Eye Migraine

eye migraine

I wasn't worth sh!t this week-end. My migraine started on Friday. Of course. My day off from work and the beginning of a beee-you-tiful week-end. Migraine medicine (Relpax) kept it manageable. Just. Saturday was a repeat of Friday. Another Relpax. Sunday I refused to take another one. By Sunday night I felt like I was dying.

Today I am left with the eye migraine. It feels like there is a fork behind my eye trying to poke it out. My stomach has been severely upset today so I stuck to tylenol. It doesn't do much, but I cannot stomach the more powerful pain remedies. Such as Excederin or Advil. Crackers and ginger ale. Did I mention how beautiful the weather has been and I am stuck lying in bed or on the couch with a nine-inch nail embedded into my eyeball?

Excuse me. I have to go and throw up now. Again.

Coming from the speakers: Nothing. Even the fan is making too much noise.

Update: I broke down and took another Relpax. (sniff) It is working, the pain is finally abating. Tuesday April 12. 2:40 a.m.

Cookies, SSL and DNS - Oh My!

coat girl

This is one of my favorite pictures of my daughter taken about ten years ago. It makes me smile each time I see it. It is a digital picture of a 35mm picture through a clear plastic cover in a photo album. Follow that?

A big congratulations to Tabor for her new hat. Role of Grandmommy! Picture can be seen here.

Well, according to blogger.com status' page, they are having problems with SSL. To find more about it: Secure Socket Layer.

We are also told to clear our cookies.

Or, as I like to say, toss our cookies.

In explorer, choose Tools, Internet Options, General tab, and Delete cookies.

In Mozilla Firefox choose Tools, Options, Privacy (picture of yellow padlock), and across from the Cookies option is a Clear box. Click on that. Or, you can clear everything in one click. Near the bottom of the window is a Clear All button.

Cookies are also getting a bad rap here.

Coming from the speakers: Sara by Fleetwood Mac.

Who Poisoned the Internet?

birthday spray

What in the heck is going on with posting these days? I have pulled out every trick in the book that I can think of and still I want to take a .22 and shoot this thing! Here are some of the problems I am having. Are you having the same? I use both IE and Firefox.

Document contains no data.

Having to re-login numerous times.

No reaction to the mouse click.

Sit and spin.

DNS timing out problem.

Page not found.

Spellchecker not working.

Publishing and losing my entire post (unless I saved it to notepad first)

So, I clear the cache, reset the wireless router, check the DNS. Try accessing the site using just the IP address. 66.102.15.100. Sometimes that would work. Persistence, patience, but why? Who poisoned the Internet?

And why do I keep putting commas in the wrong place? As I re-read my previous posts, I am thinking to myself - Why did you put the comma there? I have to go back and edit the post so that the comma appears correctly. And with all the hassles of posting, that is no small task.

Coming from the speakers: Faith by George Michael

Happy Birthday, Daughter Dear

brad pitt

(Sigh). I tried to get a decent picture of Christopher Atkins from The Blue Lagoon (my daughter watched the movie over the week-end), but I had to settle for Brad Pitt. Can you imagine anyone saying that? Settle for Brad Pitt?! Bite my tongue!

It was a wonderful birthday. A few close friends, balloons, pizza, cake, ice cream and a new bike. A shiny silver trick bike. Zoom, zoom!

She is off with her friends at Open mike night at the local dance/pool hall that is run by the city Police department. Free internet, pool tables, dances, open mike night, battle of the bands. She loves it there.

She wanted a pool table and a guitar for her birthday along with the trick bike. I said no to the pool table (running out of room) and she picked between the guitar and bike. Summer's comin'.

From the speakers: Eli's Comin' by Three Dog Night.

Lunchtime Banter

royal mac


I sat enjoying my lunch break in a town about twenty miles away in a fast food restaurant.

I overheard this conversation at a nearby table.

"Yes, I watched the first part of the broadcast. I never miss
it. He had a lot to say about Charles and Camilla. He really trashed her."

I thought to myself, 'People actually talk about this?'

The other one said, "Well, they have had a rough time of it."

First gossip, "yeah, they postponed their wedding because all of
the bigwigs were going to the Pope's funeral."

Pause while they chewed.

"You know, I probably won't see it in my lifetime, but I believe
that the Queen had Princess Di assasinated. Just look back in history,
it happened all the time."

