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 |  This was my first blog, maybe my best blog...nah! The journey continues with another..!
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Check out this signature's match at Thomas  's blog** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "You want to become aware of your thoughts and choose them carefully. You are the Michelangelo of your own life; the 'David' you are sculpting is YOU!" Dr. Joe Vitale
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| I just watched an ABC video that could prove scary to parents like me. Sarah, my youngest, is a cheerleader. She's in the eighth grade this year and has been cheerleading for two years now. When I say "cheerleading" I mean it in the fullest sense of the term. She has been thrown and she has thrown other girls into the air. She has been balanced on the hands of her peers and she has done the balancing of others as they're lifted high into the air in true "pyramid" style. She has fallen, as have her peers. There have been injuries, albeit very minor for she and her fellow cheerleaders; she has been kicked in the face, the chest, the head...it comes with the sport. And yes, cheerleading as it is done today is a S-P-O-R-T. It needs to be given the full recognition it deserves. Sarah is intensely proud of being a cheerleader and I'm intensely proud OF her, as proud as any father with a son who participates on the "gridiron"--and like that father and son, we have to accept that sports are NOT risk-free. That said, the simple fact that cheerleading as it is practiced today poses increased chances of injury needs to be addressed as completely as it is for any other sport. Precautions need to be a given. The video I watched was about a young woman, a cheerleader, who died after suffering a kick in the chest from a teammate during a competition. Now most who suffer a similar fate do NOT ultimately lose their lives from it, but the chance exists. The girl's family is working with legislators to create laws governing cheerleading as a sport. I know school districts in my own area who refuse to acknowledge cheerleading as such; when they don't list it as a "sport" they don't have to be responsible for the money a sport is required to be budgeted-much of it for safety precautions-and they don't have to implement measures like ensuring the coaches are adequately trained...they are placing their cheerleaders directly in harm's way. It is a parent's obligation to be sure their cheerleaders are safe. Safety mats need to be a MUST-I made myself quite a nuisance about this issue at Sarah's school-because the stunts performed are gymnastic and require a "soft place to fall." Even the BEST cheerleader is going to fall! Training needs to be professional-cheerleading coaches need to be as "savvy" as any football or basketball coach. They need to be aware of safety issues and concerns, and quick medical help should never be far away. Ever. I LOVE to watch my daughter soar through the air! My chest swells with pride when I see her sure footed confidence as she balances on the hands of her teammates, just as it jumps in alarm when I see her or any of her peers begin to slip...but at least I know their coach is solid and their mats are soft. EVERY cheerleader's parent needs that assurance.  |
| I feel better. Sometimes I go through this-periods of darkness-but at least I come out of it better and sooner than I used to. During the "dark" times, everything seems to carry a burden and I feel helpless to dispell it. I'm weighted, burdened, slammed. Climbing out into sunlight reminds me that EVERYONE gets burdened. It's how we deal with it that matters most. *Yeah, that Robert Waltz  is one smart dude* It's wonderful to possess friends like you and others who work to help me through my most dark moments, but the essence of this personal abyss: I have to work through it alone. Sometimes the input of others is helpful, especially if I feel the abyss is a lasting one; then are the times I have to tap into friends and family to help me out--but when it's a short-lasting, albeit deep fall, I simply have to work out of it in solitude. And I did.Know thyself. Know what's necessary to work through times of stress and darkness and do what it takes to move into the sunlight. I'm back. It feels good.  |
| I haven't slept. It's been one of those. This week I found out my oldest neice, a young woman who resided at my house quite often in her childhood, who lodged a permanent place in my heart and who I've been remiss about keeping in touch with, separated from her husband of three years four months ago. I'm inundated with so much guilt that I wasn't accessible to her in this horribly rough time. I never wanted her to get married. I tried my hardest to be "okay" with her decision, but nineteen is just too young to go making such monumental life decisions. Her boyfriend of several years, the one she married, comes from a home that was in such turmoil...we bring baggage with us wherever we travel in life, and at nineteen??? We haven't learned to deal with it. I understood my beautiful neice's reasons and her need for stability, but I just couldn't be "okay" with the union as much as I tried. Because of this I allowed my contact with her to suffer. I'll never forgive myself.  My mother, aunt and brother are frought with problems I feel powerless to remedy. My middle daughter's best friend, someone our entire family is very close to, suffered a seizure at her college followed by severe muscle spasms in hter fingers...she's a piano major and a performer. We were supposed to visit her this weekend but we can't; she attends school three hours away and my blasted SUV decided to get temperamental on me. To fix it will cost thousands of dollars I don't have. The toilet overflowed. I missed trash day. I'm breaking out on my face. Is it too much to ask for one stress free DAY??? Just ONE???? Sigh. |
On this, the day of my daughter Rachael's birth, I am going to paste something she wrote earlier today. It's Buddy's blog-our dog  I've linked his space here before, but decided I would again to showcase a family member I don't mention often enough. If you follow the link and take a look at his pictures you can get a glimpse of my house.  Hi everyone! I know it's been a while since I last posted, but I've been busy and I don't get much computer time. But here I am! A lot has happened since I last posted, but here are the highlights. For one thing, my people aren't taking me out as much as they should. Rachael is the only one who ever does, but even she's been slacking about it lately. It's making me sad. And then they tell me not to lay around all day! What am I supposed to do?? They drive me crazy sometimes, but I love them. When Rachael does take me out, it's so much fun!! We go onto what they call the golf course and chase the geese. Rachael doesn't like them for some reason, so neither do I. It's fun to listen to them skawk and run and fly away when we run at them. Very fun. Now I want to go out... maybe if I look extra pathetic at Rachael, she'll take me out. My dad is not living here anymore, and I don't really know why, except for that when he was here, there was lots of fighting. All the time. But not since he left. Liz still yells a lot, but she always does. I don't really care one way or the other. He didn't do much with me while he was here, so it's not that different. But he comes to visit sometimes, and he pets me a lot and plays with me, so that's fun. But sometimes my girls go to visit him, and then I'm all alone with Pumpkin, which isn't that fun. I hate it when they leave, because what if they never come back?!? My food is much too high up for me to get it, Pumpkin would eat me, and I would miss them sooooooo much if they never came back!!! But I don't think I have to worry, because they always tell me they love me a lot too and they always say that they will always come back. I believe them, but there's always a chance... Pumpkin is being especially mean to me lately. I don't know what I ever did to her? She acts like she hates me a lot, and I don't like it. I love her! Why can't she love me? Sometimes I try to play with her, but that makes her really really mad, so I don't try often. But sometimes I forget... Anyway, I really hate it when she goes outside. What if something happens to her?? But I can't go out with her, because she just meows at me and she'll eat me later. Not fun. The other day she was really mean to me, for no reason! So I might have stepped on her and sniffed her butt when she came back inside, that's no reason to try to take a chunk out of my stomach!! Sometimes, I don't even know why I try to be nice to that cat... *sniff* Moving on, my people keep saying a weird word today. Birthday. What's a birthday. I think they've said it before, but I can't remember. They keep saying it to Rachael, and Pumpkin. I wonder what it means... I think I'll go lick Rachael and try to get her to tell me. Oh God!!! The vacuum! I have to go!! Save meeeeee, Rachael, or Sarah, or anyone!! EEEK I think Buddy's "take" on things might have something to do with how Rachael feels, too. I found it poignant. http://www.myspace.com/buddy_dogface |
