"Dallas" is still dull as dishwater....

Oh, the 1980s. When not everyone could have cable television and even if you did, you didn't have 800+ channels of crap from which to choose your evening's entertainment. Back then, people actually made plans around their favorite television shows. Well, unless they were wealthy enough to own a VHS or BETA video recording machine to record a show for them, commercials and all. No DVRs. No commercial skips. Watch it when it airs or wait until rerun season and hope the episode you missed is there.

I had to explain all of that to Youngest Son tonight as Husband sat on the couch (and for over an hour did NOT fall asleep!) and watched the new series of Dallas on TNT. He was a big fan of the show back in the 1980s and wanted to see how stupid....I mean....good the modernized show would be. Of course, when you get the old actors on there playing their old roles, you can't help but remember what the show used to be and wonder if they can actually get it to be that good (or bad) again.

Now, I didn't watch Dallas when it was on in the 1980s. The only episodes I ever watched were when J.R. was shot (because, who didn't watch that one?) and the one when Southfork burned. That episode I was somewhat sort-of forced to watch because I was at a sleepover at a friend's house and all of the other girls loved Dallas but I had no idea who anyone was other than J.R. and Bobby. Oh, and I did see the episode when Bobby comes back in the shower -- but that was a rerun many, many years after it originally aired.

So, I'm watching the show with Husband and it's as goofy as ever. Youngest Son asked, "Is this a male soap opera?"

Yes, Son. Yes it is.

Nighttime soap operas like Dallas, Dynasty, and Falcon Crest were heavily watched by women but they were designed to get the men-folk into the sittin' room to watch as well. They weren't as silly as the daytime soaps, but you still knew that every scene had to have someone looking off into the distance as if they're thinking, "Did that cat pee in the litterbox?" (it's an acting trick) while the camera either gets closer or pulls back before the scene changes. Or before a commercial came on. Or before another ad for the same show you were watching came on to preview the next week's episode. As if you'd miss it....

So, yeah, I'm not particularly thrilled with the new version of the old show. I liked how they tried to keep the intro credits the same with the music and scenes of Dallas (Texas). But, a neat intro does not a great show make. I might give it a few more episodes before I totally write it off as a bad job. Seeing Larry Hagman and Patrick Duffy talking about what Miss Ellie did or didn't want with her will is still interesting. Goofy, but interesting.

Too frazzled to write

Been busy all day with working on my ERO case, taking Celeste to the vet, dealing with family things.... Just too tired to try to be witty or find a topic worth writing.

On the plus side, the Civic Center across from my house is showing Cars 2 on the outside of the building. Free movie for me!

The Woman in Black -- My Review

AWESOME!!!!

That's really all that needs to be said. I never finished the book. I did see the play when I was in London. A friend of mine sent me a copy of the radio show. Now I've finally gotten around to seeing the movie and I loved it.

Daniel Radcliffe was very good. He's always had that haunted look in his eyes, even in his first production. He played the lead as young David Copperfield in BBC One's television movie. I've seen him in that, My Boy Jack, The December Boys, and of course the Harry Potter series. He's also been on Broadway and in the West End. I was worried they'd try to take this ghost/horror story and try to "jazz" it up by getting the young Radcliffe so a younger audience would attend. And when I saw that it was rated PG-13, I really feared the producers would try to play to a much younger audience (okay, specifically, teenage girls with a crush on "The Chosen One").

They didn't. The movie does not disappoint. Even Husband jumped a few times during it.

If I have to rate the productions I've seen/experienced, I still have to give the play top honors. In the play, there are only two men onstage and in the program's notes. They never say that there's a female who also appears and you never know if/when she'll show up. The skin-crawling creepiness of the play was excellent. I would have to place the movie and the radio play as a tie because with the radio play you still use your imagination and can be genuinely scared. With the movie, you get the great visuals and an expanded cast that helps make it more dramatic.

So, there it is. Didn't see anything worth watching on television so I figured I'd see the movie on Blu-Ray. Now I'm watching Waiting for Guffman. Yeah....I have weird tastes.

I wanna hollar the loud, funny words!!!

Good grief. Another Wednesday evening spent watching American Diggers on Spike TV. Why do I torture myself so?

Tonight they went to St. Augustine, Florida and down in the bayou area of Louisiana. There were some neat relics found and I do have to give them kudos for finding a $20 double eagle, St. Gaudens' design gold coin. They're rare and worth a LOT of money these days.

I could probably enjoy the show if it weren't for one thing -- the owner/host/announcer/blowhard Ric Savage. He gives history and information about the places they go and the things they find as if he's rehearsed whatever the production team's researcher has pulled off the Internet. He yells at the camera during the entire show and heaven help you if your television is accidentally turned-up a bit loud and he finds something he thinks is wonderful 'cause you're going to hear him scream about it. And not just any scream -- the well-rehearsed scream that comes from professional wrestlers.

He fully admits that he used to be a professional wrestler (I still don't remember ever seeing him in a match). I once had some "professional" wrestlers (they got paid but weren't on any of the big circuits) come into our store years ago and they talked about how they had to practice their "speeches" that they'd give after every match and there were classes on how to yell at the camera. They also admitted that the hardest thing to do was to keep from laughing when their partner/friend/ally/opponent/enemy/whatever said something incredibly stupid. That's why when you watch professional wrestling, especially from the 1980s-1990s, you'll see people gritting their teeth or sucking in their cheeks. They're not trying to look mean and vicious. They're just trying to not blow their cover as an actor.

And Ric's got it down to a science. Every time he yells he throws his arms up in the air and sticks his gut out with a loud howl. And it's usually a "boo-yah" or "woo-hoo" followed by something either unintelligible or the name of the place where they're digging. You can predict where every scream is going to happen in a show and they conveniently edit it so that you have to hear it multiple times.

Sadly, every time I watch the show I'm reminded of another show. One that many people watched over the years and caused many parents to complain. There's an episode of the old Ren & Stimpy Show called "Mad Dog Höek" where the guys have just finished a wrestling match and both the winners and losers get a chance to make their cases. It's hysterical and I end up quoting it at one point during the show or another because it fits so perfectly.

And now, for your viewing pleasure, I give you the Ending Speech Scene from "Mad Dog Höek" -- try to watch American Diggers and not think of this. I dare you.

Last episodes of "American Stuffers"

Yes. It is with a heavy heart and a hanging head that I admit that today I actually watched the American Stuffers episodes on Animal Planet.

You have to understand, though. The satellite signals on the movie channels were spotty and there was nothing on network television worth watching. Plus -- and honestly, no disrespect to the Ross Family and their employees -- but the show is just like a really bad car wreck. You know you shouldn't look but once you do you just can't turn away from it.

I didn't watch all of the episodes today. I watched "The Dog Named Precious," "The Cat Without a Nose," "The Hairless Dog," and "A Tornado Hits Romance." I will say that I'm very glad Daniel was able to put the cat's nose back on before its owner came to pick it up (and no one noticed the problem). The skin coming off of the Chinese Crested (which the owner proudly stated she'd paid $250 as a puppy) though was a close one. And her having the dog's testicles removed to have sperm harvested by a company in Washington just had me rolling on the floor. Yeah, I'm not a biology major, but I can't imagine them living in there for very long, much less long enough to ship them to Washington from Texas (where they drove from to get the dog freeze-dried).

The pet chicken being freeze-dried, though, had me baffled. I know people keep chickens as pets. I have friends that have had good and bad things come from doing that. But if the chicken dies on its own, I'd be thinking about disposing of it correctly, not how it's going to look in the center of the dinner table as a centerpiece. Okay, the lady with the chicken actually said she was going to decorate her chicken coops with all of her pet chickens after they die and she has them freeze-dried. And she named all of them after characters from Jersey Shore. So, take from that what you want.