The other didn't comment.

Wow. Pretty strong words.

As I got up to throw away my garbage I had to take a peek at
the two sitting at the table.

One of the gossips was dark tanned with short spiked, bleached (orange-tinted) hair.

Both were tanned and dressed casually. I would venture to guess mid-fifties.

I imagine that the two men were golfing at the nearby
golf course. In the rain.

Yes, two men. Lunching and gossiping about British royalty.

Well, I never.

Back at the school, I overheard another conversation between two teachers
on their break in the lunch room.

First one, "You know what my favorite treat was when I was a little girl?"

Other, "What?"

"Kraft macaroni and cheese! Do they still make that?"

Cripes lady - where the hell have you been?

Take me back

grin

Take me back to the world we knew before. Before we knew the meaning of the words dysplastic, nevi, nevus, melanocytic, prophylactic excision, metastasis, and the one I personally dislike re-excised.

My daughter is going through the re-excising process. One surgeon removed the moles on her back and had them sent to a lab. Benign. Beautiful word. Two dermatologists determined that either they were growing back or the surgeon did not get them all. Both dermatologists advised that we re-excise them.

And, now one has to be re-re-excised. It seems that the lab determined that the margin around the lesion was too close. That perhaps some of the nevi remains. Dermatologist needs to go back in - just to be safe. This is the mild one. Not even moderate.

Just to be on the safe side. Her back is already scarred where they took it out. I suppose it won't make any difference if they cut into a scar. A blow upon a bruise. A cut upon a scar.

Can you tell I am tired? I have been reading and reading and reading about moles (a.k.a. nevi, nevus).

Coming from the speakers: Nothing, but there is this ringing in my ears...

She's been a good dog

tripod

This tale that follows if from one of my older sisters' archives. Retold by me here for you to enjoy. It is a tangled story about our love for a little terrier dog that we both shared the company of. She was one of a kind.

Now, from my sister's perspective:

I arrived at the therapist's office a few minutes late. I was always late. I could not get motivated these past few months. My husband had been seriously ill, and they never really found out what it was.

And, now this therapy just didn't seem to be helping. Doctor Arora was nice enough. Though his Indian accent was thick and hard to understand for me at times. I was usually so timid, I never asked him to repeat himself. It just seemed rude.

I sat across from the doctor trying as usual to get comfortable in the high-back chair that never seemed to fit my body. After a few seconds of twisting my torso this way and that way, I managed a weak smile for the doctor.

His eyes were studying the papers before him. Finally, he looked up at me and smiled.

"So, how are you today?" he asked.

What I said:
"Oh, I'm a little sad. My dog died."

What the doctor heard and I didn't know it:
"Oh, I'm a little sad. My daughter died."

He said, "I'm so sorry! When did this happen?!"

"Oh, a week or so ago."

His eyes grew wide.

"How old was she?"

"We think she was eight or nine. We're not really sure."

The doctor gave me a sidelong glance that I didn't take notice to.

I sighed and tears welled up in my eyes. It seemed like I cried a lot these days. The doctor reached over and patted my hands that were folded uselessly in my lap.

"How tragic for you."

"Yes, she had lost a leg."

The doctor dropped the papers. He left them on the floor.

"Oh my! How did that happen?"

"She was hit by a car."

The doctor sat there with his mouth agape. He must be a pet lover.

"My Goodness! That is terrible!"

"Yeah, we had a time with her after that. She just kind of hobbled around the house."

The doctor made some kind of a face I couldn't decipher.

I sighed again. I thought perhaps it would be therapeutic to talk about her.

"My sister had her for a while, before she moved out of state."

"You're sister had her?"

"Yeah, they were really close. She was in my sister's care when she got hit by the car. It was a foggy fourth of July morning. The neighbors found her under their car. We don't know how long she had been laying there. Some car must have hit her and knocked her under there, they never stopped."

The doctor looked a bit ill to me, but I couldn't tell. I thought he might be getting sick, so I managed another weak smile.

"It didn't make her afraid, though. She still loved to ride in the car."

The doctor's return smile looked a bit pinched to me, but he nodded. He was letting me get all of the sorrow out. I tried to sound upbeat.

"She would dance around the best she could with that one leg gone and wait and hope to see if we would let her go with us whenever we went somewhere."

