WHEW!!

Wow, hi guys!! Thanks for your comments and concerns. (Noonie - Greek yogurt?? hmmmmmmmmmmmm) (Ha ha KtP... :-P) I'm at Zelda's right now. I've been here since about 10:30 yesterday morning. What a GREAT COUPLE!!! Yep, they are the best. I LOVE THEIR GIRLS!! You talk about sweet. Had margaritas with Brighton and her hubby, and Tinyhands last night. WE HAD A BLAST!! Brighton is everything you could imagine. Bubbly, beautiful, bouncy! I actually stopped by her place first on Monday. Her kids are equally as wonderful. Sara was just getting off the bus and David and Hunter were hanging around. Sorry that I missed her Annie. Hunter is... OMG! He is sooooooo funny!! More on them and Z. and J.'s girls when I get home. Tinyhands hands are not tiny. Just thought I would give up his secret. I have pictures to prove it. He got there a little later and I was already buzzing so.... he also sat on the opposite end of the table from me... bummer. Nice, nice guy though. Great sense of humor. I have had the most wonderful time in TX! Don't mean to leave Seven out. He was SUCH a good sport about wandering around the Quarter with my cousin and I ... shopping. And I normally hate shopping. He was kind enough to buy us a quick breakfast at Cafe Du Mond and then a beautiful butterfly hair clasp for me. Thank you Seven! Sweet guy - a little more quiet than I expected but, like I said, a good sport. This trip has gone wonderful and I still have AJ to look forward to again on the way home. He says he's taking me out for .... TEXMEX AND MARGARITAS!!! LOL!! Bring it on. My sis is great, my nephews are sooo big but absolutely they both smile at me and then blush. J4 doesn't even remember the first time we met. Great, great boys. Weather... couldn't be better. Had a few problems in LA but the rest of the trip has been fabulous. Will need SPF 30 for the trip back to LA tomorrow. Mileage so far... 1300 miles. Gotta run. Miss you all. Can't wait to catch up.

Short, Sweet Update

Hi everyone! I'm at my sister's right now. Yay! My trip has been wonderful!!! Excellent weather the entire time other than yesterday when it was quite cool. It did rain when I spent the day with Seven and my cousin on the French Quarter but we watched from the safety of "The Chart Room." Seven has already blogged about it and I'll be adding more later. I drove straight through from WV to LA in 14 hours. I drove from LA to TX today... a nice 6 hour jaunt. A funny thing happened in Atchafalaya, Louisiana. Remind me to tell you. I've already seen the beautiful Brighton and met 5/6ths of the family (lovely Annie wasn't home). Brighton is WON-DER-FUL!! More on her later too. Talked to Trashman, Zelda, and Jethro. You should have heard Jethro laugh when I called him "Jethro." I'm meeting up with Z tomorrow after I see about my cell phone. Then Brighton, Travis, Z. and Jeth and I are going out for margaritas. Unfortunately, due to work constraints I won't get to meet T-Man this time around. My sinuses have been bugging the crap out of me!!!!!!! And my hair, dear God, I forgot what humidity does to my hair. Just look on Seven's blog... that will tell ya all you need to know. Talked to Nate today. He misses his Mama but at least he didn't cry. I got him a shark's tooth necklace, a bag of Mardi Gras beads, and my aunt sent him two pearls that my uncle bit into. The food has been ... oh... making me fat. There's a cheesecake place right below my cousin's house. We've been there twice already. I plan on going again before I leave. YUM!! So, that's the short version. Mileage and bathroom breaks will just have to wait until I get home and get myself situated. Catch you guys on the flipside. I'll be checking in before I leave TX.

You know, I'm beginning to believe that old adage.... NO REST FOR THE WICKED!!

Weighing In

I, like everyone else, have an opinion on the Terry Schiavo matter. My opinions are based on this. Excellent website with links to the ACTUAL COURT FINDINGS. The report of the Guardian Ad Litem to Govenor Jeb Bush (December 1, 2003) has one of the most complete timelines as well as investigations into the motives on both sides of the issue, medical findings, prognosis, etc. Its an exceptional document. I'm just trying to spread the facts. That's all I have to say about that. Otherwise, I'm busier than a one-armed paperhanger on crack. My desk is sagging in the middle from the weight of everything I'm trying to accomplish. When I get home today, I will have exactly six hours to make sure a billion things are done before I leave. Okay, maybe I will stay up past midnight. Its almost a certainty, at least until all of the clothes are washed and folded and placed in the appropriate bag for either myself or Nate. I usually travel light but realized that I'm not going somewhere for three days, its going to be over a week. Three pairs of jeans is not going to cut it. I'll have computer capabilities while I'm at my sister's place, Monday through Wednesday. I'll catch up with everyone then. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. On second thought, don't do anything you wouldn't normally do. Doing everything up to what I wouldn't do is sure to get you in trouble. Stay away from the blog water. See you on the flipside.

On The Road Again...

Okay, good for you if you made it through the T-Bird saga. Let’s move on. This trip planning business is a pain in my ass. First, Ye Olde Automobile needed at least two new front tires, a front end alignment, and an oil change. The idiot shop that put my last tires on... oh, they put the wrong size on, yeah, about three sizes too small!!! So, instead of buying two new tires, I now have four! At twice the cost of course. I also have another trip coming up, not real soon, but soon enough and I have to put back money for that. OH, and I haven’t even got the front-end aligned yet or the oil changed. That’s tomorrow... yeah. Okay, it needed done anyway... and frankly, the tires couldn’t have waited. Yeah, one of them had worn funky and you know, all those silver belt thingys were frayed and making my wheel wobble-dobble. Not exactly safe. Hence the front end alignment. Wow, wonder how much my mpg will go up? COST ME 27 FUCKING DOLLARS TO PUT 12.279 GALLONS OF GAS IN MY CAR!!!! I know, what am I complaining about? Hear you peeps in Cali (Aimee, Mike, Jeanette, Gooch, Leese) are paying $3 bucks a gallon. I just want to say, that’s completely fucked up. I guess you want to know how I’m getting there and the when’s and what for’s. I’m leaving Nate’s school at 8:11 a.m. That’s one minute after I drop him off. I will then proceed to get on I-64 West and head toward Lexington, KY, dip South on I-65 and continue on I-65 until I reach Birmingham, AL. From Birmingham I’ll take I-20 to Meridian, MS. I’ll either die of exhaustion here or continue on I-59 (read: continue) to Slidell, LA, and head West on I-12 to my cousin’s place. I may actually nap somewhere in between. Dunno yet. From my trip to AJ’s I know with leaving at 8:00 I should be in Nashville at the latest by 1:30 CST. Given how fast I drove the last time. If not I’ll get there around 2:00. The next leg of the trip is a little over 8 hours if I don’t get stuck in traffic and all that jazz. I thought I would be tired when I got to Nashville, but I was okay. Excitement gets me there. I figure if I can get to Nashville and not collapse until 2:00 a.m. my time... yeah, I can do it. No, I’m not stupid. I’ve pulled over before and napped. Yes, I’ll be careful. My mother has already told me to lock my doors. What AJ and I both neglected to tell you was that my mother sent the, “he may be a serial killer” e-mail before I left for TN. Bwhahahahahahahahahaha!!! I’m not showing her a picture of Trashman before I leave... or that Halloween picture of Zelda and Jethro. Heh. I’ll be stopping in Nashville on my way back through to see AJ and family again. I think I’ll need the rest. Some of you may be wondering why I’m not taking I-77 south. Here’s why. Mountains, tolls, and high winds. Going through Nashville and south from there is almost the exact same distance as going I-77, its just much flatter (better mpg!). I felt very panicky today. I’ve never gone this far for so long and left Nate. Plus, found out more unsavory things about SD today. Yes, it can always be worse. Never, ever, forget that. No, he’s not going to be with SD the entire time but long enough. This is his holiday so there’s not much I can say. He’s knows what’s expected. What I found out though is that SD has been sending Nate and his sister next door to his brother’s house. Enough that they keep clothes over there for them. Uh huh. The local convenience store will no longer sell him beer because in this great state of mine, it is illegal to sell alcohol to a known alcoholic. Seems as though everyone knows but him. Did I tell you how bad he looks? Really bad. Sickly bad. His brother told him, whilst in the midst of WWIII with each other this past week, that he looked like he has AIDS. No offense to sufferes of AIDS but I have to agree. He’s about 6' tall and used to fluctuate between 180 and 220. SD couldn’t be over 150 now. Maybe 140. He’s really, really, really thin. His face is sunk in with big lines in it. Its hard to believe he’s only 42 years old. He looks at least 10 years older. He says he’s just been sick all winter with colds and flu, his stomach hurts, he throws up etc. He abuses his body badly, worse than just booze. Actually, he looks a little like a tweaker too, but I don’t think he’s on meth. He sleeps too much. I guess if someone wants to off themselves, it may not be quick, but its still painful to watch. Some of the panic has subsided. I think it has to do with finances too. But, everything is going okay and unless something is terribly wrong with my car tomorrow... its all a go for Thursday. If you would like for me to wave as I drive past a particular landmark or a road that would take me to you, let me know, and I’ll put it on my map.

