#385 Weekend Assignment #79 - Chicago

The Weekend Assignment from John Scalzi at "By The Way...":

Chicago! It's a toddlin' town. Share some of your favorite things about the City of Big Shoulders. If you've ever been to Chicago, memories of your visit would be a topic. If you live in or near Chicago, some hometown favorite things would be good. If you've never been, share your favorite Chicago-related thing, from the Jordan-era Bulls to the Blues Brothers to Ferris Bueller. As long as it's tangentially related to Chicago, it's all good.

In the early 70s I worked in St. Louis, as a Programming Support Rep in the Field Engineering Division of The Company.  We had to keep current on all the new (big iron) computer hardware and software, so we spent a good one third of our time in 2 to 4 week classes, and the Field Engineering education center was in Chicago.  As the lowest in seniority in my department, I got last choice on the schedule, so I always ended up spending most of every December, January, and February in Chicago. 

The classes were held in a building right on the river, a block or two from the lake, across the river from the Wrigley Building (the one that looks like it's made of Chicklets).  The Company always put us up in nice hotels, but everyone would immediately go on per diem and move into really cheap residential hotels ("hooker hotels") on State Street, so we could cook/pack our own breakfast and lunch and save money to take home.  

Cold.  Cold, cold, cold.  The wind off  the lake was brutal, especially when it was full of snow and sleet, which was usually.  Snow always "fell" parallel to the street.  I wore an ankle length hooded wool coat all those winters, and sometimes the wind was so strong the coat would turn into a sail, and, at 4'10" and 104 lb. I couldn't walk into the wind, or stay upright walking with the wind.  I spent much of my outdoor time in Chicago leaning at a 45 degree angle.  I was usually the only female in the class, so the guys took good care of me.  I often had one man on each arm, towing me along through the wind.

What I remember of the Chicago of the 70s is wind, sleet, hookers, many great bars with fantastic live music, and the pizza.  Best in the country.

Extra Credit: Chicago Deep Dish Pizza -- the best pizza ever? Your thoughts.
Everybody keeps mentioning Gino's East.  In the 70's, they came in third in deep dish.  First was Uno's, second was Due's (pronounced Do-ways).  I don't know if Uno's and Due's are still around.

There does exist something even better than deep dish!  Across the street from the site of the famous Valentine's Day Massacre there was (and may still be) a place called The Chicago Pizza and Oven Grinder Factory.  (An oven grinder is a roasted sub or hoagie.)  They served an upside-down pizza, which I have never seen anywhere else.

They take a large dish about 2 inches deep, and put cheese in the bottom, then layer the rest of the deep-dish-style fixings up to the top, cover it with the crust, which overlaps a bit, and bake the whole thing.  When they bring it to the table, it looks like a traditional apple pie with a flat top.  Then they flip it upside-down onto a large plate and lift off the dish, and the cheese spreads out, and it's absolutely wonderful!  Baked inside the crust on top, the flavors mix, the crust stays crispy, and the cheese is softly melted but not browned.  Yummy perfection.

~~Silk
Link in this entry:
http://journals.aol.com/johnmscalzi/bytheway/entries/4837

#384 You Might Be From A Small Town...

Some people are like Slinkies ... not really good for anything, but they still bring a smile to your face when you push them down a flight of stairs.

               _______________________________________________

This cracked me up.  I've lived in many small towns, and it's ALL TRUE!

                             You might be from a small town if...

1. You can name everyone you graduated with.
2. You know what 4-H is.
3. You ever went to a party that was held about 20 miles down a deserted dirt road.
4. You used to drag "main."
5. You said the 'F' word and your parents knew within an hour.
6. You schedule parties around the schedule of different police officers since you know
which ones would bust you.
7. You ever went or thought about going cow-tipping.
8. School gets canceled for a sports team going to State
9. You could never buy cigarettes cause all the store clerks knew how old you were.
10. When you did find someone old enough to buy smokes for you, you had to drive
down country back roads to smoke them.
11. You never missed a Homecoming parade.
12. You still go home for Homecoming.
13. It was cool to date someone from a neighboring town.
14. You had a senior skip day.
15. The whole school went to the same party after graduation.
16. You can't help but date a friend's ex.
17. Your car is always filthy from the dirt back roads.
18. You think that kids who ride skateboards are weird.
19. The town next to you is considered "trashy" or "snotty" when it is just like your town.
20. Getting paid minimum wage is considered a raise.
21. You refer to anyone with a house newer than 1980 as the "rich people."
22. The people in the big city dress funny then you pick up on the cool new trend two
years later.
23. You bragged to your friends because you got pipes on your truck for your birthday.
24. On Fridays, anyone you want to find can be found at Main Street or the local
restaurants.
25. Weekend excitement involves a trip to Wal-Mart
26. Even the ugly people enter beauty contests.
27. You decide to walk for exercise and 5 people pull over and ask you if you need a ride.
28. Your teachers call you by your older sibling's name.
29. The closest "cool stores" are at least 45 miles away.
30. You laugh your head off reading this because you know it's true and then forward it to everyone in your address book, which is actually half your town.

~~Silk

#383 Paying the Piper

My back went out while I was cleaning Thunder's litter pan yesterday morning.  I was holding the full pan with one hand, bent over a bit, pouring the contents into a plastic bag, and I felt a bone shift, just above the coccyx.  I can still move, but I have to be careful or it will bite me.

I visited with a friend yesterday - afternoon, evening, into late night, so this morning I was creeping, bent over slightly, yawning up a storm, and my hair was completely destroyed.  Very unattractive, but very contented.  

I spent four plus hours with Piper going over my investments, starting at 11 am today.  (And one of the first things he said to me was "Your hair is different."  Ouch!  What else might he have noticed?)  I didn't want to make any drastic changes, just wanted to balance things a bit and move some equity into fixed income for safety.  Piper has spent many hours on my problem, and the scheme he has come up with is drastic, to say the least, but it makes a lot of sense.  For tax purposes, we won't make any changes until after the first few days of 2006, so I've got some time to do some research and get used to the idea. 

One of the things Piper said concerned my 401K.  He said that he has noticed that for some odd reason, former employees of The Company don't seem to consider that money "real".  He's right.  He said that if I want to be ultra-aggressive in some area of my investments, since I don't consider that real money, that's where I should fly high and take the risks.  He recommended moving the 401K into the foreign funds or whatever looks exciting.  

The Angel went over last years' tax returns, and projected the 2005 and 2006 taxes based on the capital gains I'd realize.  I was impressed with his speed and acumen.  He found an error in my previous tax man's calculation of my estimated tax for this year without more than glancing at the first page.   I have to send an additional $1500 with the December payment! 

The plan Piper showed me included his management fee, so we are now clear on that.

It had rained very hard all during the meeting, but then the sun broke through and the world dried quickly, so Piper and I walked to the inn for a late (2:00 pm) lunch.  That went ok, too.  No awkward vibes.  If anything, I felt like a pampered client, which was exactly the right tone.

The Inn is open under new management, they've just reopened the kitchen, so this was checking the place out.  Right after we sat down, before we even ordered, the waitress brought a complimentary cup of pea soup, "Because it's so chilly out there".  I hate peas.  I hate pea soup.  I took a taste anyway, just to check whether I still hate it, and I finished the whole cup.  It was really good.  Not "peasy" at all.  I ordered the quiche and salad, and it was exceptional, and the price was reasonable, much lower than expected given the fancy setting.  All around a very good morning and early afternoon.

When I got home from lunch with Piper, Daughter called and we talked for a long time - nice because she has been so busy with three jobs and school that chatting has been difficult.

Now, if my back would only behave, life would be good.
~~Silk

#382 No, You Can't Borrow Him!

Jaime, at ChaseNKids, writes: "I am petitioning for a good looking half naked male gardener...... you know, for the art aspect."

I understand fully.  The art aspect.  Um. 

But you still can't have my Hairless Hunk, Jaime!

~~Silk

Link in this entry:
http://journals.aol.com/chasenkids/CHASENKIDS/entries/1775

#381 What I will go to jail for ...

You will go to jail for:

Accidentally finding area 51

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

 

Stolen from The Gypsy.

#380 Tree Progress, the Red Chevy

The Hairless Hunk cut up the downed trees this afternoon.  He took away the big pieces, and all the smaller branches are now in a burn pile in the front yard.  I'll need to get a burn permit tomorrow (I hope they'll give me one - it may have been too dry the past several weeks for an open burn).

