Monday, January 31, 2005

AFTER I shampoo the rugs??!!



Dearest Kitten:

One thing you should always keep in mind is that Mommy needs her caffeine prior to any lovely finds you might have for her.

Now, I realize that when you joyfully hopped into my lap in yesterday morning (all peppy and looking for some affection) you were quite proud of yourself. The recognition you'll be credited here is well deserved. However, it should be noted that as I stiffly and begrudgingly roll out of bed (BED?!? That's a whole other post...) in the morning, it is wise to hide whatever surprises you hold in store for me, at least until after my second cup of coffee.

I will admit, at first I was a little pissed off. The three little blobs on the floor quite honestly did look like kitty-poo in the dim morning light. My disdain quickly turned to worry as I saw the spot of blood in the largest of the piles of goop. Then utter confusion set in as I tried to comprehend how on earth you'd digested and then (pooped?? Thrown up??) somehow eliminated a large, fuzzy dandelion.

Imagine my shock when, upon closer investigation, the dandelion had feet! The realization quickly hit home that - my dear little love of a furball - you had caught (and soundly demolished) a mouse.

Now I apologize for my initial reaction. Yes, it was a bit awkward for you when I began jumping around, flapping my arms, screaming "EW! EW! EW!!" I apologize also for your look of sheer disappointment when I swept up the leftovers of your present (with broom and dustpan both securely wrapped in paper toweling) and took it outside to the garbage and then promptly dumped gallons of cleaning solution and boiling water on the spots. It simply had to be done.

Please forgive my lack of snuggles for you for the several hours following finding your gift to me. The thought of your cute little whiskers too clearly brought to my mind the whiskers sticking out of the smallest of the globs. I must say, I was quite impressed (and frankly completely grossed out) that you'd removed all trace of it's head save the nose (again - EW!!!).

Be assured that your efforts will not be entirely in vain. For all your six-month-old loyalty, as well as your chivalry and bravery in ridding our household of creepy-crawly-type yucky things, I hereby declare you immune to the tortures of declawing.

I sincerely apologize that I cannot say the same for the removal of certain other body parts you might also be fond of.

Love, the Mommy person.



Wednesday, January 26, 2005

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...



Hi. My name is Shanna, and I'm an addict.

Assembly of blog-readers: Hi, Shanna!

I've been addicted to caffeine in liquid form for many years. My addiction first became obvious in my late teens. I just had to have that morning cup. Then a second. Then a third. Until finally, I was drinking a pot of coffee a day.

I've been trying to curb this addiction. Quitting cold-turkey gives me a terrible headache, not to mention the grumps. So lately, I've been trying tea. I adore tea, especially the herbals and green or white teas. Now, however, I've found a new love.

Celestial Seasonings has a red tea that's wonderfully mild and mellow. It's called Madagascar Vanilla Red. Sounds like an illegal substance, doesn't it? The "red" tea is actually from South Africa, and is called Rooibos.

Hopefully, I can curb my addiction a bit. I'm supposed to be on this limited diet because of my hiatal hernia. No spicy foods (there goes my Thai food fetish), no coffee, no chocolate (good luck with that one, Doc!) and no soda. I do love my coffee, though. Soda I could care less about.

Not that I stick to any kind of diet. I am the anti-dieter. The fact that I'm a freaking twig notwithstanding. Just the other night I made an enormous pot of chili (so much for the spicy thing). And this low-carb thing? What a crock. Just another ridiculous money-making scheme by marketers who know the world is full of fad-followers who have a severe lack of self confidence. The fact of the matter is, if you want to live healthy simply practice moderation. Aside from that, the world is just a tad too focused on body image and not enough on the population's health.

Those advertisers are smart little buggers though, aren't they (as I sit here drinking my commercially packaged tea)? They have us believing that we desperately need and absolutely can't live without a chicken rotisserie and that thing that liquefies your vegetables into a yummy (???) drink (EW!). And let's not forget those knives! They slice, they dice, they chop, they do the laundry and take out the trash! Please, people. The staff at the Home Shopping Network should be slapped silly and made to use only the gaudy, useless crap they pawn off onto everyone else.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need some more coffee... uh... tea. Yeah, that's it....





Thursday, January 20, 2005

Friendship and other little mishaps



When conversations are inadvertently overheard and misconstrued, it can cause unbelievable upset among even the best of friends. Simple words or actions are taken out of context and blown completely out of proportion.

