Wordless Wednesday

Last weekend was the annual car show....
drool drool drool
Also....
We may have found "our" house last night. Don't want to jinx it. Bid going in tomorrow, probably.... hopefully. Good thoughts sent this way will be greatly appreciated....

What we learned yesterday

We learned a few things in our happy household yesterday....

I personally learned never to call our realtor right before wanting to eat dinner.
I guess I should probably explain that.
What most of you don't know because I have not spilled the beans yet, is that the owners of chez MM decided, late last week, they want to sell the house we are living in. So we have 60 days to either buy it, or another house. Buying this house is a real possibility, we walked through it last night talking about what we liked about it vs what we didn't, and the pro's surely outweigh the cons. It is a lovely house, I like it very much.
But we want to check out some other houses in the area, too, and see if maybe, there is something else we like better. So we have a realtor. Lets call her Babbling Bonnie, shall we?
Out of the various realtors I have met with MM over the last 6 months, Babbling Bonnie is actually, so far, better than the rest. She can talk, A LOT, but she seems to like her job, and is very desireable of finding us a house that suits us, not forcing us into the house SHE wants us to fit.
But calling her right before dinner? Not smart.

Speaking of dinner. MG got to learn some, last night, too.
When we are having Mashed Potatoes, she is your girl. She makes them, with minimal assistance from either her Dad, or me. She makes GREAT potato's. She even uses 2 different kinds of spud. Fine dining, indeed.
Well,somehow, last night, her potatoes were not quite soft enough when she added the secret ingredients to her fine mashers. So, they didn't mash. And we didn't have mashed potatoes.



So. Don't call a realtor before dinner, and make sure your potatoes are soft enough to mash.
You are welcome.

You all were holding out on me...

Fess up, you parents out there
you never tell us how much fun embarrassing the children can be....
Case in point
The other night, Friday night, Mustang Girl attended *the* 8th grade dance, held at the wild hour of 7 pm. She had attempted to convince us that she should get a ride with a friend who lived up the street, but, sadly, we did not agree to that.
We took her ourselves.
As she wandered towards the gym, and the other kids, her Dad and I leaned out the car windows, calling her name loudly, sobbing for her to come back to us, and basically carried on as if we had just been released from an insane asylum. Then, pulling forward a bit, we passed by a small alleyway that got us even closer to her, and within earshot of all the kids around, and repeated our performance. The look on her face was priceless. Eye rolling extrodinare. The girl is gifted. And as we drove away, we were laughing like the lunatics we are....
You can all start donating to MGs therapy fund now, if you wish....

In other news. I found a sure fire way to get the new car smell to go away. Go the grocery store, get a bunch of groceries, including a whole, organic chicken. Load groceries into car, not noticing that the chicken, in its own, double plastic bagged elusiveness, slides out, and under the drivers seat. Leave the chicken there for 2 days, then discover it as you are pulling out your work bag. Bonus points if you can quickly run to the street and flag down poor MM and make him bring the chicken home to toss it out.

Yes, Roxie is topless for sure, and she will be until the smell goes away. It was almost gone this morning. UGH!

And, final note before my nap. If, by any chance, I am at work, and providing care for your child? Please do not holler at me, repeatedly "Why are you traumatizing my daughter?" when the phlebotomist comes in to draw morning labs. *I* am not traumatizing her, you are by yelling at the poor, tired nurse. And morning labs are necessary, sometimes. Even for 3 year olds. I understand the frustration, i do. But yelling at me? Not gonna do you any good....

Short Story Saturday

David sat in his room, thinking about his approach to what he wanted to do.
His mother, Evangeline, had been difficult to live with, ever since that fateful day the crazy woman had kidnapped him. He could still taste the sugary grape kool-aide on his tongue. Since that day, 13 years ago, he had gone nowhere by himself. Up until he'd turned 15, she'd even waited for him outside the doors of public restrooms.
"Its not like she won't always know where I am at" he fumed, to himself. The micro-chip that had been inserted into his thigh when he was a newborn was good until he turned 18, that's how long the contract was for his parents had signed with Acme Lo-Jack for kids. His father, tired of his wife's paranoia, had left years ago. David didn't blame him, Evangeline's main focus was her son, and how to over protect him. She even had gone so far as to quit her job as the executive secretary of Steve Jobs, to take secretarial work at each school he attended. He still saw his Dad occasionally. He was happily re-married, and living in Scottsdale, Arizona.
Absently rubbing his thigh, David shook his head, thinking more about the situation he was in. It was May of his senior year in highschool, and he had asked Carley Jackson to the prom. To his shock, she'd said yes. David didn't date much because his mother insisted on following him on every date he'd gone on. He drove his car, she followed in hers. She didn't even wait outside, she came into the restaurants, or movie theaters. "Why shouldn't I eat, or see a movie?" she asked him, annoyed when he asked her not to do that.
Prom was different, though, and he'd had a crush on Carley since their sophomore year in highschool. He wanted to be able to spend the money he'd saved taking her to a NICE restaurant for dinner, and then on to the dance. Without his mother constantly looking over his shoulder. "Now if I can just think of a way to convince her" he thought to himself, turning up his Ipod, because his favorite band, Disturbed had come on.
**********************************************************
Evangeline set the table carefully for dinner. David had gone right to his room when they'd gotten home from school, backpack in tow, and the excuse of needing to study for a test. She knew the real truth, though. Working at the same school he attended was beneficial to her, in many ways. One of them was that teenaged kids could never keep a secret. By noon, she'd known that David had asked Carley to the prom, and that Carley had accepted.
Sighing, she considered her options. She could sign up to be a chaperone of the dance. David had not gone to any of the other school dances, because he knew that she would have signed up. This was the Prom, though, and his Senior year. She understood that he wanted some independence, yet, she was afraid to give it to him. She still remembered those hours when she didn't know where he was. It had been her worst nightmare.
She could follow him to the dance, and wait outside. But the venue of the dance had 3 exits, and he could get in and out without her noticing. She didn't want that to happen, either. She knew what most kids had planned for the prom. Go, and have their pictures taken, dance a few dances, then skip out, and go to a hotel where they could drink, and have sex. Well, her son would not be doing that. He was not 18 yet, and the tracking device in his leg was hers until he did turn 18. She was too young to be a grandmother, and planned on keeping him on the straight and narrow.
That led her to her next option. Let him go to the prom with Carley, and she would go to the Acme center, and watch from there. The Center was 45 minutes away, though, and if he took off in the other direction, she'd have a hard time getting back in time. "I wish we would have had the option of a portable GPS system" she thought for the millionth time.
Truth be told, she wasn't that worried about kidnapping, anymore. Young teenage boys were rarely taken, she knew. She was more worried about what trouble he could get into if she wasn't there to prevent it. Plus, old habits died hard. She found herself having panic attacks not knowing where he was at, especially when he was visiting his father in Scottsdale. Only phone calls to the Acme Center to check his where-abouts could make her feel better. It was a crutch, she knew, but she could not help herself.
She put on a pot of tea as she mulled over what to do about the situation. Soon, David stumbled out of his room, Ipod stuck in his ears. He shuffled around in the kitchen, obviously wanting to say something to her, but, yet, holding back. When her tea was brewed, she poured herself a cup, and, seeing her do that, David knew it was time to sit at the table for dinner. Taking his customary place, he waited, patiently as she dished out the Tuna Casserole she had made. Once he had his plate, they ate in silence. Only when dinner was done could he bring up the conversation. He still didn't know what he was going to say to her.
All too soon, dinner was over. Clearing his throat, David looked her in the eye.
"Mother" he said, voice cracking. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Excuse me, Mother?"
"Yes David" she answered, her heart already starting to speed up at the thought of losing her son.
"Carley has agreed to go to the prom with me. And, well. Seeing as how it is my senior year, and, umm, I am almost eighteen, I was thinking that I would take her, ALONE."
Blushing, he looked at the green shag carpet in their dining room. He really hoped that his mother would, for once, just agree to something without too much of a hassle.
"Alone?" she parroted back at him. "I don't know, David."
"You are going to have to let me go sometime" he thought, rebelliously. Trying to remain calm, he shoved his hands under the table so she would not see them shaking. His hands always shook when he was angry.
"It is just for a few hours, Mother" he answered. "Everyone is going to be there, lots of teachers as the chaperones."
"I know who is chaperoning" she snapped.
"Yes, sorry" he answered.
Thinking, she decided that she would let him go, and spend the evening over at the Acme Center. "If I let him go now, he will like me better, and not ask for awhile to do anything else" she thought. "Besides, I can still track him. And maybe, while I am there, I can finally convince them to extend my contract. (She'd been trying to convince them to do that for years.)
"Fine, you can go" she said, cringing at the sudden happiness that sprung up in his eyes.
"But you must be home by 2 am, or I am going to come after you" she stated, unneccesarily.
"Thank you mother" he replied, and ran towards his room, happy. Sighing, she got up and did the dishes.
*********************************************************************
Carley waited impatiently for David to come pick her up. "He better not be late, and he better have a wrist corsage" she thought, wandering in front of the mirror to look at her dress, again. It had taken her a long time to pick the right dress, she had tried on countless gowns. What she was wearing was a classic black and white with plenty of lace. She'd gone with black and white so that David could wear a white tuxedo. She had always wanted her prom date to be in a white tux. She'd gotten him a white rose boutonierre, and expected him to have gotten her the matching corsage. (he had). Impatiently, she blew her bangs up, then, rushed back to the mirror to make sure she had not disturbed her up-do.
A few miles away, David was pacing. His Mother was taking her sweet time giving him the money for dinner. She insisted on keeping all the money he made hidden in her own mattress. He had told Carley he would be there by 7:30, and it was 7:40 already. Finally, his Mom came out with the cash.
"Thanks" he said, rushing out the door.
"Drive carefully!" she shouted after him, then gathered her own purse. Making sure he was gone, she headed to the Acme Center. By the time she got there, and got established in her own little cubicle, she was glad to see the little blip on the radar indicating that David was at the restaurant, Kane's, where he said he would be. Taking out her knitting, she kept an eye on the dot. About 2 hours later, it began to move, in the direction of the highschool. Smiling, she began to hum. Then, suddenly, the power in the entire building went out, and she was stuck, in the dark. She shrieked, tossing her knitting, she rushed to the door, only to discover that they were electronic. She could not get out...
David, dancing with Carley checked his watch and smiled. At his waste, his cellphone buzzed. Glancing down at the screen he read the message. "All Clear". Grinning, he spun her around, laughing into her green eyes.
"Ready to go, beautiful?" he asked, winking
"Absolutely" she answered. Together, they went out into the night, and towards the nearest Motel Six...