He's the guy I sold the Chevy to last year.  He says he experienced the "rain problem" only once, on the Thruway, and his theory is that when there's water on the road AND you're going fast, spray gets sucked up into the air intake, and that's what causes the problem.  Driving the local roads in the rain, at lower speeds, he hasn't seen it.  Come to think of it, when I had all the problems was when Jay was getting treatment in Albany and in Staten Island, and I was driving a lot on major highways.  Sounds good.  Except that it still doesn't explain why changing the sparkplug wires would fix it.   Oh, well.  As long as he's happy.

In fact, he's very happy with it.  The gas mileage on it is still fantastic.  He says his truck gets less than 10 mpg, so being able to use the Chevy for everything else is a lifesaver.  He said, "In fact, if I weren't so sweaty and dirty right now I'd hug you for it."

I'm ashamed to say I looked him up and down and speculated a bit.  After all, I was wearing my grungies ... hmmmm.  Tempting, but he's for looking at, not touching.  Tsk. 

~~Silk
Links in this entry:
http://journals.aol.com/jaykolb/Moraine/entries/1574
http://journals.aol.com/jaykolb/Moraine/entries/631

#379 Kermit's Zipper; Pay the Piper

The auction stuff that I picked up Sunday is still out in the van.  The African screen is very heavy and an awkward size, but the main problem is an off and on drizzle, which has depressed my mood, making it difficult to work up the energy.  I've decided to hang it in the master bath, but until I can remove the towel rack and get the hangers in, it'll have to stay in the van, because there's no convenient place to rest it in the meantime.  It has zillions of tiny sharp bits - the gazelles' feet and horns, the dangly spearheads - so I can't rest it anywhere I might brush against it.

I called The Rabbi again last evening, when we would have more time to talk.  I was on the phone with him for an hour and a half.  Man, I must have been completely out of it when we were in college.  I remember only one party where there were alcoholic drinks.  I thought drinking just wasn't done there and then.  And I thought The Rabbi was one of the most sober and sensible and sensitive people I knew.  Turns out there was a LOT of drinking going on.  I just wasn't invited, perhaps because it was known I would disapprove?  And worse, although The Rabbi quit drinking shortly after college because he realized he might have a problem with it, during college, he says he was drunk constantly, that I may never have seen him sober.  Oh, good grief.  I know I was, and still am, rather puritanical and naive.  I never knew he drank at all!  My head is spinning.

The one party I went to where there was alcohol was the night Kermit, Rabbi's roommate, zipped "himself" into his pants.  Parts of it The Rabbi and I remember the same, but large pieces are so different. 

I remember that the party was (in the winter) in a summer cottage owned by the parents of one of the kids, and the water was shut off, so Kermit had gone outside to piddle, and when he came back in he had a very strange pained look on his face.  He huddled with some of the guys, and then he and The Rabbi left in a hurry.  The other guys told us, with much amusement, that Rabbi was taking Kermit to the hospital, and why.  I remember how funny everybody left at the party thought it was.

The Rabbi's version of the story is a little different. 

He says that he and Kermit left the party to take one of the girls to her parents' home in Shamokin because she was very sick drunk, and that it was only after they got in the car (when Kermit couldn't easily sit, I assume?) that Kermit discovered his problem, so they went to the hospital, and while the guys were in the emergency room, leaving the girl in the car, the girl ... um ... lost control of three bodily functions and thoroughly destroyed the seat upholstery in The Rabbi's car.

Now, there's a conflict here.  If Kermit wasn't aware of the problem until they left, how come we at the party all knew what had happened?  I distinctly remember the look on Kermit's face when he came in from his trip outside.  Also, I do not remember that particular girl, who was a friend of mine, being at that party at all.  On the other hand, Rabbi's car was thoroughly trashed, so he ought to remember the occasion distinctly.  It's a mystery.

I later heard that when they got to the hospital, the extraction of "himself" from the zipper would be considered surgery, so they had to call Kermit's parents for permission (Rabbi said it was the insurance info they needed), which was all even more embarrassing.  And that Kermit almost fainted when the doctor made a joke about having never performed an emergency circumcision before.

I wonder if he and I are remembering two different nights?  Is he combining the zipper incident from the party I was at with the girl incident from a different party that I wasn't at?  Is it possible Kermit did it twice???  (Nah....  I suspect that's something a guy might do once then never again.)

The moral of the story:
1. There's usually a lot more going on around you than you'd ever notice.
2. Two people will remember the exact same event quite differently, yet quite honestly.
3. Underpants have a purpose!  Wear them!

                        ____________________________________

Flash!  Piper, my financial advisor just called.  Longish phone conversation.  The reason I haven't been able to catch him in his office is that he had been in the hospital in Albany undergoing testing.  They didn't find anything,  He's still low energy I guess, but high spirits.

Anyway, while we were setting up an office appointment to discuss moving some of my stock to some kind of bonds, he suggested that we make it a time convenient for lunch at the local inn, which has just reopened, and before I really thought about it, I said ok.  So the appointment is for 11 am Thursday, followed by lunch.

Ouch!  Again, I have screwed up.  THIS IS NOT A "DATE"!  Is it?  I hope not.  I hope this is normal business practice for him. But I've met with him at least twice now, and his partner the Angel has done my business taxes, and there has not yet been any discussion of payment for their services.  I asked once and was told "don't worry about it."  I think we'd better nail that issue early in the meeting Thursday, before I am forced to have to worry about staying in his good graces.

Sigh.  Reread the three morals above.  

~~Silk

#378 Nicknames

Almost everybody I know has a nickname, either something short for their given name, or something inventive.  I want one!  I want a nickname.  I feel left out.  Unloved.  Unappreciated.  Sob.

As a toddler, I was "The Duchess", and my younger brother was "Duke".  His stuck.  He's in his middle 50s now, and his driver's license even says "Duke".  "Duchess" didn't stick to me.  In college, I was "Mom" (and there's a story as to how I got that name), but except for pet names like "Hey you", I haven't had one since.   Even Jay always referred to me and addressed me by my name.  By the way, "Jay" is a nickname.  His real name was Frederick John.

My real given first name is a double name (which I'm not going to tell here), but it's something like Sue Ann, where the first half could itself be short for something, like, in Sue's case, short for Susan or Susanna.  People who call me by only the first half of my first name think it's short for ... a longer name, which happens to be similar to my complete first name, in the same way that Susanna is similar to Sue Ann.  But it isn't.  The first half of my first name isn't short for anything.  It's just short.  (Does that make sense?)

An old friend, a long time ago, suggested "Peke" as a nickname for me, because I do look a bit like a Pekinese.  I tried to resurrect it a few years ago, but it didn't stick, probably because it's hard to say, and, actually, I don't much like it.

I've been using "Silk" as a signature in this journal because back when the entries had no signature at all, strangers who read only alerts or individual entries, and never read the "About Me", saw only the "written by jaykolb" at the bottom.  My ramblings tend to be very feminine and "jaykolb" obviously confused some people.  I was getting some very strange comments and emails, several containing amusing offers from some very confused but interested people, both male and female.

So I wanted a name that I could use to sign entries that would be ultra feminine to clue in readers, and would have meaning to me, but would not be too limiting or defining.  The labels that I put in my needlework and sewing projects say  "Made by SilkenDrum", so Silk seemed natural. 

I have grown to like it.  A lot.

I wouldn't mind if everyone called me Silk all the time.  I have gotten so attached to it that when the very few people who do use it call me Silk, I respond automatically.  So I'm ready! 

Are you allowed to choose your own nickname, or does it have to be assigned by others?  New acquaintances seem to pick up "...but you can call me Silk" easily.  Can I convert the rest of my world?  How?

~~Silk

#377 The Auction

I went to the auction, and I got the African screen and the coat.  The screen (it's not really a screen, but I don't know what else to call it) had been on a recent cover of Elle Decor magazine.  It's about 5' by 4', maybe a little larger, with a heavy carved wooden frame.  The middle is an open wrought iron grid of rectangles with two animals (mostly leaping and running gazelles, a man, a stork, a skinny elephant...) in each rectangle, and spearhead dangles.  It has a very handcrafted look.  I LOVE it!  I don't have the faintest idea where I'll use it.  Maybe I'll hang it on the wall in a bathroom?  I want to put it somewhere that I can see it almost every day.

Just before the auction started, I took a second very critical look at the coat.  The lining was loose at the bottom, so I was able to inspect the insides of the skins.  They are in excellent condition.  The mink and fox furs are clean, not discolored anywhere.  The hairs are tight and not brittle.  It smells good, no chemical or musty odor.  The only thing I could find wrong with it is that the lining is stained and should be replaced.  The bottom of the lining looks like it got wet, but when I looked at the bottom of the skins, they showed no evidence of ever having gotten wet.  The stained lining is the only reason I can think of that only one other person bid on it, and dropped out quickly.  I got it for $350! 

