Well, I Wish I Was In New Orleans, I Can See It In My Dreams

 

 

I sure suck as a Blogger these days. I keep trying to be better, and then I end up doing a bunch of other stuff and not getting around to it. Jeanne Parsons, one of my favorite teachers in high school told me, "you always make time for the things you love." So, I am doing my damnedest to try and make time to write more. Sorry to all of you who have to read my babbling.

Okay, so anyway. I'm still writing about our vacation in May. On Saturday, Stinky's husband was there to hang out with us as well. He flew in the night before, and after delays, he finally made it to new Orleans around 12:00 that night.

After getting some fuel at our favorite neighborhood coffee shop, we walked the Crescent Park Trail to the French Quarter. It's about a mile and a half walk, and it takes you right to the French Market.

It has a dog park, beautiful gardens, and sculptures. If it hadn't been so hot and humid, it would have been the perfect little jaunt.

We even found some Happy Birthday graffiti for our special girl.

We wandered around the French Market, and I ended up buying an African mask and a little carved sculpture of three people all entwined. The guy who sold it to me told me it meant UNITY. Which I thought sounded cool, until my son-in-law said, "So, you bought a statue of an orgy?" Um, I honestly didn't see that. I guess if it really is an orgy, that could be some kind of unity too, right? As long as everyone is consenting and having fun? Whatever. So, I bought a carving of an orgy. So what. I'm sure the guy who sold it to me is still laughing at the old, white, Midwestern, mom who bought an orgy sculpture from him. I'm here to amuse people, apparently.

After buying all of our touristy stuff, we had a great lunch together, before we went our separate ways. Stinky and her husband went back to the house to secretly decorate the outdoor space with black balloons and streamers for The Oldest's birthday, and we went with The Oldest and her boyfriend to the WWII museum.

Let me say this, I would probably not have gone to the World War II Museum on my own volition, BUT holy hell, it was really cool and well done, and I'm so glad that Coadster asked us to join her there.

Coadster is a history nerd. She loves to research and read all about different times. She would also love to argue with you until she proves to you how RIGHT she is, and that is why I think she should be a lawyer, but anyway...She loves reading about World War II, on the battle front, and the home front. I have learned so much from her.

Sooooo, we went to the World War II museum, and really, everyone should check it out. They talk about all of the different theaters of it, and have testimonies by the people who were involved, and each area is set up like it was from the view of the soldiers. For instance, the Pacific theater starts in a room that feels like being on a ship, and then you walk into the next room that feels like you are on a tropical island, and meanwhile there are TV's with videos playing around each area. It was pretty damn cool and interesting.

They talked about the prejudice that happened for people of color, and there were three current soldiers in army fatigues walking through it at the same time we did. Two of them were white and one was black. It was great to hear them discussing and asking questions of the black soldier about his current experiences in the military. And that's what I mean about this museum. It really makes you think and ask questions and relate it all to how things are now.

At the beginning of our museum tour, a woman told us that we really needed 6 to 8 hours to see everything, and my poor, minuscule, attention span almost hightailed it out of my brain at the thought. Lucky for us, we saw a lot of what we wanted to see in just a few hours.

We made it back to our place, and The Oldest loved the birthday decorations her sister put up for her. We all rested at least a couple of minutes before we headed out again for the evening. 

We had all heard that if we wanted to eat BBQ in New Orleans, we needed to hit up The Joint. we were very lucky that it was just a few blocks away from where we were staying. I got chicken, and coleslaw, and mac and cheese, and it was delicious and made me very, very happy.

The Bywater neighborhood is also where they have all of the murals. If you know me at all, you know how much I love murals, and the one in the photo above was probably my favorite from our trip.

After dinner, we walked toward the French Quarter. My brother-in-law messaged us from Ottumwa to tell us that a band called Tuba Skinny was playing at a bar for free that night and we decided to check them out. Boy, were we glad we did. They play kind of 1920's style jazz, and there were tons of people dancing to it. I LOVE to watch people dance like they know what they're doing, and that's what we had there. All of these people swinging their partners and practically jitterbugging. I was in heaven.

We finally made it back to the French Quarter again. John and Stinky and I didn't last too long, because we had been there the night before, and Bourbon Street is fun to check out and people watch, but once every ten years is probably enough for me. Stinky's husband, however, wasn't with us the night before, so we went with him to see it. He wanted to go to some bar that was on the show, "Fix My Bar". Is that really the name of the show? Oh, well. It's something like that. So, we checked that out, and Stinky wanted to go to Channing Tatum's bar, which was fine. It just would have been a lot more appealing to me if Channing Tatum had actually been there, instead of just his cut-out.

Anyway, the whole trip was lovely. We had a few instances where one or all of us got cranky, and a couple of times where I disappointed my kids by not being able to read their minds, or maybe they told me they wanted to do something, and I didn't listen to them, or whatever. We had the whole family trapped in a car for a long time, and then hanging out in a house together for a long time, and we all have our own PERSONALITIES, and yes, I'm yelling that word at you, because that's what all of our personalities would do to you if you met us in person. So, we all spent a LOT of time together and we didn't kill each other, and we're all still talking to each other, and we all had a lot of fun together. So, Coadster's 30th birthday trip to New Orleans was a smashing success. Seriously, if I were rich, and there weren't scary hurricanes, or climate change raising the ocean levels, I would move to New Orleans in a minute, I loved it so much.

There is a House Way Down in New Orleans

 

Kids, I've been so bad about writing in here. This past month, I've been killing myself trying to get everything planted in my gardens, and I'm STILL not done yet. Sigh.

Anyway, I'm still trying to write about our vacation two weeks ago. On the second day, we made it to New Orleans at around 1:30. We stayed at a VRBO in the Bywater area. It was perfect for me. It's kind of the artsy/ hipster area. There are dive bars, a larger gay population, and murals painted everywhere. The houses themselves were works of art

The house where we stayed was incredible. It was old and full of character. It had a parking spot, and a great outdoor area.

