Enough already

I am getting mail from people trying to tell me how to get action from AOL.

You know, I like AOL.  I just don't like the ads.

I can't imagine moving to any other server.  The customer service has been OUTSTANDING; a model for other companies.

I left primarily in support of my friends.  I understand the nature of advertising.  Almost everything you see when you open AOL is advertising something, football, movies, recipes, ways of living, cars...

I'd like to come back here.  That's the honest truth.

I also do not CARE if they delete my journal.  Really.  If you have ever read it, you know that I believe in the transient nature of things.

I'm leaving the trail of my life inside the people who have read and been affected by me.  The physical evidence of all people eventually fades.  Think of all of the people throughout history.  Very few names have stayed on our tongues.  Maybe this journal is as close as I ever get to 15 minutes of fame.  Still if we passed in the street, you wouldn't know me... and I am SO okay with that. I am content to be unimportant to the masses.

I have appreciated AOL for the Freedom of Speech it has afforded me.  They have never scolded or censored me.  I got some strange TOS (Terms of Service) message once, but I still have no idea what it was about.

I have made a few suggestions about how to get noticed in our complaint.  Hopefully, they weren't too mean.  I don't think we should resort to viciousness.  I've said it before.  I'd like to be able to come back... with my friends.

I would stand with my friends in a legal complaint.  I would sign my name to a petition... in fact, I'm pretty sure I did so already.

It behooves AOL to give us an ear.  In these days of cold business machines, listening to your customers is still an effective way to promote yourself and your good will. 

I guess I need to welcome suggestions but I really just want a peaceful resolution, no matter what the outcome.

 

My blog is worth $4,516.32.
How much is your blog worth?

Check this out

http://journals.aol.com/journalseditor/magicsmoke/

 

If we can choose not to receive these, then why not allow us to block ads on our journals?

"America Online extends a variety of marketing offers for valuable merchandise that are specially selected for our members.  We've created this area to let you know more about these marketing offers, and to provide you with the option of not receiving such offers, if this is your preference.

Our special relationships with other companies often allow us to offer these products to you at significant discounts. 

Some examples of the types of products include:
  • The newest and fastest modems
  • Digital cameras
  • Scanners
  • Computer software
  • Electronics and more

If you would prefer, you can choose not to receive these marketing offers by telephone, e-mail, U.S. mail, or pop-up screens. To do so, just click on the appropriate button to the right, then follow the instructions provided.  You may choose not to have your name and address included on the mailing lists we provide to other companies, as well as other AOL companies, by clicking on the button labeled "U.S. Mail from Other Organizations".  Please note that from time to time AOL may still contact you to deliver important information about AOL features and services or your account."

AND

"Mail Preference Service

For many people, advertising mail is informative and provides value, convenience and fun.  However, direct marketing companies recognize that some people do not like to receive advertising mail.

If you want to reduce the amount of national advertising mail you receive at home, send your name and address to the Direct Marketing Association's Mail Preference Service (MPS):

DMA Mail Preference Service
P.O. Box 643
Carmel, NY 10512

After a few months, the MPS will reduce the amount of advertising mail you receive.  You will continue to receive mail from companies with which you do business.

Names remain part of the MPS for five years.  After five years, you will need to register with the MPS again.

If you continue to receive unwanted mail after a few months, the Direct Marketing Association suggests that you write directly to the mailer to request that your name be removed from the mailer's list.

Telephone Preference Service

If you want to reduce the amount of national advertising calls you receive at home, send your name, address, area code and telephone number to the Direct Marketing Association's Telephone Preference Service (TPS):

DMA Telephone Preference Service
P.O. Box 1559
Carmel, NY 10512

After a few months, the TPS will reduce the amount of advertising calls you receive from national marketers such as credit card and magazine subscription companies.  Some local organizations and charities may not participate.

Names remain part of the TPS for five years.  After five years, you will need to register with the TPS again.

If you continue to receive unwanted phone calls after a few months, the Direct Marketing Association suggests that you request your name be removed from a company's list when they call."

These two items are from Marketing Preferences in "Privacy and Marketing Settings" within the "Settings" here on AOL.

I'm thinking... I'm thinking...

Ooo, that hurts.

 

 

6540

 

I like this about AOL.  Easy to stick a picture here.

It worked.  Didn't work in Blogger.  (sigh)

 

By the way

Undisputed King of AOL Journalers John Scalzi has links and things regarding the ad banner controversy.

http://journals.aol.com/johnmscalzi/bytheway/

hey folks, take it easy on me, please

My life has been turned sideways since Wilma.  Don't hussle me out of AOL just yet.  I neither have great amounts of leisure time nor of cash to go whippin' around setting myself up with something that doesn't work as well as AOL dial-up.

I concur with my friends and fellow journalers that the ads are unfair, but I'm just getting my life back.  Please... give me a "moment."

The truth of the matter is in your suggestion that it only hurts when we cancel our subscriptions but it is also true that we are replaceable.  In the overall scheme, it just doesn't matter what we do unless we really bring AOL to widespread public notice.

Has anyone called The Washington Post or The New York Times?  The Week?  The Daily Show?

Has anyone whose blog has made headlines called the reporter who wrote their story?

Huh?

You wanna be loud about your protests?  Say it with publicity as well as the withdrawal of subscription funds.

I didn't want to leave AOL, but their failure to enable anyone who wants to leave a comment to do so has been my greatest disappointment, not the placement of ads which may actually serve to keep our costs down over time. 

I am not advocating using what should be personal space to advertise for corporate monsters like Kodak and Bank of America, but you best believe I'd allow it if I could get extra money for food and shelter from it.

I believe we should be allowed to choose and should be given some financial consideration if we allow ads. 

I have been helped much more than hindered by the online help at AOL and I am not in a rush to desert AOL completely.

I am however in complete sympathy with my friends who take great offense at the unsolicited advertising in their journals and that is why I moved my journal to Blogger.  I've had another journal there for quite a while but preferred the camaradery and ease of AOL.

