Okay, so I didn't drive Judy around today, but I did go visit, and what a pleasant visit we had. Next time, I'm going to take some nail polish and do her nails in a nice pink color--I think she'll feel very pretty!
Also talked with my ex's SIL today (after my visit with her MIL), and let her know how things went, gave her the rundown of all the things she mentioned that she feels she needs, this and that.
And we talked about my ex...we talked about my sister...we talked about some people in the bagpipe band...but mostly about my ex.
She also told me that I could take my tiger cat, Chat in a carrier to see her! Now, this would be (pardon the pun) the cat's meow. So at some point, I'm going to take my Chat, who looks exactly like her Tiger, and let him visit with her. I'm sure she would really like that.
Another brick in the wall, frankly, as my ex hasn't seen fit to bring her cat to see her, and hasn't seen fit to take her to see her cat. So she and I will make DO with what we have. I just hope that my cat doesn't simply run under her bed and hide. LOL! He's not really good with unfamiliar people and places.
Another thought was to take her on a short excursion to her old church--she's Catholic, and my ex's SIL knows which one to take her to. The only issue that I would have is that I'd need someone with me who could pick her up if she should fall down. My friend thought that would be a marvelous idea, since Mom apparently goes to Mass every Saturday.
So I've got some plans in the making.
In the meantime, the bagpipe band is having some growing pains, and I'm pretty well right in the middle of it somehow, thanks to the loose lips of one person who shall remain nameless, who betrayed a confidence. Ever hear of the saying "Loose lips sink ships"? Well, this one could very well sink, but I'm hoping to get the opportunity to work things out and go forward with a newly obtained respect within the confines of the band. If I can manage this, it will be a huge feather in my bonnet, and might well remove the respect from one person to me, and prove my ability and qualifications as a leader. At least this is what I'm hoping for.
I bought some new yarn today and two new 40" skacel addi turbos--circular needles in size 0 and 1--to add to my collection. I believe that now I have every size you can have up to size 15, and while I know there are 17's and broomsticks yet to have, I'm in no hurry to get those, since I don't usually take the time to knit up scarves. Still, there might be a couple of people who get scarves this year for Christmas presents. They work up quick. They're easy, and
Something is knocking at my window.
I have a light on in the living room, and can't see "outside" (it's pretty dark out there)...oooo...and it's not even Halloween!
Oh, it's just a moth. HA! Were you worried at all for my safety? No? Well, okay, then.
Chat is very interested in this moth. He likes crickets, too.
I think that this year, I am going to tell my husband that we've been invited to a Halloween party--and work something up with my ex's SIL (because she's really bonkers over Halloween) to throw a big party with all the cool stuff while we hand out candy. I live way out in the boon-docks, so I don't get any kids out this way. I think it would be loads of fun--
Oh, and hoping to meet up with the ex's brother and SIL (hubby and wife) with my ex's mom to play cribbage one of these nights, too. That should make her VERY happy, as she loves to play cards.
All in all, a really positive day, all things considered. I did wake up really hard this morning, and I got to work over 1.5 hours late--but stayed two hours beyond what I usually do, so all is well, and I got done what I expected to get done. Tomorrow is another day, with lots of things to do, not the least of which is take my car in to the insurance adjuster's to get checked out from the guy who side-swiped me in the parking lot at the hospital, and a followup doctor's visit for my stress test, which, according to the cardiologist, I passed with flying colors. (I think that they should consult my legs, which nearly fell off, and my heart, which beat a mile a minute for at least 10 minutes while I recovered from the extra exercise. Holy cow! Something hit the window big time! I should check this one out....wait...wait...
Well, what sounded like it might have been a bat...maybe not...there's nothing on the deck except for a lot of night life. I have turned off the indoor lights now, and I'm working only with the computer light, so I won't be too much longer, as it's nearly time for bed. I do have to check my email, however, to see if there's anything in there that I can't leave for tomorrow.
Oh, and hubby wants me to stay home tomorrow to stain the deck. I don't know. I've got so much to do, and only so much time to do it in. I have the car appt, dr appt, and band practice after work. Since car and dr are both near where I work, I might just as well go in. No sense making two trips to the biggest hole above ground--a phrase that my ex was fond of saying.
No knitterly stuff today, as I didn't unball the 2-50 gram balls into 4-25 gram balls--before going to work, so I couldn't start on the project that I had in mind, although, yesterday, I sewed on a button, made dinner, patched a pair of jeans and then watched GemsTV and World Wrestling Entertainment RAW until 10:30. Then, I lay in bed, arguing with somebody in the band until 11, took a Xanax to relax these anxieties, and fell asleep soon afterward, into a dreamless sleep, that I had difficulty waking from. I had intended to finish the jeans (my hubby has a habit of bring home work pants with holes in them that are L-shaped. In order to patch these properly, you have to undo the seam nearest to the hole, because you can't mend an L-shaped rip on a free-arm sewing machine--at least not so it looks halfway decent.
I also pulled out the neckline in my red sweater. It took some time, because I'd woven in some loose ends from sewing up the raglan sleeves, but I got the job done, and the extra yarn is on a niddy-noddy. I will put the stitches and the ends on holders another day--perhaps Thursday, and then I will bind off all the stitches that had not been previously. Then I will pick up neckline stitches all the way around, and k1,p1 around long enough that I can fold it over and weave it into the bottom stitches, rather than put the cable in where it's supposed to go. It's been a long time, and I don't remember how to do the pattern, and I want to wear the sweater again soon, as things outdoors are starting to get a bit of a chill in the air. I hope that it still fits.
We shall see.
Well, I need to put my purchases away, and I need to check out my email. I need to check out the activities I thought I was going to do today but didn't, reschedule them for another day, and then I can retire to the boudoir.
Au'revoir, mes amies! Voix-tu a demain?
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Sunday, September 16, 2007
New Sox and Busy Lives
I just wrote down all the things I have planned to do.
I don't think I can live that long.