I am much more calm, thank you very much, and even vamped up my blog "over there" with little increase in heart rate and/or blood pressure  I'm not saying it was EASY-heaven forbid that site would make it easy-but I maintained composure and eventually figured it out. Amazing what self control can accomplish!At the birth of this "new way" I'm implementing, writing one item for this blog-of-my-heart and the one I'll now use for more creative endeavors...it's almost like moving to a new house, adding a job or school to a schedule you already have...basically it will be an adjustment. But never fear, I will get my "mojo" going and be as much an "angsty" presence here as I ever was! I'm sort of excited about the prospect of sharing another aspect of myself in a different venue...I need a place like this blog where I can get up on my soapbox and pontificate with the best of 'em, but I also need something else...a place where I can be more than that, less than that--just different. I do notice my brain is firing creatively and writngly the way it has not in a long, long time, so stay tuned--both here AND there! I'll be offereing up what spills from my head and BOY is it a lot--and opinionated...you have NO idea |
| I haven't had any sleep for the dumbest reason EVER! I decided to spruce up that myspace and make it more personal and indicitive of me. Sounds easy enough. Not for the technically retarded. By the way, for some reason my page was coming up "private" but I fixed that. Took awhile for obvious reasons. Then I threw myself into the bowels of hell. At least MY version of it! It's all the little details that kill me and freak me out and become glitches I can't fix. I'm not patient, I'm not detail oriented, and I'm not good at "troubleshooting." Even now that stupid page will NOT fix the tiny font on the bottom half of the page. If anyone wants to read it they'll have to resort to a magnifying glasses. I fixed it and fixed it and fixed it some more on the "fixer" page but it never would take  The teensy words are also pathologically attached to their underlines and will not release them. Also there's this blue box at the top I HATE and can't get rid of--believe me I've tried everything but the one thing that would work. I know something would get it off, but after hours of trying everything I can think of, that pissy little blue monstrosity taunts me. I'm losin' it. No no, I lost it at 4 am. Now I'm seeing blue boxes coming at me when I close my crusty eyes. They're filled with tiny underlined font words of insult.It's not easy being technically retarded. |
Some of you already know but I must confess to all and sundry, thus purging myself of being that most vile of creature...two-faced  You see, for years I have scoffed and sneered at this website group thingie. I was contemptuous of it because my oldest daughter was obssessed with it from about sixteen on, and her activities on it were horrendous to me. She and others like her were using it to harass other members, bicker amongst each other, and project images of themselves that weren't-and in her case AREN'T-even real. On myspace Liz strives to make herself seem "tough" and "mean" and "an outlaw" when in reality all of that is a laugh and a half.  My other two girls and I just roll our eyes these days and walk away from her fantasy land. We actually have coined a term for Liz's unreasonable demands, inability to process anything other than what directly affects HER, and the myspace nonsense. It's called Lizland and it must be a special place, because people wait on you hand-and-foot without complaint and will take you anywhere you want to go. When I tell her "are you serious?" in my increduluos tone she plummets back to earth and pouts. I ruined Lizland. I don't think it's just the bipolar disorder that makes her this way either. My mother is bipolar too, but she's also who we term "Queen Bonnie." Same issue as Lizland, go figure. *sarcasm thick for those who didn't notice* One day when two of my girls were still very small and I was visiting, I had an argument with my grandmother. My mom walked in on the tail end of it and demanded to be brought up to speed I responded with a "no" and "this has nothing to do with you." My mother laughed in this low tone she uses when she's pretty much calling you stupid. "Oh I don't think so. Everything is about me." Folks, she was serious. Seriously. That's my mom--"Queen Bonnie."  So anywho, after being FINALLY convinced by my friends here who kept gently prodding me about it, I caved. I did it. I joined what my friend Shawn calls "the lemmings" and have become *gasp* one ot them. I have a myspace. Whew. I did it. I faced the truth. *tongue in cheek for anyone needing the hint* Here it is: http://www.myspace.com/susanld65 And what I've discovered since becoming active there shouldn't have surprised me, but I was soured from Liz's "unreal" experiences. In actuality "myspace" can be anything you want it to be. The owner of a myspace page is completely in control of what and how much is shared and who has access to it. Mine is NOT private, by the way, because I want my writing to be more accessible to "the masses." If you've ever thought about that, myspace is a nice start. Millions visit that site every single day! I haven't gotten into the writing groups and aspect of it yet because I'm still a "newbie," just getting my sturdy legs over there. I'll NEVER leave WDC of course. I know some do and consider myspace a viable alternative-believe me, I've reconnected with several former members and that IS nice because they were and are my friends, but to me "myspace" is different. THIS is my internet home. I'm comfortable here. This is where I first experienced the opening-up of my small world, where I met fellow writers from all walks of life; it was so eye-opening to discover that if you "click" with someone, age and gender usually don't matter! I have found friends I know I'll keep who happen to be older, some who are significantly younger *the babies*, and those who are, like me, at that "middle age" crossroads in our life experience. And there IS the whole writing thing, by the way I love writing.com for what it gives me. I'm beginning to thoroughly enjoy myspace for what IT gives me! I've connected with other Billy Joel fanatics-you know, the borderline stalkers-and it's so much FUN! THEY don't treat me with patient disdain when I can't shut up about the greatest songrwriter ever! They are as obssessed as ME!!! I've also reconnected with old friends, some from here, and I'm grateful for that. I have been known to get lazy about keeping in touch with people--well now all I have to do is give them my URL! And a good friend has challenged me because he's determined to turn me into one of those writer people *more tongue in cheek* He told me to create TWO blogs--one here and one there. I can still use THIS one to spill my guts and pontificate and generally bore you all silly , but the OTHER one will be more geared towards my creative writing. Gee, why didn't I think of that?! Good thing I have amazing friends who look after me SO...for those of you who have already visited my -space, as of tonight the entries here and there will be different. So visit me there AND here to get the full "Susan" flavor. |