Well, maybe everybody else, when they saw how great it looked on me, realized that it was meant to be mine, and agreed to allow me to have it!  It sure felt like that.

~~Silk

Note:  I don't comment on the news much, not because I'm not aware of what's happening, and not because I don't care, but because ... well ... I have nothing to add, really.  It's all been said, pretty much what I would say, and better than I could say it.  Consider it said.  

#376 What Does My Birthdate Mean?

My Birthdate:

Your Birthdate: October 27 Your birth on the 27th day of the month (9 energy) adds a tone of selflessness and humanitarianism to your life path.  Certainly, you are one who can work very well with people, but at the same time you need a good bit of time to be by yourself to rest and meditate.  There is a very humanistic and philanthropic approach in most of things that you do.

This birthday helps you be broadminded, tolerant, generous and very cooperative. 
You are the type of person who uses persuasion rather than force to achieve your ends.  You tend to be very sensitive to others' needs and feelings, and you are able to give much in the way of friendship without expecting a lot in return. 

Ok, anyone who knows me, how accurate is it?  

 

Daughter's Birthdate:  

Your Birthdate: October 19 Your birth on the 19th day of the month adds a tone of independence and extra energy to your life path.
But at the same time, it poses a number of obstacles to overcome before you are able to be as independent as you would like. The number 1 energy suggests more executive ability and leadership qualities than your path may have indicated.

A birthday on the 19th of any month gives greater will power and self-confidence, and very often a rather original approach. However, a somewhat self-centered approach to life may be in conflict with some of the other influences in your life.  This 1 energy may diminish your ability and desire to handle details, preferring instead to paint with a broad brush.

You are sensitive, but your feeling stay somewhat repressed.  You have a compelling manner that can be dominating in many situations.  You do not tend to follow convention or take advice very well.

Consequently, you tend to learn through experience; sometimes hard experiences.  The 19/1 is a loner number and you may experience feelings of being alone even if you are married.  You may take on a tendency to be nervous and angry.

Um, yeah.  That's my kid. Wow!

 

Ex#2's:

Your Birthdate: September 16 Your birth on the 16th day of the month gives a sense of loneliness and generally the desire to work alone.  You are relatively inflexible, and insist on your being independent.  You need a good deal of time to rest and to meditate.

You are introspective and a little stubborn.  Because of this, it may not be easy for you to maintain permanent relationships, but you probably will as you are very much into home and family.   This birth day inclines to interests in the technical, the scientific, and to the religious or the unknown realm of spiritual explorations.

The date gives you a tendency to seek unusual approaches and makes your style seem a little different and unique to those around you.   Your intuition is aided by the day of your birth, but most of your actions are bedded in logic, responsibility, and the rational approach.  You may be emotional, but have a hard time expressing these emotions.  Because of this, there may be some difficulty in giving or receiving affection.

You know, now that I read this one, I'm pretty certain I did this before, somewhere in this journal.

 

Jay's:

Your Birthdate: March 5 With a birthday on the 5th of the month you are inclined to work well with people and enjoy them.  You are talented and versatile, very good at presenting ideas.  You may have a tendency to get itchy feet at times and need change and travel.

You tend to be very progressive, imaginative and adaptable.  Your mind is quick, clever and analytical.  A restlessness in your nature may make you a bit impatient and easily bored with routine.  You may have a tendency to shirk responsibility.

All except the last part of the next-to-last sentence.  He thrived on routine. 

One way to test garbage like this is to swap them around and see if they still fit.  I am amazed that within these four people, the descriptions don't swap around very well.  If you cut the last three out of a printout and asked who I'd assign them to, it would come out exactly like this.  On the other hand, the one for my mother didn't fit at all!

 What Does Your Birth Date Mean?  

#375 The Mink, the Bomb, and the Ribs!

Went to an auction preview with a friend last night.   The auction is tonight, and I've got my eye on an African wrought iron screen and a mink and fox jacket (hush, Daughter!  It's beautiful, fits as if it were made for me, and is exactly the same color as my hair).

After the preview, we crossed the river and he helped me pick out a DVD player/recorder.  I was so happy to have someone to help who knew what all those words on the box meant.

Then we went to dinner.  He found the absolute best barbecue ribs in the state, I swear!   The parking lot for the place smelled wonderful.  I now have a new favorite rib place.  And he didn't even know that ribs are my favorite thing.   I could really get to appreciate this guy.

After dinner, he was very patient while I called The Rabbi, a prearranged time because The Rabbi's hard to catch otherwise.  It was so great to talk with him.  He sounds ok, holding up well, but I didn't feel I could talk long with him, we could have gone on for an hour or more, but my friend was sitting there trying not to listen, so we'll set up another good time to call when we can really indulge ourselves.

We were supposed to go to a movie next, but we got to talking, and that pretty much used up the next five hours.  None of the movies we could find in the local paper were all that compelling anyway.

Oh, almost forgot.  When we went to the mall to look for the DVD player, the parking lot was almost empty, and there was a whole bunch of people in red shirts standing together at the far end of the lot.  Further down, there was a large bunch in blue shirts.  Then another bunch all wearing the same colors.  Clusters of people.  Hmmmm.  Union meetings?  Everybody on break at the same time?  Nope.  Bomb threat! 

Shortly after we arrived, the police finished whatever it is they do, and people were allowed back in the mall.  I hope there's something in today's paper about it.

Oh, and I almost forgot - he was supposed to pick me up a little after 3 pm.  I was ready at three, so I started walking down the street, figuring I would meet him along the way.  Halfway down the street, I was watching a school bus that had pulled into a driveway (school bus in driveway? How does one get that service?) and I must have stepped on a small rock with my narrow wedge-heeled sandals, because the next thing I knew I was literally heels over head somersaulting down a shallow grass bank.  I wish I could remember how I fell, because it must have been spectacular!  The only thing I remember is that at one point, I was on the back of my shoulders with the rest of my body straight up in the air and my skirt down around my chest. Naturally, it was at that moment he turned the corner onto my street.  He didn't see the fall, but found me sitting slightly stunned on the grass.  Cute.  Way to make a ladylike impression.

I ended up with a skinned left knee, both elbows and palms slightly skinned, right ankle achy, and now I can't turn my head to the right without my neck complaining.  Probably a strained muscle.  There doesn't seem to be any permanent damage.

Except perhaps to my image....

~~Silk
Link in this entry:
http://journals.aol.com/jaykolb/Moraine/entries/1672

#374 The Cute Animals Quiz

You Are A: Pony!
Who doesn't love a pony? You are one of these miniatures, renowned for your beauty and desired by many. Full of grace, you are a beautiful and very special animal, with a long, flowing mane that blows in the breeze.

You were almost a: Turtle or a Bear Cub
You are least like a: Chipmunk or a SquirrelThe Cute Animals Quiz

#373 Cleaning Out

I have given up waiting for the trailer.  I went to the hardware store and bought huge plastic dropcloths, which I am going to spread on the lawn, and I'm going to start clearing out onto them.  I'll cover the pile with more plastic to keep the rain and wind off.  It can stay there all winter for all I care.  Just so it's out!   It'll make a mess of the grass (what little of the herbage out there is grass), but I've got to start making room so I can sort what stays. 

I'm getting serious about this.  There's so much sheer crap that I don't even have room to sort and stow what I want to keep.  I was looking at the junk on the bathroom counter this morning, and there's actually mousse there.  Mousse?  I don't remember ever using mousse!  And even if I ever did, it would have been when my hair was short, and I don't plan on having short hair again anytime soon, if ever.

I am being buried in junk and especially paper.  I don't understand (there it is again - that phrase) why there's so much paper.  If I don't make it to the recycle center two Saturdays in a row, by the third week I have eight grocery bags packed full of paper.  Every year I call all these catalog companies and have my name taken off their mailing lists, and within three months I'm back on.  Every day I carry twelve to fifteen items up from the mailbox, of which one or two envelopes and one magazine might be important.  The rest goes straight into the recycle bags without even being opened.  I have seriously considered putting some kind of container right next to the mailbox.  I haven't been to the recycle center in at least two months now. 

I got a serious hurt on.  I can't move in the kitchen.  I can't open the lower cabinet doors because of the bags of paper in front of them, so stuff is piling up on the counters.

This is in addition to what's in the basement - Jay saved every bit of paper that ever slid past him. 

Out!  Out!  All of it!  Begone foul crap!

~~Silk

#372 Wednesday (Yeah, well, I'm still on Wednesday time...)

Dinner at The Alamo in Rosendale with Mensa this evening.  Ten people at the table, and there was actual conversation.  I was very well behaved.  I didn't attack anyone (except for a little kneesies with my nearest neighbor, but he didn't seem to mind). 