Friday "mie"-ography

Here you go Miss Cami, Good suggestion

Whos buried in Grants tomb?
Any Guesses? Bueller, Bueller?

Grant, of course.
But I'd bet this lady is, too

Julia Boggs Dent Grant. She was born and raised at the White Haven slave plantation near St. Louis, Missouri. She attened the Misses Mauros' boarding school in St. Louis for seven years, along with the other affluent daughters of her region. She was a social favorite, and met her future husband, "Ulys" at her home, he was a West Point classmate of her brother, Frederick. They became engaged in 1844, but the Mexican-American War put a four year hold on the wedding. After they were married, she accompanied her husband to his military posts, only to pass many days without him. When he was ordered West, she moved back to his parents home. At the end of that separation, he resigned his commission, and tried his hand at farming in Missouri. They had four children during this time. Eventually, they moved to Illinois. He was working in his fathers leather goods store when the Civil War broke out. He went back to his soldiering, and she joined him whenever she could at his encampments. We all know he was a very victorious soldier during this era, and he eventually became a General, and then, in 1869, the President. In the White House, Julia was known for extensive parties, and her appearance, with her silks and laces especially. She described their time in the White House as "the happiest period" of her life. Someone once suggested to her, while she was first lady, that she have an operation to correct her crossed eyes. Her husband would not hear of it, though, saying he liked her that way.
When they left the White House, Julia and Ulys took a trip around the world, meeting Queen Victoria, and the Emperor of Japan in their travels. When they got back, Grant tried to enter the business world, but failed. Diagnosed with cancer, and worried about providing for his wife, he wrote his memoirs, then died. Julia lived comfortably until 1920 when she died at age 76. She is buried in Grants tomb, beside her husband.

This about sums up my night.
See you all tomorrow when I can function again.
Sigh

poetry

tough week at work this week. We don't seem to have enough staff, and tonight I am in charge, and I have patients, and were it not for the kindness of a day shift nurse (thanks Shrek!) we would have had no lunch relief. MM and MG came by with a milkshake for me, and I could not even leave the ICU to go meet them outside to collect it. (We were trying to save a life. We did not suceed.)
I know, when I get home, I am going to be tired, and possibly a little emotional. I plan on heading straight to bed. So, with that thought in mind, here is a little ee cummings for you all. See you tomorrow


now is a ship


now is a ship

which captain am
sails out of sleep

steering for dream

ee cummings

oh and since I just found this, and just for the fun of it, go here look at all the pretty colors, and pick the one you'd most like to be. I think I would like to be Mountain Meadow...

and another edit, from home before I go hit the hay, HARD
I didn't even realize it was Wednesday until just now....
oh well guess I am not wordless today....

OUCH! Damn it!

So lately amongst my friends and loved ones, (Celtic Rose and Mustang Man) there has been an outbreak of pain and discomfort, requiring the care of a chiropractor (or, chirocracker, as MM likes to call them.).
There is one in Podunk that has done wonders for both of them, and seems to be a caring, gentle soul for someone in his profession.
So I decided to give him a whirl. I mean, my neck and shoulders are still achy and painful after a hard nights work. My hand though? Better.
So, yesterday I go to the gentle chirocracker. Nice guy. Smart, answers questions well.
My neck is so tightly wound and out of whack that he won't adjust me until he see's the x rays that have been taken. He did poke and prod me enough to cause me to be in more pain than usual tonight though. And boy, do I have a headache.
BUT
I am going back. Because I seem to always have low grade headaches.
And, it seems to be related to my tight neck.
And, he thinks that he can help me.
As long as he doesn't break my neck, its all good.

Oh, and I learned something else new about me. When I close my eyes and march in place? I wander to the left. Strange....

To Spring or Not to Spring

It looks like Spring.
It smells like Spring.
Officially, it is spring.

But is the weather going to co operate? That is the question.
See, it is taunting me right now. Because it knows that I have some earth around me that I am considering cultivating. But I can't do that if the weather is too cold. Celtic Rose and her husband have already lost a few plants, and my poor neglected trees have not even sprouted yet. If I plant something here, I want it to live. Not freeze.
When I got up to take MG to school today, the thermometer read 36 degrees. Brrrrr! And rumor has it is going to rain today. I don't have a problem with that, I love the rain. And it would probably be good for anything I planted.
But those are my thoughts today.
What should I plant, and when?