I did finish some more of the Tiger sox. This pair for yours truly, and they fit like gloves. The kitchner stitch turned out great too, I might add, and many thanks to Queen Kahuna--who apparently is having difficulty with her web server--seems they've "gone down" and taken off to who knows where. Poor MAB--when her site comes up again, I'll post it here.
So here's a couple pics of my new footie sox.
I cleaned out the pet's water dish (they all use the same dish, dogs and cats), and while I cleaned it, they were all around it, patiently waiting for a cool drink. So I got out my camera....quick take the picture! N
otice there's only one cat? LOL! They all "got away" before I could snap the picture! I also cleaned the litter box, sewed velcro on Ray's shirt (since he's coming in an hour, I figured it would be a good time to do it), and reloaded the dishwasher. I've got some trash to burn. I've got to pick up some frozen mouses at the pet store. And a ton of projects in line to do...hmm...which one shall I start on?
I had thought originally that we were to have pipe band practice today, but apparently it's been cancelled in favor of Wednesday night, which is FINE by me. This means that I can stay home and take care of more of the little things that need to be done around here...like...oh, hmm...like...well, I guess there's nothing at all to do for housework! Cool Beans! Means I can work on some of my UFO's. First, pull out the red cabled sweater from Heirloom Knitting (Japanese book). Knitting Beyond the Hebrides worked this model up in a knit a long, and the knitting went much too fast. I put the sweater together, a little too eager to wear it, and the neckline sort of pulls the sweater--a more advanced sweater knitter told me that I should take the neckline out, and bind off the stitches on the body pieces--THEN pick up my stitches around the neckline, and the neckline will hold better. Sounded like a good idea to me, so that's what I've been planning to do now for at least a year. Since then, I've...um...grown some? So now, I'm sure the sweater won't fit me at all. It's a good thing it's a cardigan, but the arms were snug to begin with, so I'm sure that it won't fit me at all now. I suppose that's what's holding me back, so to force myself to actually pull it out of the closet, I insert here pictures of the finished project...well, maybe not-so-finished, but this shows it of
f, and then I'll HAVE to fix the neckline! The Am Kamin is made out of Cranberry Cascade 220. The sweater is very soft and I like it very much (except for the darn neckline). I think that I'm going to give it a firmer neckline this time...considering...
Okay, it's out, it's dehaired (cats love wool, did you know that?), and it's ready to unravel, but Ray will be here soon, the guys doing the roof are here to finish things up (and hopefully will sweep the deck, because they left a grainy mess EVERYWHERE!), and soon, I'll have to head over to my mother's house to practice drumming with my son and Ray, due to the cancellation of practice, so unravelling will have to wait until later. This could
be a good time to show off construction techniques, but since I'm lousy at it...maybe not. I hate finishing. They say that you should spend as much time finishing as you do knitting the garment. WHAT? How is that Immediate Gratification? I want to wear this article, and I want to wear it right now! So sometimes, my finishing isn't the greatest, but I'm getting better at it!
I think I need to diet. I know, I know...here we go again! I do this to myself. Angry with myself for getting this big in the first place, and upset that I couldn't wear a bathing suit all summer long, I finally decide to go on some sort of diet...only to have Christmas show up on my doorstep. Now why is it that there is so much good food at Christmastime? Why is it that I have, not just one, but THREE Christmas parties to attend...one at the office, one at my mother's, one at my mother-in-law's, and probably one for the expanded family...wait...that's FOUR! No wonder I get fat and lose all control over my diet at this time of year. It's frustrating, because I can lose about 60 pounds in 3 months, only to gain it back again when Christmas comes. Because when Christmas arrives, all bets are off. The body loves those fattening foods, and once they get another taste of them, it realizes "Hey, I LIKE this food!" Then, it begs for it for weeks before I finally succumb to the incredible urges and make myself a dozen cookies--or eat an entire half-gallon of chocolate ice cream--or head to McDonald's again "just for one more french fry".
Okay, I admit. I have a problem with food sometimes. McDonald's is my comfort food. Usually, if there are no cookies in the house, I won't crave them. Most times, even when there ARE cookies in the house, it's my husband who eats them all, leaving me with maybe two or three. I think he does that out of guilt. What do you think? :) Anyway, I'm not really much of a SWEET eater. I crave SALTY snacks. French Fries, Potatoe Chips and dip, CheezeIts, GoldFish. I also like double chocolate muffins (the store where I work sells them, and they are wonderful!). Otherwise, I eat fairly healthy, although perhaps a bit carby--maybe a little too much food at one sitting. For drink, I have Diet Caffeine Free Pepsi (I finally was able to wean myself off the Regular version) or water. I will drink a cup of milk before bed or with a peanut butter on toast sandwich, but only when milk is in the house...otherwise, the milk sits in the frig and goes solid on me.
Well, the roofers are here, and Ray just drove up. Time to go to work.
I don't think I can live that long.
I did finish some more of the Tiger sox. This pair for yours truly, and they fit like gloves. The kitchner stitch turned out great too, I might add, and many thanks to Queen Kahuna--who apparently is having difficulty with her web server--seems they've "gone down" and taken off to who knows where. Poor MAB--when her site comes up again, I'll post it here.
So here's a couple pics of my new footie sox.