I swallowed hard remembering her little body wriggling around, but managed to continue.

"She knew when we were leaving because I would be freshening my makeup and combing my hair. She would come into the bathroom with me while I was getting ready and just look up at me with those big, soft eyes of hers. Sometimes we couldn't take her with us because we would be going someplace where they didn't allow her to go and we would have to leave her home with the cats."

The doctor seemed to shift uncomfortably in his chair. Maybe he had a hard time adjusting to these stupid chairs the same as I did.

"Where did you go that she wasn't allowed?"

"Well, places like the grocery store."

"The grocery store!?"

The doctor had such an incredulous look on his face. Perhaps things were different in India.

"I know that in some foreign countries, they allow you to take your pets in, but in the US - it isn't allowed unless they are a seeing-eye dog or something."

"Pets!?"

"Yes, my pet, dog."

"You're dog!? I thought you were speaking of your daughter!"

He seemed relieved. As if he had just figured out the mystery to a puzzle.

"Uh, no. My dog died."

The color returned to the doctor's face. He seemed more relaxed.

"Time's up!"

Thank goodness. I was spent. I never realized how emotionally draining it was to get everything out.

Coming from the speakers: Shannon by Henry Gross

Yesterday, when I was young

kuddles

Here I am in 1968 with my Mom, five of my siblings and my very, very close pal "Kuddles". He was a stuffed gray mouse that I carried with me everywhere. Who knows what happened to him.

This picture was taken somewhere on the Virginia border. We went to Virginia Beach a couple of times during the summer between school years. I remember the beach, the ocean, the motels, the pools, and the sunburns. Oh, and throwing up in the car.

My family was so big we always took two cars on vacation. Nobody wanted to ride in the same car with me, because that was the car that had to stop to let me throw up. Often. (Sigh) I'm sorry!

I ended up moving to the Virginia Beach area for a few years in my twenties. It didn't hold the same appeal. The beach had gone downhill and the new place to go for vacation was Myrtle Beach. I hear that Va Beach has vastly improved again. It was quite the party town in the 80's. The entire time I lived there, I think I may have gone to the beach five times. And three of those times were when relatives came to visit.

1968. That was before Jaws. When it was still safe to go into the water. Before I knew about sharks. My brother did cut up a dead stingray on the beach near our motel one year, though. He wanted the stingers. He got them. Two of them. They looked like little serrated bones.

Ahh, good times. The worst thing that I ever had to worry about was if I would get a window seat and how to make my sunburns stop hurting.

My daughter gets her stitches out for her latest mole removal tomorrow. Doctor wants to talk to me. They didn't get all of this last one. They will have to go back in. Great. How many more? Six, seven surgeries? This mole was downgraded to mild nevus dysplastia. From moderate to mild. Is that supposed to make me feel better? When there are six or so more to be removed? Will the next one be back up to moderate? Will it be mild? What is above moderate? Elevated? Severe? My stomach is starting to hurt.

I don't want to do this anymore.

You don't? What about your daughter? Suck it up! Don't you go wimping out on your little girl! She is the one who is going through the real pain! You whiny little baby! Quit your belly achin'!

Coming from the Speakers: Seven Bridges Road by The Eagles

Doctor, my eyes have seen the years

eye

Why do we forget ?

How is it that we don't recall that someone has hurt us before? Or, we choose to forget. The boyfriend or girlfriend that stands you up or cheats on you. How is it, that we go back out with them? Forgive and forget seems to be the motto.

And, when they hurt us again? We curse beneath our breath. How did we let it happen to us again? Why do we let it happen to us again?

And our country seems to do the same. Remember the words "Forgive your enemies, but never forget them." Read between the lines: until you need something from them.

That is how it seems to be in the workforce also. You only get special privileges if you hold something back. Knowing what information to hold back from your managers so that they need you seems to get you more
special handling. I never did believe in that practice, and therein may lie my frustration.

And, in life. We make mistakes, but we don't seem to learn from them. We repeat the mistakes. Is it because the consequences weren't severe enough or even carried through? Did we get a slap on the wrist?

Does anyone recall the boy who was caned in Singapore? Well, he was eighteen. Some say that some of the foreign countries carry out much
harsher punishments than the United States. That the U.S. has become soft in it's crime control, and that weakens us.

