Where am I? Who am I?

 

 

                                                             Where am I?

It is easy to be invisible.

These words occurred to me on a day when my head hurt so badly that I could barely speak or socialize with the family gathered on Christmas Day.

 

If I sat quietly and did not say anything, I could disappear into the noise of my gregarious and outgoing Irish family.  I realized that I frequently do just that.

This not-so-unique idea extended to others like me.  People who suffer from silent, not obvious illnesses and pain become invisible, just as I do. 

Fibromyalgia?  Oh, what’s that?  The invisibility curtain drops.

 

CFS? Chronic Fatigue Syndrome?  Oh, I think I heard about that 20 years ago.  Down comes the curtain.

 

RA?  Rheumatoid Arthritis? Say, what?  Isn't the same as normal arthritis?

 

Depression? When those dark clouds can't be seen? Ignore it, you are fine.

 

Bi-polar? No one knows someone who is bi-polar. Oh, there was some strange man in the store.

 

Alcoholism?  You're in AA? Good for you. 
 

Addiction to what? A lot of people have addictions of some sort. My aunt says she is addicted to chocolate.

 

It is so easy, so very easy, to hear these words.  However, because the person speaking them looks “just fine”, it is amazingly easy to shuttle them aside.

 

 

I once suffered a serious injury in which the tendons of my right elbow were almost torn from the bone.  I was told by the doctor that it would have been much better if I had simply broken the elbow. 

The problem with no cast or obvious scars, no one realized how serious the injury was.  I looked “just fine”, even though in constant pain. 

It is easy to become invisible.  Just ask anyone.

 

What frightens you most

 

Christ and His Angels 

During this Memorial Day weekend, the scheduled television programs/movies are expected to be monstrous about monsters, not about heroes.

How about King Kong movies--lots of versions?  Sharknado movies, all 8 of them? 

The meaning of "scary monsters" is some kind of something that doesn't have a beginning and evokes terror when discovered. But, what monster scares me? Unless you know my disdain for standard horror flicks, you would not know the answer.

On Dr. Who has given us all so many strange monsters and evil things that it was a buffet from which to choose one that scares me.  (You might be or not be a fan of Dr. Who.  We have enjoyed him since the 1980s. The most recent Dr. Who was worthy of being ignored.)

The Weeping Angels

                  YouTube, about 4 min. long.  Watch it, okay? It still scares me.

Can you see why they scare the daylights outta me? So many questions of "Why didn't you..." to the characters make perfect sense to me. 

Why look at their eyes ? How about looking at their teeth?  Crawl along the ground, looking down  the entire time? Cover your face with clothing that is somewhat transparent? Run like hell? Why didn't you have a torch/flashlight? It is a dark cavern, with no electricity ?

 This is one scariest parts:  "you told me my fear would keep me alive, but you were wrong. I died alone, afraid, and in pain."

YouTube, about 2 minutes

 

 I will be watching The Longest Day, Saving Private Ryan, Windtalkers, Iwo Jima, Battle of Midway, Pearl Harbor....I love the classics. 

Sing with Joy

 

 

1994, Meatloaf. About 1+ min. long

     Chris Stapleton, 2022 Super Bowl

about 3 min. long

ASL by Troy Kotsur

signing while Chris Stapleton sings

Sung as only a 3 yr. old can sing

                    

 

Three or Four Lights?

 

This is a scary thought, because it really is not just a thought: it is a reality.

Here it is:  If you repeat a lie often enough, it will become the truth.

IF I told my students “The sky is pink!”  a thousand times a day, for days on end, eventually one student might look up at the blue blue sky.  He might say, “Why, you’re right!  It IS pink!”  Soon every student would agree with him.

Source

So a lie becomes the “new” truth. 

Where will it all end?

In this video clip from “Star Trek: Next Generation”, Jean Luc Picard (Patrick Stewart) has been captured by the evil Cardassians (not Kim or Kourtney).  David Warner is the interrogator who relentlessly and brutally questions Picard.  

But first Warner has to break Picard.  He shows Picard four lights, tells him repeatedly there are three lights.

 

This will last about 1 minute. This was considered a profound episode.

 

At the end as Picard is rescued, he is peering up into the lights, on the edge of breaking down.  Are there three or are there four?

The new truth:  what will we do with it?

 

Source

 

 

 

 

 

Look both ways, okay?

 

Some people are born with a propensity to mindless  behavior, which is developed to be an art over a life time.  How does one recognize someone who does not have a clue, who spends life in a marathon of stupid choices?

First, such a person would walk across a yard while the sprinklers are on full force, because one is playing “candy crush” something on an iPhone.

