My History as a Writer: Part Deux

Before I moved away from home, I hadn’t written a lot, at least I can’t recall if I did. When I got pregnant with Nate, I tried to write, especially about being pregnant, so I could remember and have something for him. I’ve written before about what a painful time in my life that was. The pain continued for quite some time after Nate’s birth. To write, I would have had to see it. To write, I would have had to feel it. To write, I would have had to face it. So I didn’t write. I can’t recall exactly when I stopped. I can’t recall exactly when I started back. I’ll give a good guess and say it was from the end of 1994 to the end of 1997. I probably started with angry letters that I never sent and moved on to poetry. I re-worked some of my older poems but I wasn’t overflowing with ideas. For the next three years I dabbled but didn’t produce anything other than one poem that I would actually let anyone read. I was still stifled. After I met Holland (the drunk), and became entangled in that fiasco, I finally turned back to writing as a release and wrote a lot of poetry, including “Sanctuary,” which I linked back on the “Viva Viggo” post. This was also the time period I was contemplating a few short stories, novellas, and novels - just contemplating. After Holland left in 2002, and I found out AZ had his post office box back to himself, I asked him if I could write to him, like I had many eons ago and he said, “Sure.” *Loud, evil, wicked laughter.* The flood gates opened and the words came out. Many, many words. Each letter was of epic proportions... 15-20-30 pages a piece... sometimes one every other month, one a month, sometimes two or three a month, for about a year and a half. I would mail one and begin another. AZ was my blog... just a private one and one that once the words left, they didn’t get discussed or at least rarely. Looking back, I think that was best. It got me to where I needed to be, and that was dating Lex. Six months later, it got me again to where I needed to be, right here with you. During the time period between 2002 and when I began blogging, I wrote a great deal creatively as well. I finished several short stories, biographical profiles, essays, two novellas, and a lot of poetry. I submitted stories to writing contests and magazines, and even my novella to a publisher. It was discouraging that I wasn't published but it was also encouraging because of the personal positive feedback I received from a few magazine editors and the editor of the publishing house. Just like when the teacher called me to her desk in 1983 and encouraged me to continue writing, it meant as much 20 years later. I didn’t do much creatively, aside from blogging, last year. I was too busy peeling the onion and that takes up a lot of time and energy. But not now. I look at my notes and my research and what I have written so far, and realize... I have two novels, two novellas, two screenplays, and three magazine articles in the works. Its like they’re on a giant CD changer, and every so often that CD changer rotates and whatever comes up is what I work on. The CD changer has landed on “magazine articles” for right now. I have finished one, another is one or two paragraphs from being completed and the last is written in my head and just needs put on paper. I find I work best when I rotate around like that. I can’t imagine going for such a long period of time again and not writing anything... nada, nothing. I’ve learned I’m much happier when I write. It doesn’t matter if I ever sell an article or a novel or anything else. I’m still a writer. I’ll always be a writer.

My History as a Writer

I haven’t always been a writer. For the first 11 years of my life, I didn’t write much more than what I was supposed to. I don’t remember writing creatively or anything special about my writing during that time. I suppose I can credit the British for sparking my writing career. The first poem I ever wrote was about the Falkland Islands' War. So, I can narrow my first creative writing effort to sometime in the Spring of 1982. I also wrote a poem called “Night Light.” It would be the first of many of my poems dealing with darkness, the night, and security issues. I stuck to poems and school assigned writing until 7th grade. Our assignment in 7th grade English was to do a creative writing assignment, a couple of pages perhaps, including all the parts of a story or some junk like that. I asked the teacher (a prolonged substitute) if I could expand and she told me of course. (Yeah, I was a teacher’s dream.) I wrote a short story in the fantasy genre named after an obscure Duran Duran song called, “Secret Oktober.” I even illustrated the covers with the symbols from “Seven and the Ragged Tiger.” (That would be the album from whence “The Reflex” and “Union of the Snake” came.) Perhaps the events from 7th grade are so clear because of my obsession with Duran Duran and the fact the teacher called me to her desk and praised me on my story and told me how impressed she was. I was no longer limited to poetry, having proven myself in the short story realm. The summer between my 7th and 8th grade years I spent an inordinate amount of time at my grandparent’s house, writing. And writing and writing and writing. What was I so busy writing? What is known today, which I did not know then, as fan fiction. At the prompting of my two best buds at the time, equal Duran Duran nuts, I began a saga as only a 13 year old can. I probably wrote, all told, over 200 pages (longhand on college ruled notebook paper) on that story. As our fickle teenage taste swung from Simon to Nick to John to Andy to Roger and back again, and as we squabbled over who WE were going to date, heh, so did the storyline change. I also met Beanie that year, who had just entered 7th grade, and she fit in just perfect. I’m not sure if I included her in the story or not but I think when I started hair band fan fiction she may have been a character. I know I did a bit of hair band fan fiction but not as much as I did the Duranie fiction. In December of 1984, an event occurred which would further spur my writings and that was the death of my band director, Louie. We left from school on Friday, and he stood at the band room door and in his booming voice said, “I’ll see you next week.” He didn’t. He died either that night or the following night of a massive heart attack. Our small community was devastated. He had been the band director when my mom was in the band in 1964. He’s buried within in a mile of my current home. I had never faced death before. I doubt many of us had at that time. The memories have faded a bit over time, but there are many things that still stand out. Crying on the lapels of my other band director and our choir director. Huddling with other members of the band, the announcement that school was canceled the day of the funeral, how the well meaning funeral director tried to pull me closer to the casket and ended up freaking me out. As I entered 9th grade, my reputation preceded me which allowed me a coveted spot in a creative writing class, usually reserved for Seniors. (That’s a trial by fire I STILL have difficulty writing about.) I don’t recall what our first assignment was but I do recall what I wrote about and it was Louie’s death and the affect of his death on those around me, especially Mark, the associate band director, and someone that I was particularly close to (to the extent we didn’t pull a Mary Kay and we actually waited until I was OUT of high school to.... ummm... you get the picture.) Even as I wrote it, I didn’t realize the impact of my words. I didn’t realize the emotion my words would provoke until I read it aloud to my class. I did what I’m doing now, and that is choking up. I didn’t realize that all of the things I felt and saw happening around me, others had too, and when I wrote it down, I captured it, as a time capsule that we would, collectively, always understand. Writing stopped being just a creative outlet. It became an emotional release. My writing began to take on other facets as my world continued to evolve. I carried over my creativity to the yearbook and became copy editor before I was ever in high school. That was between the 8th and 9th grades. (That’s how I got into the creative writing class - the teacher was the yearbook staff advisor.) My Sophomore year I was copy/assistant editor and at the end of my Sophomore year was named editor. My Junior year also propelled my writing. In addition to still writing most of the copy for the yearbook and learning a lot about layouts and editing, I still spent a lot of time writing poetry and journal entries to help me deal with my growing restlessness. I used to pick a song or lyric for everyday of the week. Another coup was our year end World History project. I love history but it can be bland. How about I spice it up a bit? Instead of writing another boring dissertation about the French Revolution, I made up my own characters and inserted them into the events, just like a historical fiction novel (except no sex). I had to fight my history teacher for it back. I’m not sure who won. I know at some point I had seen parts of it floating around but I’m not sure what ever happened to it. Again, a confirmation I needed to keep writing. I was further buoyed by my success at the yearbook conference, in which I beat out 200 other students to win an all expense paid trip to a seminar at the Journalism School at Columbia University in New York City. I did what I had been doing for three years, writing copy. At the end of my junior year, I defected to Germany and barely had time to finish the yearbook for the previous year before I left. Did I mention my yearbook advisor/creative writing teacher was also my German teacher? Did I mention she’s the one responsible for putting that crazy idea in my head? I still love her. I bought two diaries when I arrived in Germany and spent a great deal of time writing letters and in my journal. I mean monster letters, twenty to thirty pages handwritten. My fan fiction continued in a way except I did a Purple Rain type thing where I wrote the storyline around the music and then turned the whole thing into a huge music video production. Hey, I loved that shit. How else could I be Tom Keifer’s sister and kiss Sebastian Bach??? Shut up. College is a writing blur. I know I wrote a lot of angsty (I made that word up) poetry and a lot of letters to AZ and Jeff and I wrote in my diary. I hated my college writing classes and that must be how I ended up in Criminal Justice instead of Journalism. Feh. Bah. *Scowl* I moved away from home and got pregnant with Nate. I stopped writing, not even a grocery list... for a very long time. As this is already pretty long... I’ll continue it tomorrow.