I cleaned out the pet's water dish (they all use the same dish, dogs and cats), and while I cleaned it, they were all around it, patiently waiting for a cool drink. So I got out my camera....quick take the picture! N
otice there's only one cat? LOL! They all "got away" before I could snap the picture! I also cleaned the litter box, sewed velcro on Ray's shirt (since he's coming in an hour, I figured it would be a good time to do it), and reloaded the dishwasher. I've got some trash to burn. I've got to pick up some frozen mouses at the pet store. And a ton of projects in line to do...hmm...which one shall I start on?I had thought originally that we were to have pipe band practice today, but apparently it's been cancelled in favor of Wednesday night, which is FINE by me. This means that I can stay home and take care of more of the little things that need to be done around here...like...oh, hmm...like...well, I guess there's nothing at all to do for housework! Cool Beans! Means I can work on some of my UFO's. First, pull out the red cabled sweater from Heirloom Knitting (Japanese book). Knitting Beyond the Hebrides worked this model up in a knit a long, and the knitting went much too fast. I put the sweater together, a little too eager to wear it, and the neckline sort of pulls the sweater--a more advanced sweater knitter told me that I should take the neckline out, and bind off the stitches on the body pieces--THEN pick up my stitches around the neckline, and the neckline will hold better. Sounded like a good idea to me, so that's what I've been planning to do now for at least a year. Since then, I've...um...grown some? So now, I'm sure the sweater won't fit me at all. It's a good thing it's a cardigan, but the arms were snug to begin with, so I'm sure that it won't fit me at all now. I suppose that's what's holding me back, so to force myself to actually pull it out of the closet, I insert here pictures of the finished project...well, maybe not-so-finished, but this shows it of
f, and then I'll HAVE to fix the neckline! The Am Kamin is made out of Cranberry Cascade 220. The sweater is very soft and I like it very much (except for the darn neckline). I think that I'm going to give it a firmer neckline this time...considering...Okay, it's out, it's dehaired (cats love wool, did you know that?), and it's ready to unravel, but Ray will be here soon, the guys doing the roof are here to finish things up (and hopefully will sweep the deck, because they left a grainy mess EVERYWHERE!), and soon, I'll have to head over to my mother's house to practice drumming with my son and Ray, due to the cancellation of practice, so unravelling will have to wait until later. This could
be a good time to show off construction techniques, but since I'm lousy at it...maybe not. I hate finishing. They say that you should spend as much time finishing as you do knitting the garment. WHAT? How is that Immediate Gratification? I want to wear this article, and I want to wear it right now! So sometimes, my finishing isn't the greatest, but I'm getting better at it!I think I need to diet. I know, I know...here we go again! I do this to myself. Angry with myself for getting this big in the first place, and upset that I couldn't wear a bathing suit all summer long, I finally decide to go on some sort of diet...only to have Christmas show up on my doorstep. Now why is it that there is so much good food at Christmastime? Why is it that I have, not just one, but THREE Christmas parties to attend...one at the office, one at my mother's, one at my mother-in-law's, and probably one for the expanded family...wait...that's FOUR! No wonder I get fat and lose all control over my diet at this time of year. It's frustrating, because I can lose about 60 pounds in 3 months, only to gain it back again when Christmas comes. Because when Christmas arrives, all bets are off. The body loves those fattening foods, and once they get another taste of them, it realizes "Hey, I LIKE this food!" Then, it begs for it for weeks before I finally succumb to the incredible urges and make myself a dozen cookies--or eat an entire half-gallon of chocolate ice cream--or head to McDonald's again "just for one more french fry".
Okay, I admit. I have a problem with food sometimes. McDonald's is my comfort food. Usually, if there are no cookies in the house, I won't crave them. Most times, even when there ARE cookies in the house, it's my husband who eats them all, leaving me with maybe two or three. I think he does that out of guilt. What do you think? :) Anyway, I'm not really much of a SWEET eater. I crave SALTY snacks. French Fries, Potatoe Chips and dip, CheezeIts, GoldFish. I also like double chocolate muffins (the store where I work sells them, and they are wonderful!). Otherwise, I eat fairly healthy, although perhaps a bit carby--maybe a little too much food at one sitting. For drink, I have Diet Caffeine Free Pepsi (I finally was able to wean myself off the Regular version) or water. I will drink a cup of milk before bed or with a peanut butter on toast sandwich, but only when milk is in the house...otherwise, the milk sits in the frig and goes solid on me.
Well, the roofers are here, and Ray just drove up. Time to go to work.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
He rode up on his red Honda Goldwing, dressed in black leathers that protected him from not only the chillier autumn air, but also from some chance meeting with any other vehicle, which would mean laying down the bike and significant road rash. He parked on the street, setting the vehicle up on it's bike stand, rather than the kick-stand--and should the weather turn warmer, he wouldn't have to worry about the pavement heating up, which would surely allow his pride and joy to fall over dead on it's side.
The other biker he'd been riding with for some hours also dressed in black leathers, but riding a black Harley Davidson, and parking underneath a nearby tree. The Harley was smaller, but so was the rider, sleek, smooth lines, and when the black helmet was removed, revealed a red-head with long locks and big green eyes and full lips.
They had met on the road just a few hours ago, and headed for the nearest pub this Saturday night. He didn't know that she'd led him to a singles bar, and here he was, one married man about to take the wrong step.
I watched them park their bikes, and stepped into the tavern myself, watching, lest he see me. I'd been following at a safe distance, having seen his motorcycle on the road, decided to see where it would take me. Imagine my surprise, when I walk into the seedy singles joint. His wife had hired me to follow him, because she thought he was cheating on her. Sure enough looked like it! I stepped into the shadows in the back of the room, while the dj set up his music and his cd players and plugged in his microphone, setting things up for the singles dance to be held a bit later after the clientele belted down a few.
The place was pretty popular, and I'd had a little trouble finding a spot to park sufficiently far away, but yet still within sight. I waited in the shadows, and true to form, he walked in with her, his arm around her waist holding her as close as the law would allow in public without being obscene. She smiled and tossed her hair back. She couldn't be more than 20 or so, and he was over 40, nearing 50, with a paunch all the way around the middle. What was it about those eyes that drew stupid women to him like a magnet. Yes, this would be another one of his conquests--and I could see by the look in her eye that it wasn't going to take long.
They sat well away from me, up nearer to the dance floor. I took my camera out of my bag, a small Kodak disposable, and prepared for the evening. Nobody ever bothered me, seeing the big white rock on my left hand--generally thought of as taboo by most, but with the camera? Well, once in a while, I'd get a question about that, but usually well after the bar patrons had sunk to their eniebrated lowest, and so it was easy to lie and get away with it.