| For the last couple of years I've been telling people-including myself-that I'm not a romantic. I USED to be a romantic, seeing "hearts and roses" around every corner and devouring romance novels, when I was very young. I just adored the rush that romance leaves in its wake-that ultra alert adrenaline surge, the jump in heartbeat-it's better than any drug invented! But in the last month, and I'm not sure why, I have discovered a sort of "epiphany" for myself. I AM still a romantic. It's in my nature. I think our society has the idea of being "romantic" all wrong, and unfortunately I didn't realize it in my untested youth. People think being "a romantic" means you are on the prowl for a significant other, either for a month or a lifetime. It seems to be synonymous with this desperation to grab hold of the one we're with; what's that cliche`? "If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with." Too many take it to heart and do just that. I bought into it. When I was young I was always, in my relationships, searching for "the one," peering earnestly into every pairing to see if THIS might be IT...mostly on a subconscious level, but still I did it. What happened as a result of this constant vigilance and pushing for it wasn't the great romance my youthful little brain imagined....just the opposite. I ended up, ultimately, with someone who didn't fit with me at all anymore than I fit with HIM. We-he and I-were alike in the way we were both wanting "the one" so badly we rushed into a partnership when we had no clue. We had no clue about who we were as individuals, and when we each found out....oops. I've denied being a romantic because I figured it was that "romance" nonsense which got me into a tough situation. It wasn't. It was the desperation drummed into me by my cultural surroundings--we're all supposed to want THE ONE. We're no good if we can't find our "other half," we're losers if we go through life alone. What a crock!!! Our divorce rate isn't over 50% for no reason. Romanc is wonderful, that adrenaline rush IS better than any drug...but in long term relationships, it doesn't last. There has to be something else holding two people together, bonds of similar thinking, similar goals, similar commitment, and a certainty of knowing WHO and WHAT we're commmiting TO. Real life isn't a frothy romance novel and no gorgeous person-no matter who he/she is-looks like a centerfold in the morning. I still love the rush of "romance," I really do. I watch certain television shows and listen to certain songs to experience it. I get a kick out of watching and/or reading about the connection which grows between two people and their burgeoning feelings for each other culminating in...well, use your imagination I love to feel...I just love to feel!But no longer will I ever be on the prowl for "Mr Right." I'm past the point in my life where I even want one. I understand myself so much better than I did in my impetuous youth. Honestly, I don't know if I ever could have been satisfied in a marriage relationship. I didn't know what to expect out of it and especially now, I'm just not willing enough to bend to the will or wants of another. I think I'm selfish. That's not a bad thing necessarily. I'm simply being honest about who I am. Does that mean I never want to experience romance again? Heck NO! But when I do, I will enjoy the sensation for what it is and just let it be. Let relationships, feelings, and the path of my life be more about what I want and less about what I SHOULD want. If there's one thing in my life that's missing It's the time that I spend alone Sailing on the cool and bright clear water It's kind of a special feeling When you're out on the sea alone Staring at the full moon, like a lover Time for a cool change I know that it's time for a cool change Now that my life is so prearranged I know that it's time for a cool change Well I was born in the sign of water And it's there that I feel my best The albatross and the whales they are my brothers There's lots of those friendly people And they're showing me ways to go And I never want to lose their inspiration I know that it's time for a cool change Now that my life is so prearranged I know that it's time for a cool change I've never been romantic And sometimes I don't care I know it may sound selfish But let me breathe the air Let me breathe the air... Well I was born in the sign of water And it's there that I feel my best The albatross and the whales they are my brothers It's kind of a special feeling When you're out on the sea alone Staring at the full moon, like a lover Time for a cool change I know that it's time for a cool change Now that my life is so prearranged I know that it's time for a cool change I've always loved this Little River Band song, but I don't think this guy's emotions mean he's "never been romantic" at all...just the opposite. Which is cool because this song has always been one of those where I can see myself. |
| I've mentioned that Liz has been cycling because she's been "out and about" and isn't present to take her meds at home, which I'm in control of since she proved to be not so great with control of them, herself. Regardless of her chronological age *20 for those who don't know*, her emotional age is much younger and she hasn't been ready to take control of that aspect of her life. For the last week or so however, she has actually told me, on her way out, when she "probably won't be home" and puts her night's and morning's meds in a small baggie. She IS maturing in baby steps and I've chosen to trust her with them; it's made a big difference in her behavior. She's more stable this week. How Providence knew she would be receptive THIS week as opposed to perhaps last: The big trouble with taking Liz to therapy has always been her inability and/or unwillingness to actually open UP to others. I know she is terrified-yes, really-of being judged harshly for her dark thoughts, intense emotions, risky behavior. She also, as much as she tries to be "the rebel", is at heart a People Pleaser, just like my other two children. Unfortunately I think I have to own some of that issue, but it's for another blog... Today she decided to take the bus where she wanted to go-this is Progress because making her more responsible for herself has been a goal of mine for a couple of years. She didn't return until about thirty minutes ago. I've also ceased drilling her about where she's been and with whom. Again, at 20 years old-bipolar or not-she has to become responsible for HERSELF. She's going to be bipolar her entire life, and she has to learn how to deal in the world on its terms...and her own. She walked into my room and sat down, ready to "talk" in a way she hasn't in a long time. I put away everything I was doing and prepared to listen, cautiously optimistic about her demeanor. She was ready to share. "Guess where I've been," she said. I asked where, and she told me. On her way back from the store she ran into a friend who told her he'd give her a ride home if she was willing to accompany him to...and AA meeting. Alcoholics Anonymous. Now Liz isn't an alcoholic in the physical way, but a symptom typical of Bipolar Disorder is a need to self-medicate. Often that happens with alcohol, but the "drug of choice" could easily be anythinig designed to alter reality or anything at all which releases the brain's pleasure chemicals. Liz, as of late, has been using food to achieve her "rush", but she's been known to use ANYTHING...like piercings, cutting, over-the-counter drugs...anything. I've called her a drugless drug addict. Therapists have even asked me, in the past, if she'd be willing to participate in something like AA, but her rebelliousness was too prevalent; she wouldn't. Tonight she began to tell me about the meeting. "It was amazing," she said with a glint in her eyes I haven't seen in a long, long time. "At first I didn't say anything, just that I'm not an alcoholic. But they didn't care. They