Short Story Saturday

Glenda hummed as she washed the newborn baby, for the first time. She'd been working in the Labor and Delivery department for 24 years, and she never got tired of giving the little ones a bath.
This young man that she was bathing now was a big boy, weighing in at 9 pounds 6 oz. His poor mother had managed a natural birth, and was now being stitched up for her troubles. "Glad he's got some meat on him, it makes it easier" she thought to herself.
Glancing over at the bassinette, she looked to see what name had been given to the little tyke.
"David Dwight Wilson, is it?" she asked the squirmy baby boy, then laughed when he seemed to smile at her. "Ah, Davy, You are a strapping lad, that is for sure" she murmured, not hurrying to complete the task. She hate hate HATED what had to be done next, but, it had been ordered by young Dr. Jackson, so she had to do it.
Once she was done washing young David, she snuggled him down into a warmed blanket, and took him back over to his bassinette, where she gently applied baby lotion to his soft skin, and powdered his behind. Next came the diaper, this one with Elmo on it, being careful not to disturb the umbilical cord piece that would fall off in about a weeks time, leaving David a belly button. "Will you be an innie, or an outie?" she asked him as she fastened the sticky tape that held the diaper in place.
" Well, no help for it now" she thought to herself. "I can't avoid doing it forever."
Sighing, she took the baby over into the next room. It was a warm room, it needed to be, for babies were not very good at maintaining their own body heat at such a young age. All around the room, there were tables, with tiny "papoose" slings on them. Approaching one, Glenda put young David into the papoose, and placed a pacifier in his mouth. Not liking anything about his new position, David spit the pacifier out and began to yowl loudly.
"There there", soothed Glenda, as she gathered what she needed to complete the procedure. Not soothed at all, David struggled mightily against the papoose, to no avail.
Glenda quickly and efficiently put everything together, then took a deep, quick breath, and sent up a quick prayer for steady hands. Turning towards the baby, she exposed one chubby leg, and, quickly, sank in the large-ish needle, and depressed the plunger. His yowling stopped for a mere second as he held his breath against the pain, then, in shock and disbelief, David let out his cry, protesting her invasion.
Finished with the odious chore, Glenda found a Batman band-aid and placed it over the injection site. Removing the small boy from the papoose, she held and comforted him, and he quickly forgot his pain, falling asleep from the already long day he'd had. Rolling the bassinette gently towards the door, she heard the 'beep!' as they passed through it. Once they got back to the nursery, another nurse took the baby to his mother, who was now ready to have him 'room in' with her.
************************************************
6 years later:

Evangeline waited impatiently outside of the kindergarten for her son, David to emerge from the doors. She was busy, had many things to do, and David, her son, always seemed to lollygag when it was time to go. Most of the other kids had wandered out already, collected by their harried mothers for the ride home.
Tapping her foot, she waited, a moment longer,looking for her tow headed son with his bright blue eyes. She glanced at her watch, and then decided that she would have to go in and get the boy, or he would never come out.
Entering the school room, all she saw was the teacher, Mrs. Grace, sitting behind the desk. There were no other students in the room.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Grace?" said Evangeline, trying not to panic. "Where, exactly, is David?"
"David?" asked Mrs. Grace. "David was not in school today, Mrs. Wilson. Was he supposed to be?"
Blood rushing out of her head, Evangeline fainted.
Concerned, Mrs. Grace hit the panic button under her desk (one never knew with kindergarteners) and went to the side of the fainted woman.
Eyelids fluttering, Evangeline came to to see four heads over hers. And none of them belonged to her son. "Where is my son?" she demanded, shakily.
"We don't know" answered Mrs. Grace. "He was never here today."
"My husband, he dropped him off!" she stammered. Gaining her feet, she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed her husband.
"Where is David!" she asked before he could say hello.
"How the hell should I know?" he answered. "I left him at the school this morning".
"Well he isn't here, and Mrs. Grace says he has not been here ALL DAY" she screamed into the phone.
The principal, Mr. Gordon, who had rushed into the room when the panic bell had rung, was already on the phone to the police.
"We will be there shortly" said Captain Anderson, once he heard what the situation was.
Before long, the sobbing parents were on the news, and flyers featuring young David were spread through out town. Big, blue eyes and a mischevious smile shined out under a messy fringe of blond hair. Glenda, now retired, remembered that name, David Dwight Wilson. He'd been one of the last babies she'd taken care of.
"I wonder if they remember?" she thought to herself. From her rocking chair, being careful not to distub the sleeping cat in her lap, she reached out for the telephone, and dialed the number for the police.
"Detective Anderson, please" she asked. "I have information about the kidnaped boy that may help him" she said.
"Andy, some crack pot on the phone who says she has information" hollered out the desk monkey. Hearing herself refered to as a 'crack pot' made Glenda grit her teeth, but she hung on the line, for what she had to say was important.
"Yeah yeah" answered the detective. Picking up the phone, he identified himself. Listening in disbelief, he started writing in his notepad. "Thanks, nurse" he muttered, then hung up the phone, and headed for the door.
"The crackpot actually had something good?" called out the desk monkey, but it was too late. Detective Anderson was already out the door, and running.
Shortly, he pulled up to the community hospital, and ran directly to the records department. Flashing his badge, he demanded the medical record of David Dwight Wilson. The clerk found it in a reasonably quick amount of time, and he was off again, back to the station.
*************************************************************************
Ten miles away, a little boy sat tearfully at a table in an unkempt, broken down trailer in the Pink Flamingo Trailer Park and Bait Shop. A plastic plate with the Power Puff girls decorating it was in front of him, with a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich on cheap white bread squished onto it. A few, stale frito's lay limply to the side. In front of the plate, was a mickey mouse cup filled with cherry kool-aid.
"My Mom gives me carrots and milk for my snack" he said, softly, to the woman who was sitting at the other side of the table, staring at him intently.
"She ain't your Ma, I am" snapped the woman. You had best get that straight now, Ian. You are my son, and they stole you. Now eat your sandwich before your father gets home."
Crying now, David took a bite of the sandwich, trying not to gag. He hated grape jelly. The woman, in her ratty pink and green house dress, with blue slippers got up, and moved into the living room. It was time for her soap opera. Turning on the TV, she saw the picture of the child flash in front of her, and cursed, turning the TV off quickly. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the boy was still crying over his plate, and had not seen himself on the TV. She patted her curlers in her lank blonde hair, to make sure they remained in place, and belched. "Damn TV news" she thought, and picked up the worn copy of the National Enquirer. Soon, she was engrossed deeply in the downfalls of Britney and Lindsay, and she forgot about the crying boy at the table.
Suddenly, at almost dark, the door burst open. Eyes wide, her hands went up to her hair and began to tug out the curlers. LeRoy hated to come home and find her still in curlers. But it wasn't LeRoy. It was a swarm of cops. She found herself, thrown to the floor, and hand cuffed. "Lurline MacKay, you are under arrest for the kidnapping of David Dwight Wilson" she was told.
"How'd you find us so quick?" she gasped in disbelief.
"Simple" laughed Detective Anderson. "David here was injected with an experimental micro-chip when he was born. You, my dear, had the misfortune of taking a child who was chipped with one of the first Lo-Jack microchips to be invented. Nice job."
"Can I take out my curlers, at least?" she asked. "LeRoy won't bail me out if I am still in curlers."
"Where you are going, you won't need bail" said Anderson, grinning....

