Posted in Uncategorized

3 Quotes: Day 2

IMG_20180319_085350_120

This is something I find myself saying very often, also since my youngest child being born 4 years ago. While it may seem like an obvious statement, when you have worked the 2nd shift for most of your adult life, it’s not something that a 1st shifter would normally say.

I’ve always been a night owl, which was a challenge when I worked 2nd shift and had to get up to get kids up for school, when I had only gone to sleep several hours before. “Normal people have day jobs” had been said to me in the past by others criticising my work hours…tell that to the mortician who works on dead bodies all night long!

I had worked as night manager for almost 7 years before having my youngest, and getting into the day time of things was a challenge at first. Lucky for my sleep deprived self, it didn’t matter when I slept because I rarely slept except falling into a pit of exhaustion for a few hours here and there.

I noticed that’s about the time when my coffee addiction started. I drank coffee occasionally before but never as religiously as my attempts to curb my Mombie self after my youngest being born!

In short, for a night owl living in an early bird society, early in the morning comes early!

 

 

Advertisements
Posted in Uncategorized

Coffee and Sarcasm

IMG_20180530_003311_395

Thanks to  mylilplace for the nomination for the 3 day 3 quote challenge! I welcome the chance to share a few of my own quotes along the way!

                             I survive on coffee and sarcasm

I can’t remember when exactly I came up with this saying, but I’m pretty sure it was sometime after having my youngest 4 years ago at the age of 41. There were many sleepless nights that contributed to my need for coffee to survive through the next day. The coffee gives me that get up and go when I am in full on Mombie mode. The sarcasm is just my nature. As a matter of fact, this mug is a subject of a post about litterbugs that I wrote a couple of weeks ago. How’s that for some sarcasm? Piss me off I’ll make ya famous in a blog and make a meme of it!

I toast my coffee to you all as I write this (not in the above mug) in a salute to the black liquid gold, that gives us the umph to get up and go when we don’t want to crawl out of bed. Many sleepless nights have contributed to me saying that I live on coffee and sarcasm. I googled up this saying and it’s not out there word for word, so I call this quote my very own and I’m proud to share it with you!

 

Posted in Photography

Shooting Blind but Still I See

20180528_081104-1

It’s a rainy day and I am content to stay in my jammies and write for a good portion of it. I am happy that the flower bed is getting watered which makes my 1st outdoor garden endeavour all the more effortless. I call it lazy gardening, masked as being that I have no clue what I’m doing!

I open our front door to check on the garden because you know, checking it every 5 minutes helps it grow faster! I get distracted by a raindrop jeweled spider web above me and run inside to grab my camera to take a snapshot. I sense a blog inspiration coming on and a fantastic photo-op to illustrate. I grab the step stool and ask my 4-year-old to hold the door open, as I hang precariously out of the doorway, trying to get closer to get a picture. I’m shooting blind and cannot see my subject, much less the creator of said subject, so I take about a dozen shots.

“Where’s the spider?” my 4-year-old innocently asks me,  just as I was wondering the same. Not really what I want to be asked at the moment, as a quick flash of panic hits me. I push the thought aside and bravely take a few more shots, while almost falling out of the door. When you’re a photographer at heart, you’ll go to great lengths to get a good shot! 

I have always had arachnophobia to the point that even seeing a tiny spider across the room would make me screech like a little girl. If one was ever on me, forget it, a coronary would be in progress! Through photography however, I have learned to face that fear and learned that spiders are not all that bad…as long as they stay over there, across the room and not on me. 

Seeing a web like this would have sent me in a panic years ago, wondering where the spider was instead of enjoying the beauty of the moment. Now when I see a sight like this, I reach for my camera. Photography has turned out to be good therapy for me, in more ways than one. It helps me to open my eyes and perceive what others would not notice. Photography is my art when I do not know how to paint and is my artistic vent to show the world through my eyes. It helps me face my fears and forget the things that once instilled fear in me. 

I may have been shooting blind when I took this picture, but it didn’t stop me from seeing…

 

Posted in Writing

Where the Sidewalk Ends

 

It’s Memorial Weekend and garage sales are starting out summer in full swing! I love riding around hunting for a good bargain, and finding free things on the curb after a garage sale is even a better score. I admit, I am guilty of purposely waiting til the end of the day to find free stuff!

This was not a free find, but it was found for $1 at one garage sale that we stopped at. I hadn’t wanted to stop initially, but I spotted a rack of dresses that showed prospect.I picked out several items from the rack and spotted a little box of various books.