What causes us to pause before we repeat mistakes that we have made in the past? Repeat offenders. Do some of us have a way of stuffing the memories of the price we paid deep into our subconscious? Two people can be punished the same way for the same crime, one may repeat
the behavior, while the other never takes the action again. Why? Is it in the upbringing? The genes? Is one capable of NOT learning from their mistakes. Is it their fault?

Can they help themselves? Can rehabilitation help them? Can some synthetic drug help them? Can therapy help them? Are they destined to end up in prison, violent relationships, dead-end jobs, leading a life of misery and loneliness for all time?

I know this. This is way too many questions for a Sunday afternoon.

Coming from the speakers: I Am by Neil Diamond

School Daze

school


The teacher asked us to follow him.

He would show us where the phone lines were.

Me and two girls followed him.

The other two girls giggled and their laughter echoed off the cold cement blocks of the high school.

"Why?" I thought to myself. "Why do I always get stuck with such immature girls?"

The teacher had white hair and was very much a gentleman. He had lost his wife of thirty years recently.

I hoped that he couldn't hear what they were giggling about.

"I think he likes you!" one of them said to me as the other one giggled.

"OOhhh, you have a boyfriend!" the other one chimed in.

I cringed for the elder teacher. I wish that he didn't have to put up with such clowns.

Either he actually didn't hear them, or he was too much of a gentleman to acknowledge their rudeness. Perhaps years of teaching had taught him how to keep a poker face. If you react, that just adds fuel to their fire.

"I think he's soft on you!" the one girl said to me, trying to embarrass me.
I gave them both a stern look. They giggled some more.

Ahh, such girlish antics that go on in any school across the nation. The rudeness, the spite, making fun of others.

Perhaps it was the age. But, wait. This was just last year and it wasn't high school girls.

It was my co-workers. One was forty-one and the other was twenty-seven.
This is what I have to work with.

Coming from the speakers: Fooling Yourself by Styx

Choose Your Attitude

cya

Ah, yes. My attitude. My sister was told by one of her Administrative personnel that she has a "caustic wit". I looked up the word caustic. Hmmm. So, that's where I get it. I get it genetically.

My attitude has gotten me into more scrapes than I care to mention. But, it is my attitude and I can change it, right? But, I like to think of it as sneezing. Like a sneeze is trying to expunge some germ out of your body, my caustic wit is trying to expunge some germ's brainwashing out of my body. You know, the people who chant "All your base are belong to us!"

I have to use sarcasm. It is like a creative outlet. It keeps me from going insane. It keeps me from cracking at all the stupidity. My brain cannot process that much stupidity. My caustic wit is my survival technique. Without it, I would surely explode. I think that I may have a legal right to my sarcastic attitude. Some go to anger management. Perhaps we can have a management course for sarcasm. Sarcastic Management. People fear what they don't understand. They just don't get my sarcasm. It scares them and they resort to drastic measures. They are finding it difficult to control me. My base doesn't belong to them. Never has, never will.

Ha...ha...ha..ha..

Coming from the speakers: All your base are belong to us by Invasion of the Gabor robots. (I think).

Circles in the Sun

joy

"We'll have joy, we'll have fun, we'll have Circles in the Sun."

No, that's not the way it goes. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed the day. It was darn purdy here in my part of Ohio.

Even though I was falling asleep at my desk. Yes, I had the sleep study done on me last night. What a trip. Take some body. Paste sensors to their head. Paste sensors to their legs and throat. Wrap them all up in thin, plastic cables and tell them to sleep.

I looked like something out of a 1950's science fiction magazine!

I slept like HELL!

I did dream of cutting tree limbs down with a chain saw, though. I thought that was pretty cool. Considering I have never handled a chain saw before.

I was so miserable, I thought I was going to scream. Every time I moved, I was pulling a cable from underneath me.

This morning when the lady came to take all the sensors off of me, she said "You don't sleep very well, do you?" Naw, you think? Oh, and not to mention the big bandage they put right under your nose. This will determine what air is coming in and out of your nostrils. She had to change mine in the middle of the night. The first one she put on was as big as the palm of my hand (I swear!). Neither one stayed on very well because the warm air from me breathing out moistened them to where they gapped.

This night - I suppose from being in a foreign bed, I developed a lower back ache that kept me awake for about two hours. You could get up to go to the bathroom, but you had to call her to come and un-hook you from all the wires. I stayed put all night.