He dropped a quarter into the jukebox, and played "their song", and snuggled closer to her in the booth they'd chosen. He couldn't keep his hands off of her, and shortly, after a beer, he got bold, and the two of them strolled out into the looming dusk, stars already beginning to twinkle in the sky. I was going to have to hurry, if I was to get any half-way decent light to take a picture of the two of them, so I slipped out the side door, and walked quietly around the other side from where I'd seen them go. I caught up with them, he had her, against the tree--they carried on as if no one could see. Hands flew here and there, and I caught my picture of them in a long, saliva draining, tongue searching--not even really a kiss, but more like need and hot desire, mixed with the controlling power of youth and masculinity denied. I thought to myself silently, had it not been quite so light, I would have walked in on them in full disarray, but took my pictures, quietly, for the wife who waited at home.
She had come to me on June 25th, the beginnings of the hot summer just becomming evident. The flowers were out, but she was crying, sure and certain that he was cheating on her, but wouldn't actually believe it unless she saw it with both eyes. I've been tracking these slugs for years, taking pictures for the divorce lawyer to use in order to get a proper settlement for a woman done wrong, but hey, let's face it, right? If you don't trust them, the story is already over, right? I mean, just be done with it, get a divorce and walk away with your dignity! But most women wouldn't do something like that. That's why I made money, and why my business was so lucretive. I was really good at this sly, detective-style stuff. I knew how to keep my nose out of other people's business, and how to keep things professional with my client. Because I was a woman helped me get the clientele I needed to make a living. Not only had I once been married to this type of slime-ball, I understood the client's reasons for not wanting to divorce without proof. There is just something inherently wrong with the idea of divorce for a woman--it's supposed to be forever. Many times, sadly, it is, whether the marriage lasts after this sort of confrontation, or whether it ends in divorce, the betrayal Never goes away.
I came out of my own personal reverie to watch them return to the bar, his thumb hooked into the loop of her black leather chaps. The music was just starting up, and there was a couple already on the dance floor. I walked back around the back of the joint and slipped in quietly, and sat down with my drink again. I slipped the camera back into my purse.
The night wore on, and he was totally wasted. SHE on the other hand, had only had one beer, and was having trouble holding him up on the dance floor, since he was so much heavier than she could ever hope to be, or at least until she passed that magic 30 year mark. In any case, he was pretty much begging for it when she finally took him outdoors, slapped him a couple of times, and loaded him on HER bike, and they took off, probably to a motel nearby, where they could do the deed and rest a while, sober up, and go back to the bar, pick up his own bike and head for hearth and home, reeking of drink so strong that she wouldn't even notice the musk on him. I expected it would take all of a couple more hours, so I headed for Mrs. Draner's house to give her the camera, that was now full of pictures of her husband and a variety of woman--not just the tall, lithe red-headded biker, but a teenage blonde, a pregnant brunette that I wondered if the child was his, and a punk rocker with one blue spike on top of her head, the rest of her head had been shaven clean, and she had a tattoo of a celtic design on the back of her pate. Really classy women, I got to say, and everyone of them ended the same way. This is why I didn't bother to follow the biker babe. I knew where that was going, and I already had him in some really damaging situations--the teenager picture might even put him in jail for statutory rape! Which was secretly my wicked hope for this guy.
Why? Because he is my ex-husband, too, and I was out to get that cold revenge he so often spoke of. Reese's Pieces on the rampage, and it was going to be over for him soon.
The other biker he'd been riding with for some hours also dressed in black leathers, but riding a black Harley Davidson, and parking underneath a nearby tree. The Harley was smaller, but so was the rider, sleek, smooth lines, and when the black helmet was removed, revealed a red-head with long locks and big green eyes and full lips.
They had met on the road just a few hours ago, and headed for the nearest pub this Saturday night. He didn't know that she'd led him to a singles bar, and here he was, one married man about to take the wrong step.
I watched them park their bikes, and stepped into the tavern myself, watching, lest he see me. I'd been following at a safe distance, having seen his motorcycle on the road, decided to see where it would take me. Imagine my surprise, when I walk into the seedy singles joint. His wife had hired me to follow him, because she thought he was cheating on her. Sure enough looked like it! I stepped into the shadows in the back of the room, while the dj set up his music and his cd players and plugged in his microphone, setting things up for the singles dance to be held a bit later after the clientele belted down a few.
The place was pretty popular, and I'd had a little trouble finding a spot to park sufficiently far away, but yet still within sight. I waited in the shadows, and true to form, he walked in with her, his arm around her waist holding her as close as the law would allow in public without being obscene. She smiled and tossed her hair back. She couldn't be more than 20 or so, and he was over 40, nearing 50, with a paunch all the way around the middle. What was it about those eyes that drew stupid women to him like a magnet. Yes, this would be another one of his conquests--and I could see by the look in her eye that it wasn't going to take long.
They sat well away from me, up nearer to the dance floor. I took my camera out of my bag, a small Kodak disposable, and prepared for the evening. Nobody ever bothered me, seeing the big white rock on my left hand--generally thought of as taboo by most, but with the camera? Well, once in a while, I'd get a question about that, but usually well after the bar patrons had sunk to their eniebrated lowest, and so it was easy to lie and get away with it.
He dropped a quarter into the jukebox, and played "their song", and snuggled closer to her in the booth they'd chosen. He couldn't keep his hands off of her, and shortly, after a beer, he got bold, and the two of them strolled out into the looming dusk, stars already beginning to twinkle in the sky. I was going to have to hurry, if I was to get any half-way decent light to take a picture of the two of them, so I slipped out the side door, and walked quietly around the other side from where I'd seen them go. I caught up with them, he had her, against the tree--they carried on as if no one could see. Hands flew here and there, and I caught my picture of them in a long, saliva draining, tongue searching--not even really a kiss, but more like need and hot desire, mixed with the controlling power of youth and masculinity denied. I thought to myself silently, had it not been quite so light, I would have walked in on them in full disarray, but took my pictures, quietly, for the wife who waited at home.