Right in the front was this Shel Silverstein book that I remember reading as a kid and in new condition, Where the Sidewalk Ends, like new condition like no one ever even picked it up to give it a read. The only thing about getting a new book is getting a new book for a buck, a hardcover at that!

20180527_145241-1

My neighborhood is full of sidewalks that just end, and some of the roads are a bit busy, so when I am out walking with my youngest, I always tell her that we will walk until the sidewalk ends and then turn around. Every single time I have said that, I have thought about this book. Just a few days ago on a walk, I mentioned that we should get that book to read and lo and behold it made its way to us at a very affordable price!

To make this book even more special, it’s the 30th anniversary special edition, printed in 2004, which makes this book now 44 years old. It was printed 2 years after I was born and realizing that right now makes me feel old! I enjoyed Shel Siverstein’s books a lot as a child because they made me smile and helped me escape this world for a while. They are written in a style that I always imagined my own to be like.

Now this book that I always mention is in our library and I can’t wait to share it with my youngest who loves to be read to. Between finding the fossil and this book in the past week, I feel like I have hit the jackpot and that things find their way to us for a reason. Whether it’s the fates stepping in to help out giving us a nudge of encouragement when it’s needed, or pure coincidence, we never truly know why things happen. Sometimes a simple thing like finding a thrifty new book for a buck brings back a few positive memories of childhood, is enough to makeone feel rich. Now I have a book to share with my own daughter, to share with her the joy of reading, and who knows, maybe inspire her to want to write her own books someday!

Posted in Writing

Time

IMG_20180525_222611_352

I am still in awe, shock and disblief about finding this fossil the other day in our garden. I have yet to take it to anyone to identify and date it, but to both those who have seen it in person and through social media through documentation have conceded that it is most definately not man made and is a fossil of some kind. 

I am obsessed with this fossil and haven’t let it out of my sight since finding it. I have slept with it next to my pillow the past two nights. I have taken numerous shitty pictures of it trying to document my find just to be able to zoom in to see details in it and try to determine if it is in fact something man made. I am having trouble wrapping my mind around the fact of how old this specimen may be if it is an annonite like several have said, which became extinct when the dinasaurs became extinct 65 million years ago. It may be impossible to tell just how old this fossil is but we know that fossils take about 10,000 years to form, so it’s at least that old. 

Rocks call to me and this one calls to me for sure! It has got me more inquisitive that anything else before and it is by far the most interesting rock I’ve ever pickd up before! People go huntil for fossils on purpose and don’t find them and I found mine just pulling up a clump of dandelions. What are the odds of that?

This fossil has raised so many questions, like how did it get to where I found it and how had it gone unnoticed before me, just sitting on top of the dirt how it was under that clump? How old is it? Where did it origionate? What is the creature? What minerals are in it?

It baffles me how old this fossil may be, and reminds me of a poem that I wrote years ago about man’s concept of time:

 

  Time 

 Is time a concept? 

a made up thing, 

for man to manage how long he’s aged? 

“What time was she born?” 

“How old was he when he died?” 

“Do you remember the first time that you cried?” 

“How are you today?” 

“Fine, thanks a bunch. 

What time shall we meet for lunch?” 

Has time always been? 

When did it begin? 

Will it end? 

We plunge onward through time, 

never getting another yesterday. 

Only tomorrow, only tomorrow comes, 

knocking at the beginning of today. 

Yesterday goes dashing out the back door 

with tomorrow chasing at its heels, 

and somewhere in the midst of all the commotion, 

today is caught in between. 

 

 JKulo 10/2004 

Posted in gardening, Photography, Writing

Garden Surprise: Fossil?

 

It’s 20 to 9 on a Friday night, I just laid my 4 year old down to sleep and put water on for tea. I probably shouldn’t be having any sort of caffeine at this time of night, being that I was ready to punch out for the day a few hours ago. I should probably be winding down for the day but instead, my mind is racing and I want to write more, even after already writing a 1400 something word post today. I’m excited and had a great end to a not so great day, so I feel the need to get it out instead of procrastinating and putting it off till tomorrow. 

I found myself I in a melancholic mood after the emotional post I blogged this morning. Bringing demons to light after harboring them for so long can tend to have an effect on one’s soul. It put me in a kinda funk for the rest of the day and sent me to some of those dark corners of my mind. 

