And so it continues..
08.31.05 (11:37 am) [edit]
And so we lived at the trailer next to the Perkins and close to the PDQ for quite some time. I can’t tell you exactly how much time, but what I can tell you is that from the time the Rowland memories begin until the date of Oct 24, I start out as five and end up as seven years old. On October 24, 1977 a very significant event happens in my life that changes it forever, some say for the better, some say for the worse, but either way, it was a very significant change. Our story has not progressed to that point yet. I am only bringing that up at this point, so that you may see the turning point in my writings. My writings will still possess the intricate detail for which they have always had, but on a smaller scale. My memory is very limited. I do not have full recollection of every event of my life prior to October 24, 1977. My brain or subconscious has decided to protect me in some way. The things that I do recall I recall in very vivid detail, but there is still so much even 28 or thirty years later that is missing, things that are just below the surface, things that boil over in the middle of the night. Every once in a while a new memory will show itself to me, just at a time when it feels I am ready for it. Of this, I have no control.
There are only a few things that I can remember about being in the trailer with Fred and my Mom. I have no idea how we got back and forth to school, but I imagine my Mom drove us and continued to use Omie’s address, because I only have report cards from the two elementary schools I have previously mentioned. During this time I believe I was going to Belle Stone, and my sister was going to a church preschool. Probably Dueber Methodist since that was the only church we ever had anything to do with. I remember riding to the gas station with my mom in the back of the station wagon and being dirty and barefoot. I remember going to one of my mom’s friend’s house, and playing outside with these boys that were our age. We played with these little cars, not hot wheels, even smaller than hot wheels. They were like miniatures. I remember being thirsty and going inside and looking all around. It was really smoky inside. I could not find my Mom at first but when I walked toward the people laying on the couch, an arm reached out and grabbed me and pulled me close very quickly. I was very frightened. As my eyes focused, I realized under the other to people, the arm that had hold of me tightly, was my mom. I was confused, but no longer afraid. I told my mom I was thirsty, and I wanted to go home. She said, "are you sure Melissa?", I nodded my head yes. She worked her way out of the pile and everyone was saying bummer, and this is not cool, and stuff like that. I did not care if I was a bummer, I wanted to go home, that house smelled funny, and I did not like them all laying on my mom like that. Sometimes my mom did not know what was good for her. Besides, I knew we needed to be home before Fred got home.
I also remember the trailer park had a slab of concrete that Fred told us was the playground. Of course I know now it was just an empty lot waiting for a trailer to be put there. We used to go there to ride our big wheels and I would ride my skates. They were the best skates in the world. My dad got them for me, not Fred. They were the kind with a key and metal wheels, I felt like a superstar when I rode my skates. My Omie also gave me a skateboard to ride not the kind they have today, but a small one. The only kind they had back then. I could not stand up on it very well but it was cool to lay on my belly and push myself around like an airplane. I remember going to the Perkins Restaurant with my little bit of allowance once and buying one of those big lollipops. The swirl kind that you can’t eat in one sitting or it would put you in sugar shock. I got into a lot of trouble for that because I wasn’t supposed to walk that far, or that close to the big road. It was to close to a major highway, SR44 I think.
I had a lot of bad nights in that trailer, I know I did a lot of sleep walking. I would wake up in the kitchen under the table a lot. My mom could never figure out why I would go to the kitchen in my sleep. I never ate anything, and of course I was asleep so I do not remember what I was doing, but there was never any evidence in the morning that I ever got into anything. One time I fell out of the top bunk bed so bad that I burned my face. The heating/air vents were on the floor and in that room the vent was right next to the bed. When I fell, I fell right on it face first. That would not have been so bad, but I did not wake up. I did finally roll over, but I had lain there long enough to burn myself. My mom only paid attention to us when Fred was not around. He really demanded all of her attention. I kind of understood, and tried to stay out of his way, and kept my sister clear of him as well. He started being mean and ugly to my mom almost immediately. He wanted her to be with him, without regard for anyone or anything else. I don’t know how or exactly when but things got bad enough that my mom finally decided that she had to get away from Fred. I am sure some one had to have helped her, because there is no way she could have done in on her own, unless he kicked us out, which is a possibility as well. I may never know for sure. I do know that we moved on to upstairs on Walnut St.
Another Meme....
08.29.05 (1:09 pm) [edit]This is from the Meme "Your Name Is" Google Search. Here are my top ten favorites returns:
1. Melissa Is a Micorsoft Word97 Macro virus
2. Melissa Is an ancient title referring to a priestess
3. Melissa Is maybe she is an amaxing woman
4. Melissa Is a given name for a female, meaning "honey bee" in Greek
5. Melissa Is patient, creative and committed
6. Melissa is hard to control
7. Melissa is my friend
8. Melissa is totally awesome and her awesome sweater puppets are juicy
9. Melissa is free to covort and canoodle to the best of her abilities
10. Melissa is Back
Try it out with your name it is quite interesting and fun! Especially if you come up with something similar to my result number 8!!
Keep telling yourself...
08.26.05 (2:37 pm) [edit]You love the puppy....even though he decided that my laptop was a good place to pee. You love the puppy....you love the puppy.....you love the puppy.....I have to go take a pill.....or somebody is liable to be hurt. I will be taking apart a keyboard for a while!! Ugh!
