Same chick, different life

It's been a long time since I wrote in here, and it's mainly because life has been reconstructing from the ground up for the last few years. Don't worry though - things are good now. What's been up, you're asking? Well I'll try to catch you up without being too boring.

First of all, Incrediboy, the darling and precocious baby in the beginning days of this blog, is now 15 years old. He is taller than me now, and I'm not short. I know, I can't believe it either. To make it even better, he is an awesome young man and I am really proud of him. He's a great kid.

I am sad to say that Most Beautiful Dog crossed the Rainbow Bridge in January. We were blessed to have him for 16 crazy silly years. In his last year he slowed down considerably, and one day he just kind of collapsed, frighteningly disoriented. I took him to the emergency vet and they found he had a mass inside his ribcage that had ruptured and he was bleeding internally. There was nothing that could be done and he was going to pass on his own, but I decided to help him along to ease any suffering he may be having. I held him and stroked his sleek body as he took his last breath. I miss him every day. Every moment.

I now have three beagles. Yes, three. I love them all, and the newest one in particular has been very healing as I have grieved MBDog. More on that lot in a few minutes though.

After 22 years together, 20 years married, the Hub and I split up a few years back and are now divorced. I will not go into detail about this, as it's really a private matter. I will just simply say we grew in different directions, and grew far enough apart that we couldn't find our way back. We have remained amicable and are successfully co-parenting Incrediboy. It was a hard time but we all have adjusted.

I quit my job. I hated it from the time I started but I gave it 2 1/2 years. I swear it shortened my life. It certainly poisoned the rest of my life while I was there (no, it didn't have anything to do with the divorce. That road was paved long before then). The company is successful enough that the owner is rolling in dough, but it is a shockingly mismanaged and unethical organization. Quitting was like being released from prison. What am I doing now? I'll get to that later.

My Mom, who had a stroke in 2013 and has been in assisted living, passed away Mother's Day weekend 2018. I miss her. We never seemed to achieve that same closeness like most mothers and daughters, but we did get along and had grown closer since Dad died, and I miss her so much.

In happier news ... I have recently remarried.  It probably sounds really quick, especially since I just told you I got divorced a few lines back. But I have known him since 1986. We dated in high school and then went our separate ways, each getting married, having families, and building lives. He had been divorced several years when we got back in touch and I was in the process of reorganizing my life and filing for divorce. After an extended period of getting to know each other again and catching up on our lives and trials, we found we were still great together. He and Incrediboy like each other, and while his girls are grown and don't live with him, I get along with them as well. All important things.  He had two beagles who also accepted me into the pack, so everything fell into place. :)

I make this all sound so quick and neat. It was not always. When I first filed for divorce I went to a lot of counseling sessions to gain balance and perspective and to begin healing. My counselor was very helpful and I respected and applied all of their guidance. It was the best thing I could have done for myself and helped greatly with my healing and progression.

My now husband (whom I will call Studsband - as he is indeed a handsome stud) and I got married in March and when we got back from our honeymoon launched our small engine repair business. It's something he has been doing on the side since high school, and upon talking about both of us being fed up with job dissatisfaction, we decided to go full time with it. What's the worst that can happen? We have to go back to getting jobs? There will always be jobs waiting. Time to chase some dreams, and so far, I'm happy to say the business is doing great. 

To be honest, I would have married him when we dated the first time. We always had a remarkable connection and relatability to one another. We just met too young. I went on to have a life with a lot of love and fun mixed in with the struggles. But I can tell you that for the first time since we dated initially, I feel like I am exactly where I am meant to be and with who I belong. I am ecstatically happy and wish nothing but the best for the former Hub as well. 

The third beagle just came into our lives about a month ago. She is a rescue, very tiny for a beagle and has clearly suffered some abuse. She was so timid and skittish when we got her. We have spent a lot of time gaining her trust and while she is still very cautious of the Studsband which makes me think the source of her abuse came from a male - because the Studsband is, while a tall and formidable man, such a gentle person - she is coming around. Her little personality is coming out and she is very sweet and so funny. I can't help but feel we were led to her. Healing for her, and healing for us. There will never be another MBDog in my heart. But there is plenty of love still to give to other puppers.  

Well, that's the short version of what's been up. Why now, after all this time am I back? I dunno. I miss writing. I actually have been writing ... but not like I did here. Maybe I can find my way back to happiness here too.

So how have y'all been?