Man tears tendon after playing Candy Crush for 10 hours every day for 8 weeks

Next, one such is seldom wary of danger, like crossing against traffic, while checking local movie times on that stupid iPhone.

How about another person who is messaging. Then he will develop itchy welts on feet and legs after ignoring a friend’s warning, "Poison ivy,  oh look, poison ivy! Don't step...."

Source

Fact is, mindless people will find that being mindless does not serve them well. Ever.

My offspring called these people  "Darwin candidate clubs".  The library in Ludlow, England had a somber Darwin statue.

This is a post from 2015, underlined words are the Wednesday Words for that   time.  Praises go to the Founder of Wednesday Words Delores who passed the baton on to other talented bloggers.  Elephant's child and  River are the sites to find such word treasures.

Merry Month of May

 

She had fought for this plant as if it were her own newborn baby.  Fought hard for it, carried it from one house to another, before she could finally settle it into a richer soil, a larger pot.

Even then she had to struggle to protect it, to nourish it in order to keep it alive.  Cold winter intended to blast it with frigid air.  Night temperatures whispered frosty words to it. 

Desert sun blasted and glared down upon it.  Green leaves began to curl and dry, and might have been converted from living plant to brittle sticks. 

But she spread her mother’s wings over this plant, spreading mother’s feathers to shelter it.  Soil welcomed and suckled water.

Please excuse this blown-out description of my struggles. It is corny. No, it is totally corny. Writing in 3rd person allowed me to do that.

 

Well, this is my lilac bush as the topic of this post.  It may not seem at all vital or even interesting to many, who are thinking “Who wants to hear about a stupid plant and this lady?  Why am I reading this, anyway?”

My lilac bush has been struggling for two and a half years, as I have been with and for it.  The “Why?” is that in my teen years on my father’s farm, an immense lilac bush grew just beneath my 2^nd floor window.  It was over 100 years old, 20 feet high, 6  feet diameter. I could almost reach out and pick one.

In those April and May times, clusters of lilacs would cover it, purple clusters like grapes on a vine. I cannot begin to describe that scent.

So here I am, battling the elements. Desert heat? 112 degrees. Winter frost? 28 degrees. Protecting my little lilac is one big ballet just for a few clusters. The upshot is that this plant never bloomed. With anger in my heart, I ripped it out of the ground and vowed to check the correct species.

 

 So, that is why I have been a warrior for a new plant, with hope in my heart that purple clusters would appear this year and I can inhale that memory.

This is not my current plant.  Someday?

Have you ever felt so strongly about something that you have faced down elements and enemies to protect it?

Are you a plant person who has hovered over green anxiously?

What about some project that requires constant attention?

 

This could be a long list of very diverse questions.

 

YouTube, The Merry Month of May, 1923

This is a repost from 2017. The luscious and glorious leaves were all that I got from this type of lilac.  The one I have now is a Mediterranean lilac. It's okay, can't measure  up to Illinois lilacs. 

Vote Yes in 1776

  

In the 80s, some amazing musicals were on stage.  Amazing is probably not a big enough word. We loved many of them.

 Our favorite remains so to this day---

1776

There were so many issues to be ironed out in those wobbly days of The Colonies and the Revolutionary War. Those issues that were shelved and the Declaration of Independence was shredded, redacted and pasted back together. 

The key section that affected the stuttering of the passing on the Declaration was the one that addressed slavery.  The South were vehemently, violently against this section.  Only if the section about slavery was edited out would they agree to pass the Declaration. John Collum (Northern Exposure) ripped this song, making this an even more intense issue.

 

                                        The dialogue below is from the musical

Edward Rutledge : [In the final vote for Independence, Rutledge wants the slavery clause removed from the Declaration, or else he will vote against independence] Well, Mr. Adams?

John Adams : Well, Mr. Rutledge.

Edward Rutledge : [stands] Mr. Adams, you must believe that I *will* do what I promised to do.

John Adams : [stands and approaches him] What is it you want, Rutledge?

Edward Rutledge : Remove the offending passage from your Declaration.

John Adams : If we did that, we would be guilty of what we ourselves are rebelling against.

Edward Rutledge : Nevertheless... remove it, or South Carolina will bury, now and forever, your dream of independence.

Dr. Benjamin Franklin : John? I beg you consider what you're doing.

John Adams : Mark me, Franklin... if we give in on this issue, posterity will never forgive us.

Dr. Benjamin Franklin : That's probably true, but we won't hear a thing, we'll be long gone. Besides, what would posterity think we were? Demi-gods? We're men, no more no less, trying to get a nation started against greater odds than a more generous God would have allowed. First things first, John. Independence; America. If we don't secure that, what difference will the rest make?

John Adams : [long pause] Jefferson, say something.

Thomas Jefferson : What else is there to do?

