Another trip to the emergency room for us . . .
Sunday started out to be such a great day. We made a huge breakfast; bacon, eggs, juice, coffee, the works. Then we took the kids to the Sagebrush Arts Festival and Aria painted a shirt and made her own necklace. . . . then off to Penny's to buy her a new winter coat.
Then home for lunch time . . . I am in the kitchen making Aria a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and Mike is getting the baby to put him in his high chair to eat. Then I heard the thud . . . just a weird, undescribale sound. Then I hear Mike freaking out and the baby screaming. While on his way into the kitchen carrying baby Devin, Mike stepped on a building block and it rolled his ankle and he fell . . . he twisted his weight to protect the baby as much as possible, but, he smacked his head on the floor. The carpet at least, it was not tile thank God.
After awhile the baby starts to calm down and we try to feed him. He won't eat and he starts screaming again. That's when we decided to take him in to be examined. It was Sunday so of course the only place to go is the ER.
Being that he hit his head, they did X-rays and CAT scans on his neck and head, and everything looked fine. Devin just wanted to sleep. After a bunch of tests they tell us they can't find anything wrong and he is probably just sore from the jolt and just give him Tylenol.
So I decided to take the day off work Monday to stay home with him and comfort him. All day he just acted . . . different. Not like him at all. He is usually so active, and he would not roll over or sit up, and when I would move him or lift his legs to change him he would cry in pain. I decided that we could not wait for his follow up appointment the next day, something was wrong, we had to take him in that night.
When we get to the Children's clinic, we notice that his upper left leg is really swollen. Doc decides to do some X-rays, and about an hour later cannot find anything wrong. The X-rays looked fine. But, he had a feeling that we should not go home yet, there was something wrong . . . so he told us we needed to stay in the hospital overnight and get some more, better, higher technology X-rays in the morning.
Knowing that your baby is in so much intense pain, and not knowing what it is or what to do about it is one of the worst feelings in the world. I don't think I have ever felt so sick or helpless. And poor baby Devin, he just does not know what is going on, he is scared, hurt, and just wants to sleep but people keep poking him and pulling on his leg!
I stayed with him that night ... on one of those little fold out plastic chairs that could double as a sled . . . I was afraid to take my eyes off him, but he slept peacfully.
The next morning we took him down for more X-rays, and I could not be in the room, so all I could do was stand by the door and listen to him cry in pain for a half hour while they x-rayed his entire body.
A little bit later the results are in . . . a broken femur on his left leg. . . one of the hardest bones to break in the body. One of the first things that was said after that was that when ever there is an injury in a child, especially one so young, Child Protective Services needed to be called and a report needed to be filed. I broke down and cried like a baby in front of everyone in the hall, I didn't care. . . I couldn't help it. Not only does my 11 month old have a broken bone, but there is suspiscion that we did it intentionally. Ouch. Of course, it is procedure, they have to investigate every case to protect the ones that are really abuse cases, and I am grateful that they do.
You all know how I feel about child abuse!
The doctor says he will need what is called a spica cast . . . one that goes down his whole left leg, part of his right leg and clear up his belly. It is like a mini body cast. They had to sedate him to put the cast on, and it took about an hour.
A little bit before that, while Mike was out getting some stuff from home, a gal from CPS came in to interview me. She asked me where I worked, where Mike worked, if we are married, if there were any other kids in the house, etc. Then she told a story about a case she recently worked. A few months ago some parents brought in a 5 month old with a broken arm. They kept changing their story as to how it happened . . . then when they did more X-rays they found several more broken bones in this poor little baby. I can't imagine. And I told her that with tears in my eyes. After the interview, she said she believed that we did not intentionally hurt our child and that she just had to file the report so that no kids falls through the cracks. She said she would have to talk to Mike too.
We thought we would get to go home on Tuesday, but no, we had to stay another night in the hospital. Mike stayed with Devin this time so I could go home and spend some time with Aria.
We got to come home this morning. He has been given Tylenol with Codine. It knocks him out. He slept for four hours this afternoon. We got some sleep too. . . needless to say sleep has not something we have been getting a lot of the last few days.
We are getting used to carrying him with the big, bulky cast on . . . he is twice as heavy and it is really awkward cuz he legs are stuck out at a weird angle. He is so uncomfortable and there is nothing we can do about it but prop him up with pillows and give him lots of love. Changing a diaper is a whole different experience! The cast will be on for 4 to 6 weeks.
I have spent a lot of time asking why and how this could happen to us. Then I remember it could be worse. He could have a head or spinal injury, he could have a worse of a break. It is just a small crack in the bone, not even a complete break. The doc said it was very small.
I think of parents dealing with kids who have cancer or le
ukemia or something, or people with out health insurance or full time jobs, and I am thankful for what I have. It could always, always be worse. And these few weeks will go by so fast. We are strong, and we can handle this!
This too will pass.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Just an update
Since I have so many friends and family living afar, I think I should post a little update on how things are going here in Jennyville.
Our little Devin will be walking any day now. He pulls himself up to stand and then gets mad because he can't figure out how to get back down or what to do next. I need to get better at letting him work on it on his own, it is just instinct I guess to rush to his aid every time he makes a peep, but this is one he has to do on his own!
He has got to have a tooth or two coming in -- finally. His drool levels have been off the chart lately. I feel like I need to give him a bottle of water a couple times a day just so he won't get dehydrated!
His first birthday is coming up. We have to start planning a party! I can't wait to see what he does with the cake! Will he dive in or be afraid to get his hands dirty? We will see!
Aria starts first grade next week. She is registered at Jefferson Elementary, even though we are in Tendoy's region or whatever they call it. They had 19 extra first graders who had to find another school to go to. So since there was space at Jefferson we registered her there, which will actually work out nicely because I can drop her off on my way to work and she can ride the bus to her dad's house in the afternoon. We met her teacher, she seems nice and has a lot of experience.
We are going school shopping this weekend!
She is growing up and getting into girly things like nail polish and bracelets and such. She has even been asking me about what it feels like to get your ears pierced. Maybe she is almost ready!
Mike's work has been very steady, which is good for our financial situation, but then again I feel like I never see him some weeks! In a few weeks they will be going to Salmon for a few days and I will be on my own with the kiddos!
We are almost ready to start looking for a house. We found some "glitches" in Mike's credit history that we have been cleaning up, and we have been figuring out what we can afford. We would like a fenced yard and hopefully four bedrooms, but we could settle with three. A hot tub would be nice too. Just kidding . . . hot tub not necessary! But we are gonna be picky! Our realtor is gonna be sick of us before this is through!
I am still working at the Journal as the online and art and entertainment editor. Work has been extra stressful lately. I feel like no one understands the pressure I am under with the online stuff from the bosses. Of course I have to post breaking news ASAP to the Web site to beat the competition, but there is also the pressure of making all of the Journal's Web sites the best to sell to make the most money. But, alas, I am only one person and there are only so many hours in a day! It goes in phases, I will be really stressed out for a few weeks, then I chill out for awhile and then it builds again. That's when I know I need a day off! Thank God Labor Day weekend is coming up!
But I enjoy most of my job! I have phone numbers and am on a first name basis with a lot of really cool people, and there is something new everyday. And I am interviewing the Oak Ridge Boys next week! They are legends!
On a side note, while cleaning house to prepare for my grandma's upcoming yard sale, I found a bunch of my old journals. I have been enjoying reading about the various highs and lows of almost every week of my life since I was nine. Darn the writing bug . . . it has always been here.
Love ya all!
Jenny
Our little Devin will be walking any day now. He pulls himself up to stand and then gets mad because he can't figure out how to get back down or what to do next. I need to get better at letting him work on it on his own, it is just instinct I guess to rush to his aid every time he makes a peep, but this is one he has to do on his own!
He has got to have a tooth or two coming in -- finally. His drool levels have been off the chart lately. I feel like I need to give him a bottle of water a couple times a day just so he won't get dehydrated!
His first birthday is coming up. We have to start planning a party! I can't wait to see what he does with the cake! Will he dive in or be afraid to get his hands dirty? We will see!
Aria starts first grade next week. She is registered at Jefferson Elementary, even though we are in Tendoy's region or whatever they call it. They had 19 extra first graders who had to find another school to go to. So since there was space at Jefferson we registered her there, which will actually work out nicely because I can drop her off on my way to work and she can ride the bus to her dad's house in the afternoon. We met her teacher, she seems nice and has a lot of experience.