She had come to me on June 25th, the beginnings of the hot summer just becomming evident. The flowers were out, but she was crying, sure and certain that he was cheating on her, but wouldn't actually believe it unless she saw it with both eyes. I've been tracking these slugs for years, taking pictures for the divorce lawyer to use in order to get a proper settlement for a woman done wrong, but hey, let's face it, right? If you don't trust them, the story is already over, right? I mean, just be done with it, get a divorce and walk away with your dignity! But most women wouldn't do something like that. That's why I made money, and why my business was so lucretive. I was really good at this sly, detective-style stuff. I knew how to keep my nose out of other people's business, and how to keep things professional with my client. Because I was a woman helped me get the clientele I needed to make a living. Not only had I once been married to this type of slime-ball, I understood the client's reasons for not wanting to divorce without proof. There is just something inherently wrong with the idea of divorce for a woman--it's supposed to be forever. Many times, sadly, it is, whether the marriage lasts after this sort of confrontation, or whether it ends in divorce, the betrayal Never goes away.
I came out of my own personal reverie to watch them return to the bar, his thumb hooked into the loop of her black leather chaps. The music was just starting up, and there was a couple already on the dance floor. I walked back around the back of the joint and slipped in quietly, and sat down with my drink again. I slipped the camera back into my purse.
The night wore on, and he was totally wasted. SHE on the other hand, had only had one beer, and was having trouble holding him up on the dance floor, since he was so much heavier than she could ever hope to be, or at least until she passed that magic 30 year mark. In any case, he was pretty much begging for it when she finally took him outdoors, slapped him a couple of times, and loaded him on HER bike, and they took off, probably to a motel nearby, where they could do the deed and rest a while, sober up, and go back to the bar, pick up his own bike and head for hearth and home, reeking of drink so strong that she wouldn't even notice the musk on him. I expected it would take all of a couple more hours, so I headed for Mrs. Draner's house to give her the camera, that was now full of pictures of her husband and a variety of woman--not just the tall, lithe red-headded biker, but a teenage blonde, a pregnant brunette that I wondered if the child was his, and a punk rocker with one blue spike on top of her head, the rest of her head had been shaven clean, and she had a tattoo of a celtic design on the back of her pate. Really classy women, I got to say, and everyone of them ended the same way. This is why I didn't bother to follow the biker babe. I knew where that was going, and I already had him in some really damaging situations--the teenager picture might even put him in jail for statutory rape! Which was secretly my wicked hope for this guy.
Why? Because he is my ex-husband, too, and I was out to get that cold revenge he so often spoke of. Reese's Pieces on the rampage, and it was going to be over for him soon.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Good Things Come in Small Packages
I arrived home today to find lots of small packages in the mail!
First, pictures of my neice and nephew--she in her cheerleader outfit--and she is just the cutie! And he in his football uniform--it would embarass him to know I called him a "hunk" (grin), b
ut he's really self conscious about being called "cute", so hunk it is.
ut he's really self conscious about being called "cute", so hunk it is.Then, a $10 gift card from Lowe's--boy we could have used that to buy the plastic to stain the deck--so it's a day late and a dollar short, but it will find a use one day.
Then a gift certificate from the LYS-Thank you Rob and Matt!
Last of all, finished Tiger sox for Judy. I decided to put a little drawstring in the ankle to help hold them up, and some puffy fabric paint on the soles to keep them at leasst a little less slick on the floor. Here they are. I thought the yarn knitten up really cool, and even though it's called "bee" I still say it looks like tiger stripes!
And then, after supper at the Chinese Buffet, I came home exhausted, so I take this little bitty pill to put me to sleep, which didn't work when my husband comes and flops into bed four hours later--and so I'm blogging with my eyes at half-mast, and fuzzy brain, so if things sound a little disjointed...please forgive. I'm on drugs you see. Soon, the eyes will close and I'll simply nod off right here in the
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Tuesday's Child
I drove over to see my ex-mother in law again today. I haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks because I’ve been ill, as you are aware, and I didn’t think it would be a good idea to make her sick, too. She’s got enough to deal with right now.
As I park in the lot, I see a motorcycle. Now, I realize that there’s going to come a time when I run into my ex-husband now and then, now that his mother is staying in a nursing home relatively close to where I live and work. I walked around the motorcycle to see if I could figure out if indeed it WAS his motorcycle. Nothing obvious, so I hop back into my car and eat my McDonald’s dinner. Not even five minutes later, he and his third wife (I was his first) walk out. She’s clearly looking at me in the car, while I calmly munch on my sandwich. However, he won’t even look my way, and I KNOW that he knows it’s me sitting there. I can’t hear them talking, but I can imagine, and it’s not nice.
Together they ride off, and once they’re gone, and my sandwich is safely tucked away into my gastric container, I hop back out of my car, happy as all get out that I’d managed to keep from actually RUNNING into them.
I walk into the lunchroom, and there’s my friend Judy. She looks tired. She’s waiting for dinner.
“Randy just left!” she said. “Did you see him?”
“Really? No, I didn’t (small white lie). You mean he was here?”
“Yeah! They came on the motorcycle!” she responds.
“No kidding? What color is it?” She said it was black. I told her that I’d seen a red colored motorcycle pull out of the lot and down the street, but couldn’t quite make out who it was, and didn’t pay that much attention. She didn’t correct herself and tell me it was red, so either she knew I’d seen him, or she didn’t…or maybe thought that I’d seen someone else. Neither of us will ever know, and frankly, I didn’t much care one way or the other.
Now it astounds me that my ex would buy the EXACT same color motorcycle as he had when he was married to me. Not only that, but all the accessories are pretty much the same as the accessories that were on our bike, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have said it WAS the same bike. There’s some sort of pathology going on there.
We chatted amiably during dinner, and one of the ladies with congestive heart failure, and loaded with fluid so much so that her calves were at least twice the size of mine. I would bet that I couldn’t get my two hands around one of them. Yet, she is asking, begging for more fluids, and when the staff told her no, she started to cry.