T-Bird (Finale)

T-Bird told me on her birthday that its amazing how one person can change so much in such a short period of time. She was talking about me. I think three years is a long time for change but I realized that she wishes three years had made such a dramatic change in her. She has changed. The core of who she is hasn’t changed. Its the way she deals with life that has. T-Bird’s wounds were packed on top of one another very tightly and filtering through them, one at a time, is difficult. Still, she has an insane sense of humor. She says, "I don’t take drugs (medication for depression) so you people can deal with me. I take drugs so I can deal with you." We’ve agreed when the kids are old enough, I get to run Jerk over a with a 4X4 and she gets to run over SD. We’ve contemplated and compared hiding places for bodies, almost been banned from Wally World, called each other in the middle of the night because we’ve done something we shouldn’t have and were in a panic, and speak what the other is thinking. I know if I have a problem, if I want or need advice, she’s there. She’s the first person to stand behind me and push me along. I’m the first to grab her hand and take her with me. For all that, we both know, its really up to us. When I wrote about seeing "8 Mile" it was at T-Bird’s place and I told her later what an inspiration it was to me. "Look, if you had one shot, one opportunity, to seize everything you ever wanted, one moment, would you capture it, or just let it slip?" Having lived the majority of her life in and around the area where Eminem grew up, she has experienced a lot of the same things he had. She didn’t see the same inspiration that I did. It didn’t touch her where it touched me. It was Tim McGraw who touched her. We were on the phone a few days ago, which is what inspired ME to write this series of posts. She asked if I had heard the song, "Live Like You Were Dying." I had heard pieces of the song and knew the story behind it, but not being a country music fan it didn’t really hold that much significance. She told me she had heard the song numerous times but that one day, she really listened to the lyrics and took a look at her life. She said, "I hate to admit it but there’s an dent in the couch where I sit my fat ass all the time. I want to get a job and a life and a future. I’m just sitting here, doing nothing. I’m 32 years old and what do I have to show for it? That song really woke me up and made me realize, I’m not going have all my life to have a life. This is it and I’m not doing everything I can to make it the best." I said, "I’m so proud of you." She paused for a couple of seconds then said, "I am too." Its about damn time girlfriend. Laura Ingalls Wilder once wrote, "Ambition is good servant, but a poor master." I would have to say the same about pride. Being prideful and having pride, are two different things. One dictates to you how to allow pride to stand in the way of those things which make life easier, like forgiveness, the other, propels you forward to be the best you can and to do the best you can because you care about yourself. This is the one thing that has stood in T-Bird’s way. Her inability to love and embrace herself. T-Bird has diabetes and has had to give up her addiction to Mountain Dew. I was shocked. I never thought she would give it up. She’s eating healthier and taking her medication and has lost weight. I mentioned to her that when the weather warmed up a bit we could take the boys to the track down from her house and we could walk while they played. Ha ha ha! I expected her to say, like she always has, "I ain’t fuckin’ walkin’. I hate walkin’." Instead she said, "You know, I was thinking the same thing," and she meant it. Don’t get me wrong, she still irritates the fuck out of me. She’s still sitting at home and has nothing better to do than focus her energies and every thought on her and J3 and her nephew. I can’t fault her for her love for them, that’s for sure. She does tend to be self-centered but when your life revolves around looking at yourself in the mirror, what else do you expect? But I love her. I love her like a sister, and a bratty baby sister. I love her because she smart, and a smart ass. I love how she laughs, even when its at me. I love the way she says, "I was right," even when I have to say, "I know." I love how we try to one up each other on fuck-ups. (T-Bird) "I cheated on my husband" (Nanner) "So, I cheated with someone else’s husband and had his child!" (T) "Okay, you win." (N) "See, I was right!" (T) "You can’t use it like that." (N) "Yes, I can." (T) "No you can’t." (N) "Fuck you." (T) "Fuck you back." But most of all, I’ve learned from her, whether through example or what not to do: When you fuck up, someone’s done it worse. Don’t be a dumbass. If ya ain’t gonna shit, get off the pot. If you can’t drive it, park it. Move, or get the fuck outta the way. Wal-Mart has more security than you think. Say what you mean, and mean what you say. When plotting revenge, always have a wingman more devious than you. K-Y will run down the side of the vehicle instead of staying under the handle. Use Vaseline. And most importantly, you may not always like your friends or what they do, but love is never optional.

T-Bird (Part VII)

T-Bird was not to be deterred by a stubborn ass Nanner. She caught me one night right before Halloween as I was modifying one of my dresses for a Halloween party. How dare she follow me home and insinuate herself in my living room? I was still extremely wary. I didn’t have a lot to say through that evening and early morning. I wondered which body snatcher had taken my T-Bird and replaced her with this rational human being. Who was this woman who was telling me that she was to blame for our problems? Who was this woman who was admitting what a basketcase she is? Who are you? And what did you do with T-Bird? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I circled her like a lioness protecting her cubs. She knew, or so she told me later, if she didn’t grow some brass cajones and basically invade my home and sit there in my face, I would never make the first move to reconcile our relationship. Damn right she was too. Bitch... knows me too fucking well. I had met her halfway for too long, and she knew it. Its not that I wanted her to grovel but I wanted her to know I was fed up and done with the crap. Either she could handle it or she couldn’t. This certainly did not cure what ailed us... or her... or me. We learned though that silence did not mean we were upset with each other. We were finally on the right path together. Again, when things between Lex and I soured it was T-Bird who was there. (Even now, like when he IM’ed me a few days ago and wanted to "get together" she told me to tell him to "go fuck himself." (Such love.) It was around that same time that she really, really hit the skids. This was the true test of the "new" people that we were. She ... has a difficult time handling J3 at times. In other words, he’s rotten spoiled and knows how to push her buttons and manipulate her to get his way. Even if it means she’s might kill him. Bob, while not a saint himself, comes awful damn close. He has stuck by her through thick and thin. More thin. He says its because of J3 but that’s a crock of shit. Bob loves her as much today as he did the first day they met. Why? Because he can see her heart. Bob has spent a lot of time on the 12th level of hell. Good man. Mows my grass to piss T-Bird off. (Jealousy? Yes! What? Didn’t think of that?) One night she was telling me that she had heard the neighbors up the street from her screaming at each other and their baby sitting there squalling during the whole episode. She came home and called the cops. Hmmmm... Not three or four nights later she called me in tizzy. She was fit to be tied over J3. This is one of the things I almost killed her over. I was an eighth of a hair's-breath away from jumping in my car, driving the mile to her house, pulling her into the church parking lot, and opening a can of West Virginia whoop ass. I don’t remember the exact conversation. Too bad, it was a good one. I told her that if she didn’t shut her pie hole that maybe her neighbors would call the cops on her because she didn’t sound any better and the reason J3 acted the way he did was due to his stellar role model - her. Never ask the Nanner a question you don’t want an answer to. She made that mistake. Stiffly, she said good bye and hung the phone up. I figured this would be it. Either she would call me tomorrow and we would talk about it like adults or we wouldn’t. We did. She admitted that I was 100% right and changes needed to take place. Change is so hard. By August, the shit was just flying left and right. I was getting calls from KCZ AND Bob. That means its really bad. I was prepared when T-Bird called in full meltdown. Yes, I had already hashed it out with Bob and KCZ, since I was probably the one person on Earth who could convince her to do the right thing. I suggested she send J3 to visit her brother in Michigan for a few weeks. Her brother has three girls and could use another man in the house. I told her it wasn’t a sin to need a break or to take one. (Yes, she reminded me that I was no better.) I told her I would take J3 to Michigan and pick him up if need be. I also encouraged her to go into an inpatient/outpatient program at the hospital for depression. Surprisingly, she didn’t go off the deep end as usual. She really was looking for a way out. She mentioned calling her dad in California. He had never seen J3 maybe they could go visit. Hmmm... I guess that would do. Her dad did agree and actually bought the tickets for them. She counted down the days (so did we.) California would be good for her. Sort of. First, she realized that the idyllic life she always pictured with her absent father wasn’t so idyllic. His wife is a bitch, her half-brother a spoiled brat, and her step-brother a moron. Ahhh yes, life with dad was not what she had imagined. Still, I think she let go of a lot of old hurt and forged a new relationship with him. As I made my way through the "peeling of the onion" she followed along at a safe distance. When she saw the difference it made in me, she was compelled as well to discuss, more in depth, her feelings and perceptions and how just because someone else’s perception was different than her’s did not make them any more wrong than her. She started back to beauty school but the stress was too great. She switched to a shorter CNA course and graduated at the top of her class. Again, doesn’t mean everything is... peachy keen. She melted down two weeks ago over her mom and Bob called me a work, worried she was going to leave and take J3 to a homeless shelter. I told him to stop buying into that shit and to let her and we’d see how fast I filed a petition to remove J3 from her custody. She still won't talk to me about stuff like this. Why? Because she knows I’ll tell her what an idiot she’s being. She’s tried the "homeless shelter" shit before with me and I said, "Go ahead, but you’re not taking J3 anywhere near one of those places when he has a home to stay in, either with his dad, your mom, or me." Yes, the Nanner has learned how to be brutally honest and not give a shit if she likes it or not. (Last segment... coming up soon)

T-Bird (Part VI)

By the fall of 2000, T-Bird and I were on the outs. I’m not sure when we "made up." It was after she started back on medication. Over the next few years, up until the fall of 2003, we followed a predictable course. Everything would be fine for a while, and then something innocuous would happen and T-Bird would get mad and not speak to me. This isn’t to say that we didn’t have our good times. We sure did. We were also there for each other. It was T-Bird who stood by me through the tough times with Holland. It was T-Bird who went to court with me as a witness and a pillar of strength when I fought for full custody of Nate. We rode the winding roads of WV together searching for my jerk boyfriend. Sometimes it was she who watched over him in an effort to help me. All it got her was felt up. Yes, my boyfriend felt up my best friend. I was there when she got mixed up with her ex-boyfriend (jerk!). I was there when she and Bob divorced (they still live together). I was there when she was mad at everyone, including me. She cried on my shoulder when the jerk betrayed her again. I was there to help her move and rearrange her mom’s storage building in 90 degree weather. (She moved six times after leaving my house.) I can’t say the years were a total disaster or wash. Not at all. They were also, besides the first six months after J3's birth, the most trying times. Her medication was changed as often as her underwear. More and more her past came to haunt her. T-Bird is a survivor. We both love and loathe that about one another. We’re both strong, opinionated women who take no shit. That’s tough when the shit is being dished. The birth of J3 was a turning point for her into darkness. A deep pool of darkness. She often thrashed around trying to keep her head above water yet drug everyone down with her. T-Bird was trying to deal with the demands of parenting, being a wife (or ex-wife), the delayed reaction to the death of her daughter, the omnipresence of her mother, strained relationship with her father, a sister wilder than a buck and more headstrong than T-Bird, her mom, and me combined. Let’s not forget the sexual abuse by her grandfather, who stole her virginity at the age of twelve, and the fondling by her cousin from the time she was six until she was 16. That’s a lot. It seemed as though she would bite into and tear off a chunk only to gag on it. Life was a roller coaster for everyone. I wasn’t much help myself until early 2003. I was just as lost and sick as she was. When I started getting my shit together I became much more aware of where, not just T-Bird, but the whole family was going. We all should have gotten the T-shirt that read "Why are we in hell and how did we get in this handbasket?" Another pattern emerged in which I was afraid to answer the phone because it would be T-Bird wanting something. Money, to borrow my car, watch her kid, talk about herself... something. I was merely a vessel. She teetered closer and closer to the edge. I’ve told T-Bird’s mom, KCZ, on several occasions if she were my mother and interfered as much with my life as she did T-Bird’s I would have kicked her out a long time ago. KCZ, loving though she is, is the most annoying, irritating mother on the Earth. Gossip-mongers the whole lot of them. Life isn’t complete unless she is totally in the middle of everyone’s life (good mechanism to keep from dealing with her own!). Chay... well, as I said before, she inherited the worst from all of us. She’s twelve years younger than T-Bird. Her father, T-Bird’s stepfather, was killed in an industrial accident when she was 2, 3, 4 years old. Yes, this family has been through it. Add her brother into the mix... and his wife... and their three children. C., his wife, and two children disappeared right after the birth of the second baby because KCZ interfered too much. No shit. Everything is fine now but... more stress. Still, as I was trying to pull my shit together, the rest of them were falling apart. I can’t remember exactly why but by J3's 4th birthday, T-Bird and I were once again on the outs. This time she had made me sooooo mad with her bullshit, I said, no more. I was done. Finis. Finite. Finished. Ohhh... the Nanner can have a hard heart. I don’t make people suffer unduly. I don’t play games. I had just finally come to the realization that I was hurting myself and any forward progress by continuing to allow T-Bird to drag me through the briars with her. There would be no reunions or forgiveness. It was over. And even the best laid plans go awry.

