Grumpy and with good reason! I have Fibromyalgia.

For the most part I am a very positive person but today has sent me into a state I rarely linger in for very long.  However, today....I started off grumpy, cranky, depressed, fat, with a headache, heartburn, swollen feet, hives, bad breath, nausea, constipation, diarrhea, stomach ache, and bad hair. Rather a rotten way to start the day...so far...

Now I sit waiting for the something good to happen.Under all that poop there must be a pony...right!

I think this time everything started because of very little sleep. Last night was a snuggle night for Mr. Patrick. He grabs me pulls me close, I figure sweet nothings will begin. But No...nay nay...as usual within less than five seconds he is breathing loudly in my ear which rapidly becomes a sawmill rendition of, "Opus in B minor."  (See previous entry on why I don't protest him sleeping in the bed upside-down.)

Then the topper is that he started getting his nightly toaster warm-aura, and I envisioned myself in the Hansel and Gretel oven warmed up by the lady who lived in the candy house. Several times I tried to gently slide away, but each time I did, he re-established the anaconda grip...(stronger than a Kung-foo-grip) I could not go to sleep needless to say.

I think it was 2:30 when I finally escaped to the spare bedroom...forgetting I have been purging closets and the floor was covered by various clothing items and an array of coat hangers...
Once across the land mines, of course. And I also forgot many of the clothes were on the bed.  I clutched at whatever I could get my hands on and launched them across the room in the pitch dark.

Around 3:30 I got to sleep only to be awoken by my dear at 4 :30AM with his question, honey....couldn't you get to sleep????  Echhhhhhh!!! He was trying to be considerate I know, but REALLY.

The worst was when I looked in the mirror to realize I looked like a chipmunk with nuts in his cheeks or a poor imitation of Marlon Brando as Don Corleone in the Godfather...(.cotton in his mouth). This happens to be a fibromyalgia thing. Everyone says I'm allergic, but nay nay...I've gone that route and find nothing...so I know now from experience that for the next 48-72 hours I will be puffy....often on the bottoms of my feet too!

I have said I will not complain, I hate that...the only thing is sometimes I am so puffy I look like a gargoyle and certainly not ready to give a lecture on pharmacology...when I am gorked on Benedry to keep the hives from extending to my tongue and throat!...SCARY!

But as with all fibromyalgia stuff, no one cares so why should I...Right?
So here I am Grumpy, foggy headed from meds and a swollen brain but I will press on.
I'm still waiting for the sunshine...but with patience...sort-of.
So how is your day going.????

Upsidedown! and I have a wrestling match every night!

This week 2012 fall school starts so in an attempt to get myself together and ready for my classes to start I wanted to purge a bit of the house (especially since the mess from the family reunion of 24 extra bodies in the house for almost two weeks...ech!).

 We are the sedate and well mannered family

everyone desires, Ha! just kidding!

Of course in my typical OCD, ADD inability to stay on task as I started to fix our bed...now I say fix because we have a little sleeping issue! (that is an understatement!).  My husband says I slither into bed and lay there like someone in a coma...barely moving...usually with my mouth open and snoring...while he on the other hand is a nomad who cannot stay still or be happy unless every cover of every sheet and blanket has been pulled into a large ball and molded to suit whatever position he decides is the one for the moment...and I do mean moment... Sleeping with him is like being in a meat grinder.

Now we have had this issue for quite some time! Truthfully...from day one of our over 45 year marriage! At first I called him the blanket spool...he would wind up in the covers and leave me with none...and squeeze me out and off the bed (I have a fear of heights...see previous story....mind you we have a very large bed...BUT, It is also very high (I need a stool to get in) and falling off would leave me with scars from some injury or at the very least blood gushing from a deep  wound). 

In our first days of marriage I would get out of bed and move to the other side....only to have him worm his way back over to push me out again.

Have I mentioned the weight issue...when first married I was all of 104...(he is nine inches taller than me) He was at least 205 and I believe the weight disparity has remained the same as years have passed with each of us gaining a few...well more than a few...but anyway, as he gets closer and closer to me, I begin to slide under him and then smother. No wonder when we were first married I would wake up gasping for breath and find him with his chest on top of my head.

So this nightly battle continued until we moved to a house we bought from friends...it was just a transfer of papers between friends...no realtor...no title search, nothing..how cool was that! I think the only closing cost was to purchase deed stamps required to pay off the Spanish-American war ! I'm not kidding! (Thank you again Don and Ann Barnes)

At that time he swore the bed was tilted and in order to sleep he had to have his head at the top of the slant...so he slept upside down most of the time. And I had a romantic view of his feet...(possibly his method of birth control...) 

Then we moved to Santa Clarita and I said there was "no way two bedrooms are slanted" and he should sleep with his head up top like "normal people" (he's never-ever proclaimed to be normal) But I wanted to sleep with something other than a view of his flat feet...

But, he swore he needed to have fresh air in his face and that he could only get it from the window...and he had to sleep upside down to have the cool air hit his face. Yea! Right!, excuses, excuses. 

I'm quite sure now he does it due to the fact that his feet are very-very flat and he wanted me to rub them. He told me his feet always hurt at the end of the day and if I rubbed his then he would massage mine...hm mm...not often did he rub mine now that I think about it...

You may think this would be unacceptable, however this arrangement has not been a bad thing, for several reasons

First, he sleeps hot...and his side of the bed is usually wet from sweating all night and when I started having hot flashes there is no way I wanted to be anywhere near Mr. Radiator.

Second, he has always had huge shoulders...nice protective shoulders, and very nice to hug...but they fill up the bed...so his feet are actually a better fit and give me a tiny bit more room for my coma act.