were all so nice and so open. I couldn't help myself...I started to talk and--Mom, I spilled my guts." I felt her "ah-ha" moment like it was my own. "They're just like ME," she said. "They have the same problems I do and they listened to me, they really listened." She got a little teary. "I told them everything, like how I feel and what I think and they still liked me." She went on to tell me that a handful of the people were bipolar like herself and they gravitated towards each other. She didn't feel like a freak anymore, she said. "I'm so happy, Mom. I get it. I get so much now. They said the same stuff you do but somehow I just heard it tonight." I told her it's easy to hear logic from people you know have really, truly walked in your shoes, came out the other side of the tunnel, and have lived to tell the tale. She said, "did you know they talk about God?" Yes, I responded. The Higher Power is central to those kinds of meetings. Liz has been raised in church but I think, even though I've always stressed diffferently, she felt too bad for God to love her. Tonight she heard the correct message--that He NEVER stops loving us no matter HOW much we screw up! She wants to go back, she said. I pledged to take her back anytime she wants to go. Sometimes miracles happen when you least expect them. |
| ...more to my blog than any reader stripped for the last week of my enchanting wisdom Once again I am deathly ill. It began with a sore throat last Tuesday and morphed into the sinus infection from hell, followed-of course-by the bronchial infection from hell. I remain philosophical. Sarah is still suffering with her foot, Rachael is completely well, Liz may yet die by my hand, and the sink is still backed up because I'm too freakin' sick to want a plumber traipsing through my house. So I bail water because that's easier Don't ask me to explain myself. AND I still don't have a dryer because I don't think traipsing through an appliance store sounding like a tuburculosis patient is all that advisable.And here's the philosophy: remember to laugh at life. It's too freakin' funny for words.  |
| One of my best friends is depressed. I've spent quite a bit of time on the phone with her this evening, masking my surprise at her perilous state; I made the same mistake with her that too many have--because she's usually so "strong" and self sufficiant, I didn't notice the signs of a dangerous dip in mood until she was in the throes of it. For this I have berated myself, partially because the same darn thing happens to ME! People see me as so able to "handle it" that it never crosses their minds I might not always be so able. Everyone needs support, no matter how "in control" they seem to be. I began to wonder, too, why depression is so rampant in our world these days. It seems more and more of us sink into The Abyss. What's causing it? My daughter's broken bone happened because on her first day of track, the coach ran them mercilessly and finished with strenuous exercises--they have to be "the best" by their first track meet no matter WHAT. She could barely keep her eyes open to complete homework and was too tired to eat that night. I was relieved when she said she might not want to follow through with track. I told her that was just fine with me. Sometimes being responsible means knowing when you need to take a step back and acknowledge when something is just too much for you. But the next day, after school, she told me she didn't want to quit track after all. I knew what happened. Someone told her she'd be a "quitter" if she didn't follow through, if she didn't "suck it up" and participate whether she really wanted to or not. Do I want my kids to be "quitters," the sort of people who back away whenever something gets tough? Absolutely not. But I also don't want my kids to think they have to "stick it out" when something makes them truly unhappy. That's just stupid, yet how many of us do that?? We KNOW the job, the activity, the club takes so much out of us we feel drained when we go, sapped when we leave, and depressed to the point that it colors our entire lives. We have to win win win, go go go, fight fight fight. Never mind that we're the most depressed generation yet. Everyone is looking at us, counting on us, expecting us to succeed, strive, be the best. We need to stop buying into the notion that we are obligated to want what society says we should want, that we are supposed to live our lives a certain way and that we're failures if we don't meet societal expectations. It's so ingrained in us to strive for what the masses tell us is desirable; often we neglect to stop and ask OURSELVES if it's what WE really want. Like Oprah says, "live your authentic life." I think it's when we try to fit that "square peg into a round hole" that we're hit with the depression bug. My daughter's decision to take or not take track is out of hands now due to her foot injury, but if it wasn't I would encourage her to close her ears to every voice except her own. Because in the end, it's the only one that matters. And we should never forget--sometimes life is simply about...the simple stuff. Slow down, you move too fast. You got to make the morning last. Just kicking down the cobble stones. Looking for fun and feelin' groovy. Hello lamppost, What cha knowing? I've come to watch your flowers growing. Ain't cha got no rhymes for me? Doot-in' doo-doo, Feelin' groovy. Got no deeds to do, No promises to keep. I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep. Let the morning time drop all its petals on me. Life, I love you, All is groovy. |
| I don't have a dryer. Do you know how irritating it is to do laundry, then try to find a place to hang it?? No lines outside, no yard anyway. And lots of rain in exchange for the snow. Rachael got really sick this last weekend-strep throat. She was in great pain--until she started taking her antibiotics. Which have now made her violently ill. I get to clean up the bathroom. Sarah broke a bone in her foot. Hours at the doctor's office, x-rays, an ace bandage and decent pain pills...she's still in lots of pain. And of course we can't find the crutches. Sigh. Remember my kitchen sink? It was "fixed" until it exploded in an upwards motion yesterday, spewing the nastiest, blackest tar I've ever seen. I'll bet you can guess who cleaned it up!! Liz is cycling because she is taking off, these days, for parts unkown and staying away long enough to miss doses of her meds. She's hostile and pretty much nuts. She is being sloppier than ever and clumsier than ever; she drops dishes and leaves them where they lay on the floor. She spills juice, soda, soup, and GOD knows what else, then ambles away without a thought. She drops clothes wherever she sees fit, throws MY clothes around when she decides to visit the laundry room, has splashed SO much neon red hair dye in the bathroom Rachael mentioned it looks like a crime scene. She even got it on the wall in the hallway ??? The girl is talented. Of course I'm going to kill HER so very very very soon. Liz and Sarah broke the phone tonight while they fought over it. I'm the most unemployable person in the Quad Cities, quite obviously. Who's been spreading rumors about me? Come on, 'fess up!! Our fair city of Moline, in their infinite "wisdom," decided to start major construction on a major street. It now takes an hour to get to the Walgreens I visit daily for meds-they now know me so well they greet me by my first name. We are also "detoured" to get to the library, the grocery store, Sarah's school...you name it. The street they've deferred all this traffic to---*wait for it*--has no traffic lights. That's right. A city of 80,000 plus not counting the other Quad Cities, and we've been deferred to a street with no stop lights. You should see the traffic. It defies reality-this isn't LA for God's sake!!! I'm going to start a list of things to do while we wait in this traffic from hell. Any ideas??? Nope, no whining. I just had to write it all to believe it. Hey, at least I've got television, a telephone, and the internet. I shouldn't have said anything. Damn dark cloud of technology probably heard me. My friend Mandy is coming to visit on Friday. We're going drinking. Seriously.. And oh yeah, the dog pulled a chicken carcass out of the garbage. I found it. With my bare foot. In the dark. |