We are going school shopping this weekend!
She is growing up and getting into girly things like nail polish and bracelets and such. She has even been asking me about what it feels like to get your ears pierced. Maybe she is almost ready!
Mike's work has been very steady, which is good for our financial situation, but then again I feel like I never see him some weeks! In a few weeks they will be going to Salmon for a few days and I will be on my own with the kiddos!
We are almost ready to start looking for a house. We found some "glitches" in Mike's credit history that we have been cleaning up, and we have been figuring out what we can afford. We would like a fenced yard and hopefully four bedrooms, but we could settle with three. A hot tub would be nice too. Just kidding . . . hot tub not necessary! But we are gonna be picky! Our realtor is gonna be sick of us before this is through!
I am still working at the Journal as the online and art and entertainment editor. Work has been extra stressful lately. I feel like no one understands the pressure I am under with the online stuff from the bosses. Of course I have to post breaking news ASAP to the Web site to beat the competition, but there is also the pressure of making all of the Journal's Web sites the best to sell to make the most money. But, alas, I am only one person and there are only so many hours in a day! It goes in phases, I will be really stressed out for a few weeks, then I chill out for awhile and then it builds again. That's when I know I need a day off! Thank God Labor Day weekend is coming up!
But I enjoy most of my job! I have phone numbers and am on a first name basis with a lot of really cool people, and there is something new everyday. And I am interviewing the Oak Ridge Boys next week! They are legends!
On a side note, while cleaning house to prepare for my grandma's upcoming yard sale, I found a bunch of my old journals. I have been enjoying reading about the various highs and lows of almost every week of my life since I was nine. Darn the writing bug . . . it has always been here.
Love ya all!
Jenny
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Two trips to Tooth Town
Being the 6 year old that she is, Aria has started to lose her baby teeth. Three so far by my count. Recent trips to the dentist's office have let us know that she has some crowding in her mouth and will eventually need to have braces. Super. Orhodontist's office, here we come!
I was so proud of her yesterday! She was so brave at the orthodontist, not shedding a tear, just being the little chatterbox that she always is! Doctor tooth tells us that due to the crowding, her permenate teeth are coming in crooked. Plan? Remove a couple baby teeth to make room for the big boys. Simple enough. Doc even commented on one of Aria's loose teeth, a wibbly wobbly guy on the top of her little mouth. It will come out soon indeed! They had this cool little play area called Tooth Town, there was a molar coaster! Clever indeed.
Next, a trip to Fred Meyer to buy spaghetti sauce, ranch, bread and nail polish, just the necessities ... and a back to school outfit or two. We're done here, let's blow this popcicle stand! Aria wants to stand on the front of the cart. Not the front like facing me while I push the cart front, like standing in between my arms while I push the cart front. That's not really safe my dear . . . "But Mooooommmm, I am too tired to walk!" Moms, you know what I am talking about. You pick your battles. Fine, let's just get out of here.
The cart squeaks throught the narrow aisles of the apparell department, then CRASH! Where the hell did that damn support beam come from?! It jumped out from behind that clothing rack! Aria's now covered her face with her hands, and I pause, afraid to react, fearing the worst. Sure enough, underneath her little hands I see the liquid crimson that means she did indeed hit her face on the handle bar of the cart. Can't get any worse, right? WRONG! She pulls her hand away and extends it toward me, her eyes wide with fear. There it was, the little tooth, bloody and small. Oh my God, I knocked out one of my daughter's teeth.
So there I am, in the middle of a busy store with crying, bleeding child next to me. Ya, people looked at me like I was one of those stupid people I read about everyday who beat their kids in department stores. Never have I ever wanted to know the intercom code more than that moment: "Attention Fred Meyer shoppers, the child in the girl's apparell department has lost a tooth, she is not being smacked around by her panicked mother. Check out the specials in our meat department!"
The blood is really starting to flow now. What to do? I have no tissues, people are starring, she is bleeding and screaming, wait, there is a Starbucks in here! No, I was not craving an iced mocha. Where there is food service there is paper towels. The young man at Starbucks was so helpful, he deserves an award of some sort. Not only did he give us paper towels, he gave us a cup of ice, even though there were several people waiting in line. I need to go back and thank him!
The cart got left behind . . . (I always wondered why there were always carts full of merchandise left sitting around when I worked in retail. It's not gnomes, it's KIDS!)
The crisis was over after a few hours. Knowing that the Tooth Fairy would soon be making a pit stop at our house helped soothe her nerves. She was pretty mad at mommy though. I have been involved with more accidents in shopping carts than cars, thank God! But there was the, "mommy, why did you do that?" Well, kiddo, how do I explain that I love you more than life itself and just the sight of your blood pushes me to near fainting? I would never hurt you on purpose!
"Ya know how sometimes you get really excited and run up to me and step on my toes and it hurts me?"
"Ya...."
"You do not mean to hurt me, right? It is an accident."
"Ya..."
"It is like that, kiddo, me crashing into the pole at the store was an accident. I would never hurt you."
"But mommy, you need to watch where you are going, OK?'
"Ok, deal."
The ultimate proof of a promise follows: pinky swear.
The Tooth Fairy must have known how that little tooth under the pillow came to be out of that cute little mouth, because she left two dollars instead of the standard four shiny quarters. Her note to Aria told her to keep up the good work and not be mad at her mommy. :)
Move on to today . . .
We get home for the day and she quickly dashes to her room and shuts the door. Odd . . . but maybe she is just changing her clothes.
Moments later, she emerges, clutching her tiny treasure in her hands. Not a penny found on the sidewalk . . . ANOTHER TOOTH! This one came out the right way though . . . coaxed out with an eager pincer grasp from it's creator.
"The Tooth Fairy gets to come back tonight!"
She does indeed. And she is happy to do so.
I was so proud of her yesterday! She was so brave at the orthodontist, not shedding a tear, just being the little chatterbox that she always is! Doctor tooth tells us that due to the crowding, her permenate teeth are coming in crooked. Plan? Remove a couple baby teeth to make room for the big boys. Simple enough. Doc even commented on one of Aria's loose teeth, a wibbly wobbly guy on the top of her little mouth. It will come out soon indeed! They had this cool little play area called Tooth Town, there was a molar coaster! Clever indeed.
Next, a trip to Fred Meyer to buy spaghetti sauce, ranch, bread and nail polish, just the necessities ... and a back to school outfit or two. We're done here, let's blow this popcicle stand! Aria wants to stand on the front of the cart. Not the front like facing me while I push the cart front, like standing in between my arms while I push the cart front. That's not really safe my dear . . . "But Mooooommmm, I am too tired to walk!" Moms, you know what I am talking about. You pick your battles. Fine, let's just get out of here.
The cart squeaks throught the narrow aisles of the apparell department, then CRASH! Where the hell did that damn support beam come from?! It jumped out from behind that clothing rack! Aria's now covered her face with her hands, and I pause, afraid to react, fearing the worst. Sure enough, underneath her little hands I see the liquid crimson that means she did indeed hit her face on the handle bar of the cart. Can't get any worse, right? WRONG! She pulls her hand away and extends it toward me, her eyes wide with fear. There it was, the little tooth, bloody and small. Oh my God, I knocked out one of my daughter's teeth.
So there I am, in the middle of a busy store with crying, bleeding child next to me. Ya, people looked at me like I was one of those stupid people I read about everyday who beat their kids in department stores. Never have I ever wanted to know the intercom code more than that moment: "Attention Fred Meyer shoppers, the child in the girl's apparell department has lost a tooth, she is not being smacked around by her panicked mother. Check out the specials in our meat department!"
The blood is really starting to flow now. What to do? I have no tissues, people are starring, she is bleeding and screaming, wait, there is a Starbucks in here! No, I was not craving an iced mocha. Where there is food service there is paper towels. The young man at Starbucks was so helpful, he deserves an award of some sort. Not only did he give us paper towels, he gave us a cup of ice, even though there were several people waiting in line. I need to go back and thank him!
The cart got left behind . . . (I always wondered why there were always carts full of merchandise left sitting around when I worked in retail. It's not gnomes, it's KIDS!)
