I may have lost an actual friend, someone I truly care about, over politics.  He seems to feel that his conscience should rule everybody's choices because he didn't like the outcome of the election.

I've hated every result that's happened for the past 40 years (give or take).  I listen to pundits, friends and strangers expound on views I find disturbing (because it's so OBVIOUS to me that they are ... misguided.  How can ANY thinking being BELIEVE that shit????) and I say something mild (because I am a physical coward who is trembling RIGHT THIS MINUTE as I type because this is already too confrontational for my comfort--if I even post, I'm likely to delete it).

Then one or more of them says something that means "you don't agree with me, so you are shit."

Thank you world.  I needed that.
Just got another email from my husband (if you're playing along at home, you know he's been off-line for nearly six years).  The first one (a couple-three years ago) gave me a start, and I even felt the urge to open it because I wanted it to be from my Donald.  Of course, I sent it to the spam folder (or possibly just deleted it).

Another one landed in my inbox today; this one even used "woofy" in the subject line (that would have been what he put in his email contact file).  That is just mean--it was his--and only his--name for me.  *sniffle*

I could probably get his email account deleted, if I could remember what his password was, but I don't.  Since it is probably his Yahoo account, I don't want his ID to disappear from my contact list on Yahoo Messenger, which I still use daily.  I have another deceased contact on that list.  It feels like erasing them completely to delete them--I've only done that for people I no longer have use for, and I don't have that feeling about either of them.  Heck, I still can't throw out some of his clothes.  Of course, I wore some of his shirts a lot when he was living, and still do sometimes, only now it feels a little bit like keeping him nearby.

I don't dwell, only sometimes does missing him hit the surface, and I can set it aside fairly easily.  That's OK.  Anything else means I've forgotten him and that will never happen.  I just wish the Yahoo-cracking bots would leave his account alone, y'know?
My son just turned 30.
For many years now, I've used My Yahoo for my personal home page; I tweaked it until it was completely MY My Yahoo.  It was portable (I worked from a LOT of different computers during this time) and very functional.  It was all but perfect.

Thank you so much, Yahoo, for killing all its usefulness to me.  The Yahoo Mail portion was bad enough; the remake of My Yahoo is designed to make desktop/laptop users crazy; now they are forcing my collection of Yahoo bookmarks into almost complete uselessness.

I guess I'm getting too old for the Internet because I don't WANT a smart phone or notebook or tablet to follow me everywhere I go.  Keyboards and mice have become too old fashioned.  Layouts are optimized for tiny displays and swiping.  Customization is virtually nil, at least so far as I've found.

And there's nowhere to go to regain my surfing feet.  Nowhere.

I'm getting too old.
Transient Global Amnesia is scary while it's happening, but apparently benign in the long run.  I'm so glad you asked me how I know this!  *laugh*

Saturday, Sep 8, I was getting ready to go to Poly Munch (Second Saturday at Cici's, as it's known), when I noticed the date on my computer, and it sounded wrong, because if it was really Sep 8, I had forgotten my son's birthday on the 2nd.  What's worse, I couldn't remember ANYTHING about the 2nd at all.  I became more than a little distraught as I realized I'd forgotten to do anything for him, and called his cell with a weepy, disjointed message wondering what was wrong with me (he kept it to play back to anyone who might have found use for it diagnostically, and let me hear it for myself later).

Then I called Gene: he had to tell me where Kevin was, to which I replied "he is?"; I said I'd forgotten his birthday, and Gene told me we'd done something with my father, which completely astounded me; I suddenly realized I didn't remember going to work lately, so I asked about that, and he told me I was retired, to which I answered "I'm retired?"  At that point my memory went into total self-destruct, because poor Kevin called me several times, repeating the conversation practically verbatim each time.  Kevin says I kept telling him I didn't think I would need a doctor.  I have no recollection of any of those calls.

By the time I have any actual recall of events, Gene had agreed to come pick me up, because I was pretty sure I shouldn't drive, and when he got here with Kathy, we got my stuff together (I had planned to stay over at their house that night, so I had my overnight things mostly ready to go), and they asked me where I wanted to go.  Since we practically lived at MoBap the last few years of Don's life, and I sort of inherited his doctor, that's what I said.

They ran some tests over the next couple of days.  I've now had a CAT scan of my head, which is not hollow after all, an MRI with contrast, which said pretty much the same thing, an echocardiogram, and a doppler test of my neck arteries/veins.  Nuthin' shakin' any of those places either.

Only thing they really didn't like was my blood pressure, which was scary high when I got to the ER.  We'll work on that.  The only reason it took two days to get the tests done was my showing up on a Saturday afternoon.  They let me loose Monday shortly after lunch, and I came home to my neglected computer.  Kevin's got a few days of emergency leave just to make sure I'm OK--poor kid's got enough problems with mental/emotional stability of his own right now, having had some traumatic experiences in the 'Stan.  They're in the process of deciding just how much disability pay he's going to pull down for that.