Third, because he sleeps hot often he is on top of the bed...(this takes his hotness away from my skin..and prevents hot-flashes). With his five pillows strategiacally placed, then he usually takes another blanket just incase he gets cold in the night...fat chance!  (simply another thing for me to fold and put away each day,)  Now I admit I'm a bit of a nut and like a nice flat bed with military, neat, no wrinkles, square corners.  (Could also be the strict nurse training of the 60's)

And then the topper fun upsidedown activity is that we have a TV across the room and when he is upsidedown he uses a mirror to watch the screen. (I swear this is so he can practice his backup techniques...he is the master of backing up the car) The problem is he waves the mirror around and blocks my view of the screen as he starts to fall asleep which is in about three seconds. (weird I know, but this whole thing is a bit strange..don't you think) 

Then I have to pull the mirror from his hand to see the TV because in order to get to sleep I have to watch TV or read for at least an hour to get to sleep..and often in the night wake up again! and then read some more...and many times get  up with only 2-3 hours sleep...and 5 hours of laying flat to keep the sheets neat!

Here I am with Jacob and his sheep at the county fair...I slept alone at Colleen's house and had no feet in my face so you can see....no bags under my eyes...
So if you wonder why I am grumpy or have bags under my eyes...don't ask...now you know why!  Sorry if I'm complaining, but it is Monday for goodness sakes.

SERENDIPITY HEALS ALL ILLS!

We got through the reunion with I'm not sure how many grand kids at one time sleeping in the circus tent in the backyard. Patrick swears sleeping out there cured his leg and knee pain.  I'm not sure that was it but having all those little boys hanging on every word of his bedtime story must have had something to do with it. Like serendipity healing the new holistic method. However I spoke to some of the boys on our drive home from Lego land and they said every night the story dwindled off and then they heard snoring...and he never finished the story, most likely he never had an end to the story anyway. 

My bedtime stories at least have a plot. Patrick's on the other hand wind around to end up nowhere, but somehow the kids love them anyway. 

The popcorn machine outside was a good idea, except when the popcorn landed in the house...all over the place. 

I really miss everyone needless to say and as they left one by one, my tears began to flow and my chest felt tight.  I even saved some of the cups with names on them as a memento. Oh one day I'll throw them away but not now! and not yet!

What a ride, we went from the beach and little Pat's surfing lessons to California adventure, running on the Saugus High School track, Tandem riding, Games led by Jessika, Birthdays for 6 or 7...hiking up to the HOLLYWOOD sign, visiting with old kid friends. Going to the Temple (Patrick and his new wife were witness couple...how cool is that!) We had a big party with great grandma Helen learning to throw gang signs for the photo session. We went to Magic Mountain water park, Lego land, and the Lego water park...We never stopped running.

After the fun, frivolity and food, I wonder...Hey, why don't my pants fit? I weigh almost the same as I did ten years ago. I think gravity has something to do with my wardrobe malfunction. It's gravity and the fact that my adipose tissue seems to migrate. I mean move around. I see the advertisements for Brazilian butts. I have the same butt only thing it's in the front. I guess I should walk backwards and then I'd be in fashion.
I know my condition is the result of time passing, yes I admit it. Getting older is the pits. A while back I went to a gerontology class so I could teach Medical Surgical Nursing. Ha, the information they talked about is my life! First they mentioned your vision not only fades, but colors become more difficult to match as detailed perception also fades. So I end up looking like a Johnny Depp character from Alice with bright colors. Ones that I thought were faded and subtle.

And who knew..Ha..I wear glasses sometimes WITH my contacts to read pharmacy labels which are written for the little itsy bitsy Whos in the Horton story.
Then they mentioned that your taste is the next to go. Some young whipper snapper of about 50 years or so said "you are born with 100% of your taste buds, they don't grow back so when you destroy them with hot liquids...brain freeze cold, and Tabasco sauce your taste begins to disappear." I think that means that by the time you are 80 you have anywhere from 25-20% of those taste buds left...that's why some of the things I hated as a kid... you know like...garlic, onions, avocados, you like in your senior years. That's why old people chew on mints constantly to get rid of the bad breath from the noxious foods they eat. Eating strong foods can at least allow you to get some enjoyment of food. Salty and Sweet still remain, but chewing may be a problem. 

I remember Patrick's dad being hooked on chips and doughnuts...makes sense now!
Balance can go pretty quick so that's the broken hip thing as you fall down because the message to the brain to re-adjust your posture or "Quick..you'll FALL" is pretty slow. Hot also takes a long time to reach the old thinker too and that's why my mother-in-law could take out a tray of cookies from the oven without hot pads to protect her hands...

I'm still going to try and get this five baby baggy belly to reposition or go away...but decided if I did that it would be worse. Hmmm, one giant boob, no... a hump back, one large hip, Oh DARN! Naw.

Then I thought how about the thing I saw on TV the other day that flattens your stomach. Where does that fat go...right up into your neck and thoracic cavity so you look like you have a goiter and can't breathe to boot. 

So there you go! Asphyxiate to death, while looking good! I don't like that option.
This is grim...so picture this, a weirdly dressed, smelly, falling down, person who is able to stand extremes of temperature due to slow neuron movement.
 
But then I tried to think of one good thing as I usually do. And decided there was one good thing; as Social security runs out WA-LA who cares! You won't care or be bothered when forced to eat cat food and crackers because the taste and smell would be fine due to zero taste buds and no olfactory sense at all. (maybe not so okay with lumpy or stringy texture) You won't care about lots of miss matched old clothes either for now you can't distinguish anything except bright colors...Hmmm , that's a silver lining, sort-of-I guess.