 

More later.  Gotta get back to work....

Jean

 

6520

Solidarity

http://getithereat.blogspot.com/

 

Alas.

The Mad Secretary has left AOL journals in protest of the ad banners on our journals.

Find her at: http://saveasecretaryfrominsanity.blogspot.com/

Hang on

I need to update my journal links for new friends...  I'll get a round tuit.

 I am moving home regardless of the awful water.  I have two offers in my neck o' the woods.  One for shower privileges, the other to stay... but I want my kitty with me.  Her company at lunchtime and the ability to journal/compute at-will are what I have missed.  I will not miss the 11-mile trek that takes half an hour behind slow people and service trucks and vans and folks just toodling down the two-lane highway who seem to have all day... or burning up 132-plus miles of gas-o-line each week.

Those of you who see me on-line will be seeing me more.  Unless the water is unbearable.  This girl 'sa camper

 

 

Never mind removing 'em, I want MONEY!

As for these ad headers, if you're gonna put them on my journal then give me a kickback.  I got bills to pay!

This space reserved.

luscious
turquoise
exotic
digital camera
gold
avocado
lush
plantains
Key West
translucent
contemplative
lavender
squishy
bubbles
painter
hushed
silvery
Paris
gypsy
brushes
mossy green
goddess
vacuum
diaphanous
splashy
spiritual
moonlight
exuberant
London
wet
colorful
meditate
joyful
dusk
artistic
mirror ball
butterflies
perfume
delightful
crows
heart
icon
cerulean blue
sparkling
nautilus
wandering feet
rocks
fuchsia
trees
sunshine
dream traveler
roast beef
ocean
spirited
delightful
exorbitant
jewels
journal
hilarious
foreign currency
sunflowers
cicadas
chocolate
inflection
glittering
sexy new phone
yellow
spattered
witty
shells
confetti
pastel
travel
glorious
handmade
flowing
chortle
lady bug

It's all about: Judi, Judi, Judi!

full of people

That's the gift of my 40th birthday.  I haven't been truly alone all weekend. 

I went to Cristy's Friday night, Saturday after work I picked up Joey and went to Dad's where my sister and brother-in-law were waiting.

We sat down to a lovely dinner and had a nice conversation.

I'm letting Joey get to know me better the hard way.  She doesn't know about my journal... yet.  Joey is a chatty surrogate for my Em, who I hope to see this weekend.  It's nice to have a buddy, but I miss being wrapped in Em's embrace. 

Heck... I miss being held, touched... I might not even be so picky who's doing it.

I took Joey home and I noticed my friend Carlos in the laundry room behind her apartment.  Instead of going to see him, I ran around to Joey's and called her out to meet him, then ran back around with her.

I love Carlos.  He is so sweet.  He was a journalist in Columbia.  Here he teaches Spanish to International Baccalaureate students and also works for a metropolitan newspaper.

He was relating his difficulties finding love, telling us about going to Miami and Orlando.  Joey told him to stop. I don't know if he really listened.

Last year at the PrideFest in Palm Beach County, he told my friend Lisa and I that he wished he was a lesbian.  Men aren't interested in settling down.  And he is a cute little package but fellows in this area just aren't interested in him.

Poor Carlos.  He should have been a woman. He's so sweet. 

This morning I got a note from a sweet friend with a simple but wonderful birthday message.  At my age, aside from clothes and useful gifts, just being reminded that I am loved is the greatest gift there is.

And I said Hi via IM to Judi Heartsong before she jetted off on her morning mission.  You know,  Judi...  the way you build our suspense... it's just wicked!

"What is she up to now?"

Well, I didn't ask but you know she's aflutter. 

 

I can't help thinking that it was just a few days from today this time last year that I got dumped.  Though it doesn't hurt anymore and the only time I remember her is when I realize I'm not thinking about her, I can't help remembering the events of the day and the feelings I had.

I have been grateful to know she is smiling now.  That really helped me relax.  It was what I needed because her face was so long and tragic the last time I saw it.  It broke my heart... and then she called and broke my heart.  My legs became lead and I would have given anything to have a bench right there where I stood (in a public place) when she told me over the phone that she needed to end our relationship.

Now I'm glad.  I'm naive.  I am glad that she turned me loose.  She cared about me, but she didn't love me.  She had so much going on.  I would have stood by her all the way.  That's okay. It taught me some things and helped me realize some truths in my life.

I wish we were talking today.  I would thank her for my freedom. 

Okay, enough from my stream of consciousness this morning.  I think I'm going back to sleep....

Connecting

There is a married couple that comes to the library often. They are "high-functioning developmentally-disabled" people. For those who don't comprehend PC speak(politically correct jargon), they are "mildly retarded."

The woman always takes out movies about "retarded" people, autistic people, "differently-abled" children. She does this so much that her husband once came alone, begging us to take away her library privilege. She was driving him crazy with her movies. He was fighting tears as I told him that I was not able to cancel the card.

I know how she feels. Less so now than when I was young, but I felt so alone as a young gay in a rural environment, in a large school and among my peers and family. I needed something to show me that I was not alone. I needed to know what to do and words to put with my feelings.

If you are anything other than a generic "white bread" American, and it is my contention that everybody is a part of some other group, then you have a need to find belonging. Trekkies. Bowlers. Fishermen. Nudists. Wine drinkers. Whatever!

That woman is looking for a connection. She gets little bursts of the feelings that she craves when the characters in her movies are happy and triumphant. She seeks to understand herself through them. She looks for what helps them succeed.

I know this because I used to do little else but seek solace from my isolation. More than anything, I wanted to belong and be loved for my true self. I found books about lesbians in catalogs. I got the Ladyslipper Music catalog (but I couldn't afford music.) When we got cable, I would try to watch anything that came along that even hinted of the Sapphic.

