Friday, June 26, 2020

Worse? Who said it couldn't get worse?

The daughter, returning to her apt. via the NJ Parkway, just had her car rear-ended.
The whole back is smashed to the point where she can't open the rear hatch.

She claims to be okay.
She won't be tomorrow.

I have been in a terrible collision. I ended up in the hospital. My head connected with the windshield. My hands broke the steering wheel while trying to keep myself  from going completely through the windshield. My knee got bunged up.
Every bone in my body hurt, but my arms were the worst.

Keeping my body from sailing through the windshield caused enough adrenaline to course through me to keep me alive. Yes, this was years before seat-belts, folks. The '64 Dodge I was driving did not have seat-belts.

It was totaled by some guy pulling off the main highway to get into a bar.

The next day, I couldn't move. Anything.

I had a split in my scalp, but nothing on my face. Had I had ONE stitch in my face, I would have made millions.
My parents did NOTHING to pursue the driver.
NOTHING.

I was without a vehicle right after graduation from college. I had interviews for jobs to go to. 
All in all, I got $1200 for a car that was in perfect condition.

Crippled for years. No car. 

I still have trouble holding anything of weight.


This was the only photo of the exact color and year of my Dodge 440. Of course, mine was not set up for racing like this one, but that was a lot of steel and engine.
Once again, Irene lost.


Friday, May 29, 2020

All wrong

This bullshit has got to stop.
A true humanitarian would declare, not that he isn't getting popular agreement on Twitter, but that these overreactions to violence and the blatant harassment by police, is wrong and has to end.

Judging people by their race is wrong.
Judging people by where they might be, as we all have a right to be wherever we want to be, is wrong.
Judging people by their language, their proximity, their hairstyle, is wrong.

Judging people by doing the jobs they were given, if they are doing them correctly...you have to make sure they're doing what they have sworn to do, on bibles or their mother's lives or those of their children.

This isn't 1868 or 1968. The time, the year is 2020. We should have learned some important lessons by now.

Sunday, May 17, 2020

Hometown memory

Just saw an ad on TV for some kind of heating pad that is weighted and safe to last all night long.
This, of course, reminded me of something from when I was maybe 10 or so.

My grandmother had a friend who lived on the outskirts of my hometown, right on the edge, on a dead end street. It was paved, but lonely. Okay, for the longest time, this woman, Dodka I will try to phoneticize her name, lived in a shack with no toilet or running water, though I do believe electricity was forced upon her later in time.

What made me think of this poor old lady who did not speak English in my vicinity, was the horrible way she died.

It was a fierce winter. Snow was piled high in drifts. I doubt anybody even knew someone lived in this shack, not even the town. 
The old lady, in an effort to be warm, plugged in three heating pads and slept her last sleep.

When she was found, many days later, she was burned to a crisp, inside and out.

My grandmother found out about her passing weeks later. I do not know whether she would have done anything to alleviate the woman's situation while she still breathed because most people didn't give a rat's ass about Dodka. She had no family.

The killer thing is, when the town was tearing down the shack, a great deal of money was found in the walls and that part of the dirt floor that had boards over it.

Is there a lesson in this? 
Either: Spend it while you have it  or
be careful using heating pads. 

Thursday, May 14, 2020

Weather or not

The sun is beaming brilliantly into the windows. Birds are bathing atop the pool cover. The lilacs are in full glorious bloom, the day lilies will soon shoot up with their brazen orange flowers, the azaleas are doing their utmost to cheer the world.

Unfortunately, these lovely things cannot cure this Corona virus plague.

Pity, that.

For if they could, everyone would be out, gazing and sniffing and allowing the sun to warm their late spring bodies.

There is no cure yet.
People somewhere are working diligently to find one, but it takes time. In the meantime, people are dying.

This is a cruel purge on us.
A flood would have been much more effective. Just saying.

Of all the various things I have thought about writing here, this is what came out.
No humor. No innuendo. Nothing but a furrowed brow.

Yet, there is still hope.
I can never lose hope that this epidemic will be resolved...weeks, months...years?

How long can you tread water?

