cold . . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . cold . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . silver . . . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . . . noise . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . .cold . . . . . . . . . . hear her calling . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . . . hear her . . . . . . . . . . . . purple . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . . . hear her calling . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . noise . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . . .purple . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . nothing . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . . .hear her . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . nothing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . hear her yelling . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . can't see her . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cold . . . . . . . . . . hear her yelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . can't see . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . noise . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . purple . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . yelling . . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . cold . . . . . . . . . . . . hear her . . . . . . my name. . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . purple . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . hear her . . . . . . . . . . screaming . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . can't see . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . screaming dad's name . . . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . can't see. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . purple . . . . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . . . . . . screaming . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . .. . . . . . . . . yelling . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . her screaming . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . loud noise . . . . . . . . . . . . . dad yelling. . . . .. . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . hands . . . .. . . shaking . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . yelling . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . can't see . . . . . . .. . . . . purple . . . . . . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . .. . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . hands . . . . . . . . . my name . . . .. . . . . . . pulling . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . . . . her crying . . . . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . daddy . . . .. . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . . . talking . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . . . roaring . . . . . . . . . . squeezing . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . talking . . . . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . . . . . . running . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . leaving . . . . . . . . . . crying . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . motor . . . . . . . hand . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . riding . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . .my name . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . . squeezing . . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . . . . . talking . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . running . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . purple . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . .. . . . daddy . . . . . . . . running . . . . . . . . . . . yelling . . . . . . . . . hands . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . crying . . . . . . . .bright . . . . . . shining . . . . . .. . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . hurts . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . bright . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . purple . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . .
i haven't had the dream very many times, maybe 8 or 10 times in my life, and i only lived it once, but it still scares me. gives me the shakes and makes me sweat, followed by goose bumps -- the ones that tell me that i almost died and remind me that i'm not invincible. that's tough, too, as i like to think that i am. or maybe not think that i am, but more like just not acknowledge that i'm not. to just pretend that life will go on and on without an end.
that day started off just like any other day on my parent's farm -- play in the milk barn before breakfast, wash up, eat breakfast, clean up the table, pack lunch and head to the field. this was a better working day, though, as we were working at stella's house. i loved her just like a grandma, but she let me get away w/ more than my grandma did. stella couldn't hear well and she was very forgetful. that meant that she often forgot that she told me not to do something already, several times, so she would just tell me again. it was like a never-ending period of grace as i never reached the point of getting in trouble. i wasn't used to getting very many warnings from others before i had a firm reminder on my butt, but not from stella. well, when we worked at stella's house, i didn't have to go to the field that day but could stay in the house w/ her. i was so excited. it was like being on vacation. we watched tv, ate m & m's, colored, slid down the stairs in a box, drank koolaid, played w/ play-doh, and just had lots of fun. well, i say that "we" did, but it was really just me doing those things. but it was still lots of fun and it beat another day riding in the tractor or sitting in the truck.
i was all excited to stay w/ stella, but after i got over there i found out that she had a dr. appointment and was gone to town. that changed everything, as i was too young to be left in the house by myself. i had to go to the field w/ everybody else. just another day like any other day, i guess. everyone else was working on machinery and getting ready to go to the field as i went off exploring on my own. i didn't have any real responsibilities unless i was told to do something. mostly i was just expected to stay out of trouble. out behind stella's house, there was an old brick brooder house, a storage shed, and a huge forest. in my adult life i see that the forest wasn't so big, but back then it went on forever. it looked very much like the large, dark forest that hansel and gretel got lost in. it was dark and scary. i didn't like to go out there because the stickers hurt my feet. i didn't wear shoes and my feet were pretty tough, but i still didn't like stickers. i knew there were ghosts in the brooder house, so i wasn't going in there any time soon. i didn't like to be scared. i was searching for something else to do. nothing is worse than having nothing to do!
parked out near the trees was an old tractor of dad's. it was the only tractor he had that used gasoline. i liked the smell of gasoline and always tried to stand close when someone was using the tank at home to fill something up. it tickled my nose to smell it and it made waves in the air when someone was putting it in the tank. kind of like heat waves coming off the highway, but just waves over the tank. everyone who worked around our farm knew i liked the smell of gasoline. it was no secret, but it had never been a problem either. probably because i wasn't big enough to work the pump by myself. i never thought of smelling it on purpose; i just liked it when i did have to smell it.
dad didn't use the gasoline tractor much, and i'm not even sure why he kept it. but he always took care of his equipment and one of those things meant filling the tank up after each day's use. vehicles were always parked w/ a full tank of fuel, something about not getting water in the tanks and that would be bad. every night i stood w/ him at the tanks while he filled things up i asked why he did it. he had told me many times, but i had quit listening by that point. i mean, i heard his voice, but i wasn't paying attention to the words anymore. i was just interested in smelling the gasoline, i guess. so here i was, off exploring on my own and i realized that i could have a smell of gasoline if i wanted. no one ever told me not to do it or that it was bad for me. not that it would've made any difference, probably, but i really didn't know.
i climbed up on the old tractor and sat on the hood of it just like i was sitting on a horse. i scooted and scooted out the nose until i had reached the gas tank lid. i opened the lid and saw the waves come out. i leaned forward and put my nose in the rising waves. h-m-m-m, smelled good. full, tingly, strong, gasoline. i sat up and looked around. i was feeling pretty big; after all, i was sitting on top of a tractor, looking out over all of my world, and doing just what i wanted. i didn't realize that i was getting high, but whatever it was -- it felt good. i leaned over and took another big breath of gasoline fumes and sat back up. it was hot outside and the sun was bright, and the waves were coming up out of the tank. i was seated far enough back from the tank that i had to lean over to get a good smell. i was pretending i was riding a horse (because i wanted one really bad and couldn't get dad to buy me one) and smelling one of my favorite smells -- gasoline.
well after a few more big "schnooks" of gasoline, i passed out. problem now was that i passed out w/ my nose right over the tank. with the waves coming out in my face. that meant that the longer i was passed out the higher i got, and the higher i got the longer i would be passed out. kind of leading to a problem here, i can see now. unfortunately, it didn't seem like a problem when i headed into this mess.
my mom soon realized that she hadn't heard me for a while, and i wasn't generally into hiding or being too quiet. so she started calling for me. i knew that i didn't want to make her wait too long before answering or i'd really be in trouble. when i didn't come to her and i didn't answer her, she got worried and came looking for me, calling my name the whole way. i could hear her calling to me, but i couldn't do anything. it was like everything was happening far from me and in a dreamlike way. she totally went nuts when she found me -- passed out, unresponsive, and eyes rolled back in my head. she was screaming and dad and the guys came running. i know she thought i was dead or soon would be, and she just couldn't handle that. this was just about 15 months after chris' death. dad was calm, and i remember hearing him talk to me and hearing her screaming in the background. i was able to hear what was going on and understand some of it -- i just couldn't respond.
no one really knows how long i was in that position, passed out w/ my nose in the gas tank. i couldn't see, couldn't stand, couldn't talk, couldn't move. i was just barely there mentally. i was terrified. i was trapped in a dark place and i couldn't get out. dad pulled me down off of the tractor, held me to his chest, and ran for the pickup. he kept talking and talking the whole time, saying my name over and over. talking calmly, just like he did in the milk barn. i'm sure he didn't feel calm, but i didn't know that. he drove like a demon to the hospital in town. i remember feeling the pickup swerve and the feeling of being jostled around from it. he ran into the emergency room, carrying me and yelling for help. he talked the whole way there, saying my name lots of time to try and get my attention.
i could hear and i knew he was there. i didn't know what was happening or why, but i knew he was there and he would fix everything. that's what he did -- he took care of and fixed everything. he would take care of this, too. there was a lot of noise in the emergency room, voices i didn't recognize, things clanging together, voices on the speaker. i couldn't see anything still, and that made it feel more scary. i just remember smelling dad's aftershave and thinking that it didn't smell like gasoline. funny thought, really. it wasn't long before my head started to pound something fierce, like someone was hammering on the backside of my eyes. i imagined a miniature paul bunyon in my head, swinging a sledge hammer against the inside of my head. it hurt, and i still couldn't see. dad kept talking and talking, saying my name and trying to get my attention still. i felt so distracted, trying to concentrate on dad's voice, but also trying to figure out what was going on inside my head.
i had pancakes for breakfast that morning. my brother's favorite meal. i liked them ok, but i liked other things better. the pancakes were sitting heavy in my stomach right now, and really feeling like they weren't going to stay there. my head was pounding, and i wasn't sure what to do. i mean, i knew what to do but i just couldn't do it. i had no body control at all. so i just lay there, feeling my head pound and my stomach roll. i could feel myself blinking, so i know my eyes were open -- they just weren't seeing anything. cold air was blowing in my face and that helped my stomach. i didn't know that the cold air was from an oxygen tank, to help get rid of the lack of oxygen sooner than breathing normal air. my stomach was still churning, but i hoped it would settle down.
i finally woke up about an hour or so later and realized i was at the hospital. this caused a terrible scene, because i was terrified of the hospital. chris went to the hospital after the car hit him and he never came home. i thought bad things happened at hospitals. no one had ever told me that and i had never talked to anyone about it, but i knew. he left in the ambulance and he never came home. i had to get out of here and i wanted to go home. suddenly i was scrambling trying to get away. i couldn't believe dad brought me here. i squirmed and pinched, scratched, bit, scrambled, kicked, screamed, cried, hit, and carried on like a trapped bobcat. three nurses and dad couldn't hold me down. i was trying to climb over dad to get out of that room. my balance wasn't very good and neither was my coordination, but it didn't take much coordination to bite someone. i could tell from the voices that i was making headway. all except dad, who was still talking calmly and saying my name over and over.
i fought like crazy to get out of there until someone put something over my face and the world went black again. i remember thinking that i would be living in a black world now. i don't think i thought i was dying, but i knew things were not like they were supposed to be. i was scared and i didn't want to be there. when i woke up again, it was so bright in the room that the lights hurt my eyes. my body felt like it was heavy and stuck in molasses. i guess i had a shot while i was out to help keep me calm. dad was there talking to me the whole time and the nurses and doctors were moving around and talking. there was so much noise and it hurt my head. i wanted to sleep. i was so tired.
we went home in a few hours, but we had to go back everyday for the first week. we had to keep going back two times a week for the next six weeks, and every now and then after that. i had to stay in the house after we got home. i wasn't allowed to go out and play, ride my motorcycle, go swimming or anything. it was worse than being in trouble. i wasn't supposed to get too hot, which is impossible on a farm in the summertime. i was trapped in the house for weeks. what's worse, i felt like everyone was mad at me. it was one of those things where they were so relieved i was fine and then mad that i had put myself in danger and/or scared them so much. mom was definitely mad at me for doing "that stunt" and dad was just glad that he had his family home again.
sniffing gas was defintiely one of the more stupid things i've done in life, and don't think that my family will ever let me forget about it. an adventure that went wrong. an experiment that didn't work. a disaster that almost happened. whatever you want to call it, it was just another day on a farm for an adventurous kid. starting the next day, i thought everything was fine. unfortunately for me, my parents didn't see it that way. after that, i had "hawkeye" watching me. every time i was out of sight, i could hear her calling my name. i had about 10 seconds to answer or get "front and center" before all hell started breaking loose. took me a few times to figure that out, but i got it eventually.
still in life, if i do something that they consider stupid or make a choice that they don't approve of -- someone will make a joke about the "sniffing" incident. something pondering the number of brain cells that i might have destroyed or what i might have been w/ those extra brain cells. usually it's my brother. and despite the fact that he jokes about it now -- he was crazy w/ fear that day. he had seen his brother die the year before and now he thought he was seeing his baby sister die. for days after that, i would look up and just see him standing there . . . looking at me. he'd just smile and walk away, but he'd be back after a while to check on me again. he'd gripe about me being a baby that he needed to check on, but no one asked him to check on me and i already had a "keeper"! after that incident, it was a while before i was able to be on my own much!
in case you're wondering, i don't care for the smell of gasoline anymore. in fact, i don't care much for any of those kinds of smells -- diesel, kerosene, paint thinner, whatever. not only do i not care for the smell, i really can't stand those smells. even just small amounts of those things give me a pounding headache. must be something in my system that says "uh-huh, we're not doing THAT again!" fortunately for me, i'm a quick learner and it only takes one time for me to learn the lesson!
