quilting. I try to keep one in the making, sometimes I have one in the making for years. Who knows what I will discuss with myself, I always was a very good listener.