Keeping with it....Stealing

Really, I have lived my life learning from the mistakes of others, picking & choosing which mistakes I would make on my own. Sometimes, I think that quality is a girl-thing.
Thievery...unacceptable by many, inevitable to all in one way or another.
My first lesson came from my dear brother and his stealing of my Big Wheel. He got busted & I took note as to the how's and why's....if I ever stole I would do a better job.

Shortly before or shortly thereafter, I accidently stole a piece of gum. My uncle had taken me to the corner store & told me I could pick any candy I wanted off the bottom shelf.
Oh, so many choices...bubble gum, lemon heads, red hots, jaw breakers.
I guess I took too long because the next thing I knew my uncle was walking out the door, calling for me to come along. I quickly made my final choice & ran to the door. When we got home, he told my mother that I stole a piece of gum. I had no clue what he was talking about. My uncle explained how I took too long, so he just paid for his stuff & headed for the door. He didn't know & hadn't paid for the piece of gum I was smacking on. LOL, I thought the mistake was his until Momma drove me back up to the store, made me pay for the gum, explain what I did, apologize to the clerk...and then, she had me pick up trash in the parking lot.

Since then I think I have taken something that wasn't mine two times.

Once in HS, I found a wallet empty except for a public library card. I picked it up & showed it to my friend, telling her I could take it to the library. She laughed, threw the library card away & handed it back to me saying 'screw that... looks like you got a cool new wallet.' And I did have that wallet for years & years. One night it was taken out of my pocketbook along with all of its' contents, which included about 50 cash and some credit cards. The theives got an additional 200 bucks thanks to the plastic. I just ate it. I felt like it was karma kinda coming back to me. That wallet was never really mine and I had always known I was using it on borrowed time.

Then, when I was in my 20's I took an old metal horse from the park. It had broken off its foundation and someone had propped it up by the monkey bars. It was about 2am & as I drove by I thought 'Hey, that'd make for great lawn art.' (What was I thinking?) So I stopped & hurled it into my vehicle. Years later it was stolen from me & again, I was hit with the pangs of guilt because I knew it was never really mine.

As a kid, I read a lot & I remember reading some tale about a kid getting trapped in the Smithsonian overnight & I decided that if I were to ever be a thief, I would do it big-time. I'd wear all black & be all high-tech escaping all kinds of electrical detection devices and I would steal something physically small, but very significant like the Hope Diamond or maybe Elizabeth Taylors' jewelry or something.

Well, I haven't done that & I don't guess that I ever will.

Instead, I just steal time... time, here on the computer, on this blog or elsewhere, up late at night with my dogs, in the woods... when I can, camping with my hubby and soon, down in the Sunshine State with my wonderful, missed family.

Stealing time.

It's like if I don't steal time, it'll steal from me.