Don't tell your kids about all this getting older stuff or they will not want to ever visit!

Heaven or Hell!

Days drift by in numbered succession
We work to buy another possession.
Routines of life burns the candle low
There is another world beyond this I know
Break through the fog and into the light
Open wide the cracks, escape from the blight
How to emerge from the darkness and gloom
And not remain trapped in an earthly tomb
Do what's right, set aside your fears
Keep your chin up and smile through your tears
Patience will bless us, with affliction we'll grow
Set aside temptation, for we reap what we sow   
Yet for sure Heaven or Hell awaits for us all
And there is one who gleefuly wants us to fall
Or you can turn to Him who loves without condition
Looking over us all, pulling us back from perdition
He knew long ago the mistakes we would make
And gave us the grand plan for us all to partake
He waits at the gate arms wide to embrace
His countenance is in you, it shines in your face

The Dog Ate What? and he still lives?

Yesterday I took our dog Biscuit to the vaccine clinic...he was so obedient and gentile...and I mean the dog not the buffoon vet-assistants who gave the rabies shots. They were nasty and rude. (Now in the past I picked up our dog shots and gave them myself! but I guess that is in the olden days here in Santa Clarita when it was a farming community. So this is only the second shot for an animal where I had to take the patient to the clinic...)

There I was getting our old doggie a rabies shot for his license......(What does that license get him...permission to pee on our lawn?) anyway, I signed in at the walk-in-dog-clinic. I was in line behind an old skinny-girl Labrador who looked like she had been on chemo, her hair was so thin. I stood there with my bear-fur dog...that's what his fur-hair is like before it sheds. It's 110 today so maybe he will start soon, he's a late shedder...(Is that a word?) I wasn't sure of his age, but the very large check-in-lady said he was 12, (according to their records)..so in people years he's 84...almost as old as my mom, and in much better shape.

I continued to stand behind the mange-almost hairless dog who was 10 yrs or 70 in people years, a mere whipper-snapper compared to the Biscuit . As I got closer to Frick and Frack, the two guys giving the shots...I began to cringe and close my eyes due to their really rotten sterile technique...they took off the caps of the needles with their teeth. (You flunk my pharmacology class Dude!) Then they were waiving the UN-covered needles around like maracas in a Desi Arnez band. I ducked to avoid being skewered. The piece-de-resistance was putting the syringe, and needle sans-cap...under the foot and stomping down while at the same time- giving another shot...(That is a double flunk action DUDE!) Oh! did I say, I never saw a needle disposal container, AND THEY RE-CAPPED several times as I watched in Horror!...(What is the result of multiple finger sticks of rabies vaccine?) I wanted to flee before the guys had foaming seizures, but obediently stood in line to pay my money and then fled out the door....I am hoping...yes hoping our poor old canine friend is pushing up daisies before he must have another shot at that place.

But sadly, he constantly rallies like a puppy and runs after the ball, even when he drops it himself and thinks some invisible person is playing with him. He still has OCD and lines up rocks and balls, bones and other Geerfkaa he finds. You could consider him a dog MONK...like the TV show. And yet, He has finally become an endearing dog...but if we move, which is the plan next year we are not sure what will happen to the sweet old guy.


If anyone wants to adopt him let us know as he no longer excavates the yard, does not bark unless a stranger enters the gate,  And has had his shots!

So Have fun reading Biscuit-rewind if you are interested in adoption and see what you as his new family will NOT have problems with...

After Tuna (our first dog... who was of questionable linage) died we had several other dogs join our family. Bandit was an absolutely nutty Dalmatian, he put out fires. If we set off a firecracker, he would pounce on it with his paws and put it out. Fairly soon after we got him, he jumped the fence. We never saw him again.

Shoe came along…a long haired retriever of sorts, black with white patches. He became the Rooster of the back yard. Megan had chickens in a coop along the back fence. Shoe would sit like a king with all the hen-ladies surrounding him, pecking, grooming and getting any bugs or dirt off. In return, he protected his girls from the many raccoons who prowled the neighborhood and would have loved to make a chicken dinner of his harem.

Next came Bevis who was massive, protective and gentle…and he loved the beach! He could swim 2 or 3 hundred yards into the water to retrieve his beloved ball and swim back to the shore like a seal. When Bevis died all the kids were gone from the house and Mike was on a mission to Texas. I wanted someone, anyone, to meet and greet me when I got home from work. Patrick was working long hours at a hospital job over an hour away from Santa Clarita so I wanted another dog. I watched the paper dutifully and soon found an advertisement for retriever puppies. There were only two males, a wild acting black one with white marks on his chest and a cute sleepy golden one. Hoping to get a calm dog we chose the golden and named him Biscuit. Big mistake, as soon as we got his shots (which I gave...bad move) and other puppy ministrations (de-worming) he became a crazy monster who could jump straight up into the air about 6 feet and began to dig and demolish the back yard like an archeologist searching for King Tut’s tomb.

He particularly liked PVC pipe, and excavated all the sprinkler lines in the back yard. Patrick was incensed and thought getting him a new home would be better than dog-o-cide. I tried to minimize Biscuit’s behavior and would often replace the sprinklers before Pat came home. One time he got into the house and got shoes, the TV remote and my daughter-in-laws’ cell phone and IPod. At that point he was very close to being abandoned in the Mohave Desert. Then we discovered he could open the sliding back door by using his nose to push it open (The pee stain is still on the living room rug...brand new at the time... which I could never get out) and would also get into the garage and my clean clothes in the hamper…spreading them all over the backyard in the dirt. We were unaware of another of his tricks until one day when taking him for a walk.