The crisis was over after a few hours. Knowing that the Tooth Fairy would soon be making a pit stop at our house helped soothe her nerves. She was pretty mad at mommy though. I have been involved with more accidents in shopping carts than cars, thank God! But there was the, "mommy, why did you do that?" Well, kiddo, how do I explain that I love you more than life itself and just the sight of your blood pushes me to near fainting? I would never hurt you on purpose!
"Ya know how sometimes you get really excited and run up to me and step on my toes and it hurts me?"
"Ya...."
"You do not mean to hurt me, right? It is an accident."
"Ya..."
"It is like that, kiddo, me crashing into the pole at the store was an accident. I would never hurt you."
"But mommy, you need to watch where you are going, OK?'
"Ok, deal."
The ultimate proof of a promise follows: pinky swear.
The Tooth Fairy must have known how that little tooth under the pillow came to be out of that cute little mouth, because she left two dollars instead of the standard four shiny quarters. Her note to Aria told her to keep up the good work and not be mad at her mommy. :)
Move on to today . . .
We get home for the day and she quickly dashes to her room and shuts the door. Odd . . . but maybe she is just changing her clothes.
Moments later, she emerges, clutching her tiny treasure in her hands. Not a penny found on the sidewalk . . . ANOTHER TOOTH! This one came out the right way though . . . coaxed out with an eager pincer grasp from it's creator.
"The Tooth Fairy gets to come back tonight!"
She does indeed. And she is happy to do so.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Beauty is in the eye of the beer holder
The first time I found a gray hair it was kind of funny. But gray hairs are like top forty songs . . . ok at first but repetition gets old and you find yourself wondering why! Why was such a thing created!?
I have found more gray hairs in the last week than I have in the last year. They seem to be reproducing faster than the dust bunnies behind my computer. I used to tease my mom when she would pluck the little culprits from her head with a pair of tweezers: "If you keep pulling them you're gonna be bald!" Ha ha, ya now it is not so funny and I need to take my own advice.
But today my age hit me like a ton of Botox. We bought a Slip N'Slide yesterday, and my daughter really wants me to play on it with her. The problem? I have not tried on my swimming suit since before I was pregnant with Devin. While I have lost most of my post baby weight, let's just say things have uhhh, shifted. I put my fear aside and tried the suit on. The botton fits fine, but the top, now that is a different story. The girls were not exactly fitting comfortably in the spandex!
Ok, small blow to my self esteem. Not too bad... I can handle it. Then I go into the bathroom to put sunscreen on my face. That's when I saw it. An extension of the Grand Canyon on the left side of my face just below my cheek. I have never seen a wrinkle that deep before. But it wasn't just that, it was the suddeness of it! Where did it come from? Did the gray hairs talk you into this, you little annoying one? I swear it was not there last week, now suddenly it looks like The Joker has paid me a visit and decided to turn me into his likeness.
Now I have a cunundrum. I was going to go to the store to buy a new swimming suit that would keep the twins confined, but maybe I should get some face cream instead. Seriously, this thing can be seen from space.
It all hit me then. I am going to be thirty this year. I am not young anymore. I have all these clothes that I have been saving . . . thinking someday maybe I will be able to wear them again. There was once a time when you could see my abs! Yes, I had a six pack! Now I have stretch marks, my butt jiggles, one boob is bigger than the other, my back hurts and I am rarely awake past 10 p.m. 9 a.m. is like noon because I have already been up for hours. All I need now is to start vacuming my lawn and telling people driving by my house to slow down!
Bye bye skull and cross bone string bikini. (It is really cute, by the way) hello swiw suit cover up!
I must admit, it was quite the downer for a few hours. I went to Freddies to purchase the before mentioned swim suit, and saw these teenage girls with perfect little bodies that have never been through a pregnancy, let alone two! While shopping I kept stumbling across sizes 0, 3, 4, and I thought to myself, "who the hell wears a size 0?" After all, if such a creature did exist she has long been blown away by the fierce Idaho wind.
I finally found a swim suit (Do you have any idea how much these things cost! $68! Is spandex an endargered commodity? Damn!) I compromised. It is a two piece, and the back is open, but the front comes down in a sort of skirt form down to the bottoms part, so my girls are reigned in and the stretch marks are not flashing everybody.
I talked to my hubby later about finding a small canyon on my face, and he was quick to remind me, as the great husband he is, that he too is getting older. He always tells me that he has never been attracted to those super skinny girls. Who wants to hug a skeleton? And that he thinks I am beautiful the way I am. He has a way of putting things into perspective for me. It is just something in the way he puts things . . . swoon!
I slapped myself out of it (mentally of course!) and was able to tell myself that, ya, I am older, but hey, it is a part of life. I would never want to be 20, 21, 22 again. Those were some of the worst years of my life. I have strecth marks because I have two beautiful babies, and I would not trade them for cellulite, stretch marks, gray hair or aches and pains in the world. Those teenage girls I saw at the store think they have everything figured out, but they have no idea what love is!
I am wiser, I am smarter and I am happier than I have ever been. If life gets better with age, then bring on the birthdays!
At least I can still fit into the earings I wore in high school.
The end.
I have found more gray hairs in the last week than I have in the last year. They seem to be reproducing faster than the dust bunnies behind my computer. I used to tease my mom when she would pluck the little culprits from her head with a pair of tweezers: "If you keep pulling them you're gonna be bald!" Ha ha, ya now it is not so funny and I need to take my own advice.
But today my age hit me like a ton of Botox. We bought a Slip N'Slide yesterday, and my daughter really wants me to play on it with her. The problem? I have not tried on my swimming suit since before I was pregnant with Devin. While I have lost most of my post baby weight, let's just say things have uhhh, shifted. I put my fear aside and tried the suit on. The botton fits fine, but the top, now that is a different story. The girls were not exactly fitting comfortably in the spandex!
Ok, small blow to my self esteem. Not too bad... I can handle it. Then I go into the bathroom to put sunscreen on my face. That's when I saw it. An extension of the Grand Canyon on the left side of my face just below my cheek. I have never seen a wrinkle that deep before. But it wasn't just that, it was the suddeness of it! Where did it come from? Did the gray hairs talk you into this, you little annoying one? I swear it was not there last week, now suddenly it looks like The Joker has paid me a visit and decided to turn me into his likeness.
Now I have a cunundrum. I was going to go to the store to buy a new swimming suit that would keep the twins confined, but maybe I should get some face cream instead. Seriously, this thing can be seen from space.
It all hit me then. I am going to be thirty this year. I am not young anymore. I have all these clothes that I have been saving . . . thinking someday maybe I will be able to wear them again. There was once a time when you could see my abs! Yes, I had a six pack! Now I have stretch marks, my butt jiggles, one boob is bigger than the other, my back hurts and I am rarely awake past 10 p.m. 9 a.m. is like noon because I have already been up for hours. All I need now is to start vacuming my lawn and telling people driving by my house to slow down!
Bye bye skull and cross bone string bikini. (It is really cute, by the way) hello swiw suit cover up!
I must admit, it was quite the downer for a few hours. I went to Freddies to purchase the before mentioned swim suit, and saw these teenage girls with perfect little bodies that have never been through a pregnancy, let alone two! While shopping I kept stumbling across sizes 0, 3, 4, and I thought to myself, "who the hell wears a size 0?" After all, if such a creature did exist she has long been blown away by the fierce Idaho wind.
I finally found a swim suit (Do you have any idea how much these things cost! $68! Is spandex an endargered commodity? Damn!) I compromised. It is a two piece, and the back is open, but the front comes down in a sort of skirt form down to the bottoms part, so my girls are reigned in and the stretch marks are not flashing everybody.
I talked to my hubby later about finding a small canyon on my face, and he was quick to remind me, as the great husband he is, that he too is getting older. He always tells me that he has never been attracted to those super skinny girls. Who wants to hug a skeleton? And that he thinks I am beautiful the way I am. He has a way of putting things into perspective for me. It is just something in the way he puts things . . . swoon!
I slapped myself out of it (mentally of course!) and was able to tell myself that, ya, I am older, but hey, it is a part of life. I would never want to be 20, 21, 22 again. Those were some of the worst years of my life. I have strecth marks because I have two beautiful babies, and I would not trade them for cellulite, stretch marks, gray hair or aches and pains in the world. Those teenage girls I saw at the store think they have everything figured out, but they have no idea what love is!