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Monday, March 14, 2005
from the floor . . .
it was a big day planned. we were to go and meet w/ the plastic surgeon that would possibly be making the changes to my son's face from the scars left by his car wreck. i don't know why, but this day i was concerned about making a good impression. i didn't want him to think we were just poor white trash, but responsible people who would be good patients. he was one of the top 5 cranial/facial surgeons in the united states, commonly used to repair cleft palates on newborns. it's weird that i would even have this line of thought as i don't ever consider anything like that. after all, we are respectable people so that shouldn't be a problem. it's especially unusual since my normal opinion, though, is "i don't care what you think." i guess i was just sensitive since this had to do w/ the scars on scott's face and the possibility of repairs needed. scott wasn't really that concerned over the scars, but i figured we might as well see what can be done before we make a final decision.
so today was our initial visit -- to see if the doctor could do anything w/ the scarring, and if so, what he could do and when he could do it. of course, there was no litigation on the car wreck, as there was no one else involved. that meant that we were free to move on w/ treatment at our convenience. i went back w/ scott because i wanted to hear what the doctor had to say. we waited quite some time on the doctor to come in the room, but he was well worth meeting when he came in. the doctor was older, probably late 50s or early 60s, and very likeable. he was soft spoken and very calm. he made small talk for a little bit and got acquainted w/ scott, who was obviously very comfortable w/ the doctor.
the doctor asked if scott had scottish heritage, as he has the dark hair and dark eyebrows with the fair skin. and not just the fair skin, but the red/pink cheeks, too. scott was amazed that the doctor seemed to know so much about his background based on his skin coloring. the doctor talked about some of the options that scott had available to him. he wasn't talking about doing anything right now, but just the process of what he would expect to do in the future. he looked closely at scott's face and pressed here and there w/ his fingers or pinched the skin as he explained the process. he would give scott some shots here and there, and after several months of that treatment he would have some microdermabrasion done (basically, sanding his face w/ fine grain sandpaper).
suddenly, it was very hot in the room and i felt rather suffocated. i fanned myself w/ my calendar, hoping the hot feeling would go away. the doctor kept droning on and on about something and the heat just kept coming on. i tried to reposition in my chair slightly so i could fan myself more easily and rest my head against the wall. pretty soon, i heard buzzing, like a hive of bees just let loose in the room. buzzing and hot. can't breathe, can't think. doctor talked on and on about getting shots in the face and making the redness go away. hot and buzzing.
the next thing i know, i heard a terrible roaring sound in my head and i looked up into the face of someone that i didn't recognize surrounded by ceiling tiles. i'm totally confused as to where and when i am. nothing is easily recognizeable. whoever thought i would wake up to that? i mentally struggled to come up w/ some kind of understanding as to why i'm in this position, and so far i wasn't having much luck. the floor was cold, and that felt good to me. i still struggled w/ the idea that there was a man standing over me and i didn't know who he was. the only other visible thing to help me figure out my location was the ceiling tiles. i was reminded of all the jokes that people make about being flat on their back and looking at the ceiling. i had the terrible urge to laugh in the man's face -- mainly b/c i didn't know what else to do!
i heard my son's voice saying "she takes blood pressure medicine." i had no idea what he was talking about or why, but he seemed to be upset over something. the doctor kept asking me if i knew where i was, like i don't know i'm laying on the floor! duh! i still don't know why, but there i was anyway. as i started to put the pieces together, the doctor ordered for me to be taken downstairs to the emergency room and checked out. i didn't think i had any problems, but i didn't have any reason for being on the floor, either. the nurse had gone to get the shots that the doctor wanted to do on scott and came back to see me on the floor. the doctor wanted to wait and do the shots next time, but i thought that was a terrible waste of time. we were here and the decision was "go," so why wait until next time to start? i told the doctor to go ahead w/ what he was going to do; i was fine just staying there on the floor.
while scott had his first treatment on his face, i recovered on the floor. i went through the emergency room after that, complete w/ blood work and an EKG. after 3 hours, we found that there was nothing wrong w/ me other than the fact that i found scott's trip to the doctor traumatic. that brought a real laugh to me, as there was absolutely nothing going on at the doctor's office. it's hard to believe that it was traumatic, but the doctor said that when we have things pent up that are upsetting to us it only takes something small to bring the emotions to the surface. then the brain says. "oops. i can't handle that right now." and shuts down.
after that experience and 3 hours in the ER, we decided to skip our other plans for the day -- going to the harley plant and shopping. we would have plenty of opportunities to do those things later on other trips. did we make an impresion on the doctor? definitely -- they all give me a hard time about it every time we're there.
so today was our initial visit -- to see if the doctor could do anything w/ the scarring, and if so, what he could do and when he could do it. of course, there was no litigation on the car wreck, as there was no one else involved. that meant that we were free to move on w/ treatment at our convenience. i went back w/ scott because i wanted to hear what the doctor had to say. we waited quite some time on the doctor to come in the room, but he was well worth meeting when he came in. the doctor was older, probably late 50s or early 60s, and very likeable. he was soft spoken and very calm. he made small talk for a little bit and got acquainted w/ scott, who was obviously very comfortable w/ the doctor.
the doctor asked if scott had scottish heritage, as he has the dark hair and dark eyebrows with the fair skin. and not just the fair skin, but the red/pink cheeks, too. scott was amazed that the doctor seemed to know so much about his background based on his skin coloring. the doctor talked about some of the options that scott had available to him. he wasn't talking about doing anything right now, but just the process of what he would expect to do in the future. he looked closely at scott's face and pressed here and there w/ his fingers or pinched the skin as he explained the process. he would give scott some shots here and there, and after several months of that treatment he would have some microdermabrasion done (basically, sanding his face w/ fine grain sandpaper).
suddenly, it was very hot in the room and i felt rather suffocated. i fanned myself w/ my calendar, hoping the hot feeling would go away. the doctor kept droning on and on about something and the heat just kept coming on. i tried to reposition in my chair slightly so i could fan myself more easily and rest my head against the wall. pretty soon, i heard buzzing, like a hive of bees just let loose in the room. buzzing and hot. can't breathe, can't think. doctor talked on and on about getting shots in the face and making the redness go away. hot and buzzing.
the next thing i know, i heard a terrible roaring sound in my head and i looked up into the face of someone that i didn't recognize surrounded by ceiling tiles. i'm totally confused as to where and when i am. nothing is easily recognizeable. whoever thought i would wake up to that? i mentally struggled to come up w/ some kind of understanding as to why i'm in this position, and so far i wasn't having much luck. the floor was cold, and that felt good to me. i still struggled w/ the idea that there was a man standing over me and i didn't know who he was. the only other visible thing to help me figure out my location was the ceiling tiles. i was reminded of all the jokes that people make about being flat on their back and looking at the ceiling. i had the terrible urge to laugh in the man's face -- mainly b/c i didn't know what else to do!
i heard my son's voice saying "she takes blood pressure medicine." i had no idea what he was talking about or why, but he seemed to be upset over something. the doctor kept asking me if i knew where i was, like i don't know i'm laying on the floor! duh! i still don't know why, but there i was anyway. as i started to put the pieces together, the doctor ordered for me to be taken downstairs to the emergency room and checked out. i didn't think i had any problems, but i didn't have any reason for being on the floor, either. the nurse had gone to get the shots that the doctor wanted to do on scott and came back to see me on the floor. the doctor wanted to wait and do the shots next time, but i thought that was a terrible waste of time. we were here and the decision was "go," so why wait until next time to start? i told the doctor to go ahead w/ what he was going to do; i was fine just staying there on the floor.
while scott had his first treatment on his face, i recovered on the floor. i went through the emergency room after that, complete w/ blood work and an EKG. after 3 hours, we found that there was nothing wrong w/ me other than the fact that i found scott's trip to the doctor traumatic. that brought a real laugh to me, as there was absolutely nothing going on at the doctor's office. it's hard to believe that it was traumatic, but the doctor said that when we have things pent up that are upsetting to us it only takes something small to bring the emotions to the surface. then the brain says. "oops. i can't handle that right now." and shuts down.
after that experience and 3 hours in the ER, we decided to skip our other plans for the day -- going to the harley plant and shopping. we would have plenty of opportunities to do those things later on other trips. did we make an impresion on the doctor? definitely -- they all give me a hard time about it every time we're there.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
50 by 50
i have recently been pondering death quite heavily, but not really death itself so much as the point in life where i am right now. more like looking at the continuum of my life and my placement upon the continuum -- realizing that i'm past the half way point, in all probability. i don't worry about death, either when it will happen or how it will happen, nor do i really care. yeah, i have certain views about which ways to die would be less traumatic, whether it be a short illness or a long illness, but it does not truly matter to me. i'm more concerned w/ living than dying, so this line of thought has kicked me into gear on making some plans for whatever amount of life i have left.
i had been thinking of making a "100 things to do before i die" list, but i hadn't started it yet. i'm not sure why, but i think i might have had some reservations about what would happen if i accomplished all those tasks. would i then have no purpose for life? or would i then be tempting death? funny, but each time i thought of this project the first thought after that was "yeah, but what if i get them all done?" -- so i never moved any further on it.
a friend recently told me that she knew i had been thinking about death (i'll save the reasons for how/why she knew until some other time). she felt much better when i explained that i was really considering how much life i had left, rather than thinking about death. to me, that seems like looking at 2 different sides of a coin. yeah, related issues but for different reasons/purposes. i'm all about getting certain things done before i die, and i need to get started on these things if i'm going to get them done.