Baby pictures
08.26.05 (10:06 am) [edit]Here are a few shots of the baby after his little surgery I like to call his
De-nutting!
I hope you enjoy them!!
Melis
And so, on a little bit of a lighter note...
08.26.05 (7:05 am) [edit]I am sitting on my couch this morning. Breathing a small sigh of relief. For those of you that do not know, we have two Chihuahuas. The 8 month old one Benny, went to the vet yesterday to be nuetered. He was not doing so well last night, and he is quite swollen today. I had to stay home with him today because he wants to run and jump and play fight with Buster. I have had to help him up on the couch, and off the couch and on the couch ond off the couch.....did I mention on the couch and off the couch? He has to be walked on a short leash, he hates it. He wants to lift his leg, but cries every time, so he is stuck squatting. Poor baby. He wants to do what all dogs do, lick himself, but mean 'ole Mommy won't let him. He wants to stand on the back of the couch and bark at the neighbors, but he can't get up there by himself. It is 10AM and I think he has exhasted himself. Or maybe it is me he has exhasted. Either way, he is asleep, so I think I should close me eyes for a minute too.
Controversial Post
08.24.05 (1:21 pm) [edit]August 24, 2005
(FYI This post while very informative is in response to a comment left on Boomster's blog and done at her request)
"What is your standard of morality? How do you decide what is right and what is wrong?"
That is quote that was posted by a "fellow Blogger" in a comment box on my spouse’s Blog. Now my spouse came to me and said very agitatedly, "I need you to look at something." So I walked over to the computer and stood over her shoulder and waited for the page to load. When it did she pointed to the above quoted comment and said "Read that." After I finished I shook my head and I said, "OK?" Her response was, "How am I supposed to reply to that?" I chuckled a little and said, "you probably shouldn’t, you will end up saying something that is far from this side of morality!" "Yeah, I want to say something along the lines of ‘Fuck You Bitch I am not immoral’ but that probably is not the right thing to do," She said. I told her as I kissed her goodbye this morning and left for work that I would think about the intelligent way to respond, so as not to intentionally offend anyone.
On my way to work today I thought about our life and how it differs from "normal people" as so many like to refer heterosexuals. We have a two-bedroom townhouse in a nice, safe, quiet neighborhood. We have two cars, I am an accountant with a college degree, and Boomer is a chef and an Air Force Veteran. We have a 10-year-old son that loves us very much. We have a house full of furry and not so furry children as well. We work our jobs and deliver papers during the week, and on the weekends we do our errands, mow the lawn, weed the garden, buy the groceries, and visit with friends and family in between. About the only thing we don’t do is go to church. I do not believe in religion, but I do believe there is some higher power in charge. So aside from whom I sleep with compared to whom "you " sleep with there are not many differences. We are all still human beings trying to make ends meet, trying to do what we feel is best for our families, trying to raise good children into loving caring adults.
Now on to addressing the initial topic at the head of this post: "What is your standard of morality? How do you decide what is right and what is wrong?"
In our family we try to live by very basic principles, and we teach these same principles to our son by our example. Most of these principles were taught to each and every one of us either by the time we arrived, or in kindergarten. Everyone; therefore, should be very familiar with them. The first and also the most important one is "Treat others as you want to be treated"; better known as The Golden Rule. The rest is best said by a man, an author named Robert Fulghum.
This is an excerpt from his book All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten
"Share everything. Play Fair. Don’t Hit People. Put things back where you found them. Clean up your own mess. Don’t take things that aren’t yours. Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody. Wash your hands before you eat. Flush. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you. Live a balanced life—learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and laugh everyday some. Take a nap every afternoon. When you go out in the world watch out for traffic, hold hands and stick together. Be aware of wonder."
Following this little mantra keeps us living a wholesome life. Maybe not in your eyes, but when my day of reckoning comes I will not be answering to you. So, I must live my life in accordance with what I feel is the best path for me, and do so without causing harm to any other person, which I feel I have done. Which I feel my family is doing. Through example, we tech our son honesty, integrity, trustworthiness and compassion. He also teaches us. He loves us unconditionally, without regard for the fact that his family is not "traditional." He is proud that he has two Moms, and he takes every opportunity to explain the diversity that exists in the world. He knows that there are children with only one parent and ones with two fathers, and ones that live with their Grandparents, and some with Stepparents. He knows that there are people out there of different ethnicities that are married, and that al of this is ok. He has taught us that God made everyone. We did not teach that to him, but that is his belief, and while I may not agree with the "God" aspect of his statement, I respect the sentiment that he is trying to say, we are all the same. I will leave you with this:
LOVE (luv) noun. 1. A profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person. 2. Strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties 3. Affection based on admiration or common interests.
Meme
08.22.05 (1:08 pm) [edit]Meme
10 Years Ago: I was 25 and Clayton was just three months old, so was just in the learning stages of being a Mommy and I lived in sunny Florida
5 Years Ago: I was just getting over turning thirty, was one year in to a new loving relationship, and was watching my little Clayton get on the school bus for his first day of Kindergarten
1 Year Ago: I had just graduated from college, finally! And I landed a great job in the field I got my degree in! I also celebrated a five year anniversary with the love of my life.