He was about 14 months old but somehow was one of the most obedient dogs when on a walk especially when we had a weighted pack on him full of about 12 pounds of nuts and bolts from one of the buckets Pat had left over from one of his jobs. (see “What do you do with a dozen doorknobs.”) Caesar the dog whisperer had suggested having a weighted harness was a good way to calm down an over energetic dog, so I was willing to try anything at this point since it appeared Biscuit was soon going to the dog jail as a result of his gangster behavior.

After we were about half way around the block he stopped to manage his usual poop deposit which I dutifully picked up in one of the doggie bags I carried. I dropped the deposit in a trash can which was on the curb waiting for the garbage men and we continued on a while, talking about the vicissitudes of life. It was Patrick who noticed what looked like a string hanging from Biscuits’ rear. I watched it dangling back and forth and thinking it was something he sat in so put a dog-bag over my hand to retrieve the string swinging from under his tail.

As I grabbed the string he walked forward and as soon as he did we both realized the string was getting longer as it came out from his rear.  He walked forward,  and by then about two feet of string emerged and finally out came tied to the end of the string was a wooden pull handle which made an audible pop as it came emerged and fell to the ground. He had eaten the lawnmower pull cord…handle and all…

It was if we had revved him up and started him like the lawnmower. He ran forward yipping as the handle extricated and we couldn’t believe our eyes…but it was true. When we got home we discovered sure enough, the handle and pull cord were missing from the power machine! He had devoured the cord…handle and all. Patrick’s only comment was, “That’s your dog.” Now how could you get rid of a dog who was that clever…and that stupid?  
And now that dumb dog is 84, older than Coon, our first dog, when he passed. I have a feeling all our dogs in heaven are looking down and laughing!

Football players watched my butt in dance class! How I became a writer...

When I was in the second grade I clearly remember writing a play about bunnies. I asked my friends to help me put on the play, and after I made the costumes and had a few rehearsals during recess asked my teacher if we could perform it for our class.

Not long after that we put it on for the entire school. I guess she liked the play, or the way I wrote, or how I convinced so many of my friends to wear the paper ears I made.

I’m not sure why I was drawn to books, but I was often found in the library. I loved reading as a kid and still do. I read about two to three books a week when I can. In the summer at the age of eight I walked two miles to Van Nuys dragging a wagon to carry home the ten books I was allowed to check out. Ten was the limit of books you could check out. After doing that every few days for several weeks the Librarian took pity on me especially after she saw the wagon and I told her I walked the two miles down busy Oxnard St. from near the college to check out the books. After that she broke the rule and allowed me to check out twenty books so I only had to make the trip twice a week.

In Junior High School I took the bus in the morning as it was three miles away. I told my dad not to pay for the afternoon bus pass as I often missed the ride and walked home because I was in the library.  It wasn’t long before I was asked to work in the library because I knew how to use the Dewey Decimal system to file away books.  I loved it because then there was no limit to the number of books I could take home. All the while I was writing stories poems and plays, which I then directed. The plays I wrote always had dancing, my other love. (my tap dancing never improved but my Ballet was impeccable.)

I think I set my sights on nursing rather than dancing or writing (although I have kept up both) because I read so many books that idealized the profession.  When I started nursing school at the age of 16 I had never been sick, or been in a hospital but knew more about hospital life than most others in the program because of the books I read. Of course in College I needed gas money (32 cents/gal.) to get to the hospitals we were training at. So I got a job at the library and in the summers got paid jobs to dance and sing in shows and programs.  I was a theater minor and took drama, dance and theater management along with nursing. I wrote away for my own fun and most of those stories are lost in some trash heap.

I met my sweetheart in the library.  Actually we first met when he sat behind me in Junior High home room and bugged me by putting his finger up the single long curl of my ponytail. Later he told me he couldn’t resist fiddling with my hair because it tempted him every day swinging back and forth in front of his face. He was a chubby kid who every day bothered me. I was the skinny girl who tried to be cool, but actually was a book loving nerd.

In college working at the library most nights I had a clipboard for the football players to sign-in for attending study hall. I guess they wanted to make sure none of the players got bad grades. Several times a week this one tall very handsome fellow signed in. (how did he get sooo tall?) Then he proceeded to bug me all night checking books in and out. He made tons of work for me.  I did not recognize him from Junior High School, but he tells me he knew exactly who I was…he continued to delight in bugging me. To this day he is a tease. We had one sort-of blind date that went so well as far as attraction went that after the date I told him I couldn’t see him anymore. I liked him and was attracted to him way too much (we had a snog session that lasted for hours) as I was supposed to be spoken for by my High School boyfriend who was attending Annapolis. Later of course it was obvious that particular high school relationship was not going to work out well. Dennis turned to his religion once away from home. As you can imagine, a Christian Scientist who believes medicine is unnecessary did not mix well with a nurse who was becoming dedicated to her profession. I was unable to understand the mindset of that particular religion.

I remember one odd thing was that we had some of the football players in dance class. The coach had the idea that modern ballet would make them more agile on the football field.  I remember they all stood at the back of the class. I thought this was because they didn’t know what they were doing and were embarrassed. I learned later it was because they like to watch the butts of the girls in leotards up front. By then I was pretty shapely and unbeknownst to me, became one of the targets for the watch patrol.