the same friend told me that she made a "40 things to do by the time i turn 40" list. she gave me some examples of things that she had on her list and how/why some of these things were accomplished. i was intrigued by that whole idea, but i'm fast approaching 40 (8 months from now -- in november, 2005) and that wouldn't allow me much time to accomplish some neat things. so, i've changed the idea a little, and i'm making a "50 by 50" list.
making a list such as this is not as easy as a person might think. it always seems like i have several things on my "to do list," but many of these were not lifetime goals. other things, when it came right down to it, were not things that i really wanted to do after all. besides, i want these things to be 50 things that are really worth doing -- at least in my opinion!
funny thing that i've noticed since i've been thinking about my "50 by 50" list -- there are dreams that i had/have that i had forgotten about simply because of changes in life or too much work. my life has been so different these last 4 years w/ my work schedule that i have forgotten how to be "off work" and "relax." on some others, someone else has tried so hard to prevent those things from happening that i simply put them on the back burner for a while. it was hardly worth fighting over if it wasn't pending in my immediate future, it seemed. over time, i had forgotten that it was something i wanted to do.
now, i'm racking my brain for those 50 things i want to accomplish or experience in the next 10 years. i want it to be 50 things that are worth doing and worth writing/documenting for my kids. i am putting a scrapbook/journal together w/ my list in it. then when i get one of those things done, i'm going to document it, writing about it and sharing some pictures. i only have about 7 or 8 or the things definitely in mind right now, but i'm sure i'll add more to the list fairly quickly. the other deal is that i don't feel the need to complete the list right now, as there may be things i want to add as time goes on. so i'll probably fill in most of it, leaving a little wiggle room for future adventures.
so, i'm open for suggestions if you feel you have a great idea for an adventure!
i had been thinking of making a "100 things to do before i die" list, but i hadn't started it yet. i'm not sure why, but i think i might have had some reservations about what would happen if i accomplished all those tasks. would i then have no purpose for life? or would i then be tempting death? funny, but each time i thought of this project the first thought after that was "yeah, but what if i get them all done?" -- so i never moved any further on it.
a friend recently told me that she knew i had been thinking about death (i'll save the reasons for how/why she knew until some other time). she felt much better when i explained that i was really considering how much life i had left, rather than thinking about death. to me, that seems like looking at 2 different sides of a coin. yeah, related issues but for different reasons/purposes. i'm all about getting certain things done before i die, and i need to get started on these things if i'm going to get them done.
the same friend told me that she made a "40 things to do by the time i turn 40" list. she gave me some examples of things that she had on her list and how/why some of these things were accomplished. i was intrigued by that whole idea, but i'm fast approaching 40 (8 months from now -- in november, 2005) and that wouldn't allow me much time to accomplish some neat things. so, i've changed the idea a little, and i'm making a "50 by 50" list.
making a list such as this is not as easy as a person might think. it always seems like i have several things on my "to do list," but many of these were not lifetime goals. other things, when it came right down to it, were not things that i really wanted to do after all. besides, i want these things to be 50 things that are really worth doing -- at least in my opinion!
funny thing that i've noticed since i've been thinking about my "50 by 50" list -- there are dreams that i had/have that i had forgotten about simply because of changes in life or too much work. my life has been so different these last 4 years w/ my work schedule that i have forgotten how to be "off work" and "relax." on some others, someone else has tried so hard to prevent those things from happening that i simply put them on the back burner for a while. it was hardly worth fighting over if it wasn't pending in my immediate future, it seemed. over time, i had forgotten that it was something i wanted to do.
now, i'm racking my brain for those 50 things i want to accomplish or experience in the next 10 years. i want it to be 50 things that are worth doing and worth writing/documenting for my kids. i am putting a scrapbook/journal together w/ my list in it. then when i get one of those things done, i'm going to document it, writing about it and sharing some pictures. i only have about 7 or 8 or the things definitely in mind right now, but i'm sure i'll add more to the list fairly quickly. the other deal is that i don't feel the need to complete the list right now, as there may be things i want to add as time goes on. so i'll probably fill in most of it, leaving a little wiggle room for future adventures.
so, i'm open for suggestions if you feel you have a great idea for an adventure!
Monday, March 07, 2005
old pictures
here is a story that i wrote in one of my college classes about some of the things that i remembered about the months and years after my older brother's death. my mother had a very hard time dealing with his death and often spent hours in her room looking at pictures that had both of her sons together, back in the day when we were one big happy family.
the instructor pushed me to enter this story into a contest because she was really impressed by it. she was one of those people that just dogged my tracks until i finally agreed to submit the story for possible publication just to get her off my back. no big deal, right? just submit the paper, wait to be turned down, and then go on my merry way. well, the problem was that my story was chosen for publication in the university magazine, my name was published in the paper, and i received a small cash prize. it was a small amount of fame, and my parents were so proud -- until they read it. my father was still proud, but my mother thought that this story made her look like a bad parent. she was very upset w/ me for advertising her flaws to the world.
the instructor pushed me to enter this story into a contest because she was really impressed by it. she was one of those people that just dogged my tracks until i finally agreed to submit the story for possible publication just to get her off my back. no big deal, right? just submit the paper, wait to be turned down, and then go on my merry way. well, the problem was that my story was chosen for publication in the university magazine, my name was published in the paper, and i received a small cash prize. it was a small amount of fame, and my parents were so proud -- until they read it. my father was still proud, but my mother thought that this story made her look like a bad parent. she was very upset w/ me for advertising her flaws to the world.
so, to set the record straight -- my mother spent quite a lot of time looking at old pictures and crying, it was upsetting to me to see her sad but i didn't understand, i never remember feeling unloved or insecure. the basic truth -- i had to write a story for class and this is the product.
OLD PICTURES
Okay, time for some candy. Maybe, if I be real quiet, Mom won’t notice. The back door always squeaks real loud, so I’ll go in the sliding door. Then, if she’s not in the front room, I can crawl through the little window in Dad’s office. The office is where Dad keeps all the farm papers and checkbook stuff. The desk is real big and the bottom drawer is for me. I have my very own checkbook to write checks out of when I help him do his paperwork. My checks are so much nicer that his ‘cause I use so many colors to write my name with. There is a typewriter on the desk, but I’m not s’pose to touch it ‘cause the keys’ll break. There’s a little window right over the typewriter that looks into the kitchen. If I pull the chair over to the desk, step on the typewriter--on the back of it ‘cause the keys’ll break if I step on ‘em--then I can crawl through the window without Mom knowin’.
I gotta move all that junk first. Scotch tape holder, stamps, letter opener, and bills that need to be in the office. Dad calls these bills his “love letters” from the people he buys stuff from, but I don’t think he means it ‘cause he always frowns when he says it. The window is about as big as a notebook, but that’s bigger than I am. I try to put one leg through first like I go through the fence into the calf pens, but the window won’t let me get my head through. I can’t put my feet through first, ‘cause I gotta stand on the typewriter to reach the window. I look through the window again to see if Mom is in the kitchen yet. I try going through head first. I put my hands and arms through the window and then my head, but I can’t reach anything while my feet are still on the typewriter. I push on the window sill with my hands to try and get me outta there--just like when you’re taking off pants that’re too tight. Now, I’m hangin’ in the window, half in the kitchen and half out. When I get my hands on the cabinet, I just slither the rest of me through like that snake I saw in the milk barn yesterday. I make a big “thump” sound when I land on the cabinet. I just wait there to see if anyone comes to see what made that big noise.
Our house is always noisy, unless you’re tryin’ to be sneaky. Then it’s real quiet. The candy bars are always in the cabinet over the washer. This is where Mom keeps the Tupperwares she’s not usin’. I guess puttin’ candy bars in a Tupperware’s not really usin’ it. I move the stool over to the washer. This red stool wasn’t my fav’rit ‘cause I always had to sit on it when I got in trouble. Not when I did somethin’ bad ‘cause I didn’t always get caught, but just when I was in trouble. Mom would always pull the stool to where she was workin’ and make me sit there in front of her. Like I couldn’t sit on that stupid chair without her watchin’ me. Anyway, it has pull-out steps on the front so I don’t fall when I gotta climb on somethin’. As I step on the washer lid, it makes that hollow “boing” noise, so I just stand still for a real long time.
I don’t hear Mom coming, so I open the door real quiet and pull out the bowl with the candy bars. There’s a whole bunch of them ‘cause when Dad was a little boy, he didn’t get to have candy ‘cause they didn’t have any money. Now that he’s big, he eats candy all the time so Mom has to buy a lot. We can have candy ever’day, but you have to wait ‘til after dinner and you can just have one. In the bowl, there are my fav’rit kinds--Butterfinger and Baby Ruth and then there are other kinds I don’t like as well, but I could eat ‘em if there was nothing else. I sit there for a long time trying to decide which kind to have today and trying to figure which one my brother’ll eat so I’ll know what’ll be left tomorrow. I could choose a long shiny yellow wrapper or a red, white, and blue wrapper. Chewy candy or crunchy candy that sticks in my teeth. If Mom didn’t have that one-candy-a-day rule, I’d just eat both. Then, I remember that I’m by myself. Nobody’ll know. I won’t tell unless she says, “Did you eat a Baby Ruth and a Butterfinger?” She won’t know to ask if she doesn’t see the wrappers. I grab a Baby Ruth and a Butterfinger and put the rest of ‘em back. Mom should be comin’ soon. I wanna get some RC ‘cause I’ll get thirsty eatin’ my candy. She must be really busy.
I crawl back through the window and sit in the office and eat my candy. Mom still doesn’t come to see what I’m getting into. I go outside to play, but it’s too hot. I come back in the back door. It makes that squeakly noise and then slams shut. Mom used to fuss at me for lettin’ it slam. I yell, “Mom! Mo-o-o-m! Where are ya?” like I hadn’t just been in the house. She doesn’t answer. I check in her room.
There she is. Sittin’ on the floor, cross-legged like an Indian. She’s still dressed in her coveralls from milkin’ this mornin’ and she’s got an old, red ballcap of Dad’s that holds her hair back. She’s cryin’ and lookin’ at those old pictures. They’re the same ones she looks at all the time. Two little fat, bald boys in the bathtub. Two little boys ridin’ in the pony cart. Two little boys wearin’ hankies tied around their faces like bankrobbers holdin’ a little baby girl. She does this all the time since that day all the cars were parked in the highway and lots of people brought flowers to the house ‘cause my brother, Chris, went to live in heaven. Her eyes are all red and she’s cryin’ real hard. It makes me feel bad ‘cause I don’t know what to do. I pat her on the arm.
“It’s okay, Momma. Don’t cry. You don’t wanna be a crybaby or nobody’ll wanna play with you.”
This doesn’t help. Maybe she’s mad ‘cause I was bad and ate two candy bars. I don’t know how she knew ‘cause I was sure she would’ve smacked my bottom if I’d gotten caught. I don’t wanna make Momma cry.
“I’m sorry, Momma, I won’t eat two candy bars anymore.”