The state business taxes were supposed to have been paid on the 20th, Tuesday.  There's no money due, but the forms still have to be filed anyway.  The Angel was supposed to take care of it for me, but I hadn't heard from him, so I stopped by his office the afternoon of the 20th to see if I had to sign anything, and "all was locked and barred".  I whistled a tune to the window ... oh, wait, wrong story ... I called and left a message, but haven't heard from him yet.  I'm getting worried.  There's a hefty fine for filing late, and if it hasn't been done I guess I'll pay the fine without complaint, because I really should have checked earlier.  I mean it's not like he didn't call me and leave a "call me back" message two weeks ago.  I just didn't realize the filing date was closing in.

Sigh.  Time to get organized.  I wonder if I can get this house whipped into shape by Friday?  I'd love to have company in....  Dreamer!

I mean, he's gonna start wondering just how bad a housekeeper I could possibly be.

Yeah, it's THAT bad! 

~~Silk

#371 All I have to look forward to ...

The only thing good about winter coming is that I will be able to wear fur.  Before you get all excited, my fox coats are secondhand.  I didn't create a market.  Think of it as respectful recycling.  Besides, they really are the warmest things going, and never too warm, and there isn't anything else on the market that can match that.  So there.

Reminds me of an incident in the grocery store several years ago.  I was standing in the checkout line wearing a fake fur jacket (and not even a very good one, at that), when the woman behind me got all huffy and was making noises about how anyone could ... well, you've heard the PETA drill.  Anyway I ignored her, and she just got louder.  So I turned around and said, even louder, "Look, Lady, a little respect here.  Twenty polyesters died to make this coat!"

All the people she'd been trying to whip into indignation laughed.

She didn't get it.  She glared at everyone who laughed, and shot daggers at me.  She probably thinks a polyester is something like a hamster.  She glared at me all the way out the door.

Oh, I almost forgot - she was wearing leather boots.  Way to really tick me off!
~~Silk

#370 Horrid Horrid Horrid! Horrid!

I'm sitting here with a rock turning somersaults in my stomach, and tears on the verge.  I may throw up. 

On 9/12 I had received a chatty email from a friend of 40+ years.  In the middle of the note was this line: "I'm dealing with a horrid situation here.  I'll write more this week if I can and fill you in.  You can start the prayer wheels (or whatever) in your area."  It worried me more than a little.  The "if I can" scared me.  But whatever he wants to tell me, and when, is up to him.  So I waited.

Yesterday I was going through saved email responding to friends to whom I owed notes, and I considered asking him what was up, but then I noticed that the week wouldn't be up until today, and I didn't want to push, so I thought I'd wait until today and send him a mild virtual slap on the wrist query, "don't keeping me hanging".

When I opened my email today, the first thing I saw was a note from somebody else, a stranger, with my friend's name in the subject line.  I was afraid to open the note.  I thought "Oh my God, the rabbi's dying!" 

It's worse.

My friend councils and ministers to youth.  These days, I probably don't have to go any further.  You can guess what has happened.  What he has been accused of is situationally and environmentally impossible (leaving aside even his personality and honesty), but that doesn't matter.  The mere accusation has loosed the juggernaut, and there's no stopping it.

My friend has been suspended, with pay for the moment, but that will end soon.  He is allowed no contact with his congregation or with any youth while the accusation is being examined.  The stranger who sent the note is one of his many supporters, who is asking people to send letters of support to his superiors.   Many of his flock and parents of children he has worked with have already done so.

I want to help, but having not seen him in 40 years, I don't see where I can testify in his behalf with any credibility.  The man has a solid gold heart, and I would trust him with my life, but I don't think that will go far in the current situation.  I worry because something like this is not a case of innocent until proven guilty - in these situations one is guilty until proven innocent, and it is next to impossible to prove a negative. 

I am sick to my stomach, that this could happen to someone so true, whom I admire so much.  The world is just plain sick. 

~~Silk

#369 Strange Weather

I can't believe we're into the second half of September and it's still in the 80s and humid every day.  Yesterday at the gypsy's I was putting out so much steam that half the time I couldn't see through my glasses (o'course, that coulda been the "scenery").  I remember that in the past, Daughter insisted on summer clothes to start school, then within three weeks she'd be begging for wool and long sleeves.  Something very strange going on.  I seem to remember that it got hot early last Spring, too. 

Not that I don't appreciate it.  I hate cold.  But it is still a bit disturbing.

~~Silk

#367 Fantasy Folk

The gypsy had invited me to a gathering of her fantasy role-playing group about two years ago.  I hadn't been too interested, because I was thinking, like, the folks that play very intense games involving role playing?  She invited me again two weeks ago to one today (Saturday), and I decided to check it out.  She said to wear any of my ethnic outfits, and "any combination of your outrageous jewelry".

I'm glad I went.  It was interesting, and I really like the people, and the scenery.  Seemed like all the women had long free hair and nice smiles.  The fairies were easy to recognize - they had pointy ears and wings.  Everybody seemed to enjoy everybody else.  (It reminded me of what Mensa used to be like back before the tight-a$$es took control, back when there was an actual Washington DC Mensa kazoo band, with an official banner and everything.) 

The scenery?  Ah, yes.  The scenery.  I may be mature, but I'm not dead.  Strong thewed, long haired, high cheekboned young men striding about in flowing capes and open shirts and sword hilts aglitter, with soft leather boots cross-laced up to the thigh.  Ah, the scenery.... 

Pardon me while I muse on the scenery a bit....

I saw only a little story line role playing, mostly people just tried to stay in their character and era while they visited and caught up on each other's news.  I was amused that they spoke of sending each other "eagle mail", and speaking by "long-distance communication".

There was good food eaten on wooden trenchers, and home-brewed mead.  The gypsy's mead was delicious, smooth and sweet but not too sweet, soft flowery flavor.  I drank only a tiny bit because my past experience with mead involved horrendous headaches the next day, no matter how little I drank.  Late in the evening - too late for me to remedy my error and drink my fill - I found out that it's the sulfides in commercial mead that causes the screaming eyeballs - that homebrew won't hit me that way.  Well, next time I'll know.  I'll indulge.

There were musical people (bards and minstrels) and group singing, songs that everyone seemed to know.  There was an amazing eleven-year-old doumbek prodigy who had finger rolls and snaps down pat, and a feel for improvisation.  He was sitting on the floor of the screened porch playing the doumbek with about 15 adults sitting around the sides talking, when what appeared to be a parental type told him to "knock it off, people want to talk", and made him move out onto the lawn.  When the kid got up and took his drum outside, 2/3 of the people on the porch moved out to the lawn, too, and sat around him talking while he played.  I thought that was pretty neat. 

I left about 11:30.  Singing followed me down the road.  I'd been sprinkled with sparkly fairy dust.  I've been warned that I'll be finding it in my hair, my bed, my clothing, my washing machine, and my food for weeks.

I don't mind.

~~Silk

#366 Nothing Day

Dinner and drinks with a friend last night. 

Did next to nothing today.

My world is back on an even keel.

~~Silk

#365 What Kind of Belly Dancer Am I?

You are an American Tribal Style Belly Dancer! So
it's not one hundred percent authentic, but who
cares? It looks really cool, you have a great
time doing it and the costumes are fantastic.
You're not into all the glitz of cabaret but
you can never have too many Kuchi medallions on
your turban. Undulate on, tribal chick!

What Kind of Belly Dancer are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

#364 Roe V Wade

 

This might  cause two entries today, but I simply can't resist it.

Q: What's Bush's position on Roe v. Wade?

 
A: He doesn't care how the hell people get out of New Orleans.

~~Silk

#363 Duh....

My mind has been going in circles for the past two weeks with something I had to think about, but as much and as often as I mulled it over - and it was a lot, I haven't gotten anything else accomplished in all that time, I start something, then drop it and wander off to something else, and drop that - I couldn't seem to come to any kind of conclusion, couldn't even get the facts and feelings organized, so Monday night I gave up trying to sleep and I did a "stream of consciousness" thing where I just wrote and wrote and wrote everything, and now I think I'm all done thinking.  I've read over the writing a dozen or more times, and still have come to no acceptable conclusion.  I know what is the right thing to do, I think, but I can't bring myself to do it, can't accept that as the conclusion.  But at least all the thinking is on "paper" and out of my head and I don't have to chew those parts any more.  Now I can start concentrating on gathering facts.  Hoping to change the conclusion, I think.  But at least I'm finally linear.

I think too much.  How do you not think?  How do you not count cards?  How do you not fall in love?