Gardening is often my solace. Something about feeling the dirt tumbling through my fingers and smelling the air around me as I am digging away in my garden gives me some comfort in life, even if outdoor is a newfound comfort. What was even better while digging away in my garden this evening, contemplating on things, I came across this archaic looking rock that has somehow gone unnoticed the past couple garden seasons. (Here in the Adirondacks that’s about 3 good months of the year, the rest it basically snows and is like tundra at times with obnoxious below zero weather!)

20180524_182919

At first when I pulled up weeds and noticed it right alongside of our cement step, I thought it was a garden decoration or the top of a post or something because of the what I thought was an engraving on it. It didn’t look like a normal rock to me. My youngest was next to me, playing with a bunch of toys in a bucket of water, so we washed it off a bit. After turning it over to inspect it, I realized that it WAS a rock, because you can see a bit of what looks like quartz in it.

20180524_205741

A wave of amazement washed over as it dawned on me that this may be a fossil! When I realized that I may be the first human to ever touch this fossil, all the melancholy that was felt throughout the day was replaced by wonderment. I need to research it further, but this just may be a fossil from a creature that lived and became extinct 65 million years ago, and that blows my mind that it was found in my garden here in the Adirondacks. I’m thankful for this find, and the affect it had on my mood. I’m still geeking out about it a few hours later, giddy with anticipation to find out more.

Life may put us in some dark places at times, and sometimes even something as simple as a rock can cast some light to blur out that darkness. The rock just may be found in the most unlikely of places, but somehow, it found its way to me!

Posted in Writing

#metoo

 

A 17 year old girl sits in a chair, plastic coke bottle in hand, giving an officer her statement. She had been molested by her step-father over the course of a few years before running away from home to protect herself.  The officer was making her ill at ease with his questions, but after all, they needed as many details as possible to put in their statement. The more questions they asked, the more uncomfortable she felt, especially trying to tell a strange man she didn’t know. The more uncomfortable she felt, the more shredded the label on her Coke became and the tears of embarrassment streamed down her face. Some of the details the officer was asking her, had been blocked from her mind in an attempt at self preservation of sanity. She finally could take the embarrassment no more, for he was making her feel guilty like it was her fault and that he didn’t believe her, so she got up to leave without finishing her statement. The officer assured her that no further action would be taken until she finished her statement. She was fine with that, she just wanted to forget the nightmare that had been her childhood, and get on with her adulthood, with those memories far behind her. 

That 17 year old was me, many many moons ago. I had suffered from abuse from this so called man from the time I was 4 when he got together with my egg donor (I refuse to call her my Mom, she doesn’t deserve that loving term) that started out as physical abuse, masked as “discipline”. I remember being that young, and him beating me with a belt on my bare ass for “misbehaving” (i.e. being a CHILD) My egg donor was well aware of this abuse, as she was witness to it, but never stepped in to help me and stop him. This went on throughout my childhood.

One summer, when I was 8 years old, I tried to run away. I had enough of the abuse and feeling unwanted and unloved. I threw my mattress out of my second story window onto the cement below, and jumped. I didn’t go far, I went to my neighbor’s house, The Mays, whom I adored. I was best friends with their grandson, Jonathan that lived with them. Mrs. May called my “parents” to tell them I was there. My step-father came to retrieve me from their house, taking his belt off in their yard, and proceeding to beat me with it all the way home into our house, up the stairs and back to my bedroom.

I was left cowering on my bed, bloodied and black and blue, drowning in my tears. I felt unwanted, scared, hopeless and very alone. I felt worthless, I wanted to die if it meant that I could escape the hell I was being forced to live. That spark that a child is supposed to have had long been snuffed. I was an empty shell of a human being.

My egg donor came into my room a little later and simply asked, “Why did you do that?” I felt like telling her to take a good look at my bloodied face from the nosebleed I had, and the welts all over my body, but even if she could see, she was blind. I sat there sobbing and didn’t say a word. It should have been glaringly obvious to her, standing in front of her sobbing and battered 8 year old daughter, but she was oblivious to my pain apparently.

The beatings turned into molestation when I was about the age of 14 and this abuse was secret, only happening when my egg donor was not home. I was afraid to tell anyone about it. I was scared that no one would believe me. I felt like I had no one to tell, because I didn’t really. Sometimes I would wish that I would get pregnant, just so there would have been proof of what he had been doing to me. I was trapped in my own head, in my own hell, that I had no capability of escaping. I just wanted out, one way or another. I was even deader inside than my 8 year old self. My egg donor was always threatening me that when I turned 18 that I was going to be out of the house. Ya, that threat really scared me, as if I didn’t look forward to my escape from that hellhole! I always told her that as soon as I turned 18 in November of my senior year, I was outta there, to which she would retort, “Not until you graduate!” I wasn’t going to wait that long, and I didn’t!

