Up way too early.
Screaming headache.
Too much sugar and not enough love.
Trying to fill the void with everything else
And none of it works quite so well.

So like I said, I was in bed, see? And I was all snuggled up under my covers. The air conditioner was humming in the background, blowing cold air in my face as I watched TV, see? The room was dark but for the flickering lights from the tube. It was so very quiet except for, well, you know, the TV!

I was alone...

Suddenly, there in the shadows on the ceiling, something moving. Flying. It was so big! Round and round in circles over my head, over the television, under the ceiling light. What could it be? All I saw was wings barely fluttering. I threw my covers over my head and screamed as loud as I could, "JOOOOOOOOE!"

He didn't hear me.

I screamed again, "JOOOOOOOOE!" even louder (if that was possible). I thought I heard him coming to the bedroom door.

I screamed once more, "JOOOOOOOOE!"

The bedroom door flew open. "WHAT!" he shouted. I shouted back, "There's something flying around the room!"

"It's a bird." he responded.

I asked, still hiding under my covers, "Are you sure it isn't a BAT?"

He looked again. "It IS a bat! How did a bat get in here?"

"I don't know. Can you throw something over it?"

"I'll try." "Wait, I know, I'll open the window and chase him out." So Joe opened the window and chased the bat around the room a few times without any progress. Then I said, "The broom is just outside the bedroom door." He got the broom. No use. I asked again, "Can't you throw this little blanket over it?"

I then ventured a little peek out from under the covers and saw the bat in the light. "Poor little thing", I said with sympathy. Just about that time, the poor little thing was headed in the direction of my head. I ducked back under the covers.

Then it hit me. "You can use your pool net." I shouted to Joe.

"That's a good idea!"

He went out the door to the back deck and grabbed his pool net. Swoosh. Nothing. Swoosh, again! Still, no bat. Swoosh, once more. I heard Joe shout, "I got him!" Bang. He smacked the pool net onto the window sill. "He's out! He grabbed onto the net and closed his wings. Then I stuck the net out the window and tapped till he flew off!"

"O, thank you!" I said giving him a hug.

We both wondered how he had gotten in. Probably that tiny space still open between the air conditioner and the window frame. We'll never know for sure.

But we really don't care, see?

Yes. This is all true. It happened last night (8-5-08) after 10pm. And we haven't seen the bat since!

Swoosh!

Sadly, my Mom isn't with us anymore, but I will always remember her for so many different reasons. I remember when my older brother was a young child (I being old enough to remember this and he being 3 years older than me). Our Mom was giving him the 'what for' when he said to her, "I hate you." I thought Heaven and Earth were going to explode in an angry tirade (actually, my Mom). There was a tiny moment of silence. Then in the softest voice she responded, "But I love you."

I must have been 5 or 6 when this happened, but I will never forget it. I thought Mom was going to knock my brother across the room and scream some obscenity at him. But all she said was, "But I love you".

Once when I was 14, I had awakened from a bad dream. Mom came in to see if I was alright. I told her what happened. Now, at 14 the world is changing and things are crazy all the time. A young teenager can get the feeling that her parents are monsters because one won't talk to her much and the other just gets on her case all the time. But in that moment after I told my Mom I had a bad dream, she put her arms around me, pulled me up onto her lap (no small thing then) and rocked me like a baby. I cannot describe the shear feeling of shock and comfort I felt all rolled into one.

When I married at 19 and went to live with my husband in a strange town away from my family, I talked about my family now and then. Or so I thought. One day while relating some story, I stopped for a breath or maybe the story was finished. My husband looked at me and asked, "Why do you talk about your Mother all the time?" I thought to myself, "I don't". But he was right. I guess I just loved her so much.

Now my own boys are grown. Well, 2 of them. My Christopher died at the age of 20. That was soon to be 15 years ago. Last night my youngest son came to visit. I want to do everything for him. He appears to be amazed at this at times. But I love him. And his brothers, too. I want all my boys to feel the love I have for them the way I felt my own Mother's love.

And even though Chris has been gone for such a long time, I get horribly weepy this time of the year. You see, he was born on August 7, 1973. So in about 8 more days it be the day of his birth. He would have been 35 years old. His own son turned 15 this year. But Chris will never get to see him grow up.

I remember the day after Chris was born. The nurse would not bring him to me. She kept putting me off with excuses. Then the other woman in the room was given her baby, but when I asked about mine, another excuse. The morning was getting late. My husband came to visit. I told him the nurse was refusing to bring me my baby. By that time I thought he must have died. Suddenly a nurse comes in with a baby and hands him to me. Now, this is the point where most parents say they counted fingers and toes. Not me. I was so happy my little boy was alive I didn't care if his arms and legs were missing. (They weren't.)