I am wiser, I am smarter and I am happier than I have ever been. If life gets better with age, then bring on the birthdays!
At least I can still fit into the earings I wore in high school.
The end.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Do crazy people know they are crazy?
I love psychology. I love to watch people and figure out what makes them tick. Or not tick. Do crazy people know they are stark raving mad? The guy who has collected empty beer cans for 50 years thinks it is normal, but to a so called "normal" person, this is nuts. Have you ever tried looking at the other side?
I love watching those shows . . . Hoarders, The OCD Project, Intervention . . . (on the rare occasions when I can actually watch TV). Many people are fascinated by those shows, the number of them that exist prove that. But why? Part of it is the train wreck mentality; you just can't help but watch, but a bigger part of it, I think, is that we can all relate to the people in those shows, even if just a little bit. They make us all realize how close to insanity we all are at any given moment or on a day. Those people were not born that way, little triggers in their life caused them to start collecting or drinking or whatever.
Our minds are dangerously fragile. We all walk around thinking we are immune to the problems and vices that affect other people.
There are thousands of books and people with degrees, but no one can ever completely understand the human mind because there are so many different triggers.
What's your vice?
Crazy is subjective.
I love watching those shows . . . Hoarders, The OCD Project, Intervention . . . (on the rare occasions when I can actually watch TV). Many people are fascinated by those shows, the number of them that exist prove that. But why? Part of it is the train wreck mentality; you just can't help but watch, but a bigger part of it, I think, is that we can all relate to the people in those shows, even if just a little bit. They make us all realize how close to insanity we all are at any given moment or on a day. Those people were not born that way, little triggers in their life caused them to start collecting or drinking or whatever.
Our minds are dangerously fragile. We all walk around thinking we are immune to the problems and vices that affect other people.
There are thousands of books and people with degrees, but no one can ever completely understand the human mind because there are so many different triggers.
What's your vice?
Crazy is subjective.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
I have been bitten
Some people go their whole lives not knowing what they are supposed to be doing. They try different things waiting for something to click. Not me. I have been writing almost literally since I was old enough to hold a pencil. I wrote short stories when I was a kid, mostly rip offs of stories that I had already heard, but for some reason nothing appealed to me more than putting pen to paper and creating something. I collected little shaped erasers and wrote stories about them, complete with illustrations.
It is the closest thing I can compare to an addiction. Every once in awhile I feel it hit me, an urge like nothing else to sit and write. I just have to stop what I am doing and write, even if it is just a paragraph. I can literally feel a tingle in my arm and hand and it won't go away until I write something.
I have countless notebooks in my basement full of short stories and poems that I have formulated over the years. Countless pieces that no one has ever read. There is the story about the girl whose subconcious is so desperate to talk to her she has dreams about watching herself sleeping. Then there is the one about the family who thinks their house is haunted because they keep seeing things, then they learn that the house is not haunted, but a rare chemical in the house has made them crazy . . . many, may others that are collecting dust and webs and God only knows what else in the dungeon below.
I have these dreams that are so real . . . they play out in my head like movies. It's like I am there. I can smell the air and feel the weather. Then I wake up with an incredible story that I feel just has to be told.
Stephen King's stories come from dreams. The Twilight series was spawned from a dream. I am inspired by King, Edgar Alan Poe, Anne Rice, epic poetry like Dante's Inferno and others.
So what makes me think I can't do it? Why am I so scared? King's first book, "Carrie" was rejected something like 20 times before it was published. I know, I know . . .
During my second year of college I was going through a nasty divorce (who knew that, huh, huh?) I had a night class about the cultures and people of South America (fascinating class, by the way.) And I was super depressed and did not care about much of anything. Pardon my French, but I really just did not give a shit.
We had to read these books and write reports on them. I read half of one book the night before a report was due, then half-assed the report at like 2 in the morning. I turned it in . . . .
A few days later the professor asked to see me after class. I thought, great, he is pissed. I had come to class late, sat in the back of the room, etc. After class he handed me my paper and his exact words to me were, "Good God, girl, you can write!" He said it was some of the best writing he had ever seen. And this is coming from a highly educated and intelligent college professor. Believe me, not all college professors are educated or intelligent!
It woke me up a little bit. Maybe I should do something with this. Maybe I should actually try. He encouraged me to write for the college paper, and I did. And now I write for the local paper. BUT, the stuff I write for the paper is MUCH different than the stuff I write on the side. I have no time at work, sadly, to actually write something that is really good. And since I cover art and entertainment I am usually writing a fluffy preview of a local event. It is sad, really.
The few people I have let read my stuff tell me to try to publish it. Maybe they are just being nice. Could be. I don't know.
Red ink is my worst enemy. I am terrified of rejection, not just with writing but in all aspects of my life. It is like a curse, I am given this gift and then given a fear that does not allow me to use it.
I make up excuses . . . . I am too tired. After all I have two kids and work full time. I pass out at nine o'clock. I can't sit and focus when their are two kids who need fed, bathed, etc. They are my first priority. And I really enjoy spending time with my hubby. I am so grateful for him because he encourages me so much! We are supposed to be grocery shopping right now, but I told him I had to sit and write for a minute, and he is totally cool with it and taking care of baby Devin while I feverishly strike keys on my new keyboard.
Maybe today is the day. Maybe my inspiration will stick this time.
It is the closest thing I can compare to an addiction. Every once in awhile I feel it hit me, an urge like nothing else to sit and write. I just have to stop what I am doing and write, even if it is just a paragraph. I can literally feel a tingle in my arm and hand and it won't go away until I write something.
I have countless notebooks in my basement full of short stories and poems that I have formulated over the years. Countless pieces that no one has ever read. There is the story about the girl whose subconcious is so desperate to talk to her she has dreams about watching herself sleeping. Then there is the one about the family who thinks their house is haunted because they keep seeing things, then they learn that the house is not haunted, but a rare chemical in the house has made them crazy . . . many, may others that are collecting dust and webs and God only knows what else in the dungeon below.
I have these dreams that are so real . . . they play out in my head like movies. It's like I am there. I can smell the air and feel the weather. Then I wake up with an incredible story that I feel just has to be told.
Stephen King's stories come from dreams. The Twilight series was spawned from a dream. I am inspired by King, Edgar Alan Poe, Anne Rice, epic poetry like Dante's Inferno and others.
So what makes me think I can't do it? Why am I so scared? King's first book, "Carrie" was rejected something like 20 times before it was published. I know, I know . . .
During my second year of college I was going through a nasty divorce (who knew that, huh, huh?) I had a night class about the cultures and people of South America (fascinating class, by the way.) And I was super depressed and did not care about much of anything. Pardon my French, but I really just did not give a shit.
We had to read these books and write reports on them. I read half of one book the night before a report was due, then half-assed the report at like 2 in the morning. I turned it in . . . .
A few days later the professor asked to see me after class. I thought, great, he is pissed. I had come to class late, sat in the back of the room, etc. After class he handed me my paper and his exact words to me were, "Good God, girl, you can write!" He said it was some of the best writing he had ever seen. And this is coming from a highly educated and intelligent college professor. Believe me, not all college professors are educated or intelligent!
It woke me up a little bit. Maybe I should do something with this. Maybe I should actually try. He encouraged me to write for the college paper, and I did. And now I write for the local paper. BUT, the stuff I write for the paper is MUCH different than the stuff I write on the side. I have no time at work, sadly, to actually write something that is really good. And since I cover art and entertainment I am usually writing a fluffy preview of a local event. It is sad, really.
The few people I have let read my stuff tell me to try to publish it. Maybe they are just being nice. Could be. I don't know.
Red ink is my worst enemy. I am terrified of rejection, not just with writing but in all aspects of my life. It is like a curse, I am given this gift and then given a fear that does not allow me to use it.
I make up excuses . . . . I am too tired. After all I have two kids and work full time. I pass out at nine o'clock. I can't sit and focus when their are two kids who need fed, bathed, etc. They are my first priority. And I really enjoy spending time with my hubby. I am so grateful for him because he encourages me so much! We are supposed to be grocery shopping right now, but I told him I had to sit and write for a minute, and he is totally cool with it and taking care of baby Devin while I feverishly strike keys on my new keyboard.