Sultry

Stepping into the night sauna makes me think of melting wax or chewing gum. If you pressed your finger into your skin and lifted it, I can imagine the skin stretching like gum. It makes me think of ice cubes and cold water running down the hollow of my throat, sweat rolling down the center of my spine. Skinny dipping, nudity slicing through water like penguins, breaking the surface, wishing for just a breeze of the arctic. Drifting on a float like a mermaid, hair streaming in the water, unafraid, unabashed of nipples puckering under sensual thoughts. Bullfrogs languidly croaking for mates, lazy crickets, blues on the radio, heavy on the saxophone. Hand fans, ceiling fans, electric fans, whirling, whirling, whirling, moving hot air from place to place to place. Cats, laying in the garden on the Mother’s cool earth, their ears flicking, otherwise showing no signs of life. One glowing cicada emerges from its chitin, and attempts to dry its wings so it can sing its love song. Restless, tossing, sex, steam rising, slipping, sliding, feverish, intense, heat crazed, breathing - heavy like the air - hotter, fingernails sliding on slick, slick, slick skin, skin slick with sweat. Carnal fucking, animals in heat, for we are animals, harsh, sexual words. Moans, gasps, hands and mouth and teeth urging faster and harder, so urgent, out of control, bodies arching, pulses racing and whirling, whirling like the fans, drying the slick sweat, from place to place to place. A cat flicks its ear forward, sensing before seeing, a train in the distance, raising through the night, the earth trembling and creaking, the whistle drowning out the whirling and the croaking and the lazy crickets. The cat watches the train disappear and closes its eyes in the sultry night.

Short Shorts

Storm We had a pretty bad storm last night. Actually, it was those 60 mph winds that took out four limbs from the nabe’s tree. Damn tree is rotten and always loses a bunch of limbs when the wind blows. Lola I went by Lola’s (new) (old) owner’s house to at least leave them a note. Place is empty and there’s a “For Sale” sign in the yard. Neighbor told me they have been gone about two weeks. That’s what I get for giving my cat to a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend. Schtupid peeps. Nate I got very cranky with Nate this morning. He pissed me off. I had taken my keys apart yesterday. I can separate my car keys from my house keys and I thought I had put them back together and hung them on the peg. Well, it was just the house keys on the peg but we found the car key but Nate didn’t put the house keys back on the peg and then of course we couldn’t find them. He said, “Well, if you hadn’t taken them apart then this wouldn’t have happened.” You know who he sounded like? His father. That blaming, accusatory, this-is-all-your-fault attitude. And, me being in a PMS, cranky mood, told him so. Yeah, I told him he sounded like his dad. I shouldn’t have. I know this. It flew all over me like a hot wet blanket, especially since neither of us was “innocent” in the matter. I’ll be damned though if I hear that shit out of my son and I told him that too. Its time for a long talk with that young ‘en. T-Bird Called me this morning, pissed off as well. Her ex had left the keys in the ignition all night with the ignition turned on... so naturally her battery was drained. I hope he hid all sharp objects before she went back in the house. I had to pay the water bill this morning or I would have given her a ride to work. I think we live further apart than we work, and we only live 2 miles apart. I’m not sure if she got a jump for the car or if she’s in jail. Blog Weather I went to the bank a little bit ago and realized how empty the city seemed. There weren’t many people out, hardly any cars, no people on the park benches, or talking on the corner. It seems the heat has driven everyone indoors and those left outside are too weary from it to do much else other than just exist. Even the Blogosphere is slugging along, sedated in the summer doldrums. This didn’t happen last year... because the majority of us had just started blogging in April/May/June and were still getting to know each other. It was all fresh and new. Now, we’re just like an old pair of sweat pants, stained, with a hole in the knee and the half broken elastic in the waistband. Not fit to wear around company but perfect for the company of friends. Sweat pants are welcome here.

You Can Take The Cat Out Of The Home...

But you can't take the home out of the cat. This is Lola, who I gave up for adoption on the Saturday before Father's Day (5 weeks ago). Yesterday, Hagar's wife told me she had seen a black cat on my porch and wondered if I had kept any of my black cats. I told her no. However, last night as I was letting my other cats in to eat I saw this black cat on the porch and recognized her immediately. I picked her up to look at her belly just to make sure, since Lola has a white pelvis and a few white hairs on her neck. Yep, it was Lola. She looked at me guiltily like, "Yep, its me, Lola." I took her in the house and put her down at the food bowl. The other cats came over and smelled her and then licked her so, that was that. Now she's laying alseep on the Christmas tree box. I figure if she made it a little over two miles, crossed the railroad tracks, and evaded the humane officer she can stay. She's in good shape, her fur looks good, I found one flea, and she's not knocked up, at least that I can tell right now. Oh well, what's a witch without a black cat? She'll have to earn her keep though. When I have my big ass pumpkin party, Ms. Lola will have to pose in Halloween pictures. So there. The big puss.