Friday "mie"-ography

This is Amelia. Amelia Jenks Bloomer.
She was born May 27, 1818 in Homer, NY. Her family did not have much money, ("modest means") and she only received a few years of schooling. When she was 22 years old, she married Dexter Bloomer, a lawyer, who was also part owner of the Seneca Falls County Courier. He was of a Quaker background, and had progressive social principals, and encouraged her to begin writing articles on temperance, and other issues for the newspaper.
When she was 30 she attended the Women's Rights Convention at Seneca Falls. Though she took no part in the proceedings, she did, a few months later, start her own temperance newspaper, called The Lily. It was very successful, and gained a circulation of 4000 within a few years. During this time, Amelia was described as a sternly serious person who lacked any sense of humor. At the prodding of Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Amelia began to devote space in The Lily to woman's rights. In 1851, The Lily supported the reform in women's dress, and the article of clothing she championed was named after her, the "Bloomer". It dispensed of the unhealthy corset, in favor of looser clothing. For awhile, everyone, including Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Susan B. Anthony also sported "bloomers", but, eventually, the idea was abandoned, even by Amelia herself, who actually opposed them as "inexpedient".
In 1855 she moved to Council Bluffs, Iowa, and abandoned The Lily. She did continue to work actively in the suffrage movement, by lecturing and writing, and served as president of the state Woman Suffrage Association between 1871-1873. She managed to get Stanton, Anthony, and Lucy Stone to come to Iowa to lecture. Troubled by poor health in the 1870's, she eventually retired into her private life. She died in Council Bluffs in 1894.

past memories

I think probably talking with my old friend had me remembering some of the crazy things we used to do.
One thing, that we all really looked forward to, every year, and BEGGED our parents to let us do, was the Dance A Thon. This was a band fundraiser, people pledged money per hour. We usually ALL made it the full 25 hours.

For one weekend, we would meet in the town hall of this tiny tiny town nearby, where tape players, and record players were set up on a stage. We had signed up in advance for an hour of controlling those things, being the "DJ" as it were.
We would be in that town hall for 25 hours. Dancing. Laughing. Getting punchy at 3 am.
It was set up like this. We would dance, with a 10 minute break each hour. We could use the restroom, moving our feet the whole time. We also got an hour for dinner when that time came about. We had snacks rolling around, things to drink.
And we were crazy! We were a room full of teenagers, with very few adults, and lots of loud music. The person on the stage got to pick whatever it was that came on.
There were hours that were designated for fun things, like a lip sync contest, dance contest, ect. Those were usually planned for somewhere around 3 in the morning, when it was the hardest to stay awake. About that time we would all be wandering around like zombies, drooling teenage zombies. So the contests helped.
At the last hour, those of us that had done 25 hours would win a tee shirt, with some design denoting the success of the years Dance A Thon, usually drawn by a student. Then, our parents would come fetch us, and after a long, sleepy shower, I would sleep, for somewhere around 17 hours if Mom would let me get away with it.
Shortly after I left highschool I heard that they decided they could no longer let the kids have the dance a thon. Something about legal crap and blah blah blah. So they had a shorter one, for just a few hours, right after the home coming dance. Then they eliminated it all together. Which is too bad. Because the Dance a thon weekend was one of the best times I had in highschool.

Wordless Wednesday, Roxie style

Blame Mie for everything!

See that lovely shirt up there? I adore it. Its what I get for pestering Sybil while she was writing her blogpost about Soccer Moms. As if she could *ever* really fall squarely into that catagory. She'd be the coolest soccer mom anyhow.
But I love the t shirt. I love it so much it HAD to be my new header....

Now on to what I was really going to post about.
Recently, someone from my graduating class made a profile on Myspace for our class year. An old friend alerted me to it, so, I added it to my list of friends. Why not?
Well, another old friend popped up on it. One of my best friends from highschool, as a matter of fact. She requested me to add her, but her profile was set to private, and I couldn't tell who it was, so I said No. (I don't like the myspace stalker freaks). A month later, she sent me a message saying who she was. So I added her.
Long story short, we ended up IM'ing each other yesterday morning.
Keep in mind, I have not seen this woman since 1988. We got into all kinds of trouble together in highschool, but we were KIDS! I knew a little bit about her life because I ran into her ex brother in law once, over 15 years ago, but of course that was all bad stuff about her because his brother hates her now.
AAAAAANYHOW

my point?
She started telling me all these details of her life. Her youngest daughter is bipolar, her oldest was a cutter, she smokes a lot of weed rather than take medicine for her graves disease. Her Army husband has flashbacks from the Iraq war... the list goes on and on. Oh, and she told me at least 3 times that she loved me.
I was not really prepared for all the familiarity, after 20 years. Here she was, no holds barred, telling me all the details of her life. All the very personal details. And I? Just kind of sat there, responding in a very vague way.
Because, I don't know her anymore. I knew the feisty, fun loving, trouble making, water skiing, clarinet playing girl. But the weed smoking, Army wife, parent of bipolar teenager woman? I don't know her at all. Not enough to share the intimate heartbreaks of my life with.
Now, maybe, someday, I will know her again. I will certainly talk to her, IM her, hell, we might even meet up in person again, if we can arrange it somehow. (She is moving to Georgia soon, as their last Army assignment).
But it was kind of surreal for me. Reconciling the girl with the woman. I mean, I know I grew up. But I live with me.

Happiness is...

waking up late on a Sunday morning

having some really excellent stir fry made by MM with the assistance of Mustang Girl for dinner. (and I didn't do a thing but sit on the couch and watch Ted Nugent show off his "crib". I think Ted is a psycho, but he has a nice house)

zooming down the road in the topless Roxie the Scarlet Harlot on my way to work. Temperature 81 degrees, my hair blowing in the wind as I laughed hysterically over how my windblown locks would look to my co workers and patients. (If you all see a nurse, flying down the road in a red Rubicon blaring Metallica in her denim scrubs laughing, cut her a break. She's probably overtired and a bit unhinged.)

knowing that I will have 3 days off after tonight, and that my shift is more than half over

eating the leftover stir fry that Mustang Girl thoughtfully packed up for me before I left for work

the fresh pot of coffee that is currently brewing

listening to Celtic Rose sitting behind me laughing at my silly co-worker, G.

seeing that one of my patients whom I have taken care of for at least 5 nights is getting better and better, and may well get to go home soon.

devising a plot to get my comfortable bed over to MM's house. (his bed is fine. But mine? Well, its mine... and I *heart* it.)

watching Mustang Girl chase my demonic black cat, Jack, through the house, hearing her laugh hysterically at his wide eyed look of terror as he slides across the wooden floor. (he has been so rotten, chasing Audrey for so long that it is SWEET seeing the tables turn on him. Besides, he can use the exercise)

knowing that I am going to have half of June off, for vacation

the upcoming Tiki Party in Portland (start putting in your requests for Drunken Portland Postcards, take 2 now)

this ridiculous picture of one of our surgeons posing for a Scrub advertisement. He looks so cheesy, But he is actually a pretty nice guy)

Did I mention the stir fry? It had chicken, and ginger, and water chestnuts, and snow peas...

knowing that in approx 4 hours and 15 minutes, I will be happily zooming back down the road, hair blowing in the wind (probably wearing my Yankee's cap)listening to something, (probably not Metallica) heading towards a warm bed, and a nap....

So.....
what makes you happy today?