Tuesday, May 12, 2020

Gee

All the azaleas are blooming.
There are lots of green leaves on all the trees.
The sky is blue. The clouds are puffs of white.

It is freakin' cold outside.

But, nevertheless, I went for a little ride with husband to the place where you can dump yard waste. It is about three miles away from our house. He trimmed some forsythia bushes that were scratching against the RV, I think, but he bundled lots of branches and leaves into two recycling cans and two huge paper bags.

Off we went.

Last time I was out of the house was 4 MAR 20. It was a scarier world and nature wasn't being very cooperative. I did see some tulips that day, but nothing like the lilacs and dogwood of today.

And it was grey everywhere that day.

But not today.

I even stepped outside and took a photo of myself to prove to my buddy that I had gone outside to sit in sunshine. Of course, I chased away the birds at our feeder and the sun disappeared just at that moment, but I was outside.

No biggie.

As I have been meditating while inside the house, I came up with all sorts of grievances I wanted to write about.
Luckily for you, if anybody is reading this, I have conveniently forgotten all these topics until the next time I suffer a grievance.

Even my desk chair has jerked down. No matter how I try, I can't get it to stay up.


Tuesday, April 28, 2020

Warning!

There ought to be a law somewhere about looking at oneself in the mirror after the age of 50.

Here in my seclusion, I have had the opportunity to gaze at my eyebrows, tweezers in hand, and try to undo the damage. Most of the hairs on my left side are white. I find this appalling because the brow on the other side of my face isn't white. Well, not completely.

So, as I am gazing with contempt for those errant brows, I realize that they aren't the problem.

Underneath my eyes, not where bags are, but on my cheekbones, I'm in trouble.

Whoa! Where did those weird puffy parts come from? 
They disturb me to no end.
I slather on moisturizer every single day and yet, they persist.

Okay. I have to admit that I am old now.
I held on to being not old for a long time. People in bars or those I met for the first time often were amazed that I was as old as I said I was.
I have even had to produce my driver's license to prove my age...although not recently. But I don't get out that much, and certainly not to bars.

Anyway, I look old.
I feel old.
I am old.

Word of caution to all those lovely young chickies out there: You'd better enjoy your bodies and faces now because, in all too few years, you will be subject to what I face now.

No matter how hard you try to avoid it, you're going to get old.

And wrinkled. 
And spotted.
And warty,
God Forbid!

So please enjoy your youthful appearance now, while you have it.

I could burst into song right about here, but I won't.

Getting old sucks, but it sure beats the alternative.

Good luck. 

Friday, April 17, 2020

Ah hah!

Perhaps you have wondered about the picture on this blog. The Victorian inn with the pink background. It was created by my artist in residence, Karyn, to hint at the story I was working on...The Mermaid Arms.

That may have been as much as 8 years ago.

I wrote much of it, all including the end, which is spectacular even if I say so myself.

But, I did a bad thing.
I wrote out of sequence.
I had several people wanting me to write, so I wrote. Chapters, scenes, anything that moved me. 
All out of order but the first six chapters.

Yes, I am grievously ashamed of myself for doing this because when I tried to put it all together, I couldn't.

I made a timeline.
I read and reread. I figured out most of it, even the last eight chapters that were as well formed as the beginning six. So, what remained was the middle.

Oh, it did not lack for happenings and excitement, but it was rather jumbled.

So, one week while in North Carolina on vacation, I put it all together. Every chapter and scene and it made sense, with the exception of one chapter.

It needed to be included as it showed tremendous character development. But it hung out there like an extra foot or entire limb. Freakishly just there.
Alone and abandoned.

So I quit working on the World War II story.

Herb stated that I would never finish it. Such a sweetheart, but deep down inside, I guess he may have been right.

Until yesterday when in a flash of mental lightning, I figured out how to make it work.

I have to change the POV and it will slide right in where it belongs.

And, in case I would forget it, I actually wrote down a note and the first sentence so I would remember.

Now...all that remains is for me to salvage the chapter's meaning and rewrite just a bit in the POV of the protagonist.

To quote Peter Pan--Oh, the cleverness of ME!!!