Two days later, we brought our new little boy home. Back then I was scared to death about Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. This was always on my mind because five infant male cousins of mine (in the same family-now that I think of it, it could have been murder) died when I was just a kid. They were all ruled as crib death, which was the term used in the 50's and 60's.

So I watched my little boy day and night always checking to see if he was breathing. He was conceived at a time when I thought I was unable to have children. Which added to my anxiety. But Crigofer (how he said his own name) made it past the first two years. The next 18 were filled with more anxieties over a multitude of different things. And Chris grew. He was a free child. Emotionally outspoken and hard for others to deal with. But he was my son and I loved him. Sometimes others could not understand that. But I didn't care.

One day when he was 20, he called me on the phone. It was a pleasant conversation and I walked away from it thinking to myself, "He's always going to be here". And for the first time since he had been born, I sighed a sigh of relief thinking I didn't have to worry any more about loosing him to death.

Two weeks later, he was murdered.

Fifteen years later, I still grieve for him even though I will see him again in the resurrection on this "Earth turned Paradise" promised by Jesus Christ in God's word, the Bible. Why? Because it isn't like he's gone somewhere and I can call him to hear his voice. No matter how much I may wish it to be so, he will never knock on my front door again. I will never feel his arms wrapped around me and hear his voice in my ear saying, "I love you, Mom". I will not see his silly grin or hear his playful laugh.

I still grieve because I miss him terribly, terribly...

And I miss his brother, Cameron, who 10 years ago, turned away from me. In so many words he said to me, "I hate you." But if I ever get the chance before I die, I will put my arms around him and softly say, "But I love you."

It's been a really long time since my last blog. (Sounds like a confession.)

Had to take some time off after the death of our beloved KeyLaLa (feline, male).

So many changes these last few months!

 My computer crashed 3 months ago so I had to use another till mine was repaired. That took a month. Had to purchase a new mother board. Then our tech had to make time to work on it. When I finally got it back, I found out I had to RE-download all my programs; RE-register on all the sites I had accounts with and I didn't save my passwords anywhere. What a lot of work!

 So now I have a password log. I keep my programs.exe on my desk top, and I am saving all my works to CDs. I know, I should have been doing that all along. Well, live and learn, ha.

 Hope everyone had a safe and fruitful weekend. Love...

   Ah, yes. It's another Monday. The sun is shining and KeyLaLa and I are getting re-acquainted. He, jumping on all the counters, and me chasing around after him like he's a three year old. He managed to jump into the top of a closet like enclosure where the outside air comes in through a small opening. Of course he tried his best to squeeze into it knocking over my paintings that are stored there. So I got him down and put up a board blocking his access.

   It wasn't long before he tried to jump in that 'hole' again. This time he couldn't jump high enough and slid back down the wall. Boy, was he surprised! How funny. Yes, he was fine, just embarrassed like all cats get. It was so funny though.

   Each day I let him and Bear and Isaac into the same room. They all walked around each other like the worst of enemies. Bear slinking away, Isaac hiding by one wall and KeyLaLa hissing at them both. That was the first day. The second was pretty much the same. But today was much better. Isaac went up to sniff KeyLaLa. I had Bear on the couch with me. Then KeyLaLa came to check us out. Later I looked back in on them and the two older boys were each on a couch as the 'newbe' went jumping at them. No more hissing. He just wants to play now. Only problem is that Bear is around 12 years old and Isaac is around 9 or so. Well, I guess they will eventually teach KeyLaLa how to be a gentleman (cat that is).

   I love animals! No wonder God made us their caretakers. They're so fun!

  

It's Saturday.
Nothing much to do in the face of a million thoughts. Planning, re-arranging, re-decorating, re-modeling...
Answers, no answers.
By myself. Yet not alone.
Have the new plans for the front porch and the bathroom. Now to get some help in getting it done. Can't do it by myself anymore. The tub and the toilet need to trade places. Too heavy for me to move. The front porch will be the new foyer. "Please take your shoes off or put the footies over them, and thanks." Someone had tracked street tar into the living room one day. With the new wood floor, can't have that happen again.

Yes, a million thoughts. Now to put them into action!

BTW-- I have a new group up. It's galled "All Things Green" and can be found in the category: Family and Home.  http://groups.myspace.com/allthingsgreen

Since it is brand new, why not stop by and join in. See you soon!