Yesterday: I worked on my ebay store, did laundry, got groceries, and talked to my not so little Clayton, like I do every Sunday.
Tomorrow: I will go to work, go to the chiropractor (yeah!) and go to Ballpark for Pizza and beer with Boomer and my Mother-in-Law.
5 Bands That I Know The Lyrics to Most of Their Songs: Def Leopard, Indigo Girls, Melissa Etheridge, Melissa Ferrick, Amy Ray
Things I Would Do With $100,000,000: First I would take care of all of the bills that we have and all of our immediate family have. I would buy a house big enough for us and my mother-in-law to live comfortably and not have to see each other if we didn’t want to. Then I would set aside enough money for Clayton to have whatever kind of special eduation he needs now and enough for him and all my nieces and newphews educations. Then I would donate to Research for Cancer, AIDS, Lupus, and MS. I would also use some for the restaurant Boomer and I have always wanted to open. And the rest I would invest for future plans.
5 Locations I’d Like To Run Away To: Ireland, Germany, Bahamas, Alaska, Vermont
5 Habits I Have: I bite my nails, I don’t like to have doors closed, Chew on my lip when nervous, writing anything, I am always thirsty, so I always have something to drink, water, tea, soda, etc.
5 Things I Like Doing: Writing, blogging, making butterflies, playing texas hold ‘em, playing with my Chihuahua’s
5 Things I Would Never Wear: This is a tough one….anything that would fall into the category that my grandmother would pick out. Tube Top, Mini Skirt, Daisy Dukes, Thongs!! That is about all I can say.
5 TV Shows I Like: The L Word, Weeds, Queer as Folk, Extreme Makeover Home Edition, Brat Camp
5 Favorite Tag Teamers: Boomster, Cutter, SweetSue, Zissy, pinkiehil, BeepBeep, Seagrass, CelstialSon Yeah I know I can’t count!!
I’m Out!
The Rowland Ave. Saga Continues...
08.22.05 (11:30 am) [edit]The Growing Patio and the Shrinking Family
For those of you that are just joining the continuing saga from Rowland Avenue, or may have missed certain vital details, I will revisit a few of them for you. I do not want any of you to feel lost or confused, and blame me! My parents were married extremely young, and like most all couples that marry young, did so for the wrong reason-me. Never marry for your kids. They will be better off seeing their parents in two different houses happy, than in one arguing and fighting all the time.
Anyway, most of the time that I can remember growing up on Rowland Ave. with both my Mom and Dad is riddled with fights and arguments. They were loud enough to carry all the way to the attic and sometimes I was not sure who was getting hurt the most. My mom was fairly good at fighting with my Dad, and it wasn’t always fighting back either, sometimes she started the fights. Of course I did not have this knowledge when I was little, but it seems they both liked to go off and find companionship else where, since they were not getting it from one another.
My Dad had a friend named Tony. Tony’s buddy Fred needed some work, so he asked my Dad to let him redo the slab of concrete we had out behind our house. They decided to turn it into a patio, so it needed to be a lot bigger than it was. Fred came out and measured the area and broke up the old slab and removed all the old concrete. This took him about a week or so. During this time my Mom, was off from her job at Hoover’s factory. It was the annual shutdown for factory maintenance and cleaning. It was summer time so we were home as well. He seemed like a nice guy, but he was not my Dad and I really did not like how much attention he was paying my Mom, or how much my Mom giggled at his stupid jokes.
One night there was a lot of screaming going on between my Mom and Dad. The yelling went on for what seemed like hours, and then it just all of a sudden stopped with a loud crashing sound. A few minutes later I heard one set of footsteps coming up the stairs. I closed my eyes and pretended to be sleeping. It was my Mom checking on us and making sure we were tucked in good. After she tucked me in, I peeked at her while she tucked in my sister. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying-a lot. I knew things were not right. That noise I heard was probably my Dad leaving. I cried myself to sleep.
Then next morning we got up and sure enough my Dad had left in the night, but he was not staying gone. It seemed that we were the ones leaving. My mom had been up most of the night packing. Fred was there and he was helping her. We were moving in with him. He had a trailer on the other side of town and we were going there. I did not want to go, but I had to. Someone had to keep an eye on my Mom and my sister. We only got to pack up about a quarter of our toys and stuff because Fred only had a two-bedroom trailer so there wasn’t much room. The rest had to stay in our room. That was ok because we would be back. Maybe my Mom would leave most of her stuff here too. By the afternoon, we had everything that we could fit packed up in our station wagon and Fred’s El Camino. I was hoping my Dad would come home before we left so we could kiss him goodbye, but he must have had to work late. He did not make it in time. We would not see him again until they had the regular visitation worked with the divorce. (We got to see him every other weekend)
By the time we got to Fred’s place and got everything inside it was late. We were all really hungry. There was a place right down the street called the PDQ. Fred went there and got us all fish and chips and sodas. I did not know what to do. We were never allowed to have sodas, and fish? My Mom was going to let us eat fish like that? I looked at her and I opened my mouth to say something about the fish and soda, but she gave me a look and shook her head. I knew by the look on her face that I should just eat what was in front of me. I did not know why but I was afraid of Fred. There was something about him that made me edgy. My sister had a really hard time finishing her dinner that night. She was always at the dinner table a lot longer than everyone else was. This made my Dad mad, but it really seemed to irritate Fred. He wanted her done and in bed. That night was the first night my mom ever made her go to bed without finishing her dinner.