Things have changed a lot. When I told my Dad that I was not coming home until late on Tuesday, he sat upright and turned to me excitedly. "You're going out?!" he was smiling. "You should have a life!"

In the days when I stayed home with Mom, we never spoke of my sexuality, preference, needs. Now... my girlfriends come over to meet the family and are welcomed.   My father wants to see me dating and having love in my life.

When I first told him I was gay at 19, he said he'd be disappointed.  Now he knows it wasn't a phase.

Isn't it funny how things turn out? Nothing like what I expected when I was young. I thought I'd marry and make babies and be fulfilled as this wonderful wife. Hmph.

Turns out that I am messy and don't cook (although I can and I have and no one has died from my cooking), I'm not heterosexual, have only felt slight pangs of regret for not breeding and I need a man like I need a sucking chest wound.

The woman sits at the card catalog computer and searches and searches for something, anything. She has two interests.  Animals and "special" people. When she doesn't find something new, she puts a hold on something old and takes it out again.

The library is full of people looking to be part of something.  I guess you could say the world is. 

"Sweet dreams are made of this.

Who am I to disagree?

Travel the world and the seven seas.

Everybody's looking for something." -- Eurythmics

finding journal moments

Thank you, mad secretary.  Your encouragement means a great deal.  I was thinking today, when I had time to think about something, about what the journal means to me.

I am anxious to get back to my own living space... not just because it is cleaner and less cluttered now but because it affords me the convenience of journaling whenever I bloody well want to and I don't have to steal the time at work to religiously read Judi's almost daily installment.

It's hard to be clear about what you mean to say when you are trying to type around 4 in the morning because that's when you are the least likely to interfere with everyone else's needs.  I've lost at least two and probably more entries that I was working on because I fell back asleep.

At least when I fall asleep with the computer on at my house, it doesn't matter because it only affects me.

It's close to 11 now and Dad is on his computer and watching TV in the office, my step-mom is in the Florida room watching TV, my step-brother is in his room next door and the bass of his stereo is pounding, about as lightly as it can, through the wall.

Back at my house, a single fan is pushing air from east to west and the light timer has clicked off.  It's quiet, unless a train is humming through town.  And there are more stars visible overhead.

The night after Hurricane Wilma passed, the city sky was clear and bright from sun bounced off of stars.  I was glad that the dogs stirred to be let outside in the early hours.  I would have missed the sight.

I am anxious to go home.  I want my cat to have the freedom of the whole house and the luxury of her sunny spot by one of the front windows.

The garbage men come today.  I am waiting to see how much they take away.

I hope someone comes and puts in my water system soon.  I've been here at Dad's quite a while. No one seems to mind... it's not like I'm here most of the time.  And they seem to be enjoying having my cat playing upstairs during the day.  She likes to visit my step-brother when he's on his computer and hops onto the sink when my Dad is in his bathroom.

Chances are good that my step-mom lets her onto the screened balcony as well.

But I need to go "home."  Well, heck, I'm paying full rent....

6391/2

moving on or staying still

So I schlepped to the interview. I wasn't nervous... until I sat down before the interviewers.

When questioned I answered off the top of my head.  I spoke fast.  I sometimes stopped myself I was talking so much and asked them... "What was the question?"

Gawd, I dunno.  I want this job.  If I don't get it, I will be no worse off but I won't be any better off and I will dispair.  I will have a renewed interest in trying to find a life again.

My life is good but it can be better.  I need benefits and I sure as hell am not going to get them staying in one place.  I also have a hope of continuing my education but I have put it on hold for so long that it seems like a distant and fading dream.

All I can do know is pray and quite literally, I have been praying.

My hope is that I am the last person they interviewed.  The last on stage is always thought to be the best.

I don't know if I sold myself enough.  The final question was why are you the best person for the job.  Oi.  I gave them my virtues but I should have said more.  I'm older and more experienced than younger people who are applying.  I'm sharper and more energetic than older people who are applying.

I certainly believe that I have what they need but what if I'm not what they envision.   What if I didn't smile enough or look them in the eyes often enough.

I imagine myself to be suffering now. If I miss this, I really should reduce my hours and use the time to search for work elsewhere.

I need to be vital to my workplace and I am at the branch library.  I perform functions you'd never expect.  I WD-40 the bookdrop lock mechanism, I remove creatures from the premises interior,  I boost morale, I am kick-ass at customer service, not hiring me would be... regrettable.

Still, I cannot hold me breathe but I need change.  I need to be human and get time off and paid vacation and all the lovely human things that we all deserve.

I can't stand be adulated but not compensated fairly much longer.

Breaking the cycle of BIBLIOPHILIA

It isn't easy and most people who love and collect books and practically worship them will be shocked, dismayed and disgusted with me.  Verily, I might find myself shunned. 

Yesterday, I threw away books.  Some of them were starting to smell.  Some had pages that were starting to brown.  Some of them were perfectly good "gently used" books that are fairly current.

I know there are those of you with shelves and shelves of musty volumes and those with dustless tomes.  My own father has a collection of thousands of books that date back to the 1920s.  There browning pages sit on shelves my step-mother had built into the garage when he refused to let them go.  He thinks he'll read them again. 

As if. 

He's 75 and he still works full time.  It's much more likely that he will drop dead at his computer.

When he dies, we'll get a dumpster.  Some of the volumes are rare, it's true.  But the rarest book in poor condition really isn't good to anyone.

As long as libraries have books, as long as there are libraries, as long as I have a library card, there's no reason to keep 90 percent of the books that I own.  I do have nature books for reference.  But it's even time to buy a new dictionary.  They've come up with new words since I was in college, "fer shizzle."

I know you're out there.  I can hear you sniffling from the book dust.  (It's the excretia of the mites that love book dust that makes your sinuses tickle.) 

I know it's hard.  You were taught reverence for the written word.  You were taught to handle books with honor. That's a good thing.

Lugging tons of them with you through your life, letting them sit idle, being selfish with them... that's not.

