Sexy sells APPLES??!!!!?

I took these pictures in a local grocery store. They were on a huge box of, well pumpkins, but they were to advertise the "3-Apple A Day" plan.

What the image of the green apple core says to me is...if I eat three green apples a day, I will look like the female apple core. You see the perky bosoms? The toned abs? The small waist, going into a curvaceous bottom? Sexy. Sign me up for a bag-a-day!

Then, I would like to meet a man that eats three red apples a day, because he would have bodacious pecs, six pack abs, and my-oh-my look at his obliques. You betcha, sexy.

What about children and old folks that decide to eat three apples a day? What a toned, in shape, sexy world we would have. Really though, I am baffled by the use of these images to sell apples. Aren't apples selling enough on their own, without the sexy cores? Come on!! Apples used to be a family fruit!

There seems to be confusion

among the deciduous trees
on whether or not to shed their leaves

There are freeze dried leaves
hanging in limbo
waiting, for a strong wind to blow

Yes, there seems to be confusion
among the deciduous trees
on whether or not to shed their leaves

Ahhh,

I am smiling right now. I know you can't see my smile, but imagine if you can a smile so wide that if I were wearing lipstick.. I'd have some on my earlobes. To say I am happy in my new place, would be an understatement. I am living in a place I love, nestled in the mountainous bosom of Mother Earth. I see the sun rise over the mountains in the morning, and the glow of the sunset make those same mountains look as if they are on fire in the evening. Ahh, home sweet home.

I'm movin' on

This will be a big week for me. I am moving. It's time. I am sure I am not unlike others in that even when I am not in ideal circumstances, I get too comfortable. I got too comfortable at Gerald's. I have gotten to comfortable living in an apartment owned by his friends. I don't like that. I am ready to get comfortable in a little place of my own.

When I moved to Montana, I only brought what would fit in my Honda Passport. I haven't acquired much more than that, so, moving will not take long. Today, when I was packing the few boxes I have to pack the Rascal Flatts song "I'm Movin' On" played in my head. It is a good song for me at this moment in life.

In my new place, it will be a bit before I have internet access. I won't even have television right a way. I wonder if "The Price Is Right" will go on without me watching?! Hmmm. At any rate, it's time for this little chick-a-dee to spread her wings and fly, I'm movin' on.

White crosses

stand as lonely reminders along the roads of Montana. There is one on the lawn by the county courthouse, one with the initials "JMK" by some mailboxes I pass going into Kalispell, one along the road near a steep embankment, where an elderly woman lost control of her car, went down the embankment and was found several days later by a woman walking her dog. There are places with several white crosses on a single pole. Today, I saw one that had "Luke" written on it. Some have fresh, plastic flowers, others have sun faded plastic flowers, most have no flowers at all.

They are stark, subtle, silent memorials to people whose lives were lost in traffic accidents. Lately, I have been seeing white crosses along the road, where they didn't used to be.

The White Cross program in Montana is not a government program. No, instead it is a program sponsored by the Montana American Legion. The local legion posts erect and maintain these sobering reminders to drive safe, be careful, life is fragile.

Elvis has indeed,

Left the building.

I found out this week, from one of my co-workers, that the "Elvis" I mentioned a few posts ago has passed away. He was the man that liked cherry napoleons.

I read his obituary on the funeral home's website. He studied music with the Milwaukee Philharmonic. He was said to have had a wonderful baritone voice, and delighted friends and family by entertaining them with song. Seems he'll be best known for his crooning and Elvis style of singing. I wasn't kidding when I said in the earlier post that he spoke in an, "Elvis sounding voice."

May he rest in peace. The next time the bakery makes cherry napoleons, I'll buy one and raise a fork to him.

Why, oh why, do spiders like bath tubs!?

As far back as I can remember, seeing a spider in a bath tub has given me the creeps. I remember spending summers in northern Wisconsin as a little girl, there was always more than one spider in my grandparent's bath tub. I must have been a pretty stinky kid, because I didn't want to get in the tub.

The other day I found the pictured spider in my bath tub. I asked him to leave, he couldn't. He was having a hard time navigating the steep sides of my wonderfully, deep whirlpool tub. I decided killing the spider was out of the question. Surely, anything as big as he was could fight back! So, I took a cup and a piece of paper, caught him and then released him outside. As he crawled away, he seemed very happy to be free. I think I even detected a skip in his eight legged step.

I researched online about why spiders like bath tubs. I didn't find the answer. Some sites said they come down from the ceiling, into the tub, attracted by the light color. If that's the case, then I'm glad they don't like dark colored bedding. Other sites say spiders come up through the drain. I don't know about that, I'm not so sure they can swim through the water in the bend of the pipe. Needless to say, I still don't know why spiders like bath tubs. I do know I want them to stop liking mine.

Michael Jackson Dies

So, the headlines read.

I don't mean this post to be a tribute to Michael Jackson really, at least I don't think I do. I was a fan of Michael Jackson for years, although the last album of his that I bought was "Thriller".

I remember one family vacation, we went up to see the Grand-folks in Northern Wisconsin. We stopped at a Holiday Gas station. Seemed like this gas station sold everything, except the kitchen sink. They even had a rack of albums (I know, I'm dating myself here). One of the albums they had for sale was the Jackson 5 "ABC". I must have saved up money from chores, because I had enough money to buy the album. ABC was the first album I ever bought, it was special.

I wanted to see the Jackson 5 in concert, so my older brother took me to buy tickets, one for me and one for my bestest friend Becka. I didn't understand seating, so it was a good thing my brother was there. We had a choice between mezzanine and second row center stage. At my brother's urging, I bought the second row center stage tickets. One wall in my bedroom had cork on it, and the tickets hung there until the night of the concert. Electricity was in the air. Becka and I were the only two little white girls in a sea of blacks. Seemed like we were the only two dancing and whoopin' it up too. It was a good time.

Seems to me, and this only my opinion, Michael Jackson's life got kind of twisted. Bent from reality, or maybe just my idea of reality. To be honest, I wouldn't have wanted to live his life. I shake my head in wonderment when I look at recent pictures of Michael Jackson. Seems to me he lived a sad kind of life in his Neverland. And, seems to me, again only my opinion, Michael's life became a kind of freak show, played out in front of the world. Now the show is over.

I am saddened by the news of Michael Jackson's death, though not enough to shed a tear. He was a very, very talented man. May he rest in peace.

(I have lost touch with Becka, since I stood up in her wedding many, many years ago. I saw her for a short time about 10 years ago. I wonder if, as she hears of Michael's death, she is remembering the night we went to see the Jackson Five, the only two little white girls....)

I know you'll find this hard to believe, but...

...I had a conversation with Elvis today. No, no, no, now don't go thinkin' I'm 10-96. First let me tell you what happened. I was putting cream puffs in one of the coolers at the bakery today, and there he was. Okay, so maybe it wasn't the Elvis, Elvis, (last I heard he was working in a Burger King in Michigan or somewhere). But, it was one of our semi-regular customers that wears his hair like Elvis and wears glasses like Elvis used to wear. I kid you not.