Short Story Saturday

Tom stepped out onto his front porch, and gathered his newspaper, frowning up at the grey, drizzly sky. Looking down the street, he noticed Mr. Peterson walking by, with a bright blue umbrella, and a smile on his face. "Ever since he'd stopped wearing the atrocious bow ties he was known for he seems happier", thought Tom.
Tom had grown up on this street, and knew all the neighbors from the time he'd been a young boy. Edna, the crazy cat lady, used to give him Macaroons every afternoon as he walked home from school. Mrs. Peterson had always had a smile and a wave for him. He hadn't known the young couple that moved in a few years ago, but he'd heard the rumors of her being carted away in an ambulance. Their house still stood empty, but a few promising people had come to look at it. Tom hoped it wouldn't stay empty for long.
Tom had inherited his house from his parents when they had died, five years ago. His mother had died first, from breast cancer, and his father, two months later of what Tom swore was a broken heart. He was their only child, and he missed them both every day.
Shaking his head, Tom went back inside, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat down to read his paper. He worked the night shift at a bakery, making fresh breads in the early morning hours to be delivered to specialty stores and restaurants all throughout the area. He loved his job, and the smell of freshly baked wheat bread still made him happy. He'd learned the recipe from his mother.
He never went right to bed when he got home from the bakery, he enjoyed unwinding with a hot cup of decaf coffee, and the newspaper. Glancing through the headlines, he was startled to see a picture of a girl he'd gone to highschool with, Erika, on the front page.
He'd been rather shy and geeky in highschool, and Erika had been the head cheerleader. He was well beneath her radar. He had gone to one class reunion, and she had not even remembered him, at all.
Reading the article, he discovered she had moved to Florida and married the captain of the football team (Quel Suprise). Tragically, however, she had wandered too close to a swamp area, and was eaten by an alligator. The article he'd discovered was her obituary.
"Wow" thought Tom, scanning the article again. "What a way to go". He noted they were having a local service for her, and it was on his day off. Making a mental note of the date, Tom finished the paper, and his coffee, and went to sleep.
Three days later found Tom in his best suit, at the service for the girl who never remembered him. There were close to a hundred people there, many of them from his highschool. Feeling awkward, he stayed on the outskirts of the crowd. Her parents were there, well, he assumed they were her parents, as there was a family resemblance, and most of the people were crowded around them, patting their backs and murmuring sympathetically. Not looking where he was going, Tom moved forward, and then straight into someone else, causing them to drop the bottle of water, and car keys she'd been holding.
"Oh I am so sorry!" he stammered as he bent to pick up the car keys. Unfortunately, the young woman he had jostled also leaned in to retrieve her keys, and the crack of their heads smacking together reberverated through the air.
"Ouch!"
"Ow!" they proclaimed, each one of them clutching their foreheads and stumbling back a step. The pain was so intense Tom's eyes were watering. The girl didn't seem any better off.
Rubbing her head, she smiled ruefully at him. "You don't remember me, do you?" she asked.
Looking at her again, he studied her features. long, dark brown hair, big blue eyes, of medium height, and (if he said so himself) a nice rack.
"No, I am afraid I don't" he finally admitted.
"It's me, Pattie? Erika's sister?"
"Fatty Pattie?" he stuttered, then, turning red because he'd just managed to insult her at the funeral of his sister, he tried again. "Pattie, I mean? Oh I am so very sorry"
Pattie shrugged off the use of her old highschool nickname. The truth was, she HAD been overweight. But her parents had sent her to 'fat camp', the summer after her junior year, and her senior year, she'd studied abroad, as a foreign exchange student to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. She'd loved it there, and, after coming back, had worked hard, and bought a Farm, in Malaysia, and owned a laser making factory. She was a millionaire now, a few times over.
Smiling at Tom, she remembered their youth, and how she'd loved him all through highschool. He only had eyes for her stuck up bitch of a sister, though. "But she is dead" thought Pattie, a trifle meanly. She and Erika had never been close, as sisters, and had actually not spoken to each other in years. "He is still pretty cute" she thought, checking him out, now. Tall, with sandy blond hair and green eyes, Tom looked good.
"You've changed, too" she mentioned.
"Well, we all got older, and hopefully better, right?" answered Tom, smiling gently. "I am sorry about Erika, though".
"Thanks" she replied. "Can I ride with you to the gravesite service? My parents are making me crazy" she asked.
"of course" he answered.
Pattie and Tom became inseperable after that day. She stayed in the United States for 6 weeks, with Tom, in his little house that he'd always lived in. Tom took a vacation from the bakery, something he'd never done. After 6 weeks, they knew they wanted to be together, forever. Tom quit his job, and prepared to relocate to the farm in Malaysia. They planned on getting married there, and, if they were lucky enough to have a child, they both agreed they would not name it Erika, and she would not be a cheerleader. Patty said they did not even have cheerleaders in Malaysia. Besides, what would a farm in Malaysia do with a cheerleader? Or a laser factory, for that matter.
The day came for them to board the plane for the long ride to Kuala Lumpur. Exited, they got up early, and packed their one bag (having sent all the others ahead). They got to the airport in plenty of time, and claimed their first class seats with glee.
Halfway through the trip, however, as they were crossing the ocean, their happiness turned to tragedy. Tom had been complaining of a headache for a few hours, and the ibuprofen Pattie always carried had not helped. Suddenly, he keeled over, unresponsive. Pattie began to holler for help, but, alas, no doctors were on board. Just a nurse who was trying desperately to have a vacation. "Get me the AED said the nurse, grimly starting CPR on Tom. She knew it was hopeless, his pupils were already fixed and dilated.
Pattie buried Tom in Kuala Lumpur, at her farm in Malaysia. The autopsy had revealed a slow bleed in his head, the frontal lobe. Right where they had bumped heads all those weeks ago. She continued her work on the farm, and in the laser factory. But her heart was never the same, again.

friday "mie"-ography

This one is for NanaK!

I would like to introduce you to a woman named Eliza Stewart Boyd. Sadly, I cannot find a picture of her in the world wide sucker of my soul, the internet.

Any old how. Nanak, through CamiK, expressed interest in the first woman to sit on a jury. Thus, we have, Eliza.
She was bor in Crawford County, Pennsylvania, the eldest of 8 children. Her mother was Scottish, her father, Scots Irish. Her Mom died soon after birthing the 8th child, and Eliza took on the role of raising her siblings. She managed, while raising the seven of them, to continue to go to school, AND to excel She graduated from the Washington Female Seminary in Washington Pa, as the class valedictorian. Her address to her fellow students, a ten page typed document of rhymed verse, titled "Entering Service" was actually published in the Meadville, Pa. newspaper.
For 8 years, after she graduated she taught school in Crawford County. In December of 1868, however, she decided to move west. She arrived in Laramie, Wyoming, just as they were about to open their first public school. She was the first teacher they hired. She was also a charter member of the Laramie Presbyterian Church.
Shortly after moving to Wyoming, she met Stephen Boyd, a machinst from Canada. They married in 1870.
Before they were married, however, in March of 1870, Eliza, with 4 other women became the first in the world to serve on a jury. (Eliza is listed as officially the first woman juror).
It should be noted that Wyoming was actually the first state to grant women the right to vote, and equal political rights. You go, Wyoming!
So. Eliza served on a jury. And considered it an honor. She gained some local fame for it, and did a credible job. When her service ended, she went back to teaching. She and Stephen moved into their first home, and then, Eliza was named to the organizing committee for the Wyoming Literacy and Library Association. She also continued to write poetry.
In 1873, she became the first woman in the US to be nominated to run for the Territorial legislature. She, for unknown reasons, withdrew her name from the ballot.
She maintained an interest in politics, however, and became a member of the Womens Christian Temperance Union (WTCU) in Laramie, supporting prohibition. Her husband opened a "notions" shop and shoe store, and she managed it, while he continued to work as a machinist.
Eliza remained active in Laramie, until she died, at age 79 after slipping on some ice and breaking her hip. She had 2 living children.
She is memorialized in the Women in the West Center, in Laramie, Wyoming.

mystery

No shock to those of you in England. Or the rest of you probably, for that matter.
But something big is going on at Stonehenge.
They are digging there.
And, they think they might finally figure out the purpose of the henge.