T-Bird (Part V)

Anyone who knows me well, knows I’m a rather introverted person. Well, I’m an extrovert/introvert mix. Socially, I’m an extrovert. I don’t have trouble starting conversations and given the right environment, I can be the life of the party. I’m not AS extroverted as I use to be in social situations but I can hold my own. Privately though, I am very, very introverted. I have to have my alone time. I don’t like people in my space. Actually, it depends on the person. If its someone who knows not to touch my shit, we’re okay and I will tolerate them, however, if its someone who doesn’t know that, its very difficult for me to be a gracious hostess. I’m particularly fussy about my desk and even more particular about my computer. Not that my desk is the paradigm of grace, elegance, and cleanliness, its not. I have books stacked on it, thread, beads, beer bottles, candles, scraps of paper, pictures, etc. But to me... its sacred. Hallowed fucking ground... m’kay?!? My computer... my gateway to the world, the memory of my writings, storage place of my thoughts. DON’T. TOUCH. My other stuff, I’m a lot, lot less picky about. Just don’t touch my swan collection. Okay, everything else you can touch. I didn’t really understand how much I was this way until T-Bird, Bob, and J3 moved in. Problem is, T-Bird is the same way, except she had no problems with touching and sharing MY stuff. Yeah, it was going to be a tough two weeks. Hey, we can all put up with something for two weeks, right? Still, she was not the same T-Bird that I had known. I found out she wasn’t on her medication either. Welcome to the roller coaster. The roller coaster of manic depression. Manic depression is marked by extreme highs and extreme lows in mood. Its also marked by substance abuse, promiscuous behavior, stealing, lying, and cheating. Oh, and irrationality and self-centeredness. Did I mention self-centeredness? (This is the way it manifested itself in T-Bird, everyone’s different.) Bob had interviewed for a job and was accepted for the position before they ever moved. Good deal right? Yes, unless that job turns out to be part-time instead of full-time. T-Bird made him quit the job. Uh oh, UH OH! Its really difficult to describe her behavior at this time. And Bob’s for that matter. Since it was Bob who withdrew some of the little money they had and went to a titty bar. Uh huh. He slept on the couch with one eye open for two weeks. As well he should have because not only was T-Bird fit to be tied, so was I. That money was part of what was going to get them out of MY house. If I was miserable, Nate was right behind me. I had to remind T-Bird more than once that, indeed, this was his house and he was only four years old. This was a big change for him. He was not used to having a 10 month old around, or two more adults, or those two adults family milling around. Yes, bad enough though it was that we, the five of us were cramped together, but T-Bird’s mom came by all the time. And she brought her boyfriend, and T-Bird’s sister, and T-Bird’s sister’s boyfriend. Five adults, two teenagers, two children, a ton of shit, all in less than a 1,000 sq. ft. It was hell. Did they call? No. Did they care that they would ‘stop by’ less than half an hour after I got home from work? No. Oh, and those two weeks Bob spent on the couch? That was the 2ND two weeks they were here. Those two weeks melted into another and another. T-Bird and I both were nearing meltdown, both with each other, our kids, and Bob. She was overprotective of J3 to the point it was just flat out ridiculous. She moved in, yet expected Nate and I to make all of the concessions. Like I said, it was difficult as hell to understand her at that time. It was her way or the highway, but it was my highway. She couldn’t seem to get that through her head. I also couldn’t get her to understand that Nate didn’t answer to her. Nate answered to me. I didn’t let Nate pilfer through her things, break toys or personal items, nor did I allow him to hurt J3 in any way... yet... nothing was good enough. By the end of 11 weeks (and after the first wave of bills came in) they finally had gotten the money together to move into an apartment at a complex where Bob was working. No, they didn’t give me a dime to stay with me. T-Bird had gotten food stamps from the State because of Bob’s unemployment and the fact they had a child so she bought the food. Problem is, they also ate the majority of it and didn’t leave it when they left. I asked her if she intended to help pay off her portion of the utilities and she said she would. No, I never got it. In October (they moved in July 4th weekend of 2000) they moved their shit outta my house. Nice friend now aren’t I? Adding insult to injury, they wanted to borrow my key so each of the people helping with the move could come and go at the house without having to wait on someone. I told her she could just leave the door unlocked. Its not like someone was going to come in and make off with their stuff. NO. Okay, FINE! Just get the fuck. Out. Of. My. House! I didn’t help with the move because I was in, ahahhhahahhaha, another wedding! As we got dressed, the gown which I had already tried on, split right up the back seam and the wedding coordinator sewed me into it. So, what happens when I get home? Worn out, I returned home to find no one there, the house locked up tight as a drum. I called all the cell phones, no answer. Not only that, I had to pee. So, I hitched my skirt up, took my shoes and hose off, built a little ladder out of what I had in the yard and put myself through the kitchen window, dress and all. Once I had went to the bathroom, I wiggled and pulled and cussed trying to get that dress off. Finally, I cut it off. Bleh! Stupid dress. Finally, finally they were gone. T-Bird really surprised me by getting misty-eyed when we parted. I felt pretty terrible for plotting her death so frequently. Still, I had no desire to see or talk to her for a while. When I did, I was informed that she was mad at me because I had gotten mad at Bob for taking the money intended to get them out of my house sooner and using it for the titty bar. She felt as though I had no right to be upset. Does the phrase, "fuck you bitch!" mean anything? Needless to say, we parted ways. (This is it for today, unless the Advil I'm getting ready to take gets rid of this fever and aches I've developed.)

T-Bird (Part IV)

Nothing could have prepared me for my return to Michigan. Nothing. The nicest description I can muster is that T-Bird had morphed into a cross between a Mama Grizzly, a barracuda, and a King Cobra. Baby Blues? Bite your tongue. Post partum depression? Pfffffffft! Severe psychosis? Getting warm. Wanna hold the baby? Ummm... no. Change his diaper? Ummmm...no. Feed him his bottle? Ummmmm... no. Nothing anyone did was good enough, if they were allowed to do it at all. Even Bob...especially Bob. I woke up at 3:00 a.m. one morning in time to hear her scream at him, "Its too fucking hot!" Whoaaaa... I drifted back off but woke up when she screamed, "Now it’s too fucking cold!" And "WHAP," the sound of a full baby bottle hitting the wall. What made this worse was I had Nate with me. Nate was three years old and curious about J3 and I watched as Nate approached him in his bouncy chair. Nate reached out and touched J3's hand, causing J3 to startle, a completely normal response for a month old baby. Yet, hell hath no fury as a mother who believes I have allowed my son to ‘scare the shit!’ out of hers. I swear to God, I thought she was going to hit Nate. God help her, she didn’t. She would be dead and I would be blogging from prison. I heard, for the next four days, how I had allowed Nate to scare J3. Reasoning with her? Out of the question. I had watched in abject horror as she watched every. little. move. Nate made. I pointed out to her that she would stand and wait and watch for him to do something she didn’t approve of so she could jump his shit. "Well, this is my house." "Well, he’s my son and I don’t need you to tell me that he has to stand six inches outside the kitchen when he can sit with me." By the end of the week, Nate asked plaintively, "Can we go home now Mom?" Damned if I wasn’t ready. This episode almost ruined our friendship. A fact she’ll freely admit to this day. She’ll freely admit she didn’t deal with Tori’s death until J3 was born. She’ll freely admit she was neurotic. Okay, she still says post partum depression... trust me... neurotic doesn’t come close. The kicker was Nate. When T-Bird came to WV around Thanksgiving, I had pulled out all of my baby clothes to see if she could use anything. My son, Mr. Energy, sat playing with a toy, his back turned to her. He was so quiet, I forgot he was there! Forgot! MY hyper boy was there. Oh, and she didn’t bring J3 with her. Talk about a slap in the face. Yet, Nate’s reaction to her did not go unnoticed. Things had improved some by her next birthday. She had calmed down a bit and was making plans to move back to WV. I can’t say I was overly thrilled but I did offer to house them for the two week transition period. Three adults, two children, less than a thousand square feet... enough furniture for two households. Oy. T-Bird was burned by a kitchen accident when she was a child. It permanently scarred her left shoulder and breast so she was a stickler for kids staying out of the kitchen at her house. But Nate was used to following me everywhere. I used it as an opportunity to teach him the right and wrong way to do things. Yeah, so he could scramble eggs at 4 ... oh well. This is what had gotten him in so much trouble at T-Bird’s apartment. The kitchen. So, when T-Bird and her extended family showed up, Nate was out the door and he met T-Bird halfway across the lawn and said, "This is my house and I’ll go in the kitchen anytime I want." Yep. It was going to be an interesting two weeks.