We went off and took our bath and got ready for bed. The room we were sharing had a bunk bed in it. I had the top and my little sister had the bottom. We went to bed and I waited for my little sister to fall asleep like usual. When she did, I got up and went out to the living room looking for my Mom. She wasn’t out there so I walked to the kitchen and then through the back of the trailer. I could not find her in any room. My Mom and Fred went out. I went back to our room and I climbed back up into my bed and decided that I wasn’t going to get up to spend time with my Mom anymore. She had replaced me with someone else and she didn’t need me any more. Except I was going to still watch out for her, because I did not trust her new friend. He didn’t even finish the job that he was supposed to do for my Dad. He took out the old concrete and he didn’t put in the new patio.
I heard my Mom and Fred come home sometime later and go in the room they were sharing. They did a lot of giggling and some loud wrestling noises kind of like my Mom and Dad made in their room. I fell back to sleep, and slept through the rest of the night knowing my Mom was back home safe, for now.
Ever "googled" yourself?
08.17.05 (6:29 pm) [edit]I know how it sounds, but this is not one of "those" posts!! I mean go to www.google.com and put in your first name and the plus sign and then your last name and see what comes up. I did this yesterday and got "about 469,000 results" Of course I have a real life outside of the internet so I did not check all 469,000 hits but none of the ones I did check were me. It was intersting though to see how many other people in the world, share the exact same name, spelling as me!! I "googled" a few friends and people that I am not so friendly with, both alive and dead. I was surprised at what I found! I know you are curious. Go on. Try it. You won't be disappointed.
Melis
Stupid pet trick?
08.17.05 (11:37 am) [edit]I would like to know how one goes about losing a 13 foot, 100 pound Burmese Python? I know what you are thinking. The typical answer would be: "I Don't know Melis, How do you lose a 13 foot, 100 pound Burmese Python?" Well apparently, you just turn your back and it slithers out the door unnoticed!! I don't know that much about snakes, but being that this one is said to be very docile, I would imagine it did not run out the door, I would imagine it it took sometime to get out, being the size it is. THe article in the paper says the owner feeds it once every other week, so does he really know when it went missing? Makes you wonder if anyone pays much attention to it!! Could be half way to Florida by now for all we know!
My pic
08.16.05 (7:19 pm) [edit]http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b163/Boomersan gel/Boston__Live_8_015.jpg" title="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b163/Boomersan gel/Boston__Live_8_015.jpg" target="_blank"http://i19.photobucket.com/al...
In the City of Brotherly Love....
08.16.05 (10:38 am) [edit]I leave work at 11:45 and walk briskly from 21st and Market and head down Market towards 15th street. The sky looks overcast, but I think "hopefully I will make it to the chiropractor and back before it rains." I hit 15th and turn right and head for Walnut. Just as I am turning onto Walnut it starts to rain. I think to myself, "You know, you are a dumb ass, if you would have brought the stupid umbrella, it would not be raining!" Oh well, maybe by the time Dr. Dave is done, it will have stopped.
No such luck. I back to feeling all well adjusted and I walk out of the building and it is still sprinkling. Not really a big deal, unless you have to walk six blocks and you are wearing a dry clean only suit. Still not even the biggest problem. The most annoying thing to walking back to the office, is all the nice (word oozing with sarcasm) people carrying umbrella's as though they are the only individuals on the sidewalk!! I swear I must have gotten poked with an umbrella at least six times. And thank god I wear glasses or I would be picking out a glass eye right about now!!
I think I need to go back to see Dr. Dave again I am feeling a little tense!!
Melis
Another Episode From Rowland Avenue
08.15.05 (11:23 am) [edit]Another episode from Rowland Ave.
So far all the Rowland Avenue posts have occurred between my fifth and sixth year. That puts the time frame at 1975/76 for those of you trying to get into the spirit of the time. As I believe I may or may not have mentioned already, I was a serious thumb sucker. My mom tried everything in the book to get me to stop. She probably added new things to the book, hot sauce, pepper, that nail bitter nail polish that tastes really bitter, even Comet once, but nothing worked. I continued that habit until I was about nine. I also was a pretty serious nail bitter. Well, one day I was picking/biting at my nails, fixated on my thumb nail in particular. I ended up picking it way down past the quick, and was continuing further, when someone said something to me and startled me. I ended up ripping my thumbnail about half way off. Not all the way, but enough that it was very painful and it would get stuck on just about everything. When I showed it to my mom, she get upset with me for doing something that painful to myself, telling me that I was going to get an infection and my thumb would fall off, you know the typical things moms say to try and scare their kids into not trying things a second time. After that she put a Band-Aid on it to try to keep it safe until it grew out to a safe length that it could be cut.