My writing career after I married and began a family was limited at best and with a few short bursts of writing poems about my children almost came to a halt.  Then it started up again with plays and roadshows. My writing must have been good enough, along with my directing as many productions won accolades although none was ever printed.  As the years passed my scripts and poems written at others request piled up in a drawer. Often I would write to keep a record of important life experiences. Now that I look back, many wonderful opportunities were missed but now I am trying to catch up after raising my family. The problem still exists that time is elusive as life pushes in and prevents my sitting down to put my thoughts on a computer chip (I almost said put my thoughts on paper, however that medium is almost archaic)

My longtime dream was one day to write a novel. One that was interesting had some shred of reality to it, as well as mystery and romance. Inside my head, thumping to get out was my story and when I finally got some of it recorded on a computer it was lost and I became discouraged. (That does not happen when you use pen and ink.) When my sister-in-law complained I had sent her pages and then stopped I began thinking of my story once again. She wanted to know how the story ends. When I told her I knew what I wanted to happen but the characters would tell me what should happen she didn’t understand and demanded to know the end of the story. If you are a writer you understand the zone…and how sometimes time disappears as you write and the story unfolds without you help. 

I’m stopping now and will continue later. I want to edit and get my novel ready. For what I’m not sure, I guess hope and faith that someone will want to read it and know how it ends is the goal.  Thank you to the author of the last book I read who wrote of her writing passion and how it began for she created the need to record this little history of my writing…and why it took me so long to pour my wild brain onto paper/computer.

Yelling at the Mexican's in My Tree!

What a Monday morning! Last night I didn't sleep well. My husband set his alarm and it went off at 2:30am. He wears ear plugs. (He says this is so he can sleep above my snoring. I say it's so he can't hear himself snoring.) I finally had to shake him to wake-up and turn the blazing-loud alarm-thing off.  He uses his old phone as a clock so he can see the time in the night, but I have never figured out how to turn the alarm off. Especially when I am fumbling around in the dark!

He finally got up and turned it off, he started to get ready for work, until I pointed out it was only 2:30am. He of course went right back to sleep. He can sleep at the drop of a hat. I, on the other hand have a hard time getting to sleep and staying asleep. If I am rudely awakened, I'm doomed!

The alarm went off again at 4:10am (his usual time to get up and do all the junk he does before he leaves at 5:30. For the life of me, since he does not put on makeup or do much of anything to his non-hair-bald-shaved head, I can't figure out what the heck takes him so long...but I digress.)  As he said prayers and left the room I mentioned I never got back to sleep after 2:30am.He said...too bad! and went on his merry way.

I decided to try and get at least another hour of sleep so began to read a very nice vampire story. I finally drifted off at a little before 8am, only to be awakened at 8:15 by a very loud noise coming through the windows. At first my groggy brain thought "Okay, it's the garbage guys who come on Mondays." But no, the noise continued and low and behold...I looked out the window to see at least three Hispanics up in my beautiful tree tied-there with ropes and using chain saws. They were in the process of cutting down the tree in the front yard!

Several times previously I have fended off these city know-nothing fellows who have tried to assault our beautiful tree. They keep telling me it is a city tree. I beg to differ because it is over 12' from the sidewalk, which seems to be their criteria.

Once when we were gone we returned to find the tree cut back. (Which by the way shades our front window and keeps the electric bill down in the summer...Oh maybe they are in cahoots with Edison and Co.) It had a haircut that I can only call a butch-cut. Down to the nub. That must have been about 5 or 7 years ago and just now the poor thing is finally starting to come back. This tree has been the glory of the neighborhood and for years in the fall has graced us with the beauty of golden leaves. I love it when the sun shines through the foliage during that time of year and bathes the whole front of the house in a Midas touch of beauty.

So there I was running to get dressed and hopping around to get on my pants, I was barely pulling on my shirt and jamming a hat on my unkempt bedhead when I made it out the door and began yelling at the men in the tree!
Get out of there!  You don't have permission to cut my tree! It's not on city property! NO PERMISO! ALTO! ALTO! I yelled. (Maybe they hire men who don't speak english so they can claim they don't understand when you tell them to go away.) 

The guys in the tree all grinned and stopped their chain saws but remained in the tree watching the boss, "Padron", on the ground.

It seemed they were getting a kick out of me yelling at him and telling them to get off my property. He told me the city told them to cut the tree. I said NO! go away! Give me the city number, "Ill tell  them where they can go!" 

"I like my tree just the way it is." We have tons of memories wraped around that  tree. So, the up-shot was, I was given a number to call and get an explanation. Well, "Ignacio" has some s'plaining to do! Not even a notification about the cutting! I almost feel like I need to be as dilligent as Butterfly Jones. She was the tree-hugger lady who sat in an oak tree to prevent people from cutting it down to build more and more homes.  Good for her! Good for me, I averted another tree biting the dust! I hope, I can only HOPE they don't come one day when I'm gone.

Confession time!....I never called Ignacio, but the men with the chain-saws never came back...Yeah!

I skate for the t-birds...Never trust a Frenchman!...UP-DATE

He is at it again, my angelic husband who loves to tease! Yesterday I discovered he recently told the guys at work I am barely five feet tall and over 400 pounds.  I'm not sure it's politically correct to discuss the weight of a woman these days, but his personal filter is non-existent when it concerns me.


However his boss heard the comment and told everyone the story of a very "fat" wife was a lie. Then this fellow proceeded to tell all who would listen that he had seen me several times and I was a willowy blond. (a bit of an exaggeration on his part)
Behind closed doors Patrick reminded this fellow of his loyal support when the boss told white lies and himself teased and tormented his workers and sub-contractors.


And so I heard from the horses mouth (so to speak...) that the big boss in a loud resounding voice rescinded his statement and said he had met the rotund me and I could cause earthquakes when I got mad and jumped up and down...which was frequently since my temper had not cooled down much from when I was a professional roller-derby queen for the t-birds in the 60's.