I asked him if he would be interested in a cream puff. In an Elvis sounding voice he said, "No, I'm not supposed to have any of it." No kidding, I picked up a hint of Elvis sound in his voice. I asked him what he liked. He told me cherry Napoleons. Our bakery makes some awesome Napoleon pastries. He said he likes the ones with the cherries on the whip cream. I told him that a couple of weeks ago we made some with mocha flavored whip cream. He said he wasn't into mocha, just cherries. I told him he could order one, that I was sure they would make one for him (he looks like the "King" after all). His Priscilla walked up, and he ended the conversation. Maybe next time he comes back, we'll have Napoleons with cherries in them.

I watched as Elvis, er I mean he left the building.

I am a proud member of the WAMF Band unofficial fan club

All of the members of the unofficial WAMF Band fan club,
Cindy, me, Trish in the back
Max and Nancy in front

What is the WAMF Band you may be asking? Only the best blues band from Madison, Wisconsin that's who. WAMF Band is the Westside Andy/Mel Ford Band. My friends and I would travel for hours to see the boys play. The band would travel hours to be seen by us, (and the folks from our neck-o-Wisconsin). The above picture was taken on our last trip to see the band together, a year ago. To say it was a blast would be an understatement. We danced until the cows came home for sure. Oh the fun and laughter that night.

I haven't been to see any live blues music here in Montana. I think mostly because I would compare them to Andy and Mel and be disappointed, who knows really. I do know that for playing the blues, these guys give me happy feet.

blurrrrry

When I first moved to Montana, and then started my bakery job, I used to see people and think, 'Hey that person looks like so-and-so in Wisconsin.' It would happen time and again.

There was one time a woman walked up to the counter, and I thought it was my mom. I had tears in my eyes when I took her order. Another time, I did a double take because there was a man that on first glance I thought was my dad, to the point of walking the same way. Of course neither of these people were my mom and dad, because Mom and Dad are in Wisconsin.

I've noticed lately, that the faces have become blurry. Now when I see someone, I wonder if they look like someone from back in Wisconsin, or if I remember their face from here in Montana. The old faces I knew seem to have become less familiar than the new faces I am becoming familiar with now.

The Birds

Who doesn't remember the Hitchcock thriller "The Birds"? Where the rich socialite, Melanie, is attacked by birds in a small California coastal town while delivering a pair of love birds as a practical joke?

Well, I had my own "birds" encounter today. No, not in a small California coastal town. I was in my little corner of Montana. Oh, and there were no lovebirds either. And, I'm glad to say there was no blood shed. There I was walking along a paved trail, admiring the mountains, when I saw a snake. I stopped to take a picture of the snake, when it slithered into the tall grass along the trail. A dark brown bird landed on the branch of a bush nearby. I told the bird he had scared the snake away, and continued walking.

I turned around, because I had decided to walk a different way to get back home. Only to find the initial bird, had been joined by a second bird. Along the trail there is a barbed wire fence. As I walked, the birds played leap frog over each other to get to the next fence post I would be walking by. Here is where it all got kind of creepy and Hitchcockian. The birds started to squawk. I looked straight above my head, to find a third bird hovering over me. I walked faster, the bird hovered faster. I stopped, the bird stopped. So, there I was a bird hovering over me, and two birds playing leap frog on the fence post, ahhhhhh! Who me panic? I was worried about the hovering bird diving at my head, and getting tangled in my nest of blond hair!

I tried to tell the birds I wasn't there to get their babies. I told them they had to worry more about the snake than me. I tried to reason with them. Woe, wait, listen to me, I tried to reason with three birds. Okay, so maybe, I was having more of a "Smile, you're on Candid Camera" moment! It wasn't until I crossed the road that I turned to look for the hidden camera.

I guess that's just not manly

I have been doing my own research study of late, about whether sprinkles on donuts are manly, or not.

As I said in a previous post, I work in a bakery. Most days, our donut fryer will sprink-le-tize some of the donuts as she makes them. Then when a customer asks for a certain type of donut, if there is one with sprinkles, I'll ask if they want with sprinkles, or without. We sell lots of donuts to rough and rugged cowboy types (this is Montana after all), not so rough and rugged types, women and children.

I estimate, based on the data I have compiled, that not one of the rough and rugged cowboy types has bought a donut with sprinkles on it. As a matter of fact, I get a very emphatic no! each time I ask. There have even been a couple occasions where I have stepped back away from the donut case, for fear of being punched in the nose!

Not the same with the not so rough and rugged types, some of them say yes to sprinkles on their donuts. As do some women, and children. As a matter of fact, my research shows the number one consumer of the sprink-le-tized donut are children. I'm not sure why. Maybe, it's because they don't worry about how they look while they enjoy those little bits of colored goodness on their donuts!

What does this mean? What do I conclude from my informal research on the donut eating habits of the rough and rugged cowboy types? Donuts with sprinkles on them, it seems, are just not manly after all.

The hunt is on

For the tasty, delectable fungus known as the morel mushroom. Oh be still my heart, as my eyes roll back in my head from the memory of these delicious shrooms in a kettle of mushroom asparagus soup! Ahhh, oh so good. Or, you can enjoy them fried or stuffed, nummy

Before I moved to Montana the only mushroom I had eaten and enjoyed was the shiitake. I have a good friend in Wisconsin, Trish, that grows gourmet shiitakes, she sells nationwide. As a going away gift, Trish gave me a shiitake log of my own. According to Trish in the right conditions, the log will grow mushrooms for five or six years. It is dry in my corner of Montana, and to date I only harvested shrooms from my log while I was driving to Montana on my move here.

The other day, friends and I went to the higher elevations to begin the hunt for morels. There was still snow in the area we went to. An area I had hunted morels in when I first moved here last year. At that time, some of the slopes I had been on were so steep, you only had to reach out to pick the mushroom, instead of bending over. While that may sound like a back saver, I had started to compare myself to a mountain goat.

Back to the other day's hunt. I am disappointed to report we did not see a single morel. We did see a huge black bear, two cow elk, several white tail deer, and an abundance of other varieties of mushrooms, but I don't know how edible or poisonous they were. Hopefully the higher elevations will get some rain, and the next time we go, we'll come home with buckets full of those tasty, tasty morels. I'll keep you posted, and post a picture of my bounty on here.

There was this one time

OMG!! I was so embarrassed!

Maybe more so because we had company at the time. I don't remember who the company was, I don't think I had ever met them before that day. We lived in Michigan. I remember it like it was yester-year.