I told her that I have been sleeping fine, just not last night. My doctor has been trying to get me in for a sleep study for two years because of my tiredness during the day. From time to time I do a lot of driving. I take my camera now, and that keeps me alert.

I know that they are going to have a field day with my study. I should have taken my CD player and my General Wellness CD of Belleruth Naperstak. (Yawn!)

My daughter and I looked at trick bikes today. She wants a bike more than she wants a guitar for her birthday. I told her she can only get one. Since she doesn't plan on doing any "tricks" with it, I chose the cheapest one for her. It will do. She got to choose the color. Silver, black or olive green. Silver, it is. They are on sale until Sunday. The bike owner shop took 7% off (or rather, the state sales tax).

Off to the kitchen to see if my darling daughter will help me make sloppy jo's, velveeta shells & cheese and some kind of vegetable.

Coming from the speakers (should I? Sure, why not) Seasons in the Sun by Terry Jacks. (gag - But, we sure liked it in the early 70's.)

Spring Break

spring_break

Knowing what we know today about the dangers of sun exposure, would you go to Florida for a week and bask in the sun? Every year? For fifteen years? Just to jump-start your tan for the summer, then to continue in the tanning salons until it is warm enough to where you can absorb the sun's damaging rays outside. What are the odds that you would get melanoma?

We can sue the tobacco companies when we get lung cancer or emphysema. What can you do if you get skin cancer? Sue the beaches of Florida? How about the state? All that advertising made it look so safe and so fun!

I am thankful for some of the celebrites who are not sporting dark tans. Remember Cher in the 70's? She was the image! And, Farrah Fawcett's tan. Today we can look at Cate Blanchett, Gwyneth Paltrow, Nicole Kidman, and Julianne Moore to know that maybe, just maybe the message is getting through.

It doesn't help in rural Ohio, when so many of the teenage girls are running off to the tanning salons to prepare for the prom. Off the shoulder dresses and spaghetti straps. Don't dare be caught with milky white skin.

And, what do we say to the sun worshippers when they return from a week in Florda?

"You look good!"

They smile and twirl. "Yes, but I still need to go to the tanning booth. I am not near ready for summer."

Coming from the speakers: Here Comes the Sun by The Beatles

Purple and White Flowers

purple flowers

What a wonderful Easter! I spent the day with family. Oh my, did we laugh. I haven't had that much fun in a while. I found out my niece is expecting. Hurrah! She is the first grandchild to become pregnant (from our immediate family of eight children.)

The little boy from St. Patrick's day is a step-grandchild. We love him dearly. I don't mean to downplay his part in the extended family area.

We ate. We drank champagne. We were supposed to meet my one nephew's new lady-friend. She is a wine representative. I had lots of questions for her, but they were a no-show. He got stuck at work. Maybe next time.

I took my daughter to track today. They ran in the rain. One of her so-called 'friends' has been kicked off the team. This is the girl whose grandmother asked me to keep her for ten days and I chose to keep her for three while they were in Arizona. I found out a couple of weeks ago that her grandparents don't like her to be around my daughter because she (my daughter) is a bad influence on her. Oooo-kay.

Well, the other day she was practicing track with my daughter - on their own. When we left, I told her I would give her a ride home. I don't like to leave people behind. She sat up front and proceeded to flip a school employee the bird as we were leaving. I slammed on the brakes and said:

"Tell me you didn't just do that!"

By this time the school employee was walking fast to our car. It was a lady lunch monitor. It seems that she is not at all popular with the students. She is as mean as they come. Regardless, I don't condone obscene gestures.

I told her to get out and apologize to the lady.

My daughter's friend furiously rolled down the window. She knew she had no escape. She started sputtering her apologies quickly.

The lunch monitor said "No, you're not sorry. You're just sorry you got caught!"

Well, that was the truth. A few more words were said and I pulled away. I wanted to kick the girl out right then and there, but I drove her a couple of blocks and told her to get out. I was furious.

The girl was kicked off the team because she is failing many of her classes. Her grandmother has custody of her because her mother had been arrested for hitting her. Lovely.

At Easter dinner I was telling my sisters the story. One is a daycare specialist, the other is a psychologist. Both told me that given the incidents I told them, they are suspecting sexual abuse as a possibility.