The resulting conflict creates walls between people who should know each other better than to assume the worst. But we all do it. No-one is immune to misunderstandings. The best of us are drawn in to the worst of situations completely unaware of the underlying truths.

Sometimes these misunderstandings become the things we later joke about. Silly things we all should have known better than to fuss over.

To add insult to injury, it's even easier to confuse issues when one's own mind is preoccupied with personal issues caused by the misunderstandings of another in an entirely different scenario. At that point, everyone is subject to mistrust.

I'm going through one of the worst, most incredibly painful parental situations imaginable. Even the elite few who are aware of this have come under my scrutiny at one time or another. Trust is a rare commodity. Even when it's earned, it's a very fragile thing.

One thing to always remember is the value of friendship. Don't let accidents or misunderstandings get in the way of a valuable relationship.



Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Pennies from heaven



Sometimes you lose sight of the more important things in your life. The kids are running circles around you, the phone's ringing off the hook, the dinner's burned and you've got a half-dozen appointments that you can't for the life of you keep straight in your cluttered and frazzled mind. You get to the point that you'd give just about anything for a little freedom. A night or a weekend to yourself. Peace and quiet. To be completely alone.

The funny thing is, getting what you wish for isn't always the dream come true you think it's going to be. There is such a thing as too quiet. Silence really can be deafening. The ticking of the clock gets annoying as hell.

This is when you realize how incredibly wonderful your normal, drab little life truly is. All the stress and turmoil is so much better than the alternative. The constant rush and run is hard and wears you down, but the love in the loudness makes it all worthwhile. That jolting in your heart when the baby screams and you run to her to make it all better. Kissing the owies when your son falls and skins his knee. The way you just have to smile when your school-ager sings her favorite songs as she dances around the kitchen while you're busy preparing a pot roast.

Suddenly it hits you: You want to call back the genie who gave you the peace you wanted and tell him you want to take your wish back. You cure the quiet with blasting stereo and call everyone you know just to hear them bitch about the neighbors or complain about the weather. You can't stand to sit at home alone. You miss the noise, you crave the helter skelter and insanity.

You used to say, "If I had a nickel..." And you'd be rich, right? What's rich? What makes one truly wealthy? The errands and responsibilities and craziness are just pennies from heaven. The small change adds up to so much more.


Thursday, January 13, 2005

Fun with Quizzes



Take the quiz: "What Kind of Soul Do You Retain?"

Loving
You have a very warm and loving aura about your soul and believe in the virtues of Love. To you, there is a bright side to everything! You are the polar opposite of the Dark soul.


Take the quiz: "Which Random Irish Gaelic Phrase Are You? "

Is maith liom bananai
Is maith liom bananai - 'I like bananas.'You're laid-back and you enjoy the simple things in life. Some might say you're a little too laid-back. Just what is it you're smoking, anyway?


Take the quiz: "What is your inner beauty fairy?"

Angel Fairy
You are Angel Fairy! You are a very cute girl and you seem to understand your friends alot. That's what makes you a great friend. You like to listen to other fairies and you love to LOVE.




I just realized how ill I make myself....



Tuesday, January 11, 2005

One less vice



Yes. I've done it. Finally. If you've seen the dandy little gadget above, you'll gather that I've quit smoking. Just now. So forgive me if I'm a bit bitchy over the next few days.

And send me chocolate before attempting communication with me. It could save your life.

Chocolate happens to be the last of my only two vices. The other is coffee. If you ask me to give up either of those, plan on leaving with one less body part.

Or one of my boots shoved into an orifice of yours.

Excuse me, I need more coffee.

Have a nice day.




Sunday, January 09, 2005

The age of innocence



My daughter and I made an agreement today: She'll try to pick up after herself more, use "good listening" and be nicer to her little brother and sister. I'll try to give her more attention, scold her less and listen to her more.

She's become so independent as a grade-schooler. It's been difficult for me to adjust to her changing moods and personality. It's frustrating that she's not my clingy little baby anymore. My sweet, tiny angel is now developing into an opinionated, spirited young lady. It doesn't help when the element of drama queen is added, either.

I call her Twiddlebug, after the antennaed little creatures in Ernie's window box in Sesame Street. She loves the name. She's also known as my mini-twin. Not just in looks, but in personality as well. Maybe that's why there's so much conflict between us. We're both stubborn. We're both a little on the moody side. We're both picky about how we like things done.

She's a beautiful, smart little girl. She loves to dance and sing. She's sparkly and sweet. She speaks her mind and is very matter-of-fact. She's a little bit girlie and a whole lot of tomboy. She loves good books and bubble baths and her Madeline dolls, and she's really into wrestling with her older brothers and playing their video games with them.