I can say that I was moved by the lady who had her Yorkie for 14 years and met the crew from Xtreme Taxidermy at the Big Buck Classic Hunters' Convention (where most of the other attendees were grossed-out by the pets on display). She'd had a lot of loss in her life and having her dog preserved as a way to help her cope may not be for me but I sure hope it helps her. Plus, she wants the dog buried with her when she passes away. Sadly, the dog will look better longer than she will, but at least they'll be together.

And I also have to admit that the story about the dog that had been skinned by another taxidermist and left the crew of the shop with a puzzle on how to make him look good again was interesting. Mostly because they were very careful to not tell the lady who brought in the dog how badly butchered the job the previous taxidermist did. I was glad to see that they were able to take that idiot's mistakes and fix it so the lady was happy. Now I just hope she doesn't watch the episode and see exactly what was done to her dog.

So, yeah, I let the redneck in me have a few laughs and sat agog at some of the things said/done on the show. There aren't any future episodes coming (it was cancelled), but Romance, Arkansas isn't too terribly far from my family's old stomping grounds. I'm pretty sure I could find it if I felt the need.

Leave the bear alone you hillbillies!!

All day I have been listening to the local police scanner. I keep it on because if there's an emergency that isn't being broadcast on the local news channels, I can usually get some information from the scanner. Plus after years of having worked as an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) and disaster preparedness/response person, I'm just addicted to it.

So today's noteworthy broadcasts have been about a small black bear that has wandered into town. It's not hurt anyone; it's not gone into the residential areas; and it's trying to find its way back to the woods. At first someone thought it was a dog when it was near a residential area but it stayed over by the local airport (not an overly busy one). It has been wandering around and I'm not worried about it coming over into the area where I live because it would have to cross a large Interstate highway plus the busy traffic at the intersection that crosses over it. The state conservation agents have been working with the county law enforcement to track the bear and make sure that it keeps heading towards the woods.

Sadly, though, all the yokels in town have been coming out in droves to see it -- especially after the story was aired on the local news. Now the police are being called by the businesses in the area next to the Interstate highway because people keep trying to get closer and closer to the bear so they can take pictures of it. Some have brought their dogs with them, like the conservation agents need that little bit of "help" with a bear that really doesn't want to be where it is in the first place.

Right now it's up a tree next to the local Pizza Hut. It wanders between one of the banks, the Pizza Hut, a furniture store, and a Captain D's restaurant. I'm sure it smells plenty of trash from that area it would love to eat. Hopefully the conservation and law enforcement agents will get rid of the crowd before the bear hurts itself. The poor thing just wants to get back to its home (with a snack to-go if it can grab one).

Here's an idea -- if you want to see a close-up photo of a bear, pick up a book! If you want to see a bear in person, go to a zoo! If you see a bear in the wild, then lucky you -- but for cryin' out loud, stop trying to get in its way!

Well....at least now there's something else to listen to. Some drunken fool is chugging a Mountain Dew and whiskey outside a local grocery store and has pushed carts into the major 4-way intersection of town. Now that sounds more like an average night.

How bored am I today??

Got a chance to sleep-in a bit this morning. Mostly because I forgot to set my alarm and Celeste realized I was sleeping soundly and didn't want to wake me. Sadly, that made me late for taking my medication. Oh, it wasn't so late that it made me ill or have a bad reaction -- it just meant that the time I would be zonked-out because of the side-effects would be much later in the morning and could have screwed up my schedule for the day.

But then I remembered, I didn't have a schedule for today. Laundry was done by Husband (THANK YOU!) and the dogs and cat were watered and fed this morning by Youngest Son.

So, what have I done today? Sadly, I've sat and watched a marathon of The Pink Panther, Return of the Pink Panther, and Revenge of the Pink Panther. If I wanted to, I could switch the channel at the moment and watch A Shot in the Dark -- the funniest of all of the "Pink Panther/Inspector Clouseau" movies. Actually, my favorite characters are Cato and Inspector Dreyfus. Burt Kwuok was hysterical and Herbert Lom perfected the nervous tic that showed just how insane Clouseau made Dreyfus.

I remember watching the early "Pink Panther" movies on television (since I wasn't born when they were made) but the later ones I remember going to see in the theater. Of course, as a kid, I thought the slapstick was hysterical. Now that I'm much older, the same things don't make me laugh but I still get a big chuckle out of the jokes I didn't understand years ago.

Classic movies are the ones that can stand the test of time. I worry, though, that these classics will soon be removed from the "classic bin" because many people today would not get the jokes and/or cultural/current event references made in them.

ZZZzzzzzz....

Best of all he (Odin) liked to sleep. Sleeping was a very important activity for him. He liked to sleep for longish periods, great swathes of time. Merely sleeping overnight was not taking the business seriously. He enjoyed a good night's sleep and wouldn't miss one for the world, but found it as anything halfway near enough. He liked to be asleep by half-past eleven in the morning if possible, and if that should come directly after a nice leisurely lie-in then so much the better. A little light breakfast and a quick trip to the bathroom while fresh linen was applied to his bed is really all the activity he liked to undertake, and he took care that it didn't jaunt the sleepiness out of him and disturb his afternoon of napping. Sometimes he was able to spend an entire week asleep, and this he regarded as a good snooze. He had also slept through the whole of 1986 and hadn't missed it. - Douglas Adams, The Long, Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

It's a long weekend and I've enjoyed quite a nice, long nap today. I have to sincerely thank Husband and Youngest Son for allowing me to sleep-in this morning. Well, when I say "sleep-in" I mean that I did get up at my usual time to take my medications and let the dogs go outside for "walkies." But, while they went to yard sales I was allowed to crawl back into bed and sleep away a lot of the stresses from this past week. I don't usually do that, but today it was imperative that I do so. Plus, weird dreams when I'm stressed-out happen and if only I could have filmed it. I would have made a great B-movie (or even worse).

Towel and Star Wars Day -- Celebrate both!

No new news on the job front. My Cadre Manager was supposed to get back in touch with my ERO counselor but that didn't happen. I have been given lots of really good advice and had friends recommend a lot of options. I'm keeping everything open at the moment. I'll continue fighting for what's best for my family and me.

So, since there's really nothing new, I'll just wish everyone a Happy Towel Day and Happy Star Wars Day. Towel Day is for fans of Douglas Adams and his "Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy Trilogy" (all six books) and in memory of his death on this date in 2001. Star Wars Day marks the anniversary of the premiere of Star Wars: Episode IV, A New Hope in 1977. 35 years ago....wow, I feel old.

I've lost track of how many times I've read Douglas' books (not just the H2G2 series) as well as listened to the radio shows, audiobooks, and watched the movies. Douglas Adams also worked on episodes of Doctor Who and Monty Python's Flying Circus. You can tell I'm a big fan, huh?

I've lost track of how many times I've seen the original trilogy of Star Wars. I even have the theatrical releases on DVD because I can't stand watching all of the added on stuff from 1997. I remember seeing the movies in the theater, when that was the only option, and then recording them off HBO onto our Betamax player (yes, I really am that old) and watching them every day after school.

Hey, when your dad is the principal of your school, you don't hang out with a lot of people, and you're focused on keeping your grades high you find yourself as one of the biggest geeks doing what geeks do best -- reciting movie lines. After I'd seen each of the original three over 500 times each, I quit counting. I still have no idea how many times I've seen them all. In college I could win bets by having people play a part of the soundtrack and begin to act and recite the exact scene just based on the music! Okay, it was only good for winning bar bets and has never helped me in any sort of career, but it was fun all the same!

So all you hoopy froods, get your towels and grab a bottle of Old Janx Spirit (from H2G2 or SW, your choice) and head out to Millyways!

Let us think the unthinkable, let us do the undoable, let us prepare to grapple with the ineffable itself, and see if we may not eff it after all. -- Douglas Adams

About what do my dogs dream?

Yes, I noticed that I made sure my title was grammatically correct. OCD has checked-in for the night!