Maybe today is the day. Maybe my inspiration will stick this time.
Friday, April 16, 2010
This is too funny to keep to myself
So I have heard this story from two people now, and I just have to share it. It is much too bizzare and funny to keep to myself. I am not gonna use names though . . .
I am hearing this third person, so I will do my best to get this right.
So somewhere in the thriving metropolis of American Falls, Idaho, there lives a family who has a son who is a little slow. I am not being rude... he is literally mentally disables. No disrespect! He is in his 20s but has the mental capacity of about a six-year-old child.
So the mom needs to run to the store really quick to get one or two items. She figures she will be right back so she can leave the son home by himself for just a few minutes. While she is out, she gets a call from her son who tells her, "Mom! I found a troll!" And of course, she thinks he is just playing and imagining things and assures him she will be home in a few minutes.
A few minutes go by and he calls again. This time he says, "Mom! I put the troll in my closet and he is really mad!" Hmmmmm. . . . ok, what is going on?
So, she gets home and discovers that there is indeed something barricaded in a closet in her home. But it is not a troll . . . . it is a little person. What is the correct term? Not midget . . . dwarf? You know what I mean. He was a Jehovah's witness who just happened to come to the door while the mom was out for a few minutes. The son thought he was a troll and not only put him in a closet, but barricaded it with furniture.
I guess the little man was really pissed! They talked him out of pressing charges.
But can you imagine? On both sides! What would you say if you came home and there was someone locked in a closet in your house? And what was the Jehovah's witness thinking? Wow.
I could not make this up. As they say, at least no one was hurt and all that good stuff. . . sigh. Truth is stranger than fiction.
I am hearing this third person, so I will do my best to get this right.
So somewhere in the thriving metropolis of American Falls, Idaho, there lives a family who has a son who is a little slow. I am not being rude... he is literally mentally disables. No disrespect! He is in his 20s but has the mental capacity of about a six-year-old child.
So the mom needs to run to the store really quick to get one or two items. She figures she will be right back so she can leave the son home by himself for just a few minutes. While she is out, she gets a call from her son who tells her, "Mom! I found a troll!" And of course, she thinks he is just playing and imagining things and assures him she will be home in a few minutes.
A few minutes go by and he calls again. This time he says, "Mom! I put the troll in my closet and he is really mad!" Hmmmmm. . . . ok, what is going on?
So, she gets home and discovers that there is indeed something barricaded in a closet in her home. But it is not a troll . . . . it is a little person. What is the correct term? Not midget . . . dwarf? You know what I mean. He was a Jehovah's witness who just happened to come to the door while the mom was out for a few minutes. The son thought he was a troll and not only put him in a closet, but barricaded it with furniture.
I guess the little man was really pissed! They talked him out of pressing charges.
But can you imagine? On both sides! What would you say if you came home and there was someone locked in a closet in your house? And what was the Jehovah's witness thinking? Wow.
I could not make this up. As they say, at least no one was hurt and all that good stuff. . . sigh. Truth is stranger than fiction.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Ghosts I have known part 2
So skip ahead a few years . . . I have gotten divorced and met a knew "love of my life" whom I have moved in with. The house we are living in is the same one that his grandparents lived in when his mom was little. In fact, his grandpa died in the house.
Nothing happened for a long time, then I started seeing things... there was a hallway next to the living room that connected the two bedrooms and the bathroom. I would be sitting in the living room and I would see an elderly male figure walk back and forth between the two bedrooms. It was quick, like he was curious or trying to not be seen. It happened more at night . . .
After awhile, the stereo in our room would turn on by itself at night, and the CD player tray would open and close by itself, then it would shut off by itself again. That freaked me out.
We bought a house in Chubbuck. It was a pretty new house, not much of a chance for spooky things to happen there. Except . . .
This sounds weird, I am sure, but there is a person whom I never met, who actually passed before I was even born, whom I felt I have a lot in common with and that we could have been friends . . . no one famous or anything ... but someone I knew of.
On days when I did not have to work, when I would get our daugheter down for a nap, I would too sometimes lay down for a little bit. After all, I was working, going to school and working full time. For about a month straight, every time I would get to the point where I was almost asleep I would feel a presence in the room. Ya know how you can just feel someone watching you even if you can't see them? It bothers you until you look up and then they hurry and turn away? It's so strong . . . you can feel their eyes drilling into you. It was like that. I felt someone watching me. And it was cold, the room literally got chilled.
I have never felt anything like that before. It was so strong, like nothing else. Eventually I would feel it lessen and I would fall asleep. . . or I would just kinda lay there, too afraid to get up.
Several weeks into this, I had enough. One day, without opening my eyes, I said aloud, "you're freaking me out, please go away." It never happened again. Maybe it was just my mind messing with me... I don't know . . . but I have never felt that before or since.
The final weird thing that happened at that house . . . Aria was in bed and Jayson was at work and it was late. I was sitting on the couch watching TV. The TV was turned down low so as not to wake up the toddler. As I am sitting there, a male voice came up behind me on the left side, right by my ear and whispered, plain as day, "Are you tired?"
I literally jumped off the couch and spun around so fast I think I was dizzy to see who had snuck into my house. Of course, no one was there. The crazy thing is, I know who it was. I want to know what he wanted. I would love to talk to him, but how?
Maybe I am crazy, you can call me that. I am not the kind of person who believes in bigfoot and aliens and all that stuff. I never even thought about ghosts or the supernatural until any of that happened. Maybe there is some sort of logical explanation for it, but if there is, I have not found it.
Nothing happened for a long time, then I started seeing things... there was a hallway next to the living room that connected the two bedrooms and the bathroom. I would be sitting in the living room and I would see an elderly male figure walk back and forth between the two bedrooms. It was quick, like he was curious or trying to not be seen. It happened more at night . . .
After awhile, the stereo in our room would turn on by itself at night, and the CD player tray would open and close by itself, then it would shut off by itself again. That freaked me out.
We bought a house in Chubbuck. It was a pretty new house, not much of a chance for spooky things to happen there. Except . . .
This sounds weird, I am sure, but there is a person whom I never met, who actually passed before I was even born, whom I felt I have a lot in common with and that we could have been friends . . . no one famous or anything ... but someone I knew of.
On days when I did not have to work, when I would get our daugheter down for a nap, I would too sometimes lay down for a little bit. After all, I was working, going to school and working full time. For about a month straight, every time I would get to the point where I was almost asleep I would feel a presence in the room. Ya know how you can just feel someone watching you even if you can't see them? It bothers you until you look up and then they hurry and turn away? It's so strong . . . you can feel their eyes drilling into you. It was like that. I felt someone watching me. And it was cold, the room literally got chilled.
I have never felt anything like that before. It was so strong, like nothing else. Eventually I would feel it lessen and I would fall asleep. . . or I would just kinda lay there, too afraid to get up.
Several weeks into this, I had enough. One day, without opening my eyes, I said aloud, "you're freaking me out, please go away." It never happened again. Maybe it was just my mind messing with me... I don't know . . . but I have never felt that before or since.
The final weird thing that happened at that house . . . Aria was in bed and Jayson was at work and it was late. I was sitting on the couch watching TV. The TV was turned down low so as not to wake up the toddler. As I am sitting there, a male voice came up behind me on the left side, right by my ear and whispered, plain as day, "Are you tired?"
I literally jumped off the couch and spun around so fast I think I was dizzy to see who had snuck into my house. Of course, no one was there. The crazy thing is, I know who it was. I want to know what he wanted. I would love to talk to him, but how?
Maybe I am crazy, you can call me that. I am not the kind of person who believes in bigfoot and aliens and all that stuff. I never even thought about ghosts or the supernatural until any of that happened. Maybe there is some sort of logical explanation for it, but if there is, I have not found it.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Life is a highway
I hate insomnia for everything except one . . .. when I can't sleep I usually get incredibly inspired. But it is dark and I can't see my keyboard, so forgive any typos.
Lately I have been thinking about how we are all connected somehow. Like the 6 degrees of separation but much bigger than that. It is like the U.S. road and highway system. I could get to anywhere in the country I wanted to. There are few places I could not get to because every road, street, lane, whatever connects somehow. Such it is with people. I may not know you, but I bet if I asked around long enough I would find someone who does.