Now back then we had those yucky flame retardant nightgowns that were supposed to keep kids safer in case their house caught fire in the middle of the night. It was a good thing they were flame retardant since they created enough static electricity to cause the child to spontaneously combust!! Every night after I took my bath my Band-Aid would fall off my thumb and I would get nail stuck in my stupid nightgown. I would have to trudge downstairs all twisted up and have my mom or dad get it loose and untangle me. It was ok when my mom would do it because she did it easy and made sure not to hurt me. When my dad had to do it, he would huff and complain and threaten to just rip it off and be done with it. He was always too rough and I would always go away and cry because it hurt. He probably hurt my feelings more than my thumb. One night, after my bath I trudged down stairs stuck again. I went into the dining room and asked my mom to help me. She was trying to get my little sister to finish up her dinner, so she sent me to get my dad to do it. He was in the living room reading his newspaper. I walked in and told him I was stuck again. He told me he was busy to go ask my mom to do it. I told him she had already told me to come to him. He got real mad and flung his newspaper to the side and snatch at me to bring me closer to him. He mumbled about how ridiculous it was that I could not get my pajamas on by my self and all he wanted to do was read his newspaper in peace and quiet. With that he grabbed my nightgown with one hand on either side and gave one swift tug and my nightgown was down wear it belonged. I let out a whimper and grabbed my thumb and ran to my mom. She asked me what was the matter and all I did was hold up my hand. She could see the blood oozing out from where my hand was squeezing my thumb. She quickly carried me into the kitchen and hoisted me onto the kitchen counter. She placed my hand under the kitchen faucet and turned on the cold tap as cold as it would get. As the water washed away the blood she could see that the nail was completely gone, my father had been so annoyed that he actions had caused my nail to be forced from the bed when he yanked at my gown. Every time she pulled my thumb form under the water the red life oozed out again. It took about two hours of pressure to get the bleeding to stop that night. My mom held me in her arms in the breakfast nook until I finally fell asleep. The next day, I did not have to go to school because I had to go see Dr. Graham, my pediatrician. He put one of those finger splints on my thumb and showed me how to take care of it. You would think that would have broken me of the thumb sucking habit because I had to wear it for a month. Nope. I just switched to the other thumb while I was waiting for my favorite thumb to heal. My mom told me I should not be mad at my dad. She said some times people do things when they get upset and sometimes people get hurt. But she said he did not mean to hurt me, and I might only have him some day, so I should always love him. He never said he was sorry. I remember thinking even when people do things by accident, they are supposed to say they are sorry. He didn’t. Well, like Mom said he is my Dad, and I should always love him.
Just when I think.....
08.12.05 (5:04 pm) [edit]Lately I have felt like I have been starting to feel better, emotionally. While I still miss my son tremendously I feel like maybe I or more correctly we have done the right thing by sending him to live with his Grandparents. He seems to be happier, he seems to be less aggressive, and he seems to be handling his disease a lot better. The fact that he has so many more family members there than just the two of us, seems to be good for him. His teacher has called and says so far he is doing well. I am, we are happy for him, we are happy he is beginning to do better.
But the something happens and I am right back in the thick of the emotional tornado again. Tonight, I was taking out the trash. I know, that sounds really stupid. But, I was gathering up the trash and remembering how we used to have to remind him to replace the bags after he emptied the cans every week and I smiled. Then I was hauling the cans to the street and I burst into tears. I came back into the house and I sat in the middle of the living room floor and I realized that I would gladly remind him of how to do his chores over and over again, if he was just here. And then I had to get up because my little
More from Rowland Ave.
08.11.05 (1:16 pm) [edit]I remember walking to school from our house on Rowland Ave. The road had a jog in it. You walked out the front door and down the porch steps; and if no one was watching (and you weren’t wearing a stupid old dress) you climbed up on the handrail that stretched the length of the steep downhill driveway and pretended this was the only way to get across the river full of alligators. (What an imagination I used to have!) You didn’t want to get caught by my Dad doing this though. I would rather be eaten by the alligators than have private time with him and his belt. Anyway, at the end of the driveway you turned left and headed down the street toward the jog in the road. There was a house that sat right smack in front of the jog in the road and it had a guardrail up in front of it. One night someone, forgot to turn their car and follow that jog and ended up plowing their car into the living room of the house and killing the father that lived there with his wife and three kids. The adults all whispered that the driver had had too much to drink. I remember wondering why someone would not be able to drive right if they drank too much. Of course I was only five or six years old so I had no idea they meant alcohol.
Anyway, back to my walk to school. When you get to the jog a crossing guard crosses you to the other side of the street and you continue your journey to Belle Stone Elementary. Mostly the walk was past houses, except for the Italian sausage store. That place smelled terrible in the morning and great in the afternoon. Another one of those things I didn’t figure out until later in life. I thought it was because all the sausage sat all alone all night and there was probably no electricity when no one was there. Turns out it was a raw vs. cooked thing-who knew! My walk to school was only really two and a half blocks, but I was a wondering in mind, spirit and body, so my mom was always getting calls about my tardiness. I was probably the only first grader with a watch that new how to tell time, and would walk in the class almost everyday and look at the teacher and say "I am only five minutes late today, that’s better than yesterday’s fifteen!"
One year we had a blizzard, it was ’75 or ’76 because those are the only two tears we lived in that house as a whole family unit. It took them several days to get everything plowed so we could get around and get back to school. I got to school on time for the first time ever that first day back. The snow was piled so high everywhere, that there was nothing for me to look at, in fact once I was on the side walk you could not see me, and I could not see anything on either side of me except snow!
In the summer we used to cut through this one old guys yard and steal rhubarb out of his garden. I used to love eating that stuff raw right out of the ground. Of course I would always over do it and end up with a belly ache.