100 Words: Feast or Famine

This week's 100 Words challenge at Thin Spiral Notebook is to use a food colloquialism. I'm not sure how well I did this, but here is my brain's offering.



I was always certain you felt the same undeniable rightness of us. I saw it in your eyes, even when the rest of you refuted it. It was extremely hard to give up, but it was killing me.

When you allow for second choices, by default you make your first choice your second choice. I have never been big on being second choice. I refuse to be content with scraps thrown on the floor from your banquet table.

Sour grapes can provide powerful nourishment when it's all you have left.

I am stronger than you know. Than even I knew.

100 Words: Sorry Not Sorry

Sometimes even when you leave hurt behind you, it follows close behind, waiting for the opportunity to pop back out. This week's 100 Words Prompt from Thin Spiral Notebook is RISK.

I saw her obituary by chance while scrolling through the alumni facebook page. She would be greatly missed by her loving husband, two children, and a host of friends.

She had always been cute and very popular.  So sweet, everyone said. I never would have described her that way. She degraded me daily, making fun of my knockoff clothes and my awkwardness - my bad skin and good grades. She made going to school feel like a daily risk, as if navigating a minefield.

I hated her.

Part of me felt obligatory sadness at the news. 

A bigger part did not.

100 Words: ADVENTURE

Be it for a person, a destination, or an activity, all great endeavors sprout from attraction. The prompt for this round of Thin Spiral Notebook's 100 Word Challenge is ADVENTURE. 



You showed up like you had always belonged, the missing element laid bare. I had been riding the current, an oblivious fool waiting for life to start, and suddenly found myself perched on the edge of intoxicating calamity.

I saw it right away. A barely there jolt in your casual stance, irises flashing for just a nanosecond. A tiny pucker of a dimple in your cheek as you try to play it down. That's when I knew it wasn't my imagination.

My off-guard mind scrambles to assemble a dazzling opener.

I stand up, and take a step toward epiphany.

100 Words: Hungry

This week's 100 Words challenge over at Thin Spiral Notebook is HUNGRY.



According to the cycles of daylight through the glass block windows, it has been five days since the storm. Five days we'd been trapped.

The case of water was lasting, but the meager food supply was almost gone. The bucket I'd used for waste was beginning to reek. So was I.

I opened the last tin of potted meat with a skrrrrik of the lid. Daisy looked up at me with bright expectant eyes.

My stomach rumbled furiously as I gave her the tin. She devoured it, tail wagging gratefully.

"Enjoy it ... That's it."

Help will come soon.  I hope.

Topic Prompt 1: Rain

The rain was laughing.

I shot out of there like a scalded dog. Not out of shame or defeat, but because I didn't think I could contain myself any longer. And I didn't want to go to prison.

I had been running for I don't know how long. I'd run until I couldn't see the lights. Until I couldn't feel the brutal impact of the ground through my legs anymore. Until broken glass shredded my lungs. I'd run and run and still could not escape myself. Could not escape my fury.

I stopped. Cold blades shaved down my back and bled beneath the waistband of my pants. The ache in my feet caught up with me, sending flames up my legs. I raked the glass through my lungs some more.

I looked up at the bruised sky. Fat, pea-sized drops hurled down, striking and banking around me. I had a flash of a memory, a spaceship's viewpoint of traveling at warp speed. For a second I felt my feet elevate, and then it was gone.

I wondered if I waited, if I stood in this spot and stretched my energy as high up into the sky as I could, if I could draw a lightning strike to me. If I could will the unforgiving lance straight through me, through my heart and down into the aloof earth, taking my anger and sadness and spirit with it.

Lightning sizzled my retinas, leaving only static in my vision as the thunder squeezed me in its giant fists.

The rain was laughing, and I was still here.

100 Words: You Can't Go Home Again

I am delighted that 100 Words is still being carried on, now over at Thin Spiral Notebook.  The 100 Words format was always fun to me - working with a topic I did not pick, in a strict minimalist flash fiction format. I felt it pushed my tendency to prattle on into an a la Hemingway strip-down. It is always fun, always invigorating.  

This round's prompt is HISTORY.



I moved away thirty years ago. Had the house number not been the same I'd have thought I was in the wrong place. Nothing looked familiar. The aqua paint was replaced with taupe. The sled-hill front yard barely an incline. The pine tree was gone. Was my parakeet still buried under where it stood? Even the cement porch where I'd carved my initials as it set had been demolished at some point. I considered knocking on the door, asking if I could look around - but drove on. Sometimes history doesn't stay with a place - it stays with a person.

