Turning Into My Soul

Hmmmm...

I'm not one much for labels. They only seem to cover one part of a person, but The Guy likes to tell me I'm an endurance athlete. I think that's pretty accurate, in many different ways.

I've lived most of my life, having to endure things. I'm not particularly patient, but I am diligent and if there is one thing I can do, it's endure. When I was younger, I endured the death of my mom, and the indentured servitude of my abusive legal guardians, my "lost" angry years, an abusive marriage (since I thought that's what I deserved) and the four years I spent reading, journaling and working on my self-esteem issues and insecurities, so that I would never again think I deserved an abusive relationship.

I counted down the hours and days until Stinky regained consciousness from her meningitis, and the minutes that seemed like hours for the tornado to slam into our basementless house and move on.

Here is a lone boxcar.

So, now that I know I can do it and I try to actively keep as much bad stuff out of my life as I can control, I don't worry so much about being happy and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Instead, I count the minutes of my brutal trainer work-out or the miles of my relaxing after work run. Every once in a while, I regret the time I wasted in bad situations in the past, but mostly, I'm too busy "enduring" the fun and athletic life I've worked so hard to create.

But You Had Just Enough Pathos to Keep Me Hypnotized

The Guy loving up his cat.

So, this weekend marks the one year anniversary of The Guy getting hit at 55 mph by an F150 truck. He just had an x-ray and was given a clean bill of health...For now. We're not sure what will happen in the years to come, but right now, I think everyone who cares about him is feeling very lucky that things weren't as bad as they could've been and that he worked so hard to recover so well.

To celebrate, this weekend we thought we'd go on a bike ride and then to the roller derby on Saturday, and then do a cyclocross race on Sunday. There. That oughta defy the hell out of that bad experience.

I'm wishing all of us a "getting hit by a truck" free weekend.

Modern Thought Can Get the Best of You

The Guy maniacally and simultaneously spanking the cats' asses.

It's beautiful here today. I went for a walk downtown on my lunch break and saw a very pregnant woman sitting on a bench. My first thought was, "Whew! I'm glad I don't have to do that again." Don't get me wrong. I'm glad I did it when I was younger, and I love my girls, but my tolerance for certain things seems to get so much lower the older I get.

I'm also glad I'm not as poor as I was back then, I'm glad I'm not in an abusive marriage, like I was back then, I'm glad I have more free time and I'm glad I have a hell of a lot more options than I did in my twenties. Of course, the cats are kind of annoying, but that's just a given, right?

Kiss Me Now That I'm Older

Me on RAGBRAI in 2006.

Soooooo. People have been asking if I really love to ride that many miles on my bike, or if it's something to do as a way to spend time with The Guy. Well, let me tell you about my cycling history then:

I first started riding bicycles with my brother, before I ever got into running. He got a really nice ten speed from his Big Brother (he was in the Big Brother/Big Sister program) and I rode my 1 speed red, white and blue Liberty Bell bike with the banana seat. We would get bored and ride our bikes for hours out through the alfalfa fields and orange tree groves of Mesa, Az. and I loved it.

Then we moved to Chicago and I rode a bike to commute through junior high and high school. Running took over as my favorite drug. Running was the perfect poor girl sport. With biking there were all those gadgets and gee gaws to buy and maintain and I know I've mentioned several times that I have no mechanical skillz whatsoever.

Here's me taking a break from the bike ride and "Havinfun".

When I got to college, my brother spent the first half of one Summer fixing up an old 60's 3-speed called a Hiawatha Flyer for me for my birthday. I rode it everywhere. I again went on long rides with my brother and my best friend Mark and I loved it.

Once I had kids, my riding days were over except for commuting. I didn't have the time to go on long bike rides and couldn't really afford even an inner tube for a blown tire. I could get a hell of a work-out while running for an hour as opposed to biking an hour

In the last couple of years, I've had more time and went on a lot of bike rides by myself. Now, that I'm with The Guy, my girls are older and don't necessarily want me around much, I have help with the mechanical part of biking, and someone to ride with so I'm not out by myself for hours on deserted country roads, I am able to bike on really long rides again and I love it.