The girl will hump anything and everything. I am constantly telling her to leave my dog alone. She thinks it is funny. I was chalking it up to middle school antics. My daughter said she went into somebody's yard on the way home from school and began humping one of their lawn deer. I was like WHAT? And, she pulls her pants down and urinates in the alley if she has to go.

At track practice she pulled her pants down for me to take a picture of her rear-end. I declined.

I told my daughter, I really don't want her around anymore. How sad. This is the girl that rubbed mashed potatoes in my daughter's face. And, the one who narrowed her eyes at me when I told her it wasn't my place to have to give her money for lunch. Ooo-kay.

My mini-vacation is almost over. Back to work tomorrow. The girls have the whole week off. My daughter has track practice every day. My niece has nothing to do. Pac Sun let her go. She isn't working anywhere. Her prom is coming up. I will get pictures of her dress. She picked it up Saturday. Beautiful.

Coming from the speakers: Drops of Jupiter by Train.

Big Fish

big fish

Big Fish in a Small Pond. How do fish get to be so big? They destroy and gobble up the little fish. So that the remaining fish in the pond do what they say as they live in fear of the Big Fish. For the ones who stand up to the Big Fish, well, they have many bites taken out of them. Most of them just try to stay out of the Big Fish's way.

But, everyone knows that Big Fish stink. They start to become so big that they begin to get bored with their little pond. Sometimes the little fish get bored, too. They may play games like taking little bites out of the Big Fish. This irritates the hell out of the Big Fish. No one can ever relax.

Coming from the speakers: Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls. (For Goose)

Peaches 'n Cream Management

cream

A little over twenty years ago I worked in a small office. I was the EDP Operator. That's what we called them back then. Electronic Data Processors. Hah! It was 1983 or 1984.

I had a co-worker. A female. I guess I made her cry one day. I don't know how, I don't remember. But, she told the Manager. I was called into his office and he began to nitpick my work. I was pulled into his office each time she and I got into a quarrel. She began to get labeled as the office tattletale or snitch.

Now, the Manager's father ran the place and he didn't have any problem with my work. Just this one manager. He hovered over this female co-worker because she was always "helpless". She had just been through a divorce, she couldn't keep a boyfriend, you know the type. Poor poor pitiful me.

Well, I was young and I finally decided that I had enough. I moved on. Actually, an opportunity arose and I took it. But for a couple of years there, it was every six months or so, she would cry and I would get reprimanded. The strange thing was she and I usually got along fine the rest of the time. For some reason or other (maybe when she was experiencing extreme stress and duress) she would crumble and take something I said or did wrong.

Attitude. So when an employee is reprimanded they get "written up" or something goes into their personnel file. But, what can the employee do if they feel the Manager is picking on them? Like harassment. I never went over the Manager's head. I just stated my case and continued to do my job. It infuriated the Manager. I laugh about it still. His company crumbled about six months after I left. (Not because I left. It is just that the place was run poorly.)

I had another Manager at another place who wouldn't stand up to anyone. He just sat around, pretended to keep busy, and try his best not to manage anyone. He was just a lump. He let another Manager run all over his department. He never once stood up for his people when the other Manager would jump them for something.

The company let a young whippersnapper run the entire show. This caused much hostility among the elders. He barked at all of them, showed no respect for what they had to offer and basically stated "My way or the highway". I chose the highway. I don't know how this company ended up. I moved out of state.

I think in today's world, so many younger employees are coming into the work force with more skills than the elders. However, they do not have any people skills. They usually force the older people out. Why? Are they threatened by the older people? Are they scared? If so, what are they afraid of? Instead of making peace with the older workers, they alienate them and ostracize them. They build up a house of cards with their ass-kissing subordinates. Will the cards come falling down? If so, who gets to play 52 pickup?

Coming from the speakers: Better Beware by Lisa Marie Presley

Black Acoustic Fender DG5

fender


This is what my daughter wants for her 14th birthday that is coming up fast. I don't know. I only want to get her a beginner's guitar w/o paying too much in case she doesn't stick with it. I told her that she has to take lessons, too.

She also wants a trick bike. I told her she better get a job. I think they can start working as young as fourteen in the fast food places right down the street.

Coming from the speakers: Smoke on the Water by Deep Purple

When I snap....

snap


Yep. This is me on Wednesday. You know who you are.