  

Fish Tales

Several years back, while I was away on a girls’ weekend, Incrediboy came home from a local festival with a goldfish he had won in one of those ping pong toss games.  I was less than pleased. I have nothing against fish, but I had fish in college and really didn’t care to go through the ordeal again.

I glared at the Hub, who just shrugged and said he had no idea the boy would actually make one of the ping pong balls into its target. I was pretty annoyed that he couldn’t have steered him to a game with stuffed animals or pop guns instead.

I had to admit though, the little drop of sunset orange with big moon eyes was pretty cute.

I took Incrediboy to the local department store and we picked out a nice tank and filter set, some cheery gravel and an assortment of aquarium plants, along with a ceramic Spongebob Pineapple house with lots of windows for the little babe to explore and swim through. I had no idea how long “Flounder” would survive. Who knows how healthy those poor fair fish are to begin with. But if we were to bring an animal into the house, we were going to take care of it as best as we could.

A few years ago Flounder changed from orange to shimmery white, in gradient blotches.  Incrediboy was in a panic and I didn’t know what to make of it.  With a little internet research I learned that goldfish often change color several times in their lives. I had no idea, did you?

Flounder is now 5 years old.  He has most recently turned a soothing blush tone - his body has quadrupled in size and his tail streams out behind him like a gossamer veil.  The pineapple has long since been replaced with a rock cave, which Flounder enjoys hanging out in. Incrediboy adores him.

Over the past few weeks, Flounder has not been himself.  He hasn’t been moving much, and his fins and tail are beginning to deteriorate.  He is losing scales near the base of his tail and is barely eating.  We have been giving him some antibiotics in his tank water as suggested by the pet store, and change his water frequently to give him the most optimal environment.  Most recently he seems to have perked up, but he struggles to swim and has difficulty staying straight up, listing to the side or flipping nose-up like a rocket on a launchpad.  I don’t know if it’s due to his fins and tail being injured or if he is reaching the final mile of his road on earth.

Incrediboy includes Flounder’s health in his prayers every night.

Many people file fish in the category of disposable pets.  They come and go, no big deal. But this particular fish means a lot to this boy.  It will break his heart when Flounder moves on - and while I hate for anything to bring him pain, I appreciate that it will. Such a compassionate heart he has.

Fart and Relax

I think I know what my problem is.

The thing about artists is we want things to come out as perfect and utterly life changing as we envision them in our minds and hearts.  It rarely does, and that makes us brood and struggle with infuriating frustration.

As I shared the other day, I have finally been inspired to start writing again, and will use this dear old format as my starting point.  I toss ideas around in my noggin all day as I work, commute, and go about the chores of the everyday. I barely know where to start once I get the time.

Tonight I sat down to write.

Nothing.

Instead I spent about four hours reading through old posts.  I now feel rather melancholy.  I feel like I will never write like that again.

But why wouldn't I?  I just need a little bit of practice. Loosen up the writing muscles.  Maybe the next stuff will be the best yet.

I just need to "fart and relax", as my BFF says.

I turned 48 earlier this month. Can you believe that?  And remember Incrediboy, the precious toddler from my earlier posts?  He's 13 now.

Time's a-wasting.

Be back tomorrow (or as it were, later today), with some kind of post. Even if it sucks, I will be writing.  :)

Hello, it's me ...

It has been nearly six years since my last post. Wow.

Is anyone still out there? I wouldn't blame you if you weren't.

That's okay ... nobody was here when I started this blog either.

So what have I been up to? All kinds of crap that hasn't been much fun. But some of it has. For one, a good friend of mine asked me to help him with a book project. We had a lot of fun with it - the story line was his concept and he had written it all out and I handled editing, rewrites and embellishments. There are now two novels out there and a third in progress. Pretty cool huh? All three of our fans are very excited.

 But I digress.

My friend brought his project to me, asking for my help. But in the end he helped me.

I started thinking about writing again. I started thinking about how much I enjoyed keeping this blog and participating in the challenges and writing groups I found. I have decided to pursue a solo project. I have some ideas of what I want to do, and even have a few items to use for it.

The problem is, my writing joints are stiff, my muscles atrophied. I need to start experimenting again. What better place to start than back at the beginning?

Let's see what happens.

Ashes and Dust

I initially started this blog to help me work through my emotions surrounding the death of J, my dearest friend. Six years later, I am returning to its roots by writing about losing my father. It feels good to get thoughts and feelings down, even if it doesn't help me solve anything.