I hug her and pat her shoulder to make her stop crying. She doesn’t talk or hug me back. Just like I’m not here. She just sits there and looks at the pictures in her hands. The ones that don’t fit in her hands are spread out on the floor around her.
Then I know she doesn’t know that I’d eaten two candy bars. I just about got myself in trouble. She cares more about those stupid, ol’ pictures than me. She doesn’t act like she used to. She used to be busy all the time. She never sat in her room and cried. I better go get Dad ‘cause he fixes ever’thing that’s broke.
He’s workin’ in the shed. The shed is so big that Dad can park all his trucks and tractors in it. It doesn’t have lights, so it’s always kinda dark in there. Even in the day time. I get there and see him welding some stuff. I can’t get too close ‘cause I might get burned. I like to watch him weld ‘cause it makes pretty sparks fly ever’where. He looks like a monster in his welding suit. The helmet has green bugeyes so the light doesn’t hurt his eyes. A canvas apron keeps the sparks from burning holes in his clothes. He even has special gloves so he can hold the hot welder. They make his hands look big.
I get tired of waitin’ for him to get done, so I yell at him. I wanna tell him that Mom’s in the house, cryin’ and lookin’ at those old pictures in her bedroom and he better go check on her. He can’t hear me. He’s too busy.
I go to the porch to pet my dog. She’s old and not very pretty, but she’s mine. Somebody dumped her out and she come to our house. Dad and my brother, Kirk, were gonna shoot her, but I wouldn’t let ‘em. She needed me to take care of her. We sit on the porch and talk--she’s not busy. I tell her I could’ve just slammed in the door and eaten all of the candy bars. She could’ve had one, too. She loves candy. Mom wouldn’t’ve noticed. She had other things on her mind.
I take the wadded up candy wrappers out of my pocket to look at the pretty colors. I gotta put ‘em where Mom won’t find ‘em. It’s hot. It’s too much trouble. She isn’t gonna notice anyway. I drop the wadded candy wrappers by the porch. They slowly uncurl, just like worms you’re tryin’ to get on a fish hook. The breeze scoots ‘em across the patio and moves ‘em far away.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
scott kirby -- sr 84
last summer (2004) was my 20th reunion from high school. i hadn't gone to any reunions w/ my classmates, and it seems odd that i didn't. most of them i hadn't seen since we were 20 years old and we went to the funeral of jerry holder, one of our classmates who drowned. we were close -- almost like family. what i now call pseudo-family. we cared, fought, played, dreamed, cried, made plans, made enemies, protected, matured, grew up/grew apart -- we loved. that's what made it like family. we always knew that we cared about each other even though we wanted to strangle each other at the times.
some people i knew before school ever started, but not many of them and not well. scott kirby was one of those people that i knew forever. we went to church together and our parents were friends. we were in sunday school together from the time we were born, including vacation bible school and church camps. scott was almost as close to me as a brother, maybe closer as my brother was much too old and too cool to spend time w/ little sister. not only did we know each other well, but we knew each other's whole families, too. my grandparents were friends w/ his grandparents and my parents hung out w/ his parents. it was highly likely that we would spend a lot of time together growing up.
we lived in a farming community, and our parents had to work to make ends meet. we're not talking about making a living or making a career, but surviving. sometimes, it was questionable whether they would have enough money to get by until the next crop check or milk check came in. we didn't have "play dates" and we didn't have "kids' activities" planned. we were children who were raised on a working farm -- we played wherever we found ourselves, we played w/ whoever was there and available, and we played using whatever supplies we had on hand and our imaginations. we also spent many hours actually working, but a great imagination can turn a work session into hours of fun and friends can turn it into a lifetime of memories.
as a very young child, scott kirby was this special person for me. we spent many hours playing whatever pretend game that we came up with -- cowboys and indians, animal explorers, wild kingdom (the precursor to all the "crocodile hunter" type shows of today!), rode motorcycles, swam in the creek, played tag or freeze-tag, played zip (counting horses) or car tag, sword fighting w/ catalpa beans. the list was endless. when we tired of the games that we already knew, we made up new ones. or we would get close enough to the water to push each other in. of course, that person couldn't swim (or was having difficulty) so the other would have to jump in and rescue the "drowning swimmer". once we were both wet and knew we were already in trouble for getting in the water, we figured we might as well go ahead and swim a while. amazing how that works, huh?
the summer before kindergarten, scott moved away. i was heart-broken. of course i knew he wouldn't be "out of my life forever" as our families were great friends. but he was moving 28 miles away to a farm that his parents purchased. back in the day and to a kid, 28 miles was a long ways. not to worry, though, as they were going to continue coming down to church b/c that's where they had always gone and that's where their family went. that lasted for about a year, as the time/effort took care of those plans. and they decided that it was best for their family to get involved in a church in their community.
on the first day of kindergarten, scott kirby's face was the ONE face there that was familiar to me. i was so happy to see him. not just because i missed him, but because it meant that at least i knew someone there. it was very scary riding the bus to school and going to a room full of unknown kids. we fell together again like fast friends -- sitting together, eating together, putting our carpets together at nap time, and playing all the "old games" that we hadn't played together in a long time (probably a couple of months!). we were inseparable -- even when the teacher tried. we were separated during nap time b/c we weren't interested in napping. farm kids didn't take naps until they dropped from exhaustion. naps weren't a planned thing. besides, there was no motor running and no motion to rock me to sleep! what kind of nap time was this? i was used to napping in a running vehicle or piece of equipment -- certainly different than laying on a carpet on the tile floor in a room where there were 25 other kids. what a waste to be sleeping when there were all those kids to play with!
anyway, as we (scott and i) grew older, especially in high school, we grew apart as many friends do. he was too macho to hang out w/ a girl and i was too progressive to hang out w/ a neaderthal. scott was a really nice guy, but he was often a follower. the leader of his group was not always a very nice person and sometimes a downright jackass. the guys' leader and i had our share of disagreements over the years, and it didn't surprise me at all to see this leader's "peak" in life happen in high school. he ended up married to a girl named "camaro" and that was the most exciting thing that happened to him since graduation.. although scott and i didn't "play" together anymore, we were always friends. or maybe more like "closet friends", as no one else knew of our long-standing friendship. he was someone i always trusted, someone i always knew would protect me if i needed it, someone i always cared about. we only spent time together away from school, usually around family and/or church. we were there at the deaths of family members and special events, like the tradition.
after i left high school, i was so anxious to get out of that "one-horse town" that i didn't look back. i went on to college (only 7 miles from my home), married, had kids, worked, moved, divorced, moved home, grew up, raised my children, and went on about life. i often thought of the people that i grew up w/, my pseudo-family, but i didn't think of them as adults now. i just thought of them as who they used to be -- who we were when we were together. i knew where most of them were, but i didn't make any attempt to see them or contact them. i really had no desire pushing me to contact any of them or see them. i always said, "i didn't like them when we were together all the time. why would i want to see them now?" and i somewhat meant it.
it had been so long since i had seen these people that were once my whole life that i probably wouldn't recognize them if i did see them. one night at 11 or so, i was doing some late night grocery shopping w/ my son. i met a man and woman pushing their cart toward me, doing their shopping, and i noticed that the man was looking at me very intently. my son was incensed that anyone would be looking at his mother. i nodded and smiled at the couple and went on w/ my shopping. as we passed by, he turned and looked at me all the way past. we met again in the next isle and did the same thing. when we next met, something clicked for both of us as we said each other's names out loud in wonder. that was scott kirby and his wife and i didn't recognize my childhood friend b/c i hadn't seen him since 1985 and, well, he grew old! not really a bad thing, just matured. he did look significantly different as a man nearing middle age than he did as an 18 year old boy. another sign of age -- he and his wife had a night out w/o the kids and they were at the grocery store shopping and drop-dead tired at 11 pm!
one quirk that scott had when we were in school was to write "scott kirby - sr 84" on everything that would keep a pen mark. we always teased him mercilessly about the fact that he better hope he graduated in 84 since he had written it all over the school. and it wasn't just on school property, but on other people's personal property as well -- my notebook, the seat of his friend's truck, the goal post at the football field, uptown on the cafe table, and more. now, i don't know what he was doing in the girls' bathroom, but "scott kirby - sr 84" was written in many places in there as well -- and that was back in the day. well, when we were back at the school for our 20th reunion, several girls were in the ladies room taking pictures in old poses that we had done years ago and we noticed scott's name still written here and there around the bathroom -- in the vanity drawer, under the bathroom counter, inside the teacher's bathroom, on the side of the feminine necessities machine, on top of the metal papertowel holder. just amazing the times and places that he found to write his name. even more amazing was the fact that it was still there 20 years later -- a testament to the fact that he had been there. we laughed about the days when his kids would be old enough to see daddy's name written here and there and his explanation for being in the ladies' room!
we found that after 20 years of being apart, some of us had changed and were a little more individual and others were still conforming to society. some of us had broken more of the mores of society by getting divorced, having children outside of marriage, getting tattoos, going bankrupt, moving away, moving home, living in our cars or w/ friends, quitting school, never going to college, and many things of unspeakable orneriness that shouldn't be posted publicly. out of 28 graduates in my class, where 23 had started kindergarten together, i was the only one that had gotten a tattoo over the years. well, the only one that had gotten a tattoo that we knew about. jerry, who died when we were 20, probably hadn't gotten one as they weren't that popular back in the day. and barry, the bad apple in our class that was in the penitentiary for murder, probably had one or maybe many, but we no longer considered him one of our group.
so after spending quite some time laughing over our differences, the girls were trying to figure out who was the 1 person in our class w/ the tattoo. it was really funny listening to them trying to "reason" who might be the tattoo-ed person and their reasons were so silly. finally after laughing w/ them about 20 minutes over the supposed tattoo bearer, i revealed that i was the tattooed freak. they were all stunned. some of them had said some not very nice things about the type of person who would have a tattoo, and now they were feeling very embarrassed. it didn't bother me -- i had those thoughts covered already. of course, they wouldn't just take my word for it that i was the tattoo-ed one -- they had to see it to believe it. remember, we're from missouri, the "show me" state.
so here we are, a group of women nearing 40 huddled around in the ladies' room checking out someone's tattoo. of course it's in a personal spot, or the whole world would have already known. i'm not the type to have a tattoo hanging out in public, as that's still considered trashy to my generation and especially in my corner of the world. anyway, the mother in the crowd who always took pictures of us as we grew up was in the ladies' room w/ us, so she started snapping pictures. it really wasn't a problem, as nothing too personal was hanging out -- but there are people who i didn't want to know about the tattoo. specifically, my mother. she still thinks that only white trash, military men, and whores get tattoos. i don't think i fit any of those categories, but there's no need to argue the point w/ her or cause her undue stress. times have changed, and my mother hasn't -- so what's new?