Anyway, I do wonder what goes through my dogs' brains when they're dreaming. I can look over at the cat who is sound asleep at the moment and she never moves until she wakes up. However, I can watch either Celeste or Harley and sooner or later they'll start to run in their sleep, snore loudly, or sometimes even bark as if they're trying to say something.

Celeste is five years old and has had a lot of experiences with and without me. She was a show dog and has traveled around the country and also worked as a service dog for a lady in a wheelchair (who sadly didn't know how to care for her even though she'd had service dogs before). So, I could see some memories coming back to her mind and perhaps she sees things she remembers.

Harley, on the other hand, has been with us since she was nine months old. She was abandoned and raised for a month at a farm before they took her to the local Humane Society because they couldn't afford to keep another abandoned dog. She's been on trips with us (vehicle only, no planes yet) and has romped around in the yard or at a dog park. Most of her time she's comfortable on the couch and when given the opportunity will watch car races or other dogs running on television. Harley also lived here with my service dog Cody who passed away in 2010. She was there when he died. She also has a lot of his habits and mannerisms because he made sure that he taught her how to act and didn't let her get too out of control.

Cody would snore loudly and run when sleeping too -- but he only came to live with us when he was much older. He had been a puppy mill breeder dog that had been abandoned on the side of the Interstate when he'd gotten to old to make the owners more money. We took him in and even though he had no idea how to play or act like a normal dog, he learned commands quickly and was eager to please because he loved being loved by someone instead of just ignored. And he still had the gumption to put the cat in her place when he came to live with us and she wouldn't shut up one night. He just closed her mouth with his and looked at her as if to say, "See? Quiet is better."

When Cody would snore loudly and move as if he was running when he was asleep, I could always imagine that he was reliving something that had happened before we had him. Maybe it was running away from the handlers at the puppy mill. Maybe it was finally running free when they first got rid of him before he began to struggle to find food and water in the sweltering heat of the summer. I would always hope that his dreams would include meeting us and enjoying a nice walk or just being cuddled.

I'm watching Harley's legs move while she's asleep as if she's running for her life. Maybe there's a rabbit or a squirrel in her dream? She loves to chase them in the yard, though I don't think she'd have any idea what to do with one if she caught it. She's running and running and you can hear her snorting loudly with every "step" she takes. Whatever it is, she's either thoroughly enjoying it or making damned sure that she gets away from whatever she doesn't like.

I know humans put too much emotion into our pets. We talk to them as if they're people and try to read their facial expressions and actions like we do non-verbal communications from other humans. But I think it would be fun if we could see about what our dogs are dreaming. Finally catching the ball; scaring a flock of birds; or maybe just laying on the couch getting their tummy rubbed. Anything could be a fascinating dream for them.

End of the Junior High Era

Today was Youngest Son's last day in junior high. Next year he'll be a freshman. Lord help us all.

I'm incredibly proud of him and am very, very happy that he's had some great experiences and made new friends since we moved to this town three years ago. He's been in three school theatre productions; he's participated in All-District Honors Band (was first-chair trumpet, too); attended the State Band Contest; has made the honor roll; and has a gang of friends that he really enjoys hanging-out with and who enjoy having him with them. As a kid who moved from school-to-school, I know it can be hard to fit-in when you're the new kid on the block. Youngest Son learned a lot more at a faster pace when he was homeschooled, but I agree with him that his past three years in public school have helped him grow in many different ways.

I'm especially proud of him as he has received the President's Education Awards Program Award for Outstanding Academic Excellence. To qualify for it, he had to have a cumulative grade point average of 3.5 or more over his junior high career and test above the average and rank in the top of the State's Assessment Program that's given every year. He received a very nice certificate and a lapel pin that he can put on his jacket when he goes to high school. He pointed out the "autograph" of President Obama on the certificate and I told him that an auto-pen did that. He said he was surprised they just didn't Xerox it and is not impressed by it. He was actually disappointed because he didn't receive a plaque for best brass student in band and was awarded for his academics. I reminded him that it will be his academics that helps him get into the college he wants and will follow him through life. A plaque won by your "nemesis" whose parents can afford for him to take private lessons in order to be better than Youngest Son will only someday be an unwieldy paperweight that your children won't even be able to get rid of in a yard sale.

I think he feels a lot better now. And he enjoyed his last day there. No, he didn't participate with one group that wore the colorful Morph Suits that everyone was buying around Halloween and at least he wasn't dared like one of his other friends to come dressed like a princess today. He made sure he had phone/text numbers for his friends so they can get together over the summer before high school band camp starts in July.

Eldest Son texted me today that he's learned how to weld in his sculpture class in college. I told him I was proud and that the welding experience can also be used in other jobs as well. He hopes to finish his classes soon so that he can graduate in the next semester or two.

One going into high school and one leaving college soon....where does the time go?

They're back! Voices in charge again!!!

Aha!!  The voices in my head are still going at it.  Oh sure, it's been a few days since they last ranted like this, but I think that's just because they've been saving it up for a nice explosion.  One where not many people come out happy or unscarred.  One where the majority of people who read this won't give a rat's ass and others will either be embarrassed, offended, or so confused they won't know which opinion to choose.

Things are just stupid all over and I have no idea why.  I hate chaos and disorder except when the disorder is created by me.  Then it just looks like disorder to others but I know where everything is and I don't want anyone touching it.  But the past few days/weeks have me remembering more in the continuing story (which I'll get back to soon) and watching things happen that just have me shaking my head in disgust and frustration.

Example:  Husband read a post by Half-Sister on her Buttleaflet account.  She made a comment.  He replied to the comment.  Nothing offensive, just an opinion.  She called him an asshole and de-friended him.  So what?  They're adults and can do whatever they want.  What I thought was strange was that she did the de-friending after calling him an asshole and that prevents him from seeing it.  He didn't know that she'd responded until I was on my account and saw what was posted.  Not that either of them care, I'm sure -- they've never gotten along for a laundry list of reasons (some I know and some I don't) and I don't think either one feels slighted and/or vindicated by the actions.

So it seemed strange to me when I was reviewing my account online today and found that one of my Sisters-in-Law had de-friended me.  This was weird because quite a while ago we'd had a bit of a difference of opinion regarding something I'd posted somewhere and what she typed to me hurt my feelings.  I let her know how I felt and she replied and I realized that we were both reading way too much into things (which we both admitted) and mutually apologized to each other.  Just recently I'd been seeing posts from my niece but nothing from her mom.  I thought maybe she was just being unusually quiet recently and had even received an email from a mutual friend wondering if she was okay.  Now I know why I've not seen anything.  Am I sad?  A bit because we were close in age and had a lot of things in common and always have enjoyed each other's company.  But, if that's her choice, then I have to respect it.

So, all of the voices are now trying to get me to continue with the retelling of my story ('cause we're getting to some of the juicy parts) and argue over whether or not being able to contact family members online is a good thing or a bad thing and lamenting over yesterday being Mothers' Day and not hearing from Eldest Son.  He sent a brief text, but that's all.  I don't want a parade or anything like that but he doesn't call or return messages anymore.  He didn't say or do anything for his step-father's birthday and the last time I sent him info about what Youngest Son was doing he seemed disinterested.  I always take his calls, regardless if I'm at work or in an appointment.  Just as long as answering my phone won't cause a dangerous situation (like when I'm driving) I answer because I worry about him being far away from home.

But is it "home" to him?  He lives closer to his biological father and paternal grandparents who give him everything he wants.  I see him for maybe a week around the Christmas holidays when I pay for the Amtrak tickets to get him here and back.  He should be graduating from college soon and I certainly don't want to miss that, but I can't get an answer out of him when I ask when he thinks he'll be done.  He used to call me for everything -- even issues I couldn't solve for him but he knew that I'd give him my best advice and intelligent options for him to weigh.  Now it's nothing.  No texts.  No calls.  No emails.  And he dropped Buttleaflet and the other thing with a plus sign after it when he wasn't interested in it either.