So, in answer to the question: Yes. I love to bike AND it's a great way to spend time with The Guy.

Picture Yourself When You're Getting On

My friend Bry "helpfully" stretching out my hamstring.

Here are some observations and ponderings from after I went swimming last week:

Locker room.

The youth sucked out of it by Spring Break and the early morning hour.

Older Women,

Naked.

Our faces and bodies bare.

Eyes resting on uncovered bags.

Skin has lost its blush.

Still, all the laps, weights, reps, and stretches preserving most of us pretty well.

After we're all modestly wrapped back up in fabric,

With our faces back "on" and our bags safely hidden under foundations or powders,

I am always left to wonder:

How would my 25 year old self feel seeing my 45 year old self so exposed?

Would I be disappointed or proud of what we had become?

I Hear You Singin' Through the Wire, I Can Hear You in the Whine

Here is Coadster on Halloween. She was one of the Jer*sey Sho*re girls. (so, so much bronzer) Oh, she makes her mama proud.

Tonight I had a great run. It was the first time since the guy's accident that I felt really strong and got such an amazing runner's high. It was exactly what I needed. At one point during my run, the song "Wichita Lineman" came on my iPod, and I was immediately transported back to my childhood. I was struck by an incredible ache to be a kid and have someone take care of things for me. I imagined how nice it would be to have someone else make my dinner and pay the bills and I could just whine about being forced to take a shower and go to bed early. Can you imagine how lovely it would feel if you had the luxury of going to bed early one night? Crazy.

Anyway, I got home and made some frijoles and pumpkin pie and picked up Stinky from work and it really was just fine...Now, I'll finish blogging and go to bed too late and I'll just have to whine about that then.

And Kingdoms Rise and Kingdoms Fall but You Go On

Stinky in her most gruesome, and therefore my favorite Halloween costume.

Sooo, with all the hub bub the last couple of weeks, I almost forgot Halloween was coming up. Jeez! How did that happen? Now that things are calming down with the guy's recovery, I can start getting on the stick and carve pumpkins and make pumpkin pie and rake leaves this weekend (and more importantly, jump in them) and get all festive.

I was just thinking today how October has generally been a big trauma month for me. This year was the guy's accident, When Coadster was a baby, we got in our accident on October 4th and my mom died near the end of October. Since I was 10, I'm not sure of the date, but I remember it was right before Halloween, because I was in total denial and went trick-or-treating, thinking that if I just did everything like normal, then everything would return that way and my mom would be home when I got there. (one of my longer sentences, that one)

Even though I'm not a fan of the colder weather and how early it will start getting dark, I suppose I won't mind watching November rush in...

What's the Fun in Playing it Safe? I Think I'd Rather Misbehave

My usual Stinky birthday pic.

So, it is that Wednesday is the first day of Fall and Stinky's 17th birthday. Wha?! It still blows me away. There was a point where it seemed like she would always be a very loud two year old...And there that was that other point when she was 5 and very sick, where I didn't know if she'd make it to 6.

I've been through my share of everything with Stinky. My old joke was that if Stinky had been my first, she may have been an only child. She's always been the sweetest little girl, but she's also been a HUGE boundary pusher. Luckily, she also cares so much when she upsets me and it tears her up when she loses my trust, so the older she gets, the harder she tries aspires to the straight and narrow.

Here's to another 17 years sliding face first into her adult life together. I anticipate a bumpy and wild ride. I've got my seatbelt on and I'm holding onto the Jesus bar, but I can't wait.

Tuesday's On the Phone to Me

Well, it looks like Coadster is settling into college life pretty well...I think.

Today was a busy day, so this will be short. I rode my bike home from work, drove to the woman's house and mowed her yard, drove home, ran 6 miles, went to the store, made dinner and watched a cheesy TV show with Stinky. I am pooped.