John Adams : Well, man, you're the one that wrote it.

Thomas Jefferson : I *wrote* ALL of it, Mr. Adams.

[stands and goes to the Declaration, crosses out the clause]

John Adams : [snatches the paper from Jefferson and takes it to Rutledge] There you are, Rutlege, you have your slavery; little good may it do you, now VOTE, damn you!

Edward Rutledge : [takes the paper] Mr. President, the fair colony of South Carolina...

[looks at Adams]

Edward Rutledge : ... says yea.

 

 All the "if only's" of history could have changed the course of history.

What say you?

Embezzlement is wrong.

 

 

Richard huddled in his jail cell, pulling brilliant blue  duster closely around him.  His secretary Heather had given it to him yesterday during their latest tryst. She called it a new "radioactive color" style. He had been so happy.

 

Now he was watching his world disintegrate.

Where had it all gone wrong? He wondered.  Surely everyone in the investment business embezzled from his clients now and then.  It was part of the investment game.

With the untimely arrival of the arrest warrant, he was for a moment left spellbound.  Richard’s travel carry-on sat by the door, stuffed with one-million dollars and a change of underwear.

Five more minutes!

Five more minutes and he would have been out the door, heading to Jamaica.

Bummer.

These underlined and bold words are from a 2015 Wednesday Word challenge.

 

Rambling Boy

 

Of the people I miss the most

Are ones enshrined

In my heart.

Why they cannot be here,

Why they cannot stay here,

Only God knows.

This is for all the Rambling Boys.

This is for their sweethearts.

Most especially,

 their moms,

who think of them

every single day.

About 4 minutes long and worth every minute

My late brother was a rambling boy. He lived a lively life.

Questions we ask ourselves

 

There are many timeless questions that each person asks of himself:

Who am I?

Why am I here?

Who is God?

Why do bad things happen to good people?

How was the world created?

What happened to the dinosaurs?

What I do if there is a catastrophic event?

Why does money exist?

Who really is in charge of this _____?

Obviously this list could get pretty long.  I once considered these questions vital and important.  Once I turned my life over to God, the big questions became small and unimportant. God had it all covered.

However, I am concerned about other things, and have created a new list:

Where did I park the car?

By the way, where are the car keys?

 

Did I close the garage door?

 

What is the expiration date on _____?

 

What is that person’s name—the one approaching me with a big smile?

 

Where is the next exit off the freeway?

 

Where is the closest bathroom?

I mean it, where is the closest bathroom?

 

What is the price of this___?  The print is too small.

These are pretty basic questions, I’ll give you that.

But, they matter to me.

 

I suspect there are many readers who could add to this list.

Any other questions you would suggest?

 

This is a repost from 2011.  Sometimes when I look back at some old posts, I have two thoughts: Dang! That's pretty good and What was I thinking? Do you ever do that?

The Rooster Man is back.

 

This is a photo prompt originally from 2015.

Blood was splattered everywhere, gruesome and dark.  But, there were no bodies. None. 

Detective Jim Fouler and Forensics scoured the house, gathering bits of evidence.  But, still there was nothing, no clues at all.  

Packing up and walking out the door, Fouler was certain he had missed something.  But what?

Something from the patio caught his eye.  Turning around, Jim saw the carcass of a bright yellow rooster.  Feathers littered the patio, a patch of yellow around the dead fowl.

Detective Jim Fouler shook his head.  “He’s back.  Rooster Man is back. Damn.”

 

 

 

 

This was last posted in December 2019.  This came from a photo prompt and had to be under 100 words and I have added some words since then.  Made some corrections and changes. Loved writing this.

Snow is a Thief

 

 

 deciduous leaves

 

“Today is a good day!” 

That phrase escaped Helen’s lips as a sigh.  Helen could remember what happened all that day:  breakfast, how good the oatmeal tasted;   and, even the joke her nurse Alice made about Helen’s thick curly white hair.

“Why, you have more hair on your head than I had when I was only twenty!”  They both had laughed.  It was true; even at the age of eighty, Helen had fluffy thick hair that looked like a cloud, a mound of snow.

‘It’s my birthday!  Today!’  The thought occurred to Helen as she moved to the window.  ‘My daughter Maude is coming in a while and she will bring my favorite cake.’  Helen even remembered the phone call she had received from Maude just minutes ago.  ‘It’s my birthday!’

Alice walked to Helen’s side and took her elbow.  “Would you like to sit on the deck, Helen?  It’s a rare lovely day, and Lord knows, we won’t have many more of those when winter moves in on us!”

“Oh, Alice!  I would love that.  Maude will be here shortly, and I want her to see me sitting outside.  To see me enjoying the last leaves.” Helen’s brown eyes sparkled at the thought of Maude coming and finding that today Helen remembered her oldest child.