I would rather they didn't.
I think that there are some things that should remain a mystery.
Nessie, Stonehenge, where Elvis is living, for example.
Imagination is a wonderful thing, and I would love to go to Stonehenge some day, and examine it for myself, and come up with my own, perhaps off the wall explaination for why it's there.

How about:
it is a cemetary for giants?

Or maybe:
the druids knew it would drive us nuts and built a bunch of henges just to confound us. Their spirits are hiding in the henge, laughing hysterically at us every time we go visit them.

Or, God was playing lawn darts and the center of the henge is a bullseye.

See?
Lots of purposes for not just Stonehenge, but all the other ones, too.
I much prefer my versions of the story.
So, Jo, and Holly. Go make them stop, please.
Leave Stonehenge a mystery!

Oh, and if any of you want to chime in one of YOUR purposes for the henge, I'd love to read them...

Wordless Wednesday

It's always the nurse

Yeah
gonna get on my soap box.
And though this is a medical-y thing, I think that I want to respond here for a few reasons.
One is because you, the "customers" of health care and hospitals, are getting bombarded with news stories this week about how unsafe care is
and the other is because all the medical people who read First Do No Harm already realize what I am about to say.

Lets start with yesterdays study. The one that claims that one in 15 children in the hospital will come to harm.
This is bullshit. The fact of that study is, they did it in Los Angeles, at 14 hospitals there.
Since when does Los Angeles constitute all the hospitals in the United States? And to add more insult to injury, over and over again on the news, (which was on in the lounge I was waiting for my Jeep in) Doctors were interviewed, and they ALL threw the nurses under the bus. It seems that this is all our fault. NOT the MD's who order things, NOT the drug companies who put lethal doses of drugs in packages that look JUST LIKE other, non lethal doses. Its the Nurse's fault.
Now I will say, any smart, observant nurse, ESPECIALLY with pediatric patients, is VERY VERY careful about what he/she is giving them. We have a policy, at my Podunk, that 2 nurses check EVERY medication given to a kid. And that even means calculating the dose of what we are giving to ensure it is correct for their age and weight. Have mistakes been made? Only one that I can think of. (and thank God I wasn't part of it.)
That kid is fine, btw.
Today, I had a second screen up, scanning the news, because I was searching for blog fodder. And lo!
Another article about people in hospitals. This time, it says that nurses are failing to notice when their patients are having complications that could/do lead to their death. They figured this out by going through the records of Medicare patients
HELLO!
one thing they leave out is that most of the states o this union do not have a safe nurse to patient ratio. (California does). Many of these nurses are caring for up to 15 patients at a time!
And, complications arise practically instantaneously, swiftly, and without warning. We do our best to notice everything around us. And, how old is the average Medicare patient? Truthfully? Elderly. And they die. Of complications. That we DO notice. If someone is going to die, and it is their time, I can stand on my head whistling Dixie while ten others around me do the hokey pokey and it won't make a difference in the outcome. DEATH HAPPENS. We can't live forever.
I am not claiming hospitals are the safest places on earth, nor that every nurse in this world is a perfect little robot who never makes mistakes.
What I am saying, though, is that it as not as bad as the media is portraying this week.
And if I see one more picture of Dennis Quaid on TV, I am going to start throwing rotten tomato's at it....
ok. Rant over.

Crucial

I have learned many valuable lessons in my life time.
Don't drink a pitcher of vodka and orange juice while watching Gremlins, for example.
Also, don't join the military if privacy is something you value.

I've learned the value of a dollar. And now, when I am going to make a major purchase, I stop to think about how many hours/days/weeks/years I would have to work to purchase it. Then, decide if it is worth it to me, or not.
I have NOT bought many things that way.

But David McMahon, over at authorblog wants to know
What is the most crucial lesson that I have learned?

Well. Here it is.
I learned, the hard way, the tried and true way that it is better to be happy by myself, then miserable with someone else.
It is the credo of which I have lived by for the past 10 years, at least.
It is why I am not married, probably.
Because, if and when I do take that step again, I want it to be happy.
Now, I am not saying that I expect perfect things, and to never be mad at, or hurt by people. Its human nature. But miserable? Yes, I expect to NOT be miserable. I have walked that path, and it was dark, and depressing as all get out. I turned into someone who was not me. I didn't even like, or, eventually recognize whom I had become. I was bitter, quiet, and angry, a lot of the time. I rarely smiled. Hardly ever laughed. I had no friends, and I was not living anywhere near my family. Life truly sucked.
And the man I was married to? Stuck in the same, vicious cycle. A cycle that neither one of us, at our young ages, knew how to break out of. So we treated each other not as friends, or loved ones. In the end, we treated each other with nothing but anger or indifference.
And it cost me.
It took me a long time to get back to myself after I took myself out of that situation. I had to discover (or, re discover?) myself, change what I didn't like, and develop what I did like. That takes a long time. I also had to decide to like myself. To love myself. Because if I don't, then who will?
I could not have done these things being miserable with someone else.
A long time has passed, and I can tell you with certainty, that I do like myself, I am happy with the life I have, and, I honestly think it has made all the difference. I can offer more to the relationships I find myself in, whether it is with my friends, family, and now, MM, and his daughter, Mustang Girl.
Because I chose to be happy with myself, and not miserable with a few 'someone elses', I am now at what may certainly be, at my "advanced" age (ha ha)
one of the most satisfying times of my life.
And I will not lose myself again. I know better, now.