Now I realize that the staff have these folks best interests at heart, and she’s clearly retaining water, having trouble breathing, much less getting around, and she’s crying, because she wants more fluids…water, juice, coffee, milk anything. I heard that she takes fluids to her room and loads up. This lady has congestive heart failure. Fluid in too great a quantity will KILL her. I wondered if she knew it, or if she did, if she cared.
After dinner, Judy and I went back to her room, and I had intended to leave her alone, because she looked tired from her visit with Randy and his wife, but she asked me to stay and chat, so I did. Later, I found out that Randy and his wife had only stayed a few minutes, and then had left for my friend’s house, where there was some unpleasantness, and they left there within a few minutes as well.
We talked about her husband. She really misses him. He died four years ago. He was a big fellow, rotund, a full head of grey hair that he combed back in a pompadour, with a gnome-ish face that looked like it should be sporting a beard and mustache much like St. Nick, but he always kept his face clean shaven. His name was Charles, but everyone called him Chuck. He was a relatively happy man, and he loved Judy totally. Randy used to tell me that he beat him and his brothers. I just couldn’t see it. He and his step son Jim used to tell me dirty jokes, and I’d LMSAO. I couldn’t get enough of Chuck, but when Randy left, I didn’t see him again for years until the day he was in a nursing home in Lansing. I visited him in the hospital, longed to talk about Randy, but didn’t, and offered to bring him pickled beets though his daughter-in-law.
When I heard he was in the hospital this last time, I headed straight there. One of the family had been instructed to contact me if there was ever trouble, and apparently, my phone number changed, and I’d not told them about it. They got me via email on Friday morning, and I headed to the hospital. Chuck was fading fast, but I got flowers for his room anyway. I said goodbye and silently forgave him, and I think he said goodbye too, perhaps he heard my silent “forgive you,” and I left.
The next morning, I contact my sister (you know, the one who betrayed me), and told her that Randy’s dad was in the hospital, and did she want to go with me to see him today. I had contacted the hospital just a few minutes before, but they had been suspiciously discreet, and wouldn’t tell me anything. My sister said “perhaps it depends on how close you are to the family”, a statement that at the time didn’t sound so suspicious, but I know now that she’d known that he’d died in the night. She didn’t tell me.
On Monday morning, I found out that he had died. August 9th, and the family member told me that they had tried to call me all day on Saturday to let me know, but it was a wrong number. STUPID MOI! I gave her the correct number. She told me when the viewing was (Tuesday), and I said that I would be there. Later, she told me that my ex had had a fit over it.
I called my sister, and asked her if she’d like to go to the viewing with me. She said she didn’t have time and that she was working. Imagine my surprise when she walked through the door that evening at the viewing. This is where it finally occurs to me that her betrayal has been complete for some time.
“I thought you couldn’t make it?”
“I just got out of work.”
“Yes, I know, but you told ME, that you didn’t have time.” At that moment, she knew that I was aware of her lies. She ducked out of the way, and didn’t talk to me the rest of the night, and I avoided her to keep from making a scene. I walked over to Chuck, and immediately, my ex turns up by my side. Talking amiably about this and that and the other thing as if we were the best of friends! I tried hard to be pleasant, (be aware, it took a LOT of prayer!) and I’m sure that I made a cutting remark here or there, but in general, let him carry on his unending tirade of all his latest accomplishments and how great a catch I’d lost. Finally, I tired of his self-aggrandizement, and said
“Randy, can I please have a moment or two alone with your dad?”
Now this likely came off like I would rather spend time with a dead guy than with him (laugh) and it was just so true—but I had some things to say to his dad that I wanted to say to him alone.
“Dad,” I began, “I guess now you know the truth, and that it was never meant to be this way. Godspeed.” And I left his side. I sat with Judy for a while. Oh, my gosh! She had fallen, and her entire face was black and blue. I told her she had to quit chasing those younger guys, and she laughed. I really enjoyed being able to make her smile during such a sad time. I know only too well, how fleeting those small moments of inescapable joy can be.
They buried Dad the next day, and I went to the funeral (a fairly dull affair), the interment, where I cried as hard as Judy did. Of course, Randy fired a shot at me as if I had no right to feel any grief at all. At the luncheon afterward, talking with the family again felt like a blessing. There is something about sharing your grief that simply helps. Of course, Randy made it a point to make sure I continued to hear about all his accomplishments and the accomplishments of his step-children. How his father had asked if it was okay for these children to call him grandpa. I was there, when his father asked ME if Bill (my son) could call him grandpa. Then Grandpa betrayed both of us by taking Randy back into his house when Randy left us so many years ago. I left the luncheon not long after that, and talked about the episode in therapy. The scars are still there. They will never go away. Forgiveness comes hard. Forgetting is harder.
One day, Judy won’t be there so I can tell her what her son did to me. She’ll know, of course, when she dies. There’s not much point in trying to obliterate her opinion of her baby boy. In any case, it wouldn’t buy me any relief. Going back and rehashing it only makes me feel sorry for myself, and I enjoy Judy’s company too much to open up that can of worms, which might cause a lot of resentment. Somehow, I feel that when she’s gone, and she finally knows the truth, perhaps she will understand what I suffered over these many years since Randy left me. That alone will bless me more than I can relate in words.
And all of this, underneath the love that I have for the man I married nearly 15 years after Randy left me. He loves me. He tells me that he feels like there is something “amiss”. He has seen the depth of my grief, but misunderstood it. On some level, he does understand, but he knows that there is simply a place where he cannot reach me. Most days, I am able to leave those things in the past. They dredge up on occasions such as today, when I very nearly ran right into Randy and his new wife. Such encounters are best left alone. Wisdom says to leave it buried, under mounds of dirt and grass, very like the dirt and grass that covers his father in the cemetery. Every so often, I am forced back into the graveyard, to grieve anew over a terrible loss and betrayal. Forgiveness comes hard. Forgetting is another thing entirely.