well, while we were joking around in the ladies' room, taking pictures, looking at my tattoo and commenting on the number of times scott kirby's name was written around the school, someone suggested writing his name across my tattoo. it was unanimously agreed upon that samantha would write "scott kirby - sr 84" across my tattoo b/c she could make her writing look just like his scrawl. once the deed was done, we needed a picture to document the occasion. so you guessed it -- there are pictures of "scott kirby - sr 84" written across my tattoo. fortunately the pictures were taken close enough to not reveal the actual location of the tattoo, but the idea is the same.
the reunion was actually in 2 parts that day, with activities throughout the day and then a dinner that night. i left the afternoon activities a little early b/c i was taking raven off to have her pictures done as a surprise for her mother. while we were gone, we had to take cover and go into hiding as a tornado had touched down very close to us. i had family close to there, so we ran to their house and i put raven in the basement closet and packed her in w/ pillows and blankets. i was so worried about her safety and the fact that her mother had no idea where we were that i didn't think too much about my own safety. when the all-clear was sounded about 35 minutes later and i pulled everyone out from their protective spots, i was so relieved. raven and i went on about our picture business that afternoon and then headed toward the dinner at chicken mary's that night.
as we were driving to chicken mary's that evening, a pickup pulling a trailer w/ dragsters crossed the road in front of me by mo-kan speedway. i had to hit the brakes hard to keep from hitting them, and i left quite a streak of black marks on the road. i was quite shaky for a bit, realizing that i had come very close to a terrible wreck and i had raven w/ me. one of those things that gives me goosebumps is to realize that i almost died in a situation. i might not always realize it immediately, but it usually happens at some point. it usually stops me "dead in my tracks" as i'm just covered w/ goosebumps as the reality sinks in. the next thought hit me instantaneously w/ tremendous force -- i could've died w/ scott kirby's name written across my ass! not only would my mother have to go in and identify a body that she didn't know had a tattoo, but then see a man's name written across the booty that sported the tattoo. my guardian angel must have been working overtime that day, as that was the 2nd near death situation that i had been in and survived unscathed.
as soon as i arrived at the restaurant, i passed raven off to a friend to hold while i made a quick trip to the ladies' room. this time there were no oggling friends, no cameras, no witnesses -- just soap and water. if i died this day, it wouldn't be w/ "scott kirby - sr 84" written across by backside! now, don't get me wrong, i'm not ashamed of the tattoo, the original reason for the writing, or even the picture of the writing -- but some things are just not acceptable in death. having a man's name written across my booty for any reason is one of those unacceptable things!
if scott only knew all the places that sported "scott kirby - sr 84," he might be surprised. then again, maybe not. after all, we were once the best of friends, had great imaginations, and conquered worlds together.
some people i knew before school ever started, but not many of them and not well. scott kirby was one of those people that i knew forever. we went to church together and our parents were friends. we were in sunday school together from the time we were born, including vacation bible school and church camps. scott was almost as close to me as a brother, maybe closer as my brother was much too old and too cool to spend time w/ little sister. not only did we know each other well, but we knew each other's whole families, too. my grandparents were friends w/ his grandparents and my parents hung out w/ his parents. it was highly likely that we would spend a lot of time together growing up.
we lived in a farming community, and our parents had to work to make ends meet. we're not talking about making a living or making a career, but surviving. sometimes, it was questionable whether they would have enough money to get by until the next crop check or milk check came in. we didn't have "play dates" and we didn't have "kids' activities" planned. we were children who were raised on a working farm -- we played wherever we found ourselves, we played w/ whoever was there and available, and we played using whatever supplies we had on hand and our imaginations. we also spent many hours actually working, but a great imagination can turn a work session into hours of fun and friends can turn it into a lifetime of memories.
as a very young child, scott kirby was this special person for me. we spent many hours playing whatever pretend game that we came up with -- cowboys and indians, animal explorers, wild kingdom (the precursor to all the "crocodile hunter" type shows of today!), rode motorcycles, swam in the creek, played tag or freeze-tag, played zip (counting horses) or car tag, sword fighting w/ catalpa beans. the list was endless. when we tired of the games that we already knew, we made up new ones. or we would get close enough to the water to push each other in. of course, that person couldn't swim (or was having difficulty) so the other would have to jump in and rescue the "drowning swimmer". once we were both wet and knew we were already in trouble for getting in the water, we figured we might as well go ahead and swim a while. amazing how that works, huh?
the summer before kindergarten, scott moved away. i was heart-broken. of course i knew he wouldn't be "out of my life forever" as our families were great friends. but he was moving 28 miles away to a farm that his parents purchased. back in the day and to a kid, 28 miles was a long ways. not to worry, though, as they were going to continue coming down to church b/c that's where they had always gone and that's where their family went. that lasted for about a year, as the time/effort took care of those plans. and they decided that it was best for their family to get involved in a church in their community.
on the first day of kindergarten, scott kirby's face was the ONE face there that was familiar to me. i was so happy to see him. not just because i missed him, but because it meant that at least i knew someone there. it was very scary riding the bus to school and going to a room full of unknown kids. we fell together again like fast friends -- sitting together, eating together, putting our carpets together at nap time, and playing all the "old games" that we hadn't played together in a long time (probably a couple of months!). we were inseparable -- even when the teacher tried. we were separated during nap time b/c we weren't interested in napping. farm kids didn't take naps until they dropped from exhaustion. naps weren't a planned thing. besides, there was no motor running and no motion to rock me to sleep! what kind of nap time was this? i was used to napping in a running vehicle or piece of equipment -- certainly different than laying on a carpet on the tile floor in a room where there were 25 other kids. what a waste to be sleeping when there were all those kids to play with!
anyway, as we (scott and i) grew older, especially in high school, we grew apart as many friends do. he was too macho to hang out w/ a girl and i was too progressive to hang out w/ a neaderthal. scott was a really nice guy, but he was often a follower. the leader of his group was not always a very nice person and sometimes a downright jackass. the guys' leader and i had our share of disagreements over the years, and it didn't surprise me at all to see this leader's "peak" in life happen in high school. he ended up married to a girl named "camaro" and that was the most exciting thing that happened to him since graduation.. although scott and i didn't "play" together anymore, we were always friends. or maybe more like "closet friends", as no one else knew of our long-standing friendship. he was someone i always trusted, someone i always knew would protect me if i needed it, someone i always cared about. we only spent time together away from school, usually around family and/or church. we were there at the deaths of family members and special events, like the tradition.
after i left high school, i was so anxious to get out of that "one-horse town" that i didn't look back. i went on to college (only 7 miles from my home), married, had kids, worked, moved, divorced, moved home, grew up, raised my children, and went on about life. i often thought of the people that i grew up w/, my pseudo-family, but i didn't think of them as adults now. i just thought of them as who they used to be -- who we were when we were together. i knew where most of them were, but i didn't make any attempt to see them or contact them. i really had no desire pushing me to contact any of them or see them. i always said, "i didn't like them when we were together all the time. why would i want to see them now?" and i somewhat meant it.
it had been so long since i had seen these people that were once my whole life that i probably wouldn't recognize them if i did see them. one night at 11 or so, i was doing some late night grocery shopping w/ my son. i met a man and woman pushing their cart toward me, doing their shopping, and i noticed that the man was looking at me very intently. my son was incensed that anyone would be looking at his mother. i nodded and smiled at the couple and went on w/ my shopping. as we passed by, he turned and looked at me all the way past. we met again in the next isle and did the same thing. when we next met, something clicked for both of us as we said each other's names out loud in wonder. that was scott kirby and his wife and i didn't recognize my childhood friend b/c i hadn't seen him since 1985 and, well, he grew old! not really a bad thing, just matured. he did look significantly different as a man nearing middle age than he did as an 18 year old boy. another sign of age -- he and his wife had a night out w/o the kids and they were at the grocery store shopping and drop-dead tired at 11 pm!
one quirk that scott had when we were in school was to write "scott kirby - sr 84" on everything that would keep a pen mark. we always teased him mercilessly about the fact that he better hope he graduated in 84 since he had written it all over the school. and it wasn't just on school property, but on other people's personal property as well -- my notebook, the seat of his friend's truck, the goal post at the football field, uptown on the cafe table, and more. now, i don't know what he was doing in the girls' bathroom, but "scott kirby - sr 84" was written in many places in there as well -- and that was back in the day. well, when we were back at the school for our 20th reunion, several girls were in the ladies room taking pictures in old poses that we had done years ago and we noticed scott's name still written here and there around the bathroom -- in the vanity drawer, under the bathroom counter, inside the teacher's bathroom, on the side of the feminine necessities machine, on top of the metal papertowel holder. just amazing the times and places that he found to write his name. even more amazing was the fact that it was still there 20 years later -- a testament to the fact that he had been there. we laughed about the days when his kids would be old enough to see daddy's name written here and there and his explanation for being in the ladies' room!
we found that after 20 years of being apart, some of us had changed and were a little more individual and others were still conforming to society. some of us had broken more of the mores of society by getting divorced, having children outside of marriage, getting tattoos, going bankrupt, moving away, moving home, living in our cars or w/ friends, quitting school, never going to college, and many things of unspeakable orneriness that shouldn't be posted publicly. out of 28 graduates in my class, where 23 had started kindergarten together, i was the only one that had gotten a tattoo over the years. well, the only one that had gotten a tattoo that we knew about. jerry, who died when we were 20, probably hadn't gotten one as they weren't that popular back in the day. and barry, the bad apple in our class that was in the penitentiary for murder, probably had one or maybe many, but we no longer considered him one of our group.
so after spending quite some time laughing over our differences, the girls were trying to figure out who was the 1 person in our class w/ the tattoo. it was really funny listening to them trying to "reason" who might be the tattoo-ed person and their reasons were so silly. finally after laughing w/ them about 20 minutes over the supposed tattoo bearer, i revealed that i was the tattooed freak. they were all stunned. some of them had said some not very nice things about the type of person who would have a tattoo, and now they were feeling very embarrassed. it didn't bother me -- i had those thoughts covered already. of course, they wouldn't just take my word for it that i was the tattoo-ed one -- they had to see it to believe it. remember, we're from missouri, the "show me" state.
so here we are, a group of women nearing 40 huddled around in the ladies' room checking out someone's tattoo. of course it's in a personal spot, or the whole world would have already known. i'm not the type to have a tattoo hanging out in public, as that's still considered trashy to my generation and especially in my corner of the world. anyway, the mother in the crowd who always took pictures of us as we grew up was in the ladies' room w/ us, so she started snapping pictures. it really wasn't a problem, as nothing too personal was hanging out -- but there are people who i didn't want to know about the tattoo. specifically, my mother. she still thinks that only white trash, military men, and whores get tattoos. i don't think i fit any of those categories, but there's no need to argue the point w/ her or cause her undue stress. times have changed, and my mother hasn't -- so what's new?