Viva Viggo!

(Inspired by Seamus and his poem post today) Viggo Mortensen is one of my favorite poets. Although many are unaware that "Aragorn/Strider" is also a painter, photographer, and poet and has published several books and started his own publishing company, Perceval Press, for books like his. Books filled with paintings, and poems in paintings, and photographs, and poems with photographs. The website also features political commentary and is anti-war (and anti-Bush). Conservatives have been warned. They also publish fantasy books and other materials which otherwise would not have a place in a typical publishing company. I own two of Viggo’s books ("Recent Forgeries" and "Sign Language") and I’m looking forward to the day I can purchase, "Coincidence of Memory," and the others. When I bought and read/heard "Recent Forgeries" it opened a new world for me in poetry. What? I can do this? I love this!!! WTF? Where have I been??? Of course, poetry, photography, and paintings are entirely subjective and to each their own. However, when I heard Viggo reading his own material on the CD enclosed with "Recent Forgeries," indeed I was overwhelmed. Luckily, someone was kind enough to capture that CD on mp3 and examples of his work can be found here. May I suggest... "Weekends," to date, my favorite poem by Viggo. Medicated lilies are lonely and greedy sick for attention dying for comfort you’re drunk for days Over-burdened moss rotten branches heave slowly with the weak night breeze like a failing heart and gray as the stone wall. The nurse in me won’t let me leave Homemade illness hardens into sugar and batters your speech draping your dry white tongue over your teeth Red pin holes for eyes and your mouth is a smudge Do I have to watch tomorrow afternoon while you keep your face warm with the television and the maple drips on the lawn chairs that flake and rust on the flooded terrace? When you start snoring I’ll take the tray from your lap and tip you over so I can look for the rest of your lunch under the green sofa cushions and probably end up finding those pills you’ve been hiding By the time the clouds dim and I start to see us in the window I’ll be drunk myself and ready to wake you for dinner. I don’t know if all of those words are right. The poem wasn’t actually written out in "Recent Forgeries" it was only on the CD. You can listen to it and see for yourself. At the time I got the book, Holland the Drunk had just moved out so listening to this poem was, in a sense, cathartic. I didn’t feel so alone. Here is the poem I wrote after reading "Recent Forgeries." Strider Stride I do on thin ice spider web cracks I see bubbles beneath my feet Further away from shore I go I should fall through Ice is thinner in the middle Or is it? What if I don’t believe that? Away from the shore I go Stronger I become The bubbles rumble But don’t break Thin ice holds Even the heaviest of hearts I liked it at the time, but now its... eh. Here, though, is one that I still like: Driving They drive so close their auras seep into my car like hazy red stop lights, mixing with blue notes from the radio until the air pulses purple. I turn my blinker on and slow down, confusing them on this exitless highway. Other poetry by yours truly can be found here, here, here, here, here, here and here. The last two are part one and part two. So... check out Viggo, have a great day, and read a poem today.

Argh

I feel crappy. Nate was messing around last night and not wanting to get in the car, being a little silly and I went to pick him up and throw him around a bit and he lifted his feet up and "dead weighted" me. It didn’t hurt at the time. Yet when raised my arms to wash my hair this morning... OH MY GODDESS!!! I am in such extreme pain. It could be worse. I could have spasms, which I don’t. I just have a great big terrible nasty painful, owwy, owwy, owwy, owwy knot in my right shoulder and a smaller terrible nasty painful, owwy, owwy, owwy, owwy knot in my left shoulder. I can’t turn my head very well and every time I move my shoulders pop and crack because the muscle has everything out of alignment back there. I’ve taken four ibuprofen and its barely touched it. I’m contemplating ice or a sledgehammer. If I were at home I would be outside working in the yard and loosening the muscles up, even weedeating in the warm sun... which would feel really good on my shoulder right now. It hurts all the way into my hands... argh. Its gonna be a long day.

*Click* *Click*

Have you clicked your mouse today? How often do you click your mouse? A lot right? We here in Blogland tend to be a fairly creative bunch of peeps. We write and knit and sew and sing and dance and play music, paint, draw, and otherwise create things. If you’re like me though, you wake up all right-brained and ready to march forth into creativity only to have to go to work and become a logical, rational, analytical individual. At least I do. The only creativity I get to exercise at work is how to spin problems out of cases. When I get home, I’m mentally exhausted from forcing my left-brain to override my right-brain so I’m not blogging, writing articles, doodling, and daydreaming my day away. I find if I can just get my brain to click back to the right side I’m fine. Its like its sat over there, dormant, twiddling its tentacles, poking its bulging grey matter, thinking about how it needs to diet, and what a slug it is, wondering when it can come out and play. I like writing at night but I was having problems a few months ago getting my sluggish right brain restarted after a rough day at the office. Until... my keyboard broke. That’s right, just broke. I tried putting my mouse on the right side of my extremely messy, tiny desk but it kept falling off and the wire was just "thismuch" too small to comfortably use it. So, I switched it and put it on top of the printer desk on my left side. Yes, I am ambidextrous but after years of clicking with my right hand it was a little frustrating to remember to use my left middle finger to double click and my left pointer finger to "right" click. Sometimes it still takes conscious effort to get that middle finger to double click. Single clicks are okay, but double clicks are more difficult. The payoff though is that by forcing myself to use the left side of my body for an unusual activity which requires a little more concentration it forces my right-brain to wake up. I believe I read about a similar exercise in Betty Edwards’ "Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain," in which you had to do an exercise with your left-side to prepare you for right-brained activities. Dr. Edwards has a new book out now and an exercise on her website which is linked above. I’ll give you another tip from her book regarding drawing in general. Often when we go to reproduce an image we look at it as a whole. However, if you flip the image upside down it becomes a jumble of lines and curves which forces you to reproduce the angles of the curves and lines instead of attempting the entire thing at once. Additionally, I learned in college to "grid" a photo using a square cut out of a stiff piece of paper. You divided your photo into a scale model and then drew the lines on it and using that stiff piece of paper made sure you can only see one square at a time. This forces you to only draw the lines, curves and shading which is in that small box. That’s your right-brained/drawing lesson for today. Now, go out there and make me proud.