My mom was always trying to do things to make me more independent, not that I had any clingy or dependency issues, I just think she was trying to prepare my for life. She would do things like have me sit in the front seat of the car and watch her drive to my grandmother’s house (Omie) So I would know how to get there from our house if I ever needed to. She did this several times and then, she made me walk it. The first time I did it I was really scared, but I didn’t want her to know. I wanted my mom to be proud of me and I wanted her to be able to depend on me. Remember I was still on five or six years old at the time. She followed me the whole way in the car, but I did not know she was following me. She wasn’t going to let anything happen to me, but she wanted me to think I was doing it all by myself. And I did. I got to Omie’s house and Omie was on her porch waiting for me. She had the McDonald’s hamburgers and small fries, one for everyone because Omie was rich, or so I thought when I was little. I was very proud of myself that day. Little did I know that was only the beginning of my growing up fast. You could say it was the beginning of the end of my childhood and the start of my adulthood at such a young age. More to come.
The house on Rowland Ave.
08.10.05 (12:17 pm) [edit]When my father finally saved enough to buy us a house of our own it was on Rowland Ave. We still lived in Canton, just in a little bit better of a neighborhood. Just on the cusp of a little better, I should say. In, fact, one year I was going to Belle Stone Elementary which apparently was the better of the elementary schools, and the next year due to he district reorganization (something I think had to do with desegration) we had to go to Gibbs. While I did not have any problems going there, my parents did not like it at all and for the next school year they listed my address as my Grandmother’s address so I could go back to Belle Stone. The house was really nice; I liked it a lot. It was four stories including the basement and attic. Even though I have not been inside the house for about 30 years and I can still remember every room and every detail of the house. The front porch was the full length of the front of the house. The siding was like brown wooden shingles and the trim around the windows, white. The house sat atop a huge steep hill, but the property was only a city lot size so the top of the hill went out about two feet from the porch and then drop almost straight down to the sidewalk. The back yard was flatter and a little larger as it backed up to an alley way. When you walked through the front door, you stepped into the living room. It was decorated with the ’70 green shag carpet and mustard yellow velvet curtains. Our couch was that velvety material two in the same mustard yellow as the curtains. The wall paper that was on all of the first floor was green or yellow or red with black velvet designs on it. Apparently in was in style back then. The dinning room was off to the left of the living room. We had a walnut dining table and matching hutch and those were the only two things that were ever in that room, except my sister, who seemed to be sitting at the table trying to finish her dinner! From both the living room and the dining room you could access the kitchen, kind of like a big circle. The kitchen had the standard issued 70’s green appliances and the yellow gingham curtains. We also had a kitchenette.(That’s what my Mom called it) It was where we usually ate when my dad was working late, which was most of the time. From the kitchen you could take the staircase up to the second floor, or down one landing to the back door out to the back yard, or down further to the creepy basement. I will take you up because I never liked going in the basement!
At the top of the stairs directly to your right was the bathroom. I remember where the tub and toilet and sink and stuff was placed but as far as specific details about the bathroom, I do not have them. For some reason they are blocked from my memory. On this floor there were three bedrooms, and one of the was the master bedroom that was used by my parents. I am really not sure what the other two rooms were used for, because my sister and I shared the attic as our room. Sometimes it was hot up there, but my dad had refinished real nice and painted all the walls bright yellow, so it was pretty. We had a lot of room up there. If I wanted to play with my little sister I could, and if I wanted to go off and play by myself there was plenty of room for that. I had a lot of tomboy toys that I did not her touching and there were a lot of cubby holes to hid them in. I used to play barbies with my sister sometimes, but only if she let me be ken, because he did not have to walk around in those high heeled shoes and he didn’t have to cook!!
I remember at bedtime my mom used to make me go to bed with my sister and pretend to be sleeping just until she fell asleep because she would not go to sleep alone. Then I was allowed to sneak down stairs and my mom would have a bowl of chicken-n-dumplins waiting for me. It was in one of those ceramic bowls with the handle on the side. It made me feel very warm and special. It still does when I think back to it. There are a lot of memories from the house on Rowland……
Friendship and me
08.09.05 (1:40 pm) [edit]"A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out." -Walter Winchell
This is the kind of friend I have always tried to be. I have never been a fair weather friend, although I have had quite a few of them myself. A lot of the people that I thought were true friends ended up not being so. When I finally decided to become true to myself, and follow my heart and be the me that I knew deep down that I was, that is when most of my "true" friends started to become more and more distant. The type of friend I am though, if any one of them were to call me up right now and need me, I would be there for them. Because that is what friendship is about to me. Being there no matter what.
Melis
Homophobia and you
08.08.05 (12:18 pm) [edit](This is a repost with the permission of Cutter)
I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.
I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.
I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.
We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.
I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.
I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me.
I am one of the lucky ones, I guess. I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks, and in another year I will probably be able to walk again.
I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.
We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.
I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.
I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.
I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.
I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.
I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.
I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.
I am the man who died when the paramedics stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.
I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I didn’t have to always deal with society hating me.
I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.
I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.
Re-post this if you believe homophobia is wrong.
The world will be a very different place.