Lies of a Third Grader

When I was a little girl (3rd grade) I went through a phase where I told lies. It started with one & grew, grew, grew.
In third grade we moved from the house that we had lived in for years...away from all of my friends, away from the brick road I learned to ride a bike on, away from the lake I learned to swim, float, canoe in, away from the oak trees & orange trees I learned to climb in and away from the banana trees & azalea bushes I learned to kiss under.
We moved into a small cinder block house on a blacktop road in a neighborhood with more houses, more people, more diversity & I developed a lower self esteem (In hindsight, this is what I think) The kids at school & in the neighborhood weren't so accepting of this skinny little blonde who could out run any boy on the block, who could climb trees higher than any monkey in the village & who could care less about barbie dolls & sitting inside with them in their air conditioning to watch TV. In hindsight, I guess they weren't too accepting of our whole crew... they had attitude towards Mom with her ever-changing please-find-me-a-car-that-will-run so that we can drive the neighborhood on trash day to find other peoples' junk to take home, re-do, & then take to the market & sell for cash money, my Sister Singleton with her '57 Chevy & long-haired, barefoot boyfriends, Kimbies with her cigarette smoking social life in the driveway, Curt with his needles & seizures, Chanty Boy with his Mongolian face & enlarged tongue & all that (Curt has Diabetes, Chanty has Down's Syndrome) & skinny little me, wearing Curty's hand-me-downs.
Questions from the kids came...
Why do you wear boys clothes?
Why is your brothers tongue so long?
Why was the ambulance at your house?
Why was your mom's car parked in front of our house?
Why were your sisters riding bikes at like 5 in the morning?
Why don't you watch TV?
Why did you & your Mom take our old broken TV cart when we threw it away?
Why don't you ever have any cookies?
Who were all these people at your house? Why were you all outside until midnight? You mom allows that?!
Why don't you have any real barbies?
What were you wearing?
Why aren't you eating? Can't your parents give your lunch money?
Why aren't you crying yet...crybaby...I said you were white trash, don't you know what that is?
And I had answers, some were true & some were not.
I like boys clothes. He ate too many potato chips when he was little-er. My brother ate a cookie. Her car broke down. They have to go to work at the beanery. I don't like TV, besides we don't have power. We didn't take any TV carts. My mom gives us oranges when we want something sweet...cookies are expensive. They were my sisters friends & we were cooking out...it was a birthday party. I have a real barbie, she just hast has short brown hair. I was wearing my dad's coat, it was cold. Me? No, I'm not hungry. No, I don't know what white trash is & I'm not crying because I don't care. One day I'm going to be a news reporter or an actress.
I told Nana about how I lied about my clothes and about my brothers tongue. She asked me why I lied & I told her that the other kids would make fun of me...playing with me just fine until I no-one could tag me in freeze-tag & then they circle me with taunts & ridicules. I asked her what white trash was & she took me to the mall. She bought me an outfit ... gouchos with a rainbow shirt. She told me that everyone lies sometimes, but that I should be careful because one lie leads to another & they are never quite worth it.
That year for Christmas I got Barbie dolls & Barbie Malls. But none of that mattered, in fact, at Christmas I felt bad, I felt guilty...
That Christmas morning, (really in the wee hours of the night, after everyone had gone to bed) I laid alone on our living room floor and I therapeutically rolled the orange from my stocking in my hands & I stared at the Barbie Doll Mall that Santa had left me & I knew it must have cost a lot of money. I realized it was nothing I wanted at all ... it was what the other kids in the hood thought I should have & being the sucker that I was I thought maybe it would make me more normal. I told my family that I wanted Barbie dolls that year, but I knew when I told them that, that it wasn't true. I told myself that it was what I wanted & I even knew that wasn't true. I wanted to live by the lake, under the trees & by people who accept diabetes, down's syndrome, hippie's & hard-times.
By telling lies to myself, I had manipulated my entire family that Christmas & got just what I asked for.
Gouchos & Barbies didn't change me or the neighborhoods kids' perspectives of me & My World.
By telling the truth, I got picked on some & yes, I got mad but I didn't get sad. They'd call my brother a retard & I'd say 'That's funny retards are supposed to be dumb. He's not dumb, he just has Down's Syndrome...what's you excuse?' I got defiant & I found myself growing less dependent upon other people & even more dependent upon myself. I found myself more accepting of those that were different in ways I didn't understand, even if that difference was that they didn't understand that some people are different from them, physically and otherwise. I found that some people didn't like the truth, it made them uncomfortable and sometimes even scared. I found other people who were intrigued...Some in a morbid way and others for enlightenment. I found that those that didn't like it could leave, there was a place for them somewhere...It just wasn't here with me.
But any which way you slice that cake, in third grade, I found that the truth, while sometimes unfortunate, painful or hurtful, allows for stronger foundations within & that stronger foundations within allow for us to build a greater terrain. I also learned that when you tell lies to yourself, they will overflow to the people who know & love you, they will believe you & that is not always a good thing. Honesty rules.
Thank You To Everyone Who Read & Responded To My Last Secret Post. ILYA.

For the first time, I was tagged. I wasn't running or hiding or yelling out the names to TV shows and I got tagged! Anne tagged me... with an assignment.

The assignment, as I understood it, was to create something graphical, post a picture of it, then tag two more people.

Here's my creation...it's old, so I apologize.
My creativity is stunted, numbed & hard to conjure up right now.

It is my profile pic ... a peace sign made from grape vines pulled out of the side yard. Random peices of vine were painted with metallic acryllic paints & then this little peace sign was weaved. I have had this for about 17 years & it hangs in my bathroom. It is about 20" tall, 12" wide and 3" deep. I love it & remember the day that it was made like it was yesterday. LOL, although I did make this, my sister Singleton is more of the artist than me!