| As much as even I think I "let it all hang out" in this here blog of life, there are pieces of me I've belatedly realized don't make it in... I'm not quite as serious in life as I seem to be in "blog", seriously! For some reason-well, I guess I kinda know the reason-I've neglected to record the more "fun-loving" piece of the person who is ME. Over the years (yes, years!), I have used this venue as a "venting" site, sometimes as a "soapbox" site. I'm okay with having done that, but what blog readers might have missed is a HUGE part of me! I mentioned it once: when I was a crazy teenager in high school, I was known, in part, as the class "spaz". At the last reunion I guess I got going the way I tend to do when I'm speaking animatedly about something...which led to the breezy comment from one of my old classmates; "Oh, that's just Susan. We're used to her, she's a spaz."  Eep! I hadn't been called that in years; funny how we "revert" when we're in the company of those who have known us for so long.I used to think that was all they saw when they looked at me, those old classmates. I was wrong, something I discovered when one of them mentioned, "we were so surprised when Kefty wrote he was a politician. Now YOU, we wouldn't have been surprised about. You would be a great politician." A girl who'd known me for years told me that, standing idly at a Saturday picnic while she recounted, to me, a conversation she'd had with several other class members... I'm also quite surprised--actually completely thrown--to discover I might be intimidating, these days!!! High school and middle school students seem to think so, as do some sundry adults I've recently discovered. Wow, that's weird to me. Why? Because for so many years I was the designated "spaz", the kid the others shook their heads at because I blurted forth whatever came into my head. I was "the good actress" BECAUSE I was "the spaz". I have a theory that perhaps the intensity of my convictions, the passion I have for writing, teaching, and acting might factor in to create that sort of conclusion about me; but there's a moral here...or several: You never know how you are perceived by others unless you ask-seriously! AND don't think that because you know ONE aspect of another's personality you know the "whole story." Most likely you don't. I should know. I've discovered I'm living proof. |
| My Aunt Jane's birthday has come-and-gone, and for this I am regretful. I've been "writing" a tribute inside my head for weeks about who she is and what she's contributed to my life and who I've become: She's not exactly like my mother, although they do share DNA *this is ironic humor if you know my mother and aunt because in some ways-personality fundamentals-they are very different* I think my daughter Rachael is most like Jane even though I made Liz her namesake(Elizabeth Jane). Jane is usually even-tempered, sensitive-but-opinionated, and extremely intelligent, well-traveled, and well-read. She's as cerebral, in my opinion, as my mother is flambouyant! She was also very, very talented. As a child she sang and danced her way around our rural area, even traveling to California at one point to screen-test! Her acting abilities, as well, were abundant; even in this way her intelligence was evident because she could be so focused, always intense about giving everything she did her best. California was fun for my young aunt but sort of a bust; my grandmother experienced second thoughts at the last minute... But that's another story, more about my grandmother than my aunt. My mom, full of talent as well, actually taught my aunt in dance when she opened her own studio, and they performed locally AND elsewhere together as a duet--from the looks of the pictures, they were amazing!Jane joined competive speech in high school and was very successful; it was great to bond with her when I, in turn, became "the one to beat" in competitive speech, heh heh  But I digress *what a surprise*. She participated in drama, and in college I think she was initially a drama major. Either she WAS or she wanted to be...guess I can't remember everything! I used to love going into the bedroom at my grandmother's house and pulling down Jane's college yearbooks and the playbills from college productions she was in. She attended West Texas State University in Canyon, Texas which is pretty much a suburb of Amarillo. It was,a college I seriously considered when my time came simply because my aunt was an alum--if it was good enough for her that was all the endorsement I needed! I believe out of state tuition halted that plan, though. Oops, digressing again Anywho, she became an English major and a high school English teacher. As intelligent, well-read, and fun-loving as she was, I don't think teaching was ever really her "bag." She is a sensitive soul, that's just a fact, and teaching mouthy, sarcastic, snotty, often spoiled-bratty teenagers doesn't mix well with sensitivity. She couldn't help being bruised, and finally scarred, by young people in need of a stronger disciplinary hand than she was capable of providing. Her way of handling ME was to treat me like an equal, share ideas and books and opinions with me just like she would a friend. I was gratified by it and responded well; other youngsters, as we all know, don't. I tried to talk to her about changing careers, opting for something more suited to her personality, but she was on the tail-end of the cultural shift, the conservative fifties to the radical sixties, and those preconceived notions about women and their so-called "limitations" kept her from branching out, staying "safe." One dream she shared with me was her wish to own a bookstore. She also talked occasionally about how she should have been a librarian rather than a teacher, and I would urge her to pursue those ideas for REAL, but she never did. Being young and very much a participant of her generation, she'd play her records and I considered myself very "cool," dancing around to the sounds of Elvis Presley and Tom Jones. I listened to "Sgt Pepper" and couldn't figure out what the big deal was--of course I was like five at the time . When I was very young, around four years old, she would take my brother and me to the Arrowhead Drive-in, the designated "hang-out" for teenagers. I felt awed and so impressed by those long-haired boys, straight-haired girls, funky bellbottoms and all! I remember getting cokes in those white cups with red hearts around the rim. Jane was the one who drove our family out of town, either for day trips or even longer sojurns. She would always be generous with me and my brother, taking us to the Amarillo mall and telling us to pick out a toy from "Toys-by-Roy"...how enchanting and speechless-enducing that store was to me! She'd buy us Orange Juliuses from the stand, give us pennies to throw in the wishing fountain. And the movies...! She took us to every 007 and Barbara Striesand movie, and so many others; my mother had few job options at that time in society, and my father was sporadic with child support payments-mostly sending them never. My mom swallowed her pride and watched us enjoy our Aunt's largesse. The baby sister my mom was generous to, conversely, when she was a single girl with a thriving dance studio returned the favor in spades. I come from a giving bunch. I remember trips to Dodge City, Kansas' Boot Hill-an old-west part of the city, complete with a saloon and a "shoot-out" at the end of the day; the brave woman drove us to Oklahoma City, Colorado, Galveston. I had my first taste of blueberry pancakes at an IHOP during a summer traveling stop. My mother was so mad when I couldn't even finish half the order--I'd whined and begged for the huge adult stack and my mom knew I wouldn't be able to eat it--but the "fun aunt" caved, and didn't even seem riled when we left most of those delicious blueberry pancakes at the table Jane was a teacher for some years in Garden City, Kansas. She was a homing pigeon, though, and would return