Once again Patricks reputation as a saint, who still loves and adores his wife and her largeness...has been preserved. (I'm not sure if he said this time my legs were amputated in an accident but it doesn't matter much anymore).  Does anyone know where I can get a t-birds jersey to prove his fantasy is true. I do think he is beginning to believe his own tall tales...the problem is...so am I!


Following is my original story of my lying, fib-telling tease of a husband !  If you  havent' seen it yet...read on...


For some strange reason my husband has been blessed with an innocent face and most things he says folks believe.  I have heard people say he looks like a cop...and since his name is Patrick...he looks like, an Irish cop...an honest fellow.  Not So!   He is a Frenchman...and is as slippery as they come!


He is the master of words and can croon unbelievable stories that sound true...especially regarding me his sweet and innocent wife.  I have heard it said how rude the French speak, but I think mostly they are masters of disguise, and I know for a fact the phrase, "Never trust a French Man." rings true.


Please remember I came from a quiet formal New York City family where dinner was served on a white linen tablecloth, and one never told stories unless they were the honest truth...as opposed to my fib-telling husband's family of five boys who were from a homestead ranch in the middle of no-where and quite close to cave men in their behavior. (the mother of the household, Ruth, lost the battle for civility many years before I married into the family). The truth is all the men in the Hanrion family delighted in deception.


Soon after we married my husband would introduce me as his "little roller skating wife."  When people would ask, he then explained we had met when he attended a roller derby match at the Los Angeles arena and I was a jammer for the Lady Thunder-Birds rollerskating squad.  He did this with such a quiet and sincere voice and serious face everyone believed him.  At first I was stunned and would loudly protest, but he would shush me and say, "Now Dear, don't be ashamed of your past...and you were so cute in your tight uniform and were a very skilled roller derby girl! I fell madly in love." And much to my chagrin, over my complaints...most all believed him and were in awe of my talent and also a bit afraid that if confronted I would punch them out, since Patrick would then explain, "She has a bit of a temper, so watch what you say and don't set her off."


Soon I gave up trying to protest as I knew my words would fall on deaf ears once he had persuaded all within earshot, I was only shy and did not want anyone to know of my fame and talent.  So after a while I didn't try to convince others his words were a lie, hoping this would quell his enthusiasm for embarrassing me. Oh! not so.  It didn't work.  So, I then began to agree with him and added tales of my prowess and stories of my victories.


This did not stop him either, so I gave up and when he started with his deception of my past when introduced to new acquaintances, I would walk away in disgust and leave him to weave the tale of our meeting, much to the amazement of those listening.


I found this talent extended to the office where he told the office help his wife was a "little person" or quadriplegic, or double or quadruple amputee.  Most would feel sorry for him and amaze at his kindness and concern.  That he, such a big and virile man would have the consideration and compassion to care for such an invalid never questioning what he said.  All the while he was chuckling at their gullibility.

However, as the years past, some became aware of his deception and wild imaginative stories and knew he was a tease and that he would patiently wait to spring the joke that trapped his audience.  But they were never quite sure about his tales and always held in reserve the tiny possibility that he told the truth.  My daughter Rebecca and her family a few years ago dressed as nerds for Halloween and the photos were quite funny.   About a month later he showed the photo to a secretary in the office who had a particularly tender heart.  He told the story of how proud he was of his middle daughter who was handicapped..."Eugenia" and the husband she met at the institution, and the sweet, yet mentally handicapped children they bore.


The secretary, slowly and (knowing Patrick was a tease,) quietly with trepidation responded with sympathy and concern.  It was several days later he showed her a real photo of Rebecca and her handsome...very smart boys.  This secretary didn't speak to him for several days saying she had wasted her emotions and worry about him and his daughter Eugenia.  From then on she called him "The Devil", and "Doctor Evil."  He wore the monikers with pride!  Imagine!


While he was in Chandler he told the engineers and other Superintendents his wife was a "little person".  This happened when someone in the office was speaking negatively about some TV show regarding midgets.  He told the person he was offended by the word midget especially since his wife was a "little person."  Of course he said this all with a straight face, and then immediately walked back to his cubicle as if upset by the conversation.


I guess there was a buzz in the office for a while..."Is it true Pat's wife it a...ummm "little person?"  No one knew, and so they called to the office in Anaheim Calif...those guys had never met me and didn't know, or couldn't tell them for sure. And the men were not quite sure if he was telling them the truth or not, and when asked repeatedly, Patrick of course, would only bow his head and turn away with a few tears in his eyes.


I visited Chandler for the first time during Spring break from teaching at COC.  The first morning there I drove him to the work site at Intel and dropped him off so I could have use of the car.  I guess all the guys at the office were still wondering about the little lady who was Pat's wife...quite a match since he is over 6"2 " tall.  When I arrived to pick him up that afternoon I noticed the parking lot was loaded with quite a few men milling around and talking in groups.  Patrick stood by himself near the stop sign so I slowed to allow him to climb into the passenger seat.  I noticed several of the men had disgusted looks on their faces as they turned and walked away and when I questioned the behavior the reply came..."Oh, their disappointed your not a little person, that's all."


"Up to your old tricks again.  If you had told me I could have scrunched down in the seat and looked through the steering wheel to go along with the joke," I responded, as I had learned...It's better to go along with the gag than to fight city hall.  If not, he just would have invented some other story for his amusement!


It's amazing to me after all these years he can still pull suckers in (I guess there really is one born every minute) and hook someone to reel them in like an unsuspecting catch while he laughs like mad on the inside.  Often times the "catch" never learns the truth... "Leave 'em guessing and that's the best reward," or so he says!


Somehow, after all the stories he tells, I am starting to be convinced I was quite the skater,
yes I was....
I know I was...
wasn't I?