OK, Now I must TAG two people to create some graphic art to post... I tag Vicci (Moon, Stars & Paper) and Doug (The Book of Doug)

.....post something big or small, old or new
doesn't really matter, as long as it is created by you!

The Kiss

It's OK

Actually, it's Weird.
It's Wild.
It's Silly. & Ridiculous.
It's Fantastic, Inspiring, Awespiring, Ineveitable, Avoidable & Totally Unavoidable.
It is a Kiss...
It is the Thought of a Kiss...
It is a love letter never meant to be sent.
It's a daydream, a hope, a desire... a memory.
It is Perfume behind the knees & Confusion over Absolutely Nothing.

It's the belief in Glass Slippers & always keeping your eyes open in hopes of finding those slippers.
It's the beleif that if you do find them, that your 8M foot will comfortably slide right into those 5 1/2 narrows.

It's the belief in chasing dreams & the understanding that sometimes you have to run, stumble, trip & even fall, to catch a glimpse of what-could-be.

It's the knowledge that sometimes life requires a swift kick in the ass. It's the awareness that the kick may self-inflicted, as our own feet smack our backside when we get up and charge full-throttle forward once again.

It's the belief that life would be a wee bit boring if one didn't incorporate tidbits of fantasies into our daily realities.

IT IS A KISS.
And, I still get the butterflies.

Collections

Just about anyone who knows me, knows that I sometimes claim to be the child of Sanford, married to Son.

My Mother & hubby have this thing about 'stuff'. They collect it, gather it, bring it home, often smuggling it in. They pile it up, they paint it, they fix it, change it, take it apart and/or forget about it.

They want to keep it, give it to someone or sell it.

Mother fancies herself to be an antiques dealer & my hubby, a handyman. That's when they are out & about. When they are at home, they are the ones that keep bringing 'stuff' home.

My father & I have discussed it many times... The cluttered home, the tripping over piles of stuff, the overflowing storage areas, the feeling of being physically squeezed out.

My mother has so much crystal, that it spills out of her china cabinets, covers the dining room table, the sofa, coffee & end tables, the mantle, the dressers, nightstands & chests. Ah, but the crystal is only the beginning. There is also antique textiles, lamps, pottery, silver, books, baskets, furniture & so on. There is a narrow pathway through the house & everyone must walk single-file.

My husband has saved all of his childhood toys, so there are boxes & boxes of GI Joes, StarWars action figures, Matchbox Cars, Tonka trucks & Little People Villages. He also collects baseball caps, beer bottles, wine boxes & anything with chilli peppers. Being a handyman, he uncovers & removes 'trash' from other people's homes. This is what lead to 7, yes seven, sinks being piled up in our backyard amidst all of his other 'collectibles.' In the backyard, he also has 7 grills, 2 smokers, 5 bicycles, 3 park benches and that's just the beginning. We have 2 extra dining room tables, broken down & laying on their sides in the house. We also have 5 old wooden doors, laying on their sides, in our house. Should someone pay him to replace, repair or remove anything... part or all of it seems to make it home. It makes for clutter, creative storing and about twice a year, massive garage sales.

Working on some Christmas gift projects this week-end, I had to access my bead collection. Elbows to the ground & rump in the air, I took to pulling boxes out from under my bed... boxes of paint, boxes of lace, boxes of thread & I realized something. I too, am a packrat, a collector, a harborer of other peoples scraps & I always have been.

I started collecting wooden cigar boxes, old glass bottles & Matchbox cars(fire trucks specifically) as a kid. As a teen, I started collecting coins, stamps, Zippo lighters & old beaded pocketbooks.

I have cigar boxes from the 50's from Cuba, trunks from the Red Cross during WWII, pill boxes, hat boxes, cardboard boxes, wooden boxes, laquer boxes...boxes of boxes.

I have enough firetrucks to decorate my Christmas tree with them, old pharmaceutical bottles & bottles shaped like fish, coins & stamps from eras gone by, the worlds tiniest die(as in dice) & die made of clay, wood & bone.

I have Zippos from the fifties with poodles on them & zippos with my initials on them. I have seashells galore... each one plucked from the sands for its' own unique qualities & now lost in a blur of abundance.
I have salt & pepper shakers from the 30's, shaped like pigs, people or pieces of art.
I have pottery from Rumrill, McCoy, Roseville & local artists.
I have dragonflies in my garden, in my kitchen & in my bathroom.
I have unbeleivable windchimes. Some are mongolian tuned, some are made out of elephant ears, bamboo, spent bullet casings, spoons & tin cans.
I have heart-shaped rocks & seashells. I have hearts made of glass, marble, stone, concrete, pewter, silver, aluminum, gold, wood, paper....