Alice escorted Helen to the outdoor chairs.  Helen was still vigorous, strong, and often argued with Alice about all the ‘fussing over me—I am not a child, you know…’  Alice spread a pale pink lap quilt over Helen, and told her that Maude would love to see this quilt being used.

The woods before her were filled with leaf-covered paths.  The last golden leafs reminded her of a “yellow brick road” from that movie.  ‘What was it?  Oh, the “Wizard of Oz”…’  Her eyes followed the paths and the bare branches arched over the yellow leaf paths.

Helen used to gather up those leaves into bouquets and give them to her mother, “A last bouquet ‘fore the snows, Mama!”

An idea sparked in her tired brain, and she acted on it.  “A bouquet!  That’s what I’ll have when Maude comes!  She will be so surprised!” 

Her feet moved down the steps and onto the paths, the pale pink quilt slipping to the deck. 

Helen was sure she knew this path, from somewhere.  ‘Oh, yes!  This is the path I always take when I walk.  Oh, of course.  Mama wants me to get some flowers for the table at dinner.’ 

Helen walked forward into the fog of the days behind her, into the fog coming over her mind.

Hands filled with leaves, Helen sat down on an old fallen log and looked around her.  She was so tired.  Letting herself slide down the side of the log, Helen curled up against it, and laid her head onto the rough bark. ‘I’ll rest here for just a moment.  Mama will be cross if I’m late.’

Snow started falling slowly at first and then built up speed.  Soon the paths, branches, fallen trees, and an old woman with fluffy white hair were covered in a layer that made the world white.

The voices calling ‘Helen!’  went unanswered.  As the day moved into night and the snow grew from a few inches to a solid foot, the voices turned to sobs.

On the table in Helen’s room sat a pink birthday cake.  Maude knew that Helen like the color pink.

Alzheimer's is a terrible thief.

from Bing.com

 

 P.S..  This story is based on a true event.  My father's cousin developed Alzheimer's in her later years, and left her caretaker's house in Michigan. She was found when the snows melted, not too far from her house. 

 

We will be visiting our son and family. They are in Illinois and we are in California.  So far away! But I will be putting up previous posts from the early years.  Please, please leave comments. May 1 - 8.

 

 

Them's Good Eatin'

 

 

 Route 66

 

Memories of good restaurants cling to everyone, triggered by simple smells, quick visual flashes, some notes of music.  Maybe sautéed onions with bacon bring back that little Mom and Pop place near the childhood home.  Or, is it the exquisite fresh baking bread that reminds one of a marvelous by a favorite coffee shop? The oldies on radio summon up a summer vacation when there were many summers to come.

Whatever the sense might be, everybody identifies with a familiar  place locked in the memories of good places or unique experiences. 

What about a remote place, located in the middle of a desert wasteland?  And, if that restaurant has an unusual name, would you stop there?

                                                                Good food. Good people.

 

RoadKill Café, 504 W. Highway 66, Seligman, Arizona, is such a place.  “Unique” isn’t adequate to describe this place.

Their motto is:  "You Kill It, We Grill It!"

Located on Route 66  just off Freeway , the town of Seligman, AZ, has kept its old West and small town flavor.   The menu offers many fine entrees, such as "Splatter Platter", Deer Delectables, Bad Brake Steak, Fender Tender, Caddie Grilled Patty, Swirl of Squirrel, Big Bagged Stag, Highway Hash, Almost-Crossed-the-Road-Chicken, and other delights.***

The chocolate malt is the best, though.  

 

                                                   Memorable place

 

These offerings have not been collected off the road. That's the vultures' jobs.

 

We are flying from CA to IL, where our son and family live.  They have 2 boys in preschool, and a sweetie 1.5 years old.  Posts will be up, leave comments please!

  

Girl in the Mist

Clare in the mist, photo prompt

 

‘Today, I will watch for him today,’ Clare thought, staring out across the bay.

The mist roiled about her, soaking her to the skin.  Clare shivered and then her skin relaxed in the warmth that followed.  Listening for a sound, she found herself in a cocoon of fog and silence. 

How many days had Jackson been gone?  ‘Today is three-hundred eighty-four’, she rolled the number around in her head.  Flash images of his back as he slung his rucksack  over his shoulder, growing smaller in the distance as he rowed his curragh away from her—that’s all she could see now.  His face was a blur, lost in a mist itself.

Still no sound, Clare strained to hear, to see just a hint that Jackson was coming back to her, that he would stay this time.

Then a sound, ker-plunk, broke the stillness of the air, the glassiness of the water.

This is a repeat from 2011. The story is from my head.

We are heading to Illinois to see our son and family.  Please leave a message!