So instead we talked about Chuck, and how much we miss him. She told me how he had kissed her goodbye before he died. Such a touching life she spent with him right through to the end. How Chuck would NEVER have put up with how his stepson was treating her now. How much he loved pickled beets and how good he looked at their 50th wedding anniversary. We shared pictures of the party, since I’d not been invited, but yet, my sister had been. Shaking my head…what happened? All this lost because of Randy, and all his lies, and my own failure to stand up for myself and raise a huge fuss that the family would never forget, wishing instead that everything would just pass into the dust…and hope for the chance to try to make up for time lost another day.
Randy doesn’t understand why I suddenly have the intention of making his life miserable. He finds out that I see his mom, and asks her “what does she want?” and “Why even talk to her?” Well, he doesn’t want her to find out, does he? He doesn’t want her to find out that her son is less than perfection. As long as he’s on unstable ground, he may watch his p’s and q’s, and stay married to this one—but I believe that he will leave her, just as he left me and his second wife. My reason is simply to obliterate the lies he told to the family. To prove to them that I was not, am not, and will never be as he portrayed me. Forgiveness comes hard. Forgetting will never be.
One day, I will be able to say that Tuesday’s child is alive and kicking.
As I park in the lot, I see a motorcycle. Now, I realize that there’s going to come a time when I run into my ex-husband now and then, now that his mother is staying in a nursing home relatively close to where I live and work. I walked around the motorcycle to see if I could figure out if indeed it WAS his motorcycle. Nothing obvious, so I hop back into my car and eat my McDonald’s dinner. Not even five minutes later, he and his third wife (I was his first) walk out. She’s clearly looking at me in the car, while I calmly munch on my sandwich. However, he won’t even look my way, and I KNOW that he knows it’s me sitting there. I can’t hear them talking, but I can imagine, and it’s not nice.
Together they ride off, and once they’re gone, and my sandwich is safely tucked away into my gastric container, I hop back out of my car, happy as all get out that I’d managed to keep from actually RUNNING into them.
I walk into the lunchroom, and there’s my friend Judy. She looks tired. She’s waiting for dinner.
“Randy just left!” she said. “Did you see him?”
“Really? No, I didn’t (small white lie). You mean he was here?”
“Yeah! They came on the motorcycle!” she responds.
“No kidding? What color is it?” She said it was black. I told her that I’d seen a red colored motorcycle pull out of the lot and down the street, but couldn’t quite make out who it was, and didn’t pay that much attention. She didn’t correct herself and tell me it was red, so either she knew I’d seen him, or she didn’t…or maybe thought that I’d seen someone else. Neither of us will ever know, and frankly, I didn’t much care one way or the other.
Now it astounds me that my ex would buy the EXACT same color motorcycle as he had when he was married to me. Not only that, but all the accessories are pretty much the same as the accessories that were on our bike, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have said it WAS the same bike. There’s some sort of pathology going on there.
We chatted amiably during dinner, and one of the ladies with congestive heart failure, and loaded with fluid so much so that her calves were at least twice the size of mine. I would bet that I couldn’t get my two hands around one of them. Yet, she is asking, begging for more fluids, and when the staff told her no, she started to cry.
Now I realize that the staff have these folks best interests at heart, and she’s clearly retaining water, having trouble breathing, much less getting around, and she’s crying, because she wants more fluids…water, juice, coffee, milk anything. I heard that she takes fluids to her room and loads up. This lady has congestive heart failure. Fluid in too great a quantity will KILL her. I wondered if she knew it, or if she did, if she cared.
After dinner, Judy and I went back to her room, and I had intended to leave her alone, because she looked tired from her visit with Randy and his wife, but she asked me to stay and chat, so I did. Later, I found out that Randy and his wife had only stayed a few minutes, and then had left for my friend’s house, where there was some unpleasantness, and they left there within a few minutes as well.
We talked about her husband. She really misses him. He died four years ago. He was a big fellow, rotund, a full head of grey hair that he combed back in a pompadour, with a gnome-ish face that looked like it should be sporting a beard and mustache much like St. Nick, but he always kept his face clean shaven. His name was Charles, but everyone called him Chuck. He was a relatively happy man, and he loved Judy totally. Randy used to tell me that he beat him and his brothers. I just couldn’t see it. He and his step son Jim used to tell me dirty jokes, and I’d LMSAO. I couldn’t get enough of Chuck, but when Randy left, I didn’t see him again for years until the day he was in a nursing home in Lansing. I visited him in the hospital, longed to talk about Randy, but didn’t, and offered to bring him pickled beets though his daughter-in-law.
When I heard he was in the hospital this last time, I headed straight there. One of the family had been instructed to contact me if there was ever trouble, and apparently, my phone number changed, and I’d not told them about it. They got me via email on Friday morning, and I headed to the hospital. Chuck was fading fast, but I got flowers for his room anyway. I said goodbye and silently forgave him, and I think he said goodbye too, perhaps he heard my silent “forgive you,” and I left.
The next morning, I contact my sister (you know, the one who betrayed me), and told her that Randy’s dad was in the hospital, and did she want to go with me to see him today. I had contacted the hospital just a few minutes before, but they had been suspiciously discreet, and wouldn’t tell me anything. My sister said “perhaps it depends on how close you are to the family”, a statement that at the time didn’t sound so suspicious, but I know now that she’d known that he’d died in the night. She didn’t tell me.
On Monday morning, I found out that he had died. August 9th, and the family member told me that they had tried to call me all day on Saturday to let me know, but it was a wrong number. STUPID MOI! I gave her the correct number. She told me when the viewing was (Tuesday), and I said that I would be there. Later, she told me that my ex had had a fit over it.
I called my sister, and asked her if she’d like to go to the viewing with me. She said she didn’t have time and that she was working. Imagine my surprise when she walked through the door that evening at the viewing. This is where it finally occurs to me that her betrayal has been complete for some time.