I looked at the pile on my porch.  Worth less than $50 in a library book sale.  Our library is overburdened with donated books and other items.  There is no room left.  Every available space is full.

I did something startling.  Cristy and I put them in bags and I put them out on the curb.

Librarians won't tell you, but your musty donations go into the dumpster.   Get yourself free.  Save them the trip.  

 

6366

I'd rather be sleeping.

The thought of wrinkled clothes and angst has had me awake for a while now.  I slipped downstairs to move clothes from washer to dryer about an hour ago.  I have an interview Monday.  I don't expect to get the job.  I'm not on the "A" List of library folk.  It sure takes the pressure off.  It makes it easier to look in other places for work, but the truth is that I love the library. I love finding things out and I love helping people get information and entertainment.

I guess that makes me sort of a reporter/concierge by avocation.  The difference between working in a library and reporting is that I don't have to write about what I find out.

As for the angst, my buddy Cristy is coming over to my place on Sunday and she's going to help me rid myself of the weighty collection of ridiculous things I am burdened with.

I already feel the pain of tossing away memories and yet...  I'm ready.  I have so much stuff that there's no room for people.

You know what?  I want people.  I don't need boxes of stuff that I can't see and don't use.

I go into other people's homes and see how simply they live without a great burden of things.  They have places to sit.  What a concept!

I hope that Cristy will be gentle with me.  I am anxious to be freer.  If I could pack my life into my car...  WOW.  But let's be serious.  My clothes, kitchen and cat would be crammed into my little Saturn.  Toolbox.  Bicycle.  Camping gear.

I am visualizing turning my head, nodding consent to throwing things out, waving them away, even bagging them myself.

I bought masking tape so that the bags can be labelled for the trashpickers.  I don't want to have to clean up bags that have been torn into before the garbage truck comes.  I don't wanna see that stuff.  I'm hoping the label "sheets" will inspire "recyclers" to just take the whole bag rather than make ne clean it up.

They really grabbed every bit of the immense staghorn fern that my landlord pushed to the street.  I was going to cut a few pieces the next day after mentioning it to friends, but when I went to the house the next day to harvest some "puppies" (as my neighbor calls them) the entire plant was gone. 

How can I tell you how big the plant was?  I think it would have barely fit inside my little car if the seats were removed and would have weighed about as much as two grown men.  That sucker was BIG.

The poor thing was not unlike a piece of bread tossed to fish, with people tugging at it until it finally disappeared.

My neighbor hacked three "puppies" off with his machete for me.  One for my step-mom, one for my sister and one for old times sake that I put back up in the tree.

I wish I'd taken two more for my friends, but I suppose they'll live.

I have so many people on my mind.  I hung up on Mo last night because Em FINALLY picked up her phone.  I just said "Call me back!" only moments after she identified herself and hung up on her.  Mo, I'm so sorry!!!

I should have let my house phone ring but I was calling Em on a cell phone and was expecting a message instead of a voice.  I was sooo raised by wolves.  Wolves?  Heck... monkeys.

I need to not be worn out on Monday.  That's why I washed clothes at 4 a.m.  I need to make good use of time.  I need to be rested, crisp, nicely dressed, shiny.

They probably already know who they want for the job of rectifying library card accounts and retrieving inter-library loans.  But at least this time, I'm actually getting an interview.  None of this denial of an interview (for a full-time position doing actually LESS than what I have been doing for four years) due to "lack of training." (What a crock!) 

I'm over trying to find justice on that.

Here's over two hours flown by.  No point to trying to sleep now.

6345

little misunderstandings

About a year or so ago, after Hurricane Frances, I worked with another woman of my "persuasion" from the library who was also helping out FEMA reps.  I hadn't really known her before then, but I liked her right off and she appreciated my sense of humor.

I later found out that she was gay and that explained why we got along so well.  The few minutes we chatted were filled with fun.

One day, she came to this branch to help us for the day.  We chatted as we worked the desk together.  She told me about her girlfriend.  I enjoyed her presence.  She's a good person.  We have mutual friends.

She was feeling sick that day and was stuffy in the head.  At the end of the day, I wanted to reassure her after all she had revealed to me that I was the only one who knew about her life.  In the parking lot as we prepared to leave, I leaned across my car and told her that her life was not a matter of public record.

She looked at me angrily and stated, "I don't care!"  She got in her vehicle and drove off.  It took me a few moments to realize that she hadn't heard me right.

A little while later she left the library system.  I never got the chance to explain and apologize.  I even wrote her a note that I was going to ask another co-worker to deliver and even tried to catch her via e-mail. 

She probably still thinks I'm an ass.  I have always felt bad about it because she could have been a great friend.  I hadn't gotten along with anyone so instantly and so well since college.

I miss a friend I never had.  Que lastima! (What a shame!)

 

time capsule on-line

No foolin'

Send yourself a message in 3, 5, 10 or 20 years!

(I don't make this stuff up.)

http://forbes.codefix.net/capsule/

A response to the previous entry from a very good friend.

Ahoy, Jean!

Once again, AOL says you don't want me posting to your journal. So,
after several failed attempts to please the AOL gods, I submit this
to you via email.

*******************************
Y'know, sometimes reading you is difficult, because I often closely
identify with where you're at and how you're feeling. This is one of
those sometimes. A cringe-inducing sometime.

My own ribs tightened up reading about your ties to your stuff and the
feelings, memories, it represents. More stuff and things than any one
person ever needs to have, hauled around one place to the next, but I
felt I couldn't let it go. To me, the letting it go was tantamount to
trucking Mom, my grandparents, certain old loves out to the landfill. I
discovered that I had kept nearly every bit of correspondence, no
matter how inane, in addition to the usual cargo of clothes and
ornaments, books and photos, ancient bedding and dusty tools. Things I
never used, never read, never brought into the light of day. But
their physical presence enabled me (I thought) to maintain my slipping
memories. The memories might fail, but the love never does.