There I was 12 years old, or was I 13? Anyway, I was laying on the living room floor watching American Bandstand. Yep, Dick Clark, Rate-A-Record, the Spotlight Dance, coolness. It was summer, I remember it was August. Hot outside, air conditioning on inside. After the special guest got done (lip) singing his song, he walked over to Dick Clark for a little chat. I remember being very into his singing. I had one of his albums. So, I must have "dug" him, right? You betcha, I must have, because my glasses steamed up! I sat up, not believing what my eyes couldn't see! Was the singer so hot that he made my glasses steam up?! You betcha.

What made me remember this today? I saw him on television. No, not on an American Bandstand rerun. On a game show he was hosting. Who is he? You're dying to find out? I am embarrassed to say, to admit, it was Donny Osmond. Yes, the same Donny Osmond that was part of the Osmond Brothers. Part of Donny and Marie. Joseph in "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" from 1993 to 1997. Wikipedia describes Donny as a former teen idol. Was he? You betcha, he was. Dreamy sigh!

Did my glasses steam up today? I am embarrassed to say, to admit...

Turn around and you're a young man...

Tis the season, and recently in the mail I got a graduation announcement. The inside envelope was addressed to "Godmother Aunt Boni", which made it extra special to me. My baby brudder's oldest son is graduating from high school. I found myself wondering how this could be. It seems like such a short time ago I held him, while he was dressed in a little white tuxedo, at his parent's wedding.

Enclosed in the envelope, along with an invitation to his graduation party, were four pictures of my nephew. I pick them up frequently and look at them in amazement. When did he become a man? I've only been in Montana for 11 months, when did this phenomenon happen? He wasn't a man when I moved away, he was just a boy.

The song "Turn Around" came to mind, and I have been singing it ever since. I know the lyrics speak of a young girl becoming a woman, and then a mother. But, with a few substitutions, they are appropriate to my feeling towards my nephew. Seems each time he, or I, turned around he was two, then four, then a young man.

My nephew chose to graduate a year early. And through some, perhaps innocent-enough-at-the-time choices, he chose to become a man early too. My nephew has had a "big" year, for this year at the young age of 17, he became a father. The mother, a young girl/woman, is only 16. Their baby, a girl, by all generations of Grandparent's accounts is a bundle of joy. I have seen pictures of her, she is a beautiful baby. Spittin' image of my nephew, except with dark hair and eyes.

Soon my nephew will be moving to Minnesota, where his girlfriend and their daughter live. He will be getting a job, and.... Do 17 year olds plan that far in advance for their future? I shrug and say, "I don't know." I can only hope they have their eyes wide open for what the world will present to them, and long enough legs to jump the hurdles. No need to comment on the challenges they will face, I have thought of them all already. I hope they have too.

Turn around and you're a young man with a babe of your own.

Ripped from the headlines!

"Seasonal Yellowstone employees fired for abusing park's natural features"

At times, I don't pretend to understand human nature. I don't pretend to understand what made these men think it would be okay to pee in Old Faithful. I have been to Yellowstone NP several times in my life. Never once did I think old Faithful was a toilet. Never once did I feel it would be okay to be disrespectful of Mother Nature that way. All I can do is shake my head and wonder.

If you haven't read the story behind the headline, here is a link http://www.oregonlive.com/environment/index.ssf/2009/05/seasonal_yellowstone_employes.html

There was this one guy

I have mentioned on my blog before about my time on eHarmony. Today I want to talk a bit about one of my (too many) eHarmony matches.

He was from an eastern state, some 900 plus miles away. He was the one that initiated contact with me, by sending the first round of questions for me to answer. I don't know if I have mentioned this before, but all of my eHarmony matches were starting to look the same, no matter what their name was or where they were from. To me they looked like the same guy, wearing a different shirt. Not him, he was bald and had dark brown, almost black, eyes. That was refreshing, someone that didn't look like anyone else.

I'm not sure how familiar you are with the eHarmony process, so I'll give a little background. People are matched based on the 29 dimensions of their personality. That is determined by a long questionaire filled out at the time you first become a "member". Of course, everyone that answers the questions is honest (hold on, I coughed so hard I have water coming out of my nose). Okay, all better. Once you are matched with someone, eHarmony notifies you of the match. Either person can initiate contact, by sending the first round of questions. These are closed end, multiple choice questions. Next, there is the list of "must haves and can't stands". Those are things the other person is looking for in a "mate". Things they must have in a person, and things they can't stand! Then another round of questions, this time in open form, where you write essay answers. After that, if you make it to "open communication", Dr. Warren (the founder of eHarmony), sends you a warning to be careful, blah, blah blah. Open communication means e-mailing each other through eHarmony. Or, you can "fast track", which means you get the warning and start to communicating without the other stuff.

Anyway, back to him. He must have liked my answers, because we made it past Dr. Warren's warning to open communication. I liked his answers too, he seemed like a nice enough guy. After a few e-mails, I asked him if he wanted to communicate outside of the confines of eHarmony. He "suggested" that I do a Yahoo! search of his name, and decide if we would continue to communicate. I have to tell you, that was a first. I was curious. I knew our relationship wouldn't go any further, because I had no desire to move to the state he lived in. I always wanted to "go west young woman", to the mountains and the big sky. Like I said, he seemed like a nice guy. Intelligent, multiple degrees, no children, didn't want children, we had some things in common.

So, I Yahoo!ed him. When his name came up, I felt the blood drain from my heart, literally. I mean for more than a beat, there was NO blood in my heart. He had spent most of his life in prison, for killing three people when he was 19. Not an oh oops, I accidentally killed these people. No, he had, according to all of the articles I read, and I read every article I found, tied up, tortured and killed two people. A husband and wife. In cold blood. Shot at point blank range, in the head and face. The third person was killed when he came to investigate the "noises" he heard from the others being killed.

I found and read the original newspaper article from the night of the murders. I also found his mug shot picture. He and an accomplice broke into a home, with the intent of stealing. When the husband and wife woke up to investigate the noise, he tied them up. He beat them until they told him where they kept their stamp and coin collection. Then he shot them, point blank, in the head and face.

Shocked? I was too. Angry? Yep, me too. Wondering what he was doing on eHarmony? Another yep, me too. Did I stop communicating with he? Nope. I was curious. I have written in other posts about my law enforcement background. I was curious if there was such a thing as rehabilitation for someone that commits multiple murders. I was curious what made he tick.

So, he and I continued to communicate. He told me how he was down on his luck since getting out of prison. How he didn't have a car. How he didn't have a job. How he had to walk to see his parole officer. I told him how I had spent many years working for police departments, to deter him from asking me for money, or help, or whatever.

He would answer any question. I asked a lot of questions. At one point, he gave me his phone number. He told me to call anytime I felt like talking. That was not unusual really, a lot of my matches gave me their phone numbers once we got to open communication. I will be honest with you, e-mailing a person that had killed was not so bad. I could handle that. I had taken all the steps to protect my identity. I wasn't worried about that. I felt safe he was not going to break his parole to track me down in Wisconsin. BUT, calling someone that had murdered people and hearing their voice was something I could not do. Nope, I wasn't that curious.