We all have said that we want to go back to New Orleans sooner rather than later. I really wish that we had had a couple more days to explore our neighborhood better, but I guess we'll just have to plan to do that the next time we head down.

Okay, so we got all settled in our place and then walked to a cute little brew pub for lunch. It was a late lunch. I think we ate at around 3 or so. Which is important later on in the post.

We stopped to take photos on our walk home. Check out this house!  Power to the people! But also, I don't think even John would be okay with me painting our whole house like that, and he's pretty damn cool about the kind of shit I propose to do to our house.

Since we didn't know the city at all, we took an Uber to the French Quarter about an hour before our Voodoo/Ghosts/Vampire tour was supposed to start so we could wander around Bourbon Street a bit. It was a crazy zoo, but a very fun place to people watch. The kids all got drinks, and then we headed to meet our tour.

It was Friday the 13th, PLUS it was dark and stormy, so it was perfect for a creepy ghost tour.

The Oldest giving me the stink-eye for taking pictures.

Taylor was our tour guide. We knew we were going to love him when he came walking up wearing a Cramps t-shirt. He really knew his shit too. 

The next night we were walking past him, and Stinky yelled to the people on the tour, "Hey! Taylor is the BEST tour guide. Be sure you tip him well."

He turned around us and saw us. Then he yelled at John, "I remember you, Silver Fox! Making you laugh last night was even better than the $80 your kids tipped me."

I asked Stinky if she really tipped him $80, and she said, "No. It was probably closer to $30, but he's smart, so he exaggerated it to give today's tour the right idea."

While we were on the tour, we got to see a couple of Second Line processions. Usually, they are for funerals and weddings, but this was graduation weekend, so they were doing them for the graduating seniors. A Second Line procession is basically a little parade specific to a certain event. Most the processions we saw were for weddings. I love watching them. I still haven't seen one for a funeral, but the wedding ones, are great fun.

So, as our little tour went on, we heard a lot about all kinds of evil people, voodoo curses and beliefs, and then they got to the Kathy Bates from American Horror Story house (otherwise know as Nicholas Cage's former home). As we walked, I started feeling worse and worse, by the time we got to the American Horror Story home, I was downright peaked. I think it was a migraine, but John thinks it was because I was hungry. I did say I was starting to get hungry, but when I'm REALLY hungry I get cranky and hard to take. This was me seeing stars, and starting to pass-out.

I told John I had to sit down, but this is New Orleans. There are no benches, and who knows how much puke and urine are covering the sidewalks on any given night. The Oldest's boyfriend came to rescue. He took off his sandals, so I could sit on them. I sure hope he was up to date on his tetanus shot after standing barefoot in those streets.

Anyway, Stinky called us an Uber, and the kids went back to the tour. They said it was almost over, so we didn't miss much. I felt better after I got home and could lid down. Again, I'm pretty sure it was a migraine without the pain part. They have made me throw up and pass-out in the past. I had only had two beers, so it wasn't too much alcohol, and storm fronts can give me migraines, so that's my guess. Although, The Oldest's boyfriend thinks it was the ghosts of the tortured slaves at the Lalaurie House haunting me that made me feel faint. It WAS Friday the 13th, so you never know.

Most of My Heroes Don't Appear on No Stamps

Oh, man. It's been forever since I've written. As usual, I have a great excuse - May is a ridiculously busy month for me and general, and THIS May was my Oldest's 30th birthday, and she wanted to go to New Orleans with the family to celebrate it, and how the hell does any sane person say no to that? Yeah, I don't know either.

So, anyway, the whole first part of the month, I went crazy trying (and failing) to get everything planted in the garden before we left for New Orleans, then we went on the amazing trip, and then the last week I've been recovering, and STILL trying to get everything planted in the garden. So, now I am finally getting around to writing in the blog. I will start with the first day of The Oldest's 30th birthday trip.

We left Iowa City at 5:30 in the morning on Thursday, May 12th. We stopped in Cape Girardeau, Missouri for lunch, and then wandered down to the Mississippi River, where they had cool murals. We skipped rocks for a few minutes before we got back in the car to drive to Memphis, Tennessee, where I had never been before.

I know a lot of people like to go to Graceland when they visit Memphis, but we only had an afternoon, and we were WAY more into seeing the Civil Rights Museum. If you've never been there, I highly recommend it. It is powerful and heartbreaking and so well done. It is housed in the Lorraine Motel, where Martin Luther King Jr was shot. 

It covers the history of Black oppression in the United States, beginning with the first slaves who were stolen from their homelands and forced to live in violence and bondage here in the U S of A. It then talks about Reconstruction, and Jim Crow. Everything is so haunting and terrifying during slavery, and then when they get to the parts with the KKK.Why are people so messed up?

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It moves on to Rosa Parks, and the Civil Rights movement, and how many people fighting for the rights of African Americans were brutalized, murdered and jailed

 

The museum then talks about Martin Luther King's role, and how he was murdered at that very hotel.

The second part of the museum is across the street. It's the boarding house where the killer shot and killed Martin Luther King from a bathroom window. That part of the museum mostly dealt with the aftermath of MLK's murder and the conspiracy around his killer or killers. We were all very quiet at the end of our museum tour. There was so much to reflect on. A good museum will do that to you.

After we were done at the Civil Rights Museum, we went to our airbnb and tried to figure out where to eat. We are a family of women who get very HANGRY, so finding food is extremely important for us...And especially for poor John, who has to deal with us.

I found a BBQ place that looked amazing and had chicken and seafood, but when we got there, it was in a pretty depressed area of town.  I figured that's usually where the best BBQ is, right? We entered the joint, and there was one guy behind the counter and a bunch of his friends hanging out in front of the counter. They were all very nice, and the guy behind the counter said, "Sorry, but we're out of a lot of our BBQ". Then the menu posted had a lot of stuff crossed off, so we decided to eat somewhere else. I'm sure after we left they were all wondering how the hell these Wypipo ended up in that neighborhood.

We headed to Beale Street, and BB King's place had a $10 cover charge with only the shortest little wait for a table. We were all in. 