It took the better part of a summer, going through these things. Most
of them were jettisoned: donated to the library yard sale, given to
Goodwill, passed out to friends or just tossed. Difficult though it
was - there was a lot of remembrance, explanation, anecdotes, tall
tales
and bleary-eyed snuffling - I felt liberated when the last empty box
was shredded. I kept a few select doo dads, but unless the item in
question has usable life (like Grandpa's tools, which I use nearly
every day now that I have them out of storage), I chose to let the
stuff go. It was a wonderfully freeing experience, right up until my
brother left his abusive marriage and passed on all the family stuff he
had in his house back to me. *sigh* Now the cellar is full of furniture
and boxes again, all of which need to be sorted through. I don't dread
it this time, because when I tossed through the last load, I never lost
the love.

You wrote: "What am I missing?  I'm not rich or into dress up, but I
have what I need and a bit to share.  Where do I fail?"

You're missing nothing. You're bright - scary bright - funny,
sensitive, considerate, generous of both heart and spirit, aware of
both self and others. If you fail at all, my friend, it is in selling
yourself short, settling for will-do instead of demanding your due.
That so-and-so doesn't respond to your entreaties; that whomeverthehell
manipulates your feelings to keep you handy for feeding her ego; that
whassherface merely uses you at her convenience does not reflect
anything wrong with you, Jean. That's them. Their bullshit. Their
behavior. All of us have enough baggage of our own without readily
volunteering to porter that of our would-be lovers.

You're nobody's bell hop, babe. Not even for the people whose stuff
you're still carting around. Believe it.

Unity87

40 on the 12

The electricity is back on at my home.  I am still staying at my parent's for a little while longer at least.

I am taking advantage of the emptiness of the place to clean it as much as I am able.  The clutter has got to go, and it's very difficult to get rid of things even though I have no use for them.

I'm entitled to keep a few things, but it is ridiculous and counter-productive to keep everything.  I've just been burdened with the things of my family's past lives.  I'm ready to have less so that I am more ready to move about with a great burden of things.

I want someone else to help me release things that I know I don't need.

I collected stamps as a kid. My collection is probably worth a little over $500.

I have a few model cars.  No one knows about that fascination of mine (until now), but the rule is that I have to be totally taken with the car, that's why I only have a few.  Is it very valuable?  No. 

And then my boxes are full of doo-dads and knick-knacks and Christmas ornaments and books and all kinds of stuff.

I don't have the time for a yard sale, and the truth is I don't have the patience for people pawing through things in my front yard, either.  Half this town knows me from the library, I don't need some of them knowing where I live!

I'm the only one hanging on to the memories the things represent.  That's probably because I am by myself.  I no longer find much comfort in my mother's dress or ornaments my grandmother made.  My memories are empty and my new ones are sketchy because they go largely unshared.

Writing that was like having someone drag their nails across my heart.  Em seems to be blowing me off.  I don't understand how people who seem to have strong principles, intelligence and profess to care for people can just decide to not respond to phone calls, e-mails.

I realize that Hurricane Wilma did a lot of damage and things are still messed up in South Florida, but I know that Em's voicemail was full and now it's not. 

I care for and trust people and they suddenly decide to just cut me off.  It makes me wonder what is so bad about me?  They want me in their beds, but not in their lives.  What am I doing wrong???

Talking with Cristy gives me some insight.

I didn't give Vicki space she needed.  I know that.  She would have dumped me anyway because she changed her mind about loving me.  I acted badly because I was so hurt and so confused and so worried about her.  Communication was bad there.

Em is sweet and funny and smart.  I loved the way we fit together when we hugged.  I loved the way she teased me.  But she has a lot of physical problems and a lot of emotional stress.  I thought having me in her life was good for her.  "You're always there for me," she said.  That hasn't changed.

I do understand though... she has children and they have major issues.  I can understand her needing to put us aside. 

I can't understand no communication whatsoever from a woman who used to call and talk to me for hours.

Alas.

Somewhere out there, there has got to be a woman who is smart, patient, free and willing to love and be loved.  Communication is something you work on together.

Maybe it's my destiny to be alone.  I'm really starting to mind being alone.  I didn't use to get lonely.  I'm lonely. 

I've had the wonderful feeling of someone who I thought loved me sleeping with her head on my heart.

I've helped lovers feel good about themselves.  I helped two of them quit smoking for good (thus far, anyway.)

I'm willing to share all that I am and all that I have and anything else that comes along.

Okay, yes... I've been alone a long time and might take some time adapting to togetherness, but I can do it.  I'm willing to accept that I am or can be self-centered.  Who isn't, really?

What am I missing?  I'm not rich or into dress up, but I have what I need and a bit to share.  Where do I fail?

I wish these women who blow me off had the gumption and the kindness to tell me.

 

 

I know a lot of my journal seems like whining but I'm just laying out what I feel.  I don't think that's wrong.

 

 

6301

I haven't played reversi in over a week!

Last night, I painted my face for my Halloween costume and intended to go out.  Then I realized that no one had told me when the official day for Halloween was.

Monday is the day but Saturday is the day it should be.  I went late to the animal hospital.  The doctor was there.  She didn't care that I was late.  "I think it's better for the dogs," she said.  Then she invited me to her house for dinner.  She's sweet like that.  She said that everyone else at her house was sitting down to eat when she had to go to the hospital to help some folks out with their pet.

I paid no attention to what she was doing but went to the kennel.  I was late for a very important date.  There were only 5 or 6 dogs so it went fast.

Then I came back to my parent's house for a short bit and then went out to my favorite of the three gay bars in the next county.  (I think one is only gay on Tuesday.  LOL) 

There are two full-time gay bars.  One has had many gay incarnations.  I liked it best when it had couches to lounge on.  If I have a comfortable place to sit, I'm good. 

But I digress. So I went in and had to remove my mask to gain access.  I got water and a seat and ogled people.  The show started and I watched a few routines, then I left.