I'm getting closer and closer to changing the name of this journal to "I Don't Understand".
~~Silk

#362 Manipulation

I try very hard not to manipulate people.  When you manipulate someone into something, YOU are fully responsible for the outcome.  I don't want to be responsible for what happens to other people.  Plus, I'm not very good at it.  I'm too transparent.  Kind of like when I look down and to the left every time I tell a fib.  I pretty much can't manipulate anyone, or lie to them, without their knowing it.

When you look at Jay's and my marriage, I did manipulate him in a way, because with his problems, he needed it.  But it was always very transparent and with his permission and cooperation.  I also admit that I have occasionally used mild manipulation to get May out of her house.  I can't see anything bad coming of that, but I feel bad about it anyway.

What constitutes manipulation, anyway?  Any conversation other than the simple transmission of facts is manipulation to some degree.  You are trying to get the other person to understand something, or to agree with you, or to have some opinion of you that you have chosen.  Any time you choose your words for effect you are practicing manipulation.

I am always very much afraid of being accused of manipulation.  The bad kind.  I'm not sure how to define the bad except as the kind that people will accuse you of.  Or that they would accuse you of if they knew about it.  I'm not sure where the line is drawn.

Like, if you say something like "I'd really appreciate it if you could attend", to a diverse group, then it's just a statement of fact.  If there's manipulation at all, it's minimal.  But if you say it to someone you know is eager to please you, then it's intentional manipulation. You have manipulated their feelings, used their desire to please you for your own ends.  Most of the time, you know when you're doing it.

Is that bad?  Even if it is true that you would appreciate their company?  How is it bad to say something that's true?

If a woman positions herself so that a man can see her, and smiles at him, and maybe even bats the old eyelashes a bit, she is manipulating him.  Flirting is ok manipulation.  It becomes bad when the woman is toying with him, has no intention to accept his advances.

If a woman purposely brings a man to the brink and then backs off, that's manipulation.  She is manipulating his desire for her favors to get more attention.  Gifts.  Whatever.  It is not manipulation when she simply got carried away herself, and then "came to".  But the result is the same.  How do you tell the difference?  The difference is in the intention, but from the outside you can't see the intention.

Sometimes a completely innocent woman will "come to", but then go through with something she knows is wrong, just to avoid charges of manipulation, and that's just plain sad.

This is one of my big problems.  I have been many times accused of the grossest manipulation, mostly by ex-boyfriends, or those who wanted to be but were rejected.  Sometimes it seemed like all I did was stand there, and they built this huge fantasy in their heads, and then when it didn't happen they accused me of manipulating them.

I've done some things that I hated, that I knew were not good for me, just to avoid being accused of manipulation.

So I try to be very clear and upfront, to make sure that everyone always knows exactly where I'm coming from, what I'm doing, and why, and that they are never under any obligation to do anything if they feel they have been manipulated into it.  To always speak the truth, and never leave anything that matters unsaid.  I ask people to please ask me what my motivations or intentions are if there's ever a question.

Can they believe the answer?

It doesn't work.  That itself is seen as manipulation.  Worse, manipulation on top of manipulation.  Layers within layers of manipulation.  Machiavellian manipulation.

Some people think I am expert at it.

I think it's all in their heads.

If I'm so good at it, howcome I rarely get what I want from people?

Reread the first paragraph.

Anything that is immediately recognized as manipulation is not manipulation.  The very fact that you see it neutralizes it.  Think used car salesman.  The most dangerous people are the ones who are never caught at it, who are so used to it and so good at it that it's second nature.  "Black widow" women, the spiders.  TV and tent evangelists.  So when I do something completely innocent of selfish intent, and someone sees it as manipulation, they are getting unfairly angry with me. 

Why am I thinking about this?  Because I need to be brutally honest with someone soon, and I'm pretty sure it will beSEEN as manipulation, and I don't know what to do about that.  I mean if it is seen as manipulation, then it will be reacted to as a clumsy attempt to manipulate.  I want honesty in return for honesty.  I don't want annoyance in return for honesty.

Or am I so very good at it that even I don't know when I do it? 

Am I angry because I want to do it and I'm not sure I can do it well?

Sigh.  I don't understand.

~~Silk

#361 Too Many Entries!

Ok.  What's going on?  For a long time I had to struggle to keep to my commitment of one entry a day.  Now I'm hitting three a day.

Why?

Because I don't want to think. 

Which is ironic, because I started this journal to help me think.

Now I'm using it to avoid thinking.

Bad.

I hereby change my commitment.  I will make one and only one entry a day.

Unless something exciting happens.

Now I will go think about what I am avoiding thinking about.

~~Silk

#360 Damn Dog

I was reading Smart & Sassy this afternoon, and there was a letter from a woman complaining about people whose badly trained dogs poop on the rugs when they come to visit.

Reminded me of the father-in-law's dog, a miniature Schnauzer named Robin.  He thought nothing of dropping her off for three weeks during his yearly trips to France.  He'd drive to here and leave his car and dog, and I'd take him to the airport and pick him up when he got back. 

One year he called to say he'd be leaving her with us, and I said no, we couldn't keep Robin, because my yellow lab, Baby, was in congestive heart failure and I didn't want to stress her.   He'd have to make other arrangements this time.  Perhaps a neighbor.  Damn if he didn't show up the next week ready to go to France, with Robin in the car.  He totally ignored what I said.  I freaked.  Jay's sister lives just down the road, so I called her and asked if she could keep her father's dog, and she flatly refused to have anything to do with "that damn dog".  (Well, she also refused to host him, himself, when he came for visits down this way, so I shouldn't have been surprised.)  She also pointed out that he probably heard me all right, but wasn't able to find anyone else who would deal with Robin.

Robin was fairly continent, but she absolutely refused to use the doggy door to go out to the fenced yard, like our dogs, no matter how, or how many times, we showed her.  She insisted she would go through only a proper people door.  Which meant she had to be taken out, on HER schedule, which had nothing whatsoever to do with MY schedule.    Back then, Jay and I got up at about 7 or 8 am, but if Robin wasn't taken out at 6 am, she piddled or pooped wherever she wanted.  Usually on the carpet at the foot of our bed.

Our male, Ninja, being a good and very male Keeshund (albeit "neutered"), but also being rather stupid, knew that it was his duty to "cover" the scent of female doggies (albeit spayed), so he'd dutifully piddle on top of her puddles and piles.  Sigh.  Ok.  6 am it is.

Our dogs had their own dishes a few feet apart in the kitchen, and they knew that they were not allowed to eat from the other's dish without specific permission from Mommy or Daddy - which caused some cute situations.  Every once in a while they'd eat half their dinner, then they'd BOTH decide to check what was in the other's dish, usually when it wasn't their favorite brand (like Iams.  They hated that stuff).  They'd sit in front of the other's dish wagging their tails and begging, until I said ok, then they'd happily finish each other's dinner.  Weird.

Anyway, Robin decided that every dish in the house was HER dish.  I'd feed her in a separate room, but when she heard me put Baby and Ninja's dinners down, she'd run out and try to chase them from their own dishes.  A lot of snapping and growling.  If I tried to shut her in the other room, she'd throw a fit.  I had to tie her outside until Baby and Ninja were finished.

I don't even want to discuss the situation with the cat.

But worse than all that, she wouldn't allow me to touch her.  She adored Jay, but if my hand got anywhere near her except to fasten or unfasten a leash, she bit me.  Damn dog bit my hand at least once a week.  Once she went right through a fingernail.  There was no possibility of my ever actually picking her up. 

We were out on the deck one day, and she was standing near the edge of the deck when I walked too close.  She whirled around to snap at me, and whirled right off the edge.  Eight foot fall.  Didn't even hurt her.  Darn it.

We pretty much hated each other.

And then, one day while she was staying with us, she had a heart attack.  She was standing at the water dish and she started to shiver, and then she keeled right over, out cold.  The vet is about 1/2 mile down the road, so without thinking, I scooped her up, laid her on the passenger side front seat, and hightailed it to the vet's.  No carrier, no leash.

When we got to the vet's parking lot, she was regaining consciousness.  And - she - was - pissed -!!!  I guess she blamed me for everything.  I got out of the car barely ahead of snapping teeth.  I had to explain that I had a very sick emergency in my car who hated me and wanted to kill me so I couldn't get her out of the car to bring her in ... what do we do now?  The receptionist got the same reaction as I got.  The vet had to go out, and Robin quieted right down when she saw him.  The MALE vet.  Oh.  So it wasn't personal.  She just hated females in general.  That makes me feel a lot better?

She also didn't die, darn it.  I got to shove pills down her throat several times a day for the next week.  Not fun.  It involved towel wraps and a metal bit across her jaw, but I got them down her.  Without killing her, darn it.