well, while we were joking around in the ladies' room, taking pictures, looking at my tattoo and commenting on the number of times scott kirby's name was written around the school, someone suggested writing his name across my tattoo. it was unanimously agreed upon that samantha would write "scott kirby - sr 84" across my tattoo b/c she could make her writing look just like his scrawl. once the deed was done, we needed a picture to document the occasion. so you guessed it -- there are pictures of "scott kirby - sr 84" written across my tattoo. fortunately the pictures were taken close enough to not reveal the actual location of the tattoo, but the idea is the same.
the reunion was actually in 2 parts that day, with activities throughout the day and then a dinner that night. i left the afternoon activities a little early b/c i was taking raven off to have her pictures done as a surprise for her mother. while we were gone, we had to take cover and go into hiding as a tornado had touched down very close to us. i had family close to there, so we ran to their house and i put raven in the basement closet and packed her in w/ pillows and blankets. i was so worried about her safety and the fact that her mother had no idea where we were that i didn't think too much about my own safety. when the all-clear was sounded about 35 minutes later and i pulled everyone out from their protective spots, i was so relieved. raven and i went on about our picture business that afternoon and then headed toward the dinner at chicken mary's that night.
as we were driving to chicken mary's that evening, a pickup pulling a trailer w/ dragsters crossed the road in front of me by mo-kan speedway. i had to hit the brakes hard to keep from hitting them, and i left quite a streak of black marks on the road. i was quite shaky for a bit, realizing that i had come very close to a terrible wreck and i had raven w/ me. one of those things that gives me goosebumps is to realize that i almost died in a situation. i might not always realize it immediately, but it usually happens at some point. it usually stops me "dead in my tracks" as i'm just covered w/ goosebumps as the reality sinks in. the next thought hit me instantaneously w/ tremendous force -- i could've died w/ scott kirby's name written across my ass! not only would my mother have to go in and identify a body that she didn't know had a tattoo, but then see a man's name written across the booty that sported the tattoo. my guardian angel must have been working overtime that day, as that was the 2nd near death situation that i had been in and survived unscathed.
as soon as i arrived at the restaurant, i passed raven off to a friend to hold while i made a quick trip to the ladies' room. this time there were no oggling friends, no cameras, no witnesses -- just soap and water. if i died this day, it wouldn't be w/ "scott kirby - sr 84" written across by backside! now, don't get me wrong, i'm not ashamed of the tattoo, the original reason for the writing, or even the picture of the writing -- but some things are just not acceptable in death. having a man's name written across my booty for any reason is one of those unacceptable things!
if scott only knew all the places that sported "scott kirby - sr 84," he might be surprised. then again, maybe not. after all, we were once the best of friends, had great imaginations, and conquered worlds together.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
BTK arrested and confessed
BTK has been quite the news topic here lately, and the info is just amazing. we watched a special on tv last night about the killer and the things of his life. summer and i watched the show and talked about the time that we lived in wichita while the BTK murders were going on. the more info i see and/or read on this case, the more amazed and horrified i am.
this murderer bound/tortured/killed his victims, either murdering only one or murdering the whole family at the same time. the weird thing is that none of his victims struggled, meaning that he had some strong form of control over them. i can't imagine what would make someone NOT want to struggle. binding/torturing/killing one or more people and all this w/ no form of struggle? the news media is implying that he had some strong physical control over them, but what could it be?
the other really weird thing is that the killer was a respected, productive part of society. he was a deacon in the church, a scout leader, a husband, a father, and more. how could someone like this, someone who loves his own family, torture and kill someone else's children and do it in front of the parent? how could a person live w/ a killer and not know it? how would this man have time to enjoy torturing a family for several hours before killing them and no one wonder where he was? how could he go home and face his own wife and children after killing someone else's wife and children?
the whole situation makes me look around at the people i know and wonder who is hiding "dirty secrets" and who is capable of these things. maybe i'm lucky, and no one that i know is capable of these things, but a person does wonder after something like this. after all, i do have contact w/ people from the hotel, from school, other students. students' families, etc. as horrible as it may sound, i'm sure one of those people is a dangerous person toward society or to others. overall, it's making me feel just a little paranoid right now. not that i'm going to change any of my activities or associations because of it, but it does make me wonder these things as i go to work at school and at the hotel.
i find it horribly fascinating when someone so productively "involved" in society is actually a menace to society as well. what would trigger the change from motivator to menace? i wonder if he had any control over these changes or if he was just totally out of control during these events. i know he's stated that he is searching for fame, something to equal other killers like jack the ripper. he hadn't killed for several years, but just decided to start dropping clues again. these clues are the ones that did him in.
something really weird that we were discussing was the fact that he was able to torture and kill and individual or a family w/o them struggling or showing no signs of struggle. i can't imagine lying there, waiting on my turn or listening to one of my loved ones suffer, and not struggling against him at all. in fact, i'm thinking that i might be one of those people that just makes a captor kill me quick. i would not be worried about the getting dead part, but the getting dead at their leisure would just be unfathomable. that amount of cooperation would just be beyond me! and i think i would just be too stubborn to let them have that control.
this murderer bound/tortured/killed his victims, either murdering only one or murdering the whole family at the same time. the weird thing is that none of his victims struggled, meaning that he had some strong form of control over them. i can't imagine what would make someone NOT want to struggle. binding/torturing/killing one or more people and all this w/ no form of struggle? the news media is implying that he had some strong physical control over them, but what could it be?
the other really weird thing is that the killer was a respected, productive part of society. he was a deacon in the church, a scout leader, a husband, a father, and more. how could someone like this, someone who loves his own family, torture and kill someone else's children and do it in front of the parent? how could a person live w/ a killer and not know it? how would this man have time to enjoy torturing a family for several hours before killing them and no one wonder where he was? how could he go home and face his own wife and children after killing someone else's wife and children?
the whole situation makes me look around at the people i know and wonder who is hiding "dirty secrets" and who is capable of these things. maybe i'm lucky, and no one that i know is capable of these things, but a person does wonder after something like this. after all, i do have contact w/ people from the hotel, from school, other students. students' families, etc. as horrible as it may sound, i'm sure one of those people is a dangerous person toward society or to others. overall, it's making me feel just a little paranoid right now. not that i'm going to change any of my activities or associations because of it, but it does make me wonder these things as i go to work at school and at the hotel.
i find it horribly fascinating when someone so productively "involved" in society is actually a menace to society as well. what would trigger the change from motivator to menace? i wonder if he had any control over these changes or if he was just totally out of control during these events. i know he's stated that he is searching for fame, something to equal other killers like jack the ripper. he hadn't killed for several years, but just decided to start dropping clues again. these clues are the ones that did him in.
something really weird that we were discussing was the fact that he was able to torture and kill and individual or a family w/o them struggling or showing no signs of struggle. i can't imagine lying there, waiting on my turn or listening to one of my loved ones suffer, and not struggling against him at all. in fact, i'm thinking that i might be one of those people that just makes a captor kill me quick. i would not be worried about the getting dead part, but the getting dead at their leisure would just be unfathomable. that amount of cooperation would just be beyond me! and i think i would just be too stubborn to let them have that control.
world record flight and kansas art
steve fossett, adventurer and enterprenuer, broke a work record by flying a non-stop solo flight around the world. he began his trip in salina, ks, on monday (february 28, 2005) and returned for landing in salina, ks, on thursday, march 3. the official time for the flight was 67 hours, two minutes and 38 seconds. the global flyer was made of carbon fiber, which makes it light enough to carry the engines, fuel, and instruments at high altitudes, making a flight of this kind more possible.
i wasn't so much interested in the flight itself, although it is a milestone in aviation history that i might find interesting in the future to have "experienced," but more interested in the idea that the trip began and ended in kansas. i'm not sure why the team chose kansas, either, but i did read that weather patterns and accessibility to airport and supplies were all key factors. whatever the reason, i was glad to see kansas get some good press and some national and/or international notice for the activity.
also related to the flight, and probably of more interest to me personally, stan herd (landscape artist) designed a work of art near the airport for fossett to see as he was taking off and landing -- a huge depiction of da vinci's glider w/ the words "da vinci 1500, global flyer 2005". herd had recently read the da vinci code and admits he has "always been a big fan of leonardo da vinci. he was more than just an artist. he was an original thinker and an adventurer." an enthusiast of the project put $5000 toward the cost of the art project to help cover the cost of supplies, rent the property for the display, and personal time and effort of the artist.
i'm sure some photographs of the finished design will be available for sale, and i might even be interested in purchasing one of these. da vinci is one of the people in history that i would most like to meet, just for the intelligent conversation and the opportunity to see an artist at work. plus, this event has introduced me to the work of another artist whose work i find fascinating, as there is really not much more beautiful than nature itself (even if it is manipulated into art).
http://www.stanherdart.com
now that i have been "introduced" to the work of this artist, i'll be watching for more projects by him in the future. i always find it interesting to watch the expansion of an artist's career, regardless of what type of art.
i wasn't so much interested in the flight itself, although it is a milestone in aviation history that i might find interesting in the future to have "experienced," but more interested in the idea that the trip began and ended in kansas. i'm not sure why the team chose kansas, either, but i did read that weather patterns and accessibility to airport and supplies were all key factors. whatever the reason, i was glad to see kansas get some good press and some national and/or international notice for the activity.
also related to the flight, and probably of more interest to me personally, stan herd (landscape artist) designed a work of art near the airport for fossett to see as he was taking off and landing -- a huge depiction of da vinci's glider w/ the words "da vinci 1500, global flyer 2005". herd had recently read the da vinci code and admits he has "always been a big fan of leonardo da vinci. he was more than just an artist. he was an original thinker and an adventurer." an enthusiast of the project put $5000 toward the cost of the art project to help cover the cost of supplies, rent the property for the display, and personal time and effort of the artist.
i'm sure some photographs of the finished design will be available for sale, and i might even be interested in purchasing one of these. da vinci is one of the people in history that i would most like to meet, just for the intelligent conversation and the opportunity to see an artist at work. plus, this event has introduced me to the work of another artist whose work i find fascinating, as there is really not much more beautiful than nature itself (even if it is manipulated into art).
http://www.stanherdart.com
now that i have been "introduced" to the work of this artist, i'll be watching for more projects by him in the future. i always find it interesting to watch the expansion of an artist's career, regardless of what type of art.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
i didn't really care . . .
as life goes on and i grow older, i find that i spend more time analyzing my decisions, my attitude, and my goals in life. i'm considering the possibility of a relationship, or i guess i should say i'm considering whether i want to enter into a relationship. the possibility is there, and a specific situation is fast approaching that will require a decision of some sort -- interested, not interested, maybe interested, don't know if i'm interested, unsure if i'm capable of sincere interest, etc. i don't mean interested in this particular person, but just whether i'm interested in the amount of commitment and responsibility associated w/ relationships. well, that and the consequences if the relationship doesn't work out as planned (hoped) by the participants.