We all affect each other, whether we know it or not. Call it the Butterfly Effect or whatever, but we all influence people we don't know. We all have twtwists and turns, and we all need repaired once in awhile.
The difference is that roads have maps so you can't get lost. (well, Ok, so most of us can't get lost). With people you just have to take your chances. Some lead you to a beautiful place, others lead you to a dead end. Some you wish you would have never traveled. But you learn from all your wrong turns and build your own map... full of wisdom.
In my road map of life I could map out many things . . . major highways where I did not want to stop where I was going . . . rest areas when I needed some space, and toll booths where I have had to pay a price. Places unmarked and unseen by anyone else . . . stop signs, detours . . .
Too much of a coincidence. We really are simple creatures, aren't we?
Lately I have been thinking about how we are all connected somehow. Like the 6 degrees of separation but much bigger than that. It is like the U.S. road and highway system. I could get to anywhere in the country I wanted to. There are few places I could not get to because every road, street, lane, whatever connects somehow. Such it is with people. I may not know you, but I bet if I asked around long enough I would find someone who does.
We all affect each other, whether we know it or not. Call it the Butterfly Effect or whatever, but we all influence people we don't know. We all have twtwists and turns, and we all need repaired once in awhile.
The difference is that roads have maps so you can't get lost. (well, Ok, so most of us can't get lost). With people you just have to take your chances. Some lead you to a beautiful place, others lead you to a dead end. Some you wish you would have never traveled. But you learn from all your wrong turns and build your own map... full of wisdom.
In my road map of life I could map out many things . . . major highways where I did not want to stop where I was going . . . rest areas when I needed some space, and toll booths where I have had to pay a price. Places unmarked and unseen by anyone else . . . stop signs, detours . . .
Too much of a coincidence. We really are simple creatures, aren't we?
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
The power of forgiveness
A weird thing happened today . . . not that anyone cares but I feel the need to get it out because I have been thinking about it all afternoon.
It requires a back story....
A few years ago, not long after my daughter's father and I split up, I went out to have a few drinks with some friends. That night I ran into a girl who had been a good friend of mine in high school. I had not seen her in years and was so excited to see her! I started talking to her, and instead of being happy to see me as well, she was very cold and irritated. She informed me that back in the day I had broken a huge promise that I had made her and basically ruined her life.
I don't think I have ever been so shocked in my life. I had no idea what she was talking about. I tried to talk to her, but she and a friend sitting next to her got more and more agitated until I thought they were gonna try to fight me or something.
I hate hate hate confrontation, and this is not high school... so I gave it up and walked away.
I am sure I worry way too much, and that night was no exception. I sat on the side walk and just cried and racked my brain trying to figure out what I had done wrong (next to me was a friend who has since said something to me that I have not been able to forgive, ironically). I could not imagine myself doing something so hurtful to a good friend. And she was a good friend, I drove her home from school everyday, we had known each other since we were little kids. I would never, ever hurt her like that. That is not me. There just had to be some misunderstanding. If I did do the terrible thing she had said I did, I do not remember it, and if I did, I would certainly offer her a thousand apologies and wonder what the hell was wrong with me.
High school kids do stupid things. Apologies to any high school family and friends reading this. Maybe I should re-phrase. I did stupid things when I was in high school. We all say things we don't mean and do things with out thinking of the consequences. I am not one of those people who will claim to have never done anything wrong or said something that has hurt someone's feelings. The point is, if I did do something like that I would admit to it now because I know better.
I have thought about that night off and on over the years, wondering if she would ever forgive me for something I don't remember doing, wondering if there was a misunderstanding, etc.
I found her profile on myspace once and decided to write her a very heart felt letter. I explained everything I just did above, and told her that if she did not respond I would take that as a "F-U" and would not bother her again. She did not respond.
I have not thought it a lot lately. I havew made a point to put all things negative aside and focus on how great my life is now. I feel healthier.
I ran into her today. She was picking her kid up from day care while I was there trying to figure out where to take Devin after my grandpa has surgery on Friday.
I froze. What the hell would she say, we were like two of only three of four people in the building. I thought she would stare me down, call me a nasty name, something, anything. She made it clear a few years ago that her hate for me was boundless.
But she didn't. She talked to me. I was telling the day care provider about my baby boy, and this person who had wanted to kill me a few years earlier asked me how old he is and introduced me to her son. We chatted for a minute about how great the place was and how much her son loved it there. I told her that our kids were about the same age, etc. We just chatted for a minute, then we each left, going about the rest of the day as if nothing had happened.
My heart was pounding when I got into the car. I don't know what to make of it. I want to believe that she has either forgiven me for the awful thing she says I did to her, or if she realized that I did not do it after all.
I over analyze things and I care too much. But if she had not been a good friend back in the day I would not care so much. I think life is like a great novel you are reading for the first time, there are twists and turns and surprise characters in every chapter. But in the end it all makes sense and you don't want it to be over. This will make sense.
It requires a back story....
A few years ago, not long after my daughter's father and I split up, I went out to have a few drinks with some friends. That night I ran into a girl who had been a good friend of mine in high school. I had not seen her in years and was so excited to see her! I started talking to her, and instead of being happy to see me as well, she was very cold and irritated. She informed me that back in the day I had broken a huge promise that I had made her and basically ruined her life.
I don't think I have ever been so shocked in my life. I had no idea what she was talking about. I tried to talk to her, but she and a friend sitting next to her got more and more agitated until I thought they were gonna try to fight me or something.
I hate hate hate confrontation, and this is not high school... so I gave it up and walked away.
I am sure I worry way too much, and that night was no exception. I sat on the side walk and just cried and racked my brain trying to figure out what I had done wrong (next to me was a friend who has since said something to me that I have not been able to forgive, ironically). I could not imagine myself doing something so hurtful to a good friend. And she was a good friend, I drove her home from school everyday, we had known each other since we were little kids. I would never, ever hurt her like that. That is not me. There just had to be some misunderstanding. If I did do the terrible thing she had said I did, I do not remember it, and if I did, I would certainly offer her a thousand apologies and wonder what the hell was wrong with me.
High school kids do stupid things. Apologies to any high school family and friends reading this. Maybe I should re-phrase. I did stupid things when I was in high school. We all say things we don't mean and do things with out thinking of the consequences. I am not one of those people who will claim to have never done anything wrong or said something that has hurt someone's feelings. The point is, if I did do something like that I would admit to it now because I know better.
I have thought about that night off and on over the years, wondering if she would ever forgive me for something I don't remember doing, wondering if there was a misunderstanding, etc.
I found her profile on myspace once and decided to write her a very heart felt letter. I explained everything I just did above, and told her that if she did not respond I would take that as a "F-U" and would not bother her again. She did not respond.
I have not thought it a lot lately. I havew made a point to put all things negative aside and focus on how great my life is now. I feel healthier.
I ran into her today. She was picking her kid up from day care while I was there trying to figure out where to take Devin after my grandpa has surgery on Friday.
I froze. What the hell would she say, we were like two of only three of four people in the building. I thought she would stare me down, call me a nasty name, something, anything. She made it clear a few years ago that her hate for me was boundless.
But she didn't. She talked to me. I was telling the day care provider about my baby boy, and this person who had wanted to kill me a few years earlier asked me how old he is and introduced me to her son. We chatted for a minute about how great the place was and how much her son loved it there. I told her that our kids were about the same age, etc. We just chatted for a minute, then we each left, going about the rest of the day as if nothing had happened.
My heart was pounding when I got into the car. I don't know what to make of it. I want to believe that she has either forgiven me for the awful thing she says I did to her, or if she realized that I did not do it after all.
I over analyze things and I care too much. But if she had not been a good friend back in the day I would not care so much. I think life is like a great novel you are reading for the first time, there are twists and turns and surprise characters in every chapter. But in the end it all makes sense and you don't want it to be over. This will make sense.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Ghosts I have known (Part 1)
When I was younger I never thought about ghosts or the supernatural or anything like that. I did not believe or disbelieve, I just never really thought about it much. It is said that seeing is believing, and in this case especially I think that is true.
Although I had many strange experiences when I was a kid, I don't know if any of them can be attributed to anything other than my imagination, so I will leave that out.