Damn dog.
~~Silk

(Yes, I know "damn" is a verb, and it should be "damned dog", but nobody actually says that.)

Link in this entry:
http://www.smartandsassy.net/

#359 A Boy Named Gwendolyn

Another of those "interesting but have no real meaning" thingies: http://www.bostonuk.com/names/default.asp.  You put in a name, and it tells you what your personality is like based on the qualities associated with that name.

Here's mine: "Having confidence in yourself and integrity you have your emotions under control and are rarely ruffled. You have a quiet and reflective manner and are responsive to the needs of others giving you the ability to be a mediator. You are extremely successful in the material world being organised, financially astute and pursuing realistic goals. Your caring attitude and compassion certainly makes you a loved individual. "

Hmmm.  Ok.  The first sentence is short-term situationally debatable, but in the long run true.  Most will agree with the second.  The third is true depending on one's definitions.  I like to think the last is true, although limited, in that I don't spread it too thin.  Self protection, and all that.

Naturally, I put in the real names of some of my friends and family, and oddly enough, most of the descriptions actually fit!  And then if I tried the nicknames they themselves seem to prefer, as opposed to their given names, it was even closer to what I know of them.  Interesting.

I suppose it's possible that when parents choose a name for their new baby, they might subconsciously choose names that reflect in their culture the traits that they value.  I mean a family that values muscles and toughness and ability to hold yer likker and describes opera as "catterwalling" is not likely to name a baby boy "Marion", even if it is spelled with an "o" instead of an "a".  So even though you aren't likely to be shaped by your name, you are likely to be shaped by your family, who chose the name.

On the other hand, I know a guy whose tough coal mining family chose to name him Gwendolyn.  Seems "Gwendolyn" is a powerful male name in the mountains of Wales.  It definitely did make him strong.... 

Interesting thought.

------------------------------------------------------------

I'm sitting here in the den, and I could hear an odd sound.  I finally decided it was a chainsaw, in the lower part of the front yard.  Must be The Hunk taking care of those wind-toppled trees.

Nope.

It's Miss Thunderfoot, purring/snoring under the desk.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Back to the guy named Gwendolyn.  He NEVER used his real first name, always his first initial only with his middle and last name.  Like "G. Wayne Jones" (not the real name, but close enough to tell the story).

I worked with him in St. Louis.  A bunch of the guys and I were at lunch one day (I was the only female in the office, by the way.  Even my secretary was male, which led to some funny situations, but that's for later), and the guys started pressing him for his real first name.  "What's the 'G' stand for, Wayne?"  He said he wouldn't tell, but if anyone guessed it, he'd acknowledge it.  He was confident that no one would ever guess.

So all the others are tossing out guesses like "George" (oh, come on!), and "Gerald" and so on.  And he's laughing.  "You'll never guess it.  Not in a million years!"

I sat there quietly.  His last name told me his family was from the British Isles.  His middle name said most likely Wales.  Hmmm.  What are some Welsh male names that he wouldn't want to claim.  "Gladis".  No, he doesn't seem like a Gladis.  "Gertrude"?  No, that's more English/German and too strong.  I made a mental list and sorted.

When the other guys had given up, and there was a pause in the conversation, I quietly said "Gwendolyn.  It's a perfectly good name, a strong name, and you should embrace it." 

It landed like a bomb.  Absolute shock.  He got up and ran for dessert.  He later asked me how I knew.  He couldn't believe it was just a guess.

He was a huge guy, and one of the smartest and most highly respected on the team.  As far as I know, none of the other guys ever had the courage to call him Gwendolyn to his face or behind his back.  It was ok.  And for some strange reason, he respected me more and treated me more softly after that. 

Like he wondered what else I might know.   

~~Silk

#358 Which Horror Movie Am I?

 

Take the quiz: "Which Horror Movie Are You?"

The Craft
Your whole life, you've felt different. You know you're different, and that is why you break away from the norm and don't give a sh*t what other people think about you. You're you, you're proud, you're a bit... weird might I say? but you're far more interesting than most people will ever perceive. Keep being yourself, whether people like it or not.

Ooooo - I like that!  I think I'll embroider it and hang it on the wall!  (Yeah - the questions were few and mostly I had to pick the best answer available rather than what would have been most apt.  And it has no real meaning.  All these tests are like that.  But that doesn't mean that of all the results possible, I can't think the result I got isn't the best!  And right on the money!  I love it!)

~~Silk

#357 Like an Idiot

In sekirley's  journal, "Stories From My Ambulance", he says,
"In my opinion, there are two things that a paramedic student dreads when starting out on clinicals.  One would be the first cardiac arrest that we are expected to run.  And the other would be the first radio communication to the hospital that everyone in scanner land (and classmates) can hear.  (We don't want to sound like idiots.)"

Oh, I understand that part about sounding like an idiot!

In our ambulance, once the patient was loaded, we were to call the hospital and tell them the details of what we were bringing in, the vital signs, and the ETA.  We called on a radio.  There was a handheld microphone, and the speaker was in the ambulance wall.

About my third run on the ambulance, the crew chief told me to make the call.  "Me?  I don't know nuttin'!"  "Yeah, you.  Gotta learn sometime."

The patient, by the way, was sitting up and chatting with the other EMTs.

So I dialed the proper numbers and pushed the proper buttons, and put the microphone to my ear so I'd hear the ER when they answered.  Crew chief elbowed me , "Pssst!  That's the mike.  You talk into that.  The speaker is on the wall."

Yeah, I knew that!  Cripes!  Red face.  Titters throughout the ambulance.

When the ER came on, I told them (very professionally sounding, I thought), reading from the sheet where all the info had been recorded,  that we had a 68-year-old woman ... syncope (fainting), altered consciousness ... pulse rate ... blood pressure ... temperature ... skin color ... ETA - everything EXCEPT that where the respiration count should have been on the sheet, it had been left blank, so I skipped that. 

The ER nurse came back with "and respiration?"

And I answered, "None."

Oops.

She came screaming back with "NO respiration?  You should have mentioned that first!  Is the airway secured?  Did you bag her?  Is she entubated?  Is she DEAD?"  and at the same time I'm yelling "NO!  NO!  NO! She's breathing on her own!  I just mean nobody counted it I guess!"  Of course, with both of us yelling at the same time, neither of us could hear the other - especially not over all the laughter and rolling in the aisles going on in the ambulance, including the patient. And I suppose all over the countryside wherever anyone was listening on the scanners.

At the hospital, the nurses and doctors and everybody kept poking each other and glancing at me and giggling.

Now that's how to look like an idiot.  

~~Silk

Link in this entry:
http://journals.aol.com/sekirley/LifeSaver/entries/767

PS - If I got any details wrong, forgive me.  It was three years ago.

#356 Seven Things

There's a meme currently making the rounds of AOL Journals wherein you are to list, for example, seven things that you want to do before you die, seven things you can do, and so on.  Only one intrigued me - seven things that attract you to the opposite sex.

I thought about that for a long time.

My immediate response would have been the usual "tall, dark hair, dark eyes, even features, smoothly but not overly muscled, rather furry (LOVE fur peeking out of an open collar!), intelligent, etc."  Prime examples being Jay, Kaysar, "Tall Dark & Handsome I & II" in the village, and a few others.  I certainly do like to look at that.  But, something's off with it.   I like to look at The Hairless Hunk, but he's not tall, he's furless, and harder muscled than I usually like.  Indiana was blond and green-eyed.  My dear Obie had medium brown hair and blue eyes, and Guy was downright skinny, gold-brown hair and blue eyes, and most definitely not handsome, but I adored him.   And the guy who offered me the mistress contract was dark and handsome by any standards, but he was under 65" tall!

So why the variety in my choices of what "rings my chimes"?

Well, there's a difference between being attracted for looking, and being attracted for snuggling.  So let's throw out all the men I love to look at but have absolutely no desire whatsoever to touch (sorry Hunk, Kaysar, and TD&Hs, don't let the door hit you on the way out), and examine those I want/wanted to snuggle with.  What do they have in common?

My common criteria (limited to the meme's seven):
1. Gentle.
2. Eyes twinkle when he's amused, and he's often amused and amusing.
3. Touches me with reverence and respect.  (And the proper gratitude, darn it!)
4. Stronger, faster, and smarter than me.
5. Honest and open.
6. Sensitive to my moods.
7. And the only physical requirement - furry.  Proper snuggling requires fur.

Those seven are all pretty much non-negotiable.  Every man I've ever loved has had all seven in good measure. He may have been tall or short, light or dark, fat or skinny, whatever, but those seven are constants. 

An interesting exercise.