I don't really know what to think about much of anything anymore.  I make up my own mind and have my own opinions and invariably someone gets offended.  I explain that my opinions are just that -- mine -- and that anyone who is offended should (1) say something to me so that I understand that their opinion is different than mine and we can come to a mutual understanding that I'll have mine and they'll have theirs and be respectful of it or (2) be quiet about it if all they're going to do is try to shove their opinion down my throat and tell me what an awful person I am for thinking or believing the way I do.  I have seen and experienced a lot of things I'd never wish on anyone else.  I have friends who have seen and experienced a lot of things -- some thousands of times worse than anything I've had -- that they'd never wish on anyone else as well.  We all come from a damaged background in one way or another.  It was different when people lived tens/hundreds/thousands of miles away from each other and only called/wrote every now-and-then.  With the Internet, everyone is in everyone else's business 24/7 and people don't understand that sarcasm/humor/anger/despair won't translate well through printed words.  So we all (and, yes, I include myself in this) jump to a conclusion based on what we see and what we believe that person would say/do/think.

I try to make a point of stepping-back and thinking about what I've read and how it could be interpreted different ways.  I've been doing that with a lot of things from my past recently, too.  That's one of the reasons the voices in my head keep telling me to write more and get things down on paper.  It's not to beg for pity or to embarrass someone else by airing anyone's dirty laundry.  It's trying to see things objectively and get them out of my system once and for all.  The voices have been rummaging through the cabin trunks in my brain to clear out the crap and make more space for the penguins (if you're a Douglas Adams fan you'll get that reference).

So now that I've gotten that mess out of the way for now, I'll pick up where we left-off in the story.  My parents decided to divorce and the summer between my 4th and 5th grade years of school they took me on a really long "family" vacation.  Then they waited until the summer between my 5th and 6th grade years to actually finalize the divorce while I was away at summer camp.

I talked briefly about 6th grade but it needs more information.  Not only was I again attending a school where my biological father was the principal but his mistress was the school secretary there as well.  Oh joy.  As if I needed further reminders of how much my life was going into the crapper.  But, I was an honor student and was meeting even more people because the school district had two elementary schools and the students from both combined into one class during 6th grade.  Yay....not only did I have the ones who knew me and knew my dad was the principal but I had a whole new set who would look at me as if I was the privileged one because my dad was the principal.

I can assure you that being "privileged" was far from the truth.  Some of my teachers liked me because I was a good student and I worked hard.  Some of my teachers just outright hated me because they didn't like my father or his mistress or both and were determined to make my life hell and were upset that they couldn't fail me because I made high grades in all of my classes.

There was an instance, however, where people felt I was being given too much privilege during my 6th grade year.  Previously I mentioned that I began playing the flute in band in 4th grade.  When I finally made it to the middle school where grades 6-8 attended, my father said that he was going to try to get me into the beginning band (7th grade) because I'd already had band experience.  He also knew that I was going to be bored to death in the 6th grade music class because I'd already learned to play the recorder and the keyboarding part of the year would be equally as boring since I'd been taking piano lessons since 1st grade.

One afternoon, my father told me to bring my flute to school with me the next day and I would be allowed to play with the woodwind class.  I happily entered the classroom the next day and was excited to get back to playing.  The band instructor said that it was "Challenge Day" and we would have to play a section from the book to see who would be placed in which chair based on our performances.  The students in the classroom had already been playing together and were in their "chairs" so I was told to take the last seat and would play first.  I played the piece from the book (which was the exact same book I'd already completed in 4th grade) and did better than the person next to me, so I took her chair and moved up the line.  This continued over and over again.  Each time I would play, then the next student would play, and then I would be moved up another ranking by taking their "chair."  Finally, I had moved all the way from last chair to second chair.  This is when I got really, really nervous because the person in first chair wasn't just the child of my 6th grade science teacher but was also a boy.  I'd not played against a boy before and I'd heard that he was very, very good.  He took lessons from the same piano teacher I had started with in our new town and if he could play the flute half as good as he played piano I knew I had no chance.  I was so nervous and I actually made a mistake while playing the same line that I'd been playing all day.  He, however, played it perfectly and remained in the top spot.  I was humbled and highly impressed at the same time.

I didn't even get to finish the week.  Word spread quickly of what I'd done and how I'd nearly unseated the top player in the class.  How dare I, just a simple 6th grader with 2 years of previous playing experience, walk into a classroom of older children who happened to live in a district that didn't allow them to begin band (in school, they could have taken private lessons though) until they were 7th graders and do so well?  How could this happen?  Who would allow it?  After enough teachers and parents complained, my father wouldn't allow it.  He yanked me out of that class faster than I could think possible.  He tried telling me it was for my own good that I stayed with my "regular" classmates but I knew better.  He was always trying to be popular with everyone and if someone said something negative about me being in band, he took it as a personal assault on his character.  It never mattered if I excelled at something -- if someone said or even thought anything negative he would immediately stop me from doing whatever it was so that people would think highly of him.

And it just wasn't in school that he did this.  He enrolled me in golf lessons at the local country club.  I wasn't the least bit interested in playing golf the way he was.  He bought himself the newest Jack Nicklaus "Golden Bear" clubs and made sure that he was seen playing with anyone he thought could get him viewed in a more positive light.  I had a teeny kids' set with a 3-wood, a 9-iron, and a putter in a vinyl bag.  Yeah....that was going to get me into the LPGA someday.

I suffered through the lessons and one day went with him to play a round at the country club.  I'd never played all 18 holes but he wanted to be sure he was getting his money's worth out of my lessons.  As predicted, he did much better than I did on every hole (and he had me teeing-off from the men's tee instead of the women's).  Every hole....except one.  There was one hole that had the longest par 5 on the front-nine and from a short kid's perspective seemed to go straight up instead up a sloping hill.  I got there in par -- a feat I was never able to reproduce but I was thrilled.  My father did not fare as well.  It took him more strokes to complete the hole than I'd made but he was still ahead in the game.  It didn't matter to him.  That wasn't even the last hole on the front-nine.  He was angry.  No, he was pissed-off in a way I'd not seen for quite a while.  He was shocked that I beat him on that hole.  He couldn't fathom the idea that a young kid could get lucky (with a bit of training) and make a par on that hole when he couldn't.

Immediately, he said he was done and didn't want to play anymore.  Just like a spoiled child, he took his toys and said I couldn't play in his sandbox anymore.  He wouldn't finish the entire game.  He wouldn't finish the front-nine.  He never asked me to play again.

So, with my broken family and the semi-acceptance of "friends" from school and church and my mother's depression and ranting at me as if I was the cause of everything evil in the world, what was I supposed to do?  If no one was happy seeing me or wanted me around, why should I be?  But, I wasn't quite ready to give up breathing yet.  Summer was coming and my favorite thing was just around the corner -- summer camp in Mississippi.

I escaped to Mississippi by begging my mother to take me a day earlier than usual and spending the night in the nearest town so that I could arrive very, very early the next morning.  All of the campers were allowed to pick the cabins they wanted to stay in, the hobbies they wanted to learn, and the bible classes they wanted to attend.  But, all of those were first-come, first-served.  If you weren't there early enough in the line, you didn't get anything you wanted.

I needed this to be a good summer.  She agreed and we went early so that I could be one of the first in line.  I knew that my second week I would get pretty much anything I wanted because they would allow me to pick my cabin/hobby/class before the others would register so that I could help show people around the camp, answer questions, and make sure that parents were comfortable leaving their kids.  I even had one father who, when he heard the name of my hometown, demanded that I look-after his daughter 'cause she'd never been away from home and anyone from where I was from had to be "good people."  I said that I wasn't a babysitter and that she'd be fine but we were going to be staying in the same cabin so at least she'd have a friend from day one there.  We actually got along and had a blast that week she was there.