T-Bird (Part III)

*Scroll down for Parts I and II* I was very much surprised at T-Bird’s "resilience." She’s not a weak person by any means, but working your way through a trauma such as the loss of child is trying on the most solid of psychologies. I talked to Bob a few times to find out if she was fibbing to me about how she was doing. I talked to her mom too. No, she was doing good, compared to what could be going on. Nate and I drove to Michigan in March, 1998, as a surprise to celebrate her birthday. She was very heavy. The heaviest I had yet to see her. Being five foot nothin’ doesn’t get you far. When she was diagnosed bi-polar, she was placed on lithium, which caused horrible weight gain, not to mention the other side effects. It was good to see her though, even if the time was super short. I believe we may have visited two or three times until Christmas of that same year and she had lost a little weight. During Christmas she told me that she had gone off the pill. I didn’t say anything and neither did she, but two things hung over us that evening. The first was Tori, the second was that it had taken T-Bird almost three years to get pregnant with her. (T-Bird hadn’t used birth control in five years, but she was with Bob three years prior to conceiving Tori.) No sooner had they returned to Michigan than they had to turn around and come back due to a death in the family. While here, she stopped by my place. She didn’t look so good. She said she had been throwing up. *Eyebrows raised* She said, "No, I took a piss test. It was negative." Uh huh. So was her first, second, and third ones with Tori. Schorrrrrrrr... uh huh. Right. Next baby... due October 9. T-Bird had it rough. She went to a specialist who recommended a cerclage. Cerclage you ask? A great big staple for the cervix... to keep it shut. He believed premature dilation of the cervix caused the tear, leakage, etc. I raised my eyebrows. I believed that as much as I believed the moon is made of cheese. Yes, he’s a specialist. Yes, he goes to fancy schmancy seminars. I got something on him though... I’m a woman. I’m a mother. I was there. He’s looking at medical records from individuals who were in a stressful situation. The Nanner knows. Trust me. M’kay? Tori got here with T-Bird dilating to a whopping 5-6 cm. T-Bird and I kept in very close contact, to the point when I would answer the phone it was a race to see who blurted out, "What’s wrong?" vs. "Nothing’s wrong!" first. She made it through the cerclage. Then developed gestational diabetes. Then high blood pressure. She couldn’t eat sugar, pasta, or potatoes. Had to give herself shots. Wasn’t allowed to climb her steps more than once a day. No driving and... no sex. That’s right. With the cerclage being a foreign body it is more susceptible to infection... so no sex. No getting hot and bothered even. We all breathed a little easier as she eased past the 25 week mark. I went to Michigan for the baby shower and then it was just a matter of waiting. T-Bird called me the first week of September. The baby was head down and doing fine. Her blood pressure though was another story. She was starting to swell and develop pre-eclampsia. They removed the cerclage. The doctor was putting her in the hospital for a non-stress test, ultrasound, and amniocentesis. She had always told me she wanted me there when she had Tori and now, her son, J3. I told her I would make plans and for her to call me following the amnio. She called the next day around 10 o’clock. The amnio was good, J3's lungs were developed and it was time to induce labor. I left West Virginia by 6:00 p.m. and should have been to the hospital no later than 1:00 a.m. That is until they let T-Bird have the phone while I was trying to find the hospital. She turned me around within a mile of the hospital and sent me into downtown Detroit. Downtown. Detroit. At. 1:00 a.m. Every time I would try to make my way out of center city I would be on the wrong road and almost went to Canada a half dozen times. Finally, finally... I made it back onto the right road (by ignoring the directions of the people at the hospital) and by the time I got there, it was 2:00 a.m. I met her mom in the hallway and she had the "worried Mom"look. She waved me into the room. T-Bird was not doing well at all. They had oxygen on her, more wires and cords than a motherboard, and I watched as her eyes slid open, hazy. Her stomach was trembling as she contracted but she was hardly on this planet. I left the room and faced down her mom. I knew something was wrong and why weren’t they doing a C-section? KCZ (T-Bird’s mom) said they were just waiting for the doctor, he was on his way to do an assessment. Damn doctor. Assessment my ass. She was stuck and had been stuck at 5-6 cm. (thank you VERY much). Now her blood pressure was spiking into stroke range. The doctor came down the hallway, disappeared into her room, came out, and proclaimed, "We need to do a C-section." Duh. KCZ’s friend punched me in the arm, hard, and hissed, "Somebody was just waiting on you to get here." I went back into T-Bird’s room and she was much more coherent. I took a hold of her hand and she pulled me close to her, pulled her mask off and said, "I’m scared Nanna." Tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes and I reassured her that she had made it this far and comparatively, J3 was doing much better than her. He had just started showing signs of distress when they took her in for the C-section. We all collapsed in the waiting room. I pulled my knees up under my chin and fell asleep. I woke up when the door to the waiting room opened. It was Bob. We had a healthy baby boy and one very ill Mommy. J3 lay red and squalling like the whole world was his enemy. Music to our ears. T-Bird was still hazy from the anesthesia but her blood pressure had now bottomed out and she was put in intensive care. It was 7:00 a.m. before Bob and I staggered back to his and T-Bird’s apartment. I collapsed on the couch and he stretched out on the floor. By 11:00 we were back up and on our way to breakfast. (Nanner must have breakfast... Bob knows this.) T-Bird was not doing well at all. She had even yet to hold J3. To have gone through so much, now she wasn’t even capable of holding him. Her mom and I took turns sitting beside of her bed with J3 propped up in her arms for short periods of time. She was running a fever. Somewhat coherent. She knew she had the baby. She knew he was okay. She knew this because we repeated it every time she woke up and asked. By the next morning her fever had broken and with the assistance of us and the nurses, she was able to hold and start to care for J3. I left that Sunday and told her I would return the following month. Little did I know, little did any of us suspect... the shit storm to come.

T-Bird (Part II)

* Scroll down for Part I* Six weeks to the day after Nate was born, T-Bird moved back to Michigan. She left Bob behind as he wasn’t certain he wanted to go. I watched as she packed and hugged her tight. The phone lines burned between WV and MI until she came to pick Bob up a few months later. OY, they burned a lot. We were both pretty strapped for cash though and honestly, I can’t remember if she came back to WV before August of 1997. She had called me a couple of months before and asked me to be in her wedding. Then she called a few weeks after that and said, "Oh, you’re going to be an aunt... and a godmother." Wow... a new little one and just 17 months younger than Nate!! I made my first trip to MI in August. It was a late trip and I got stuck behind one of the trains which delayed my arrival into the early morning hours. Didn’t matter! I met her then best friend and maid of honor (MOH) from MI. We stayed up and chatted until the late morning hours and got some shut eye. T-Bird was right at 20 weeks so I could actually tell she was pregnant. She was quite heavy anyway but a pregnant heavy is different. It would be my job to get her to the manicurist on Friday to prepare for the big day. That night we tried to turn in early but the MOH pissed her off over her sister, and tensions flared. We ended up on the curb at an ungodly hour when we should have been sleeping. T-Bird was having serious doubts about marriage. It had nothing to do with Bob, but rather her own insecurities and basic unwillingness to be tied down. I told her it wasn’t too late and then I just listened and hugged her and we made fun of everyone and cussed and cried a bit. She decided, yeah, it was worth it. I can’t say I talked her into, I just let her talk herself into it. Morning came early... and it was off to the hairstylist, make-up, getting dressed, photos, and the wedding, which was performed by her father, who came in from California. While at the reception, MOH and I had to help her use the bathroom. The bathroom was about the size of a port-a-potty and there we were, squeezed in with this big dress. Basically, we held the dress and T-Bird did the rest. Being in such close quarters, it was kind of hard not to notice what was going on below me. T-Bird, at that time, was severely addicted to Mountain Dew and with the stress of everything I was a little worried about her. I noticed her urine was really dark and made mention of it. I told her to drink some water and she scoffed and said it was always like that because she drank so much Mountain Dew. I let it drop. Damn... hindsight is 20/20. Her mother, brother, and I were the only ones who knew where she and Bob were spending their wedding night. Her brother and I went by and delivered some sparkling grape juice and a few other things they had forgotten. I was leaving after breakfast the following morning. I laid my hand on the top of her belly and the baby kicked my hand. Wow! I’ll never forget that. Fuck... hindsight is 20/20. On Tuesday morning, August 12th, the receptionist at my office told me as I walked through the door that T-Bird had called. She was in the hospital, could I wait on her phone call. While I was quizzing the receptionist she called back and I went into the conference room to take it. I picked the phone up and said, "Hey." T-Bird said, "Hey," with tears in her voice. I laid my head on the desk. Fuck. Devastated and heartbroken she told me that she hadn’t been feeling well since the wedding and by Monday evening was having contractions. The amniotic sac had developed, what they believed to be, a small tear which did not heal. Which, yes, may have accounted for the dark "urine" which I saw in the toilet. An infection had developed around her uterus, causing contractions, and premature opening of the cervix. No amount of antibiotics will cure this type of infection. Once it takes hold the only remedy is to deliver the baby and save the mother. So, my little goddaughter, Tori, was born at 20 weeks. Perfect in every way - blond headed, her little eyes fused shut, head barely the size of a lemon, weighing in at just under a pound. She was just ... too small. The doctor said had she been 22 or 23 weeks ... maybe. I desperately wanted to be back in Michigan. There was just no way I could make the trip though. I have to say, out of all the bare financial times of my life, that hurt the worst. Not being able to return to Michigan when T-Bird needed me was just plain, damned ass shitty. I had never experienced anything like this before and had no idea what to do or say. I just... listened. I worried more because T-Bird is bi-polar and only time would tell how she held up against the loss of her daughter.

T-Bird - Part I

We have a love/hate relationship. I’ve blogged about her before. We had the most dubious of beginnings. I believe it was in the parking garage of a local mall when she threatened to kick my ass. Yes, this was our first meeting. She and I babysitted the same little boy while his mother whined about being single and... oh, yeah... lied to us about each other. She was just that type. So, that was our beginning. The Bitch moved to North Carolina and left her son with me. I can’t recall exactly how long it was before she finally came back but it was long enough. She then would bring him back to T-Bird and T-Bird had him at one point for a month. Finally the Bitch came back and got him and then just sort of disappeared with this little guy that T-Bird and I had practically raised and nurtured as our own. This is the reason we started talking. When the Bitch stopped communicating we would call each other to see if the other had heard from them. Eventually, we did start talking about more and by the end of the year, we had shared why we felt such animosity for each other. Trust me, there was no love loss on either side. I hate for someone to lie about me. I can give you plenty of reasons not to like me, don’t make any up. It was the Bitch. I won't get into what all was said... it was not flattering. No wonder she didn't like me. The Bitch came home for Christmas that year and I, three months pregnant, told her to fuck off. What solidified my relationship with T-Bird was when we had our January blizzard and she and her boyfriend (then husband, now ex-husband, live-in) brought me groceries by walking up The Hill (where the trailer park was) because it was just impossible to leave. Before long I was going to their apartment every Saturday for breakfast. I’d call and ask if Bob was up because he was the morning cook. Those were good times. T-Bird and Bob were my best friends throughout the last months of my pregnancy. T-Bird listened as I cried and bitched about SD. I can look back now and say she was pretty stable psychologically at that point. Around July 4th of 1996, she left for a trip to her home state of Michigan and instructed me to not have "that baby" without her. *Salutes* Yes, ma’am. As luck would have it, one of my friends from college, a mother herself, had been the one to go to my childbirth classes with me instead of T-Bird and she was at the beach for July 4th weekend. Even luckier, I went into labor July 7th at 4:00 in the afternoon while I was on the phone with my sister. I had called to wish my nephew a happy birthday. I knew it was a labor pain as opposed to Braxton-Hicks because I had been in labor in May. Plus, SD had just yelled at me and made me cry... which is also the reason I went into labor in May. T-Bird took me to the hospital then too. I called Bob about 7:00. He said T-Bird had left Michigan about the time I went into labor, maybe a little before. I puttered around, struck with that "nesting instinct." Kind of hard to nest though when your belly looks like it has two basketballs in it. T-Bird called and told me she had just gotten home and would be to my house directly. She came in wanting to know where my luggage was and still I puttered. I was wearing a dress she had given me, which even in my advanced stage of pregnancy was still very, very comfy. She made me some toast and urged me to hurry up, which I didn’t. I had no desire to go to the hospital. I was willing to wait it out as long as I could. Finally, I made one last trip to the bathroom before leaving for the hospital. T-Bird yelled down the hallway, "Hey, my Mom thought she had to pee and instead her water broke." Yeah, just guess what happened!! I called her a variety of unbecoming names and was now forced to walk around with a towel between my legs. Oh yeah, this joy was just starting. Nate’s birth itself and aftermath are a few posts unto themselves so I’ll just tell you that T-Bird was there during my labor, part of which she slept through (lucky her), she was the one who helped shove my ankles to my earlobes, and she was right there as they laid Nate in my arms the first time and we cried together. Life though... takes funny turns.