I got married the first time when I was 19. Dumb, I know, but that is another blog. We moved into this ancient and barely inhabitable farmhouse in McCammon. There was an old wooden staircase, and when you walked on it, your footsteps made a very distinct clunk clunk sound. Days when I did not have to work and or go to school I would stay in this creepy old house by myself while he went to work. Believe me, you have no idea how quiet quiet can be when you are sitting in a house all alone in the middle of no where.I would be sitting in the living room studying when I would hear it ... "clunk, clunk, clunk." The very distinct sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.It would come all the way to the bottom, stop, and then go all the way back up. I was alone in the house, but thinking someone was playing a trick on me, I went to the stair, and of course, no one was there.The tank lid on the toilet upstairs did not sit on the tank evenly, so that if you put something on it and the weight shifted it would make a clunk sound. There was a tree next to the window in the bathroom, and our cat liked to jump onto the tank lid to watch the birds. We would hear the clunk sound when she would jump onto the tank.One day I was downstairs, home by myself again, I heard the clunk sound of the tank lid shifting positions. Now keep in mind that those tank lids are heavy, and the sound they make when put on or moved is very distinct one. Moments later I heard the sound again. Then again and again really fast as if the cat was jumping off and back on really fast. I decided to investigate and went upstairs. The cat was not there. Ok, so she heard me coming and got spooked and went in the other room, right? As soon as I got back downstairs it started again. Clunk clunk clunk clunk over and over. K, what the hell is going on? I turned around, getting ready to go back upstairs, and when I turned around I saw the cat, sleeping peacefully on the living room floor....My wedding ring only came off my hand when I washed my hands or rolled cookie dough or something. One day it simply disappeared. I could not find it and had no idea where I had left it. We literally tore that house apart for the next few weeks looking for it. We even tore apart the sink drains looking for it. Months went by... then one morning when I got up and went into the bathroom, there it was, sitting on the lid of the toilet as if someone had carefully placed it there for me to find. My hubby at the time swears it was not him, and I believe him. Why would he want to hide my wedding ring for that long?But this is where it gets crazy.... and no one will believe me . . .I woke up in the middle of the night, but it was not a gradual waking up, it was like something woke me up. I felt eyes on me, so I sat up in bed, and I swear on a stack of Bibles, at the end of my bed there was a male figure standing with his fists clenched as tight as they would go.He was wearing blue jeans and a denim jacket and a white T shirt. He had sandy blonde hair. Where his face should be there was like a mist, a fog, but it went back forever. What I remember the most is the absolute anger. I have never felt anger like that, it filled the room, it made the air thick and it was hard to breathe, it was like suffocating.I did the only thing I could think of, and that was to hide like a child. I curled up in my head and pulled the covers over myself and froze. After a few moments I felt the air lift and when I got brave enough I looked out from my little cotton cave, and he was gone.Later on I found out that the people who had lived there had a son who had been killed in a motorcycle accident . . .
Although I had many strange experiences when I was a kid, I don't know if any of them can be attributed to anything other than my imagination, so I will leave that out.
I got married the first time when I was 19. Dumb, I know, but that is another blog. We moved into this ancient and barely inhabitable farmhouse in McCammon. There was an old wooden staircase, and when you walked on it, your footsteps made a very distinct clunk clunk sound. Days when I did not have to work and or go to school I would stay in this creepy old house by myself while he went to work. Believe me, you have no idea how quiet quiet can be when you are sitting in a house all alone in the middle of no where.I would be sitting in the living room studying when I would hear it ... "clunk, clunk, clunk." The very distinct sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.It would come all the way to the bottom, stop, and then go all the way back up. I was alone in the house, but thinking someone was playing a trick on me, I went to the stair, and of course, no one was there.The tank lid on the toilet upstairs did not sit on the tank evenly, so that if you put something on it and the weight shifted it would make a clunk sound. There was a tree next to the window in the bathroom, and our cat liked to jump onto the tank lid to watch the birds. We would hear the clunk sound when she would jump onto the tank.One day I was downstairs, home by myself again, I heard the clunk sound of the tank lid shifting positions. Now keep in mind that those tank lids are heavy, and the sound they make when put on or moved is very distinct one. Moments later I heard the sound again. Then again and again really fast as if the cat was jumping off and back on really fast. I decided to investigate and went upstairs. The cat was not there. Ok, so she heard me coming and got spooked and went in the other room, right? As soon as I got back downstairs it started again. Clunk clunk clunk clunk over and over. K, what the hell is going on? I turned around, getting ready to go back upstairs, and when I turned around I saw the cat, sleeping peacefully on the living room floor....My wedding ring only came off my hand when I washed my hands or rolled cookie dough or something. One day it simply disappeared. I could not find it and had no idea where I had left it. We literally tore that house apart for the next few weeks looking for it. We even tore apart the sink drains looking for it. Months went by... then one morning when I got up and went into the bathroom, there it was, sitting on the lid of the toilet as if someone had carefully placed it there for me to find. My hubby at the time swears it was not him, and I believe him. Why would he want to hide my wedding ring for that long?But this is where it gets crazy.... and no one will believe me . . .I woke up in the middle of the night, but it was not a gradual waking up, it was like something woke me up. I felt eyes on me, so I sat up in bed, and I swear on a stack of Bibles, at the end of my bed there was a male figure standing with his fists clenched as tight as they would go.He was wearing blue jeans and a denim jacket and a white T shirt. He had sandy blonde hair. Where his face should be there was like a mist, a fog, but it went back forever. What I remember the most is the absolute anger. I have never felt anger like that, it filled the room, it made the air thick and it was hard to breathe, it was like suffocating.I did the only thing I could think of, and that was to hide like a child. I curled up in my head and pulled the covers over myself and froze. After a few moments I felt the air lift and when I got brave enough I looked out from my little cotton cave, and he was gone.Later on I found out that the people who had lived there had a son who had been killed in a motorcycle accident . . .
Friday, January 29, 2010
I've still got it . . .
I remember a time, when I was 15, 16 or so, when insomnia ruled my life. I literally would stay awake for hours every night. Sometimes exhausted, sometimes burdened with the thoughts of the day, sometimes just simply not tired. I memorized the shapes the shadows from the headlights of passing cars would make on my wall, and followed the light with glassy eyes as the light moved faster and faster around my bed room walls .. .my own personal light show.....
Now I almost think I would sell my soul for an few hours of deep sleep. Just a few. That's all I will take, I promise.
That is just one of the things that have evolved in my life in the last ten years since I pushed myself out of the nest and joined "the real world." I have been dealing with that a lot lately, the "holy s***, I am almost 30." I am responsible now... I have two small children to take care of, a full time job, finding alone time for my hubby and I, bills . . . . I still can't sleep, but for different reasons.
I went to a concert last night. . . I have gotten really into concert photography lately and there was this great band from Utah performing and I wanted to help them out.
There is a certain rush you get from going to a concert, and it is even better when the show is in a small, underground club with 30 people. The lights, the smell, the people. We are all friends, though we've never met. If you get knocked down I'll pick you up, and you'll do the same for me. There is just this unspoken code that we all follow. This is the only place where some fit in.Some people want to close down all these little clubs. ... saying music promotes violence... I would argue to the contrary, music soothes the savage beast. But that is a different blog...
Looking around last night at all the high school kids, especially the 14 year old girls who no way in hell walked out of their houses wearing what they were that night, I thought, "is my time over? Am I too old for this? Do I stand out here?"
Back in the day my friends and I went to this little place called the Roach. Believe me, it was aptly named. But it was amazing. We saw bands like System of A Down, Static X and Sevendust before they were big. I crowd surfed, I got in the pit with the boys. Not because I wanted to be cool .. . but because that was and is who I am. There is a rush that comes with floating around on top of a crowd, trusting the hands of complete strangers, that no drug can provide. I knew it was not normal for a girl to be into this stuff...I was supposed to be listening to techno and light jazz right?
But my group of friends have always known who I am, and for that I am grateful, and some of the best nights in my life have been spent in a little warehouse on First Ave. in Pocatello.
Last night while I was watching the familiar chaos before a show, sound checks, extension cords and last minute make up checks from the groupies, I wondered if I still belong to the club.Do I still "get it?" The code could not have changed that much in the last 10 years, right? What would these high school kids think if I got in the pit and showed them how it's done?