I am one of them... a Sanford & Son person.
Because I collect smaller items & boxes, my collectibles are stored more appropriately than my Mothers or my dear hubby's.

But I am one of them.

Houses are kind of like glove compartments & pocketbooks. No matter the size, we chunk it full... at least, in my world.


**Additional photo of shopping cart full of wine bottles added after original posting. This photo shows that in fact, we DO have a shopping cart in this house... compliments of DH :). Umm, the buggy was overflowing just a few months ago & yes, those bottles are full! i figure once they're all gone, we can start yoga or something.

Angels Take All Forms...from Fight to Flight

College history books, notepads, writing utensils & myself...all spread across my living room floor. Laying on my side, head propped up by my crooked arm, studying my heart out and suddenly the warmth of a small hand on my shoulder.

I live alone. I have no company. It's a Saturday afternoon in the summer of '95.

I can feel the hand squeeze my shoulder. I stop writing, stop reading & I may have even stopped breathing. I couldn't turn my head. I wasn't fearful, but I was afraid.

I was afraid that the sensation would stop.
I closed my eyes & could feel love? I opened my eyes. The sensation was still there. Something seemed to be glowing from beyond my field of vision, over & beyond my right shoulder... I was frozen... I closed my eyes & contemplated an attempt? to stop this?
The phone rang & I lurched upward. The warmth was gone. The light was gone.
The phone was still ringing.
I jump up to get it.
'Hello?'
'Hi~ It's me. It just happened...just now.'
'What happened? Do you mean...'
'Yes, she told me to call you'
'Ooooohhhh, the fight's over?'
'Yeah, she's gone into flight... '

Twenty years ago, there was Jill.

Suddenly & fatefully, brought into my life by a soul-mate, kindred spirit, friend & beyond all time love of mine... (not to be confused with a lover, lost-love or spouse )

She was a Native American Indian & she, like me, dream traveled. She did it with intent, I did not. She was at peace & I was fighting. She understood, I didn't & I knew it.

She helped to teach me to understand, to beleive, to know & to accept... myself, other people, relationships, strangers, religions, traditions, cultures, actions & reactions, beleifs, desires, objectives, fate, free will...

At 24 she became pregnant with her second child & shortly thereafter she was finally diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer.
Choices.
Fight or flight?

She chose flight, at least for 9 months, despite the doctors' warnings for mother and child. She flew through her preganancy & carried her son full-term ... giving birth to a beautiful baby. Within 72 hours , they removed all or part of eleven different organs.

The fight began.

Over the next three years, she flitted between fight & flight, as life demanded.
She night traveled to visit her brothers & her mother... she had flight. She'd squeeze their toes while they slept or mark a page in a book for them. She watched, with loving support, as her own mother was eventually diagnosed with the same cancer. Within six months, she stood tall at her mom's funeral & question how she would travel at sleep-travel to her.

She took her children to Disney World. She took cutting edge meds. She ignored the 'skin-head' comments made by those who knew not better. She traveled to Mexico & to the Cancer Center. And she made arrangements.

She made arrangements with me.

She had me promise her.

She told me she would come for me one day very soon...that she would need me to be there for her family. She trusted me, valued me & beleived in me.

In the Summer of 1995, she slept. She rested her eyes. She traveled the places & ages, but with her eyes closed. A Saturday afternoon in the summertime, she opened her eyes...

'Jimmy?'
'Jimmy, it's time'
'Bring me the boys'
'I love you, I always have & always will...I'll always be here...understand you won't get to see me anymore, except in your dreams...but I'll always be watching over you.'
'Take them away'
'Jimmy....thank you, I love you too.'
Are you going right now?
'Yes, It's okay....really, it's good.'
yeah?
'yeah, call Jack(to get the kids) & the ambulance'
'ok'
'ok, maybe you should call Paige first'

College history books, notepads, writing utensils & myself...all spread across my living room floor...It's a Saturday afternnon in the summer of 1995

Beware....They Eat Their Own!

Happy Halloween...
Photo Compliments of Shari...ILY

Excuse Me, ....Bless You!