We had an amazing meal and fun drinks. Two different bands played while we were there, and they were both really good. Although, if I can go a while without hearing "Tennessee Whiskey", that would be more than fine.

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After we ate, we wandered around Beale Street for a while. It was pretty early on a Thursday night, so not much was happening. The Youngest wanted to check out the Coyote Ugly bar, but it was almost empty. The poor woman paid to dance on the bar looked almost as bored as I was.

 

We finally had enough and went back to our AirBnB. The Oldest had to go back out and pick up her boyfriend from the air port, but not before she got to tease her sister. Our place only had two bedrooms, so I figured The Youngest would sleep on the couch, but she found an air mattress in a GIGANTIC closet and decided to sleep there. Poor little Harriet Potter, forced to sleep in a cupboard under the staircase...

We all went to bed pretty early, so we could get up as early as possible and head to New Orleans on Friday the 13th. What could go wrong?

In a World of Simians, I'm Waiting for My Thumbs, On the Planet of the Apes, This Song is Sung

 

I haven't been great about writing lately, so I am cheating by putting up a post that I wrote on my original blog in 2005. It's about nicknames we give people:

Zira - Planet of the Apes

A few weeks ago I was talking to a friend of mine about a neighbor who I thought was kind of annoying. I never mentioned his name but because this is Iowa City, she figured out who he was and told me that she and her friends used to call him Senor Scratchy Patches because of what she described as "an unfortunately placed skin condition that he felt at liberty to touch". Gross...but that's what makes it funny.

Ever since then I've been thinking about nicknames and remembering monikers that were given to different cutomers at all the various bars and restaurants I've worked. When you wait on people, you don't always remember their names and nicknames really help reference people. Sometimes the monikers are based on their order - like there has been a mocha man at almost every coffee shop I've ever worked at and when I worked at The Mill there was that jesus freak guy we always called the chicken man. Then sometimes the nicknames are just mean and those are usually reserved for customers who are annoying and/or rude and people who don't tip well.

One of my favorites was from when I worked as a bartender at Macy's in San Francisco in 1986. There was a woman who we always called Zira-Planet-of-the-Apes. She was never just plain Zira, it was always the whole, long name. I thought she looked more like a combination of Zira and Ruth Gordon but it would have been way too long to say, Zira-Planet-of-the-Apes-Ruth-Gordon. I have no idea what her real name was. She would come in every Monday and be horrible and never tip the waiter but she would put tons of money in the jar for the pianist to play "New York, New York" at least 6 times a night. She always ordered a VERY dry vodka Martini. Which meant she didn't want vermouth. Which meant what she really wanted was vodka with an olive but she was too pretentious to order that. So, instead the waiters would come up to the bar and sing, "Zira-Planet-of-the-Apes" and I would know exactly what to make. It was way more fun than giving me the order the regular way.

But while I was laughing at all the nicknames I've always labeled other people with, I did have to stop and wonder what nicknames people may have for me. It's not like I can stop one of the guys at the Co-op and ask them if they have another name they call me. I'm sure they wouldn't tell me if they did and would I want to know? If it was bad enough, I'd have to start going to the Coralville Co-op and never be dumb enough to ask a question I didn't want to know the answer to again.

I'm Flat Broke, But I Don't Care, I Strut Right By With My Tail in the Air

Okay. Now I am going to tell you a long, weird story about what happened last Friday. So, there has been this BEAUTIFUL, possibly part Maine Coon cat that has been living under my neighbor's porch for a few months now. At first I wasn't sure if it didn't have a home, and just liked to lurk around our house because we love birds and squirrels and other small animals, and make a welcoming place for them, or if she needed some alone time from her family (which I understand), or what? But it was becoming clear to me that she was either lost or abandoned. One day she even sat in our backyard and cried, so I thought she was hungry, and gave her some of the cat's dry food, which she snarfed right up. I told John and he said that I shouldn't feed every animal I met. Then I tried to explain to him how food was love in my world, and I love every animal I meet...But ultimately, as much as it pains me, I had to admit that he was right. I shouldn't be feeding the BEAUTIFUL, stray, possibly Maine Coon cat, even though it was so sweet and followed me around my yard and rubbed against my legs for pets and scratches.

By Friday after work, I decided I should help the poor girl, and called the animal shelter. They said they were closing and I should call the Community Service people, and they would come and pick the cat up and bring her to the Humane Society when they opened the next morning. Cool.

So, I called the community service people, and they sent some guy out. We'll call him Chad, since the kids are saying that's the male equivalent of a Karen. Anyhoo, Chad comes over, I tell him the story, and that the cat is in the breezeway. 

Wait. Let me back track. While I was calling these people, the sweet girl kitty was lying on her back next to me, so I could rub her belly, and when the animal shelter guy talked to me, he told me to put her in a contained space. So, I picked her up and put her in the breezeway, where she FREAKED the f*ck OUT. I felt like shit. Here is this BEAUTIFUL girl all loving and trusting me, and I put her in the breezeway, and then betray her even more, by sending some Chad to pick her up against her will. She did NOT seem to appreciate the fact that I was trying to help her by getting her to a safe space. As far as she was concerned, I sold her out. I felt so bad...And still do.

Isn't she gorgeous?

 Anyway, Chad went in our mess of a breezeway with his cat carrier, and set it down in front of her, like he thinks she's going to calmly walk right into it. Huh. Then she moved, and he set it in front of her again, and she jumped over it and ran to hide behind some big pile of crap in our breeze way. Then Chad came out of our mess of a breezeway, and said that the cat doesn't seem to want to come, and he didn't want to hurt her by forcing her out. Ummmmmm. Has he ever met a cat? What cat in their right mind would calmly walk into a cat carrier? The cat carrier means you go to the vet!

I tried to be tactful (never my strong suit), and instead of asking if  he was new to the job, I asked him what he normally did when he tried to pick up a cat. He didn't give me much of an answer. Instead, he sighed and went back to the truck to get longer, thicker gloves. When he came back, he tried again, and then gave up again.