~~Silk

Link in this entry:
http://journals.aol.com/jaykolb/Moraine/entries/1357

#355 Ashokan

I went to a Mensa Gathering at a woodsy campground (lodge for meals, segregated bunkhouses, that sort of thing) near the Ashokan reservoir yesterday.  The gathering was actually Friday evening to Sunday noonish, but I went just for the day yesterday. 

I had set my alarm for 5:30 am, but screwed up again and it was actually set for 5:30 pm, so I didn't get there until 11.  Missed breakfast and the morning hike.  I could do without breakfast, but I was sorry to miss the hike.

I had a moment of panic when I walked out the front door and realized I hadn't been there in like 8 years or more, and I wasn't sure I could find the place.  Everyone I might call was probably already there, and they don't carry cell phones.  So I just set out for the reservoir and hoped for the best.  I found the grounds from my house just fine - every turn, when I got to it, was familiar.  However, it took me a good 45 minutes to locate the lodge from the parking lot!

There were a few speakers, and some good food, a trip out on the pond in a canoe, a walk in the woods and the discovery of a rustic campground with a sweat lodge and longhouse and the remains of a dugout canoe, and at the end of the evening a campfire with marshmallows.

Almost all the time was spent with Roman, away from the rest of the group.  (Yes, that was him on last Thursday's walk, too.)  We seem to be learning to appreciate each other more.  Because of some past unfortunate experiences, I tend to be a bit skittish around men.  Nobody, but nobody, is ever allowed to touch me casually.  Even friendly hugs are rationed.  But I'm very calm and comfortable with him.  I'm not going to mention him here any more after today.  Part of my mind just went private.

I got home at 3 am.

I am content.

~~Silk

#354 Why Am I Doing This?

The few friends and associates who know of the existence of this journal (but don't read it) don't understand at all why I'm doing it.  I get comments like "why would you want strangers to know so much about you?", or "I thought blogs were only for kids", or "Can't you and your daughter keep in touch by email?  Why blog?"  The fewer yet who have actually read much of it are shocked by the degree of self-revelation and intimacy.  Believe it or not, most people find me a very private person.  Quiet.

I've always had trouble answering, because I hadn't thought much about it - I just did it, and liked it, so I kept doing it.  All I knew for sure was that I was doing it for me, and me alone.

A few days ago I got a wonderful note from a woman who had read the memorial to Jay, and she also asked why.  I hope she will not be offended by my anonymously quoting part of her note, and my response to her question.  It explains as well as possible as much as I know right now about "why".  (And hey, you send something to someone with a blog, you're likely to get "blogged".  It's a disease.)

Excerpt from her note:
I took the liberty to read your blog as I was so intrigued by your ability to express your
inner most feelings so eloquently yet so simply.  I've never really read any blogs before,
but somehow I feel changed by reading yours.  What prompted you to begin such a
public baring of your soul?

My reply:
The first year after Jay died, 2002, I stayed very busy.  I joined the local volunteer fire department, got the EMS training, and rode the  ambulance for a while.  Very consuming.  Then in 2003 I crashed emotionally.  Someone else described it very well.  She had gone through all the stages of mourning, and she thought she was ok, then one day she found herself thinking, "Ok, he's been gone long enough now.  It's time for him to come home." 
 
It was very hard to accept that Jay would not be coming home, no matter how long I waited.
 
About the time I started the blog, I figured it was time to dig my way out.  I had remained active throughout, got involved with the local dance community and Mensa, volunteer work here and there, but no one realized how depressed I was, probably not even me, and no one really wanted to hear about it anyway, even if I knew what to say.  [The Company] had purged the Mid-Hudson Valley workforce back in the 90s (fired 11,000 one infamous April Fool's Day), so all my old friends were scattered all over the US.  I had no one to talk to.  The cat wouldn't listen.  I tried talking to myself, but I went around in circles.  So I talked to the blog.
 
I long ago discovered that writing something forced me to organize my thoughts, and writing it for someone else forced me to be honest.  Through writing, I could get past one thing and on to the next.  Once it is fully explored and written out, I can leave it and move on.
 
A private diary doesn't do it.  I lie to a diary.  I lie to myself.
 
Email to my daughter or an old friend wouldn't do it.  It would be just too much to put on someone else.  I didn't want to bother people. 
 
The blog is perfect. 
 
So instead of inviting people to my dining table and offering them a tasteless casserole, I have set up a card table on the street, and anyone can take a taste, or not.  And it doesn't matter whether they like it or not.  The main thing is, I cooked the dish. 

That's progress.

That's why the blog.  Someday maybe I'll be happy, and then someday maybe I'll stop.

~~Silk

Note - Post NO COMMENTS to this  entry, please. Email only, if you must.  I would really appreciate that.  After reading this, perhaps you will understand better why I don't really want comments.  They confuse me.  Thank you.

#353 The Needle - 2

I am very aware that what goes on in my subconscious mind, way way back there, is often quite different from what's going on in the front.  I try to keep in touch, but sometimes the conscious throws up defenses, and the subconscious has to sneak through in disguise.  That's what's going on with the needle.

The four words have become clearer (and "Yes" and "No" aren't there).  I am to wet the thread, prick my finger with the needle and put a drop of blood on the thread, and leave the room for a short time.  The drop of blood will fall not on the crossed lines, but within one of the quadrants. 

Blood?  Yeah, sure!  Right away!

Now that I have the four words, I know what the question is and what my choices are. I don't actually have to do anything with the needle (although except for that blood part, it would have been interesting).  I think this was just a way to force me to consider a problem I've been ignoring.

Ok, Subconscious.  Message received.  You can knock it off now.  I'll think about it.
 
~~Silk

Link in this entry:
http://journals.aol.com/jaykolb/Moraine/entries/1653

#352 Echo

Something very strange has happened with my PC.  Overnight, all the sounds have acquired a reverberation.  The first time I heard it, I was playing "Hearts" while I was waiting for AOL and Netscape to load, and when the queen of spades got dropped, the "barrroooom-ooom-ooom" about blew me out of my chair.  Huh???  I've heard this before, long ago, but I don't remember what I did to fix it.

I was asleep by midnight last night (wanted to watch Nightline, but there was a game on instead), and wide awake at 6:30 am.  Best night's sleep in a long time. 

The Hairless Hunk came by this morning and mowed and trimmed weeds, so it looks a lot nicer out there now.  Today I finished paying bills, mailed them, stopped by the bank and grocery store, and ... I'll have to think of something else to do.  Gee, the days are awfully long when you get up early.
  
~~Silk

#351 Today - A Pleasant Walk

Did "Poet's Walk" today with a good friend, a relatively easy stroll through the woods and fields, with views of the Hudson and the mountains.  Dinner at the diner, home at dusk, just in time to see the bats again. 

Good walk, great company and conversation, decent food.  I even got some thoughtful gifts.  Everything anyone could ask for. 

A very nice day.
  
~~Silk

#350 The Needle

The needle I found on my walk on Sunday is still in the clear plastic pocket on the outside of the little bag I carry on my walks (I have no pockets in my clothing).  I see it every time I walk past the front door.

I am an intelligent woman.  On IQ tests, I score (and I understand that scores have nothing to do with actual performance, only potential) higher than 90% of the members of Mensa.  I reason well.  I am a reasonable person.  So why do I have these odd things going on in my head all the time?

I have a strong urge to suspend the needle (it must be THAT needle) on a long silk thread (it MUST be red silk) over a sheet of paper (it MUST be white) divided into four sections, with a word in each section.  The sheet of paper must be taped or otherwise fastened to a flat surface.  The needle is to be suspended over the exact center of the paper, where the sectioning lines meet.   This urge comes from a picture that has been forming in the back of my mind for the past two days.  I didn't make the picture!  It just came.  Dimly at first, but it has been growing stronger and clearer.  I can't make out the words on the paper yet, but I suspect two of them will be "yes" and "no".

But what is the question?

If someone or something is trying to tell me something, there are simpler ways to do it.  If you can send me a material needle, and put a picture in my head of what to do with it, then certainly you are capable of  putting in my head whatever it is you want me to know in nice clear words or sounds I can understand, without all the mystery and rigmarole.   (My silk thread is buried in containers under other containers, and I probably have red but please don't make me go look, she whines....)

Sigh.    In the meantime, I await further instruction. 
  
~~Silk
Link in this entry:
http://journals.aol.com/jaykolb/Moraine/entries/1646

#349 Surfing the Online Dating Scene

I figured after yesterday's tribulations, I needed some amusement, so I ran a search on a local online dating site.  My criteria was age 55 to 65, distance within 20 miles, divorced or widowed only, language English, photo entries only (photos only because I'm not serious, just fiddling). 