Besides, there were things about him that irked me. He had told me he volunteered at a church. One of his supporters was a priest. His multiple degrees were in theology and religion. He "bragged" about having slept with three married women since he left prison. Said that was the only way for him to go, because he wasn't ready for a relationship. He encouraged me to come visit him. Wow! Here's me thinking, 'Oh sure, I'm going to go all the way to where he lives for a nooner, I don't think so!!'

Things irked me about his crime too. It wasn't enough that he had tortured and killed the poor husband and wife for their coin and stamp collection, he left some of the proceeds by their bodies!! He didn't even take it all!! When he was caught a few blocks away, he fought with police! He was sentenced to 25 years to life, and thought he should get out after 25 years, because the judge didn't say he would have life (a technicality?).

Did I write to eHarmony about him? No, I didn't. Why? Because, he had been honest. He didn't try to hide his past. He left the decision to communicate with him further up to me. Apparently tho, one of his other matches did write to eHarmony, because eHarmony sent me an e-mail advising me not to have contact with him. Then his profile was deleted from eHarmony. I stopped writing to him because I was no longer curious.

"When..

..did I stop being wonderful?" she asked softly. She must not have noticed I was sitting on the park bench. I know she was not asking me the question, really.

I studied her sadness. She was an attractive woman in her 50's. Her hair, gray at the roots, hung in a messy halo around her head. She stared with eyes darkened by the shadowy places her soul must have taken her. "Friends used to tell me I was wonderful," she continued, a frown on her wax lips, "now there are no friends." She turned and looked through me. "Does that mean I am not wonderful anymore?" she asked. Again, not really asking me. There was an awkwardness that is usually felt when a stranger bares themselves. You don't know what to say, so you say nothing. I watched, in stunned silence, as she walked away.

I have been thinking about this one sided conversation for a while. The woman seemed as tho she had not become un-wonderful. No, instead she seemed to have temporarily lost her wonderfulness. It was as tho when she stared, she were searching for it. Playing hide and seek with the wonderful parts of her. The parts hiding behind her shadowy soul.

I wondered too if a person is only wonderful because other people say they are. Or, are they wonderful just because they are. Know what I mean? Do you have to hear you are wonderful, to be wonderful? I'm thinking not.

If I see this woman again, per chance, sitting on the park bench, I am going to tell her she is wonderful. As wonderful as she ever was.

mymy

then when he met her
his first thought was my my
seeing into the electric magic

from her many flavors of passion
the scent of the flavor of pleasure
bringing a neverending connecting

the shape of her voice teasing into laughter
like a circling of spirits whispering his name
a softness of colors opening some dreaming

holding and belonging are more than wants
like rocking the cradle that stopped rocking
the reassurance of being more than we are

from the many flavors of passion
pleasure is a blessing blessing blessed
this gift of life is about more than pain

the flavor of feelings feeling safe feeling
dimensioning realities of being apparent
safe in being seen being seen being seen

unhungering the elusive hungers
as simple as a holding of hands
or good thoughts thinking good

she turns his world around
sweeting him with her flavors
in the blessing blessing blessed
he calls her mymy

John Trudell

Scars, marks and tattoos

Okay, I know what you are thinking, here she goes with the police lingo again. While we did have to enter scars, marks and tattoos as descriptors when entering wanted or missing people, or unidentified bodies, I'm not talking about that now. Instead I am talking about well, scars, marks and tattoos.

I have acquired many scars in my life time. You know the usual scraped knee, doink in the head, cut chin from falling up the stairs. The biggest are on my belly from a hysterectomy 11 years ago. The marks of course would be freckles and birthmarks, or an occasional bruise. Same as anyone else for sure.

Barb has a rose tattooed on her breast. Many years ago, my baby brudder had his children's faces tattooed on his chest, over his heart. His daughter doesn't look good with a beard. My dad got a tattoo on his forearm when he was in the Navy during WWII, (he now regrets it). A friend of mine that is a sheriff's deputy has a gun tattooed on her ankle. I knew a woman with multiple tattoos, on her upper arms, forearms and chest. She was a biker chick, with her own Harley. Cool. One time I saw a picture of a woman, that was a breast cancer survivor, with the tattoo of a vine on her mastectomy scar. It was beautiful.

I have always wanted to get a "tat". Years ago, I designed one for myself. I just can't figure out where to put it on my body that I can look at it too. I don't like the idea of having a tattoo on my forearm, that seems to masculine for me. The tattoo I designed is not big or garish, but rather simple in its beauty. A heart shaped Earth centered on a medicine wheel, the colors of the four directions. A symbol of my Spiritual path, that like my Spiritual beliefs will not fade.

I know, I know, tattoos mark you forever. Will I still want it when I am in my 100's? How will it look when I am dressed up? How will it look when I start to sag (more)? There are a lot of pros and cons. Believe me a lot of time will be spent making the final decision. Once I figure out where to put my "tat", I will post a picture here on my blog.

Kids can be so darn mean!

I don't know what it is about a funny sounding last name, that makes kids want to make fun of it. My last name is such a name. Let me tell you at times school was brutal! Most of the time the kids would use the word "stinker" when making fun. Stinker this, and stinker that. I guess kids will be kids, and after a while I got used to it.

That was until one horrifying Halloween. I remember I was in elementary school. Mom was a room mother, and had brought cupcakes for the class party. She also brought our costumes to change into. I had no idea what we were going to be, not a clue. Imagine, if you can, how I felt when Mom pulled out a homemade skunk costume for me to put on! Yep, you guessed it black tights, a black leotard with white cotton batting down the back and a tail made of black cloth, white cotton batting and wire. Oh yes, wire to make the tail curl up my back. It had to look realistic, right? It did not comfort me that Mom wore a skunk costume too, not that day it didn't.

Stinker! Skunk! Oh what would the kids say then? I was mortified! I wanted to run. I wanted to burrow! I wanted to hide! "How," I asked myself, "how could Mom do this to me?" A skunk! I don't want to be a skunk! I don't want to be a stinker! Ahhhhhhh! Sure, sure, laugh if you will. Go ahead. Even I can laugh about that dreadful Halloween now.

My last name is German (I suppose that is because I am German), and the English translation is simple and pretty. As Mom always said, "Anyone can be a Smith or Jones, but it takes someone special to be a stinker."

I'm smiling, because we are sisters

Barb, me, Betty photo taken on our home planet!

I'm laughing my dupa off, because they can't do anything about it!

What's become of the English language?

I don't profess to be the best writer or speaker of the English language, nope not me. Lately tho, I find myself wondering what the heck some people are saying. I don't think it is my age that makes it harder for me to understand what is being written in this age of technology. I'm too young for that!