Life is good
I have to say
Though the clouds
May come my way

Memories of
My children sweet
In the morning
To me greet

After dreams
Of them I see
In my sleep
They come to me

My mom is gone
And my Dad too
You'd think it might
Make me blue

But they are in
My dreams as well
Finding joy
As I can tell

And in my dreams
Is where they'll stay
Till my turn
To go away

For my loved ones
They will see
In their dreams
Is where I'll be

But for now
Good life is mine
In dreams I rest
Within past time

My kids are back
My siblings, too
My Mom and Dad
And sometimes you

But dreams are for
The sleeping one
And life for us
Is morning's sun

Awake to you
My eyes do see
Someone to love
And who loves me

Yes, life is good
I have to say
Because you're here
With me today

   There's so much stuff floating around in my head lately. Wanting to share love with grown up children. Wishing to be surrounded by handfuls of grandchildren. Longing for forgiveness, the kind my Mom enjoyed from children who loved her and knew she did the best she could with what she knew and what had in that moment.

   Daniel, this part is not about you. Thank you for, well, everything.

   It seems as though kids can forget their parents. But those parents never forget their kids. At least I don't, can't, won't...

   Like I said, so much stuff floating around inside my head. I've been trying to scan all my photographs lately. A better way to save and store them. The problem is that they are activating all those memories. The happy ones when the boys were born and when they were little. These are the memories that I have. But I have a hard time enjoying them. My first born died on November 28, 1993 at the age of 20. His first younger brother's 18th birthday. And his youngest brother had just turned 15.

   Every year, beginning in October and lasting through February, this gigantic black cloud hovers over my existence. Not even a truck load of anti-dep meds can force it to disperse. Many years ago, I used to wonder why friends of mine who's child had died never seemed to get over it. Now I understand. You can loose a good friend, an Aunt, a Grandfather, a parent, and in time be able to cope with the loss. But when it is your child, the pain never goes away. Over the years, I have learned how to hide the pain, stuffing it down deeper and deeper inside my heart until none could ever imagine that I would ever think of my Christopher at all. But I do. Every day. Every single, sunny, cloudy, rainy, snowy, joyful, disappointing, gladsome, miserable day of my life.

   And not just my son who died. But my son who tells me I was a horrid mother. It doesn't hurt as much as it did when I heard it the first time. And as his mother, I do understand his pain. It's the kind of pain I used to feel concerning my own Dad. The only difference is that my Dad never wanted to discuss anything until he found out he was dieing from lung cancer. I was grateful for the apology he made, but regret that he never got to know me as a person, a woman (one who was smart), a mom with kids of her own, and a daughter who truly loved him in spite of the fact that he did not believe it.

   But I am here for my son. I want to know him as a person, a man (one who is smart), a dad with his own child, and hopefully, one day, as a son who truly loves his mother like he used to, before all the garbage. My Dad is gone now and he does not have the chance to know me. But I'm still here and my son is welcome in my life anytime he wants to come home. My door as well as my arms will always be open to him as long as I live and breathe. I just pray that he never has to regret things after I'm gone. I am here for you, C. I love you and miss you and, and…

   Then there is the one child who goes away and then comes back and lets you know that no matter what ever goes on between you, eventually, when the anger subsides and the pain eases up, they will always forgive you because they want your forgiveness too.  And so, Daniel, you are a comfort to me. You asked me once if it was true that I just wanted to keep hold of you boys for all of your lives like some mothers do, never letting go, never letting their sons become men. And my answer to you was no. And that is the truth. But like all moms who love their children, I always had the thought that my children would always visit, or call, or write, like I and my sister and brothers did with our Mom. But never just break away forever without a thought or explanation or a chance to make it up whatever it may be. One of my memories that I love about Christopher is that in spite of his blow-ups, he always came back. He always apologized and forgave. It didn't matter that he stuck his tongue out or grumbled about me behind my back. He always came home. He knew I loved him and he loved me.

   Yes, so much stuff in my head lately. Loving and missing all my boys. Trying to get these pictures scanned and having to stop often so the tears don't start. Memories of those good times that have escaped us all. Those times that were way too short.

   Nowadays Daniel is always thanking me for doing things for him. And thank you are two words that no one ever gets tired of hearing. But what he doesn't realize is that for a Mom who truly loves her children, doing things for them gives her a joy beyond compare. And in a way that is infinitely inferior, I hope the things I do for him will reflect the love that God has for him. The God who's name he learned many years ago. This One who wants him to know He still has the greatest love for him that never diminishes no matter what. And this same God loves his brother, too and says to them both, "My door and my arms are open to you always. No matter what, I am here for you."

   I would apologize to anyone who reads this because it is so personal, and long. But I won't because the stuff is finally out of my head. At least for now.

Makes me see art in a whole new light...



Check out this video: how much oil in a large fry? - goodbye art



Add to My Profile | More Videos