On Sunday when I was cleaning, I was listening to the Black Keys (who I love), but one of their songs sounded a lot like the Beatles to me and I realized I haven't listened to any Beatles lately. They can get overplayed, but they are total nostalgia music for me. They remind me of so many different phases of my life. So, I switched from the Black Keys and listened to Abbey Road and Revolver - my two favorite Beatles albums. It was perfect Sunday afternoon cleaning the house music, just like when I was a kid. How about you all? Are you Beatles lovers or haters and what is your favorite Beatles album?

No Comprende, It's a Riddle

I'm not really sure how this pic of me in my OP shirt from my first college ID survived 5,000 moves, but it did...Kind of.

So, today I reserved our motel room in Ames for Coadster's orientation at the end of the month. I've tried really hard to make my girls' lives that much better than mine was growing up. Since high school was so horrible for me, that's been pretty easy to do. I hope that we can go to Coadster's orientation and support her while she makes some of her first adult decisions. I just want her to know that whatever she chooses to do, Stinky and I will love her and support her in any way we can.

I tired to remember my own freshman orientation, but it's all pretty blurry to me now. Of course, my aunt and uncle couldn't be bothered to take me and my sister so nicely took it upon herself to arrange it so I could actually attend. She had a friend who was home from college for the Summer, but had a boyfriend still up in Cedar Falls, and my sister got her to take me up with her when she went to visit him. As I recall, I was the only student there without other family members.

I don't remember meeting with an advisor and signing up for classes, but I do remember taking a CLEP test that seemed really easy and kicking myself for not taking more and getting out of other classes too. My strongest memory, though, is of the night I spent there. My sister's friend's boyfriend lived in a little studio apartment. So, I slept on the floor, pretending to be asleep and feeling very, very uncomfortable while my sister's friend and her boyfriend dry hum*ped each other on the couch about 5 feet away from me.

Behind the Image Was Ignorance and Fear

My Irises are almost ready to pop.

It's time for another installment of my continuing rough draft writing exercise:

The training academy was located in an old minimum security prison in Angels Camp. There were way more guys than girls, and the extra attention made her uncomfortable. Especially, when she had to walk past a line of men on the way to the cafeteria and try not to hear all the things they said to her. She had often wished she was invisible. She didn't want to look like anything, didn't always want to have to participate, and like Chance in Being There, she liked to watch.

The training academy forced her to be very present. She had spent the last month mostly by herself. It was only a week ago that she was stuck in a motel room, faced with all of her demons and no way to escape. She remembered one particularly bad night where in just a few moments she went from entertaining thoughts of suicide, to freaking out that she might have cancer. Here, in the middle of the day, she could laugh to herself at the ridiculousness of fearing and hoping for the same thing.

And so all of these people and rules and schedules, finally making her so aware of her external world, probably weren't such a bad thing. She just wished she had some kind of cloaking device to get her to the cafeteria for every meal.

This City Desert Makes You Feel So Cold

Here is a full moon photo from a few years ago. I doubt that the moon looks much different than that tonight.

Okay, kids. It's back to my writing exercise. I had a crazy busy afternoon/evening, but at least my new push mower is assembled and my front yard is mowed and I'm done giving plasma for the week. Hooray! Now, for the very rough continual writing exercise:

He told her there were a bunch of whores in San Francisco, but he drew out the O, so it sounded more like whooooores. She politely smiled and nodded and he didn't seem to notice her eyes had glazed over. When he picked her up, she had made a big point to assure him that her people were waiting for her in San Francisco. She thought that if he knew there were family who would notice if she disappeared, he would be less likely to chop her into pieces and bury her in his backyard. She was delusional.