The following is my contribution for Velvet Verbosity's 100 Words this week. This round's word is FORGOTTEN. VV is choosing very helpful words for my process. :). Thank you, my sweet readers, for your patience and compassion while indulging me.



Appraising someone else's treasures is more difficult than you'd think. I struggle with evaluating and thinning Dad's beloved book collection, and glance at his sacred "ham shack" in the corner. The old amateur radios that used to whisper through the registers after my bedtime are now quiet until sold to other operators. The powdery ash that was once my Daddy will soon be one with the Rockies, assimilated and quickly forgotten by the elements. I've never been one to linger by caskets or gravestones ... but maybe that's what I'm doing now. Letting go so very reluctantly.

Erasure

After a short respite, I'm returning to Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge. This week's prompt is FAMILY - I didn't use the word within my piece, but felt I need not.


After spending the past week disbursing death certificates and helping Mom update their accounts, I had a squinchy feeling of remorse deep within. As if we were erasing him from the world.

His ashes have now reached Colorado, where my brother will scatter them in the mountains. We'll have no grave to visit. Not that I would anyway. Still, it somehow bothers me no one will ever be standing somewhere and know he was here - even strangers.

Such a ridiculous fret. We know. Dad reaches beyond monuments, beyond his own mortality. Blossoming through us.

XYZ

My final post for the A to Z Challenge, at which I pretty much sucked ;).

Well, much like the challenge, this trying month is over.

Dad's memorial service was today. It was fairly short and sweet - much as he'd prefer. Lots of old familiar faces and awkward but heartfelt words. I managed not to cry while I was there. I worry that Mom is crying right now. Or perhaps that she isn't. We are not very proficient processors of overpowering emotions, either one of us.

I spent time with my brother, nephew and neice this evening. We played Trivial Pursuit and had a fun time. It feels good to laugh and love with my blood. I don't see them nearly enough.

The difficult month that draws to a close tonight has changed me in ways that will never reverse. I have aged, and my heart has lost a few irretrievable shards. I've said goodbye to people I love - people I cannot imagine not being here.

But I have a husband, and a little boy, a dog, friends and family who are here. They love me and I love them. I continue to mourn. But I will do my best to return to the living.

Weary (A/Z)

For the A to Z Challenge - Letter W.

My Dad passed away early Saturday morning.

I've been continuing with my previously mentioned running to Mom's, now to help her with arrangements. He wanted to be cremated, which simplified many aspects of the planning. If you can really do that. Very little is simple about laying a loved one to rest.

My brother will scatter Dad's ashes in the Colorado Rockies, which Dad did not propose himself but would no doubt approve of as his point of re-entry, becoming one again with the Earth.

I have drawn a lot of comfort in knowing Dad is no longer suffering. He was in incredible pain and discomfort with his cancer. He was so weary from his fight. While he didn't want to leave us, he seemed to know it was coming sooner than later. I truly think he was ready to be at rest - perhaps even willfully ushering himself there.

My Dad and I shared a delicately balanced, eggshell-filled, and often tumultuous relationship. Not often close, not even always speaking to each other. But he was my Dad, and I his daughter, and in these last few years we have mended or otherwise let go of the static between us. I have had nothing but love for him during these final years, and I know he felt the same.

I have begun mourning a little bit, but the bulk is still to come. This is a big one, and add this blow to the fact that we've lost yet another close family member only a week ago (I had not blogged about this out of respect for family privacy), I truly have not even been able to get into the grieving process very deeply yet. I have a way of holding it together for the sake of being strong for everyone else until it's all done and life can return to normal. But then many days later something will flip the switch. I will probably see an amateur radio license plate on the freeway, or hear Sultans of Swing (one of Dad's favorites) on the radio ... and it will hit me. And I will fully grieve then, because that's when the time will be. It just needs to come to me on its own.

Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the weary, for they shall find rest.

Rest in Peace, Dad.


~

VICTORY (A/Z)

~ ~ Happy Easter ~ ~

A to Z Challenge Letter V - Victory over the Grave - He's Alive!

Quiet Reality Screams Terrible Unknowns (A/Z)

I'm cheating again, using 5 letters at once (Q,R,S,T,U) for the A to Z Challenge, but these little shortcuts are necessary for me right now. I've barely been online, let alone been able to blog - and my alternative is to fall behind with poor hope of catching up again ... and while I know this isn't exactly keeping up, I don't want to just abandon the challenge - because it's been fun :).