Short Story Saturday

June Peterson studied her husband across the breakfast table from over the top of her half eyed glasses. He was as he usually was, every morning, reading the paper, eating half a grapefruit, and drinking a cup of black coffee. Even on Sundays the man did not deviate from his daily pattern. "It'll throw off my bowels" he had growled at her when she attempted to serve him something different.
Since he'd retired from the shoe factory, he had gotten even worse, in her estimation. Exactly 28 minutes were to be spent at the breakfast table, and then, he would excuse himself, take his bowl and cup to the sink, then go and get dressed. Which took him exactly fourteen minutes. He came out of the bedroom looking exactly the same as he would look if he were reporting for work at the shoe factory, as the manager he had finally become almost 15 years ago, bow tie, and all.
Instead of leaving for work, however, he would walk down to the park, where his friend, Ed, also retired, would be waiting for their daily game of chess. During the time he was gone, June cleaned house, went grocery shopping if she needed to, (never to spend over 100.00 without asking, please) and then come home, and make him a turkey sandwich on wheat bread with one slice of american cheese. Cut in a triangle. That, accompanied by exactly ten Pringles Chips, was his lunch. Every day.
After lunch he allowed himself some time to read a magazine, or mow the lawn, if it needed it. On Sundays, (but Sunday's only), he took a nap. Occasionally, he would wander down to the basement, and make a birdhouse, but, they had so many birdhouses up in their back yard that one could hardly see the trees. Plus, it infuriated him to no end when the little old lady next door, Edna, would let her cats out, and they would come hunting over in his birdhouses. He threatened, daily, to get a BB gun, and sit out there, picking off the cats. There had been fewer of them up until 2 weeks ago, and then the amount of cats she seemed to have tripled, for some odd reason.
Dinner was to be served at 5:30, on the nose. It was to consist of exactly 4 oz. of meat for each of them, rice or potatoes (alternating days), and a vegetable. And not a 'weird' vegetable, either, like artichoke, or brussel sprouts. It was to be peas, carrots, corn, or green beans. From a can. ("Fresh vegetables are sprayed with poison" he constantly told June. "I don't want to eat poison."
After dinner, he sat down to read what was left of the newspaper he had not covered at breakfast. If he was feeling particularly feisty, they would play a game of cribbage. And on Saturday nights, he allowed her one glass of wine, and he would have a tumbler of whisky. Only on Saturday, though.
This particular day, though, June had it in her head to break the rut they were both in. She'd finally had enough. Seeing that lovely young woman get hauled away, laughing, in a strait jacket last week in an ambulance had gotten June to start thinking. She didn't want to be the next one hauled off.
Deliberately, she got up, and went over to her husband, and sprinkled sugar on his grapefruit. He didn't even notice, until he took a bite. Without realizing it, he smiled a tiny smile. Then, a frown. Looking down at the piece of fruit, he asked her suspiciously "What did you do?"
"Nothing" she replied, looking at herself in the mirror, patting her curlers. "I wonder how I would look with shorter hair" she mused to herself.
Staring at June for a few seconds, John Peterson wondered what had gotten into her. Shaking his head he took another bite of grapefruit.
"Sure is sweet today" he noted.
"Yes Dear" she replied, and walked into the bedroom. Taking his drawer full of bow ties, she emptied them into the bathroom trash, a place he would never look. She made sure she got every single one of them. Then quickly left the room.
John, when he went to get dressed, pulled open his drawer, frowning. "Where are all my bow ties?" he hollered to his wife. No answer was received. Stalking out to the living room, he was astounded to find his lunch sandwich on the counter, with his chips, and a note saying "I will be back later- here is your lunch". She didn't even bother to sign it.
What has gotten into that woman?" he thought, frowning again.
Deciding he could not miss his chess, he took a chance, and left the house, without a bow tie. Without realizing it, he began to whistle as he walked down the street, towards the park. He even smiled at a few people. (Not Edna, however.) "What a nice day" he thought.
Meanwhile, downtown, June was enjoying herself immensely. She was at a popular salon, having a manicure, a pedicure, and her hair cut. She was even going to get her eyebrows waxed, and some lash extensions. (Hi Daryl! Thanks for the idea!). After that, she was going to go to the shoe store, to buy some kicky new shoes, and then? She was going to go buy herself a new dress. It was spring, after all! AND, she was going to spend more than 100.00. Possibly more than 500.00. She didn't care.
She did not arrive home again until well after five in the evening, in her new spring dress, and her kicky new shoes. Stopping to admire herself in the hall mirror, she wondered why she had not done this sooner. The soft pink dress matched her newly painted toes perfectly, and the french manicure on her nails was perfect. Her hair, now much shorter, curled on its own, and bounced happily against her cheeks. Batting her new eyelashes at herself, she laughed.
Hearing his wife laughing, John got out of his easy chair, taking care to leave his Time magazine open to the page he was reading. By the time he made it into the hallway, she was gone, however. Sniffing the air, he smelled a nice, spicy perfume, and it surprised him. "I know that scent" he thought to himself. "Its been a long time since I smelled it, though. What is she up to?" Shaking his head, he went back to his magazine.
Hiding behind the kitchen door, June listened to her husbands footsteps as they went back down the hall, to the living room.
"Good" she thought, and began to set up dinner. She had stopped at the flower shop, and bought a large bouquet of Tulips. She put them into her cut glass vase she'd gotten on her wedding day, and set them on the table. Taking out her best china, she set the table with it. That done, she went into the kitchen and unpacked their dinner. She had gotten take out Chinese Food from the place everyone was raving about. "John, dinner" was all she had to say.
John sighed as he got up, and entered the dining room. The sensual, dark red tulips were the first thing he noticed, then the china. It had been his mothers china. He could not remember the last time he saw it. Sitting down, he looked around, and smelled the spicy smell of June's perfume.
When she came into the room, he could not believe his eyes. She looked ten years younger, at least. Before he could say a word, she placed a plate in front of him loaded with chinese food. Looking up at her quizzically, he gasped when he saw her sit down, pick up some chopsticks, and begin to eat! Flabbergasted, he followed suit (but with a fork, he could only bend so much).
John enjoyed his Chinese dinner more than he could say. He enjoyed eating it off his mothers china, he enjoyed looking across the table at his beautiful wife. He even enjoyed the tulips. He liked everything so much, he forgot to complain about it.
When bed time rolled around, the curtains were closed tight against the starlit night, and John, (and June) enjoyed even more.
The next morning, as he walked to his chess game, grin on his face, without a bow tie, his neighbors were frankly shocked to see him stoop, and pet a cat....

wow. Am I really that old?

Teenage Mustang Girl over my shoulder, on the phone with three other teenage girls at the same time.
"No cussing you guys, My Dad's girlfriend is in the room".

Shit.

when did I become the adult?

Anyone?


Sigh.

Saturday story tomorrow courtesy of the old lady who can't be cussed around...

Friday "mie"-ography

This is Frida. She was an amazing artist. Wanna see her art? Go and visit my tag team buddy, Bubblewench.

Born Magdalena Carmen Frida Kahlo y Calderon on July 6, 1907 at her parents house on the outskirts of Mexico City, she was the daughter of a German immigrant to Mexico and his Mexican wife. They never had a happy marriage. Despite that, Frida was the third of the four daughters they would have together.
She contracted polio at age six, and it left her left her right leg thinner than her left one. She always hid this, wearing long skirts. As a girl, she participated in boxing, and other sports. She was also accepted into one of Mexico's premier schools, where she was one of 35 female students enrolled.
In 1925, she was riding in a bus when it collided with a trolley car. She was seriously injured. Her spinal column was broken, along with her collarbone, some ribs, her pelvis, eleven fractures in her right leg, a crushed and dislocated right foot, and a dislocated shoulder. She also had an iron handrail pierce her abdomen and her uterus.
She managed to recover, and eventually walk again, but suffered frequent relapses of intractable pain for the rest of her life. She would be bed bound for months at a time when this happened. She had over 35 operations, mainly on her back, and her right leg and foot.
After her accident, she turned her attention from medicine (she had wanted to be a doctor) to a full time painting career. She was left in a full body cast during her recovery period, and she chose painting to occupy her time while she was forced to be immobile. She did mainly self portraits, saying "I paint myself because I am often alone and I am the subject I know best".
She managed to approach a famous Mexican painter that she admired, DIego Rivera. She asked his advice about pursuing art as a career. He recognized her talent, and encouraged her development, and the two soon became intimate with each other. They were married in 1929. They were often referred to as "The Elephant and the Dove", in relation to their size differences. They had a very tumultuous marriage, both of them being hot tempered. Frida was openly bisexual, and would have affairs with both men, and women. Her husband tolerated the women, but was insanely jealous of the men. He, in his own turn, had an affair with her sister, Cristina. They divorced, and then eventually remarried. Their second marriage was as bad as the first, and they usually enjoyed seperate living quarters, entirely. (Next to each other sometimes.)
She continued to have many operations, and also suffered misscarriages during this time as well. Her artwork is known for its portrayals of her pain. of her 143 paintings, 55 of them are self portraits, an often have symbolic portrayals of both physical, and psychological wounds.
She was also influenced by the indigenous Mexican culture (of which her mother was a part of), using bright colors and their symbolism, as well. She frequently included a symbolic Monkey in her work In 1939 she went to France and was featured in an exhibition of her paintings. The Louvre purchased one of her paintings, "The Frame", and displayed it. It was the first work by a 20th century Mexican artist ever purchased by them.
She and Rivera were active communist sympathizers, and, Diego befriended Leon Trotsky, who sought political asylum in Mexico. He moved into their house, and Frida had an affair with him. He and his wife moved, and he was later assassinated.
She died on July 13, 1954, with the official cause of death being noted to be a pulmonary embolism. A few days before she died, she wrote in her diary "I hope the exit as joyful- and I hope never to return-Frida". Many have sustpected that she overdosed, or that her death was not accidental. No autopsy was ever performed.
Her ashes are in the home she was born in, which is now a museum.