After the last ride, she promised herself she wouldn't hitch anymore, but she was afraid she would miss her bus and she couldn't stand being in Santa Rosa another minute. The last ride, where the guy had seemed very normal and respectable, wearing a suit, with his hair parted on the side like a Lutheran minister. She sat next to him and felt him get more and more upset, every single one of his muscles tightened up and his hands were white on the wheel. She'd never felt anyone hate her so hard before. "Excuse, me," she said, but he ignored her and kept driving, even picking up speed. "Um. Hey, I think I'll just get out here, thanks," she said gesturing to the side of the road next to an open field. He didn't acknowledge her. She had one hand on the door handle and the other held her duffle bag. She was prepared to jump from the moving car if she had to. She yelled, "Let me out here. NOW!" He still didn't look at her, but he slowed the vehicle to a stop and she jumped out.

This guy was the opposite of the last one. He wore a gas station attendant shirt with the name "Roy" embroidered on the pocket. He was horribly chatty, but seemed friendly and harmless. "So, you know. If you don't got anyplace to go, you could always stay here in Santa Rosa. I got a little line of gold I'm working. I got a trailer for me and an extra one too where you could live. It wouldn't be sexual or nuthin'. I just need a woman to cook and clean for me." She had a hard time keeping a straight face when she thanked him anyway and reminded him that her family was waiting for her in San Francisco. If she wanted to be someone's maid and live in a trailer, she could have stayed in Iowa and saved herself the trouble of moving.

He dropped her off at the bus station downtown. She had a little time to kill before her bus left, so she walked around as much as she could without crossing the lines of the movie set. She was curious as to which famous actors might be across the street. She wondered if she ever saw the movie when it came out, would she remember just how alone and awkward and scared she felt right at that moment.

A Long, Long Way From My Home

Here's me at Standish and Hickey State Park where I lived while I was in the California Conservation Corps.

Okay, As promised (or threatened) here is more of my writing exercise from a couple of weeks ago:

She picked Santa Rosa at the suggestion of one of the dishwashers at the restaurant where she worked back in Iowa. He said it was nice mid-sized town where he thought she'd be able to get around pretty easily without a car. Of course, he couldn't have known they'd be be shooting a movie there. A movie that would star Kathleen Turner and take place in 1960, so they wouldn't let anyone dressed in their 1985 clothes anywhere near the downtown. She had to take a very long detour to get anywhere. So, she either walked for at least an hour from her motel to almost everywhere else, or she hitchhiked.

How it worked with the Conservation Corps., was that she had to sign up and get a full physical at any of the towns in California, then she had to wait about a month to see if she made it in. She picked The Redwood Motel out of a phone book. The name conjured up happy memories of the trees in Yosemite where her family had gone on vacation when she was 12. The reality of the Redwood Motel was dingy and desolate and on the outskirts of town, next to a trailer court.

The first full day in Santa Rosa was a Sunday. She walked a half an hour to the closest store and wandered down the aisles. It felt strange to be 19 and NOT live in a college town. Everyone was either so much older or a child. She didn't think she could identify with anyone she passed in the store. It was a familiar predicament for her. She had first moved to Iowa from a very working-class town in the Chicago area. In high school, she was a little too harsh for the popular kids and didn't drink or do drugs, so the rougher kids (or scurves, as they were known in her town) didn't have much use for her either. She felt chronically isolated. Although, she smiled to herself, she had a hard time identifying with her self from five minutes ago too, so maybe the isolation was more her problem than anyone else's. She had a bad habit of being quite contrary.

One Minute I Held the Key, Next the Walls Were Closed On Me

Here is a railroad bridge in Davenport, Ia.

Sooooo, I know I have this running theme on my blog. No, not the theme of running this time. But the theme of the problems I have with balance in my life. Like I've said, most of my favorite activities are fairly solitary ones - reading, writing, running, and riding my bike are generally things I like to do alone. Of course, as I also always say, if I spend too much time by myself, it can make me a little weird(er). The last few years, I've tried really hard to make myself go out and socialize. This last week, I oversocialized and spending too much time around people can mess with me way worse than not spending enough time with people. I guess what I'm trying to say, is that the goal this week is to slow it down and spend as much time as I can at home, working on my kitchen and reading books. Now that's a goal I can easily reach.