Kevin, Gene and Kathy were so very good to me in all this.  Kathy went with me to the ER cubicle and kept me company the whole time; Kevin has even forgiven me for the phone calls he had to keep repeating.  All I know now is the next time someone talks about "that's [time frame] of my life I'll never have back," I can trump them with my half-hour of actually never remembering what I did, which is very much like not having that part of your life at all.

I was lost, but now I'm found.  *giggle*  The only repercussion might come with my family wanting to know more about my relationship with "my friend" Gene, who was there Sunday at the same time my father, step-mother, brother and sister-in-law were.  I think we behaved while there were witnesses, but my brother's concerned.  I just hope he keeps his concerns private--when we were kids, he had a distressing habit of confessing my behavior to our mother.  Not too often, but I remember a couple I could have done without.  Oh well.  I'm pretty sure he will be good this time.

I really need to shut up now, don't I?  *laugh*  I'm home, I'm OK.  The End!
this year it's his wife, the gardener:


I hope this doesn't have some cycling of photo subject, because I saw the lady and thought "golly, that could be Pat.  Of course, it's really some other white-haired gardening freak."  I only clicked to assure myself that my family had NOT become targets of the paparazzi.  And, ummmmm... they are?

To sound hopelessly addicted to online interaction:  LOLOL  (can't use ROFLMAO--that would sound disrespectful.  *grin*)

* Edit:  OK, it was two years ago:  http://www.stltoday.com/news/multimedia/a-time-to-be-thankful-for-the-visual-presents-of/image_413b8595-57d7-5e99-97b7-da2f3dce75c2.html .  He's still the cutest Poppa ever!

My wonderful Lebanese boss took us to lunch at a good Mediterranean restaurant near here.  I'm still stuffed!  I hope your day is even better than kibbeh!  *grin*

As promised, I post a link to the story of a squirrel and a motorcycle;  it took some digging, but I found the original.  The first two or three pages of links for "squirrel and motorcycle" found many copies (even some attributed copies), but this IS the real one.


Warning: Swallow the coffee/tea/water/whatever liquid you're downing right now, and put the rest aside for a couple minutes.  I will not be responsible for any destruction of keyboards, monitors or breathing.
March is slightly melancholy at my house, at least lately;  the 23rd is Don's birthday, and this year, my kid starts pre-deployment training a few days later.

I don't have any huge melt-downs, of course, but the thought "my Donald's gone" still has a wail lurking somewhere inside my chest.  However, I do have an amulet of sorts that helps.  The week after he died, I went out to check on Gene, who was in the throes of a horrible reaction to compazine after his knee replacement (it had yet to be diagnosed, and poor Gene was dreadfully ill--it took something like three trips to the ER to convince the doctors to try to figure out what was going on), and stopped at Walgreen's to pick up a get-well card or something.  I checked out the cute notions section by habit, and there was a Beanie Baby frog, mottled pastels and loopy fabric, and cuter'n all get out.

I picked it up, smiled a bit, put it back down--then picked it up, and took it to the check-out.  I needed this one last frog for da Frog, somehow.  I put it on the dashboard, chin propped on its crossed hands, legs sprawled out behind.  Even with both eyes open, it seemed to be winking at me, just like Don might have, if he'd been shrunk to fit right there.

It's been with me ever since.  I have to pull it back up close to me at frequent intervals, naturally, because inertia chases it up to the windshield regularly, and it's tag is faded to rose instead of bright red, but it's still there, somehow making the sadness a little less sharp, reminding me that he was in my life, and it was Good.

It is my Froggian Angel of the Dashboard.
Just noticed a spam email from "Katherine Rodriguez" titled "are yu there?"  Since neither of the two people I know who are named Rodriguez are are also named Katherine, the answer is Delete.

Be nice if "Katherine" got the hint, but she'll probably just pass my addy along to her sisters and brothers instead.  Good thing Delete always functions, innit?   *laugh*
So I'm talking to myself about a misstep, in an effort to get the voices in my head onto another subject, and heard myself think "dammit, just suck up the big girl panties and get on with it." 

I will presume that "it" is me choking and turning blue while desperately trying to claw the things out of my throat.  Mmmmmm, tasty!
[livejournal.com profile] sheyeblaze    Hope it's a great one, filled with much fun and merriment and wish fulfillment! 

*snoopy dances with horns, confetti and drums*

For us,

Oct. 4th, 2010 09:04 am

the not-so-few, the often not-especially-proud, the introverted in a land of institutionalized extroversion, from Psychology Today:

The Revenge of the Introvert

(Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] sunfell )
KC (aka Kathy's Cat), the older kitty at their house, slipped away yesterday morning, "purring in his momma's arms."   

The house is a little too quiet, and junior kitty Kennedy wonders where his growly play toy has gone.

Scientifically Accurate Fabric Brain Art

This is just so... appropriate, somehow.
LJ friend [info]kitwench  made a post today that spoke to me, and reminded me of one of my own personal relationship aphorisms: almost any two (or more *grin*) people of good will can "make it" in a relationship if they decide they will.