It's not her fault that she has trouble expressing herself. She wasn't always so quick to temper. But my little girl has another similarity to me: She was molested as a toddler. I know the changes it created in me, and it tears at my heart to see it happen to her.

There is a dark side that comes into being when a child is abused. The biggest part of it is anger. Outright fury and rage. And then there's the diminished trust and the deep-rooted sadness at the loss of an irreplaceable part of childhood. There's fear: Fear of the dark, fear of the unknown, fear of the people around you, fear of being misunderstood.

My daughter is also very introspective - like me. She isn't always able to express her feelings well, so instead she holds them in and acts out or locks herself away inside. That's the part I want to work on the most. For both of us. I want my innocent angel back.









Adia

Adia I do believe I failed you
Adia I know I let you down
don't you know I tried so hard
to love you in my way
it's easy let it go...

....

'cause there's no one left to finger
there's no one here to blame
there's no one left to talk to honey
and there ain't no one to buy our innocence
'cause we are born innocent
believe me Adia, we are still innocent
it's easy, we all falter
does it matter?

....

I pull you from your tower
I take away your pain
and show you all the beauty you possess
if you'd only let yourself believe that
we are born innocent
believe me Adia, we are still innocent
it's easy, we all falter, does it matter?
believe me Adia, we are still innocent
'cause we are born innocent
Adia we are still
it's easy, we all falter ... but does it matter?

(s. mclachlan)


Thursday, January 06, 2005

Be Not Afraid



My mother was only 17 when I was born, and we lived with my grandparents and her siblings. My uncle Devin was 14 years old and a sort of big brother to me. He picked on me, played games with me and protected me. He was always there. My constant. My hero.

When I was five, Devin went into the Navy. I was furious. How could he have left me like that? I remember his letters being read to me and the phone calls from far away. He sent me toys and dolls from all over the world. When he was stationed in Japan, it was a crystal lamp with a shade, when the light was on, would spin to look like fish swimming in the sea. When he was stationed in Hawaii, it was a doll who's hair could be changed from copper to black. There was a beautiful doll in a seafoam chiffon dress who held a smaller doll in her arms and played a music-box version of a lullaby when you wound the key in her back.

The day Devin came home, I was upstairs playing. I remember him calling my name as he came in the front door. I felt a flood of emotions: Grief that he'd left, relief that he was home, happiness at the sound of his voice. I went to the top of the stairs and looked down at him, as he reached up as if to offer me a hug. All of those feelings inside me held me there, afraid to move. Wanting both to hit him or yell at him and to run to him for a hug. He was so hurt, so moved by the idea that the little girl he'd doted on would be so devastated that he wanted to do anything to make it up to me. He took me to a local department store and spent his entire discharge check, buying me anything I wanted there. There were four cart-loads of toys.

As I grew up, Uncle Devin was a constant. He was always honest, always there. When I need an ear, he was there. When I needed a kick in the seat of my pants, he gave it to me. At my great-grandmother's funeral he looked so beautiful: Black trench coat, black boots, dark shoulder-length hair. He was the only one who acknowledged me:

"Shannie, you always took such good care of her." And he hugged me, crying.

We moved to Connecticut when I was a Junior in High School. I loved it there, but decided to move closer to my extended family. I ended up moving in with my grandparents. Devin would visit and we'd talk or play cards. He had a great sense of humor and was always making us laugh.

Devin was gay. He didn't want me to know. He still treated me as though I was a child - which I didn't particularly mind, coming from him. After a few years I'd planned to be married. Devin was going to be there. The date was set for the end of November in 1996. My grandfather was very ill at the time. He had congestive heart failure, and was in a wheelchair. None of us was sure if he'd be able to walk me down the aisle. My back-up plan was my Uncle Devin. I looked forward to him sharing my day with me.

On a warm, sunny day in August of '96 I was puttering around the house. I'd gotten a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was very wrong. I'd automatically assumed something had happened with my grandfather, so I called my grandparents' home to check:

"Grampa? Are you ok?"

"I can't talk now, Shannie, Devin's dead." Click. The line went dead.

I was dumbfounded. In shock. He didn't say that. I picked up the phone again and pressed redial:

"Grampa?"

"Shannie, it's Aunt Diana. I'm sorry, honey..."

"What did he say to me?! Tell me what he said!"

"Shannie, your Uncle Devin died..."