Okay. I have one more thing. Yesterday afternoon, my girls and I were in the parking lot of our local Hy-Vee grocery store. We were unloading our cart into our car when a guy parked directly behind us and said something that was a little hard to understand. Coadster was standing closest to his car and said, "Excuse me?"

"Ya'll are sexy. Are ya'll getting ready to pull out?" He repeated.

"Um. There are a bunch of other spaces around us and now there's a car behind you..." Coadster responded.

"He's being a creeper. Don't talk to him," I said to Coadster, quietly so he couldn't hear. And to prove my point the guy repeated,

"Seriously. All y'all are seeeeexxxxxyyyy."

We got in our car and quickly realized the guy wasn't going to move. He thought he could keep us from pulling out, by blocking our car. Thank god there wasn't a car in front of us, so I just pulled through and took off as quickly as I could, in the snow away from him. How weird and scary was that though? And who the hell trolls the grocery store parking lot looking for mother/daughter victims? Jaysus!

But February Made Me Shiver

Well, what do you know? Another snowy pic for you all on the anniversary of when Iowa killed Buddy Holly.

I'll just warn you right now, I've had the night to myself and I spent it reading and listening to music, so I'm going to be annoyingly reflective and introspective. Sorry. I finally finished reading the book, Reading Lolita in Tehran. If you haven't read it, it's about a private class a woman teaches in the 80's and 90's in Iran. Each chapter is the study of a different author and how the women in the class use literature to cope with life under such a sexist and oppressive government.

I loved the book, but it was also hard for me to read sometimes. It took me straight back to high school. As I've said before, I'm a runner and hider. When I was in high school and my life was so horrible, I created an extensive inner-world, full of books and music. It was the only place I could go to escape all the oppression of my home life. I feel like books saved my life at that time, or at least my sanity...Well, what there was to save, anyway. The women in the novel needed that parallel universe of literature to give them hope of a world that wasn't so stifling. As the narrator says, "A novel is not an allegory....It is the sensual experience of another world."

When I was under 18 and had no control over my real life, my internal world helped me to cope with my situation. Of course, the same thing that helped me when I was younger, hurt me as an adult. When I was in an abusive marriage, I found myself reverting back to my old habits of running and hiding into my inner-life. It was a victim's response where I was sleepwalking through a bad situation, instead of fixing it. Because of my girls, I snapped out of that and fixed the situation by leaving. Now, I still go to that world, but it's not because I'm afraid to face my life anymore. It's more like a vacation, where I'm always glad I visited, but I'm even happier to get home. One of my favorite quotes from the book on the Gatsby chapter says: "His reveries for a while 'provided an outlet for his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on fairy's wings'"

I'm starting to reread Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises next. It should be the perfect follow-up to this, since the last time I read it I was in high school. It will be interesting to see what different things I focus on when I read it this time.

Don't Have a Window to Slip Out Of

I took this with my phone and no flash on my way home from work. She seemed a little frantic looking, but maybe she's stressing about the cold temps descending upon us again.

So, here's how it all went down today. I finally got a call from the school. The guy said he had Stinky and the punching girl sit in a room together and talk things out. What?! I was pissed. I didn't think that was a safe situation for Stinky and I also think that "talking it out" implies that Stinky had some culpability in it. Believe me, I'm all about keeping my kids accountable for their actions. But it was clear from all accounts and video footage that Stinky didn't even defend herself. Stinky said they sat there by themselves not saying anything until Stinky apologized. I asked her why she apologized and she said she was scared that if she didn't, it would start all over again. I told the guy I wasn't happy with his treatment of the incident. He told me the puncher girl received some disciplinary action that he wasn't at liberty to tell me. Of course, all the kids at school were talking about it, so I found out that she got 3 days of suspension (2 of them were in-school).

I guess the real punishment for the puncher girl is that all the kids at school are shunning her and talking shit about her. Maybe that will help redirect her behavior in the future. I've heard tell that some boy got the last few minutes of the attack on video with his phone. I know I couldn't watch it. It would make me too sad and angry at the same to watch someone hurting my daughter.