Chad came out and started saying something like, "Well, the animal shelter will tell you that a cat is an apex predator, and if you get rid of one apex predator, another one will come and fill that void..." Wut!? How the hell do you respond to that? First of all, we have lived here for 12 years and we have never had any kind of "apex predator" living in our backyard before, and second of all, what is he even talking about? Watch out! Don't make him get the cat, or bears and tigers will move into our backyard! So, I asked him if he was trying to say that we should just let the cat be feral, and not try to get her to a safe place? 

He said I should just call the humane society in the morning. I told him that I couldn't leave her in the breeze way. That's how we enter and exit our place, and she'll escape. Also, she came willingly the first time, but she's a cat, which means she's a lot smarter than I am, and she will never trust me again. So, Chad sighed and went back in. He chased her out from under the table, and she hurled herself against the screen door, and her paws got stuck on the little ledge where the screen hits the window, and he tried to use one hand to get her, and he not only must not have met a cat before, but he must be terrified of them. I suggested he use both hands to get her, and he did and she let him put her right into the cat carrier without a fight. I wish my cats could have been there to watch how a GOOD cat enters a cat carrier (the answer to that is NOT jamming every limb against the opening of the crate).

So, if that wasn't an example of  how no good deed goes unpunished, then the next little bit is a better example: Because I live in a very small college town, Chad happens to know one of my neighbors, and the next day, he was out with his wife or girlfriend and our neighbor, and some of their friends, and after a couple of beers, he started talking about some bitch (me), who made him come pick up a cat that was CLEARLY not lost, and probably just belonged to someone in the neighborhood. Wow. Apparently, Chad didn't want to do his job, and decided to create a story in his head that I just wanted to torture a poor cat that one of my neighbors owned. Why would I want to hurt a cat? I have no idea. Maybe to just make Chad's life hell? I mean, I get it. I don't always want to do my job either. I just don't blame other people because I have to do it.

I called the Animal Shelter on Monday to make sure she was okay. That's when I found out she was a female. I asked if she had a chip, and she didn't. Let this be a lesson. Get your animals chipped, so they can be returned to you if they get lost. I had to ask if they thought she had a home and was just hanging out at our house (old Chad made me paranoid about it). She said that she looked like she had been homeless for a while, since she was a little malnourished and she had some mats in her hair. So, I did feel better about it all. She said that if no one claimed her, and she got acclimated to her surroundings, they would get her spayed if she needed it, and try to get her adopted. 

If any of you are looking for the most BEAUTIFUL, and sweetest cat you will ever meet, please adopt her...And tell her I'm sorry.

So, I'll Continue to Continue to Pretend, My Life Will Never End, And Flowers Never Bend With the Rainfall

Every year I think I'm going to be better about planning my gardens. I lie to myself that I'll pay more attention to when I should start my seedlings, I will research plants more, and write down all of the plants I want to get, and maybe get all crazy and actually diagram where my perennials will come up, so I don't accidentally dig them up, thinking they're some kind of weeds. Sigh. I haven't done any of that yet. Already this year, I forgot when I planted my seedlings last year (too early), thought I had waited a few weeks later, and then realized I planted them almost to the day, the exact time I did last year. Double sigh.

So, all of my seedlings are ready to be planted right now, but with as cool as this Spring has been, I'm sure I have a month before I can get the warm weather seedlings in the ground outside. I bet I'll have to dig down a mile to keep my leggy tomatoes from flopping right over. Of course, NEXT year I'll be better about when I plant my seedlings (much later).

I did remember to keep a fence around my seedlings, since a certain Gus who thinks spinach and lettuce are delicious would wreak havoc upon them all.  This year I planted two different kinds of tomatoes (Brandy Wine and Beefsteak), Genovese Basil, kale, Mexican Torch Sunflowers, some leaf lettuce, and those little yellow flowers that are called Billy Ball Craspedia. I took a vacation day last week when it was warmer and planted broccoli, kale, and spinach outside. This weekend I plan on planting Sugar snap peas, beets, leeks, more lettuce, and arugula. It makes me so happy to play in the dirt now, and then get to eat all the organic stuff in a month or two. I also love being able to give away extra veggies and flowers to friends. Speaking of which, let me know if you want to come over and pick up some kale seedlings.

Every year without fail, some woman I don't know because she never introduces herself, walks by my front yard garden, tsks and says, "I admire your optimism..." And she walks away as I'm saying, 

"I'm only planting Spring stuff this early that can handle a frost, BITCH!" Actually, I leave the BITCH part out, because I'm neighborly like that. I'm just hoping she knows it's implied. Why does someone need to walk past my house every year and judge my gardening? Especially when there are so, so, so, many other REAL things she could be judging me on.

 Anyway, this year I am going to probably bore you with my gardening posts because I really do want to be better about remembering which flowers and veggie plants I want to buy at the best times, and not dig up perennials that I forgot I planted, and have my yard look even more extra. And this time I REALLY mean it...

Got a Wife and Kids in Baltimore, Jack, I went Out for a Ride and I Never Went Back

Since I don't think even one photo of me and my dad exists in the world, here is one of my mom and dad.

 

When you are the youngest kid in your family, nothing you remember is ever true. Your siblings will tell you that after you relate some memory that you thought really happened. "No," they will say. "That never happened". So,  all I really have are things that I thought I lived, but I was probably wrong about. That is how I will talk about my dad, through the things I thought happened, and the ways people who didn't like my dad told me they happened, and the ways people who had biases the other way told me they happened.

I was four years old in 1969, when my dad disappeared. For years, that's how I thought about it. That he was there one day, and then, poof! He was gone. When I got older, I thought that maybe he killed himself. He wasn't the happiest person who ever lived, that's for sure. So, it wasn't out of the question. Also, as a kid, it was too embarrassing to think that your dad ran away. Adults shouldn't run away from home, should they?