08.08.05 (2:52 am) [edit]Mr. Peter Jennings, May you rest in peace. You have brought the world into my living room in a way that I could both handle and comprehend. Sometimes we were on differnt sides of the issues, but you always handled every issue with the dignity and respect that it deserved. My hat is off to you for your hard fought battle, and your gracious passing. You will be greatly missed be many. :(
Melis
The evils of filet-o-fish
08.07.05 (1:28 pm) [edit]When we were young my Mother did not work a regular job. When my mom did work on occasion, it was at the bowling alley bar or some other local bar as a waitress for extra money for stuff that we normally couldn’t afford. Things we wouldn’t need on a regular basis, but did need. You know, school clothes, Christmas presents, stuff like that. My dad was an auto mechanic so he was our bread winner, but we were by no means well off. We lived in many different places before my dad finally bought us our first house. I do not recall ever going out to dinner with my Mom and Dad and sister, ever. That was a luxury we just could not afford I guess. In the summer time we had a little jar that she keep a little of this money in so we could get a little treat from the ice cream man. One thing that we did get as a treat on occasion was McDonalds. Usually my mom would get us a couple of hamburgers and a small fry to share. If we had enough extra money, he would let me get a fish sandwich that was my favorite. There was only one drawback. My mom had this thing about fish and fish bones. She had an irrational phobia that someone would choke on a fish bone while eating a McDonald’s fish sandwich. So, when she let me have one I couldn’t eat it like a sandwich. She would cut it up in little pieces and I had to eat it with a fork. The whole time she would say “make sure you are chewing it up really good, so you don’t choke on a bone!” So I was an adult before I finally got to eat a fish sandwich whole. It took me fifteen plus years to realize filet-o-fish was not all that great, but I still go get one every once in a while just for the flood of memories it brings back. More to come….
Melis
Wedding Crashers update
08.06.05 (7:23 pm) [edit]Well we went to the movie. I normally end up falling asleep during movies at moie theaters. It does not matter how good or bad the movie is, but the worse it is the quicker I will fall asleep. This movie was the funniest movie I have seen in a long time. If you are thinking of going to the movies, I give this one a thumbs up. There was a lot of laughter in this movie theater!!
Melis
Wedding Crashers
08.06.05 (11:54 am) [edit]We are thinking about going to see this movie tonight. Anyone seen it? If so, What did you think? Any and all comments welcome. If it stinks I do not want to waste my time.
Melis
TGIF
08.05.05 (6:27 pm) [edit]Well I was going to write some long continuation of my life's story tonight. I have had an extremely long week though, so I have decided to wait a day or so. I am tired and I would rather just sit and vegitate in front of the boob tube. Well, there are other things I would rather be doing, but Boomer is not home right now. Boomer is out being the best chef in the world, so I must entertain myself. So, I am going to pop open another beer and sit down and catch the end of the Phillies game. Maybe if I watch, they will actually win!! Good night Irene!
Melis
Just a small clarification
08.05.05 (11:32 am) [edit]I just wanted to make a small clarification for all of you that read my blog on a regular basis. I am BoomersAngel. There is also a Boomster. I happen to be Boomster's other half. Both of us will argue that the other one is the better half, but that is not really the point. :) When You are all commenting with me a lot of times for sake of shorter typing you will call me Boomer. That is quite confusing for me, since that is what I call Boomster. My friends, all call me Melis, and I will start sigining all my blog postings that way to make it easier for everyone. Especially those of you that have us both on your list of friends!! Hope this helps you, I know it does me!!
Melis
In the begining...
08.04.05 (5:41 pm) [edit]I could fill page after page with other people’s recollections of the early years, but then this wouldn’t be my story would it? I am going to give you what I do have. It may seem like maybe I wasn’t there because there is some much missing from time to time. Sometimes it will seem like I am standing outside a window on the house of my life looking in watching it all happen to others. Other times it will seem as though I am an active participant actually living life as I explain it to you. All of the perspectives are true and accurate. I have experienced and continue to experience my life in each of these ways. Good or Bad? Both I guess. But it is real and it is my life, and it is the only one that I have, so I must live it to the best of my ability, because the other alternative, well it is just not an option for me. And so begins………My Life
Wow the early years! I will probably have to revisit this section several times before I have all the information that I need to complete it, since quite a few of the key players in my life are no longer on the field, if you know what I mean. They have moved on to the field of dreams. But I digress; Jim falls head over heels for a red headed high school sweetheart named Sue sometime in the late sixties. As teenagers will do, even back in the “old” days they got in a bit of trouble and ended up in the chapel saying “I do” way before either of them had a clue what “I do” meant. If I have my timing right the blessed event was in September of 1969 and was followed shortly thereafter by another blessed event. The birth of the newlywed’s first born. That would be me. I was born on June 28, 1970 at 12:28 AM. I weighed around 6 pounds and was like 19 or 20 inches, you know just normal. I didn’t know it then, since I didn’t know much except I should keep sucking in and out for the vital things like air and food, but my daddy was less than pleased with the fire engine red fuzz that covered my head Turns out he liked my mom, but not because of her red hair particularly. I would imagine that they took me home from the hospital (because I grew up.) Three years later, another surprise came along. This one was T.R. and she had white fuzz all over her head, which made my Dad a lot happier. I didn’t really like her. She was almost born on my birthday, she came on July 2, and I thought she looked like the ugly duckling from one of my story books. For about six months my mom kept the little hat on her head that the hospital sent her home in. Her hair was turning red and she didn’t want my dad to see it. I didn’t care. I figured if he saw it then he could hate us equally. We lived in Canton, Ohio in several different apartments, duplexes, rental houses, and the like. One I can remember in particular was on