Okay. I hate drama. I can't stand conflict and violence. I had to experience enough of it by the time I was 18 to last me the rest of my life and all of yours, so I'm leaving that all behind now. Of course, I'm monitoring the situation as closely as I can, in case the puncher girl has another flare-up, though.

On another note. I think I'm ready to start my cupboard project. I over-researched it, went to Menard's to get a few more things to help me with it, and now all I have to do is get cracking. I'm taking the doors off and finishing the boxes first. I've heard it's messy and time consuming, so I'm going to gear-up and prep as much as I can before the weekend so I can finish it by Sunday. We'll see how that goes....

I Can't See Much Difference Between the Dark and the Light

Here is some destruction from the tornado in my backyard...Was that almost four years ago now?

Hey, kids. I gave myself a get out of jail free card night tonight. I could feel I needed to rest, and if I'm not going to listen to anyone else, I might as well try to listen to myself every now and again. I got a new battery and was told the alternator was fine. Whew!

With all the news of the earthquake in Haiti, I had some weird remembrances of the tornado. I decided to post my little piece I wrote about it a few days after it happened. I'm glad I did, since i seem to have forgotten some of it already. If you've been reading my blog for a while, you've probably seen this, if not, it is a little long, but take a gander if you feel like it. Here it is:

At first the sirens went off and we ignored them. I have ignored those sirens for the 20 years I've lived in Iowa City. Coadster looked worried but I reassured her (like I always do) that there will never be a tornado in Iowa City because of the way the river runs or whatever the hell I've always been told. Then the siren went off again and I told Coadster that the tornado would hit Swisher like it always does. Then I got a call from Stinky at UAY telling me that she was safe and in a basement.

I got Coadster set up in our laundry room that doesn't have any windows (we don't have a basement) and I decided to take a bath since the bathroom doesn't have any windows either. I lit candles just in case the power went out and Coadster had dragged any comforter or blanket she could find. Halfway through my bath, the sirens stopped and then I heard a sound different from anything I'd ever heard before. It was like a train, but louder - it was a huge locomotive, bigger than our house. I jumped out of the tub and wrapped some towels around myself. Coadster was in the fetal position on the floor and so I wedged right behind her. She had made a nest of our dirty laundry and comforters and we covered ourselves in blankets. Our ears were popping and we could feel the house start to lift. All we could hear was that fucking train and Coadster screaming, "Mommy, make it stop!" But I couldn't. I couldn't protect my daughter. When I felt the house move, I thought that was it for us and I was so sad that Stinky would have to grow up without us.

Then something happened and our ears stopped popping and the house calmed down. I think it was because the roof blew off and relieved the pressure. Then the winds died down. We were afraid to sit up in case it came back. I reminded Coadster to breathe, "In through your nose and out through your mouth," and we practiced taking long, deep breaths together.

We heard voices outside. People inquiring if everyone was okay. We decided to get up and see what happened. All of our windows were covered in mud and I remember thinking how strange it was that none of them had blown through. I tried to open our door to see out, but there was a tree keeping us in. I went around to the other door and the tree was there too, but we could wedge it open a crack big enough to get through. Our neighbor and his daughter were standing outside. When Coadster saw her friend, they both cried and held onto each other. My neighbor informed me that there was a gas leak and a downed power line and we should leave our place. He took Coadster and I tried to get in my car and pick up Stinky downtown.

My car looked okay at first and then I noticed the glass. The back window blew through my car along with parts of trees and leaves. I cleaned off my seat and got in. The road was blocked by a downed tree to the West and so I tried to go the other way. I made it to Hotz Street before I was blocked by another tree. Hotz St was torn up. Every tree, every garage, most of the houses looked like they had been bombed. The radio was telling me that another tornado was approaching so I got out and tried to run to our neighbor's house. A guy stopped me and asked me if I had a place to go. I have no idea what I said to him, but whatever it was must have appeased him. It smelled like Christmas because of the huge pine that had been topped off and was now lying in the street. I looked out for downed power lines and climbed over several huge trees before I made it to the neighbor's house. Every single one of their windows had been blown out, but they had a basement and we all huddled in the bathroom and listened to the radio.