Things I Thought

*Ring* *Ring* Nanner: (looks at Caller ID) *groan* Hello Sperm Donor: Didya get that newspaper? Nanner: Yeah, its out in the car. SD: Whatta you mean its out in the car? Nanner : I mean, numb nuts, its out in the car. Nanner: I went and picked it up this morning and forget to get it out of the car. Nate and I got busy. I’ll have Nate go get it. SD: What the fuck is wrong with you? Nanner: I was young and stupid and co-dependent... got no other excuse. SD: Your son’s name is in the newspaper and you can’t fucking be proud of that? Nanner: Geeeee... your son was BORN and you refused to sign the paternity papers... let’s talk about proud here fuckerrrrrrr. SD: I... I... saw it this morning and I’m sorry I wasted my time fuckin’ callin’ you. Nanner: Damn, what is that under my fingernail... gross... Oh yeah, sorry you fuckin’ called me too putz. SD: You can’t fuckin’ just get the goddamn newspaper! Nanner: You can’t get a life? SD: Heh, well fuck you bitch. I never had my name in the newspaper. Nanner: Excuse me? How ‘bout when you were arrested for assaulting your girlfriend? How easy we forget. SD: So my parents could tell me how proud they were. Nanner: I’m beginning to see the reason for that. SD: You never fuckin’ tell him your proud. Nanner: Fuck you Jeff. You don’t know what I say. Nanner: *Note to self* Call Trashman. SD: I see I fuckin’ wasted my time calling you. I fuckin’ wasted my time. Nanner: And you have now wasted 10 minutes of my time that I will never regain. You’re also using my oxygen. You’re so pathetic. Nanner: Nate, your dad’s on the phone. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * What was so important, you ask? Why was I being such a bad parent? Because they list the bowling league scores every Sunday from the previous week. All 400 of them. Nate’s name was about this big squished among 399 other names, with his bowling score beside of it. I’m all for praising my son. There is such a thing called "false pride." Making a big deal out of something very small, which the child then knows is over blown. Nate looked at me as I was leaving the room, giving me that, "MOM!! Come and get him off the phone" look. I shook my head. He nodded his vigorously. I shook mine vigorously as he answered, "Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh." I skulked off to the computer room but Nate was not to be outdone. He followed me two minutes later. "Yeah, okay, uh huh, uh huh, yeah, okay wellIgottagohere’smymom." Nooooo... I shook my head at him and he shook his head at me and pointed at the phone. I rolled my eyes and took it from him. You done? Yeah. Bye. *Click*

Cycles

That is the number one reason I have worked hard at getting my life on track or, a different cycle. Once I separated the co-dependency from the empathy, I set out on this journey to change my attitude, change my life, change the way I looked at life, the people in it, and to become comfortable in my own skin and my ability to make good choices. Once I had a name for it, I felt like I could fight it or embrace it, which ever worked better. Empathy is innate. It can be controlled or turned off, but what fun is that? Co-dependency is a learned response. I had to re-learn healthy responses to situations. I had to re-learn boundaries. I had to learn to recognize the triggers which invoked unhealthy responses. The biggest of those is the fear of abandonment. I’m sure a lot of people believe abandonment is a physical manifestation. Someone in your life walks away. The reality is that its also an emotional stiff arm. They withdraw and become moody, no affection, won’t speak to you, if you do try, they will say, "Its not like you care," or other similar things. This conditions a response to acquiesce to their demands, to "give in" so as not to lose that person or to quiet the home. I’m not sure about other people, but that started very early in my life. I was very young and can remember being put in the position of my mother’s emotional crutch. The guilt trips, the sobbing, the alienation between my father and I because I had to be on "her side," the manipulation of my feelings by her telling me liked my brother better... it all boiled down into how I responded to situations. Its always easy to blame someone isn’t it? My mother was merely continuing the cycle from her family, as her mom or dad did from their family and back to wherever it started. My mom is what reformed alcoholics call "a dry drunk." She carries the characteristics of alcoholics, but doesn’t drink. Given the number of alcoholics in my extended family... I can see this very clearly. She was conditioned and she passed it along. When I recognized the cycle, I recognized my son as being "at risk." Regardless of how much we don’t want to, it is a learned behavior, and it will be passed on unless the cycle is broken. Until I learned to think differently, until I learned to react differently, I was going to pass it on. I was going to sentence my son to my own prison. Its bad enough his dad is an alcoholic, let’s not add insult to injury. No one is going to have a charmed life. Anyone who says they do is hiding something sinister in their soul. They’re the normal guy next door who turns out to be a serial killer or the lady who kills her kids. I was going to put this off and perhaps not even write about it. I knew why I had done what I had done. It was as much for me as for Nate. What drove it home though, was the death of my cousin. Little Gabriel, who I blogged about in September of last year. He was born severely premature and had numerous problems. Bowel blockages, laser surgery on his retinas, and a host of other medical conditions inherent to premature infants. When privileged to the intimacies of familial relationships, it is quite evident, starting with Gabriel’s great-great grandmother (my paternal grandmother), the cycle which has perpetually repeated itself. My grandmother, according to her sister, became a different woman when she was told at the age of 18, the man she believed to be her father, a man she loved, respected, and by all accounts, adored, was not her biological father. My grandmother was the oldest of several children, the exact number fails me and was placed in charge of her younger siblings while her mother entered into marriage after marriage (ending with number 5). I can’t imagine what effect this would have had on her. I just know what kind of woman she was. Hard and harsh; loving came much later and much too late. She in turn had six children in seven or eight years and her eldest daughter, my dad’s sister, was placed in charge of them and basically raised them even at her young age. She married young to escape that responsibility, stepping right into a relationship with a man who was merely the male version of her mother. She stepped right into the responsibility of having her own children, stair steps themselves, and again, placed the care of those children onto her eldest daughter and first child, my cousin Jo, while she catered to the psychologically and physically abusive, emotionally withdrawn wretch of a husband. Jo married young and had her first child by 17 or 18. Her husband was an alcoholic, abusive piece of shit. I can remember Grandma and us, my mom, brother and I, going to pick Jo up because Ray was threatening to kill her with a shotgun. My Grandma always drove a Cadillac... the monster Cadillac with the bench seat in the back big enough for all of her 13 grandchildren (at least it seemed to a 9 or 10 year old). Jo eventually left him but didn’t take her son because Ray, again, threatened to kill her. He lost custody of Scottie a number of years later to the State and he was adopted by another family. Jo went on to marry three more times and have two more children. Her second son committed suicide about three years ago, maybe four, when he became depressed over his inability to provide for himself and his pregnant girlfriend. Her daughter, Gabriel’s mother, was born severely premature herself, and likewise had both of her sons’ prematurely. Jo and her daughter, as a great number of mothers and daughters, have a love-hate relationship. They believe in self-medicating what ails them by whatever means available. Let’s say that Jo used to and Angela has taken over that position. Angela’s first son (he’s two or three years old) has been sexually abused by his father and he’s currently facing charges on that. And while little Gabriel lay dying in his crib, his mother was so screwed up on drugs, she had no idea her son was in mortal peril. At this point, I don’t have enough details to rule out the possibility she PUT him in that mortal peril. I’m disgusted. I’m saddened. Perhaps little Gabe is better off. Its a recipe for disaster when you have a special needs child and an immature, drug abusing, reality bending, parent. I’m also angry that the State would put him back in his mother’s custody. But, we should all realize how difficult it is to place such a special child, even though Jo was more than willing to take him, like she’s taken his brother to protect him. Jo can see what is happening. She’s street wise and has finally woke up to what is happening and what has happened. The weight of it is slowly killing her. Her grandmother took no responsibility and gave no love. Neither did her mother. Neither does her daughter. Her grandchildren are innocent. She’s standing in the middle, watching it revolve around her. Where will it stop? For me, it stops here. No ones life is perfect. We cannot create a perfect existence for our children. We can only give them our support and the tools in which to make informed decisions, to hopefully make the right choices, to be self-aware, to dodge the worst of situations, to not repeat our patterns, while still giving them the space they need to make their mistakes and learn from them. How can something that sounds so simple, be so difficult? Good in theory, harsh in reality? Life is certainly not for the squeamish.

QUICKIE!!!