Patrick Michael starts a-new..

My Becca with James and Harrison

Patrick and new wife Angela, with Mom Pat and Dad Pat, Broc, Josh, Katie,(new) Becca & Ben

So, why have I been non-communicado for the last week or so.  Let me see been a bit busy.  Was in Washington DC...to visit Becca, husband and four boys.  How I miss them and am so sad when I have to leave.  I still haven't figured out why we have five kids and all have moved from California.  I love this state, almost as much as I love New York, even though I moved from there quite some time ago.  The weather is amazing. I love the beach, the mountains and where we live it is easy access to all that plus Hollywood, filming, theater, and the vibrant youth at Universities, Since I went to both UCLA and USC, almost every weekend there is a team to cheer for.  I have grown to love Washington DC and all the patriotic history...with a daughter and her family only 20 min from Gettysburg it turns my blood, red white and blue whenever I'm there.  I also love that Becca is now hooked on New York City, the stomping ground of my youth.  


I was home for a short time, and JOYjoy, HappyHAPPY, we were off to Washington the state...Redmond the town Microsoft built, near Seattle.  Our oldest son was going to re-marry.  And we gained a daughter and three more great grand kids.  I must admit I was worried about meeting them for the first time, but they were all hugs kisses and called us Grammy and Bubba, right away.  How fun. If children and their behavior can be a measure of how a parent is doing in life...then Angela is amazing, considering she was pretty much a single mom for the last while.

We finally got to see the great smile we paid lots and lots of money to an orthodontist for....let me explain.  For about the past ten years I have not seen Patrick smile or be happy for long.  Oh, of course there were moments when his son was doing well or they were on a camping trip. Or his beloved bloodhound dogs were tracking down a lost child.  But his life was work and oh-my dare I say...having a wife that yelled...lots.  This made me sad as he was not raised in a home of meanness or yelling or belittling or sarcasm.  How he got in this mess one will never know.  But I am convinced the reason was so he could be the father to his wonderful boy, Broc.  It was heartbreaking to see his spirit whither and then finally just survive from day to day. The entire family began to miss him.  His fun his jokes, his happiness.  Within a few days of taking off the thick coat of protection he had around him after the shrew left his home, we had our son back.  His brother and sisters knew he was keeping himself sane and stuffing his true self far away so he could survive and protect his boy.  But everyone saw a rebirth soon after his ex-left....and then about two years later he was truly back to himself with his new love....

I have such hope for his new family and his ability to progress and grow, in so many ways.  I am excited for his new family...Patrick, Angela, Broc, Josh, Katie, and yes! another Beautiful Becca.     

Text Message Vampire

Hello,
I can't present my poem at the College writer's festival as one of the poetry winners, but here it is for you my loyal...readers...hope you like it too...


Text Message Vampire

A text message does not fly away
It's out there hanging forever to stay
So whether it's accolades or nonsense stated
Consider if you should have said it or waited.
For it may be that word hanging out in the atmosphere
May come back to bite you, anytime, anywhere

I See Dead People!

 I didn't go to a funeral until I was in my late 30's. It was a distant acquaintance and I wasn't emotionally involved but my own children, and grandchildren have attend family funerals at quite a young age. I have learned that children have a very different attitude regarding death. I first discovered this when my oldest daughter was around 3 years old.

We attended my husband's grandmother's funeral and she wanted to look into the casket during the viewing.  She was anxious to see what was in the box everyone was looking at.  My husband picked her up and stood a way back from the casket so she wouldn't reach out and touch anything.  She began patting my husband's cheek and telling him, "Daddy, look at the sleeping lady, she has a pretty dress on."

Other children who live a farm-country life see animals born and others die and have a bit different point of view.  When Uncle Bruce died and the graveside service was over, my daughter Megan's country-farm children wanted all the talking to end so they could ride on the tractor that pushes the dirt into the grave.  They had a different understanding of death and what it means.  But I think we as adults forget to explain things to children who may be connected to the deceased or try to help them understand what is happening.

Two years ago my husband had two brothers die within two months.  My daughter Megan lives in Utah not too far from the Uncles who passed away so her children knew them both and had spent time visiting with them and listening to old stories.

The younger brother Scott passed away first and we were all gathering for the graveside service.  My husband and his brother Don, who lived nearby, decided to drive to the neighboring town to pick up Leon so he could attend Scott's funeral.  They decided to use Scott's van as it was set up for a wheel chair and would be a better transport for Leon.

While we were waiting for Patrick and Don to return with Leon, Megan's children were restless and began walking around the cemetery looking at the rows of scattered gravestones.  The two older ones, Ali and Trevor were reading the dates and names on the monuments dotting the space and had gone quite a few yards away as they looked at the headstones.

I greeted the few people I knew, explaining we were waiting for the brothers to return with Leon from the convalescent home and noticed Ali the oldest of Megan's children looking puzzled and walking over to the gathering of people, and then back to a gravestone several rows away.  Ali was about ten, a very serious thoughtful and observant young lady. I noticed she was looking at a woman very carefully, and soon went up to touch the woman's skirt and hand.  Then she went back to stare at a headstone. Finally she came over and softly said, "How come if she's dead, she's walking around."  In the emotion and bustle of the day I didn't realize until later what had happened or why she made such a strange comment.

The woman's husband had recently passed away and as was the custom she had purchased the adjoining plot with a joint grave monument which had pictures of them both.  Ali was confused and couldent' figure out why, if the lady had her picture on the stone, which meant the lady was dead, she was in the cemetery walking around.