Even though I was very young, I think I have some actual memories of my dad. Of course, they are more likely things that someone told me happened, or maybe even something I saw on TV and my little kid brain incorporated it into my memories. These are the things I think I remember about him:

1.) I have a vague memory of going to the Superstition Mountains and being terrified. I had just seen or heard something about the Lost Dutchman, and also I was afraid of snakes. I wouldn't let my dad put me down, and he was rightfully annoyed with me.

2.) My mom went back to work at some point, and our dad watched us during her shifts. I remember him taking us to the race track, Turf Paradise, and us being so bored that we would spend hours picking up the paper betting stubs and making a little basket out of our t-shirts by rolling them around our arms, and when we had enough stubs, we'd release our t-shirts from our arms and the stubs would go flying into the air and we would start all over again. The horse racing track was way better than the dog track. All I remember of him taking us to the dog track, was the flies that were everywhere. At night our dad would take us to Sky Harbor air port, where he would watch the planes land and take off over, and over again. That was a little obvious foreshadowing, huh?

3.) I remember watching "The Wizard of Oz" and the scene where Dorothy is looking through the crystal ball at her Auntie Em, but then her picture turns into the witch, and I was so terrified that I screamed and my dad picked me up, and calmed me down.

4.) I have one last, weird memory that we're at someone's house in Scottsdale where there is an above ground swimming pool. Did we have an above ground swimming pool, or were we at someone else's house? I have no idea. Most of what I remember is a feeling. One of the other dad's at this outdoor party picked up my mom and threw her in the pool. They were laughing, but my dad was mad.

Okay, so those are the only memories I have of my dad. It still seems like a questionable amount for a four year old. Which is why I prefaced the whole thing with my little talk about memory...Or lack thereof.

How the story was told to me by both people who loved and hated my dad was that he left my poor mother with a four year old, a five year old, a six year old, and a nine year old, we were being evicted from our house, and he had run up every credit card he could get his hands on.  Eek! We moved into my Grandma Maxine's house (my dad's mother), with our Aunt Lee and her three children. All I really remember about that time is waking up to different tree shadows on the wall, and my brother falling off the top bunk bed. 

The story goes that the only way my mother wouldn't be responsible for my dad's debt was if she divorced him. It would take seven years before we could have him pronounced legally dead without a body. My mother was very Catholic and didn't believe in divorce, but my Grandma Maxine helped her with it all and even went to court with her. I hear the judge was amazed that my mom's mother-in-law would not only approve of the divorce, but actually go with her to court.

Eventually, my mom found a house in a bad part of  Phoenix where they were soon to build the Maricopa County Freeway. When I was at the end of first grade, we finally got some government funded housing in Mesa, where I was probably the happiest during my childhood. My mother died of a stroke when she was 42 and I was ten, and I was truly heartbroken about it for years and years.

Since we, or his mother, had never heard from my dad, I just assumed he was dead. Especially after I had my children, I couldn't imagine how a person could still be alive and not give a shit about what happened to their spouse and children. Alternatively, I had this very slight worry that my dad would come out of nowhere once his health was failing, or if he thought he could get money from us, and expect us to take care of him. Luckily, that didn't happened.

What did happen in 2013, was that my cousin Jo Anne was looking up her genealogy, and found my dad's obituary online. Guess where and when he died? Okay. I'll just tell you. My dad died in Hilo, Hawaii in 2009 of COPD. He smoked like a chimney when he lived with us, and I'm guessing that didn't change after he left. He is buried in the VFW cemetery in Hilo. One of these years, if I can get the money together, I'd love to go to the Big Island, mostly to ride bikes and check out the volcanoes, but if I was going to be there anyway, I wouldn't mind checking out his grave. It's the only physical thing there is of him (that I know of) after he left us.

 

Thanks to my cousin Jeff for taking this photo of my dad's grave in Hawaii.

In his obituary, it said he left two children, Bill Jr, and Ella. My brother is named Bill, but he was never a JR. I have a sister named Erin, but not Ella. My brother thinks that whomever it was who took care of him in his last years or months, just got the information wrong that he told her. Who knows what kind of  mental state he was in at the end. It's possible that he had two other children after he left us, but I did some internet searches for those names with no luck. It's also possible that he told his caretaker two names, that she then got mixed up, and totally forgot about me and my middle sister. It's sad, but he had only known me for four years when he left, and he was gone for forty years before he died.,

I've been meaning to write about this for years, because that's how I process things, but even after writing about it, I think I have a long way to go before I make peace with and/or sense of my father's story. I guess now you all know where my abandonment issues come from...The hardest part for me to process, is how he couldn't have even called to see how we were? Or maybe sent a couple of dollars in the mail whenever he had them? I'm sure he figured we wouldn't be at our Scottsdale address, since he was the reason we were being evicted, but he could have sent them to his mother. Was it shame that kept him from any kind of contact with us, or maybe it was the fear of getting caught? 

There are two things I know about him; one was that he definitely had his demons, and two was that he loved us and my mom. I did feel that back then. He was a photographer, and I believe he wanted the freedom to be brilliant at it. He also wanted to be a husband and father, but he wasn't able to do both. In the end, I have no idea if he kept up his photography. I would like to think he did. If he chose his art over his family, I hope he was able to capture incredible images. I would love to see them.

When She Talks, I Hear the Revolution, In Her Hips, There's Revolution

 

 Wow! It's the middle of April and I still haven't written my "books I read last month post". Since I'm the only person who really cares what I read last month, it's not like anyone was going to sue me because it wasn't done. BUT I actually do like going over the books I read and so, I'm going to write that all out right now, dammit. Last month I was saying how I got back into the swing of reading again, and so that meant I read SIX WHOLE BOOKS in March. I had a little theme for reading, which was National Women's History Month. Every book I read except one was written by a woman. I read the one book that was written by a man, because I didn't think to do the little theme thing yet, and I was really interested in the subject matter. Anyway, so I read six books. This is what they are and how I felt about them:

1.) "Detransition, Baby" by Torrey Peters. Torrey Peters was in the Writer's Workshop here, and I always like to point that out if I know that about an author. So, as you probably already know, I hate to be ignorant. I also don't like to be an asshole (well, most of the time anyway). So, I try to educate myself about things I don't have a lot of first-hand knowledge of. I only know a couple of trans people, and this book was great for some education, but also to read about messy relationships, no matter what gender the people are. I learned a lot, I felt a lot of feelings, and I also had some fun reading this book. I highly recommend it...Unless you are squeamish about sex and messy relationships. This book was also perfect for Women's History Month.