since i have 2 failed relationships in my adult life, resulting in 2 divorces, the relationship issue is a serious consideration for me. it's hard for me to deal w/ in that i'm not used to being a failure at something. don't take that wrong, as i'm not looking for a pity party. i am responsible for my own actions, and i am partly to blame for the failure of 2 marriages. maybe that's the problem -- i am willing to accept responsibility for my actions. after all, if i could just do as some people and say, "well, it wasn't my fault." then i could easily move on. but i don't feel i can truly move on in the world of relationships w/o taking a good, hard look at what went wrong and how i could prevent that from happening in the future.
probably the easiest way of preventing the failure of a future relationship would be to just not enter into one. yeah, i know. that's the coward's way out, but it's looking pretty good right now. there are some other options available, though, like finding someone that i love more than life. right now, that's not looking like a strong possibility. after all, i'm just about to reach that point in life where i have some personal freedom. my baby will turn 19 this month, so my parenting responsibilities are fairly minimal right now, but soon to be even less. by not having a significant other at this point, i'm not tied down by that aspect on any future choices that i have to make. i think if i were to meet someone now i would find myself weighing them in the balance against personal freedom. i could see me w/ the mental picture of "the scales of justice," w/ my personal freedoms and desires stacked up on one side and the person on the other, adjusting it this way and that way to see if it was acceptable. i can just imagine my thought process at that time -- "ok, so this has to go to balance out that . . . uhm, no. ok maybe this could go and i could move that here . . . h-m-m-m . . . uhm, that's not going to work either. well, maybe if this is here and that is there and he would be willing to (fill in the blank) , possibly. oh, yeah, that's probable. almost as probable as winning the lottery! so then what if i this, and what if he that? . . . no, i don't really want that. you know, though, if i could just scoot this here and move him there, . . . that might work . . . or maybe not." the next move i could see me making is just scrapping the whole thing then because i didn't see a feasible way for it to work. to justify this action, all i would have to do is look at my past to see that it didn't work in the past, so it probably won't work in the future . . . and then i don't have much motivation to pursue the idea that i'm interested in a relationship.
the other important factor is finding someone who is as committed as i am. i know that sounds comical, as i don't "sound" committed at all. after all, i'm pondering the idea of whether i even want a relationship to begin with! but i mean finding someone that is as committed in making a relationship last once we decide we're actually interested in the relationship. i'm not willing to settle for less than i want just to have a relationship. i don't want a relationship so bad that i'm willing to enter one even if it feels wrong. i'm only willing to enter into a relationship where both people are ready to invest all that they have and all that they are to make it work. a soulmate, a best friend, a confidante, a support system, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, a partner. a full partner. someone who i can trust w/ all that i am and all that i have and all that i will be. i think i want that, but i'm just not sure.
so now that i'm looking at whether i'm willing to invest in a relationship and, if so, how much am i willing to invest in a relationship, i've made a couple surprising discoveries about myself. i might have already known these things, but it's different when i acknowledge something rather than sweeping it under the carpet. probably the most obvious, but still rather surprising, is that in the past -- i just didn't care. really. just didn't really care enough to work harder on the relationship overall. when chris and i met, i liked him well enough and he was easy to be around. we dated for a while and spent more time together, and things seemed "ok". i didn't really have any reason not to see him, but no driving inspiration to further the relationship, either. we dated for 3 years when he gave me a ring and asked me to marry him. i said, "ok, but not right now." maybe that should've been a major indicator to me that this was not the right thing? guess i missed that! i had all kinds of reasons for stalling -- money, children, career, differences of opinions on different topics, etc. but none of these were probably the REAL reason i wasn't interested in marrying him -- i didn't truly love him. translation ==> i didn't really care.
the other important thing that i'm forced to acknowledge is that i just didn't need someone else. really. just didn't really need someone enough to work harder on the relationship. i didn't need someone there to tell me what to do, when to do it, or how to do it. i didn't need someone else's advice on how to run my life, how to spend my money, how to manage my career, or how to raise my kids. i wasn't willing to feed someone else's ego by asking their opinion of this or that before i made a decision that affected my life. or maybe i did ask the opinion, but i didn't feel like i had to take the advice that was offered. i didn't need a cheerleader to get things done, as i'm a self-motivated person to begin w/. i didn't need to drag a 250 pound live carcass through my life just to have these things that i didn't need to begin w/. and then tie the emotional baggage to the carcass -- the idea that i didn't need him. that was devastating to him, even though he knew it before we married. because of my previous situation where he threatened to kill me when he couldn't control me, there was no way i would allow myself to be in a relationship where i would "need" someone. WANT is a different story, but need was a definite no-no in my world. chris found it insulting that i wouldn't admit to needing him and i truly believed that i shouldn't need someone and i shouldn't be asked to admit that i did.
i'm not going to list out the individual problems, as that would seem petty and pointless, but suffice it to say that when the going got rough -- the weak ran away and the tough moved on. i realize that we both had our own personalities and our views on subjects -- and these 2 just didn't mesh. we both made choices and mistakes and now we must deal w/ those consequences. when chris decided that he "wasn't sure if he wanted to stay in this relationship," that told me that he didn't have the level of commitment that i was expecting. why negotiate or try to work things out w/ someone who was not sure that he wanted to be in the committed relationship? so i said, "fine. how soon are you moving out?" i didn't try and stop him, didn't try to convince him otherwise, didn't tell him how i felt about it. if he was looking for me to make a statement or demand of him, he was expecting the wrong thing. i don't play into being manipulated and i don't make declarations upon demand. after knowing me for 7 years, he should have known better than that. all of the divorce was very amicable, as we had nothing to fight over really. after all, to fight over something -- you have to care to a certain extent. i guess "certain extent" would be the telling words there, as they only extend so far and are not unconditional. chris moved out w/o most of his belongings, w/ the promise to collect them later when he had time and the space to store them. after a year of living separately, he told me to dispose of his property as i saw fit -- keep it, donate it, throw it away.
the remnants of my 2nd marriage are stacked in a few boxes in the garage or in various bits and pieces of memories around the house. the items in the garage will go to the church garage sale to help out someone in need, and the various things i find that belong to chris are being collected to pass on to him when it's convenient. other things that are mine, but from the marriage, are staying just like they are. the weird thing that i noticed recently is that people that i know well and had quite a bit of interaction w/ chris and me while chris and i were dating and married have already forgotten him. almost as if he didn't exist. i recently mentioned his name to one of my best friends and she said, "who?" and i had to tell her who it was. it just floored me, but i have to admit that i have been guilty of "forgetting" him at times, as well. it's not that he's a bad person or that i think poorly of him now that we're divorced. it's just that his personality and his total being were not vibrant enough to really intrigue me, to interest me, to captivate me, to make me yearn for his company, and to make that lasting impression. when it was time for him to go -- the parting was fairly easy. at least it was for me. and if it wasn't, no one would've known that anyway.
since i have 2 failed relationships in my adult life, resulting in 2 divorces, the relationship issue is a serious consideration for me. it's hard for me to deal w/ in that i'm not used to being a failure at something. don't take that wrong, as i'm not looking for a pity party. i am responsible for my own actions, and i am partly to blame for the failure of 2 marriages. maybe that's the problem -- i am willing to accept responsibility for my actions. after all, if i could just do as some people and say, "well, it wasn't my fault." then i could easily move on. but i don't feel i can truly move on in the world of relationships w/o taking a good, hard look at what went wrong and how i could prevent that from happening in the future.
probably the easiest way of preventing the failure of a future relationship would be to just not enter into one. yeah, i know. that's the coward's way out, but it's looking pretty good right now. there are some other options available, though, like finding someone that i love more than life. right now, that's not looking like a strong possibility. after all, i'm just about to reach that point in life where i have some personal freedom. my baby will turn 19 this month, so my parenting responsibilities are fairly minimal right now, but soon to be even less. by not having a significant other at this point, i'm not tied down by that aspect on any future choices that i have to make. i think if i were to meet someone now i would find myself weighing them in the balance against personal freedom. i could see me w/ the mental picture of "the scales of justice," w/ my personal freedoms and desires stacked up on one side and the person on the other, adjusting it this way and that way to see if it was acceptable. i can just imagine my thought process at that time -- "ok, so this has to go to balance out that . . . uhm, no. ok maybe this could go and i could move that here . . . h-m-m-m . . . uhm, that's not going to work either. well, maybe if this is here and that is there and he would be willing to (fill in the blank) , possibly. oh, yeah, that's probable. almost as probable as winning the lottery! so then what if i this, and what if he that? . . . no, i don't really want that. you know, though, if i could just scoot this here and move him there, . . . that might work . . . or maybe not." the next move i could see me making is just scrapping the whole thing then because i didn't see a feasible way for it to work. to justify this action, all i would have to do is look at my past to see that it didn't work in the past, so it probably won't work in the future . . . and then i don't have much motivation to pursue the idea that i'm interested in a relationship.
the other important factor is finding someone who is as committed as i am. i know that sounds comical, as i don't "sound" committed at all. after all, i'm pondering the idea of whether i even want a relationship to begin with! but i mean finding someone that is as committed in making a relationship last once we decide we're actually interested in the relationship. i'm not willing to settle for less than i want just to have a relationship. i don't want a relationship so bad that i'm willing to enter one even if it feels wrong. i'm only willing to enter into a relationship where both people are ready to invest all that they have and all that they are to make it work. a soulmate, a best friend, a confidante, a support system, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, a partner. a full partner. someone who i can trust w/ all that i am and all that i have and all that i will be. i think i want that, but i'm just not sure.
so now that i'm looking at whether i'm willing to invest in a relationship and, if so, how much am i willing to invest in a relationship, i've made a couple surprising discoveries about myself. i might have already known these things, but it's different when i acknowledge something rather than sweeping it under the carpet. probably the most obvious, but still rather surprising, is that in the past -- i just didn't care. really. just didn't really care enough to work harder on the relationship overall. when chris and i met, i liked him well enough and he was easy to be around. we dated for a while and spent more time together, and things seemed "ok". i didn't really have any reason not to see him, but no driving inspiration to further the relationship, either. we dated for 3 years when he gave me a ring and asked me to marry him. i said, "ok, but not right now." maybe that should've been a major indicator to me that this was not the right thing? guess i missed that! i had all kinds of reasons for stalling -- money, children, career, differences of opinions on different topics, etc. but none of these were probably the REAL reason i wasn't interested in marrying him -- i didn't truly love him. translation ==> i didn't really care.
the other important thing that i'm forced to acknowledge is that i just didn't need someone else. really. just didn't really need someone enough to work harder on the relationship. i didn't need someone there to tell me what to do, when to do it, or how to do it. i didn't need someone else's advice on how to run my life, how to spend my money, how to manage my career, or how to raise my kids. i wasn't willing to feed someone else's ego by asking their opinion of this or that before i made a decision that affected my life. or maybe i did ask the opinion, but i didn't feel like i had to take the advice that was offered. i didn't need a cheerleader to get things done, as i'm a self-motivated person to begin w/. i didn't need to drag a 250 pound live carcass through my life just to have these things that i didn't need to begin w/. and then tie the emotional baggage to the carcass -- the idea that i didn't need him. that was devastating to him, even though he knew it before we married. because of my previous situation where he threatened to kill me when he couldn't control me, there was no way i would allow myself to be in a relationship where i would "need" someone. WANT is a different story, but need was a definite no-no in my world. chris found it insulting that i wouldn't admit to needing him and i truly believed that i shouldn't need someone and i shouldn't be asked to admit that i did.
