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I Got Taken Down Notch Today

I totally deserved it. The experience was sobering.

Sometimes I am in the vicinity of people that don’t hit my radar screen. My monkeysphere is rather small. (Wow, that probably implies that my brain is small……... Oh well, that’s no revelation.)

We have a janitorial person who comes in the evening and empties the trash in our offices. I’ve never paid her much regard other than to be quite freaked out at times because she wonders around having conversations with herself. I will admit to noting at least once, as I passed by, that she was in the break room, possibly very upset. But I didn’t take the time to see if I could do anything for her. I didn’t even take the time to confirm that she was maybe very upset about something. I was at work after all and I’m just a machine. Actually, that’s arrogant, I’m not even the whole machine; I’m just a cog. (Sarcasm? You. Bet.) Really, I just didn’t want to risk getting pulled into a long drawn out drama. There was this thing called work and I had to go do it.

It means I’m just one of the herd. I am, in fact, no better than some of the people in our department that have a nickname for this lady. They call her Jingles. Jingles because she has keys clipped to her belt or on her lanyard or someplace, that jingle like Christmas bells when she walks. We always know where she is because we hear the keys jingling. Well that and we hear her talking to herself. Which she does, but I did note recently that she wears an earpiece and sometimes walks around talking on the phone and only appears to be talking to herself. That was the day she was in the next stall of the bathroom talking while using the facility; which sorta freaked me out too.

So don’t call me while you are using the can. Please?

And that is absolutely all I knew about Jingles, whose name is Brenda, it turns out, before this afternoon. All I knew other than the fact that she drives a really junky vehicle that leaks oil all over the parking lot. A mess that gets really slick when mixed with a little rain and all the bird crap that litters the IT parking lot.

It turns out that Brenda has a really tough life. When my coworker was describing her life I said, ‘So she has spent her life existing, instead of living.’ Then I got that feeling in my chest that makes it hard to breathe.

We were talking about Brenda because I was getting ready to throw out some food that I had purchased for lunch and decided not to eat. My coworker said, ‘Wait a minute, don’t throw it away. I will see if Brenda the janitor lady wants it. She doesn’t have much in the way of food and she might like to have that.’

I said, ‘Are you sure, it doesn’t look very good?’

Then she started telling me all the things she knew about Brenda. I mentioned her vehicle and my coworker said, ‘You know that car was destroyed in the tornado. She lost everything and was living in some camper last time we talked. She didn’t have much before she lost it all. She doesn’t have any family around here. She has some adult children that live in Texas, but she doesn’t get to see them very often.’

I said, ‘To be honest, she makes me a little uncomfortable when she goes around talking to herself. I worry that someone like that will snap and where do you go then?’

Here is the part where I was shot off my high horse……

My coworker, a dear friend and a very nice lady said, ‘You know, one should be careful not to judge, you just never know what people are enduring. I know people here make fun of her and they really shouldn’t. She is just trying to get by the best way she can.’

True that. It never occurred to me I was being judgmental. I was just confessing that the woman makes me uncomfortable. But even if it’s bloody honest, I should have kept it to myself. Little things we say can unintentionally make a big impact on another person’s perception.

We all go through shit. Some of us punch a heavy bag. Some of us drive like a bat out of hell. Some of us yell at our loved ones. Some of us cuss like a sailor. Some of us cry. Some of us drink. Some of us do all of the above. And some of us walk around talking to ourselves.

You deal with the poo that is flung in your direction in whatever way that keeps your heart from exploding. And none of us should judge anyone even if they are clinically insane. Some people were just built (or learned) to cope with flying poo better than others.

And there my friends, is where the rubber meets the road. I stand humbly chastised and ask for your forgiveness.

Santa's Reindeers

If I had named the reindeers this would be their names:  Tequila, Martini, Brandy, Scotch, Vodka, Whiskey, Rum, Wine and Gin Blossom.

Summer, I'm Not Finished With You YET!

Summer is NOT over. Yeah, I know, we had to turn the pool heater back on, the kids went back to school, Walgreens reopened. But summer isn’t over. I will hold on to summer until I am dragged by my hair kicking and screaming into the first frost.

Because of the May 22^nd tornado that kicked off summer around here, a lot of people are ready for this summer of clean up to be over. They are ready to move on to better times. I can’t blame them. But I’m not ready for the return of short dark days, SAD and cold that seeps into your bones and never lets up until the first dandelion. Summer is too short.