There was a dark angel seated before me, a lovely girl, but large.  I was tempted to flirt but big girls are always breaking my heart because of all their personal issues.  It's time to let a thinner woman crush me, just to prove it's all relative.

The whole point of this damn journal is to release everything, to empty my soul, regardless.   To hold nothing back.

The other part of the secret, in hindsight, is to not tell anyone you personally know about it.  I realize that now.

Library co-workers know my innermost heart.   Thatmakes me... vulnerable.

Initially Cristy was wowed by the things I revealed.  Now I bet she doesn't even read me.  I'm just lucky that she is still a very caring friend who would do just about anything within reason for me.  She and her family are a great comfort to me and I try not to take too much advantage of it although if you let me sprawl on your couch and you play with my hair, like Cristy and her mom do... well... that can only encourage more lounging.  Then you always feed me when I come over and you might as well put a collar on me.

The Bird used to call me her "pet neighbor."

 

Today I lolled in bed until about ten watching a light-hearted movie called "Saving Face" (about two successful Chinese-American lesbians in Flushing, NY), then I decided that maybe I could get my computer up and running instead of attempting to use the ones downstairs belonging to my parents.

I found a friend online and asked her to meet me for lunch.  That was nice and I'm happy that she said "Okay" when I asked her.   It's good to have single friends who can be free somewhat spontaneously.

I haven't heard from Em and I really don't know if things are really bad for her, if she's sick again or, worst case, she's blowing me off.  I can't let myself go nuts again over someone hurting me.  The good thing about Em is that she never said "I love you."  She never gave me false hope, though she did say that there would be times when we could actually have more time together.

Tomorrow is Halloween and I'm going to join my friends and be the werewolf.  With little kids around, it'll be all the more fun.  Then it's back to the grindstone.  I have two weeks coming up with no day off.  Yikes!  If I don't write in my journal before the end of November, you'l know I dropped dead from exhaustion.

 

I realized something the other day, which is:  why heterosexuals mostly have sex at night.  Because men fall asleep....

It took me this long?  Oh, brother!

 

(OK, yeah, I've fallen asleep after, too....)

 

The Princess Dream

This morning I had an unusual dream.  I was talking to a woman who apparently had been a landlady of mine at some point in the past.  We were just sitting and talking about things and she was telling me what happened to various people in the area since I left.

A tall, thinnish woman leaned in and greeted her and saw me and said, "I'll talk to you later," and ducked back out.  She said the woman's name.  The first name was familiar but the last name was different than I remembered.

I think I asked if she was formerly known as so-and-so and she said, "Yes.  She married herself a princess."

I was kind of blown away at that.  "What???"

"Yeah, she met a princess when she went to... (I forget where she said.  It was someplace sub-tropical... perhaps somewhere in the Keys.)

"And they got married???  WOW."

I sat quietly and pondered it for a moment... the dream faded some and the barking of the scottie dogs from the yard next door woke me.

Dreams sometimes mean something and sometimes are just the product of the brains disposal system.  Lately though, the only dreams I remember remembering had some significance.  This dream, I think, was just the by-product of my wish for an old someone.

 

I still haven't been able to reach my newer someone.  God only knows what's happened to her.  All I can do is wait.

6253

Was it Wilma or is it us?

I can't tell if we've all been hardened a little, or if Wilma, who did indeed kick some arse, was just not all that bad.

Oh, there's destruction and difficulty here to be sure, but somehow... it just doesn't seem to matter as much.

A lot of people are saying that Wilma was worse than last years "Spin Sisters," but  I'm thinking they just forget easily.

Much of the recovery is going more smoothly, in my opinion anyway.  Maybe it's just because we had an idea of what to expect this time around.  Maybe it's because the physical landscape was already decimated.  Maybe it's because we now realize that ignorance was the cause of some of our suffering before.

I went to Cristy's this evening and saw that they had sliced their screens to let the wind blow through.  Cristy had footage of the fury of the wind whipping the torn screen and blowing the treetops horizontally eastward.

I woke up worn out.  I think the shock of getting back to a somewhat normal state in a matter of three days after the hurricane, coupled with the anxiety and the crazy day we had Wednesday running errands and dealing with the car had something to do with it.

This time, I'm not that upset about not being in my own humble rental.  I'm comfortable at Dad's, having taken over my sister's room.  I paid next month's rent even though I won't be there for a while.  Someone else might request a break in the rent but I believe that a landlord will be good to you as long as you show respect and pay the bill.

Come to think of it, I really want to do something nice for the guy who found the wire in the first place.

I should be upset but today I was happy.  I can't help but feel fortunate right now.  I have what I need to survive.   My car is running.  My landlord was out to the trailer fairly soon after the storm.  My job is still there.  Losing a day's work was so worth taking precautions to keep the car from burning up.  My friends are okay.  There are gas lines but we still seem to have plenty of the stuff around.  I had a warm shower this morning.  I'm feeling blessed.

For the record, if you live along a coast and are in a gas shortage... try a marina.  The gas costs more but there aren't likely to be any lines.

***************************************************************

Today after work I stopped home.  I was heading back out when I saw a woman pushing her car off of US 1.  I couldn't stop to help her because it wasn't safe but I swung back around and reached her after she had pushed the car into the sand and was starting to walk away.

I pulled up behind her and turned on my hazard lights.

"Do you need a phone?"   She started walking back toward me and we met.  She refused the phone but caught herself from crying when she said, "Could you just give me a ride home?"

I dumped my refugee debris out of the front seat and she got in.

"Hi, I'm Jean.  I work at the library."

"I''m Pat, I'm a hairdresser at a shop in _______."

"That's ironic.  Just moments ago I was thinking I need a haircut."

"Sure.  That's the least I could do, " she answered.

I thanked her but refused, saying that I had things to do.

So I drove her home and let her out and went on my way.

I wonder if I'll ever even see her again.

Of the fews things I know to be true, the idea that we have to help each other is in the soup.