It sounded safe again. The neighbor's phone was working so I called my ex-husband at 126 where he works and asked him to get Stinky. We went outside to see if everyone was okay. Slowly, we were finding people and pets. But we couldn't see very well. We thought it would be so much better if we could just see. We were trying to go from house to house on Parsons, Hotz and Jefferson to make sure everyone was okay. Most people I ran into were laughing - not because it was funny, but because it all seemed so ridiculous and surreal. I walked past a duplex on Hotz street where one side was smashed by a tree and I heard someone sobbing. That sound was almost worse than the sound of the tornado itself.

We had heard that they turned the gas off so we thought it was safe to go back home. I walked to the back to see if the gas lines were still attached and they were. When I came back to the front my landlord was there with his high school aged daughter and 2 of her male friends. he hugged me and said his house was fine but he was fighting back tears at what happened to us. He thought it would be okay for us to stay in our place since the gas was off.

The upstairs neighbors came home to get their cats. He had left 10 minutes before the storm and had barely made it to his friend's house before it hit. Luckily, their cats were fine and they put them in a duffel bag to take them back to where they were staying. His girlfriend was crying and Coadster went up to her and said, "Are you okay? Really?" and hugged her. I was so happy that my daughter was growing up to be a compassionate and good person. Sometimes when they're 13 and hard to take, you wonder, but Coadster has been so amazingly helpful and kind through all of this.

The guy who lives upstairs looked around and said, "Dude, this looks just like Storm Stories, but it's my house."

The girls and I finally went in our house. We unfolded our futons and all slept together in the living room so I could reach over and make sure they were okay throughout the night. One, two. One, two. I counted them from time to time. They were both sure they wouldn't be able to sleep, but they were out in 5 minutes. I was up most of the night. We had to leave the window open (without a screen as they had all been shredded and ripped off), since there could have been gas left in the pipes to escape into our house. MidAmerican was across the street by 10 and working cutting up all the felled trees on the power lines. Chainsaws buzzed all night and after the bars closed, the drunk college kids stumbled through our neighborhood laughing and probably looting. I fell asleep dreaming about a drunken A-hole trap. In my dream, the power was still on and I set a cold shiny 40 oz. directly behind the live power line and watched as each drunk fried on their way to take it.

He frowns, "Gee, My Life's a Funny Thing, Am I Still Too Young?"

A recycled photo of me and my family at Papago when I was a kid. I'm the one standing in front of the dog in my favorite turtle patterned sun suit.

Hey, check me out. I'm actually trying my hand at some fictiony-ish writing. I rarely try to write in a man's voice. As I've said before, I have no idea what goes on in guys heads, and I'm more than a little afraid to find out. (I'm sure guys say the same thing about me) I just thought it would be an interesting exercise. Feel free to tell me if and how it is totally unbelievable. As usual, I appreciate the feedback. Fair warning, I wrote this just now and as usual, didn't really proofread it. Here it is:

He could hear one of them out there. They had to go. No, they couldn't hold it. They really, really had to go. NOW. The enemy at the gates, he thought. They always acted like he couldn't hear them when he checked-out, but he heard everything. He just chose not to respond. He felt like the kid who closes his eyes and thinks no one can see him. He hoped that if he didn't interact, then everyone would take the hint and leave him alone. It rarely seemed to work that way. Although, this time he could hear his wife leading one of the kids away from the door.

Sometimes he just couldn't do it. It was all too much for him. All the people, all the kids, all of them needing. Every year he acquired more people, and they all wanted something from him - his money, his time, his privacy and they expected him to express emotions he didn't even feel comfortable admitting he had. It was overwhelming and made him want to hide in the bathroom, sitting in the tub with his feet braced against the wall and his head in his pulp science fiction books, where anything was possible...Including escape.