Girl Power!

Rosie the Riveter.
Not, a real woman, of course.
But a representation of oh, so much more.
She represents the SIX MILLION women who worked in the manufacturing plants that produced ammunition, and materiel during World War Two.
Thats right
SIX MILLION WOMEN.

When I get an award with her face on it, I take that as a very high compliment. Thanks Daryl e!

But before I award it to a few others, let me tell you more about Rosie, and the women she represents. I am doing this today, Thursday, because lilacspecs had the fantastic idea to put it on out there, and for us to Proclaim ourselves as strong women. And then blog about it. I can so get behind that. Oh, and Lilac? Please consider yourself the first one I am passing on the Rosie award to...

Anyhow.
Those SIX MILLION women took the places of all the men that were absent from their families, and jobs, fighting in the Pacific and European theaters of WW II.
She is actually associated with one woman, who worked as a riveter in an aircraft factory in Michigan, building bombers. I am not going to single her out NOT because she isn't deserving, but because Rosie the Riveter has come to mean so much more.
There is even a Rosie the Riveter song, that was released in 1943.
By 1944, the number of working American women increased to 20 MILLION. Yep. 20 million. One of those 20 million being CamiKaos' and my Grandmother.
The working conditions for many of them were very poor, and the pay was not equal to what the men were/had been making. But women responded to the need, and the image of Rosie, and worked anyhow, considering it their patriotic duty.
There is controversy, as always, associated with this, too. Some claim that this need, and the fact that women were working during this time, is what really opened the workforce up to women. Others argue that point, with the valid complaint that the majority of the "Rosie's" were discharged from their jobs after the war, so the returning men could work.
One thing is clear, though. Women proved that they were willing, and able to perform jobs that had been, until then, thought to be not possible. However, the job market did not open again to women, in such large proportions, again, until the 1970's, and by that time factory employment was in a sharp decline, all over the USA.

So, Rosie the Riveter. A representation of women, up to 20 MILLION of them, during WW II. Without these women doing the jobs they did, I honestly, IMHO do not believe we would have had the success we did winning WW II.
I am not saying they WON the war, by any means. Nor would I take away from the valiant men that went and fought.
But those women? Tough, strong women. I have admiration for them all. They did their part.

So. The award. The one at the top there. I want to give it away. And honestly? I am going to only give out a few. Not that I don't think you ALL are strong, feisty women, like Rosie. But because if I keep giving awards to my whole blog roll, there will be no mystery anymore.

So. You all see I passed it on to Lilacspecs, right? Go there when you are done here and follow the trail of all the Proclaimers.
Including Holly whom I would also like to give this award to.
And to Cami because if it was not for her, I wouldn't blog. She got me started, so all my awards are hers, anyhow.
And, last but not least, one of my newer blog friends. Miss Burrows. I love her blog, and her humor, and her treasures. She is a treasure.

So, to my awarded friends, pass it on in good health and strongness.

And to the women of WW II who fall under the umbrella of Rosie the Riveter, I salute you. And I thank you for what you did. You all stepped up to the plate, worked under less than desirable circumstances, and did a job many believed you could not do. And most of you? Lost your jobs when the men came home. Some of you didn't mind, but some of you were really hurt by that. But strong work, ladies, strong work. I hope the image of Rosie, the strong woman, is around to represent you, forever.

And the winner is...

The lovely and talented Jo. Jo, I need your "real" address for your "real" prize.


I mean, how could I resist the Scarlet Harlot?
It is just too good.
However.
We did actually draw names out of a paper bag, so that the Jeep would have a "first" name.
Roxanne came out of the bag, drawn by Mustang Girl. (actually submitted by MM. Luck of the draw for him, and he *got* his prize. (wink wink)
Roxie for short.

Roxie, The Scarlet Harlot.
I have already ordered the license plate holder, (did it 10 minutes ago, actually).
She has not gone topless yet, because the weather is still iffy, and on Monday the Scarlet Harlot is getting her upholstery serviced, and her paint job, too. Lucky girl.

Come back tomorrow, because I am having a special edition of Mie-ography Friday. In this one I will finally hand out, and display the bloggy goodness that Daryl e gave me.

And on Friday?
Bubble wench and I are going to tag team you with my Mie-ography, and her artwork Friday. It's going to be legend (wait for it, wait for it)
ary

I tell you. Legendary.
Not to be missed....

Wordless Wednesday

lol cats

see more crazy cat pics




My family, though? We have MULTIPLE

April Fool!

It is April Fools day.
The day when we all get to go around, and lie freely, as long as we follow that lie (eventually) with the words "April Fools!"
I have done my fair share of April Fools Day jokes. One year, when we had the foreign exchange student, her and I staged this elaborate argument with each other just to mess with my Mom. When she got home from work, we started yelling at each other and carrying on like crazy. We had never argued with each other, so to say she was shocked was an understatement. She came in and started in on the "now girls" speech, and we started busting up. We could not help it.
But then our fine April Fool backfired. Mom wanted us to stage a big fight with HER for when middle sister got home. My Dad was around, and recommended we NOT do this. Did we listen?
No.
So, when middle sister and her and boyfriend got to the house, we started arguing again. It was about our up coming trip to San Francisco. Foreign Exchange student and I were yelling at Mom that we didn't want to go.
Middle sister was PISSED OFF to say the least. She came in and tore into us like a lion eating a zebra. She even called us Ungrateful Bitches and then stormed out the door. While her boyfriend sat there, stunned. My Mom had to chase her out the door and explain things. My Dad simply said "I told you so".
I've also done some milder jokes. My favorite one was a few years ago, though, when I was getting my passport to go to France. I had to send away for a certified birth certificate, and I happened to get it on April Fools Day. So, I called my Mom, and started asking her "Why didn't you tell me?" I then explained to her that there was a different man listed on my birth certificate under the name of 'father'. Boy, you should have heard her sputter. It was kind of fun.
So, Happy April Fools Day. Yes, I really did buy a Jeep, that wasn't a joke. We have a favorite name in the running, but the contest is still open for any of you that want to pick one...
Tell me, either comment wise, or blog wise, what was your favorite April Fool that was either done to you, or you did to someone?