During lunchtime, all of the campers would get excited about mail call.  Some kids were shipped items they'd forgotten from home.  Some kids got care packages from their families as if being in the middle of the forest prevented them from obtaining decent food.  (We got decent food, and lots of it!)  Some would get letters from boyfriends/girlfriends back home but most never received any.  I usually didn't get mail because it would take 3 days to get there from where I lived and by the time a letter would arrive I'd either (1) have already been able to call home on the weekend ('cause campers weren't allowed to call except in emergencies during the week) and found out everything or (2) I'd have left after the second week.

This year, though, there was a letter for me.  I was stunned.  The Camp Director enjoyed teasing the kids by pretending there were things written on the outside of the envelope, usually the gooey-eyed type of phrases people thought that people in love would say to each other.  It always got a big laugh and usually helped whomever received the letter he chose to play with feel better.  My family and I were good friends with him, so when he saw this letter I became the target of his humor.  It was funny and I proudly walked through all of the applause and laughter to receive my letter.

It was from my father.  This was very strange.  And it wasn't handwritten.  He'd typed the envelope and the letter.

After lunch we had a mandatory 30-minute "rest period" in our cabins so that our food could settle before the swimming pool would be open for the afternoon.  Yes, we had a huge lake there but it was much safer to swim in the pool!

I sat on my bunk in the cabin and read the letter.  I couldn't believe what I was seeing.  I still have the letter somewhere in my house.  I've packed it away with other important items but made sure that I've put it somewhere where I won't casually find it but also where it will remain for a long time because it was a great turning point in my life.

My father typed a letter to me saying that (and I'm paraphrasing here) he knew I'd be having fun at camp; that he hoped that I got to be in the classes I wanted that summer; and, oh by the way, that the day I'd left for camp he and his mistress had traveled to Arkansas and gotten married.  He gave a half-assed excuse for not inviting me or letting me know about it before I left for camp and that I should be prepared for them (him, her, and her 2 kids) to pick me up at the end of my second week.

I don't really remember much after that.  I was shocked and hurt.  To think that he purposefully didn't want me to know what was going on was the worst.  I can only remember them coming to pick me up in his diesel Chevette and me being crammed into the middle of the back seat between her kids (both of whom I was older than by many years) for the 8-hour drive back home.  No stopping except if they wanted to stop.  No eating anywhere except where they wanted to eat.  It was if coming to get me was a huge chore and not an attempt to help mend any wounds or begin to create a family.  I couldn't stand it.  It still makes me ill to think about it.  I was ignored the whole way back and dumped-off unceremoniously at my house.

"Well," I remember thinking to myself one day around that time, "this is it.  Mom's mad because she's divorced and has me to take care of on her own and Dad's being a jerk as usual except he's rubbing it in my face with his new 'son' (step-son, actually) that he's always wanted.  What's the point anymore?"

I went to the church camp sponsored by our local church that summer as well.  Fortunately, they drove a bus to get us out there and back so I didn't have to suffer either of my parents' unwillingness to deal with me.  I tried to have fun and I remember our group of girls (we were divided by age and gender) doing well on contests, but there were many who didn't want me in their group.  And I dreaded every day having one or both of my parents showing-up to give me some additional news that should have been told in person but was just haphazardly typed-out in a letter.  It didn't happen and I don't think I could have stood it if it did.

Well, poop....looked at the clock and all of my time is gone again.  The voices are still trying to cram words down my arms and to my fingers on the keyboard but I've got errands to run.  Need to get things done or Husband will be irritated that I stayed inside all day again.  I know he says he's not but I also know that it does upset him because I used to be very outgoing and my disabilities are not getting better.  Maybe in the long-run this "therapy" I'm trying with these posts will help.

To "Potter" or to "Potter Squared"

Just returned home from finally being able to see The Avengers. Really enjoyed it, even more than I thought I would. A lot of the "inside" jokes and the two scenes during the credits were very good. Saw the movie in 3D but it really didn't seem to make a difference. Of course, with my poor vision, I'm not surprised.

Now I'm debating with Husband and Youngest Son about what to watch on television tonight. HBO is premiering Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 tonight. I have them all on DVDs and Blu-Ray, but I still love watching the movies (and reading the books).

In honor of the premiere, HBO is showing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1followed by Part 2 as a sort of "mini-marathon." HBO East is currently showing Part 2 (and I'm watching it as I write) but Youngest Son also wants to watch both which will start in about 20 minutes on HBO West. Husband doesn't want to watch Part 1 but I think he's been outvoted on this adventure.

And I still think Warner Brothers and J.K. Rowling missed the boat when these movies could have been shown back-to-back in the theaters during the release of the 2nd part. I can do 2 in a row, but if they ever try to show all 8, they'll need to provide lots of caffeine and blankets for naps.

Busy! No time! Got to hurry!

Sorry y'all but I'm really busy today. Have eBay auctions that are ending, ones that have ended and paid for that have to be packed for shipping tomorrow, and I've finally heard from the EEO officer and have paperwork to read and sign for him.

Plus I've not been able to get all of my playing with the dogs, television watching, napping, and all-around laying-about done today. Guess I'll do that tonight. Maybe. Or I might just brave the couch and see if it causes me to pass-out like it does the guys.

Gotta be ready for tomorrow -- Youngest Son has his last junior high dance that night. He swears he's not asked anyone to go with him but I think he'll find someone or at least hang-out with "the gang" while he's there.

Happy Birthday Husband!!!

I'm using this post on my blog to wish a very, very happy birthday to Husband. He's 15 years older than me though at times you'd never know it. I think that's one of the things that makes us great together. We're matched both intellectually and psychologically very well (I'll let you guess which one represents whom).

Last year I bought him a rifle. This year I got him a 2-year subscription to a magazine he likes (not adult-only). I told him I felt bad at the difference between the two gifts but that I also blamed him for it because he wouldn't give me any suggestions of what he wanted. He and I both agree that we're getting to the point where we have what we need and just buying something because we want it isn't practical. Youngest Son didn't know what to give him either so he dedicated his last band concert of the year to him.

So, here's to another year of good health and happiness to Husband!!! I love you very, very, very, (continue repeating very ad infinitum) much!!!

Survived another sleepover!

Why is it when Youngest Son has a friend or friends over to spend the night I'm the one completely exhausted the next day? It's not like I'm up watching movies at 2:30 a.m. or trying to finish the last slices of the jalapeno pizza they ordered on a whim!

Fortunately, Youngest Son's friend (to whom he was going to introduce the game Warhammer 40K) enjoyed it very much. I loaned him some of my army since he wants to play the same one I have and he picked up the rules very quickly. They played for over 3 hours and then started another game this morning. We all then went out-of-town to the closest gaming store and Youngest Son's friend had left-over birthday money that he used to purchase some figures so he can start his own army. We even bought him a really cool figure that was already put together and painted that he saw and liked (and it wasn't too expensive) and gave it to him as a belated birthday gift. After having lunch and a running a few more errands, we came back to the house and Youngest Son began teaching his friend how to assemble the figures. They got two done in the short time they had left and they're both looking forward to the time after school gets out for the summer when they can spend more time together assembling, painting, and playing with the figures and ships for their respective armies. I'm very, very thankful Youngest Son has friends here. We were worried that it would be hard for him to make friends since we're "not from 'round here" but he's fitting in with a pretty good group.

Well, this is going to be short 'cause in an hour Syfy is going to be showing the new "Treasure Island" with Eddie Izzard, Elijah Wood and Donald Sutherland. DEFINITELY want to see it!!

Sleepover time again!

Just a quick post 'cause I'm trying to get things ready for tonight/tomorrow. Youngest Son is having a friend over for the evening and to spend the day with tomorrow. He attended his friend's birthday party last weekend and bought him a present that has had the friend fascinated all week.