2.) The second book I read was the only one written by a man. It is a non-fiction book called "Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI", by David Grann. This was a non-fiction account of what happened in the 1920's when the land that the US government thought had no value, and therefore shoved the Osage tribe onto it after they stole the land they had previously lived on, then they suddenly found oil on that reservation. The Native Americans/First Nations people became very rich, which made white people very jealous, greedy, and homicidal. There was so much effed-up stuff surrounding this particular horrible serial killing. Then J Edgar Hoover brought in his currently forming FBI into it. I had just watched the Clint Eastwood movie about J Edgar Hoover, so it was interesting to see this version of the man. Mostly, the book was heartbreaking, and maddening, and I was very engrossed in the story and the detective work, and the travesty.

3.) Okay. By my third book, I finally settled on my read theme. I decided to read a children's book written by a woman that touched on gender norms, or the lack thereof between the two friends. I had never read "Bridge to Terabithia" by Katherine Paterson before. It was published after I fancied myself a little old for children's literature. This book was so sad, and sweet, and though it was pretty short, it packed a lot of punch... Punch like someone had just punched me in the heart and I had no choice but to cry and cry. If you haven't already, you might want to read this...And cry.

4.) By the fourth book I read last month, I had graduated from children's lit, to Young Adult lit. "The Hate U Give" by Angie Thomas was one of the best books I've read in a long, long time. I seriously read this book in a 24 hour period because I could not stop myself. Then my friend, Sarah came to visit the next day and I couldn't stop talking to her about it. The story is timely, the characters are so well written, I felt like I knew them, and wanted to take that family home with me, so I could hang out with them all the time. The subject matter was so sad, but handled very well, looking at all the different shades of gray areas in the cause. If you want to get lost in a novel, read this book and let yourself feel all of the things you need to feel.

5.) The fifth book I read was a non-fiction book called "All That She Carried: The Journey of Ashley's sack, a Black Family Keepsake", by Tiya Miles. This was a more academic look at a bag that was found at a flea market belonging to a family, passed down from their ancestor who had been sold away from her mother when she was still a young girl. Her mother had given her a bag before she left with some gifts for her, as she got marched away and sold off. The author tries to track down the family in archives, and give the reader a picture of what Ashley's life would have been like during slavery. It was VERY well written and researched. My ADHD made it hard for me, because it was written about in great detail, and my brain tends to skim when things are that detailed. I learned so much, and I was very interested in the story that rose from all that tragedy, and hate, and turned into incredible motherly love. It won all kinds of awards.

6.) The last book I read was called "Bookish Broads: Women Who Wrote Themselves into History", by Lauren Marino. At first I thought this was just going to be a quick little blurb about different women writers, but it was more than that. It spoke to the problems women have had since forever with creating/working, and being expected to devote themselves to being a wife and mother. It talked about women being forced to either use male pen names, or to just use their initials in order to sell their work and have it be taken seriously. It also introduced me to new authors, and told me incredible stories about women authors I've already read. It was the perfect way to end my Women's History Month themed books. 

So everyone, I hope you keep reading, and buying books by women writers. We will all be rewarded by reading their stories.

Look Out Honey, 'Cause I'm Using Technology

Well kids, it's been a rough Spring so far. I had a migraine for about two weeks. Some days were better than others, but it was a lot to deal with. Since I was in so much pain that I couldn't do much else, I watched some TV. I always say this, but I love TV. Not like TV was when we were growing up, where there were only four or five channels, and nobody could swear, and you had to watch commercials. I like TV the way it is now, where I can just buy the streaming services I want, I don't have to watch commercials, and there are tons of movies to watch as well as series TV.

1.) I'm sure it won't be big news to anyone but John and I are huge nerds. So, we've been happily watching the latest season of "Star Trek Discovery", which I feel has lost a bit of its punch from the first two seasons. Although, I've heard Stacy Abrams is in an episode or two, and I'm excited to see her. 

2.) We are also totally engrossed in the second season of "Picard". I was a little worried when they brought Q back, since I've always found him annoying. Of course, Q isn't half as annoying to me as Diana Troi, and she already made an appearance in the first season. So, I figured I might as well suck it up and just see where the show took us. Holy cow! am I glad I got past that initial Q appearance, because the first few episodes of this season have been so good. I'm really interested to see where they go from here.

 3.) I can watch some even cheesier stuff too. I watched "Indian Matchmaker" on Netflix. The whole first season was fascinating to me. Rich people have such different lives than I do.

 

4.) I have to say, I loved, loved, loved HBOMAX's "Somebody Somewhere". How often do you see shows where the main character is an overweight woman in her forties and she's not the butt of the show, and she's not suddenly going to lose a bunch of weight to be more attractive to men. I really did relate to Sam in this show. She lives in Kansas, which could easily have been Iowa, and she finds her friend family of lovable freaks, which is what I am always searching for, and thankfully have found in many places. I couldn't get enough of Joel. He was so sweet and spazzy and he made me fall in love with this show every episode. I hear they're doing a second season and I can't wait.

5.) I should probably put a couple of movies on here. As you know, I am never afraid to admit that I can like a mainstream feel-good hit...Especially when it has Ryan Reynolds in it. I thought "Free Guy" was a fun, escapist little movie. Sure Ryan Reynolds was just Ryan Reynolds again, but I was more than okay with that. What with pandemics and wars in the world, and with all the divide in our country, isn't nice to know that Ryan Reynolds is always going to be his charming, wise cracking self in a movie?