Grrrrrrrrrrr... I'm so menacing aren't I? I got too much stuffs ta do. Clients irritating the shit out of me!!! WHINING!! SHUT. UP. SHUTUPSHUTUP!!! Grrrrrr... Anyway... Short stuffs: I did forget to print out the map to Nashville before I left last weekend. Oops. Now I have a KY/TN map and I found an awesome little atlas for 10 dallah. I rule. Go to Cybeles and wish her friendTim's friend Jim a big get well. Jim is having a nasty time with his pancreas. See if you can make your get-well note funnier than mine. What? I'm not telling you what I wrote!! I wanna keep the advantage. Also check out her buddy Tim's comics. Hilarious. I almost fell asleep face down on my keyboard last night. I've been smiling a lot lately. I'm getting a little nervous about my trip to NOLA/Houston. I've never driven that far by myself before. Alone. But, I know I'm never truly alone. Just wish those spirits could take over at the wheel occasionally. I got pissy last night when I realized that... I still feel that little pull towards where I used to be... or rather, the feelings that could take me there. Then I remembered this: "We are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind's door at 4am of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget." --- Joan Didion I'll just keep nodding. From a distance. Not up close. I'll just stay back here and raise my chin silently, maybe give a small wave. But from back here. I gotta go. Duty calls. Keep smilin'. I am. :o)

What It Was Really Like

I turn the corner and strain to see the two blocks to my house. Is he there? Its Friday. Its payday. The first butterfly starts fluttering. In the house, there is a damp towel in the bathroom and the smell of his cologne still lingers. Bastard. Fucker takes off so he doesn’t have to face me. He doesn’t have to work tonight. There is no note. I make dinner. Nate chatters away about his day and I force myself to take a bite but I’m sick to my stomach and I push the plate away. I watch the clock. I jump every time the phone rings. I let Nate stay up late. After he drifts off, I wander the house, picking up one of my favorite books. I find myself barely reading, just skimming. I know all the words anyway. I wash dishes so I can see him when he comes home. The phone is right behind me if he calls. I leave the front door open as I try to watch a movie and when I hear a car, I stand up and walk to the door. As the car goes past, I stand there for a long time before I step out on the porch, as if this will bring him home sooner. I sit on the top step, the phone by my side. I smoke. I stare. I push the feelings welling inside of me down. I pet Smokey, who purrs against my hand. I talk to him as though he can understand. Maybe he does. Maybe he feels my anxiety. Its bad. My stomach is tied up so bad I feel sick. I try not to cry. I try not to strain to hear the sound of his car. I try not to look... again...again... and again down the street. I finally go in the house and turn on another movie. I’m tired but the more my stomach twists, the more I want to cry, and the more I keep myself from crying, the more my stomach twists. I lay down on the couch, facing the door, and I pray for sleep. My eyes snap open with each car passing by. I walk to the door and look out again. The slam of a car door. I wait and hear the neighbor’s talking in their smooth Spanish. I walk back and sit with my head propped against the back of the couch. I have a headache now. I keep talking to myself, but I’m not listening. I’m paralyzed by fear. I’m paralyzed by his absence. I hate him. I love him. I hate myself. I lay down again and close my eyes. I open my eyes to thin grey light. I have merely floated through the night, one eye open, one ear cocked, and I’m exhausted. I stumble to the bed and curl myself in a hard little ball. He still isn’t home. I lay staring at the clock, watching the minutes tick off. My stomach hurts so bad, if I don’t cry I’m going to puke and I hate puking. I quietly let them trickle out and I hide my face against the pillow. My body is shaking and I’m cold. I imagine he is there, holding me in his arms, his warm and solid strength, but still the tears come, until I sleep through them. Someone is shaking my arm and I just can’t wake up. I can hear Nate talking, saying my name, but I’m still paralyzed. My body won’t move. Its as though someone has a blindfold over my eyes and I keep trying to tear it off. I can tell the room is bright with sunshine. Its too warm. I swim out of sleep, desperate to see. Nate has climbed on the bed and hugs me and I pull him back with me. We lay and talk, and I tickle him. His laughter makes me smile. I can’t stay in this house today. I take Nate and go to the park. I wear dark glasses to hide my eyes. My head is pounding but the sun is so warm I can’t make myself move to the shade. We eat hotdogs. I eat as much as I can. I dread going home. I dread finding his car there. I dread finding it gone. He’s not there. My stomach kicks in again. I check the Caller ID. No one has called. I sit on the porch while Nate plays, the sun sinks, and finally the air is cool enough to chill. I fix leftovers but I don’t eat. I’m afraid to look at the Caller ID when the phone rings. I’m beginning to believe it will be bad news. He’s crashed his car. He’s dead. He’s killed someone else. He’s in jail. Nate hangs close to me. He hasn’t said anything about Holland being gone. Jessie, our Yorkie, hangs close too. She’s Holland’s baby. I turn the TV on, but don’t watch it. I have a book in my lap, but don’t read it. I have a phone beside of me that’s not ringing. I’m trying to be numb. I’m trying not to wonder if he’s dead. Yet, part of me hopes he is gone. Nate falls asleep in the crook of my arm. I get up and carry him to bed. I turn out the lights. I lay down in our bed. I stare at the ceiling. Then the clock. Then the wall. Then the ceiling. My eyes fly open. Through sleep and distance, I heard the key in the lock. I scoot off the bed and meet him, staggering, in the living room. The smell hits me before he stumbles into me. The sickly sweet smell of alcohol evaporating from his pores along with sweat, smoke fumes, and... perfume. My stomach rolls as he pushes me aside and I let him go. I stand in that spot as I hear him collapse onto the bed. He doesn’t yell for me. His keys are laying on the floor. I go out to his car. I rifle through the empty beer bottles, snuff cans, snack wrappers, cigarette packs, a fast-food bag. I find a couple of unopened beers. I pour them out. I find a half empty bottle of Crown Royal under the driver’s seat. I hate it. I know how expensive it is. I pour it out and shake the bottle. I want to smash it on the street. I throw the bottle across the fence, onto the railroad tracks. The sound of shattering glass breaks the silence. Nothing happens. No lights come on. No doors are opened. I close the car door and go back in the house. My feet are cold and wet from the dew. I walk into the bedroom. He’s laying face down, fully clothed, shoes still on. I wrestle his shoes off. He doesn’t move. I’m glad. His wallet is still in his back pocket. He’s so very picky about it. I know he’ll be angry if he catches me going through it. He’s so fucking drunk, he’ll never know. I turn the light on and sit on the edge of the dresser, my feet propped up on the bed. His eyelids never flicker. I sit and watch him sleep, his raspy snores and stench filling the air. I know its dangerous, like reading someone’s diary. You may find out things you wish you didn’t know. I don’t care. It takes a bit of tugging to get it out and he shifts. I feel guilty but it doesn’t stop me. The wallet is warm and wet. It smells. I pull out his check stub and then his money. He has $17.00 in one dollar bills. From an over $450 paycheck, he has $17.00. In one dollar bills. Seventeen. 17. One. 1. Dollar. Bills. I wonder what he paid for. I wonder if she is prettier than me. I wonder if this is the first time. Are her eyes bluer? Her skin clearer? I’m sure she has no stretch marks. Is her hair longer? Does he love her? I fold the bills. I wonder if he fucked her. If it’s the first time he’s fucked her. How long he’s been fucking her? Is he going to leave me for her? Does he make fun of me to her? I’m so embarrassed to think of the secrets he knows. My stomach hurts so bad I double over. I can only crawl across him and scoot myself against the padded frame. I lay my cheek on the mattress, the swell and recede of the water soothing me. He has all the pillows. He’s laying on the covers. I pull the sheet over me and tears run from the corner of my eye, over the bridge of my nose and slide down the other side. I stare at him for a very long time. I’m being pulled across the bed. I reach out for the railing but I miss it. He’s not awake, but he’s alive. I’m wide awake. I know what he will do if I let him. His hands are on my hipbones and I push down on them. I know better than to struggle too much. It just makes him tighten his arms. I start talking softly to him. Sometimes its enough but he’s just too drunk. He’s acting out his past. He’s acting out his pain. I can’t let him though. He pulls on my underwear until it bites into my skin and for every inch he pulls them down, I pull them up an inch. His left arm snakes around my shoulder and neck, pulling me back against him. So many thoughts in my mind. I can’t breath. My hands go to his arm. I know I can breath. I’m just scared. His right hand pulls on my panties again. I can’t fight a battle on two fronts. I pull my feet under me and push against his thighs, moving my lower body up and away from him. He’s supposed to stop by now. The pressure around my neck is loosened. We are both still. I feel his hands tighten, and he jerks me back against him. The snap and open zipper from his pants are digging into my cheeks. He tries to remove his penis but I keep pushing against him with my feet and he can’t. He relaxes his hand on my hip. He has tucked me against his body but he is relaxed. He’s not alive anymore. I’m exhausted and afraid to move. I finally wiggle my panties back in place. He’s not letting go. Something is wrong. He’s laying half on me. I know what has happened. I can only scoot out from under him. The back of my panties, the back of the shirt, and part of my hair are soaked. The acrid smell of urine is nauseating. I crawl out of the bed. I’m crying before I reach the bathroom door. I strip and throw the clothes in the garbage. I run the water and wash myself as though I’m covered in fire ants. I can’t clean enough, fast enough. I don’t realize until my skin stops crawling that I have been sobbing out loud. I rest my head against the shower wall and cry. I keep talking to myself, but I’m not listening. **************************************************** That was me three years ago. I don’t want your sympathy, nor your pity, and I hope to God you cannot empathize with anything I wrote. If I could turn off comments, I would. There’s nothing left to say other than, that’s not me anymore. It will never be me again. Do not ever think that I haven’t learned what is good for me and what is bad ************************************************** Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights. But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge. You would know in words that which you have always known in thought. You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams. And it is well you should. -Kahlil Gibran