i'm not going to list out the individual problems, as that would seem petty and pointless, but suffice it to say that when the going got rough -- the weak ran away and the tough moved on. i realize that we both had our own personalities and our views on subjects -- and these 2 just didn't mesh. we both made choices and mistakes and now we must deal w/ those consequences. when chris decided that he "wasn't sure if he wanted to stay in this relationship," that told me that he didn't have the level of commitment that i was expecting. why negotiate or try to work things out w/ someone who was not sure that he wanted to be in the committed relationship? so i said, "fine. how soon are you moving out?" i didn't try and stop him, didn't try to convince him otherwise, didn't tell him how i felt about it. if he was looking for me to make a statement or demand of him, he was expecting the wrong thing. i don't play into being manipulated and i don't make declarations upon demand. after knowing me for 7 years, he should have known better than that. all of the divorce was very amicable, as we had nothing to fight over really. after all, to fight over something -- you have to care to a certain extent. i guess "certain extent" would be the telling words there, as they only extend so far and are not unconditional. chris moved out w/o most of his belongings, w/ the promise to collect them later when he had time and the space to store them. after a year of living separately, he told me to dispose of his property as i saw fit -- keep it, donate it, throw it away.
the remnants of my 2nd marriage are stacked in a few boxes in the garage or in various bits and pieces of memories around the house. the items in the garage will go to the church garage sale to help out someone in need, and the various things i find that belong to chris are being collected to pass on to him when it's convenient. other things that are mine, but from the marriage, are staying just like they are. the weird thing that i noticed recently is that people that i know well and had quite a bit of interaction w/ chris and me while chris and i were dating and married have already forgotten him. almost as if he didn't exist. i recently mentioned his name to one of my best friends and she said, "who?" and i had to tell her who it was. it just floored me, but i have to admit that i have been guilty of "forgetting" him at times, as well. it's not that he's a bad person or that i think poorly of him now that we're divorced. it's just that his personality and his total being were not vibrant enough to really intrigue me, to interest me, to captivate me, to make me yearn for his company, and to make that lasting impression. when it was time for him to go -- the parting was fairly easy. at least it was for me. and if it wasn't, no one would've known that anyway.
the knife fight in juvie
my son, scott, has quite a past behind him, and a great personality to deal w/ the future. since his car wreck 3 years ago that left a fairly large and obvious scar running down the side of his face, scott has many intrusive and obnoxious questions asked about his scar and the incident. he doesn't mind people asking if they truly care about him or they are sincere, but those people who are just nosey and intrusive irritate him. he doesn't feel like he owes them an explanation, or at least a truthful explanation. i had no idea he was doing this until we were seated at dinner one night at jim's steakhouse, and the perfect opportunity for his outrageous story happened.
it was an evening out for the kids and me. summer had her "new pony" along, and he (jared) was trying very hard to impress my son w/ his manliness. summer and i were across from each other and jared was across from scott. we were having a very nice time at dinner, chatting and getting to know each other.
summer had on a new green peasant shirt, w/ the wide scooped neckline, and she looked beautiful. the green of the shirt really brought out the green of her eyes. the style of the shirt "looked" very revealing, but it truly was not. i bought the shirt for her, and i also thought it looked nice. if it were revealing, she would not have left the house in it!
unfortunately, there was man of middle-eastern heritage at the table next to us at the restaurant. he was totally enthralled w/ the view of summer's exposed skin on her chest. he stared so intently at her that he was ignoring his own dinner partners, making us all uncomfortable and embarrassing summer. i was becoming quite angry that this adult man was leering at my daughter's chest as if dessert would be served there. the boyfriend was uncomfortable and thinking about starting a brawl, and scott calmly continued eating his meal while he watched this whole thing go on.
i kept shooting dirty looks at the man at the next table, and scott looked at me and winked. jared had been "talking big" all evening, so he was making threats about taking the man outside and "kicking his ass." that would've been a mess, as i probably would've had to go rescue jared from the man. or even worse -- rescue the little redneck twirp from jail or the emergency room!
scott leaned slightly forward toward jared and held up his pointed, serrated steak knife and said, "did i ever tell you about that knife fight i had when i was in juvie?"
"no . . . what happened?" jared said (w/ genuine surprise and interest)
scott pointed w/ the steak knife and said, "this is just about the size of the knife i used when i stabbed that kid 13 times."
"really?" jared said, and he didn't know us well enough to know whether it was true or not.
scott said, "yeah, that's where i got this from" and ran the tip of his steak knife very slowly down the scar on the side of his face. "i would've been out of there 18 months earlier, but the other kid died. i got out w/ just a few stitches and this scar. worth it . . . i thought."
when scott looked over at me, i could see the sparkle in his eyes. he was having some good fun at the man's expense, he was protecting his sister from the oggling stranger, and diffused the tension in the situation for our table. poor jared still didn't know that scott was telling a whopper.
the man who had been staring at summer's chest now had a look of shock on his face as he struggled to get his dinner choked down. no matter the noise or the distraction, he never looked toward our table again. it was obvious that he was very uncomfortable and doing his best to ignore us.
when we were outside, i asked scott where in the world he came up w/ that story about the knife fight in juvie, and he just shrugged his shoulders, smiled that big smile of his that says "oops, i'm busted but i know you love me anyway!", and said "oh, i have a whole collection of stories i tell people when they ask things that are none of their business! keeps'em from asking more stupid questions!"
it was an evening out for the kids and me. summer had her "new pony" along, and he (jared) was trying very hard to impress my son w/ his manliness. summer and i were across from each other and jared was across from scott. we were having a very nice time at dinner, chatting and getting to know each other.
summer had on a new green peasant shirt, w/ the wide scooped neckline, and she looked beautiful. the green of the shirt really brought out the green of her eyes. the style of the shirt "looked" very revealing, but it truly was not. i bought the shirt for her, and i also thought it looked nice. if it were revealing, she would not have left the house in it!
unfortunately, there was man of middle-eastern heritage at the table next to us at the restaurant. he was totally enthralled w/ the view of summer's exposed skin on her chest. he stared so intently at her that he was ignoring his own dinner partners, making us all uncomfortable and embarrassing summer. i was becoming quite angry that this adult man was leering at my daughter's chest as if dessert would be served there. the boyfriend was uncomfortable and thinking about starting a brawl, and scott calmly continued eating his meal while he watched this whole thing go on.
i kept shooting dirty looks at the man at the next table, and scott looked at me and winked. jared had been "talking big" all evening, so he was making threats about taking the man outside and "kicking his ass." that would've been a mess, as i probably would've had to go rescue jared from the man. or even worse -- rescue the little redneck twirp from jail or the emergency room!
scott leaned slightly forward toward jared and held up his pointed, serrated steak knife and said, "did i ever tell you about that knife fight i had when i was in juvie?"
"no . . . what happened?" jared said (w/ genuine surprise and interest)
scott pointed w/ the steak knife and said, "this is just about the size of the knife i used when i stabbed that kid 13 times."
"really?" jared said, and he didn't know us well enough to know whether it was true or not.
scott said, "yeah, that's where i got this from" and ran the tip of his steak knife very slowly down the scar on the side of his face. "i would've been out of there 18 months earlier, but the other kid died. i got out w/ just a few stitches and this scar. worth it . . . i thought."
when scott looked over at me, i could see the sparkle in his eyes. he was having some good fun at the man's expense, he was protecting his sister from the oggling stranger, and diffused the tension in the situation for our table. poor jared still didn't know that scott was telling a whopper.
the man who had been staring at summer's chest now had a look of shock on his face as he struggled to get his dinner choked down. no matter the noise or the distraction, he never looked toward our table again. it was obvious that he was very uncomfortable and doing his best to ignore us.
when we were outside, i asked scott where in the world he came up w/ that story about the knife fight in juvie, and he just shrugged his shoulders, smiled that big smile of his that says "oops, i'm busted but i know you love me anyway!", and said "oh, i have a whole collection of stories i tell people when they ask things that are none of their business! keeps'em from asking more stupid questions!"
Monday, February 28, 2005
february 2005 - 50 book challenge
well, the reading on the 50 book challenge continues, although not as quickly as i would like. it just seems like life interferes too much for me to get too much pleasure reading done. i have felt myself applying mental pressure about this challenge because i hadn't read the average number that i should have to get this goal accomplished by the end of the year. i realized that the pressure i was putting on myself was taking my fun out of reading as i was then reading for measurement instead of pleasure. when i stop and think about it, i know that my summer reading will so push me over the top on reaching the goal, as i tend to read a book a day for the first 2 weeks of august. it's a mad scramble, just trying to squeeze in all the last minute reading before school starts. so, i'm shooting for 50 books read this year, but i'm going to enjoy what i read rather than rase through them just to be able to list them.
5. hangman's curse -- by frank peretti. this book was recommended to me by a previous co-worker, but i didn't enjoy it too much. i think it might be good for the young adult crowd, as it seemed like a juvenile version of mcgyver for christian ghost chasers.
6. jewel -- by bret lott. excellent story from the oprah's book club selection that really touches the reader w/ the trials of being black and a young mother w/ children to raise. at the beginning of the book, the woman finds out that she is pregnant w/ their 6th child and wondering how they are ever going to make it.
7. a child called it -- by dave pelzer. i had read this book before, but after talking about it to a student i decided to read it again. it's a quick read, but definitely motivational. the book recounts the true-to-life tragedies that this small boy overcame to be a success in life.
8. faerie tale -- by raymond e. feist. i bought this book a long time ago, but loaned it out to a student before reading it myself. the student suddenly moved away, taking my book w/ her. it worked out that i hadn't ever gotten to read the book, so i recently bought it again to boost my order at amazon.com into the "free shipping" category.
5. hangman's curse -- by frank peretti. this book was recommended to me by a previous co-worker, but i didn't enjoy it too much. i think it might be good for the young adult crowd, as it seemed like a juvenile version of mcgyver for christian ghost chasers.
6. jewel -- by bret lott. excellent story from the oprah's book club selection that really touches the reader w/ the trials of being black and a young mother w/ children to raise. at the beginning of the book, the woman finds out that she is pregnant w/ their 6th child and wondering how they are ever going to make it.
7. a child called it -- by dave pelzer. i had read this book before, but after talking about it to a student i decided to read it again. it's a quick read, but definitely motivational. the book recounts the true-to-life tragedies that this small boy overcame to be a success in life.
8. faerie tale -- by raymond e. feist. i bought this book a long time ago, but loaned it out to a student before reading it myself. the student suddenly moved away, taking my book w/ her. it worked out that i hadn't ever gotten to read the book, so i recently bought it again to boost my order at amazon.com into the "free shipping" category.
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