Bad Blogger

Sorry I didn't answer any of the comments from this weekend. I'm a bad blogger!! Forgive me. So, I talked to my cousin PC last night and since he had finished the book, he and I had a gabfest over the still to come (in two or three years... its already killing me) Book 7. I spent the remainder of the weekend doing further research on Jesse James and his connection to my family. I found a very interesting commentary on him posted on another family site which supports my great-great grandmother's assertion that she served him dinner in a boardinghouse in Pikeville, KY, sometime around 1874/1875. Matter of fact, I'm so excited, I'm writing an article on it. I hope though, to actually make it to the area and meet some of my distant relatives, take pictures, etc. I will be contacting the Pike County Historical Society and see if they have anything in their archives NOT related to the Hatfields and McCoys. I'm also working on an article on ADD/ADHD from a personal perspective and on a trip I took to East Germany/Berlin before the Berlin Wall fell. I now feel the need to research National Geographic to see if they have done an article in the last 10 years on an idea I have. Wouldn't that be the shizznet? If National Geographic paid me to do an article? Hey, I aim high!! Anyway... I didn't get a lot of sleep last night and I've got files piled up to my chin, I need more coffee and some sort of sustenance. Happy Monday!! I'll be around to see you guys as soon as I can.

I'm crying too hard to read right now and everytime I get under control enough to read, what I read makes me cry. Funny how you don't realize how much characters in books feel like your family... The strange thing is I predicted what would happen, just last night at the party... I'll say no more.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

They tried to say they didn't have a copy reserved for me but I pulled out my very authentic looking wand and they searched through the receipts and found mine. It was 10 to 12. Shut up. The lady who owns the bookstore is British. We're allowed. I got home at 12:15 a.m. I have made it to Chapter 20, page 423. Absolutely fascinating... I have laughed more at this book than the other's combined but my feeling is the last part of the book will not be as funny as the beginning. (Based on the chapter titles, which I shall not divulge here.) I'm going to get some sleep... no, I'm not sleeping with the book... really. Shut up.

The Votes Are In!

Well, not really but its worth saying that. After much ado about nothing, I'm going to the Harry Potter party as... ahem... a Dementor, sans that weird face. I'll use my own weird face, thank you very much. This time tomorrow I'll be hanging out, waiting for the stroke of midnight. Sadly, Nate will be at his Dad's, but he is asleep in my abaya right now, which is what I'm using as a cover up tomorrow. Not much else going on in this berg other than we continue to wait on the "cool, calm soaking rains" that the weather man has been promising us since Dennis was just a wee small tropical storm. Dennis comes by for about five minutes, drizzled out enough moisture to make it unbearably humid and then goes about his merry way, leaving us dry and unsatisfied. Just like a man! Ooops and I forgot to water my pumpkins. I planted 15 Jack O Lantern seeds and 12 Big Max seeds. If they all hit, I'll have a bumper crop and you're all invited to Inanna's Pumpkin Patch to find your great pumpkin. I may blog a bit more tomorrow... at least to let you know... I GOT IT!!!

Who Shall I Be?

Eeep! Its almost here... the new Harry Potter book. I've already pre-paid for mine at a local bookstore and I was wondering... who am I going to dress up like? My first thought was Nymphadora Tonks from OP. Tonks is an auror and Metamorphamagus, which is someone who can change their appearance at will. I could go as myself and still be Tonks. She's close to my age but I imagine her with short, spiky hair, the look which she favors in the book. Then I thought of Rita Skeeter. I resemble Rita with my glasses, blond hair, and Quik Quotes Quill. Rita was the vicious reporter from GF and OP. Its my understanding she's back in full swing in HBP. Of course, one of my favorite characters, brilliantly portrayed by Emma Thompson in POA, is Professor Trelawney, the divinations teacher. I have the clothes but lack the big eyeglasses. I can also teach divinations myself. Someone suggested one of Tonk's aunt, namely Bellatrix Black LeStrange or Narcissa Black Malfoy. I do not resemble Bellatrix in the least, however, according to the Harry Potter Lexicon, I could easily pass for Narcissa Malfoy. I also thought of Madame Rosmerta, the owner of "The Three Broomsticks," a pub in Hogsmeade, a wizarding village. I just took a couple "Which Harry Potter Character Are You" Quizzes and not surprisingly, they all came back as Hermione. Except one which was based on the secondary characters. According to that one...

...and which lesser Harry Potter character are you?

So, what say you?

Pensive

I was going to write about my weird day, and I still will... right after I fulfill my duties as PimpMistress and present my cousin... PC. Please, stop drooling on your computer screen. It drips into the keyboard and gets gooey. You might short circuit yourself as well. PC is 33, will be 34 in October. He’s got a good job, he’s not a lush or a ladies man, but he’s not exactly the “boy next door” either. Divorced, no children, but Nate gives his 100%, A-1 seal of approval for coolness factor. Nate rarely asks to go anywhere to see anyone but he asks to go to PC’s... might be that XBOX though... I happen to think he’s pretty cool too. PC can be reached at kcwvsp@yahoo.com. *Steps aside to allow stampede to pass* Ahem... now that I’ve done my duty as PimpMistress, we shall now return to the important things... like me. Gentlemen and married women, since all the single ladies went to e-mail PC, its just us, so settle back and drink a beer, belch and fart all you like. No one will be offended. Someone is trying to get my attention... again... or maybe someone is just dropping by to say hello. Three things: 1) On the way to work this morning, after stopping at McDonalds to get Nate his McGriddles fix, we were going down the highway listening to the radio when the station got fuzzy. I looked down and the station had changed BY ITSELF! It had gone from 100.9 to 101.5. Talk about white noise. 2) I was working the front desk today at lunchtime. I was reading and heard the intercom buzz. Either you hit our intercom button once and it rings the desk of the person you want or you hit it twice and it opens the voice system. The phone shows you who is calling or their extension. It was one of our two partners but I knew he was out of the office at lunch so I figured his paralegal was buzzing me for something. Yet, when I picked up the phone, it just continued to ring... as though I was the one who had made the call and no one was answering. 3) When I went to get my lunch today (jalapeno poppers), they didn’t have any!!! But, they offered potato skins because I’m special. They charged me $2.85. I had exactly $2.85 in my pocket. Not a penny more, not a penny less. In the Harry Potter books, we were introduced to the Pensive. The Pensive (for you Non Harry Potter Freaks) is a place where Dumbledore puts his thoughts so they don’t clog up his mind. I would like one... except, like a blog, anyone can read your thoughts if you put them out there. I’ve had a lot on my mind today about three men: Red, AZ, and il mio amore. AZ is a no brainer since he and one of the partner’s in my firm have the same name AND it was the name that came up on the display in #2 above. Perhaps I should call him. Il mio amore is also a no-brainer, I think of him all the time. He’s just been on my mind more than usual in a different way. Now Red... I don’t understand. I haven’t seen him or spoke to him since November. Today though, he rode around like a pensive spirit on my shoulder. I didn’t really much think about our hot encounter either. I didn’t really realize how hot it was until I re-read my own shizznet. Ya’ll didn’t need to know all of that!!! Anyway, it wasn’t about that. It was just about Red. Who he is and how different he is. I realized while planting my flowers... I missed him. I miss AZ. I miss il mio amore. I miss them because they’re my friends. I don’t have a lot of friends around here. T-Bird (off and on), Kate, PC... sometimes JA (that’s Hagar the Horrible’s wife), Beanie. But the three men who have been on my mind today, they’re the ones that I connect with... somehow in a deeper way. It has nothing to do with sex or love or anything physical. It has to do with how they draw me into themselves and protect me emotionally. Its not that I don’t connect with my other friends in that way, I think that’s part of friendship, its just not that way. I know you understand cause ya’ll are good that way. Maybe it does have something to do with love or security or laughter or understanding or honesty or compassion or empathy or trust or that something that we can never put our finger on and can never name. Maybe that spirit just wanted to say hi, maybe its here to give me a message... maybe it just missed me.