I love my family. I would not trade what I have now for the world. But every once in awhile I need some reassurance, something that reminds me I still have the passion for a live show that I had when I was "young." I got that last night.I felt great, and it has stuck with me all day. Thanks to the amazing bands who have let me into their worlds via an interview and hanging out at a show, I have some GREAT rock n' roll stories from some of the most famous rock musicians of the last few decades, and some of the most talented local bands from Idaho and Utah.
It does not matter how old I get, I will always know who I am, and the people who matter in my life do too. Now I think it is time for me to try that sleep thing . . .
Now I almost think I would sell my soul for an few hours of deep sleep. Just a few. That's all I will take, I promise.
That is just one of the things that have evolved in my life in the last ten years since I pushed myself out of the nest and joined "the real world." I have been dealing with that a lot lately, the "holy s***, I am almost 30." I am responsible now... I have two small children to take care of, a full time job, finding alone time for my hubby and I, bills . . . . I still can't sleep, but for different reasons.
I went to a concert last night. . . I have gotten really into concert photography lately and there was this great band from Utah performing and I wanted to help them out.
There is a certain rush you get from going to a concert, and it is even better when the show is in a small, underground club with 30 people. The lights, the smell, the people. We are all friends, though we've never met. If you get knocked down I'll pick you up, and you'll do the same for me. There is just this unspoken code that we all follow. This is the only place where some fit in.Some people want to close down all these little clubs. ... saying music promotes violence... I would argue to the contrary, music soothes the savage beast. But that is a different blog...
Looking around last night at all the high school kids, especially the 14 year old girls who no way in hell walked out of their houses wearing what they were that night, I thought, "is my time over? Am I too old for this? Do I stand out here?"
Back in the day my friends and I went to this little place called the Roach. Believe me, it was aptly named. But it was amazing. We saw bands like System of A Down, Static X and Sevendust before they were big. I crowd surfed, I got in the pit with the boys. Not because I wanted to be cool .. . but because that was and is who I am. There is a rush that comes with floating around on top of a crowd, trusting the hands of complete strangers, that no drug can provide. I knew it was not normal for a girl to be into this stuff...I was supposed to be listening to techno and light jazz right?
But my group of friends have always known who I am, and for that I am grateful, and some of the best nights in my life have been spent in a little warehouse on First Ave. in Pocatello.
Last night while I was watching the familiar chaos before a show, sound checks, extension cords and last minute make up checks from the groupies, I wondered if I still belong to the club.Do I still "get it?" The code could not have changed that much in the last 10 years, right? What would these high school kids think if I got in the pit and showed them how it's done?
I love my family. I would not trade what I have now for the world. But every once in awhile I need some reassurance, something that reminds me I still have the passion for a live show that I had when I was "young." I got that last night.I felt great, and it has stuck with me all day. Thanks to the amazing bands who have let me into their worlds via an interview and hanging out at a show, I have some GREAT rock n' roll stories from some of the most famous rock musicians of the last few decades, and some of the most talented local bands from Idaho and Utah.
It does not matter how old I get, I will always know who I am, and the people who matter in my life do too. Now I think it is time for me to try that sleep thing . . .
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Memories from great grandma's house
I remember my great grandma Anderson's house from my childhood. It was right down the street from my house, somewhere in between Thomas, Riverside and po-dunk nowhere West of Blackfoot. The front yard was shrouded with bushes and trees, making it dark enough to scare any child from it's shadows. The porch was on the side, and the several fountains that lived there were always running, providing hours of entertainment and soaked clothes.
Their house was the only one I hav ever seen that had a garden indoors. Rather than have pots in plants, there was a gray brick wall with dirt in the middle that supported what must have been 50 philidendrons, ivy, and other tropical plants. For a child, it was an indoor jungle. All the grand kids wondered why we all could not have a built in jungle at our house.
The back room houses a wood burning stove, but since we were never there in the winter I don't know if they ever used it. There was a tin, or box (my memory has already started to fade) filled with Lincoln Logs. REAL Lincoln Logs, not the modern plastic so-the-kids-don't-get-splinters Lincoln Logs, the real wooden deal. They were scarred with dings and dents from countless forts, garages and barns.
In the back yard grew an ancient Weeping Willow tree, the kind you see illustrated in children's books. Long dragging, yellow branches really did make it look sad. But then again, how could any tree with a tire swing be sad? It took some effort, and the flexibilty only a child posesses to climb into, but, if it were not filled with water from an afternoon storm or morning sprinklers the black rubber and thick yellow rope was the best place to spend a summer afternoon.
We drank water straight from the hose . . . it was so cold an actually clean enough to not send everyone who saw us into a panic. That was some of the best tasting water I have ever had.
I never realized that the field behind the back yard was their's too. And my great grandpa had probably spent hours in the vintage farm equipment that now sat collecting rust and bee's nests. Those are the stories I wish I knew now; how that tractor ended up there and the days spent working the earth. The stories we rolled our eyes to as children are the stories we wished we had payed better attention to now. History should never be allowed to die.
The last time I saw my great-grandpa he was sitting at his usual perch, a soft covered rocking chair in the family room of my grandma's house. The thought occured to me that I should hug him and say goodbye. But then, being shy, I figured I would do it next time. Of course, I did not get a next time because he died not long after. My great-grandmother sold the house and moved in with family members.
Awhile later I learned that their old house had burned to the ground. The person who had purchsed it claimed it was an accident, but there was speculation that it was set on purpose for insurance money. As silly as it sounds, I was upset. I drove by, wanting confirmation, and sure enough, the home where I had spent so much of my time was now nothing but a pile of blackened wood and concrete foundation. In a way it was a symbol that everything comes to an end, and a lesson in enjoying what you have while you have it.
I miss that house, but more importantly I miss what it represented. I experienced so many classic childhood "musts" there, and I will always remember those things. ..
Their house was the only one I hav ever seen that had a garden indoors. Rather than have pots in plants, there was a gray brick wall with dirt in the middle that supported what must have been 50 philidendrons, ivy, and other tropical plants. For a child, it was an indoor jungle. All the grand kids wondered why we all could not have a built in jungle at our house.
The back room houses a wood burning stove, but since we were never there in the winter I don't know if they ever used it. There was a tin, or box (my memory has already started to fade) filled with Lincoln Logs. REAL Lincoln Logs, not the modern plastic so-the-kids-don't-get-splinters Lincoln Logs, the real wooden deal. They were scarred with dings and dents from countless forts, garages and barns.
In the back yard grew an ancient Weeping Willow tree, the kind you see illustrated in children's books. Long dragging, yellow branches really did make it look sad. But then again, how could any tree with a tire swing be sad? It took some effort, and the flexibilty only a child posesses to climb into, but, if it were not filled with water from an afternoon storm or morning sprinklers the black rubber and thick yellow rope was the best place to spend a summer afternoon.
We drank water straight from the hose . . . it was so cold an actually clean enough to not send everyone who saw us into a panic. That was some of the best tasting water I have ever had.
I never realized that the field behind the back yard was their's too. And my great grandpa had probably spent hours in the vintage farm equipment that now sat collecting rust and bee's nests. Those are the stories I wish I knew now; how that tractor ended up there and the days spent working the earth. The stories we rolled our eyes to as children are the stories we wished we had payed better attention to now. History should never be allowed to die.
The last time I saw my great-grandpa he was sitting at his usual perch, a soft covered rocking chair in the family room of my grandma's house. The thought occured to me that I should hug him and say goodbye. But then, being shy, I figured I would do it next time. Of course, I did not get a next time because he died not long after. My great-grandmother sold the house and moved in with family members.
Awhile later I learned that their old house had burned to the ground. The person who had purchsed it claimed it was an accident, but there was speculation that it was set on purpose for insurance money. As silly as it sounds, I was upset. I drove by, wanting confirmation, and sure enough, the home where I had spent so much of my time was now nothing but a pile of blackened wood and concrete foundation. In a way it was a symbol that everything comes to an end, and a lesson in enjoying what you have while you have it.
I miss that house, but more importantly I miss what it represented. I experienced so many classic childhood "musts" there, and I will always remember those things. ..
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