A week before my 17th birthday, I went to school one Friday and never returned home. Thankfully I had a friend to stay with, who’s family was very kind to me, eventhough they had not known yet what I had been through. My egg donor had tried to call the police on me to make them take me home, but they pretty much told her that they couldn’t do anything about it as long as I was safe. Thank God for that, for my nightmare was finally over and I could leave it behind me…so I thought.

I worked at a restaurant at the time and my creepy old Greek boss was trying to hit on me all the time, trying to get me in to do oddball work when the restaurant was closed, and he had started trying to grope me. I was certainly not going to put up with that, so I just quit one day. My friend’s younger sister asked me why I was not at work that day and I answered, “You know that song, Janie’s Got a Gun by Aerosmith?” That’s all I needed to say for her to understand, and I could tell that she had put 2 and 2 together as to why I had run away from home. She told me that I needed to tell her parents, because they would be wondering why I quit my job.

My friend’s parents were appalled at what I told them, and encouraged me to go make a statement with the police so that he would be arrested for what he had done to me over the years.

Well guess what? The police lied to me about not pursuing my statement more until I finished it, because the next day, they went to school where my 3 younger half sisters attended to questions them about things. That’s how my egg donor found out what I had been through, and instead of being the mother she should have been, she denied my claims and outright said I was lying and that she didn’t want to talk to me until I told her the truth about what had happened. I told her that I will not ever lie and tell her what she wants to hear, because what happened, DID happen!

I have not talked to her in about 30 years now, nor my 3 half sisters, because they all think that I am a liar, that their Dad would have never done anything like that. Secretly, I had hoped that he would have molested them, so that they too would believe what I went through. But, he never beat them or abused them like he did to me, because they were his own children.

In February of 2012, my step-father finally died. I didn’t find out until a few months later when I was visiting my parents and my Dad had told me he read the obituary. As horrible of a human being that this may sound, I rejoiced that he died! I was sincerely happy to learn that he had finally been buried 6 feet under to rot! I celebrated with a bottle of tequila. Do I feel guilty? Absolutely NOT! I feel relieved, that I can actually bury my past now, knowing that he will never be able to hurt another human ever again! I’ll celebrate the same when my egg donor kicks the bucket and another cause of my childhood hell is rotting 6 feet under!

Posted in Editorials, Writing

BREASTISM

Let’s take a moment to discuss a controversial topic-breasts, of the human kind. That’s right, I wrote it, BREASTS! Boobs. Boobies. Ta-tas. Titties. Tits. Knockers. Jugs. Melons. Hooters. The list goes on, referring to the female anatomy, even though men have them too (when they have noticeable ones that we call moobs).

Men and women both have breasts and nipples, (men can even have mammary ducts, though those stop developing when puberty hits) the difference being that with the onset of puberty, a women’s breasts develop to be able to lactate to feed their offspring. They are not sexual organs in a woman, but rather, a secondary sexual characteristic, being that they are not used in conceiving a child.

The definition of indecent exposure is defined as exposure of one’s genitals, which does not include breasts. It’s legal for men to go topless in public and yet in some states, a woman can still get arrested for indecent exposure. Why is that, I wonder? It’s because we live in a sexist society, that applauds men for showing off their pectorals and shame women for a natural thing like breastfeeding. Moreover, it’s mostly men that sexualize those breasts and then make the laws that penalize a women for exposing hers in public! 

breastfeed pic that go reported

The above picture was taken in August of 2014, when my youngest child was about 8 months old. We often are outdoors in nature, and this day was no exception. It was a beautiful day and my baby girl and I went for a hike. Along the way she got hungry, so we stopped by this serene spot so she could nurse.

I am one to err on the side of prude rather than being an exhibitionist, and was always very discreet when feeding my babies in public, or, even in nature as you can see in this picture. There were times I’d be right in the store feeding my baby, walking around, and people would take no notice, until they would walk up to say hi and saw what I was doing. 