As the old lady hit her bottom step, I turned tail and headed for our porch. As I reached for our doorknob, I looked back and the old lady was still following me. I turned the knob and full force threw my weight into the door-it wouldn’t budge. It was locked! I forgot I was being babysat upstairs at my Aunt and Uncle’s. I turned around and headed for the TV antennae. You know the kind with triangular rungs that go from the ground all the way to the roof and then some. Well ours was rusty and falling apart, but I had done this a million times, just not in such a hurry. Well after about three quick steps up, I thought I was home free, that is until my left foot slide inside the antennae and in a split second I slammed down onto my pubic bone, much like what happens when you are riding a boys bicycle and stop too suddenly, and the I fell backward whacking my back against the outer portion of the antennae. My legs entangled somewhere in the middle. While I was hanging there upside down and in pain trying to figure out how I was going to get down, and get in the least amount of trouble possible. I felt something trickle from my private area and out onto my stomach and up my chest heading for my face. I lifted my shirt to see what it was and let out this blood curdling screech that might have actually been capable of stopping my own bleeding if I had been able to stay still long enough. Well that scream was loud enough to get all the people supposed to be keeping me outta trouble up and out there, and it got the old lady to turn heel and concede for the time being. I knew it was not the end of it with her though. It seems I managed to catch myself just the wrong way and got a pretty deep gash. My Aunt and Uncle didn’t seem to know what they should do, they held my legs together with a towel on the cut, and called my Dad. He came home, took a quick look under the towel, carried me inside, went to the bathroom, laid me in the tub, and poured Mercurochrome on it. I cried out that it hurt and he patted me on the head said my Aunt would be in to help me feel better and went back to work. That was just the beginning of the hurt that I would endure at his hands. It was always disguised as care. Isn’t that always the way it is? I am guessing my Mom was working this day as well, because I do not recall where she was, but there will be a lot of that…..stay tune for part two….
Another funny.....
08.04.05 (6:14 am) [edit]This was forwarded to me by a friend and I thought it worth a good laugh. It is for all the smart women and the men who love us.
:P
In the hospital the relatives gathered in the waiting room, where their family member lay gravely ill.
Finally, the doctor came in looking tired and somber.
"I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news," he said as he surveyed the worried faces.
"The only hope left for your loved one at this time is a brain transplant.
It's an experimental procedure, very risky but it is the only hope.
Insurance will cover the procedure, but you will have to pay for the brain yourselves."
The family members sat silent as they absorbed the news. After a great length of time, someone asked, "Well, how much does a brain cost?"
The doctor quickly responded, "$5,000 for a male brain, and $200 for a female brain."
The moment turned awkward. Men in the room tried not to smile, avoiding eye contact with the women, but some actually smirked.
A man unable to control his curiosity, blurted out the question everyone wanted to ask,
"Why is the male brain so much more?"
The doctor smiled at the childish innocence and explained to the entire group, "It's just standard pricing procedure. We have to mark down the price of the female brains, because they've actually been used."
On a lighter note....
08.03.05 (12:16 pm) [edit]I thought I would share some dry witty humor with you all. These were passed on to me by someone I work with and I enjoyed them all.
I am sure you have seen these before, but I had and still laughed at them. Of course, work is not the only place where you can use these gems. Enjoy!
Things Stressed Women Say at Work
1. Okay, okay! I take it back. Unscrew you.
2. You say I'm a bitch like it's a bad thing.
3. Well this day was a total waste of make up
4. Well, aren't we a damn ray of sunshine?
5. Don't bother me, I'm living happily ever after.
6. Do I look like a people person?
7. This isn't an office. It's hell with fluorescent lighting.
8. I started out with nothing and I still have most of it left.
9. Therapy is expensive. Popping bubble wrap is cheap. You choose.
10. Why don't you try practicing random acts of intelligence and senseless acts of self-control?
11. I'm not crazy. I've been in a very bad mood for 30 years.
12. Sarcasm is just one more service I offer.
13. Do they ever shut up on your planet?
14. I'm not your type. I'm not inflatable.
15. Stress is what you have when you wake up screaming and you realize you haven't gone to sleep yet.
16. Back off!! You're standing in my aura.
17. Don't worry, I forgot your name too.
18. I work 45 hours a week to be this poor.
19. Not all men are annoying. Some are dead.
20. Wait...I'm trying to imagine you with a personality.
21. Chaos, panic and disorder...my work here is done.
22. Ambivalent? We ll, yes and no.
23. You look like shit. Is that the style now?
24. Earth is full. Go home.
25. Aw, did I step on your poor little itty bitty ego?
26. I'm not tense, just terribly, terribly alert.
27. A hard-on doesn't count as personal growth.
28. You are depriving some village of an idiot.
29. If assholes could fly, this place would be an airport.
30. Look in my eyes...do you see one ounce of gives-a-shit?
I hope you have enjoyed this commercial break from my depressed mood!!! I know I have :)