Husband, Youngest Son, and I enjoy playing the miniatures game Warhammer 4000 (also known as Warhammer 40K). It's a fun strategy/tactics game played with miniature figures and vehicles on a tabletop that you "decorate" with obstacles and terrain to make it look like you're "invading" another world. Husband plays the Space Marines -- humans, and has his battle suits painted with the 35th Infantry Division patch on them. Youngest Son plays the Eldar -- an alien race that is very powerful and has a special character called an Avatar that can basically walk-through the playing area "killing" anything in its path. I play the Tau -- an alien race somewhat based on the Samurai/Bushido code where they believe everything is "for the greater good" and use highly specialized weapons that don't require the soldiers to be close enough for hand-to-hand combat (VERY long-range weapons). Youngest Son's friend was looking at different types of characters and picked the Tau as well. The gift Youngest Son gave him was the Codex for the Tau -- a book published by Games Workshop (the publishers of the game system and who make ginormous sums of money on the expensive figures, paints, books, and accessories to play the game) which explains who the Tau are, what they do, how they fight, what they believe in, and then specifics on each type of character and the weapons, vehicles, and other accessories they can use during the game.

In the game, teams or individual armies face-off on large tabletops and roll dice to determine if they can move and/or attack and must remain in-range of other persons/items/equipment, if required, and everything is based on whatever you roll on the dice required for the type of movement or attack you're attempting and a chart in the book that tells you if you're successful or not. Simple, huh?

Yeah, I'm still trying to learn it all and this game has been out since the 1990s and Husband used to play it a LOT back then. I never got involved with it and probably wouldn't be now except that Husband lucked-out on an entire Tau army with additional personnel, vehicles, and lots of extras that had the whole set been sold at a gaming store or online would have cost over $400, easily. He found it at a thrift shop for $18. For that low of a price, how could I resist? Plus, if I ever get tired of it, I can sell-off the items for the going rate and definitely more than double my money! That is, if Youngest Son doesn't try to get them -- he keeps asking me if I want to trade armies with him. He just doesn't like it because my basic strategic move is to set-up my armies at the far corner of the table and shoot at everyone from there because I have weapons that have a range of 36-inches and most tables aren't that big. That means, almost no matter what I roll, I'll hit them.

So Youngest Son and his friend are going to attempt to play the game tonight since his friend is really, really desperate to see how it all works. I told him I'd loan him a few figures to play with so he can get the idea. Then tomorrow when we go out-of-town to get the huge bags of dog food I need for Celeste and Harley and to take Husband for an early birthday lunch, we're going to swing by the gaming store so that his friend can spend some of his birthday money if he wants to on an army (or parts of one). Then the two boys will be able to play each other at their houses once school is over and might be able to enter some of the tournaments at the gaming store during summer vacation.

I've tied the voices in my head to the back of my skull for the day. I'm not in a manic mode today and I'm holding well on keeping myself out of falling into the depressive side. I'm sure they'll get free and the story will continue again sooner-or-later, but for now I have to decide which figures I'll let the kiddo borrow for the evening. Fortunately, my metal figures (which they no longer make) are really too powerful (and expensive) for a beginner and he can use my plastic figures (which are easy to repair if one should accidentally fall off the table and break).

And, yes, May the 4th be with you!

Voices are quiet at the moment....

Shhh!!! We don't want to wake them!!!

I feel crappy today and even though a few are still rattling around in the back of my head trying to get me to continue my postings from the past two days, the rest of the brain is not taking well to the weird changes in the weather and I've been switching from feeling hot and sweaty (from my own personal global warming) to dizzy and sleepy (which could be any number of reasons). So, I'm quietly going to back away from the computer before the rest realize I'm here and try to relax today.

I'm sure those of you waiting for the rest of the story won't be disappointed in the future -- they're not about to let me leave a tale unfinished.

Voices are in charge again! Day 2.

So...yeah....the voices are still going and I've got loose ends from yesterday that I've got to tie up.  I just got back to the house from my therapist's office.  She told me she got my application for disability request and was completing the information for them.  I'm sure she's got more to add today since I described to her about (1) the "rule of thumb" for hazardous materials incidents (if you can't stretch your arm out to full length, look down the length of it and cover the entire object that's leaking the material with your thumb, you're too close), (2) how the length of your forearm (from the bend in your elbow to the bend of your wrist) is the same size as your foot, (3) the fact that I found a new show to watch the other night on H2 (used to be History International) called "10 Things You Don't Know" and how it's now a challenge for me to see if they can come up with things I don't already know (the one on Hitler I knew all of them), and (4) how I not only applied for disability as she suggested but I also applied for a temporary job at the same disability office.  That ought to confuse them.  Oh, and when I was talking about the "10 Things You Don't Know" episode they did on Caligula and how I knew most but not all, she had a strange look on her face because she didn't know who he was.  I find myself often having to explain what I'm explaining to her because I forget that there are people who don't collect every bit of knowledge they have and store it somewhere until it's triggered by something else and pops its way to the forefront of my mind.  Today was a lot of those little "side-story" kind of days where my brain didn't want to stay on-topic.

Oh, and I gave her a copy of the first part of this "log" (for lack of a better word) to put into my file.  That ought to show them I'm nice and bat-shit crazy enough for disability.  Probably not, but who knows?

Anyway, back to where I'd left off yesterday.  I needed to explain how I'd "retaken" the fifth grade.  After my stellar grades in Kindergarten and the same happening in 1st grade, my biological father informed us that we were moving to a new town where he was going to be the principal of the elementary school.  I remember my parents trying to find a house to rent in the small town where the school was located so that we could live there during the week and in our permanent house on the weekends.  The house they found had a lot of issues and we ended up not living there.  I was happy because I remember going to run the water in the bathtub and it all came out black.  That's not because the house had crappy pipes; that's because the whole town had crappy pipes.  Even at the school you weren't really sure what color the water in the toilet would be after you flushed it and washing your hands could sometimes make them look worse than before.  I don't even want to go into the drinking fountains.

Even though we didn't move to the town, my dad was insistent that I attend school there because that's where he would be and, at the time, my mother was going back to college for her second degree.  This time, she was majoring in education and was going to be a teacher at the school as well.  She ended up in the junior high/high school part and we moved away from that district before I ever reached those grades, so I never had her as a teacher.  I did used to substitute teach years ago and would often get called to teach her classes, but that's another story for another time.

Since my father was the elementary school principal and realized that I'd been very advanced (and bored) in school where I had been attending, he made the decision along with my 2nd grade teacher that I should be promoted to the 3rd grade.  Once I finished all of the lessons in the spelling workbook I was officially moved-up into the 3rd grade classroom and took all of my classes with them.  I moved along with those students from 3rd grade to 4th grade and then 5th grade, even though I was still considered only a 2nd grade, 3rd grade, and 4th grade student.  I did all of the work and made the honor roll in the classes that were a year advanced of where I should have been.  I didn't mind because I was able to learn more at my own pace and do things more advanced than the others.

But when I was chronologically a 5th grade student, we moved school districts.   My father had gotten a job in another town as the middle school (junior high) principal and would be overseeing the 6th-8th grade classes.  I was at summer camp in Mississippi for two weeks when they came to pick me up and announced that we were going "home" and we arrived in a town I'd only visited before after taking a LONG summer vacation (more on that later).  They'd found a house and moved our stuff an hour away from where we had lived before.  It was sad because I did have one friend that I would hang-out with and I was going to miss her.  Most of my other friends I'd had in Kindergarten and 1st grade had moved-on without me because even though I lived in the town, since I didn't go to the same school I didn't exist.

The new town was a lot bigger and much different than where I'd lived or gone to school!  In my previous school, I was in the minority as a white person.  In the new town, that's all I could find!  Other kids thought I was crazy when I asked where the black students were and why no one was friends with any.  The house my parents had rented was just temporary until they bought a new one -- and it was brand new!  The local trade school had built it and the home economics department decorated it.  The house was auctioned and we ended up winning it.  It was a nice house on a nice street and I had a nice neighbor -- a gal that I'd met in 2nd grade until she'd moved away and now we were living next door to each other.  So, at least I had a friend when I got there.