And here's a toast to the power company guys both local and out-of-state.  I beep and "blink" and carry on when I see them.    Love your work, buddies.

And my thoughts also go out tonight to the sick, the poor, the people still dealing with this huricane's mess and healthcare workers...  Bless 'em.

I was surprised tonight to find bread in the grocery store. : o    Lucky me.

"like being in a blender"

That's how one of my co-workers described the sensation of watching hurricane Wilma from half-boarded windows.

Thanks, we're okay.

Yeah, it was worse than predicted but crossing the warm Gulf of Mexico is enough to get one's blood up.

Floridians are tougher now, wiser.

Gas lines. Emptying grocery stores.  An all-day parade of people in line for ice and whatever food there is from the National Guard.  Communication fiascoes. 

It feels like a miracle to be typing into my journal.

I'll be out of my trailer for a while.  Wilma walloped my water system and ate my awnings.  She made the carpet damp but not squishy.

My landlord came over and took out what was left of the shed, all but one of my trees and cranked off one of the majestic arms of my shady oak AND threw out my faithful, innocuous leafy plant that's been valiantly growing for six years AND my lily AND the humongous staghorn fern which was probably worth thousands.  Alas, alas.  Gonna do that might as well put in astroturf.   That might be the worst of it all for me.

The door switch on my car started beeping when the door was open.  Because of that, I wore out my battery leaving the lights on.  I had to get a new battery.  Replacing the battery triggered the car alarm to go off again.  My remote fobs for the alarm were bad which led to me getting my car alarm pulled. That adventure led the alarm tech to discover exposed wire which would have created one charred AOL blogger. (I didn't mention the tow truck driver.  Here's to him, and the battery guy and the alarm guy.)

You never know where your blessings are hidden. 

 

Now if I can only reach my Em.

Update: Waiting for Wilma

Four carloads.

I went back this morning for the refrigerated food and a few final things, including my bargain kitty litter and the fan that pushes air through my house.  I gave up and left my Fiestaware in the china cabinet and in the dish drainer.  I'm tired of the overwhelmment of things. As an afterthought, I turned around and went back to bag up my DVDs and some favorite videotapes.

I was thinking that if tornadic activity blows away the trailer that I rent and all the rest of the stuff of our old lives, maybe I could stay here.  If there's no rent, I could save up for one of those small trailers to squeeze my stuff into to haul along every time I need to evacuate.  One trip.  Easy.

The county is closed Monday.  That means I will work all week. ---> Grumble.

Now I'm "hunkered down" in my father's house.  If I hadn't spoken, he would still be blasting minute-by-minute coverage of the storm.  I hate senseless noise.  It's not as if you can do anything about it.

I'd rather be home, thinking about whatever I'd be thinking about and probably staying in bed trying to compose something wonderful and petting my cat when she comes close.  Instead, my cat is upstairs in a closed room due to the collie who loves to snuffle for nuggets and bark at alien life forms.  Unfortunately, the extra "baby gate" went to college with my younger sister's cat.

I had a phone message from my older sister at home this morning.  Some message about how I must be out having fun on a Saturday night.  Yeah, evacuating myself was a blast.

I did go over late to the Halloween party put on by one of the receptionists from the animal hospital.  Not knowing that the party was back on by 4 in the afternoon on Saturday, I loaned my costume to the library branch manager for her daughter who had just found out about a Harry Potter-themed party. 

My costume is not a Harry Potter costume per se, but a similar character is in the books.  I'm sorry I am not at liberty to divulge what my costume is because I want it to be a surprise to my friends when I finally do get to wear it.

I had a black mask and my friends provided a black cloak and a pair of sparkly red horns.  Suddenly I was the devil in disguise. (Do ya hear Elvis?)

I don't know what to do next.  Go backto sleep or take advantage of the luxury of being where there is a bathtub! 

I know.  Take a bath, go hibernate with the cat in the central air, and read a book.

Yeah. 

Judi... Thank you.  I don't talk to you as often as I could, but I always appreciate your kind comments.  (My "prize" was in the very first carload.  I'm so glad that I hadn't thrown out your packaging.  It was a drag to be taking it off display to go on the run again.)

 

6195

on being planted, on being a plant OR it's not easy being green, but it's not that hard, either

http://journals.aol.com/judithheartsong/newbeginning/entries/1601

  Ya' know, when I was a kid, that was on a poster in the hall of my Sunday School.  It was "Bloom where you are planted" and I thought about it quite a lot.  To me, it meant to thrive whatever your situation, to make the best out of whatever you got. 

I was hoping I'd spring up and be as gloriously mature and happy as I aged as I thought my sister (five years older than me) and her friends were.   I'm still waiting to bloom, but maybe I have in someone else's eyes.   That poster's thoughts didn't kill me though.  As I grew from 13 to 30 on a patch of land full of wildflowers, native plants and tall pines, I thought less about being the image of someone else and more about standing tall and being strong and healthily "green."
 Each plant and tree was beautiful of itself and together the trees and shrubs and flowers complemented and complimented each other.
Have I bloomed where I was planted?  Well, ... some days I flow.  Some days everyone seems to adore me.  It's all about the others blooming around me though.  Without them, I can't see myself.  My co-workers, my buddies and even you show me myself.  You'd think that would be enough to lift me to a higher plane.  It should.

Now I have a younger sister, thanks to my father remarrying.  I watch her.  She's pretty and smart and so wise at 20 that she has advised me how to cope with some things.  Me!  Nineteen years difference in our ages.  Yet I see in her DOUBT and I wish that there was a magic remedy. 

She doesn't think she's pretty because she is big, I mean genetically healthily Germanically tall and full.  There's no Barbie doll in her.  Boys hit on her and she shrugs it off.  Her romantic experiences are just that to her.  I don't think she feels worthy and yet she can be so very stuck up. 