Karma Is A Big Fat Bitch With A Moustache!

No offense is intended to any bitches with moustaches. For Rachael, so she'll stop griping that no one blogs on the weekend.... There are always two or three sides to every story. And then sometimes you only know part of a story and its up to someone else to tell you the rest. This is the story of how a man died, how his murderer was caught, and what happened to those who knew him. Before I met T-Bird, she worked at a bar right down the street from where I now live. She worked the early shift, 8 a.m. to whenever. Our town, although not rural is not exactly big either and for someone who went to school here its quite easy to know someone who knows someone that someone else knows. One day a guy named David comes in and says, "Hey, did ya hear? They arrested Alex Rostenbarger for killing Jamie Moore." T-Bird said, "No shit. I know Alex Rostenbarger." The guy got upset and left then came back. With him were a State Trooper and a city police officer. T-Bird invites them in. (In WV, without a warrant, police officers "in uniform" cannot enter a bar unless invited) The city police officer, Daniel, who T-Bird knew, asked her about Alex Rostenbarger. She tells him she doesn't know anything about what supposedly happened between him and Jamie Moore. She explained that she knew Alex through her mom and he had been to their home a few times. Meanwhile, KCZ, T-Bird's mom, is in California but on the phone with her friend Johnny, who had also been a friend of Alex Rostenbarger's. While on the phone, the two relate a story which he told each of them regarding Jamie Moore. They realize that... whooaaaa... he told them the exact same story at two different times. Alex Rostenbarger had told them how he had killed Jamie Moore. Johnny told KCZ that he did not want to be involved at all. KCZ told him, "We were involved when he told us." Still, she promised not to say anything about what he knew. On the other side of town, T-Bird unwittingly told Officer Daniel that it was through Johnny that her mom had met Alex. Once Daniel left, T-Bird called her mom to tell her about Alex Rostenbarger, which her mom already knew from the conversation with Johnny. T-Bird said, "How is it you live 2,000 miles away and know shit happening here before I do?" Officer Daniel returned to talk to T-Bird three more times until he finally asked if she thought her mom would talk to him. T-Bird gave him the number and Officer Daniel called her in CA. He then called her back a few hours later to get a recorded statement. This is the story: Alex Rostenbarger was a loud mouthed bragger who blew smoke up your ass every chance he got. He was dating T-Bird's neighbor, Wendy, who was unable to swallow and had a feeding tube. She was a mess and the beatings Alex gave her didn't help. One night, Wendy and one of her friends were out and Wendy ended up in the same house as Jamie Moore. She and Jamie had consensual sex. However, Wendy was afraid of Alex and told Alex that Jamie had raped her. She did so to save her own ass from being beat. Alex, in retaliation, took a friend of his from FL (Dake) and Wendy's brother (Jake) and found Jamie Moore in a local bar. He was there with his friend David, the same David that initially brought the police to T-Bird basically kidnapped Jamie and took him across the county line and beat him. Dake and Jake got back in the car but Alex was not done. He threw Jamie over the edge of the bridge but Jamie got a handhold on the planks. Alex came back to the car, got a tire iron, and beat Jamie's hands until he let go. Jamie fell into the river. That wasn't sufficient either. Alex walked under the bridge and held Jamie under the water until "his eyes popped out of his head." His words. Now, if that isn't enough to chill the marrow in your bones, nothing will. I'm so damn claustrophobic that makes my skin crawl and anything that personal and cruel makes me sick to my stomach. I don't even want to think about what his last moments were like. Luckily, Alex is a stupid braggart. It took quite a number of years (I believe six) until Alex was brought to justice. And it happened because of a DUI. It seems that Jake was pulled over for his 365th DUI (No, I don't believe I'm exaggerating). In order to get out of it, Jake looks at the officer and says, "How about I help you solve a murder." Can you say, "Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding! What have you won Jake? Look behind curtain number threeeeee." In return for immunity, Jake spilled his guts about Alex Rostenbarger and Jamie Moore. The police now had probable cause to arrest Alex Rostenbarger but, I'm sure, they didn't feel as though Jake's testimony was enough to put old Alex away... and that's how they ended up at T-Bird's and that's how KCZ got involved and Johnny. Right after T-Bird and I became friends and I was pregnant with Nate, she testified, as did her mom and Johnny. Alex was found guilty of first degree murder and is now a guest at our fine maximum security prison known as Mount Olive; Officer Daniel was promoted to detective; Jake is still getting drunk; Dake is also a guest at Mount Olive, although he did not get as much time as Alex; You know about T-Bird; KCZ just finished medical transcription school and got a good job; and Johnny is still working at his tire store, supplying tires to the our local police department. But our tale does not end there my friends. I had met Wendy, as she was, as you recall, T-Bird's upstairs neighbor in her apartment complex. Somehow she had survived a pregnancy. Her son's father was Alex Rostenbarger. Can you imagine my friends what kind of guilt this woman carried around? Not only was her lie a contributing factor in the death of another human being, but she also had the murderer's child. Perhaps it was self-preservation. Perhaps she didn't feel she could survive another beating. Whatever the reason, as the whole sordid story came out... so did the fact she lied. Remember I told you specifically that Wendy could not swallow and had to be fed through a tube in her stomach? Well... Wendy's dead now. She drowned in her own fluids. My friends, karma really is a big fat bitch with a moustache.

Happy Birthday Nate!