Fear & Forgiveness

One of the multitude of things I thought about on my trip to and from Nashville was forgiveness. Not just forgiveness towards others but also forgiving ourselves and letting go of any fear associated with the mistakes of our lives, and the fear of repeating them. I have done a lot of stupid things in my life. I have done things that have hurt other people. Some of these have been bigger than others. Sometimes I was the one who facilitated allowing others to hurt me. I own my pain. It is mine. In as much as I allowed others to chip away at me, the person I am, my self-esteem, and assisted in building the wall of self-doubt and mistrust, it is I who chips away at that very thing. I have gotten somewhere, finally. It feels good to look back and say, "I made it." I recognize the ways these things have shaped me and why I am sensitive about particular things. I have also learned that people coming into my life have no idea why and its time I open my mouth and say it. I don't seek sympathy. Life sucks sometimes, we all know it. What I do seek, is to share for the purpose of understanding. Understanding why and how and looking beyond the surface. Fear, in my opinion, only happens when one of two things happen: 1) The situation is, or could be, very, very bad; and 2) The situation is, or could be, very, very good. It dawned on me that when one fears happiness, its not the happiness we fear, its the fear of losing it. Its the fear of giving ourselves over to it, and the fear of it biting us full force on the ass. I believe I have confused some, not just in my life, but in Blogland with my attitude. I think its lead some to believe that I have become so effective at "moving on" that I am callous, unfeeling, and I have numbed myself to any type of emotional pain. Here is where I share for the purpose of understanding, not necessarily so you understand me better but so you may understand everyone better. I have worked my ass off in the past nine months to get where I am. Actually, its been much, much longer than that. The past nine months of blogging have pushed it further than it has ever been. Can I just say, I've learned from the past? I've learned to trust that inner voice? I've learned to heed the tap on the left shoulder? I've learned to listen to myself as opposed to the voices of others? And by voices I mean those from the past, the ones that cut me down. Its not easy. It will never be easy, but its getting easier. It easier to make decisions without questioning myself. Whereas before, I may have bent over backwards to make sure you liked me, anyone for that matter. (Not singling anyone out here or in real life, just speaking in generalities) You may have sensed the fear in me of losing you. It wasn't you though, it was the fear of you leaving me. Why would anyone want that kind of love? That's not love, that's fear. Living under a cloud, the cloud of abandonment. It tickles still. Before it was like a case of poison ivy, now its just a tickle. Excuse me if I have learned to finally see, as clearly as possible, those things which are unhealthy for me. I have learned if it is unhealthy, I don't need it. If I don't need it, I can forget it. I make no excuses for shutting the door on anything which could set me back on my path forward. It doesn't mean I don't feel pain, or disappointment, I've just learned to assign them as much worth as is due them. Do not think there aren't people in my life who if I were to lose them, through whatever means or ends, that I wouldn't be devastated but it wouldn't be because I'm afraid of losing them because I'm psychologically sick. It would be because they mean so much to me, to my heart, and because they hold my heart just as dear to them. I have a letter to write. This is what brought all of this to mind. Its time to close the door a little further on a rough chapter in my life. The Holland Chapter... that's the Ex-Drunk-Boyfriend. The one who is sitting in jail, awaiting his turn for a personalized prison cell. I have every reason to wish him a long and difficult life. However, he's had enough of a difficult life. I could blame him for everything and get by with it. I won't though. I know that he feels guilty for what happened between us. I know he feels guilty for walking out on me and leaving me with all of the debt he had promised to help pay. His AA sponsor told me recently, "He knows we are probably the only two people in his life who ever loved him for who he was, instead of who he could be." We've each had enough. He should not have taken advantage of my love for him. I should not have let him take advantage of me. I have forgiven myself for allowing it to happen; for facilitating it even. I want Holland to know that. It doesn't mean I'm happy about him shirking his responsibilities, but the time for finger pointing is over. I want Holland to let go of any guilt he feels over me, Nate, and our relationship. I also want him to know that Nate still talks about him, almost three years later. I want him to know that Nate loved him just because he was Holland. Because he took time to let Nate help when he was more of a hindrance. I just want him to have that to hold on to. He made the remark six months after he left, that he was surprised that Nate remembered him. Nate has never forgotten. Nate will never forget. I think having the unconditional love of a child is worth holding on to. I just want him to know that I've forgiven him and I wouldn't be the person I am today without him having been in my life. As for me, I've spent most of my life, not all, but most, either being in unhealthy relationships or recovering from them. I don't ever want to forget that. I never want to forget where I have been. For 34 years I've learned how adversity, pain, poverty, unhappiness, and unhealthiness can change me and how I can change myself. I've learned how one child can bring out more love and inner strength than I ever imagined. Its time though, to find out what love can do. Its time to learn how sharing the inner machinations of myself doesn't have to make me vulnerable in ways I don't want to be. Intimacy is born from vulnerability. Intimacy cannot be achieved without revealing our innermost workings, desires, dreams, disappointments, insecurities, and trusting the other person will realize when we reveal ourselves, they are then entrusted with the most fragile seeds of our heart, as we are their's. Tend their garden, yet tend your own just the same. And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. Khalil Gibran (from The Prophet)

You Are Soooo Ugly!

Yes, that's what AJ said to me in the parking lot of my hotel as he was climbing out of his car at 1:00. I hugged him anyway! Wow, what can I say about Mr. AJ? I had talked to AJ on the phone on more than one occasion so I already knew what his voice sounded like. Appearance wise, he's thinner than the picture on his blog right now. He has just gotten a haircut so he looked especially spiffed up. And... we were wearing the same thing... blue jeans and black turtlenecks... weird. But let me say, that AJ is a very attractive man who doesn't look close to his age. We left and took the five minute or so ride to his house where I met his wife, Michelle, and I was lucky that his daughter Amy was in from college so I got to meet her too. Michelle is a very warm, very, very pretty lady. She was happy to give me the ten cent guided tour around Casa AJ/Michelle and share their decorating schemes and her incredible collection of Longaberger baskets. She and Amy were going to the mall so we said good-bye and AJ showed me his dungeon, I mean loft, where he creates his masterpieces. We were then off to Frist Museum (ahem, that is after AJ realized he had locked his keys in the house and had to, you know, "break in" to retrieve them. THEN, we left for the Frist Museum.) They had lovely photographs on the walls leading around of Holocaust survivors. It would be worth it to just go back for those. I saw a great many quilts and other artwork and beautiful costumes made by clothing designer, Manuel. Naturally, we talked the entire time about everything. Everything. We were both starving and stopped at... uh... that place with the band.. AJ can tell you and I had an INCREDIBLE fried catfish sammich. So good make ya wanna slap yo momma. Half-heartedly went shopping, although we did see some outrageously funny shot glasses. One said, "Give me another, you're still ugly." *Laughs* We walked back to the car and left to tour Opryland Hotel. Wow! What an impressive piece of architecture! We took pictures on the sweeping double staircase (think Gone With The Wind or Titanic). The atrium is incredible. We got Ben & Jerry's and sat on one the multitude of benches in the quiet atmosphere. I'll post pics sometime this week. Then we went to 3rd and Lindsley to see the band Fab, who are a Beatles cover band. Incredible musicians and singers and revealed to me the simplicity and the complexity of the Beatles. AJ and I drank a few beers and sang along with the tunes. That pretty much did me in and we went and checked me into the hotel and agreed to meet in the morning at 8:30 for breakfast. I woke up at my normal time, except it was an hour earlier in Nashville. I was ready when AJ got there, I checked out, and we went to Cracker Barrel for breakfast. The waitress there was kind enough to take pictures of us together and our massive morning spread. We took up a table for quite a while, running over our allotment of 1 1/2 hours. It was close to 10:30 when I hugged him one last time and told him I would be back in May for the Rennaisance Festival. Since then, I realized that I will indeed be back through there on my trip to NOLA and plan on stopping in Nashville on my return trip. AJ and I discussed many personal things and, of course, things about the Blogosphere and especially the perceptions that other bloggers have of us and our perceptions of each other. I thought AJ was a bit more serious than how he came across on the phone but we were discussing fairly serious subject matter. Then we got a few beers in us and we're sitting there singing along with the Beatles. I could say more, and perhaps one day I will when AJ is ready to blog about that serious subject matter. AJ is a great friend; someone I can agree to disagree with and know that will be respected. I look forward to seeing him and his family again. Well, damn. I miss you AJ. ********************************************** Stats: Total mileage: 866 miles/1393km. Gas mileage: 43 mpg. Travel time: 13 hours Time with AJ: 14 1/2 hours Sleep/personal time: 7 hours Cups of Coffee: 10 Beers: 5 Meals: 2 Average speed: (Southbound) 62 mph. (Northbound) 78 mph. # of police spotted: (Southbound) 2 (Northbound) 2 Detours: 1 on I-64 West due to tractor trailer accident.

Oh, How I Love Thee...

Sorry, no audioblogger today. I just couldn't get my shit together. If I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it right. My excitement level has escalated over the past few hours as I realize that tomorrow I'm going to be hugging AJ. And Jamie will be getting to ESC's place and Aimee will be at her Scrapbooking Expo. What's everybody else doing? Back to AJ and my trip to Nashville. We're meeting about noon and going to the Frist Museum then... anything goes... then dinner and drinks. Considering AJ and I are the human incarnates of the Energizer Bunny, can you imagine? All day, non-stop gabfest. Gab, gab, gab, gab, gab, gab. No laying about, vegemiting in front of the tube. Can't wait... giddy, giddy, giddy, giddy!!! Hope everyone drives safely and all is well. ************ I was looking back over some of my old posts and re-read my 2nd Christmas post. I thought at the time that I had adequately documented my day but I found it woefully lacking regarding the time that I spent with my niece Annie. I go through life feeling as much as I go through life seeing. Nate and my nephews, J1 and J2, have the same type of energy. Its an alert, hyper, spastic, intelligent, seeking, searching, scanning, questioning, move, move, move, go, go, go, motor driven, mind never stops energy. Reminds me of someone else I know, but I can't think of her name. Annie though, Annie is different. She has the intelligence but she's watchful as opposed to seeking. Her alertness is not a head turning alertness, but an internal alertness as though she's contemplating everything. Her smile is warm and happy. J1 was somewhat like that, but J2 was not. J2 is such a cranker! Nate had a warm happy smile but ... its hard to explain the difference in the energy behind it. Its so rare when my brother and SIL come to my parent's house to be able to hear yourself think. After we opened gifts though my dad took the boys up the holler, SIL went to get ready for New Year's Eve, my brother went to Wal-Mart, and my mom cleaned the kitchen. I did with Annie what I did with Nate numerous times as a baby. I laid on the floor, my head propped up by pillows, and sat her up against my raised knees. She was already trying to sit up and she wobbled around a bit as I talked to her. "Look at those fingers and toes and little elbows my Annie girl. You're Aunt Nanna's girl aren't ya?" *Exchange smiles* She reached for my hair and I wrestled it out of her tiny but firm grasp. I picked her up and swung her in the air over my face. (Yes, this is very dangerous. You never know when you're going to have a tummy revolt.) I lowered her until our noses touched and she reached again for my hair and I threw her up in the air and as I caught her she had a little belly laugh. I did it again and again, smiling at her and laughing at her laughing. Then I sat her up against my bent legs again and talk non-sensical things to her and rub her belly with the doll I got her for Christmas. Then I rolled us over in the floor and sat her against my shoulder and watched her little fingers as they flexed and grasped. They learn so much so fast. I marveled at the shape of her forehead (like mine) and the shape of the back of her head (like mine), and her little red, perfectly curved eyebrows (like my brother). I got up and left her sitting, before she realized she didn't have any support and tipped over. I caught her and laid her on her belly, hoping to watch her turn over but she was more interested in a rattle and was content to kick her legs and gurgle. I laid down facing her and she looked up and gave me a wide gummy grin and scrunched her eyes up and gurgled and babbled. I reached out and smoothed her hair across her head and wished she were mine.

Fruit II - Sermonus Interruptus - Irreverent as I can make it....