There once was a little girl, who was just over two
when she learned to say 'your welcome' and 'thank you'

But really these manners were just too much
when people started sneezing, farting & such...


Kids have the purest minds & can see, hear, sense things at face value. They call things as the see them. They are little sponges...taking everything in. They hear everything, see everything, feel everything all around them & they perceive them in a way, unlike all other classes of people...drawing conclusions as logic alone would dictate.

So when you wear wet sneakers into the grocery store & your waiting to check-out, slowly shuffling your way (squeek, squeek) as the line moves forward, and the toddler in line behind you says "God Bless You!," you know it can only mean one thing. She heard something. It's only logical. She thinks you sneezed.

Or when your at the local hamburger joint & you've got your burger & fries & you go to the condiment booth to pump out some ketchup (plumphth) & the toddler in line, turns around and yells "Bless You!," with a cheshire grin on her face, it can only mean one thing. She heard something. A sneeze. Or at least something that she perceives as a sneeze...

... just out the other end. (excuse me)

What's In A Name ... Space, Mace & Grace

Growing up as one who hated the TV, I often found myself entertaining myself in a variety of ways...furthermore, even as a kid, I have always had a miserable time falling asleep. I'm not one who 'goes' to sleep. I have to 'fall' asleep. I have to be doing something until I just go. It doesn't matter how tired I may be, as soon as I lay down...BOING! I'm suddenly second or third winded. So, in bed, I will read, draw, write...often with one foot sticking out from under the covers shaking left to right with a vigor that threatens to make the ceiling come down. I've done that since I was a kid, too. When I have read all there is to read in the house & my mind needs to go blank, I'll try to find sleep by making lists. This list-making thing is also a carry-over from my childhood. Oh, the things we do for sleep. (sing-song in my head, like the old 70's song...the thing we do for love)

So...What's In A Name?
These are the letters in my name...
AAA EEE III O BCGHKLLLMNNPPPRS
That's a lot of letters, but each can be used only as many times as it appears above for each word...and this is the list I came up with last night, as I was fading to the paralysis called sleep.
shrimp, primp & limp
apple pies & pralines
manners & banners
places, laces & races
bark, spark, larks, parks
pranks, banks, slank & sank
clasp, hasp & rasp
implies, pries, lies
scallion & onions
rallies & relies
meager & eager
shape & mishapen
hell, shell, repels
slap, happen
maples, oaks, pines & elms
shopper, hopper & chopper
scream, cream & redeem
shrank, crank, plank & prank
linger, singer& ringer
ginger, singe & hinge
cleanse, lense & sense
sleek, meek & shriek
slim, limbs, & grim
prone, cone, bone & lone
skin, prim, sin & brim
reign, lane, mane & gain
millions, billions & gabillions
glimpse, limps, chimps & hemp
shock, locks & rocks
lapse, chasm, brash & crash
slipper, shipper, dipper
pains, gains, slain & plain
space, mace & grace
sigh, high & nigh
palace & malice
spring sprang, ring, rang, sing, sang...
hills, pills, chills...
sleep, peace, again, amen... blink.

Left-Overs

Please click HERE for a glimpse of some of the beautiful left-overs we still have lingering around, waiting...from the 9th ward, post-Katrina.
Please see if there is anything you can do, too.




Although Smokie, pictured left, did not come from the 9th Ward, he arrived into our home in similar condition ...swollen red, puss-filled skin, hair falling out, listless, sick & totally withdrawn.. Now Smokie is filled with excitement, energy & of course, unconditional love. Most of the animals you see on the link above have already been healed & nurtured & now they are just waiting...







Yes, this is the same dog! Back in '05 when we acquired him, he often laid on his back & smiled. He seemed releived to be indoors, away from the heat, the gnats, flies & misquitos. Now he loves to go outside & when you rub his back, his chest, neck or belly he gets that same impish grin. It's amazing how many people will say 'I'd take him,' (as if I am offering any of my dogs up), when no-one wanted him when he was down & out, sick & dying. Look inside folks. It's there & always has been. Hope, Faith, Love, Perseverance.









Okay, Here's third pic of Smokie with his eyes open & a bit more fur still left (he had to lose it all before he got better) But his eyes are open so that you can see his eyes. :) They are the same & show that he is, in fact, the same dog. A little bit of love & attention go a long way :)