Now, neither Kit's post nor my own should be construed to mean that any one of you out there who left somebody for reasons "less" than her Big Three A's are somehow wrong--some folks won't do their share of the working things out, and everybody has a breaking point.  Those fall into the "decide to" part of my little thought.  When stuff gets sticky, sometimes one person doesn't pull along with everybody else, and if that sort of pattern persists, you get to decide when to cut the traces, no fault to you. 

But haven't you had friends who split for reasons that seemed too small--didn't you wonder why they couldn't find some way to work through the problem that broke them up?  Besides Kit's point about framing, about choosing where to look at when looking at the relationship, I think it's also important to remember that "love" is a choice we make, too.  It's part of the story we weave around our lives, part of how we look at ourselves, how we frame our thinking.

My Frog was many wonderful things, but he was also many less-than wonderful things, some of which might have been deal-breakers if they'd been all I saw when I looked at him--but what I saw was the man who picked me out of the crowd at a bowling alley one night, and kept looking, and decided that who I was was the person he wanted around him for a long, long time, who wanted me as I am (and I'm damned hard to take at times, and I know it)--and I chose to love him every time I looked at him.  It got to be automatic to come back to that same place, a habit I never wanted to break, but it was a choice, a decision.

It's the one I think folks forget, sometimes, when things are tough.  They think, perhaps, that love means never questioning whether you do love that guy (generically speaking) sleeping next to you;  'tain't true, dat.  You probably will wonder at times.  If you're lucky, you'll realize that the question isn't a death knell.  You'll realize that Life Happens, and sometimes it's not as easy as others to like your significant(s), and you'll work at finding a way to reconnect to the parts you like--the person you loved yesterday is still there (usually), and you don't have to turn your back because this morning sucks.

I suspect that if you're willing to keep finding reasons to love that guy, that guy will be willing to find ways to stay lovable--and of course, more willing to return the favor when you're the one being troublesome.  Surely you aren't the only perfect person in the world (besides my mother-in-law , that is.  *laugh*  That's what she always claimed whenever someone said "nobody's perfect" around her.).

Anyway, Kit may have found the secret to staying married--thanks for sharing, Kit!  *grin*
I spent over a week with a computer I couldn't trust; it sent mystery mail to random contacts (including my boss!), Java quit working right, Spybot seemed to make things worse, and finally, even after deleting Spybot, Task Manager told me that my CPU usage was outrageous (the BEST percentage was 50, and 100 was the most common number to pop up).  I ran my PC Tools bought utilities for days on end (or so it seemed), and mostly it didn't seem to uncover anything.

But Sunday, after the umpteenth reboot (and changing my email password), Task Manager said CPU usage was normal (often 0!), Java started working so I could play my games at Pogo again, and no more mystery mail.

Yay!?!!  So far, so good.

I can't describe how low I felt with all the mess, and how lovely it is with my little connection to the world back on track.  I can even stream the feed from my former radio station without a hitch---if they were just playing things beside the elevator music that didn't get much air time when it was alive.  *sigh*  I guess it's summer, hard to get rid of flies.

I love my 'puter when it's working right.  *hugs 'puter*




I opened the StlToday this morning and my papa is looking out at me (sort of).  And, for the record, Haley is his GREAT-granddaughter.  Before he married my step-mother, I used to call Haley his girlfriend because he was smitten with her from the day she came home from the hospital.  She's another of those phenomenal children that seem to be popping up all over these days.

Isn't he just the cutest though?  *beams with prideful glee*

ETA:  The article's not showing any more, but there are three images of the two of them.  Papa was looking for genealogical information--finally found a REASON to learn a little about computers.
birthday, [livejournal.com profile] sheyeblaze!  Hope yours was as wonderful as mine was--probably hadn't had a birthday party in 40 years, and suddenly, I got TWO, courtesy of amazing friends (a Wii party last night) and my sweet family (lunch today, instigated by my son and orchestrated by my brothers).

Enough to make lack of snow OK.  This time.  *grin*

*blows horns and throws confetti*  Don't worry.  Let the roomba get that.  It's your birthday!
One year ago tonight, I told him I'd be back around 9 the next morning, kissed him good night and left him sitting on the edge of his bed, eating his dialysis-delayed dinner.  I'd sat with him in the Christian Northeast ER until 3 that morning, and waked up to his call from MoBap shortly after he'd gotten to his bed there a couple hours later, so I went home and crashed.

The phone started ringing at 4 the next morning, but it took a several tries on both lines to wake me; the social worker said he was having difficulties and I should get any family and come down.  He was gone by the time we got there.

Despite the grim diagnosis, and the awful weeks since we'd got it, he was still making plans, and as engaged as he could manage in being alive, so I went to sleep a married woman, not looking forward to the future, but knowing there WAS one.  I woke up--and our future had died.

I'm getting used to not having him with me, and much of it's even pretty good, but there's still a huge pain in my throat when I think about him.  I just don't do it so much any more.  Life layers itself on top of the wounds and covers the scars with insulation so they don't hurt so sharply when they're bumped.

One year without him, and I have to dig a bit to touch the pain--but it's still there, and I wish for the bright days back, when we had everything we ever really needed--and it was Us. 

I wish they weren't just memories, now. 

I miss him and I wish.
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