Years ago, when I worked for police departments as a dispatcher we used 10 codes. 10-44 meant an officer was asking for lunch. 10-50PI meant a car accident with injuries. 10-99 meant a person was wanted or a car was stolen. My all time favorite was 10-96 which meant mental case. I always liked to try to speak English as much as I could, and not use the 10 codes. For example instead of saying 10-4, which meant okay, I would just say okay. Seemed simple enough to me.

Now days, Barb, Betty and I meet on a game site to play games with and against each other. This way, if one of us gets upset the others don't have to worry about us taking our toys and leaving. There's no throwing fits, or threatening to tell Mommy. It has been a great way to be together across the miles.

On this game site there is a "chat" feature, not unlike Yahoo! Instant Messenger, or text messaging on a cell phone. Sometimes I join these "chats", to let everyone know the weather in my corner of Montana, or to talk about family, or to tease Betty and Barb. You know, just to be part of the community. I like to write full words when I chat. None of this yqw (you're quite welcome), or tyvm (thank you very much). If I want to tell someone thank you, I do by writing it out. There are exceptions, such as lol, or lmao, I will use those.

There have been many times I scratch my head in wonderment at what is being written. I just can't figure out what the string of letters means. In those instances I don't say much at all. I could be giving away the farm or something. I've said yes to many a thing I should have said no to, because I didn't hear a person right in the first place. Who hasn't? Recently, I found an alphabetized list of what the string of letters mean, eight pages worth! I think I am going to stick to writing my words out. I'd hate to make someone angry at me, because I read ns to mean no sh**, instead of what it does mean "nice score".

So, afaic I wstwmwo, or I might become 10-96! Kwim?

What an awesome responsibility

We have to the children in our lives.

I had decided in my teens, that if I didn't have children by the time I was 25, I was not going to have children. I can understand, to some degree, why this upset people. One man I worked with told me my choice could be keeping the world from knowing the next Albert Einstein, or the person to discover a cure for some dreaded disease. He wondered how I could make that decision.

For me it was an easy choice. A selfish choice perhaps. One reason was because I didn't want the responsibility of my child looking up at me, to be told everything would be okay, then having everything not be okay. I know, I know, disappointments are a part of life. Do they have to start at a young age?

Another reason is that I never felt I was "mother" material. The motherly instinct stuff always seemed to be missing from me. I know to wipe a child's nose, and such. I guess I just never aspired to be a mom. I was always okay with my decision.

The other day, I heard a father say to his crying child, "You want to cry? I don't care, I'll give you a reason to cry." Wow! I wondered how often the little boy heard that. How sad. Then I hoped the little boy is shown enough love from the rest of the family, to offset the negative energy he gets from his father. How many years of therapy will that child go through when he is an adult? Even more importantly, how will he be with his own children?

Children should be innocent. They should laugh and play, and be. We as parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, care givers, or whatever authority figure we are, have a responsibility to the children in our lives. To teach them right from wrong, teach them to tie their shoes, teach them the A-B-C's and 1-2-3's, etc. We are to protect them, not hurt them. They are little souls, little people, that will grow up to be big people who have learned and watched and lived what we have taught them. They need us to love them unconditionally and fully.

I can do it, can you?

Yet another wonders of technology story

Since I moved to Montana, every once in a while, I type my nephew Cole's name into Yahoo! to check on his wrestling progress, (it's not that I don't hear from the folks back home how he is doing, I just like seeing his name on the 'net). Imagine my surprise, the other day, when I clicked on a search result and watched a video of Cole wrestling! I beamed with pride! If anyone would have been here with me, they would have heard me squeal with glee! For on my monitor was my Cole-e!

Cole and his brother, Dallas, are natural athletes. Since they were small, I have marveled at their athletic prowess. Cole also plays football, both offense and defense. For the longest time he wanted to grow up to be a Green Bay Packer. Of course, that would have come after he played football for the UW Madison Badgers.

Last I heard, Cole has a new sports dream, of being on the 2012 Olympic wrestling team. Wow is right! I believe Cole is well on his way. I know I will be there to cheer him on. Go Cole!!

Pardon me

If I slurrr my words during this post. It's the smell of the daffodils-in-a-glass that is soooo intoxicating!

When I lived in Wisconsin, and something happened to my folks, I was the one that called family members to deliver the "news". I always went in birth order, oldest to youngest. That system just seemed right to me. I always wondered what it would be like to be on the other end of the call. You know, to be the one hearing the "news".

When I moved to Montana I wondered who would take over the helm of making those sometimes dreadful calls. I knocked wood, because I hadn't received such a call to find out. Well until Easter Sunday, when Betty called. Turns out Mom was in the hospital, because she had gotten light headed. The hospital staff did tests, and Mom was admitted for an over night stay. The doctor recommended Mom check into some type of "assisted living".

I talked to both Mom and Dad at length. Mom says that as long as Dad is there to take care of her, she is not going to check into assisted living. Dad says he will not let her do anything, he will take care of her. How lucky a man and a woman to have a love like that.

And it's the intoxicating smell of the daffodils-in-a-glass, that will for now keep me from thinking of the next phone call with "news".

What do you mean I'm cranky?

If ever there were a man

That could knock me down and drag me away by my hair, while he yells obscenities... that man would be Billy Idol!

Oh how my heart melts when I look at his spiked blond hair, and the sneer on his lips! Pardon me while I compose myself.

I've been a fan for some 20 plus years. I saw Billy Idol in concert twice. The first time, after the show, he walked out on the ledge of the building naked to tell the fans goodbye (yeah, right). The second time was in a bigger arena, outdoors. I was all punked out, wearing my sleeveless, torn Billy Idol t-shirt. Ahhh, the memory.

I can't explain what it is about Billy that makes me swoon. Maybe it is because of his "bad boy" image. You know, the kind of guy your momma warns you about. Or, is it the tight leather pants? The six pack abs? The penetrating look in his eyes (when he doesn't look wasted)? I can't say for sure. Even in his 50's, he's just sooo....

To think too much about what makes Billy Idol my magic man would take the mystery out of it. And I am just a silly school girl, with a silly school girl crush, that doesn't want the mystery debunked.

Rows and flows of angel hair

Where I work out, besides having lots of eye candy, they have boxes you plug your own earphones into, to hear different kinds of music, or to listen to one of four televisions hanging on the wall. "Both Sides Now" by Judy Collins was one of the songs that played.

At work when I listen to some of the older songs on the Muzak, I wonder how they ever became "hits". You know, songs like "Take A Letter Maria", about a man having his secretary take a letter to send to his wife saying he is leaving. Then asking the secretary for a date. Or, "Band Of Gold", where a woman waits in a a lonely room on her honeymoon, for her man to return. What was/is their appeal?

To me, "Both Sides Now" is a timeless song. A song that can relate to at anytime of your life. It's life's illusions, I recall, I really don't know life at all.

A woman's poem

Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man who's not a creep,
One who's handsome, smart and strong.
One who loves to listen long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I pray he's rich and self-employed,
And when I spend, won't be annoyed.
Pull out my chair and hold my hand.
Massage my feet and help me stand.
Oh send a king to make me queen.
A man who loves to cook and clean.
I pray this man will love no other.
And relish visits with my mother.