Anyone having a baby or who is squeamish about TMI stuff should think twice before reading and not bitch that I didn’t warn you. Length warning too. The birth of your child should be a beautiful thing. How can it be so beautiful with so much pain? It just is. At least for me. It seemed that none of the labor or the other bullshit that happened before or happened afterwards really mattered. What mattered was Nate. I don’t have a happy birthing story. If you’ve read my archives then you know the period leading up to Nate’s birth was also a difficult one. My family and Jeff were basically non-supportive. I was exhausted all the time. I relied heavily on my friends, T-Bird and PC’s mom and dad. My friends at work gave me my baby shower. None of my family attended. I cared at the time, but I don’t care now. Nate may be my only child. Not because I haven’t wanted more but because the opportunity just hasn’t presented itself. I was there the entire time. I felt every bump and roll. I was at my baby shower. I was there for the birth. I was there. They weren’t. Their loss. At this time, nine years ago (July 7, 1996, 8:32 p.m. EST), I had been in labor 4 1/2 hours. I was on the phone with my German sister, asking about my nephew, whose birthday is today. He’s a year and a day older than Nate. Jeff had called during our conversation and totally bitched me out. He said, “I just wish you would have that goddamn baby.” I said, “You’re about to get your wish.” He said, “What?” and I said, “I’m in labor.” No shit. I had been in pre-term labor in May so I knew that pain I felt while talking to him was not Braxton Hicks contractions. I think he said, “I’m sorry.” Or maybe that was when I told him I was pregnant. I asked if he was going to be at the hospital and he gave me a half-assed answer which meant, “No.” My child birth partner, a friend from college, was in Myrtle Beach, SC. T-Bird was driving home from Michigan. So, I waddled around, struck by a fit of nesting. T-Bird got home around 9 or so and called. I updated her and she said she would be over. I told her not to rush. It would be a while. By 11:00 I was still doing fine. I didn’t want to go to the hospital. They wouldn’t let me eat there and I love to eat. Especially since when I don’t eat I tend to get very, very, very bitc... I mean cranky. T-Bird made me some toast. I still waddled around. She was urging me to go to the hospital. I still resisted. At 11:30 or so I told her I would go but I had to use the bathroom first. As I was sitting there, waiting, she yelled, “Hey, my mom thought she had to pee and her water broke.” On cue.... bpshsssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I said, “Goddamn you!” She laughed hysterically. I waddled out with a towel between my legs in a dress (size 22 or 24 since it was T-Birds - it was still too big, thank you very much). I put a towel in her seat and off we went. Number One thing they don’t tell you in child birth class - after your water has broken, when you have a contraction, it causes amnio fluid to squirt out. Which then caused me to go “Ew, ew, ew, ew” every time I had a contraction, which caused T-Bird to accelerate, which caused me to say, “Slow down, we got plenty of time.” Oh how right I was. Once your water breaks, you’re stuck in bed. I totally and vehemently disagree with this. I think it wouldn’t have taken as long if I could have walked around. Its virtually impossible to get comfortable in bed. Its virtually impossible to move yourself period. T-Bird was useless since she hadn’t been the one to go to the child birth classes. I think I was 2 or 3 cm when I got there. It took until 5 a.m. and a shot of Stadol before I got to 5 and could get my epidural. They couldn’t get a good reading on Nate’s heartbeat so they had to screw one of those little internal monitor things into his head. Number two thing they don’t tell you in child birth class. The intern with the shortest fingers and the worst attitude will put their fingers twice as far into your crotch as you thought humanly possible. She was a bitch as was my nurse. A skinny bitch at that and when you’re pregnant, everyone is skinny. Absolutely no compassion. May she have triplets born breech without an epidural. Fuck her. I still hate her. The nurse too, the old bat. Shut up. The epidural was more pressure than anything since they did it in the middle of a contraction which registered 8.5 on the Richter Scale. T-Bird was trying to console me by wiping the copious amounts of sweat off my forehead to which I replied, “Don’t touch me!” Yeah, I was a joy. I cried. I hated everyone except my baby. They were all evil and I hope they all have triplets born bree... never mind. I had a “hot spot” on the inside of my left thigh up next to my inside-out crotch. A hot spot is just a spot where the epidural decides its not going to work. It didn’t keep me from sleeping though. I woke up to a new nurse... YAY!! Who had four kids of her own. She was fantastic. I nominated her for sainthood but I never heard anything back. At high noon, she said, “You’re ready.” Yippee and boy was I ever ready... wait... you want me to do what with my ankles? Put them behind my ears? I wish now I had used the squat bar but... lessons learned. I had called my mom about 8 o’clock and she was there but I kicked her out. Why? Because she hadn’t given me anything but a hard time for 9 months. She didn’t deserve to be there. Plus, I didn’t want her trying to tell me what to do. Sometime around 12:45 to 1 o’clock my epidural wore off. It wore off because the anesthesiologist was in OR with twins. And no one else was allowed to change the bag. Oh yeah, so I felt IT ALL. At birth, the baby’s head should be one-quarter the size of its body. Meaning, the head should be smaller than the shoulders. Nate didn’t learn that lesson in pre-birth class. He decided his head would be the SAME SIZE as his shoulders except, his head has to come out all at once, instead of one at time like his shoulders. So, after 20 hours of labor and an hour and a half of pushing and the encouragement of being told he had hair, Nate was born at 1:29 p.m. 8 lbs. 14 oz. 20 1/4 inches long, 14" head. Yeah, yeah, that hurt. Took the doctor forever to sew me up, even with the episiotomy. Nate was pitchin’ a fit and when they laid him in my arms, I cried and said, “Hey there,” and he stopped crying and looked up at me like, “Oh, there you are!” I was even more in love than I had been before. The fun was just beginning though as they took Nate off to warm him up and took me to a regular room. Seems the nurses were a little busy with those twins and such and kinda forgot about me... for three or four hours. I woke up in a lot of pain, which I thought was normal. I just spit a big kid out of me. I felt terrible. More than terrible. I was ill. The nurse came in and pushed on my stomach to rub around on my uterus to make sure it was firm and all... her hands stopped and she said, “Honey, where’s your uterus?” I hoped that was a rhetorical question because I felt like shit washed over death and my mom was holding my baby and I wanted him. It was not to be as suddenly there are 6 or 7 or 8 nurses around my bed and if I thought I felt shitty before... it doesn’t compare to a nurse sticking her fingers up a crotch with 5000 stitches who just delivered a very big baby, and that crotch happened to be mine. What had happened due to the negligence of the nursing staff to keep a proper look out on my bladder was, it filled up... and I couldn’t feel it because of the medication given to me when the doc sewed me up down there. Now, had the nurses done what they were supposed to have done, they would have monitored by input/output and realized... yo, no output... so my distended bladder pulled my uterus out of place. This is very bad. See, when the placenta comes out it leaves this great big raw place in your uterus and that’s why they rub your uterus and that’s to keep that big raw place from bleeding. When your uterus is disrupted, it bleeds so now I’ve been bleeding for... a long time. And they have to manually remove the clots. Let me tell ya. It hurt worse than the worst labor I had felt. I fought all of those nurses and I was extremely annoyed by the bitch down the hallway screaming her head off and wished someone would give her an epidural. When they had fished out the two clots, one of which was about half of Nate’s size, the other a little smaller, it was immediate relief. Until the next second when my head started swimming and I looked up at the nurse beside my head and said, “I’m gonna pass out.” The whole time my mom is standing against the wall holding Nate and her face is whiter than the wall. One of the Einsteins put a BP cuff on me and I heard, “70 over 40.” Folks, I don’t know about you but that was not what I wanted to hear. The kicked me back in Trachlenburg or Trendlenburg or Trafalgar or whatever it is and they turned my IV on hyperdrive. All the time I’m thinking, “I’m going to die and whose going to take care of my baby?” Finally, they got me stabilized and I was able to hold Nate and nurse him and get to know him. Oh, and that lady screaming down the hallway, my Mom told me, "That was you, honey." Talk about disconnected. There’s more about those stupid fucking nurses and how they treated Nate and how I had to go back to the hospital and carry around a catheter bag for a week... but I won’t go there. Nate was worth it. I’m just glad to be here and I’m glad to be his mom. He’s enriched my life beyond measure. I love you Nate. Happy Birthday from your Mama.