for most holidays and every summer. She would write letters about a life I envied; I pictured her as Mary Tyler Moore, throwing her hat into the air and all! She had friends and they'd go out dancing, eating at-to me-"fancy" restaurants, and take their own day trips on weekends. She would never forget to bring my brother and I "a little something" every single time she returned. I remember a nurse's kit--I ate all the candy pills in ten minutes, then tried to strong-arm my brother's from his Dr. kit When I was in Jr High and high school she worked way downstate in Texas, in a small town right outside San Antonio. She was a good fit there for a while. The town was very small, mostly hispanic, and very poor. As a result, most of the young people weren't as "attitude driven" as their more privilaged peers. My aunt really loved those kids. She gave me an inside understanding, with her stories, about what it's really like to be an immigrant and seriously in poverty. The kids she taught, many of them just-arrived from Mexico's problems, were so happy to be getting a good education! Sadly, she lost her job when politics interfered. There was a school board uprising and a Hispanic man with a gigantic chip on his shoulder fired almost every caucasion teacher. It was a difficult time for my aunt, who just a few years later was forced to quit teaching entirely. She developed a torturous skin condition we now know was psoriasis. This disease exploded very suddenly, and it changed who she was. It was bad, the constant and very severe itching, the scabs, the scales, the sudden redness that was accompanied by hellish hot flashes. You wouldn't think a skin condition could force someone into seclusion and turn them into a recluse--unless you've seen or experienced it. Doctors were and are at a loss about how to get it under control, and so she has spent most of the last twenty years in a special kind of hell--she finally gave up ten years ago and started scratching herself until the skin tore...it's not pretty. I suffer with her because I love her, and I miss my fun-loving aunt who traveled twice to Europe, even! Now she seldom leaves the family home, although she has gotten better about that over the last few years. She's also developed a seizure disorder, most likely epilepsy, and several serious seizures have left my book-loving, cerebral aunt nearly blind and with some brain "fog"...she forgets easily. But she's rallying, she's working at being okay. She's still fun to talk to and has much to share, and my kids love her as much as I do. Jane enhanced and expanded my childhood and education so much I can't measure it adequately. She is a part of me-the thoughtful, contemplative part, the fun-loving, dancing part, the generous, kindly part. She helped immensely to make me who and what I am, never even thinking twice about sharing whatever she could...oh yeah, she even taught me to drive! She endured shopping expiditions with teenage me even, remaining patient through my teenage rants and self centered ways that are typical of most teenage girls That woman deserves a medal *says the one with three teenage girls* ! Funny, if my mom and dad had stayed married, or perhaps even if he'd been more involved in my world I might not have reaped the rewards of Aunt Jane's being such a big part of my life. I can't even imagine it.Thanks Aunt Jane, for being such a great moral and intellectual example, for giving to me priceless gifts like a tender heart and a love for the printed word. I love you immeasurably.  |
| Say it isn't so. I just spent an hour on a blog entry that has vaporized. AAAGHHH!!!! Sorry Aunt Jane. When I'm feeling up to it again I'll type it ALL OVER AGAIN I still have the crappy loaner computer, can you believe that?!? Yes, come to think of it, you should. Remember me? I have a technological dark cloud hovering incessently. Oh woe is me *slumping from the heavy cloud* PS...I went a "little" skype crazy this afternoon: I'm "susan" who invited tons of you to talk, heh heh. If I missed you and you wish to "skype" just let me know. If the dark cloud hasn't had its way with me yet again, I will converse. *morose* |
| Yup, it's been quite some time since I posted an entry; no reason other than apathy. It hasn't been "depression" so much as a feeling of stagnation. Yesterday I felt a jolt as I likened myself, idly in my mind, to a pond of standing water. I just couldn't get myself moving. Seriously, not depression. Stagnation. I have had more than one blog entry pass through my mind. One I will post very soon-as in following this one-is a tribute to my wonderful aunt. Her birthday came and went, Mach 2nd, without my planned written "kudos" to her making it out of my bain...I will rectify that. She was and is such an integral part of my life and who I've become. She deserves to be recognized in this recording of my life journey! I recently read up on the situation in California concerning home schooling, and my thought processes fired up hot-still blazing and just waiting in line for their turn at an entry Then earlier this morning I started thinking about accents. I know it sounds strange, but when I write THIS entry you'll follow...! Why do I love accents so much when I don't have one, myself? Not that I couldn't....I was raised in the Southwest, for pete's sake! Conversely, I am so accent-free, at least for the most part, that one of my most challenging acting roles included learning to perfect a Southwestern accent I should have had to begin with. Sheesh. I've speculated about my own lack of accent, why I don't have it and really never have. I remember traveling with my band to Kansas City and meeting a young man who refused to believe I was from my hmetown due to my lack-of-accent That's happened to me more than once or twice. My family didn't have much accent when I was small even though they are all born-and-bred Southwest. My great grandmother was from Louisianna/Missippi, born-and-bred on a plantation, yet I never remember detecting the South from her diction. ?? The rest-Oklahoma/Texas, but you never would have known it if you called them on the telephone--well, maybe the area code But I do love accents. I adore New York , Boston, Britain, Australia...I love to figure out where people come from by listening to their words. I am intrigued endlessly by accents! At one point today, after watching a video excerpt on You Tube, I decided to find out where "LivingTV" is and why I never heard of it until seeing the logo on the far right corner of this video...OH! It's a British television station!! Who knew?! And our British friends are so lucky-ha ha-to have access to "CSI Miami" and that crazy show "Army Wives" from our "Lifetime Telesion" channel. *As an army wife for many years...oh yeah, the way those women look and act is SOOOO REAL. Army wives NEVER look ravaged, exhausted from running the family while their husbands are off fighting wars they may never return from...um, yet another blog entry* Anywho, watching some of that channel and those accents...so cool!! I was prompted to turn on my new satellite television access-heh heh-and find BBC America. Yup, there is was again!! Ah, too bad international phone calls are kinda expensive. Calling Scarlett, Mavis, anyone British...! |