While everyone else was lamenting the 29 days we were 100 degrees or over, I was reveling in it. I know, I know. All of our utility bills were higher thanks to the heat. Flip flops were melting to pavement. Chickens were laying hard boiled eggs. The grass was burned to a flaky crisp. But it was summer glorious summer. And I love it. I do not want to say goodbye to my friend. I do not want to say goodbye to smaller wash loads due to smaller clothing. I do not want to say good bye to fresh cantaloupe. I do not want to say good bye to long lazy evenings floating on the pool and watching for shapes in the clouds. I am not ready to move on.

Blood on Blood and other Bon Jovi Songs

I hate it when suppressed memories try to resurface.

In the last four days I’ve burned through all three of the Hunger Games books. It didn’t end well for me. All through the last three chapters I could see what was coming and I was screaming NO NO NO NO in my head. I was trying to squeeze the ending I wanted out of the pages. I slowed down, frequently stopping to do other things. It was almost over, I knew it and things just weren’t going the way I imagined. Then I read the last page and burst into tears. Not because it was sad. The story was no tragedy, it is actually a happy ending. At least as happy as you can get in that world.

But I was rooting for the team that lost, for my own selfish reasons. I can’t say more than that because Dorothy (my friend from Kansas) hasn’t finished reading the third book.

Now I am extremely depressed and listening to old Bon Jovi, which never fails to dreg up memories from August of 1986, thus compounding the depression. One fine side effect of my metabolic disorder is the memories have become vague and watery. I do mean watery. Earlier today I was asking my mom and cousin Slim (the one with the Camaro) about a trip to California taken in my five year old life. Slim said that never happened and my mom said she doesn’t recall. But I have these distinct memories of me and Slim going on a road trip to California with our great grandparents. We were in my grand-dad’s turquoise Chevy pickup that was brand new at the time. I remember eating sandwiches on a picnic table at the side of the road. And I remember the beach. It was dirty and windy and gloomy. But I don’t remember being at the home of my great uncle who we were visiting.

Slim says it was a trip to Arkansas to see our great-great uncle. She was a year older and has a fully functioning memory so I have to take her word for it. But these images in my brain are vivid, not imagined. Finally, to get my mind off of it I decided they were memories planted by the aliens. (Calm down, I’m joking.) The ladies at work got a good laugh when I told them there was a road trip in my life that is apparently completely imagined.

And Mom, before you try and remind me about going to the beach near Hattiesburg, MS after an oil spill and suggest that is the source of these memories, stop. There are distinct memories of that trip in my noggin as well. I hope.

Maybe it is age. No it can’t be that, I already cried a bucket last week after over-dosing on Hinder videos and realizing that I’m too old to party like that anymore. I will love Austin Winkler’s songwriting as long as he stays based in OKC and doesn’t move to LA. LA ruins songwriters. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

Anyway, back to the Hunger Games. Halfway through the first book I was thinking the world in the book was uncomfortably close to where I imagine the country is heading. Our government’s pyramid tax scheme has destroyed us, it is just a matter of time before the house of cards falls. If that upsets you, I can’t apologize. We might as well get used to things going back to the way they were in the bad old days. Judging from the way I felt the week after the tornado, I have a feeling my pampered ass will be the first to crumble. (I had to really resist the urge to say crack instead of crumble. Think about it.)

I doubt we will ever have a lottery to determine which of our kids have to fight to the death. But the real victims of the collapse will be the kids. All the horrors now that we like to pretend don’t exist will become more common. Here in this white bread community we don’t see as much of that kind of misery. But it’s around. Think of Rowan Ford.

Desperately, I hope that I am wrong. Pessimistically, I fear I am fairly close to correct. That is why I can never share the joy when a friend or family member tell me a little one is on the way. Really? You want to bring another soul into this world with the legacy we are leaving behind?

But then I have a conversation that makes me realize that like this generation and the one before it and on into infinity, this new generation will grind on through time, unless the earth flies apart. Earlier tonight someone said to me, ‘So many times in my life things have happened and I have thought I just couldn’t go on, but here I am, I got through it.’

I guess that is true for everyone. Probably true for me, if I don’t die of boredom.