I thought for sure I'd be going to the middle school but my father didn't want me standing out from the crowd too much.  I asked about band because I'd begun playing the flute in 4th grade band and wanted to continue.  In the new town, students weren't allowed to start band until 7th grade.  Even though I'd had a year behind me, I wasn't going to be allowed to play.  And I wasn't going to be allowed to go to the middle school because my father decided that it would be better if I stayed with the students my own age.  So, I had to "retake" the 5th grade.  Even the textbooks were the same as we used in my old school!  I mentioned this to my parents and the teachers but no one would budge.  So, I did 5th grade again and then finally moved to junior high.

Oh, remember me mentioning that my parents moved while I was at summer camp?  That wasn't the only shocking thing that happened while I was away from home, but the camp I attended in Mississippi was a religious camp, 8 hours away from home, and I loved every minute of it each year that I went.  The first year I went I was 9 (the youngest age they allowed) and I was only allowed to stay for one week since my parents weren't sure how well I'd get along on my own.  My friend Russell and some other guys from our church went as well.  We knew about the summer camp because it was the same place in the winter where men from around the country would go for a religious deer hunting retreat.  My dad would always bring home a buck and a doe and he and his friends would spend hours in our garage hanging the deer and dressing them.  I loved watching it and wanted to help.  When I was 8 years old, he returned from his week-long retreat with the deer and a BB gun for me.  I was in heaven!  And, since it was close to Christmas, I knew what I'd be doing out in the snow.

And, no, I never shot my eye out or killed anything with it.  But, boy, I could sure hit the back of an old heavy aluminum Dutch oven hanging on the back fence!  The "thwing!" that BB made as it ricocheted off the metal and into who knows what direction was thrilling.  Of course, this was back in the day when parents would let their kids have BB guns, you could use a BB gun in the city limits legally, no safety equipment was worn, and no one concerned themselves about the return trajectory of the BBs as they "thwinged" themselves off of metal objects.

I loved my first year at summer camp.  I got to swim in the pool and tried to water ski on the lake but just ended up being dragged around on my face.  I met a lot of people from all over the southern United States who had absolutely NO idea what I was saying because I was a "Yankee" and didn't have the Southern Twang that was needed to communicate.  I also took horsemanship classes and got to take care of a horse and rode it every day.  I was so busy having fun that I forgot that the large suitcase of clothing and personal items I brought with me included a brush and other objects with which to clean myself.  I don't remember it but my parents had a good time teasing me when they came to pick all of us up at the end of the week that I looked liked I'd gone wild because I forgot to brush my hair the entire time I was there.  At least I swam and the chlorine in the pool could count as "bathing" more than what Russell did.  He completely forgot to bathe or change clothes the entire time.  We were both sent back to our respective cabins before we were allowed in the car with the other guys to return home.

We were all crammed in the station wagon -- a big Oldsmobile full-sized station wagon with plenty of room in the back for our luggage, vinyl bench seats, and fake wood trim along the sides.  My parents and I sat in the front (me in the middle with my feet on the "hump") and the two older boys shoved Russell into the middle of the back seat between them.  On the way to the main road from the camp was a very winding road that was gorgeous but wasn't optimal for people with a tendency to have motion sickness.  Russell was one of those.  We heard a strange noise and then my mother and I looked over our shoulders into the back seat where we saw each of the teenage boys pressed as close to the doors as they could get while shouting that Russell was being sick all over the floor.  And he was -- and not just the floor.  We had to pull over on the side of a barely two-lane gravel road and get Russell changed and try to clean up the sick.  Thank goodness for those vinyl seats.

I never returned with the other guys and Russell to summer camp.  Each year until I was 16 I went on my own.  I'd stay for two weeks and have the time of my life.  My maternal grandparents even bought me a joke book on "How to Speak Southern" which I actually used as a translation guide and my second year there people could understand me.  I'd pack my dad's old Navy trunk with enough clothes and books and other things to keep me occupied on rainy days and looked forward to going every year.  And after we'd moved and I started my new school, I became even more desiring of being there because it was somewhere I could be happy.

The summer after my 4th grade year I spent two glorious weeks at camp and then my parents, with our dog in tow, showed up to get me.  I was stunned by this but my dad was really good friends with the camp director and had made arrangements to sleep in one of the VIP cabins (where the speakers or other guests could stay) so that on the last day of my stay we could leave as soon as all of the "goodbyes" were said and tears were shed.

They packed my trunk into the back of our 1980 Chevrolet Chevette along with the luggage they'd brought which was much more than for a one-night stay eight hours away from home.  I thought something was up and my suspicions were correct.  After we'd headed up the twisty road towards the main road, my parents announced that we'd be going on vacation.  With both of them being teachers, we had all summer so I sat in the back seat with my dog and watched the miles go by.  We traveled through Mississippi, across Alabama, and finally stopped in Georgia.  We visited Atlanta and went to the Six Flags park there.  I remember having to stand in line for an hour to get my hand stamped with a time to return so I could stand in line some more to get to ride the new Thunder River ride.  My dad complained the entire time but I was just glad to be having some fun.  We also visited Stone Mountain while we were in Georgia and I really, really enjoyed seeing and learning a lot about it.

We ventured north into South Carolina and I remember we stopped in Maggie Valley, North Carolina one night.  There was a HUGE water slide there and I'd never been on one before.  I begged my parents to let me try it and while my mom wasn't a big fan of being in a swimsuit in public at the time, my dad agreed and bought passes for the two of us.  This wasn't a fiberglass water slide like you see these days -- it was concrete and built into the ground (which pleased my mother because that summer she had seen too many reports of water slides collapsing at parks and people getting hurt).  There were two tracks -- one was short and fast and the other was longer but had bigger drops.  We were given neoprene mats and told to be sure to hold on to them tightly as we traveled down the chutes.  I loved it!  It was like an open roller coaster and I wanted to go faster and faster.  My father, however, thought he'd show me some "moves" that would be "cool" and I remember seeing him leave the top of the slide, the mat coming down the slide, him coming down the slide on the rough concrete, and then a large "splash" in the pool at the bottom and him saying that he wasn't going to slide anymore.  Oh, and Mercurochrome was located for the scrapes he had.

After spending time in North Carolina we ventured towards the Virginias and the Smokey Mountains.  We got to see bears on the side of the road and made a side-stop in Knoxville, Tennessee during the 1982 World's Fair.  I've heard that it's been listed as one of the worst World's Fairs of all time and I'm here to say that I wholeheartedly agree.  Everything was about the environment and new technologies such as solar and wind power.  It was also extremely crowded and, of course, my dad complained the entire time.  He and my mother even had a very loud argument in the parking lot on our way to the gates that for all she cared he could sit in the car by himself while she took me inside to see and learn new things.  Every country's pavilion we wanted to visit had a line at least two hours long and many, like the Chinese and American pavilions, had lines for you to wait to get your hand stamped with a time at which you would come back and stand in line again and wait to get inside to see the exhibits.

It was hot.  They'd paved over a huge park to install the World's Fair which looking back seems like a really stupid thing to do if you're trying to talk about saving the environment.  Everything was expensive and, as usual, my dad complained even more loudly as the day continued.  The only pavilion we visited was the Canadian exhibit because (1) it had a shorter line and (2) it advertised that it was air conditioned.  When we got to the front of the line, the air conditioning was no longer working.  I don't really remember anything from their exhibit because my dad dragged us through there as quickly as possible because he was getting sick from the heat.

My mother and I found a building where people were exiting out the back doors and suddenly felt the cool refreshing breeze of air conditioning.  Not caring what exhibit it was, we darted inside and, yes, made sure my dad came too.  It was full of computerized exhibits and video games and everything "futuristic" you could think of at the time.  I remember Nintendo had a HUGE area where there were Donkey Kong games lined-up side-by-side and each one was being played by someone who, like me, had never played a videogame like that before.  We stayed inside the cool building for a while so that we could rest and recharge before going back into the sweltering heat.  We stayed in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee and I ended up sick with a fever for a couple of days which threw-off some of the plans they'd made.