| Thursday night the show went on- My daughter, Sarah, was the floozy hairdresser who loved a good gossip. She wore a short red-hair wig, tons of makeup, and black horned rim glasses with jewels on the side. She chomped gum and blew bubbles and talked with a southern drawl that would have made a Texan proud! My oldest daughter, sitting in the audience, said she had no idea that was her little sister; she had to read the program to figure it out...I told Sarah that's the best compliment an actor can get As the stage manager/assistant director, I never had a chance to sit back and enjoy my daughter's performance. I ran around making sure crew members were hitting their cues for sound effects, lighting, props, etc. I ran around making sure actors were hitting their cues. I'd remind them, occasionally, of who they were supposed to be, how they were supposed to be, and for the most part they were all amazing- I love theatre work, I love young teenagers, and I very much liked the teacher I worked with. The audience laughed at almost every appropriate time, which in turn gave us the grins backstage. Sure there were a few sound glitches like too much feedback from wireless mikes. Okay, so the side lights in the auditorium would NOT turn off and we had to be satisfied with turning them down as far as they'd go-someone messed with the programming-and sure I had to seriously get onto my sound girl towards the end...the reason we had feedbacks was because she left her assigned post and was sitting on the floor, watching the show But other than that it went smoothly. At least no props went missing. Not after I got "a little" bent at rehearsal on Tuesday, gathered the entire cast/crew, and informed them I sure would hate it if I saw anyone messing on or around the prop table if they weren't getting a prop or returning one...I might have said it with some force, but come on! That day I had to locate twelve missing props!!! Middle schoolers Sarah said some of the cast were scared of me--oops, heh heh. But on the up side no more props went missing, chatter backstage was at a minimum, and I did have a chance to get to know and enjoy most of the kids. I really don't think it's such a bad thing for them to experience a strong hand every now and then. They must have known I mostly loved them, because at the end of the play they dragged me onstage with big silly grins of delight and handed me a bouqet of flowers with a card. Ah shucks *digging toe in dirt* The teacher I worked with gave me a gift certificate for a day at a spa, isn't that cool?! I took donations and we gave her a gift certificate to the local dinner theatre! But those flowers, bought by the kids with no enticement from the teacher...I've never been a big "flower" person, but I think I might press some of those. And thank goodness the play was video taped. We'll watch it and I'll get to be nothing more than a proud mom. |
| I've been pondering alot since yesterday. I've had other things to do, places to be, kids in the play to manage, sound gliches to fix, a house to run...in the midst of it all my overactive brain won't be still. I think too much. I always have. I have an overactive sense of fairness, of justice, which is partly why I can't let it go with my father. What he did all those years ago was take the coward's way out and there's nothing remotely "right" about that. He left my brother in the throes of puberty with no male figure to turn to. He left ME in the throes of puberty with no male figure to turn to. Our grandfather-my mother's father-was long dead, my mother never remarried, my mom had one sister who was such a fabulous aunt (more about her later). We definately had my mother's extended family who loved us, but we knew nothing and had no conact with my father's. All this time it's been like half of me is missing...not just him, the father, but what he represents. My heritage. He wrote, in that letter, about a something his grandfather used to say all the time. I wouldn't know, I never heard anything about him. I met him once in a hazy memory of musty house and two old people, man and woman, sitting in rocking chairs and staring at my brother and me. It is surreal to me that this man, my biological reason for existance, wrote about how important history is, how we need to hang on to our heritage and embrace what was to understand what is...is he FOR REAL?! He can't share my own heritage with me but he'll trumpet the need for it. We seldom see our own hypocrisy, I guess. It also hit me like a lead ball that he's obviously a history buff. I am, too. It's so strange to read the words of someone who almost seems like an echo of me... What my dad did, disappearing from our lives like that, is all about avoidance. I get it very well because I'm more like him than he ever knew. He didn't want to deal with it so he didn't. It snowballed as years passed; with every day, week, month, year he dug himself in deeper. The initial avoidance took on a life of its own until it was bigger than his ability to break through. He didn't want to be told how wrong he was, he didn't want the censure. But it hangs around him in the air he breathes and follows him wherever he goes, whatever he does. Yup, I have some experience with avoidance. It must be genetic. I wrote a memoir-posted in my port-about my first boyfriend, and C. Don 's comment gave me pause. I obviously hadn't let my father dictate who I chose for a boyfriend was the gist of it. No, but as I pondered yesterday, I realized I sure did marry someone frighteningly similar. How did I do that?! What our psyches do to us when we're not looking...So there is pain in the baggage I carry with me through life. Doesn't everyone have some? They come from different sources in different ways, but I believe the human condition wouldn't be the same without it. It would be tough to know joy without pain, to understand what's right if we didn't experience the wrong. Like Reba sings, I'm a surviver--we all are. Here's another song that always reminds me of my father. It mirrors much of what I experienced as a teenager. From a place of hating him I found acceptance elsewhere and did indeed move on and away from the hate: He can't remember The times that he thought Does my daddy love me? Probably not That didn't stop him From wishing that he did Didn't keep him from wanting Or worshipping him He guesses he saw him About once a year He could still feel the way he felt Standing in tears Stretching his arms out As far as they'd go Whispering daddy I want you to know [Chorus:] I love you this much And i'm waiting on you To make up your mind Do you love me too? How ever long it takes I'm never giving up no matter what I love you this much He grew to hate him for what he had done 'cause what kind of father Could do that to his son? He said 'damn you daddy' The day the father died. The man didn't blink But the little boy cried Half way through the service While the choir sang a hymn He looked up above the preacher And he sat and stared at Him- He said 'forgive me father' When he realized That he hadn't been unloved Or alone all his life His arms were stretched out As far as they'd go Nailed to the cross For the whole world to know [Chorus:] I love you this much And i'm waiting on you To make up your mind Do you love me too? How ever long it takes I'm never giving up no matter what I love you this much Sung by Jimmy Wayne. The first time I heard it I thought the writer must have read my mind- |
| I've tried to put off writing this entry, but I don't think I'll be able to move on with the rest of my day until I purge-- I decided, this morning, to spend some time having fun, something I seldom allow myself to do without mounds of guilty thoughts over what I should be doing instead I felt like web surfing, something I needed to do anyway-ha ha-to find some email addresses I was still missing after losing my account with the cable company...I found some *felt very smart for finding them*, then playfully googled myself; if you've never done that it's weird, mainly because I didn't know I had so many alter egos with both my last name NOW and my last name THEN--Wortham. I've always assured my kids I'll keep my last name the same as theres. I have no ties to my own. My father was on the periphery of my life, visiting once a year if that after the disastrous New Years' I've written about in my memoirs. Before then we'd visit HIM once a year if we were lucky; how I loved those times!! I worshipped my father, probably because I saw him so seldom. He seemed larger than life to me, someone I wanted to be like (he was a writer-a newspaper reporter/editor) and I worked tirelessly to gain his approval. I felt a disadvantage because I was "a girl", something he perpetrated whether purposely or not. When I was twelve he popped in for a visit in my hometown. We hadn't seen him in over a year and I was so excited...until he informed me he was taking my brother for the night, not me. I was a "girl", he explained. It just wouldn't be right. God how my heart broke all over again--he