We Had Company This Weekend

An uninvited guest.

iWof went out with a bucket to water the willow tree on the lakeshore. I threw both of the pool rafts in the pool and got ready to settle in for a nice nap. But when I got into the pool I first went over and pulled the lid off the skimmer basket looking for the floating thermometer. The basket needed emptied, but since the pump wasn’t running there was no reason to postpone my nap. I turned to take a cursory survey of the water still searching for that thermometer when I noticed a huge night crawler swimming parallel to me, on top of the water, about 3 foot away. As I continued my visual sweep a light bulb suddenly went on above my skull and I heard a distinct <bing>.

Wait a minute. Night crawlers, in my vast experience, do not swim. They do not float. They immediately sink to the bottom of the pool on their way to becoming a gelatinous goo that is rather gross when you scoop it up with the skim net. Oh s<bleep>t. So I do what any red blooded American girl deathly afraid of snakes would do. I squeal like a pig.

He was about 6 feet long and my squeal was a homing beacon. Apparently, I was disturbing his afternoon swim with all my racket, he turned on me. He began rapidly approaching, jaws gapping, fangs glinting in the sun. I was back peddling toward the steps creating a suction that was pulling the enemy in my wake. The bottom step hit the back of my feet and I scrambled out of the pool just as that horrible vicious jaw snapped shut. I felt the rush of air on the back of my leg.

I ran over to the shed still squealing like a balloon that is releasing air slowly through a pinched neck. Finally, iWof turns to see what is causing all the noise and begins ambling over at his usual snail pace. My heart is pounding, my vision gone, I can hardly focus as my trembling fingers pull open the shed door. My reach and grab scores the skim net.

I’ve turned to race back to the pool steps where the monster is stretched out sunning himself when I first notice one of those anomalous freaks of nature that often occur when one encounters a stressful situation. In the time it took me to soar over to the shed and grab the net, that gol-durned sea monster, in the finest cinematic sci-fi form has shrank to 6 or 8 inches long.

By that time, iWof has finally drifted in the vicinity of the gate and looks to see what all the squealing is about. The squealing that has echoed down the canyon and is now causing creatures all up and down the lake to stand up and take notice. Of course the neighbors just pull their shade and sigh, ‘drunk again’ they think. iWof comes up the steps and I can see him trying not to laugh. He says, ‘That’s what all this noise is about?’ I give him the look that tells him to back off before he gets pushed in the pool and the threat is between him and the steps.

My hero, my savior, iWof just stands there waiting on me to do something. I do what every red blooded American girl who is deathly afraid of snakes would do, I hand him the skim net and tell him to get it out of the pool. But Nessy has other plans. He is perfectly content to lay on the step with the water lapping at him. The noisy fat lady is gone so he can return to his afternoon of basking in the sun. It takes several attempts to brush him back out into the water so iWof can get the net under the snake and scoop him up.

Then iWof makes a fatal mistake. Fatal for me because I nearly have a stroke. He brings the little pecker over to me and rams it in my face, ‘What kind of snake do you think it is?’ he says.

‘A dead one.’ I screech as I run behind iWof and peer around his arm to look at the varmint. iWof keeps turning to jam the monstrosity in my chest and I keep running behind him to keep iWof between me and sure death. We perform this little circus act for a few seconds before I say, ‘My eyesight is fine I can see it, quit shoving it in my face.’ He is still making fun of me and is nearing the danger zone where I have to whip out the whoop-ass.

After he kills the snake.

There is still a fair amount of debate over what kind of snake dared enter my Garden of Eden. Because of my insistence that the snake was swimming on top of the water. And due to his own personal visual inspection, iWof is convinced that the snake was venomous. Due to my irrational, psychotic fear of snakes I still don’t care. But my money is on Bull Snake. On one or two previous occasions I have seen bull snakes in the vicinity; leaving the vicinity due to my sonic squeal. Also, bull snakes hatch in August and this youngster hadn’t been around very long. 

Maybe he was on top of the water because he was so young and lightweight? However, I’ve also personally made visual confirmation of water moccasins in or around the lake. Mostly in, swimming on top of the water with a triangular head and cat eyes. We won’t ever know for sure the nature of this beastie because before I thought to take a photo the threat was eliminated by being ground into powder.

It was the only way to stop the squealing that was making the dogs cover their ears. And besides, I’m pretty sure all his brothers and sisters are sitting out on the lakeshore plotting how they are going to avenge the death of their loved one.

I’m calling a real-estate agent.