Soon after that her young brain got another shock.  As Don and Patrick drove up in Scott's van they carried Leon from the van and placed him in the wheelchair.  It was cold and windy so Patrick reached into the van and grabbed Scott's flannel shirt and hat and put them on Leon.  He was all bundled up in Scott's clothing and did not move as they rolled him slowly toward the grave.

Ali was sure the person in the wheelchair was Scott and they were going to put him in the box and then into the grave.  Her eyes got big, she grabbed my hand and leaned into me saying, "Why didn't they get him in the box before everyone got here."  I had no idea what she was talking about or why she gave a little squeak as Leon, who she thought was her dead Uncle Scott, stood to say the opening prayer.

So pay attention to kids at funerals, the strange things they say may make perfect sense, "I see dead people", may be true when you understand their point of view.

Wow, am I creative!

So Here is another gem written for my husband's work crew at the end of a construction job for a blood fractionation plant at Baxter Pharmaceutical...Who ever said construction guys are too rough to love a good poem.

If you love words that rhyme then this is for you!    

                                            This is it…for the Baxter Job!

This is it, were on our way;   Adios is all there is to say…

So into the sunset the TC gang will ride;   Most are pooped and a bit cross-eyed

The last to leave the sinking ship;  Are those that usually forget to zip

Like Hugo the guy who is quiet and shy;  Who loves to primp and beautify

He's the solver of problems and other stuff;   Some think he's a wimp, but we know he's tough

And Paul who is our trailer trash;   A leader of ours who likes countin' the cash

He's the meeting director, and agenda keeper;  He's also the job slob and late over-sleeper

Randine gets the calls and keeps all things neat ;  She's know for her smile and her big stinky feet

From the guys she collects the drug test pee;  And dances to salsa with much mirth and glee

This is it pals were gone and outa' here now;  And all we can say is Adios and Aloha and Ciao!

But before you let the door hit your butt;   Check your shorts and pull in your gut

No more with the pipes and engineering the mess;   We can be proud that we left this job a success

And the guy who is punchy and deals with the list;   His girlfriend thinks he ain't never been kissed

It's Nick, the Bark man, be-friender of all;    He's hyper and jumpy and bathes in pure alcohol

And Nino talks funny like Father Sarduci;    His tummy from beer is getting soft and poochie

He's the love of the ladies with dark sexy eyes;    Be careful he'll tell you tall stories and lies

The best for the last and the last is the best;    For Smitty's the guy who has passed the true test

Don't judge the job by the look of his desk;   We all know it's chaos, an organized mess

We know he is glad to be off the long road;   Where he drank caffeine and squished many a toad

And he eats his prunes and all his bran;    He and Pat then fight for the pot and the fan

And when at his desk he uses his tummy;   To hold his donuts sweet and yummy

When he loses a bet a push-up to do;   Watch out for the "white spider" will turn it on you

Yes he's glad to leave the Baxter plant;     For he really is a Beaumont transplant

So farewell to the gang for a job well done;   It's been a great challenge and lots of grand fun

Disneyland Stole Smell-o-vision?

My dad was in the film industry and would often take me to premiers and such things.  One I particularly loved was a new innovation…Smell-o-Vision.  I even had a theater party for my 16th birthday where we went down to Sunset Blvd to see one of the new smelly films.  The hoses were set under the seats and at different times in the film scents...smells...and air were sent out the tubes.  The idea was that the smells were to give you clues and ideas on how to solve a crime.  At least that's what happened in the few I saw.  The bad thing was, the smell was never a surprise as about 30 seconds before you could smell anything, a hissing sound erupted from below your seat and a wind took off that would raise a Marilyn Monroe skirt like in the famous photo.  Then finally the smell came.  Often you knew what the odor was to be by the picture on the screen, and often the odor was quite off.  By that I mean a mere dud of a smell reproduction.  Vomit, cow poop, and other noxious smells were interspersed with roses, orange blossoms, and men's aftershave to change it up a bit...and somehow the nasty smells were more realistic than the ones that were supposed to be pleasant.  And so Smell-o-vision came and went like many other fads.

The idea must have waited in someone's vault because recently I went to Disneyland and one of the shows we went into had smells released throughout the show.  From under the seats of course, and a bit better technology in the presentations without the hiss or whoosh, but still a bit corny...Not so much a part of the story, or a way to solve crime, but to add atmosphere I suppose. 

I mention this because I had a deja-vu of sorts of smell-o-vision on a 5 1/2 hr. plane flight home from my daughter's home in Maryland.  It had been a great trip and I spent a fun and relaxing spring break with my four grandsons.  We visited lots of historic places and just hung-out.  They are such great young men.  James, Zachary, Luke and Harrison are such fun to spend time with I sure wish they lived closer, or plane tickets were cheaper.  Especially since I don't think their family can come out to our little family reunion this summer due to plane ticket prices.  6 tickets anymore is a small fortune so they will have to pass this time and I am so sad.

Anyway, my reason for my Smell-o-Vision discussion is due to the fact that for the entire time on the plane I was assaulted by the odor wafting from the two teenagers in the seats next to me. (I was window, and they were middle and aisle).  Please Please, watch what you eat before a flight...never mind covering a cough! Cover the smells...I'm not sure how, but I was gaging and on the verge of puking the entire trip.

This flight only rivaled the time I was middle-seat and had Mr. Crisco Window and Mrs. Lard Aisle each weigh over 400 pounds and had fat slop over on both sides of me through and over the arms and into my seat space.  The bad thing was, once seated I was pinned like a wrestler who had lost the match and could hardly move.  I believe that may have been when my severe claustrophobia began.  However in my constant quest for finding something good…at least if I was in an accident I could have had lots and lots of padding in the crash!