My dad is a funny man

I don't mean in an odd way. I believe he is where I get my love of laughter, and laughing.

Dad has been a member of the Masonic Lodge for well over 50 years. Being a Mason is a passion of his. Dad is also a member of Eastern Star, and was an "Uncle" to the girls in Jobs Daughters.

Dad was an over the road truck driver until our baby brudder was born, then he went into management. He also drove Greyhound bus for sometime, well before I was born. Dad loves to tell the story of how he drove the team bus for the Green Bay Packers. After the first year, the team requested Dad be their driver.

If Dad had his way, all five of his children would live at home. I think that comes from his not being home but on weekends for the four oldest. Earning a living and making good for his family, meant being away during the week. Home only on weekends. He would give of himself for all of us, and that is an awesome kind of love to experience.

Dad loves Mom like nothing he has ever loved in his life. Still to this day, he says he never believed he could love anyone as much as he loves Mom. I truly believe that if Mom passes away before Dad, that he won't be far behind. Not because of frail health, but from a broken heart.

My mom is an ass kicker

I'm not talking about the "you're momma wears Army boots" kind either!

Several years ago Mom fell and broke her back. Her bones in her spine were too brittle to do surgery, so she spent many weeks in a rigid plastic brace. Barb came up from Florida to help with Mom's care. It was during that time Barb discovered lumps in the armpit area under Mom's left arm.

The clinic system in the neighboring town was using rent-a-doctors. The one that told Mom she had cancer was leaving the next day to go back to Florida. The doctor told us Mom had breast cancer, and showed us an x-ray with several white dots on it. The doctor said she would make arrangements for Mom to see an oncologist at a clinic about a 40 mile drive away, then she would be back to answer questions. The doctor never came back!

Mom had a wonderful oncologist. A young German doctor, that was tall and thin. When Mom walked next to him, she looked like a little girl. The correct diagnosis was very advanced lung cancer. The tumor was inoperable in Mom's right lung, and the cancer had spread to the lymph nodes on her left side, including those in her neck. That meant a chance the cancer had spread to her brain. After several tests and surgery to remove the cancerous lymph nodes, it was determined Mom's cancer had not spread to her brain or other vital organs. Finally a sort of sigh of relief.

During the consultations with the oncologist, he talked to Mom about what kind of treatments she would undergo. Mom agreed to chemo, and told the doctor she was going to "kick cancer's ass." She did too!

Three years later, Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer in her left breast. Doctors made it clear that this was a new cancer, not the lung cancer coming back. Again, Mom was determined to win the battle. Only this time, she would have to fight along side a new oncologist (the German doctor had moved on).

Mom was told she had to have chemo (again), because they didn't have a way of knowing if the breast cancer had spread. You see, because they had removed the lymph nodes when she had lung cancer, they had no nodes to test.

If I wondered the first time Mom went through chemo, I wondered it even more the second time....how does someone make the decision to poison themselves? That what chemo is. I watched in awe as the nurse put a chemical into Mom's veins that was so caustic if it touched human skin it would cause severe burns. Again I wondered, how does someone make that decision.

At one point, Mom got so sick from the chemo that she was hospitalized. The next time we went to the oncologist, while we waited for the doctor to come into the room, I told her that if she didn't want to take the treatments, she didn't have to. It was her call. Mom's answer was to the point, "Why would I stop, I've come this far?" For a second time, Mom kicked cancer's ass!

Both of my folks have amazing attitudes when it comes to fighting diseases like cancer. They take it in stride, almost as if they don't know anything but to put one foot in front of the other. What amazing parents to have.

A never ending love story

Through the wonders of the Internet, tonight I talked with the events coordinator at Truman's Little White House in Key West, Florida. During our conversation, he suggested that someone video tape my parents telling stories of the olden days. Of their youth. Of their time together.

My parents met when my mom was 15 1/2 and dad was 17. Mom had been out with a friend of hers, that was my dad's cousin, Vi. My dad's oldest brother was with the group. My dad went to find them. If I remember correctly, drinking was involved. Dad gave Mom a ride home. He said he kissed her goodnight, and watched her stagger to the door. He was in love.

When Dad got home that night, he told his mother he had met the girl he was going to marry. Grandma asked who the girl was, and when Dad told her Mom's name her reaction was, "The Hell you are!" Seems years earlier Grandpa had been a witness at a wedding, where the bride was very pregnant. The couple getting married had the same last name as Mom. Grandma thought that very pregnant bride was Mom's mother.

Only after Grandma interrogated Mom about her lineage were Mom and Dad allowed to go on their first date, partridge hunting. Grandma's mind was eased, because Grandpa had been witness to one of Mom's aunt and uncle's weddings. The unborn child in attendance was Mom's cousin. Grandma loved Mom too.

After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Dad lied his age to join the Navy. He was stationed in Hawaii, as a mechanic. He has told me he wrote letters to Mom everyday, as a way of being able to talk to her. Mom was still in high school, and she proudly wore Dad's pin in her school picture. It was in one of those many letters that Dad says he proposed to Mom, then eagerly awaited her answer. He knew she would have to talk to her father first.

On September 1st, 1945, my parents were married. Dad wore his Navy uniform, and because of silk rationing, Mom wore a gray flannel suit. The older brother Mom had been with the night my folks met was the best man, and one of Mom's good friends was maid of honor. Dad didn't get discharged from the Navy right away. Mom has reminisced about taking the bus to California, to live with her new husband.

Over a span of 18 years, Mom and Dad had 5 children. When my youngest brother was born, during the Viet Nam war, my oldest brother was in the Navy, on an aircraft carrier. I can still remember him coming home to a baby brudder.

My brothers and sisters have given Mom and Dad 11 grandchildren. Some of those grandchildren, to date, have given Mom and Dad seven great-grandchildren. The tribe, I'm sure, will continue to grow. The oldest great-grandchild is a young woman of 16, the youngest a little over a month old.

Mom and Dad's story is not a unique one, it was repeated thousands of times by their generation. What awes me still is their never ending love for each other. Dad still gets tears in his eyes when he talks of his love for Mom. And she, when the lights are out and no one else can hear, will tell him how much she loves him.

I've always had

an irrational fear of thin lips. Not on any one else, but on me. I believe most people have an irrational fear of something, so it's not unusual, right?

My parents used to have full lips. Over the years of raising five kids, and many challenges, their lips have become thin and drawn....tight. I believe that is where my fear comes from. I don't want that to happen to me.

Lately, on the internet there is a bombardment of ads for lip plumpers, volumizers, enchancers, glosses, etc. Many celebrities are getting their lips "plumped". Perhaps they have the same irrational fear I have. They have inspired me to do something, to make sure my irrational fear does not come true. So, I checked my savings, counted my piggy bank and saw how much I had in my checking account. You know, kind of pooled my resources, to get the best that I could afford.