'Today... We Are All British'

May you be blessed and kept this day and always. If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn't part of ourselves, doesn't disturb us. - Hermann Hesse For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst? - Khalil Gibran Above all things, never be afraid. The enemy who forces you to retreat is himself afraid of you at that very moment. - Andre Maurois - French author (1885 - 1967) Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from a religious conviction. - Blaise Pascal - French Mathematician The dead cannot cry out for justice; it is a duty of the living to do so for them. - Lois McMaster Bujold, Diplomatic Immunity, 2002

On The Riverfront

Right after I broke things off with Jeff in September of 1997, I went on a couple of trips with my cousin, Rick. He was working at a local marine shop at the time and was the mechanic on the owner’s sternwheeler. After clearing it through his boss, he invited me to come along to a couple of regattas. I would drive to the regatta and then spend the night, or two, on the sternwheeler. When the sternwheelers get together its like a floating city. They have their own toilets, kitchens, bedrooms, living room, central air/heat, etc. Some are more fancy than others. Some are floating mansions. I’ve seen some with shiny wooden floors and brass fixtures. High end and swank. The River Rats are a friendly bunch and I can’t recall NOT seeing a cooler or two (maybe three) on deck filled with beverages. Ahem. Lots of beverages. Our Captain, Moe, made a special drink named after his sternwheeler. It had half a dozen (maybe a dozen) different liquors and fruit juices in it. It was served in 24 oz. cups although some pussies only drank half a cup. Guaranteed to be the only drink you would need all night. Oy vey!! I’ll call it Polyjuice Potion because when you drank it, you became another person. We were in Marietta, Ohio at the Ohio River Sternwheel River Fest Regatta something aruther (the details are still sketchy). Marietta is a very nice town. Clean and friendly and full of River Rats. The first night everyone met up and reacquainted themselves, sharing river gossip. The next day were the races and the last night were the fireworks. My cousin and I inched our way around the edge of the sternwheeler so we could sit on the buckets (paddles) to watch. It was amazing. The river lapped along, black water rolling. That’s all we saw because the boats had been cleared from the river for the fireworks. If you think looking up into the starry sky at fireworks is cool... be on the river, with a sky above and a sky below, warm breeze, the gentle sway of the sternwheeler, and water wetting your bare toes. It gives me chills to think about it. Then it was on. The great thing about sleeping on the sternwheelers is, you don’t have to drive anywhere so you’re free to drink like a fish, if you so desire, and I so desired. I can remember having two cups of Polyjuice Potion, a couple shots of this, another kind of mixed drink there, a beer at the bar, dancing a lot, sweaty, hot bodies because the place was packed, and then stumbling back to the sternwheeler. Another great thing... all the sternwheelers are tied together so if you fall overboard you fall onto someone else’s deck (unless you’re back near the buckets). Not that I did that. Shut up. Then you wake up the next morning, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, breath that could kill a barracuda, sore and achy from all those bruises you forgot how you acquired, feet blistered from too much dancing on the levee at 4 a.m. (We had to do something when the bars closed), head that feels roughly the size and weight of a wrecking ball, sunshine, and that gentle sway... of the water... lapping against the boat. *Sway* *Sway* *Sway* *Groan* Ahhhhh... I love the river. The Hobby III Not the boat I was on, but good people regardless.

As The World Turns...

A lot happened over the weekend, starting Friday morning. I called SD about 10:40 to see if he had plans for Nate on July 4th. He was already three sheets or four, hard to tell. He told me to stop harassing him and stop playing “holigames,” I swear, that’s what he said. I’m assuming it’s a contraction of “holiday” and “games.” He said a few other unsavory things and then said, “And fuck you too,” and hung up. Naturally, I worried the rest of the day about taking Nate down there. But at 3-something he called and said it would be best if Nate didn’t see him like that. He asked for his sister’s number and I gave it to him and he said, “Thank you,” very politely and I said, “You’re welcome,” very politely and we hung up. I went home and got online with my cousin and then we went to his place. I was exhausted. I had one beer and fell asleep in his papasan chair and pretty much stayed there until 9:00 the next morning. The reason I went there was to visit and have him look at my car, which has suspicious marks on the door. My cousin, who I’ll be pimping out here soon, said he thought it was what I had suspected and that is a tool mark from someone trying to get into my car. (He’s a tool mark expert with the State Police.) It matched the tool marks I found on my door when I got home, since I locked the deadbolt, making it much more difficult to get in. The wood was splintered around the doorknob and perfect indentations around the deadbolt as well. Sigh. I talked to T-Bird and while I can’t prove anything, there is still that tickling that something is just not right. Proving it is another thing. Oh, did I mention the beeps, static, and interference on my phone? I haven’t had the opportunity to crawl under the house and check the phone line or get the phone company side of the interface open or check the phone line in Nate’s room yet, but it’s a possibility, based on my research that there is an amateur tap on the line. That would explain how SD knows things he shouldn’t and how it would appear that the information he got was from T-Bird. It may be all of the above. It may be none of the above. I may just be crazy. Okay, that’s a given, but I meant crazy to a “beyond regular nuts” point. I realized too that... okay, I’m not the best housekeeper in the world or world class numero uno Mom, but he’s not all that either. Everyone has their faults. Speaking of, I didn’t get nearly as much done as I wanted to this weekend. I’m not ignoring Nate and making him stay cooped up in the house the entire weekend. Besides, the house didn’t get messed up in a weekend, its not going to get cleaned up in one. Katey asked if I was scared. Right now I’m more irritated than anything. Although it was weird when Nate spent the night at T-Bird’s, one because he wanted to, and two because, it was just weird being at home alone since this all started. Right now I’m trusting my felines to alert me to anything out of the ordinary, oh and that yappy dog next door. Time will tell.

Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness

I present to you, citizens of The United States of America and fellow citizens of the world, the Preamble to the Declaration of Independence: When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. -- That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, -- That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. -- Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world. The Declaration of Independence of the Colonies to King George III was written July 4, 1776, but was not signed by the majority of delegates until August 2, 1776. Some signed even later and some never signed at all. I sat here tonight and read it aloud, to myself for no other reason to remind myself that freedom is never free. What do we know of life in 1776? There was no e-mail, nor telephones or even a telegraph. Word of the Declaration of Independence didn’t reach England until August 10th. Today, people would know in a matter of moments. What do we know of what George Washington and his men, including my great-great-great-great grandfather, and what they suffered at Valley Forge? They certainly didn’t have a Bradley or MREs. (For non-military types, that’s Meals Ready to Eat). They had no radar or helicopters. The majority were not military men... they were farmers and farriers and blacksmiths. Simple people with a common cause - freedom. However, it was a pack of hypocritical bullshit as well. All men created equal? Then they all went home to their slaves? Come on! Even the great Thomas Jefferson, an outspoken proponent of slavery, went home to slaves (Sally Hemings anyone?). And what about we poor WOMEN??? Puh-leeeeze. When they said “men created equal” they meant “men.” Not mankind, not all persons... men. My point is simply this - It all started when they wrote the Declaration of Independence. But that’s not where it ended. My fellow Americans, that wasn’t where it ended at all. It continues to this day. Just last month they convicted a man for the murder of three civil rights workers in the 60s. The 60s. My father, as a member of the United States Army, helped integrate schools in the South. My DAD. Not my grandfather or my great-grandfather, MY DAD. This was only 40-45 years ago! Yet it was Amendment 15 (1870) that stated - The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude. But it wasn’t until Amendment 19 (1920) that WOMEN were allowed to vote. That was the year my grandmothers were born. All men created equal, indeed. Still today... homosexuals fight for their rights. Their right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Let me point out that neither the preamble to the Constitution nor the preamble to the Declaration of Independence says anything about God. The Constitution says nothing and the Declaration says “Creator” and “Laws of Nature and Nature’s God.” Not just “God,” but “Nature’s God.” As the primary author and the one who believed in a ‘creator’ you can thank, Thomas Jefferson, whose critics called an atheist. People came to the New World to escape religious persecution, like my great great great (umm... great great?) grandmother, Dorothy Jones. Her family were Welsh Quakers. One of my ancestors on my Dad’s side of the family was from East Africa, probably a slave. Other ancestors on both sides of the family were American Indian (and let’s not talk about THEIR rights.) Whether they were here already, came to forge a new life, or were brought by force, once the Declaration of Independence was written, shouldn’t it have applied to all of them? I think we can see, it did not. We enjoy so many more freedoms today than we did in 1776. But they weren’t free, so don’t take them for granted. Let us remember our men and women in the Armed Forces all over the world, giving other people the chance to say, “I’m free.” Whether you believe in the current administration or their agenda, you can’t argue that freedom feels pretty damn good. Happy 4th of July.

Shorts of 1996

(I got stopped by the Po-leese yesterday. A state trooper. ROWRRRR... my registration is expired, mainly because I’m poor and the stupid county hasn’t sent my tax ticket. He had beautiful eyes and forest green is so becoming on hot trooper bodies and just made those blue peepers and dark eyelashes stand out that much more. Then I remembered Jeff used to be an officer, and well, that shot all my fantasies to hell. ) This time nine years ago I was 37 weeks and 4 days pregnant. Before Nate’s birth We had one of the worst blizzards in American history, killing more than a 100 people on the East Coast. Hilary Rodham Clinton testifies before a grand jury in the Whitewater Scandal. The Dunblane Massacre in Dunblane, Scotland occurred, killing 16 children and one adult. Lyle and Erik Menendez were found guilty of first degree murder in the deaths of their parents. An 81 day standoff began between federal agents and antigovernment Freeman in Jordan, Montana. Also in Montana, Ted Kaczynski was arrested as the suspected Unabomber. A sudden storm engulfed Mount Everest leaving 8 dead. ValuJet Flight 592 crashes in the Florida Everglades killing 110. Romer vs. Evans was decided in the Supreme Court. They ruled against a law that would have prevented any city, town, or county in Colorado from taking any judicial, legislative, or executive action to protect the rights of homosexuals. A cease-fire is negotiated by Russian President Boris Yeltsin in The First Chechnya War. The Onion is launched on the Internet. The Khobar Towers in Saudia Arabia were bombed killing 25 US servicemen. Right before and after Nate was born : The 1996 Olympics started in Atlanta, Georgia. Martina Hingis would become the youngest woman to ever win at Wimbledon. Dolly the cloned sheep was born. TWA Flight 800 would explode off the coast of New York. The Centennial Olympic Park bombing would kill one and injure 111. Their Royal Highnesses, The Prince and Princess of Wales, were formally divorced at the High Court in London. Tupac Shakur was shot in Las Vegas, NV following a Mike Tyson fight. The Taliban captured the capital city of Kabul, Afghanistan. The O.J. Simpson civil trial begins. Bill Clinton defeats Bob Dole to win his second term as President. The top grossing films of 1996: Independence Day - Twister - Mission Impossible - Jerry Maguire - Ransom Best Picture Oscar: The English Patient Other notable movies: Fargo - Shine - Trainspotting Primary Colors by Anonymous (Joe Klein) was released. Evita and The Hunchback of Notre Dame were released. Lisa Marie Presley files for divorce from Michael Jackson. Phil Collins leaves Genesis. MC Hammer files for bankruptcy. Penthouse is allowed to publish still shots from the infamous Tommy Lee/Pamela Anderson Lee video. Linkin Park forms “One Sweet Day” (Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men) spends 16 consecutive weeks at number one on the Billboard Hot 100. Comet Hale-Bopp can be observed with the naked eye. Carl Sagan dies. Swede Goran Kropp reaches Mount Everest summit alone without oxygen after having bicycled there from Sweden!! Dale Jarrett win the Indy 500. Terry Labonte is the Nascar champion. The Yankees won the World Series. The Bulls win over the SuperSonics for the NBA Championship. Todd Eldridge and Michelle Kwan were tops in figure skating. The Cowboys beat the Steelers 27-17 in the Super Bowl. Boris Becker, Steffi Graf, Monica Seles and Pete Sampras were on top in tennis. Find out more about 1996 here.