Coming from the speakers: Hair of the Dog by Nazareth (Now you're messin' with a SOaB)

Have Gun, Will Smile

Minus the wave.

This picture of a small boy in the park, holding a gun and smiling just gives me the creeps. When I took the picture last summer, I really didn't notice the gun. They are on the top of each ride. I had to laugh though, when I saw that it was plugged up with something. In this case it looks like cheese. Now, I am thinking, what kind of children's ride would have guns on them? Older ones, I guess.

That brings us to the subject of "Going Postal". Three of us had lunch yesterday and we were discussing the strangeness of a co-worker. One said that he was afraid he (the other co-worker who was not present) would 'go postal' one day. How strange, that the Post Office became the origination for that term.

School shootings did not just appear with the Columbine incident. School violence has been going on for ages. Here are some web sites that go back before Columbine. Not just shootings.

http://www.indystar.com/library/factfiles/crime/school_violence/school_shootings.html

Coming from the speakers: One Tin soldier by Coven

Freddy? Is that you?

freddy


What a beautiful day to get out of work early. I left at 2 p.m. Turned the radio on. Parked at the (already) packed parking lot of the school. Went up the old stone steps. There was my lovely daughter waiting for me. I signed her out. I met her track coach on the way out and chatted for a minute.

We took our time and stopped to get my daughter her favorite cheeseburger at BK. I wasn't hungry, just thirsty. I listened as she told me about her day. After, we got back in the car and turned north.

Oh, wasn't it just a beautiful day for a drive? Where would we go? The park, maybe? No, not this time. What a waste of beautiful sunshine. Ironic sunshine. So damaging that sunshine. So damning.

About forty minutes later we arrived in the parking lot. We were just a little bit early. We had chatted about nothing in particular on the way up. Just avoiding THE subject. How was school, how was track, homework, and friends.

"Can we just sit in the car for a few minutes? I want to do my homework." she asked me.

"Sure. No problem." I said.

We checked out all the nice vehicles. We were in a ritzy part of town. Everyone was driving brand new shiny SUV's or huge pick-up trucks. As if there was not a petrol crisis going on in the world.

Looking up at them as I sat in my little Honda Civic, I realized that if my car and they were in a head-on collision, there would be very little chance of our survival. They would probably come out with a bent fender.

My daughter and I would be wearing their grill on our faces for our funeral. It used to be only the strong survive. Well, I guess that is true - they who have the strongest vehicle. Maybe it is only the rich survive, now. Only the most expensive cars have the safest air bags.

We finally went inside the office. There were three others waiting before us. We grabbed a magazine and sat in silence. The door opened.

(To myself) ."No, not yet."

They called another name. We continued to read in silence.

The door opened again. (me to myself again). "No, no. Please no."

They called another name. There was one boy left in the room and me and my daughter.

A little while later the door opened again.

(me cringing) "Please, please."

The boy retreated behind the door. I began to relax. We had emptied out the waiting room. It was just she and I. I showed her an article I was reading and we began to laugh and carry on. The nurses just shook their heads at us.

The door finally opened. I knew this time we were out of options. The waiting room was empty except for us. We had been scheduled to fill two spots instead of one visit. We walked back the long hallway into the little room.

The room with an overhead spot light, needles, surgical antiseptics, cotton balls, scalpels, surgical thread and fear. She shed her hoodie, baby doll tee and sports bra. All black. It's the age. She put on the flimsy, barely there hospital gown. She handed me her clothes. They were so warm from her body heat.

The next thirty minutes was a series of amicable chatter. More like nervous banter from the doctor, I guess. She is a chatty one, I'll give her that. She was admiring my daughter's earrings. Long, dangly, silver ones. She said that my daughter sure was a fashionable one.

The doctor said, "They were all impressed with your Halston dress and the people that you knew at Elaine's"

I said, "Billy Joel."

Whew. I could keep up with her. We could relate. She is a very nice doctor. No male doctor would recite words to a song that I knew. That is a certain fact. It was pretty smooth sailing after that.

My daughter said she wasn't in much pain at all. They stitched her up, she dressed and we were homeward bound. Heading south on the Interstate. As the sun disappeared below the horizon, the cooler air seeped in around us. I turned the heater on. It was getting chilly.

Coming from the speakers: Little Bitty Pretty One by Thurston Harris