Somedays you're the windshield...

....some days you're the bug.

Eye candy

I joined a health and fitness club a couple of weeks ago. I hadn't seriously worked out since I moved to Montana. That is quite a change from the 1 1/2 hours four times a week I used to do. I love to work out. My main focus has always been resistance training, with aerobics being second. I do two days of upper body and two days of lower body, followed by aerobics, and one day of just aerobics. Gives my muscles time to rest and repair themselves. To date, the routine has not made me a muscle bound babe.

The "club" I joined has some serious equipment for muscle work. Ladies, let me tell you some of the muscle bound cowboys I have seen! Goodness!! The other day after a good lower body work out, I got on a Tread Climber for my aerobics. I'd like to think it was how tired my legs were that made my knees buckle, but that would be a fib. It had to be the hunk of an Adonis that walked by at just that moment.

When I was on eHarmony, it seemed every match I communicated with asked me what I found physically attractive in a man. I guess number one would be a pulse! Nah, that's not it. I always gave the same answer, "When I look at a man I look at his hands, hair and teeth first. If they look good, then I'll look at the rest of the person. Of course, he could have strong muscular hands, nice thick hair (or, lately even a shaved head is appealing) and nice teeth, but if he has a bad personality then none of what I am looking at is attractive. The entire package is part of the attraction, not just the physical." Then I would add that it doesn't hurt if he looks good walking away in a pair of Levi's.

Really though, I am not into eye candy. I'm more into substance. A good sense of humor, intelligence, common sense, honesty, being true to oneself so you can be true to others, and being down to earth are among the things I look for.

Although I am not ready to jump yet, I always like to look. Like I said it doesn't hurt if he looks good walking away in a pair of Levi's, dreamy sigh!

Granny's kisses must be magic

Every day through the wonders of technology, I visit with my sisters. We video chat at some point in the day. This week on two occasions Barb has been watching her grandchildren. Their reaction to the webcam is funny, and Barb's reaction to them is even funnier.

The other day the oldest, four year old Cody, cut his hand on a window. It was Granny's love and kisses that made those cuts all better. Then there is Logan, who comes to Granny crying his little heart out, over some hurt that you would think can't be fixed with Granny's love. Several Granny kisses later, and there are no signs of injury, and he is back playing. The same is true with Barb's little Princess Savannah. Granny kisses and a song help Savannah fall to sleep. I watched the magic repeatedly!

This morning while Barb and I were visiting, Logan came crying into the room. He was so in need of Granny kisses to make the owwie all better. This time however, there were no magic kisses to be delivered from Granny's lips. For you see, Logan had hurt his dupa, and Granny said she had to draw the line somewhere......she isn't going to kiss anybody's butt!

Then I saw his face

I thought love was only true in fairy tales
Meant for someone else but not for me.
Love was out to get me
that's the way it seemed.
Disappointment haunted all my dreams.

Then I saw his face..........
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeaahhhh

There was something in his shy smile, and twinkle in his smiling eyes. I felt I knew him. His name was Gerald.

The more I got to know Gerald, the more I felt he was Milton. I can't explain it really. I told Gerald about the Milton Quest. I told him I believed he was Milton. Gerald told me he was Milton. He signed his love notes "Milton". I was happy to have finally found him, and the quest would be over. The quest I had invested so many years in, was finally over.

So, I ask again, what to do when the quest ends?

The quest to find the crystal

I met with Steve in Big Springs. There was no chemistry there. When he walked into the room all I saw was Yertl the Turtle without his shell on. He was an old acting man of 51, with eyes that didn't look at me when we talked. From our hours of conversation, I knew he was not Milton after all.

I continued my journey to Colorado, to get the Milton Quest crystal. In the back of my mind I wondered if the crystal would still be on the rock shelf I had left in on so many years before. I have to tell you, Pikes Peak Highway, near the top above the tree line, scares the crap out of me. But, I braved the drive anyway.

When I got to mile marker 17, I found they had done roadwork over the years. The rock shelves I remembered were no longer there. No rock shelves meant no crystal. It was gone. Maybe somewhere at the bottom of the bottomless pit.

That did not, however, mean the quest was over.....not at all.

Say what?

Words are very powerful, wouldn't you agree? Whether they be spoken, written, gestured, acted out, whispered, or not said at all. Even a brilliant mind could be silenced by hearing it were stupid enough times, and an angelic voice silenced by criticism.

I'm sorry, is a bouquet of words. I hate you, a million daggers.

We, each of us, are responsible for our words. I wonder if we know how powerful they can be to a small child looking for acceptance, a lover looking for affirmation or an elderly person awaiting permission to say a final goodbye.

The other day I was told, "Nobody likes you." The person telling me this was a friend(?). At the time the words stung me. They came from out of the blue. From nowhere my rational mind can think of. I felt like I was back on the playground in elementary school. That's kid's stuff.

The words still sting me, but not as bad. I know they are not true. But, they have been uttered, and cannot be taken back. I know that person does not speak for the every bodies and somebodies that are out there. She can only speak, it seems, for the nobodies.

Why, you may be asking, didn't I turn around?

Maybe, I was afraid of who I might see. That was my main reason at the time. I didn't know Milton then. We hadn't met yet. So turning around I wouldn't have recognized him. Of course it would not have been a person standing there, but the essence of the man. The spirit of the man. I knew the quest would continue.

And continue it did. I went to other psychics, (not only for guidance on the quest). Some said I would probably have to move to the Springs area, because that was where the crystal was. Believe me, I toyed with the idea, for many years. I also looked into moving to the Pagosa Springs area.

Over the years I would feel Milton's presence. I was sure I would know him when I met him, there would be a spark. I dated, fell in love, fell out of love, all the things that go with love. Always open to who Milton could be. Always wondering if he would walk in the door, or be right around the corner. Not a love at first sight kind of thing, but a place of knowing kind of thing.

Going on eHarmony was part of the quest. That led to a trip back to Colorado, to retrieve the crystal. Along the way I stopped in Big Springs, Nebraska. To meet a Milton potential.

Let's see....

...where was I? Oh, yeah, the Quest.

One year Bandit and I took a road trip to Colorado. We ended up in the Springs area. I had been there years earlier. I lliked the area. Besides, Josephine had seen Milton standing on a rock, and Colorado had the Rocky Mountains. It was worth a try.

That was the first time I drove to the top of Pikes Peak. If I ever go back up there, I want to be a passenger! Yikes! Let's just say it wasn't a good time for Bandit to want play fetch! On the way back down from the top of Pikes Peak, I stopped at mile marker 17, also known as the "Bottomless Pit" area. I'm not sure why I thought that was the place to stop, but it was a pretty part of the highway. I did a short beseechment ceremony, and left the Milton Quest crystal there.