6.) We also watched "Death on the Nile". My mom was a big Agatha Christie fan, and so anything that is based on Agatha Christie's work, will always be nostalgic for me. This movie was rich, and pretty, and I hadn't read the book, so I didn't know who done it, until Poirot, laid it all out there in the end. Again, great escapism, greatly needed.

7.) I just this evening watched HBO's documentary about Tony Hawk. I thought it was well done. I am always interested in shows about counter movements, and skateboarding did ride right next to the punk scene, and the music in the documentary gives nods to that. I didn't know a ton about Tony Hawk before this documentary, so it was educational to me. Most of all, I could totally relate to being in my 50's and feeling all of the pain from my antics in my younger days. Sigh
 

 Okay, soooo. My migraine pain seems to be lifting a bit. I can only hope it gives me a break forever now, but if not, it's just a damn good thing that I don't mind watching shit on TV.

 

 

 

Only Women Bleed, Only Women Bleed

                     This was me when I was Margaret's actual age in the novel
 

Oh, kids. I'm STILL going through perimenopause. Since people love hearing a woman talk about her hormonal issues as much as they want someone to go into great details about their dreams for them, I'm going to write about it as an homage to Judy Blume - a kind of backwards "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret.":

Are you there Gawd? It's me Churly. Most of the other women in my grade are done with their period. Can you make sure I'm done with mine too now? I thought I was done last Summer. They always say you'll be post-menopausal once you've gone for one full year without getting your period, but they never say what they consider a period? Is it where you bleed for several days, or is it if you just wipe once and there's the tiniest bit of blood, and that's all? Well, according to my doctor, even the tiniest little iota of blood counts as a period. Now, I'm 56 years old, and still have to worry about birth control. Sigh.

Dear Gawd, if you are going to make me still be in perimenopause, can you please get rid of the some of the worst symptoms? Or maybe we could work out a deal? I could maybe handle the mid-section weight gain and dried-out skin, if you could keep the migraines at bay, and keep my muscles from cramping up every five minutes. 

 I understand how it is with estrogen and women - can't live with it, can't live without it. If you go through menopause in  your 40's you stand a greater chance of having heart attacks, and if you go through menopause in your later 50's you stand a greater chance of  getting breast and uterine cancer. Of course, the estrogen fluctuations are the worst! There are supposedly 34 different symptoms of perimenopause, and I've had almost every one of them. I can't take any of the estrogen supplements because of the breast cancer risk, and I've tried phytoestrogens with very little benefit. So, Gawd, if you're listening and want to help me out here, I'd love for last week to have been my very last period, so I can be in menopause, and then be post menopausal by this time next  year. 

Also, if you could try and ease up on the pain and suffering that women have to go through in our lives, and maybe smash the patriarchy while you're at it? I think all of us women would really appreciate it.

Love, Churls

I'm Writing 'Bout the Book I Read, I Have to Sing About the Book I Read

 Now I'm going to write about the books I read in February. I know I've mentioned before that for a year and a half of the pandemic I wasn't into reading very much, which never happens to me. It was kind of like having reader's block. I'm still not quite sure what the deal was there, but I think some of it was anxiety. I just couldn't read a novel where something scary was happening and I didn't already know that outcome. I read a lot more non-fiction, because I knew what happened in those books. Lately, I feel like I'm back to my obsessive reader self. I'm not at the point where I'm sometimes reading ten books a month yet, but I'm definitely reading more than one book a month. Sooooooo, here are the books I read last month:

 1.) "This is Your Brain on Plants" by Michael Pollen. I've read a few of his other books and really liked them. This is a look at some plants that are basically drugs. He starts out with opium, then moves to caffeine, and finishes with peyote. He does a great job with looking at the history, politics, culture, and side effects of each plant drug. It was all fascinating, and the thing I liked best about it, was that it was a lot more personal than his other books. I liked seeing things through his wife and his experiences.

2.) "Kindred" by Octavia Butler. Just for something special during Black History Month, I decided to look for some older books that I haven't read since the 1980's. I dug around until I found "Kindred", "Song of Solomon", and "Invisible Man". John asked if he could read "Invisible Man" again right away, and he's still working on it, so I started with "Kindred". It takes place around the Bicentennial.  A young Black woman starts having these occurrences where she is taken back to slave times to help an accident prone ancestor. She is "called" back to him over and over, and she is unable to leave that time period, until she feels like HER life is in danger. I love this book. I basically devoured it again. You should read it.

 3.) The third book I read in February is "The Care and Feeding of Ravenously Hungry Girls", by Ansissa Gray. Gray is a journalist and author. The book is about a family in Michigan, and how the issues of their childhood affect their lives as adults. I'm giving you all a trigger warning for physical abuse and eating disorder issues. I thought the writing was great, the sibling dynamics were VERY realistic, and the characters were well formed.

4.) I ended Black History month with "Song of Solomon", by Toni Morrison. I read this thirty years ago. I remember liking it, but I didn't remember what it was  about. So, it was almost like reading it for the first time. There are so many stories within stories, and a lot of different characters, but Toni Morrison gives them all her contemplation. I had to pay attention because there was so much going on, but I WANTED to pay attention. I love the character of Pilate, and while I didn't love Milkman, I was curious to see how he would grow, or not. 

From plants to people, and from science to culture, I learned, and in some cases, relearned a lot in February. Now I'm in the middle of reading through Women's History Month, where I plan to keep on learning things. All of this living and learning, is the only way I want to exist.

If You Desire a Bright Tomorrow, You Must Build a Brighter Dream

 

 On International Women's Day I happened to see that the PBS American Master's Show about Maya Angelou was on Amazon Prime. I just finished reading all of her autobiographies last year, but I was curious to see film clips and I wondered if they had any new information. Obviously, I'm a little obsessed with her, and who isn't, right? 

I read "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings" when I was probably 11 or 12, and I identified so strongly with it. Since then, I've read a lot of her poetry, and as I already mentioned, all of her autobiographies. I've been to two of her readings, and I actually got to talk to her once...Or I tried to anyway.