“I thought you couldn’t make it?”
“I just got out of work.”
“Yes, I know, but you told ME, that you didn’t have time.” At that moment, she knew that I was aware of her lies. She ducked out of the way, and didn’t talk to me the rest of the night, and I avoided her to keep from making a scene. I walked over to Chuck, and immediately, my ex turns up by my side. Talking amiably about this and that and the other thing as if we were the best of friends! I tried hard to be pleasant, (be aware, it took a LOT of prayer!) and I’m sure that I made a cutting remark here or there, but in general, let him carry on his unending tirade of all his latest accomplishments and how great a catch I’d lost. Finally, I tired of his self-aggrandizement, and said
“Randy, can I please have a moment or two alone with your dad?”
Now this likely came off like I would rather spend time with a dead guy than with him (laugh) and it was just so true—but I had some things to say to his dad that I wanted to say to him alone.
“Dad,” I began, “I guess now you know the truth, and that it was never meant to be this way. Godspeed.” And I left his side. I sat with Judy for a while. Oh, my gosh! She had fallen, and her entire face was black and blue. I told her she had to quit chasing those younger guys, and she laughed. I really enjoyed being able to make her smile during such a sad time. I know only too well, how fleeting those small moments of inescapable joy can be.
They buried Dad the next day, and I went to the funeral (a fairly dull affair), the interment, where I cried as hard as Judy did. Of course, Randy fired a shot at me as if I had no right to feel any grief at all. At the luncheon afterward, talking with the family again felt like a blessing. There is something about sharing your grief that simply helps. Of course, Randy made it a point to make sure I continued to hear about all his accomplishments and the accomplishments of his step-children. How his father had asked if it was okay for these children to call him grandpa. I was there, when his father asked ME if Bill (my son) could call him grandpa. Then Grandpa betrayed both of us by taking Randy back into his house when Randy left us so many years ago. I left the luncheon not long after that, and talked about the episode in therapy. The scars are still there. They will never go away. Forgiveness comes hard. Forgetting is harder.
One day, Judy won’t be there so I can tell her what her son did to me. She’ll know, of course, when she dies. There’s not much point in trying to obliterate her opinion of her baby boy. In any case, it wouldn’t buy me any relief. Going back and rehashing it only makes me feel sorry for myself, and I enjoy Judy’s company too much to open up that can of worms, which might cause a lot of resentment. Somehow, I feel that when she’s gone, and she finally knows the truth, perhaps she will understand what I suffered over these many years since Randy left me. That alone will bless me more than I can relate in words.
And all of this, underneath the love that I have for the man I married nearly 15 years after Randy left me. He loves me. He tells me that he feels like there is something “amiss”. He has seen the depth of my grief, but misunderstood it. On some level, he does understand, but he knows that there is simply a place where he cannot reach me. Most days, I am able to leave those things in the past. They dredge up on occasions such as today, when I very nearly ran right into Randy and his new wife. Such encounters are best left alone. Wisdom says to leave it buried, under mounds of dirt and grass, very like the dirt and grass that covers his father in the cemetery. Every so often, I am forced back into the graveyard, to grieve anew over a terrible loss and betrayal. Forgiveness comes hard. Forgetting is another thing entirely.
So instead we talked about Chuck, and how much we miss him. She told me how he had kissed her goodbye before he died. Such a touching life she spent with him right through to the end. How Chuck would NEVER have put up with how his stepson was treating her now. How much he loved pickled beets and how good he looked at their 50th wedding anniversary. We shared pictures of the party, since I’d not been invited, but yet, my sister had been. Shaking my head…what happened? All this lost because of Randy, and all his lies, and my own failure to stand up for myself and raise a huge fuss that the family would never forget, wishing instead that everything would just pass into the dust…and hope for the chance to try to make up for time lost another day.
Randy doesn’t understand why I suddenly have the intention of making his life miserable. He finds out that I see his mom, and asks her “what does she want?” and “Why even talk to her?” Well, he doesn’t want her to find out, does he? He doesn’t want her to find out that her son is less than perfection. As long as he’s on unstable ground, he may watch his p’s and q’s, and stay married to this one—but I believe that he will leave her, just as he left me and his second wife. My reason is simply to obliterate the lies he told to the family. To prove to them that I was not, am not, and will never be as he portrayed me. Forgiveness comes hard. Forgetting will never be.
One day, I will be able to say that Tuesday’s child is alive and kicking.
Junk Mail
I really must go through all these papers on my table, because the cats have begun to spread them all over the house. Some of these may be important bills. But most is junk mail.
I’m one of those people who hates junk mail. I could heat my house for 3 years on 1 years worth of junk mail. This is not an exaggeration. What I need is a shredder—that will turn the junk mail into excelsior that will burn easily and quickly. I believe, however, that a common shredder machine would simply lose it’s edge quickly, and then I’d be back to square one. A wood chipper, perhaps? Imagine the bits of paper! A confetti-lover’s paradise!
Remember when we were kids we used to love hiding under the fall leaves after dad got done raking them into a neat pile? Remember his exasperation? We had no fear of spiders or bugs back then-most of these fascinated us, even when we remained at a respectful distance. Confetti might be a cleaner alternative…even if it is harder to clean up off the ground and out of your hair.
I’m one of those people who hates junk mail. I could heat my house for 3 years on 1 years worth of junk mail. This is not an exaggeration. What I need is a shredder—that will turn the junk mail into excelsior that will burn easily and quickly. I believe, however, that a common shredder machine would simply lose it’s edge quickly, and then I’d be back to square one. A wood chipper, perhaps? Imagine the bits of paper! A confetti-lover’s paradise!
Remember when we were kids we used to love hiding under the fall leaves after dad got done raking them into a neat pile? Remember his exasperation? We had no fear of spiders or bugs back then-most of these fascinated us, even when we remained at a respectful distance. Confetti might be a cleaner alternative…even if it is harder to clean up off the ground and out of your hair.
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