After I was better we went to Louisville, Kentucky where an old Navy buddy of my father's lived with his wife.  My parents had been friends with them for years and we'd visited them once when they lived in Iowa.  Now he was a big attorney for General Electric and we were invited to come and stay with them for a while.  We toured Louisville.  I got to see the original pot in which The Colonel made his first batch of Kentucky Fried Chicken and the "safe" where the secret recipe was "kept."  We all also ventured to Indiana and visited Santa Claus Land in Santa Claus, Indiana.  This is WAY before it became Holiday World and Splashin' Safari!!  Santa Claus Land was basically a cheap carnival with exhibits and stores where every day, 365 days a year, it was Christmas.  Some poor fool had to sit on a throne in an overstuffed Santa costume for hours a day in the middle of summer and listen to kids tell him what they wanted for Christmas or scream their heads off in terror because they didn't know who he was.  My favorite memory was my dad trying to tease my mother into riding the Tilt-a-Whirl because she gets motion sickness very easily.  He kept teasing and taunting and finally she agreed that we three would ride it together.  After it ended, I had a wonderful view of my father leaning against a large pine tree throwing up everything he'd eaten and complained was too expensive at the park.  I wanted to take a picture for posterity but decided I'd be safer if I didn't.  After Santa Claus Land we went to Squire Boone Caverns in Corydon, Indiana and I fell in love with caves.  Oh, I knew I was claustrophobic and afraid of heights and falling (which wasn't ideal since one of the first things you cross is a very large chasm that seems to have no bottom on a very small bridge).  But I loved going through the cave and seeing new things each time.  My parents and their friends waited outside while I went on tour after tour.  When we all went together we made sure to pose for the "obligatory" photo at the beginning that they said they used "to make sure that everyone on the tour makes it out of the cave and will know who's missing."  My dad hated the picture because he's standing in it with his legs crossed like he needs to go to the bathroom.  My mother said we weren't posing for another just because he didn't like it and that he should have gone before we left.

After the long vacation, we went to our new home, I started my new school, and things started to change a lot.  My mother was attending graduate school to receive her Master's of Education and my dad was busy at the middle school many evenings.  I'd be at home by myself (remember, this was back when you could do that and not be scared of someone snatching your kid) and he'd tell me that if I had problems with my homework to call him at the school.  I wasn't sure what he was doing there but I know that he didn't answer the phone when I would call.  I guessed back then that he thought I'd be able to do all of the work on my own or figure it out and would never need to call him 'cause I had no idea where he was.  When he came home he'd tell me he was at the school but I had my suspicions that he was never fucking there.  Well, he might have been fucking there -- but that's an image I don't want in my mind.  It's bad enough when you come to grips with the fact that your parents had to have had sex at least once to get you into the world, much less any more than that. (Told you I could swear and this is where it's necessary.)

No, my dad had introduced me to his secretary and she had introduced me to her family.  She had two kids (a boy and a girl, both younger than me) and I absolutely loved her parents.  They treated me as one of their own.  My mother and I would go out and pick blackberries and corn and other fruits and vegetables on their farm and in their gardens.  We were welcomed with open arms and they loved having me visit and go fishing or riding three-wheelers with them.  They even gave me my own rabbit to raise (which had to be put-down after it ate it's babies) and taught me to milk cows and work with other farm animals.  It was great!

Then it happened.  I went to summer camp and came home to a changed house.  My dad had been having an affair with his secretary and my parents had decided to divorce.  Being the naive kid I was, I thought the reason my dad had moved his stuff into the guest bedroom during the year was because he snored too loud and he was often up late at night typing his thesis for his Specialist's in Education degree.  To me, it seemed logical that he stay in there where we could close the door on him when we wanted quiet so we could sleep.  I had no idea that was the first step in him moving-out.  I went to camp with married parents and came back a child of divorce.  They'd decided to do it while I was gone so I wouldn't have to speak in front of the judge and so I'd be happier.  That's what they said, anyway.

My 6th grade year was controversial just like my 5th grade year.  I was meeting new people and finding that being the principal's daughter did get you invited to a lot of the best parties and events in town but only so people could say that I was there, not that they really wanted me there.  I'd often find myself in the corner alone watching everyone else participating or I'd try to get out there and dance or play the games or whatever they were doing and was told indirectly (and sometimes very directly) that I wasn't welcome in what they were doing.  It was difficult trying to find a place to fit-in.  Everyone knew who I was because everyone knew who my father was.  I was in Girl Scouts and played intramural softball and participated a lot with the local youth group at the church we attended.  I tried to convince others at church to attend summer camp with me but no one was interested.  The church we attended had their own one-week camp they sponsored and I decided to give it a try as well.  It wasn't as much fun, but I was with people I knew from school and hoped for more friendships to grow from it.

Of course by now everyone in town knew that my parents had divorced and who my dad was seeing.  As I've said before, I know their marriage had been rocky for a long time but I never dreamed it would end.  I didn't know people who had gotten divorced.  Or, if I did, I was never told about it.  The "scandal" didn't help me in winning friends.  I hated hearing people whisper, "Do you know who he's dating?  She's from that family!  How could he sink so low?"  And it really upset me, too, because her parents had never been anything but kind and loving to me and I had no idea why people were speaking poorly of them.  Even after my parents divorced they invited me over and let me have fun fishing or just playing outside.  I guess they wanted to help me through the transition as best as they could.

In the divorce, my dad gave my mother  the house (with the mortgage) and one of the cars (the Chevette that would later become mine) and he took the money from the bank.  And not just his half of the money -- ALL of it.  And everything in the safe deposit box which included my coin collections he'd tried to help me start and all of the savings bonds my paternal grandmother had bought me every birthday and Christmas since the day I was born.

I'll never forget one night when my mother was upset over the whole thing.  My mom hadn't been drinking or anything like that.  She was just pissed and wanted to yell and scream at someone and, since I was an only child and the only other person in the house, I caught it full-blast.  I remember trying to retreat into the kitchen to get away from her screaming and she cornered me.  There in the dark, I swear I could see her eyes glowing.  She screamed at me, "You'd just better get used to taking care of yourself because you're not going to have a mother to come home to!  I'm so pissed and I don't give a shit anymore that I just might go and kill that asshole father of yours and maybe his slut and then you'll be on your own 'cause I'll be in jail and I don't give a fuck!"  That was one of the first times I can ever remember being totally speechless.  I didn't know what to do!  She stomped off towards her bedroom and I just stood there with a glass in one hand and my other hand outstretched as I had been preparing to turn on the lights.  I just stood there in the dark and I remember hearing my brain "saying" to me, "Yup, got it.  That one's going right in the files with the rest," as the recorder in my mind turned switched off.

I knew she wasn't serious because I had the only weapon in the house (my BB gun) and she didn't like guns.  I didn't think she even knew how she'd try to kill someone but I didn't move for quite a while.  I waited until I heard her go into her bedroom before I dared move.  She never mentioned it again and I'm sure she wouldn't remember doing it now.  But it's definitely stuck in my memory banks.  Could be one of the reasons I became depressed my 6th grade year.  It could also be the reason that along with another event triggered my first real consideration of suicide, but that story is going to have to wait.

Again, I've sat here for I don't remember how long (more than a couple of hours) and typed as different voices in my head have brought things to the surface.  Some I've had to push back because they're trying to get me to tell stories out-of-order and, of course, that's just not my style.  OCD is a bitch no matter which way you look at it.  Maybe I'll continue again tomorrow with this.  I'm sure many of the people who read this and know or are in today's story won't be happy -- but my brain is whirring like a car that's idling too fast.  I know if I don't do something to slow it down soon it's going to break.  And this is all I have at the moment.