When Nanner was just a young peach, not yet ripe and full, she was a very sweet little girl, who always did as she was told (shut up). She attended Sunday School and church services with her grandparents at Tinney’s Freewill Baptist Church and on occasion she attended Sunday evening services. This is where our story begins... Jeeezu Keerist, who the hell was that? Never mind. Anyway, yes I was attending church services with my Mamaw and Papaw, here known as ... well... Mamaw and Papaw. My grandparents were well respected members of the congregation and my Papaw served on the Board of Directors for a long time. (They’re actually naming a new wing of the church after him.) I guess you could say, among other things, I did tend to be very smart and perhaps a wee bit precocious (smartass) in those days. I’ve since outgrown that. My Sunday School teacher was a lady who lived down the lane from me and I did like her very much and do to this day. Her daughters were both snobby, spoiled bitches though and the blonde one couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. (Remember... Jesus commanded: Love each other... I’m trying OKAY?) Now, the Sunday School lesson of the day was... What is the fruit of a Chreeestean? That’s "Christian" in WV speak... m’kay? Now being the precocious (smartass) child that I was, I spent a lot of time sitting up straight and following along in my little Precious Child And Holy Hymns Of The Baptist And Beyond All Others, Especially Catholics, Shall Rot In Hell book which was guaranteed to force feed Chreeestean ideologies as surely as squeezing my nose together would eventually make me open my mouth. I do remember that I had questioned my teacher about something pertaining to our lesson about fruits and Chreeesteans and so forth. I remember her giving me a stern look and reeling off scripture like a square dance caller.... "And Jeeezus said, if you think they hate you, well by God, they hated me first, now step to your left and promenade..." As things go I don’t recall much about the Sunday morning sermon because it took all my energy not to fall asleep in the over-heated sanctuary and have my Mamaw poke me with her extremely sharp elbow, which would have made me jump, and would have awakened at least four or five people on the other side of me. That evening however, was a different matter entirely. Without many small children in the congregation to scare with his fiery Baptist antics, Preacher Fleetwood could get a good one going. Now, your sweet, precocious (smartass) Nanner was sitting on the front pew of Tinney’s Freewill Baptist Church, swinging her feet, and looked quite innocent with her big blue eyes and Dorothy Hamill ‘do as Brother Fleetwood kicked the tires and lit the fires of brimstone and salvation. Brother Fleetwood was stern man and I didn’t really much care for him. He seemed normal as he stood behind the pulpit but the further he worked himself out, the worse he became. He used some sort of hair stuff to give him a flattened Oral Roberts look but if he moved around too much, unlike Brother Oral, that hair stuff would feel the spirit and leave Brother Fleetwood brushing his greasy hair out of his eyes like a convict on a chain gang. Brother Fleetwood didn’t just move out from behind the pulpit, oh no, Brother Fleetwood took to the floor... right in front of yours truly. There were two steps leading from the floor to the pulpit and he spent at least half of an hour on each before staggering my way. During this time, I had heard him ask, "What is the fruit of a Chreeestean?" Oh, maybe half a dozen times. The Oral Roberts gel has seen the light and sweat and Brother Fleetwood is brushing his hair from his eyes, and then holding his hands out in front of him, shaking and baking with the power of the Holy Ghost, preachin’ and praisin’, and basically irritating the fuck out of me because he kept asking "What is the fruit of a Chreeestean?" By now... Brother Fleetwood is standing almost directly in front of me as he launches into the pinnacle of his sermon. He’s pounding his fist in his hand, agitating like a washer, red-faced, hair falling down, sweat dripping, bellowing like an auctioneer at the Pearly Gates.... "Now I wanna know... I wanna know... what is the fruit of a Chreeestean? The Bible saaaaays that we must bear fruit and that we are the fruit of Jeeeezus. Yoooouuuuu have been chooosen by Jeeeezus to bear fruit and I wanna knoooooow what is the fruit of a Chreeeestean? And Jeeezus saaaaid to looooove each other as I have looooooved youuuu! Now I wanna knoooooooow WHHHAT IS THE FRUIT OF A CHREEESTEAN?" I don’t know about ya’ll but I was done. Just done. I figured by then that nobody else in the congregation had paid attention in Sundeeeee Schuuuullll and it was up to me to answer his damn question so he would shut the fuck up and stop spraying spit and sweat all over me. "A-nother Chreeestean!" *Silence* Brother Fleetwood stared at me. If he had been a balloon he would have gone... "pffffffffeeeeeefffffffeeeeeeeeeeeeettttthhhuuuupppp" all over the room. *Gulp* Then I heard my grandfather say, "Amen," and a smattering of "amens" came from around the congregation and as Brother Fleetwood turned, my Mamaw knuckled me in the back of the head and hissed, "Don’t speak up during the sermon." "But he asked..." "Hush up." "Yes, Mamaw." It was truly a religious experience.

Fruit - A Sermon, Brought To You By Your Friendly Neighborhood Heathen

*This post will contain my personal thoughts and views on Jesus and the Bible. They may differ from yours. You are entitled to your beliefs as I am entitled to mine. If you find it offensive, please stop reading. I will not try to change your beliefs. Do not try to change mine.* LENGTH WARNING Last night I was chatting and during the course of the conversation I re-enacted a scene from my childhood. Its hard over chat to set the mood for a stormy Baptist sermon. It is though, one of my favorite childhood memories, which I will share with you tomorrow. It was the memory that pushed me today to find the scripture which the sermon was based on. That scripture is John 15: 1-17. For non-Bible scholars, such as myself, this particular group of scripture relates the words of Jesus following what is called among many, The Last Supper. So called because of Leonardo de Vinci’s famous painting by that name. It was actually Passover Feast. I do not believe that Jesus was the son of God. I do not believe that Mary was a virgin. I do not believe that the Bible should be used as a weapon to oppress others. Yet it is. I believe whatever true meaning the Bible held at one time has been lost among those hungry for power and control. It is no secret, I hope, that the Bible today, is surely not 100% indicative of what the original meaning was. King James I, after other attempts by notable individuals (John Wycliffe - William Tyndale), assembled 54 scholars to restate each chapter and page of the Bible in the clearest, most objective translation possible. Then it took seven years for them all to agree on it and print it. If you want me to believe that those 54 scholars didn’t flavor their translations and disagree and change things, I got some nice flat land in West Virginia for sale. The story of Jesus, his birth, life, and death are not new. My namesake, Inanna, as well as others from Ancient Sumer, pre-date Jesus up to 3800 years. Especially the story of Dumuzi, the shepherd king of Uruk, and husband of Inanna, richly parallels that of Jesus. Dumuzi was killed and then rose again. The same thing happened to Inanna... slain, hung around like a slab of beef in a meat freezer for three days and then is restored by the Bread and Water of Life. There are other parallels from ancient cultures. (Just so you know... Sumerian cuneiform was the earliest written language.) I do believe Jesus was a real man and perhaps those parallels were drawn to put him on the same level as the "deities" that came before him. The Bible is full of parables, stories of morality, and metaphors. The Gospel of John relating to the last hours of Jesus’ life is very detailed and doesn’t speak in continued parable or metaphor, although it does contain some of that, otherwise, I think it speaks very plainly. Plus, frankly, why disavow the greatest humanitarian to ever walk on this Earth... and on water *wink*. That’s what the scripture of John 15:1-17 shows me. Taken globally, which I try to do with all sermons I hear, the words of Jesus sum up, what I believe to be, his true purpose on Earth. The things he would want us to learn and to follow. I do have several Bibles in my house. I figure some people may believe I should read them and learn that unless I repent I’m going to burn forever in hell. To each their own. For this though, I will use The New International Version of The Student Bible. I think the difference in how I read the scripture is that I relate the teachings as being from one highly evolved spiritual human to another, or humanity as a whole, as opposed to the relationship between Jesus, God, the church, and the people. Chapter 15 begins, "I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful." (Verses 1,2) Reading this today, I was overcome with the sense of "cleaning house" and letting go of things which are no longer healthy for me. Picking up in verse 4, he says, "No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine." On a humanitarian level, that says that we’re all connected. We belong to the same vine and that is reiterated in verse 5 - "I am the vine; you are the branches..." We are smaller parts of a greater whole. Continuing from verse 5 up to the end of verse 6 - "If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned." The thing that comes to mind here is the Nazis’ during WWII. They stepped away from humanity. Many have followed in their footsteps to equal ends. Some have not yet paid the price for stepping outside of humanity. Yet, they will. Their "branches" will wither and they will die and be burned. That is the warning. The command comes in verse 12 - "My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." (Yes, I skipped some verses - short version below) As I said, I do not believe that Jesus was the son of God, rather a highly evolved spiritual man who loved all. Regardless of their afflictions, station in life, and shortcomings. He loved them all and he was willing to lay his life down for them. To make the ultimate sacrifice based on his love for his fellow man. Not necessarily to perpetuate everlasting life in the kingdom of Heaven, but on the simplest of terms of loving others and realizing that we are all a part of one another. Jesus speaks a lot of commands from him and the Father and following those commands. Jesus’s way of showing, if you only listen and learn, realize you are a part of the whole of humanity, you will experience great joy and will remain a part of that whole, instead of the branch which has been thrown away. Verses 16 and 17 - "You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit - fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other." Some believe that the soul is reincarnated over many lifetimes in order to learn lessons and it is the soul that makes the determination of what life is next based on the lessons that still need to be learned. However, we can all agree that at times in our lives we may think that we did not choose to be born. Yet, you were chosen to be born. Now, this fruit thing. The bearing of fruit. What is your fruit? Ahhh yes grasshoppers... what is your fruit? The question asked in the sermon so many years ago as I sat in the front pew of the Tinney’s Branch Freewill Baptist Church was, "What is the fruit of a Christian?" Their simple answer was: Another Christian. The inference drawn from that is if you live a Christian life as an example, then others will follow. If you teach the word of God, others will come. Problem is, defining a "Christian life" is a simple as missing mud puddles in a downpour. You know what I mean. For some, living a Christian life entails (in addition to the catch-all - one who lives according to the teachings of Jesus) being a missionary. For others, its snake-handling and speaking in tongues or not receiving blood products, not cutting your hair or wearing pants. Christianity varies as much with each religion as it does with each congregation. Each of them missing, perhaps, the simplicity of Jesus and his teachings. Its summed up in verse 17 - "This is my command - love each other." The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition defines "Christian" in its fifth definition as "a loving concern for others; humane." No mention of Jesus. Yet if Jesus were to walk the Earth today, would he prefer that Christianity be defined as a religion founded of his teachings or a state of mind founded on loving one another? So again I ask... what is your fruit? Yes, I am aware that I just took one set of verses from the Bible and spun them with my own interpretation of humanitarianism and my personal beliefs of what the scripture says and who Jesus was. I’ve done nothing more than people around the world have done for centuries, beginning with those 54 scholars in England. Perhaps they enhanced the many fine qualities that Jesus had. Maybe he was fine enough, they didn’t have to. Regardless of who you believe Jesus was... I wish we could all agree on how important his message was... love each other. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give it to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid - Jesus - John 14:27 If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first - Jesus - John 15:18 Love never fails - 1 Corinthians 13:8