She came to read at a very small event at a library in San Francisco in 1986. I went with my boyfriend's mom and one of his sisters. His mom didn't like me at first. The first time I met her, I overheard (although, I'm pretty sure she wanted me to hear) her say to him, "Why are you with this ugly white girl when there are so many beautiful black women you could date?" Which, wasn't very nice, but I get it. I've lived in places where I've been one of the few white people, and I've lived where there were mostly white people. I know I won't surprise you when I say, there is a WHOLE bunch of racism in this country, so it's understandable that she might not want her son dating someone who looks exactly like the oppressor.

Honestly, though, most of the white guys I dated had mom's who weren't super thrilled about them dating me either. If you haven't met me before in person, I'll just educate you about me - I'm more than a little weird, and rough around the edges. Also, I am ridiculously socially awkward. I don't dress well, my hair is all over the place, and my mom used to call me a rag-a-muffin for good reason. Of course, I think those are all amazing things about me, but I understand that not everyone else does. So, anyway, I wasn't too shocked or hurt by his mom's comment. I dated that particular man for at least two years, and we lived with his mom for a short time, so she got to know me better, and while I'm sure I would never have been her first pick for her son, she did warm up to me a little.

One of the big things we had in common was our love of literature. She would ask me if I had read a certain novel, and we would talk about what we thought. So, when she found out Maya Angelou was going to read at a library in town, she asked me to go with her. His mom was really excited to meet Dr. Angelou, and after an incredible reading, we got in line to talk to her. 

When It was my turn, she held my hands in both of hers and looked straight into my eyes. If you have ever stood anywhere near her, you know what I'm talking about when I say that her power and grace is enough to make anyone lose their train of thought. I did give it my best try, I want you all to know. So, I was super smooth and said, " I can't..I can't...I can't even..." And that was all I COULD say

Dr Angelou laughed and said, "Well, I guess you can't!" And we all had a good laugh. Thank gawd she had enough social grace for the both of us.

Anyway, I want to recommend the American Master's show on Maya Angelou. If you don't know much about her, you should, and if, like me, you have read all of her autobiographies, you will still find out new things and the photos and videos in it are delightful. I'm just sad that she is no longer walking this earth to be able to grace us with her strength.

Never Mind I'll Remember You This, I'll Remember You this Way

Archie basking in the glow of Stinky's painting.

I love art. I was fortunate enough to grow up with it all around me. My mother was a painter and my father was a photographer. They tried their damnedest to encourage us to be creative people. I think they believed that structure inhibited creativity, and I was also lucky enough to live the first ten years of my life with very little structure. It was perfect for me, but I know it's not for everyone. We didn't have a set bedtime. My mom once told me that she thought we were all intelligent enough to know when we were tired. She was giving me WAY too much credit. I am 56 years old, and I STILL don't know enough to get my ass to bed on time.

I raised my kids with a little more structure than that, but I'm sure The Oldest would tell you that it still wasn't nearly enough. I also tried to raise my daughters to make whatever they wanted, and not worry about whether someone else might think it wasn't good enough. Stinky has always loved to paint and mold clay, and make collages, and The Oldest loved photography. I have a painting that Stinky made hanging above our bed to this day.

This Christmas, The Oldest asked for some art for her office at work. Stinky and I went to the Artisan's Gallery to see what they had and if I could afford it. I saw a print of a photo from Antelope Canyon that was about the size I wanted, and it was $3,000 without the frame. I wish I could afford that, but there was no way.

Then I thought, "I have almost the exact same photo, I bet I could find someplace that would blow it up and print it off for me at a reasonable price". So, I went through our photos from our Colorado/Utah/Northern Arizona trip in 2019, and found some great shots. I picked out two for The Oldest, and a couple for us. I figured they would look great on our large living room wall that has been bare naked for the last twelve years. Then I looked around for some black wood frames. Between the four prints and the frames for all of us, it cost about $200. I could actually afford that.

Of course, then I realized that our wall was much too big for just two photos, so I had John and my girls offer their suggestions of some of the photo options I gave them. I also bought more frames, and on Friday, John helped me hang up our choices. Since I love trees, I had to put a couple up there, and an arch, and one of the gorgeous shots from Antelope Canyon. It's crazy how much better our living room looks now.

I love to paint, and draw, but I haven't had any real training, except my mom helping me with drawings when I was younger. Apparently, she thought it was important that the people I drew had necks. Who knew?

So, anyway, I draw and paint for myself, and thankfully, my mom raised me not to care if they aren't great works, or what kind of brush strokes I use. If I like something I did, I check with John to make sure he's okay with me hanging it, and since he is so damn supportive, he gives me the go ahead, and I hang it in our house, until I get tired of it, and put something else up in its place.

.

I live in a college town and have always had tons of friends who make the coolest shit. Of course, as I mentioned above, I don't have tons of money, and I have no idea what art work costs. If you were to ask me what people should charge for their work, I would say millions of dollars. They are able to put what is in their heads on paper, or in clay, or metal, or fabric, or whatever medium they use. To me, that is so impressive. 

So, if anyone I know has a print, or vessel for sale, and I CAN afford it, I try to support them, and enrich my own home by buying it. The print above is by the wonderful Greta Songe. Cats and fish? Of course I want that in my house.

My friend Chris sold us some of his gorgeous work this year. John chose the lighter work, and I loved the darker one. We both won.

 

Our friend, Maire sold us some of  her work a few years ago. I love this piece. It looks great in our kitchen, and that butterfly is everything.

Finally, I bought some of Lauren Briere's Robot prints this year and got them framed. I have admired her robots for years at the Iowa Artisan's Gallery, and they were reasonably priced, so bought three of them. I'm still not sure where to hang them, but give me some time and I'll find the perfect spot.

I do feel lucky to have been raised to make stuff, and not to worry if it turns out shitty, and to appreciate the amazing stuff that other people make. Through plagues, and wars, and the crazy things that happen in a life, those expressions, and feelings, and colors, and dreams that people share gives me hope, and that's one hell of a gift.