Apparently, someone got offended about my picture on Facebook when I posted it, and reported it for nudity.

reported photo 

It’s obvious that the person did not even pay attention to my photo and was under the assumption that I have some giant breasts! (I wish) The only nudity in this picture is the top of my baby’s naked head!!!!

Please, people, let’s stop this breastism (I word I proudly made up just for this post!) Stop sexualizing a woman’s breasts, because they are not sexual organs. They are not play things or boy toys for guys to gawk at! They are organs meant to sustain a baby with their mama’s milk, and a woman should not be chastised about it, if she happens to show them off. After all, men proudly parade around shirtless, showing off their 6-pack pectorals (or not in some cases, which is fine too, not everyone has an Apollo body!) so why can’t a woman go topless, should she choose to? 

What’s your opinion about breastism, and, do you like my word I made up today?

Posted in Editorials, Writing

Assumption- Daily Word Prompt

 

From the Oxford online dictionary:

as·sump·tion
[əˈsəm(p)SH(ə)n]

NOUN
assumptions (plural noun)
a thing that is accepted as true or as certain to happen, without proof.
“they made certain assumptions about the market” · “we’re working on the assumption that the time of death was after midnight”
synonyms: supposition · presupposition · presumption · premise · belief · expectation · conjecture · speculation · surmise · guess · theory · hypothesis · postulation · conclusion · deduction · inference · thought · suspicion · notion · impression · fancy · guesswork · guessing · reckoning · guesstimate
the action of taking or beginning to take power or responsibility.
“the assumption of an active role in regional settlements”
synonyms: acceptance · shouldering · handling · managing · tackling · taking on · undertaking · entering on · setting about · embarkation on · seizure · seizing · taking · taking over · taking away · appropriation · appropriating · commandeering · expropriation · expropriating · confiscation · confiscating · requisition · requisitioning · hijack · hijacking · wresting · usurping · preempting · arrogation · claiming
the reception of the Virgin Mary bodily into heaven. This was formally declared a doctrine of the Roman Catholic Church in 1950.See also Dormition.
the feast in honor of this, celebrated on August 15.
archaic
arrogance or presumption.

The first thing I recall when I hear the word assumption is 8th grade science teacher, Mr. Sheehan (my only teacher I can recall by name in junior high) who taught us that when you assume, you make an ass out of u and me. This is the same teacher that would have us recite when we were wrong, “I’m sorry Mr. Sheehan, you were right and I was wrong.) which I still say to people to this day, minus the Mr. Sheehan part. 

I never really took the time to sit down and pick that saying apart, until today’s prompt. Why must an assumption be perceived as a negative thing? Surely, such as in the case of science, an assumption of something must be made to make your theory. More often though, in my experience, people assume for the worst (and I don’t like people making an ass of me!)

The first line of the definition, “a thing that is accepted as true or as certain to happen, without proof” makes me think of religion. (stop reading now if you are religious and don’t want to get offended by my own agnostic beliefs) People assume that there is a god, and they assume that their religion is the only way to honor said god. People can speculate about religion and the unknown all they want, but truth is, humans just DO NOT KNOW what happens after we die, and we won’t until we die. Yet, people worldwide, blindly follow a theory that something good will happen to them when they die if they lead the life their god wants them to live. 

Kids are led to assume that if they don’t behave, Santa won’t come, but truth is, there is no real life Santa that would come regardless of their behavior. Who is really the ass in that case, the child that believes there is a Santa, or the deceitful parents trying to coerce their kid to behave? Couldn’t the same be applied to religion as well, to the same people that lead their kids to believe in a god? 

Agnostic beliefs aside, I would like to make the assumption that someday, humans will live in peace, and not judge each other like the gods they supposedly follow are supposed to do. I should like to think that humans would stop being so presumptuous of one another, thinking they are better than one another, based on their beliefs. This is a topic for another day but I wholeheartedly believe that religion is the culprit of many wars that go on, and without religion and people fighting over what to believe, this world would be more tolerable to live in. The only religion we need is the Golden Rule…treat others as you would be treated!

 

 

Posted in Poetry, Writing

I Disappear

disappear inside myself, which leaves me feeling beside my self, when others are outside,

I retreat in bitter social awkwardness, to the dark corners of my mind.

I hide there, where no one can pry, or look at me with judging eyes,

I hide there with my torturous thoughts, my own company; my worst enemy.

I hide where no others can see, in my mental sanctuary, in a battle I can’t seem to win,

and at the end of the day, in the darkened grey, I’m just a lost soul trapped inside my skin..