had a knack for breaking my heart. It was spring, probably April. The next day he came to pick me up so we could "all" spend the day together. I felt so ripped off; my brother constantly got "alone" time with him but I never did. He thought, erroneously, that I was more like my mother than him. He didn't seem willing to make an effort with me and how it stung-I ended up feeling like my whole body was buzzing the way a foot does when it falls asleep--stung. We spent an uncomfortable day with me feeling like an outsider. He never forgave me, I don't think, for "ratting" him out to my mother when I was 7-yrs-old-that disastrous New Year's. The distance he felt with me was obvious and it was both a relief and such sorrow when he left. I'd felt like crying all day. That was the last I ever saw of him. He called a few times after that. His marriage to my stepmother ended, he lost his lucrative job as a magazine editor in Denver (my father could be so unbelievably charming for awhile until his dark side emerged and he'd screw himself every time). He was lost and just drifted away. My mother, God bless her, tried to find him, at first consistently and then less so. Finally we were resolved to the fact that he was out of our lives, obviously wanted it that way. My brother was five when my parents divorced and has a memory like me--very clear from a young age. He knew what living with my father was like, had even been "kidnapped" by him when their marriage was ending. He was a sensitive kid caught in the middle of two freight trains...it was bad. I don't think he ever really recovered, one reason we were always pretty close. When the grownups couldn't be trusted, he ran to his baby sister, ignoring the rest. Even the stories I hear are heartwrenching. He lived through it. Part of my dad's-and sometimes my mom's-seeming "preferential" treatment of him probably had more to do with guilt than anything else, an attempt to make up for what they put him through. The result, though, was me sometimes feeling pushed aside and not as important. Fast forward to this morning and my "google" silliness. I googled my brother whose name happens to be the same as my dad's. The first three were my geeky brother's computer programming posts on different sites-ah, it was almost like having him here-and then the gut punch. A letter to the editor of the Amarillo Globe-News, written by, you got it, my father. On February 10th, 2008. Three hours from where my brother is living. The Amarillo Globe-News...that was where my dad, a sports editor back then, took me. Where he left me to my own devices while squiring around big brother , where I first inhaled the scent of newsprint and had my first "ah-ha" moment. This is IT, I thought. "This is where I want to be." The teletype, the desks, the rolled up sleeves of reporters furiously typing out their copy...it was intoxicating!!Slamming into the present again, here he is. The man whose disappearance from my life and my brother's life crippled us in so many ways there's no space to describe it. The thinking, grownup part of me knows what he did has more to do with HIM, that he's always been a screwed-up mess, that we were just the fallout of his inability to cope...but there's a little girl inside me who can't decide whether to spit at him or cry with all the tears pent up for thirty years and ask that simple "why." Was I so terrible that you couldn't make me a part of your life? Was I that unacceptable?? I know it's not me. But it sure feels like it is, like it was. I wrote a comment to his letter. It was about how Randall County Courthouse shouldn't be torn down because it's a landmark. It was sure eloquently written-the old man is still a damn good writer. I responded that the letter-writer was my father and I hadn't seen him in thirty years. Nice, I wrote, that he's so concerned about buildings when he's capable of casting away offspring. "That's the thing about neglect," I wrote. "it erodes the foundation." My stomach hurts. I don't know what to do with this. I will not make the same mistakes that you did I will not let myself cause my heart so much misery I will not break the way you did You fell so hard I've learned the hard way, to never let it get that far Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk Because of you I learned to play on the safe side So I don't get hurt Because of you I find it hard to trust Not only me, but everyone around me Because of you I am afraid I lose my way And it's not too long before you point it out I cannot cry Because I know that's weakness in your eyes I'm forced to fake, a smile, a laugh Every day of my life My heart can't possibly break When it wasn't even whole to start with Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk Because of you I learned to play on the safe side So I don't get hurt Because of you I find it hard to trust Not only me, but everyone around me Because of you I am afraid I watched you die I heard you cry Every night in your sleep I was so young You should have known better than to lean on me You never thought of anyone else You just saw your pain And now I cry In the middle of the night For the same damn thing Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk Because of you I learned to play on the safe side So I don't get hurt Because of you I tried my hardest just to forget everything Because of you I don't know how to let anyone else in Because of you I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty Because of you I am afraid Because of you Kelly Clarkson's song that always reminds me of him. |
| For anyone who doesn't know-I don't know what the rest of the country hears-Northern Illinois University had their first day back in session today. A few students I know were interviewed on the news; I still can't help thanking God they're alive. One girl said she jumps every time there's a loud noise, another said she doesn't trust anyone she doesn't know, anymore. One student said, "nothing will ever be the same again. We're on 'the list.' " How surreal. I drive by a huge field house that boasts the word "Huskies" every time I drive to and from Chicago. I never thought twice about it other than using it to mark time and distance for my trip. That gorgeous, new fieldhouse was supposed to be the venue for our state wrestling tournament; instead Moline stepped up and we held it with four days' notice. I can't help being proud of the coaches and parents I know who made it happen. We have a great fieldhouse beside the football field, the place where I've spent countless hours watching basketball games while my two older girls played in the pep band, the place where we annually ingest chili served by every school in the district for our "chili challenge," the proceeds which go to enhance extracurricular programs. Sarah has danced on the court with the cheerleaders. Rachael graduated there. It's a Moline landmark and I'm glad it was a worthy subsitute. Moline made the top ten list in "Off-beat Travel" magazine for interesting places to visit-it's considered "John Deere Central" for anyone who wants to know We boast the original and largest site where John Deere tractors and other farm equipment are created, and in deference to this, I live across the street from the "John Deere Pavilion" and Museum. That's right, it's a tractor museum. It's kind of cool if you enjoy history of ANY KIND! There are also videos about ecology, farming, global warming, and on and on...and the best part is an opportunity to sit in a real combine...now who wouldn't want THAT experience!!We also are located a little over an hour from DeKalb, the home of NIU. Per Mar Security from here was contracted to send out gaurds and equipment--seems kind of like closing the barn door after the horses are gone *I'm from Oklahoma, sometimes it shows*. I can't help but wonder if Moline will now be known more for their John Deere connection or for their NIU one. After all, they're on "the list." PS: The student closest to Moline who was fatally shot came from Milan, a community only about seven miles down the road. He was a senior business major. |
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