I got 41 hits.  (The first time I did this, two years or so ago, when Daughter found Hercules online and I was curious, I came up with a nice guy in a wheelchair.  Hey!  I drive a handicap-equipped van!  Match made in Heaven!  I passed his bio on to Daughter, and she flipped.   "Mother, turn the computer off and leave it off!"  Guess she didn't understand I was only fiddling.  Besides, hey, he sounded really nice!  Who knows?)

Of today's 41, I threw out all the ugly ones.  (Yeah, shallow, but I'm only fiddling.)  Down to 35.

Then I threw out all the old fart dreamers looking for barely legal chicks.  Shows confidence, but who's he kidding.  Down to 32.

Then I threw out all the ones who mentioned skiing, jet skis, snowmobiles, tennis, football, or camping within the first few sentences of their detail.  Down to 20.

Threw out the ones whose photo showed obviously white on white hair, but who described their hair as brown.  What else is he dissembling about?  Down to 18.

Threw out all the ones who mentioned or implied sex within the first 10 words.  Down to 14.

Threw out all who insisted on religious specifics.  Down to 9.

Then I started reading detail.   "...now i know what i want.she should be inteligent...."  Hit the BACK button!

"I do a lot of camping I have a camper in a nude park. I go to foxwoods and others. I have to kids thay are on there own."  BAAACK!

"Your thigh-highs, thong, and shelf bra excite you as much as me..."  WAAAY BAAAACK!  Ouch, ouch!  Hurt my finger on that one!

"Salary level required, min $150K", from a medical professional, the only one to specify any salary level required of the lady.  BACK.  What an idiot!

"I am buying land in Nevada to establish a religion-based community..."  Eeeek!  BACK!

And so on.  Down to one left. 

The last standing was good looking, really nice, articulate, doesn't even drink, accepts a smoker, interests merge with mine, everything perfect, and he's only 10 miles down the road.  The catch?  Under ethnicity, he specified everything BUT white.  I'm so white in bright sunlight I'm blinding.  Can't even get a decent tan. 

Down to zero.

Mission accomplished.  I am amused.

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The above trek through oblivion is a minor offshoot from a conversation a few days ago.  I was invited to a, um, party, for lack of a better word, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to go or not because it was a theme, um, party, and I am unfamiliar with the theme and was afraid I'd feel awkward and out of place.  I asked if there were likely to be any single late 50s to early 60s men there.  After much thought, "Yeah, there's one, but you wouldn't want him."

The youngest person at the table (bless her heart) wondered why I'd want a man "that old", anyway.  I said "Hey Chicky, careful there. I'm 61."   She (bless her heart) was shocked, (even though she'd seen me in dance class for a year, often without makeup) and said,

(please read the following two or three times, loudly, with proper emphasis)

"You CAN'T be 61!  You don't have any WRINKLES !" 

Ok, I'm still 60, but once I pass the x years and 10 months mark, I start using the next number.  Don't know why.  Always have.  Got me into trouble once or twice.  And I DO have wrinkles, but they fold up neatly into a smile.  The whole idea is interesting because I have never done anything to prevent wrinkles.   The closest I come is sometimes I use Noxema on the few occasions when I wash my face at the sink rather than in a bath or shower.

Jay had a theory that scrubbing, peeling, or exfoliating would age skin faster, because it forces the outer layers to replace themselves faster, and a cell can reproduce only so many times.

Interesting.  Damn!  I think I just may be going into my prime!  I've lost 10 pounds since I returned from Hawaii.  5 a week.  30 or so more to go.  I could be there by my birthday.  I think all the walking in Hawaii and New Orleans reset some kind of thermostat or something. The chrysalis is opening.
 
~~Silk

#348 Jay's Reunion

I was paying some bills when I came across another mailed reminder about Jay's 35th high school class reunion, to be held on 9/16-17.  Jay had been looking forward to it.  He hadn't gone to the 20th (or whenever the previous one was), but since I would be going with him, he very much wanted to attend the next one, to show me his school and maybe introduce me to friends.   If there were any there who remembered him.  Jay was very quiet and shy in high school.  Probably a little weird.

So when the notices started arriving this summer I tried to ignore them, alternating with thinking about going myself.  Then scaring myself and ignoring them again.  But I decided it wasn't fair to say nothing.  After all, when he died, a guy from his high school who DID remember him, and who lives in the next town down the road and saw the obituary in the paper, sent me a very nice condolence note saying that he had liked Jay and wished he had known Jay had lived so close.  Maybe there are more like that guy than Jay thought.

I went to the reunion website, and spent an enormous amount of time composing a message to post.  It was very difficult for me.  A lot of tears, a lot of editing.  I finally finished it, and pressed the "Preview" button ...

... and got a blank screen with  "This system will be back online shortly after some routine maintenance. Thank you for your patience" in a box ...

... followed by enough swearing to send Miss Thunderfoot diving for the cellar stairs.

I don't know if I can do it again, "shortly".  (I will, of course.  For Jay.  If I cry enough for him and me and the world, maybe I'll sleep tonight.  The silver lining to my cloud.)
 
~~Silk

#347 Sleepless Again

I went to bed early last night, about 11 pm.  I thought I was tired.  No go.  I was just falling asleep at about 5 am when the garbage truck came through (pickup delayed by a day for the holiday).  It's one of those trucks that mechanically picks up the container and dumps it, so it's incredibly noisy - whirring and thrumming and clanking all the way up and then down the street.  Wide awake again.

My eyes are dry, but I'm not tired now.  Good thing - lots of stuff to do today.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

I like American Tribal Belly Dance.  I like it because it's danced by a group of  women for mainly women, not to titillate men.  I like the costumes.  I like the interaction between the women while they dance.  I like it because it includes all shapes and sizes and ages and stages of womanhood, including all stages of pregnancy.   It celebrates Woman, in all her manifestations.  Great photos at this site: http://www.heavyhips.net/photopage.htm. 

Go.  Look. 

~~Silk

#346 Antiques

Watching "Antiques Roadshow".  I'm more and more convinced that the uglier something is, the more valuable it is.  The more ugly it is, the less loved it was.  The less loved, the less used.  The less used, the more valuable.  Also, ugly stuff got thrown out, so the uglier, the rarer.  I've got a lot of antiques, but they're all lovely, loved, and used.  Therefore probably worth less. 

Tsk.  There's something wrong there.

~~Silk

#345 Bats

I was walking up the driveway last evening at dusk, and the sky over the front yard was full of bats!   I love to watch them.  They're such graceful fliers.

Something happened a few years ago - a storm that knocked down dead trees, or maybe someone got rid of an old barn, I don't know - but our bats disappeared.  I haven't seen them in years.  I'm so glad they're back!

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I was looking last night at all the things I could do today.  Nothing grabbed my interest, so I decided it was a perfect time to spray weeds (no rain predicted for the near future) and sort more junk in the basement, get it ready for The Hunk's trailer.  For some reason, my mood the past few days is perfect for it - DIE, DIE!!  EVERYTHING MUST GO!!  DEATH TO ALL WHO THWART ME!!!

I feel rather Attila-ish.  It's probably better that I don't go out in public.

~~Silk

#344 On my walk today...

I stopped at the deli on the highway to get some iced tea.  I was sitting on the edge of the flower border drinking the tea, when I noticed something shiny in front of my feet.  I picked it up.  It was a large, brand new, unblemished embroidery needle. 

What's a needle doing in a deli parking lot?  An embroidery needle, at that.  Isn't there some portent or omen connected with finding a new needle where no needle should be?   I tried to search the internet, but all I can find has to do with dream interpretation, which is very different.  All I can remember is that finding a real needle ties in with the spider totem, having to do with weaving, tying up, connecting, that sort of thing.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Yesterday the kid who's clearing the land below me stopped by to ask if I would let him run his underground electric service through my woods.  It's shorter for him to tap in at the top of the hill than to go down to the highway.  I said ok, as long as the electric company doesn't think they have an easement.  His lawyer will work up some kind of agreement, which I will consider.  In exchange, he'll clear the undergrowth from his trench to my driveway, which would be very nice.

So then I got to thinking, if it's shorter to run his line through my lot, just how far up his hill is he planning to build?  Ick!  If he's very high, he could cut off my view.  I'll still get the mountains (unless he's over two stories and an attic), but I'll lose the farmland.  So when I passed his lot after leaving the deli, I walked up his drive to see if I could figure out where he plans to put the foundation.  There's a cleared graded spot pretty far up, but off to one side.  I'll know better after the leaves fall, so I can see the relationship better.  If it's where I think it is, I may lose seeing the fireworks in Saugerties, but not much more.

I can live with that.

~~Silk