I don't speak about my personal life here much deeper than little anecdotes that reflect quaint little life lessons. But I feel like going deeper today.

My Dad is dying. He's all but lost his battle with cancer, which began in his colon and liver a few years back and then stealthily spread to his lungs and bones. He had many months of quality time left only last week. But then he suffered a fall and fractured his neck. This seems to have led to a dizzyingly rapid decline. He now lies in palliative care in a neck brace the rest of his life, which was quickly reduced to an estimated six months, then two months, and now only a few weeks. Only Monday he was quite himself, joking around with me, flirting with Mom and charming the nurses. He is now out of it with pain management medication way more than he is conscious. Still, I talk with him like he can hear me, hoping that he does despite the lack of outward cues. I hold his frail hand and tell him I love him each time I leave, hoping it rings through the fog for him. Hoping (selfishly, perhaps) it's not the last time I can do so.

Just as difficult to witness, my Mom is falling apart before my eyes. Always a pillar of strength and faith throughout our lives, she is crumbling in the face of reality - her valentine of 53 years, her husband for 51 of those, is failing. she is losing her partner, her right arm, her heart. She is devastated. I can be there for support, but I cannot stop her pain. She is not well either and I'm afraid she will lose her own will to live after Dad is gone. I don't know how to help her.

My Dad is being moved from the hospital to a nursing facility near their home later this afternoon. There he will receive hospice and round-the-clock care he will need to be as comfortable as possible for the remainder of his days.

Sunday is Easter. My Dad loves Easter eggs. This is the first time ever my Mom didn't make Easter eggs. She just didn't feel like it. I guess I don't blame her.

I don't know whether to wish for more time or for a quick release from his suffering now. Any alternative is almost too horrible to think about.

I love you, Dad.

Scattered to the Winds

For Velvet Verbosity's 100 Words Challenge. This week's prompt is IMP.



She made her way though the empty outbuilding with the stragglers brought in by the auction. It had been a lucrative day. Even the box of ancient snapshots and postcards had been bought by a vintage photo collector. She wasn't sure why something lacerated inside her as she let go of the box, when she didn't recognize a single person in them. She watched the last buyer pull away as her parents' cherished Imp squeaked arthritically behind him. A slideshow of summer memories flipped through her mind. She felt her heart fold in on itself like that leaky old boat.

LMNO Puppies (A/Z)

"ABCD puppies?"
"LMNO puppies."
"OSAR puppies, CMPN?"

-- childhood play-with-letters joke


Does anyone remember this? The rough translation is 'Hey, Bee, see da puppies?' 'Hell, them ain't no puppies.' 'Oh yes they are puppies, see 'em peein'?' It was so naughtily funny to tell a joke about pee (not to mention the implied bad word) in grade school.

The above joke is totally unrelated to anything at all, and I fully admit this is cheating by the rules of the A to Z Challenge, using 4 letters in one post ... but some emergencies have come up in my life and I need to consolidate just this once. I'll try to get back on track as soon as possible.

Klansman? Me? (A/Z)

For the A to Z Challenge - Letter K. Warning: Rant below! :)

I have just about had it with the race card.

I'm not saying racism doesn't exist, because it most certainly does. But just because I expect answers doesn't make me a racist. Neither does expecting a leader to make responsible decisions. Pass responsible laws. Handle the national budget with sense. Refrain from lavish vacations for himself and his family on the country's dime during times of fiscal crisis. Demanding that the will of the people be taken into consideration. Remember that whole not the color of my skin but the content of my character thing?

Many people question his citizenship. Supposedly born in Hawaii, the question has been raised he may have been born in Indonesia or somewhere else - rendering him disqualified from being President of the United States. To be honest I don't really have a strong feeling either way on which is right. But I will tell you I have a very low tolerance for bullsh*t.

Listen up: If you were born here, prove it. Not with relatives swearing by it, not with xeroxed newspaper announcements, not by chuckling dismissively and saying you're getting picked on by racists. You're wasting my time. You're wasting America's time. Ante up your proof with original, doctor signed docmuents and settle the matter if you very well can so we can get on with important business.

And by the way, sticking up for a sub-par, expect no accountability president just because he is black (*ahem*, half-black, but you never hear mention of that), IS in fact, also being a racist.

Jack (A/Z)

For the A to Z Challenge - Letter J.

Enough said.