Bandit and I were camped at the bottom of the "Peak", we could see it from our campsite. That night, I did a ceremony asking for help, on my quest, from the four directions, Creator, Mother Earth, my guardian angels, etc. That was the first time I felt Milton standing behind me.

I didn't turn to look.

Do you see what I see?

This is a picture of the undersea volcano, that is erupting off of the coast of Tonga. I see something in this picture that may be a symbol of Mother Earth's fury. Do you see it too?

What to do when the quest ends?

Many years ago, I went to a psychic. Among the things he told me were the initials of my "happily ever after man". M.B. or B.M. Said he couldn't get a clearer picture. At that moment began the quest, the Milton Quest.

A friend had given me a crystal that was shaped like two crystals joined together. I dubbed it the Milton Quest crystal. One time, I let another friend hold the crystal. Her name was Josephine. Josephine was an angel on earth! She was older than my father, and was a psychic and healer. While holding the crystal, Josephine saw "Milton". She said she saw him standing on a rock, waiting for me.

I took the crystal with me the first time I went to Glacier. On one of the trails there was a fallen tree, along Avalanche Creek, that you could cross and be on a kind of sand bar. After sitting and just being for a while, I found a broken tree, did a beseechment ceremony and placed the crystal on the broken end of the tree. In the ceremony I asked for help on my "quest". I left the crystal overnight, and retrieved it the next morning.

I'll continue this later, for now I am sleepy. It really is an interesting story.

A bittersweet memory...

...that makes me smile.

Today on the way to work, I was following a Volkswagen four door. Inside the car was the driver, and her dog. The dog looked to be a husky or malamute, and when I first saw the car he was in the back seat. After a few wags of his tail, he was in the front seat. When we stopped for a traffic light, I saw the owner reach over and roll down the passenger side window, so her friend could get some air. I thought, 'Hey that's cool. If that was me, I'd pet that dog right now.' With that the owner did just that, she scratched her dog's head.

I got a little nostalgic as I watched them. Many years ago I got a used dog, a husky named Bandit (see my slide show tribute to him). When I got him, I had a four door Honda, fully equipped. He would sit in the back seat and his head would be in the front. One time we were going someplace, and Bandit was sitting in the front seat. I scratched his head, and then tiiimmmmber, he fell sideways and laid his head on my shoulder.

When Bandit looked at me, and then looked at the window, I knew it was time to hit the power button to roll the window down for him. If it was hot enough for the air conditioning to be on, he had his nose right at the vent.

It didn't take me long to realize that Bandit was too big for my little Honda, so I went out and got him a bigger Honda. Not fully equipped! You should have seen the look on his face when I came home with our SUV. Pure joy! A truck with rooms for him to play in. And play we did. When we went on road trips, we'd play fetch. I'd throw the ball to the back cargo area, and he'd jump over seats to retrieve it. Then drop it on the front seat to play some more. We had miles of fun for sure.

When Bandit looked at me, and then looked at the window I had to apologize to him. There were no more power buttons to roll down the window, and I couldn't reach while driving. I think he gave me some dirty looks. Didn't matter, because they were always followed by smoochies!

Sadly, I had to put Bandit to sleep. He had inoperable liver cancer. They found the cancer by doing an operation! Bandit was a most awesome pal, friend, and confidant. I never knew if he was a good protector, no one got close enough to find out. Everyone seemed to think he was a wolf. I'll see you over the rainbow bridge bud, have fun playing fetch 'til then.

Be careful what you wish for

Who hasn't heard that saying?!

When I was little my mom became pregnant. There was already a boy and three girls in the family, so Betty, Barb and I yearned for a baby brother. Our house was a split level, and at the top of the up stairs there hung a picture of Jesus, kneeling by a rock, praying. Every night, for nine months, Betty, Barb and I would kneel at the picture of Jesus, and pray for a baby brother. I think on Sundays we prayed more than once, because it was go to church day. There were nights Barb and I would even fall asleep, holding hands, praying for a boy!

You guessed it, we got what we "wished" for. A baby brudder! Who has become a green-eyed monster!

One year for his birthday, I told my baby brudder his gift from me would be that I wouldn't call him baby brudder anymore. I must be an Indian giver, because I have taken that gift back.

The moral? Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it, and want to send it back.

Hiding

We all hide behind something, a picture, words, a smile, laughter, tears.

Are we afraid of what would happen if we came out from behind the picture, words, smile....? Are we afraid of our vulnerabilities? Afraid of rejection?

I started this blog as a kind of therapy. I had been hurt down to my soul, to the very core of me. I needed something to talk to....that didn't hear my sobs. There were words and actions said and done by Gerald, that haunt me. Things I wouldn't think another could say or do to someone they had loved. Things I have told no one. And, no matter how many times I sing in my head, sometimes they sing louder.

I have been told to forget him, he's no good. I think anyone reading this blog can agree he is not a good person. I don't miss Gerald. I miss being a we. I used to love being a me by myself. I used to go through life so easily, doing things as a me. Now I just tire easily.

I have been told to focus on the future. I can do that, truly. I know someday I will be over this hurt. That the scars on my soul will fade. That the core of me will be okay. I have already experienced more good days than bad. And, I know they will only get better. After all, I am living in Montana!

As for me, I used to hide behind 45 extra pounds, and hair down to the small of my back. I don't miss those things. I don't mind being exposed. And, now I am hiding less behind my smile and laughter. And I think myself only human, to have good days and bad days.

I know I have ranted and rambled in this post. But you know what? A day that started out a bad day, is turning into a good day after all. Therapy at less than whatever an hour!

Ah, the simplest of pleasures

I just took a deliciously, relaxingly hot bath! I had bought a new bubble bath today, just for the occasion, Vanilla Noir. I now smell like Madagascan vanilla, whiff, mmmmm.

I enjoy the simple pleasures in life. The smell of a forest. Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy. To be kissed by the sun, and caressed by the wind. A bouquet of fresh picked dand-e-lions. A smile. Laughter. Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry.

One time I was walking back to work from doing errands. I looked in the sky and saw three eagles soaring, and playing on the thermals. Two of the eagles must have been a pair, because they locked talons and began a free fall waltz of love toward the ground. After a few moments, they unlocked talons and began to fly back up, to play on the thermals again. I cried. I can't even count the number of times I have almost crashed my truck, looking up at the sky, watching eagles.

I am a bath person. I wasn't always. Then about a year and a half ago, I started to take baths again. There is something about the sound of running water, that is music to my ears. I have an awesome bathtub where I live. It is nice and deep. I can fill it enough so that only my face is out of the water. I'm not sure if being in the tub takes me back to the time I was in the womb, or not. I just know that I feel warm, safe and secure while I am in there. An hour long bath is not unusual.

Sunshine on the water looks so lovely. Another pleasure is the sound of waves lapping up on the shore of Lake McDonald, in Galcier NP. When I was there a few weeks ago, I made a movie of just that very thing. I can look at it and smile. Sunshine almost always makes me high.