"No. Don't you lie to me. I'm calling him." I hung up.

I then called my Uncle's home. One of my cousins was staying with him. Uncle Devin was something of a philanthropist. He gave just about everything he had away. He had taken in my cousin Christopher, and was trying to help him build a better life for himself. Christopher answered the phone. He told me that he'd found our uncle that morning, and that the detectives were still there. I told him I wanted to know what happened. He started to refuse, but I insisted. Demanded. He obliged - in great detail.

It was Tuesday, and Christopher had been away at his girlfriend's house since that weekend. He'd come home and didn't see Devin around. He looked for him, and went to open Devin's bedroom door. There was a rope tied to the handle on the outside that went up over the top. He thought this was odd and decided to check it out. Something was blocking the door. He pushed. Pushed harder. He was able to move it far enough to get a glimpse into the room. He found Devin lying on the floor with the other end of the rope around his neck.

It was determined that Devin had died a day or more before. It was the middle of August and very warm. Devin had been strangled. It wasn't pretty. Christopher went into detail about that part, too. I asked to speak with the detective who was there. He was very nonchalant in his report to me. Very uninvolved. I, however, was still in shock. I had ceased to feel anything. I had banished the reality from my mind. It never happened. I would wake up and it would all be a nightmare.

I was in a daze and don't recall much until the day of the funeral. I was quiet and shaky. My husband-to-be and I drove the two hours to the funeral home in silence. Every once in a while he'd lean over to touch my hand. I would tense up, knowing that every sensation I experienced made what was happening more of a reality. We stopped to eat at a little place off the highway, and I couldn't speak to order. I really wasn't all that hungry, anyway.

When we entered the funeral home, I'd expected a hall or outer room to pass through first. But we'd come in through a side door. We passed a curtain and I instantly saw the casket. Devin was bloated. His body looked a lot bigger than he had been in life. It didn't look like him at all. It felt as though the air was suddenly forced out of my lungs. I couldn't breathe. I had to go into the bathroom, wheezing and gasping for air.

Devin was buried in one of the veteran's cemeteries in Milwaukee. He had a military burial. I watched them roll up the flag that was draped over the casket with a sort of wistfulness. It was somehow a part of him. I watched them hand it gently to my grandmother. All I wanted was to hold it. One last hug. Just one. The chance to say goodbye. Gramma let me hold it. But Devin didn't come back.

For two weeks after the funeral I slept with the lights on. I had these horrible visions that were a combination of Christopher's details about how he'd found Uncle Devin and the image of my uncle in the casket. I would imagine Devin coming into the room all bloated, tongue hanging out, eyes bulging. It was terrifying. I hardly slept.

One night, I'd had enough. This is not how I wanted to remember the man I respected and loved more than any other I knew. I pleaded with God:

"Please don't let me remember him like this. I want to see him beautiful again."

I fell asleep with the lights out. I had a very vivid dream that night. Devin was sitting on the sofa in my livingroom, looking just as he had at Great-Gramma's funeral. He was so handsome. I was curled up with my head on his chest, crying:

"Please don't leave me. I miss you. Please come back."

Devin stroked my hair and said gently:

"It's ok, Shannie. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

I never had the nightmare again.






I'll Be There

Over Mountains
Over Trees
Over Oceans
Over Seas
I'll be there
In a whisper on the wind
On the smile of a new friend
Just think of me
And I'll be there
Don't be afraid, oh my love
I'll be watching you from above
And I'd give all the world tonight,
To be with you
Because I'm on your side,
And I still care
I may have died,
But I've gone nowhere
Just think of me,
And I'll be there
On the edge of a waking dream
Over Rivers
Over Streams
Through Wind and Rain
I'll be there
Across the wide and open sky
Thousands of miles I'd fly
To be with you
I'll be there
Don't be afraid, oh my love
I'll be watching you from above
And I'd give all the world tonight,
To be with you
Because I'm on your side,
And I still care
I may have died,
But I've gone nowhere
Just think of me,
And I'll be there
In the breath of a wind that sighs
Oh, there's no need to cry
Just think of me,
And I'll be there

Sung by: The Escape Club
Written by: Steel/Holliday/Christo/Zekavica



Wednesday, January 05, 2005

who is jennifer garrett?

I'm currently involved in writing, rewriting and otherwise perfecting a new post. In the meantime, please check out this blog...

who is jennifer garrett?

I'll be contacting her to praise her/kiss her ass/beg for her divine wisdom.