He could leave them, he knew. Just get in his VW bus and go. Start somewhere fresh, where no one knew him. Create a completely different past for himself, that would forge a future of infinite possibilities. But that would mean a life without his family. They would eventually find a replacement for him. Another man who would provide for them, and meet all of their expectations better than he did, and without feeling the need to hide in the bathroom. The thought of that was unbearable. So, he tried to be a husband and father when he could, and hid when he had to. Only imagining an otherworldly escape, where he would never have to know what happened to the people he left behind.

My Luck's Like a Button, I Can't Stop Pushing It

Here is a skeleton on a fence.

Please see the post below for the back story and Part one before reading this. Here is the second part:

"Get her a bag," the big nurse says to a nursing assistant who is just checking to see what's causing the raised voices.

"What?" the nursing assistant asks.

"A bag. A paper bag. She's starting to hyperventilate!" the nurse says with some urgency. By the time the nursing assistant comes back, it's too late. I'm shaking, but not just trembling. I can't control it and my whole body is spastic. Heather says she thinks I'm having a seizure. The nurse holds the bag over my nose and mouth. My arms are shaking so badly that I can't swat her away. I want to, though. The bag isn't giving me enough oxygen and I know I'll suffocate.

"Breathe, honey," Heather says. She is rubbing my back. "Coadster is fine. They think she broke both her legs, but baby's bones heal really fast. They said you saved her life. You protected her head so she didn't hit it. It was just her little legs dangling down when you hit the ground. So, you need to breathe in here and relax. As soon as you calm down, we can go see Coadster. Okay?"

I nod my head to show that I understand. I've stopped shaking and can now hold the bag by myself. Heather keeps her hand close in case I start spazzing again. The big nurse leaves and the nursing assistant takes care of my paperwork. She makes me sit a little longer until my blood pressure goes down.

When I'm finally calm enough, they let me leave the ER. On the way out, we almost run into the nurse who has been attending to me. If I were a more gracious person, I would stop and say thanks for all of her help, but I'm not. I can only feel embarrassed. I look away and Heather pushes me past her. I just hope the nurse doesn't ever come into the business office with questions about her bills.

Lady Be Good, Do What You Should, You Know It'll Be Alright

Here is a green goblin from the Halloween barn pics I took last year. I hope you like them, because you'll be seeing a lot of them this week.

I still don't have a lot of time to write, but I figured I'd at least keep my foot in it by pondering how I want to fix my old stuff. I'm going to put another excerpt from the horse and buggy accident story I showed you earlier. I'm still trying to figure out if I want to keep it in first person or not. I once had a writing exercise where we were supposed to write about something that we were either really embarrassed or ashamed about and try to be as honest about it as possible. This portion of the story would probably qualify for both. I had a concussion and I was trying to make sense of what happened to my baby. I'll just warn you, this won't be pretty.

Heather is the girl who's parents owned the acreage where the accident took place. At the time I wrote this, I was working in the business office of the hospital. I saw everything from the back end - after people already dealt with the physical and emotional pain, they then had to pay the financial price. It was another heartbreaking job for me and I wanted to incorporate that into the story too. Here is the first part and the second part will follow tomorrow:

At the hospital I am difficult. They want me to pee in a bedpan. I can't. There is a big open sore on my foot so I'm not able to walk to the bathroom. They tell me if I don't go soon, they will have to use a catheter. I was cathed when I was in labor with Coadster and I know I don't want that again.

"Where is my baby?" I'm together enough to know that I have one now, but no one will tell me where she is.

"She's with her father. She's okay," A big matter-of-fact nurse says. "You just concentrate on going tinkle."

"Coadster is fine but you really have to go in the bedpan." Heather is standing beside my bed in the emergency room. The fact that she's seeing me like this makes me hysterical.

" I can't. I just can't, okay?"

"Then we'll just have to cath you, ma'am," the nurse says. She says the word "ma'am" with the same emphasis I use when talking to pain in the ass patients - like it's another word for bitch.

Okay, I'll end here. This post is already WAY too long. I'll finish it tomorrow.