It hurts me seeing her doubt her worth. She has always had money, I never have had much.  That doesn't make any difference between us.  We both are valuable, loving people.  We are both "worthy" of everything.   We both have something to offer.

She can charm a crowd and seems to flow through a room like a fresh breeze, stopping to shine on each person in the room.  She holds court with this little group and that as I stand by, just awed by her ability not only to talk to anyone but to impress them.

Me, I don't do crowds.  I don't speak freely.  I will talk to people but if I'm not comfortable, I won't talk much. I am generally content to stand back and be helpful to the hostess.  If there's something to do as a group, I participate and add to the fun.  I know my presence is appreciated by those who know me because they tell me so.  People who don't really know me may have a negative perception and think me anti-social... until they are around me long enough to know that I'm just quiet, not stupid or totally boorish. 

I am somewhat boorish at times more as a reaction to superficiality than a result of ill-breeding.  I can't help it.  I own disdain for things that waste my time, like a smile and seeming interest when you can feel that the person attending you is not for real.  My feeling is if you don't like me and don't want to know me, leave me alone!  However, if you can see me and want to see more of me, come on over ... kick your shoes off.  Let's walk together.

When you meld with someone, when what you share seems to fill you, when it's as if you were creating flowers and trees, walking through a white page and leaving a trail of color...  Ahhhh.

That's when I feel myself open my petals.

 

 

6180

"I get by with a little help from my friends."

http://journals.aol.com/judithheartsong/newbeginning/entries/1595

This is all you really need to know about me. Without you, I'm less than whole.

I look to my friends for spiritual uplift, advice, companionship, moral support, understanding and grace.

Affection is in the way I'm greeted by my friends and the way Cristy tilts her head and looks at me when I join the gang on her couch.

 Cristy

Friendship is implied in the "flippant" or "sassy" banter between me and the library's branch manager, or in the way the children's librarian always teases me about "paybacks" when I torment her with playful verbal jabs. Friendship is Josh and Joe IMing me at 11 p.m. on a weeknight.

I didn't understand friendship when I was a child. It seemed to me that everyone should always love each other. It was hard to comprehend that people come and go in your life. I thought they all were keepers. I thought we all were family. There was a very wise child that I worked with at a local elementary school who pointed out that the word friend has an "end" in it.

Friendship has been defined as a single soul inhabiting two bodies. I wouldn't go that extreme, but I would say that there is definitely a psycho-spiritual connection between people that draws them together.

Being befriended saved my life. I cannot envision where I might be today if I hadn't been guided by other young lesbians when I left for college at the age of 17. They became my surrogate family. They gave me a reason to keep going. They taught me that I wasn't a freak and that I wasn't alone. They taught me that I didn't have to accomplish everything on my own and also that I was capable of doing much more than I thought I could in the way of self-reliance. They wanted to be there for me. They didn't ask me for anything. They gave me shelter, they fed me, body and soul. They took me with themwhen they ran errands from our woodsy, small town campus into civilization. They loaned me books that filled me with pride in what we were. They gave me the words for the things I felt, the things I wanted, the things I needed. They gave me the word for myself. I'd always felt it, but I didn't know how to say it. Once I learned the words, they helped me learn to say them and claim them as my own. More than kindness and nurturing, simply having them in my life saved my life.

 That's me on the left, on top of a mountain in Maine, checking out the map with Henry, Bruce and Sue Q.  circa 1984 +/-

If you read my journal you know that I am a natural-born brooder.  I believe in chaos theory and negative entropy; that is, that there is order in the universe though it seems disordered and that life drives itself to continue into the future. In spite of myself and the depression I fight, I try to see what there is to be happy about and when I look it is the people in my life, and the natural world, that causes me to respire and fill my heart with more energy to keep pumping.

It is my friends who tell me that they are disgusted by the way I allow my girlfriends to treat me but support my right to make a fool of myself again and again. It is my friends who thank me for writing, thank me for loving them.

When I look at the person I was in college, truth-bending, selfish and anal, I wonder at how they just kept on loving me. I don't know if I would have put up with me.

It was my friends who brought me out of my shell and onto a stage to recite my poetry. It was my friends who taught me to dream with my eyes open and to see without tunnel vision.

It is my friends who continue to teach me how to live and be human. I had a friend, Jennifer, who lived by a sign in her room, "Feed my lambs." She told me, "We are all each other's host and each other's guest." It was Ivan G. at college who told me, "We are all the same."

I find my friends everywhere I look. I have local true blue hang-out friends and chat friends and journal friends and work friends and a lover-friend and customer friends and stranger friends. I had the warmest chat today with a lady I was in line with at an office supply store. I noticed that in her 70s she had the humor to wear a silver medallion inscribed with "What if the hokey-pokey is really what it's all about?" She's my kind of people. I may never see her again but we shared kinship for 10 minutes and it made us both feel good.

It reminds me not only of the Beetles' song from which this essay takes it's title but also of one of the closing scenes of themovie made from one of my favorite books, "Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe" by Fannie Flagg.

In the movie Jessica Tandy, as Virginia "Ninny" Threadgoode, is standing on the main road through Whistle Stop, Alabama. Kathy Bates, as Evelyn Couch, is helping Ninny come to terms with losing her home and telling Ninny that she has a home with Evelyn and her husband.

The story is multi-layered and at it's heart is the value, richness and catharsis of story-telling.

The two women find a fresh jar of honey and a note from Idgie on the Ruth's grave.

((And by the way, if you think Ninny and Idgie are one and the same you really weren't paying attention.))

"Do you know what I think life is about?," says Ninny. "Friends. Best friends."

I go for that.

It reminds me, too, of the recurring theme of the old television series, "Xena, Warrior Princess." 

 

Xena didn't need her friends, except to save her soul from eternal loneliness and damnation. 

Over and over again, it's repeated in the final seasons: "Love is the way."

That's what I'm saying.

"No man is an island,no man stands alone
Each man's joy is joy to me
Each man's grief is my own
We need one another, so I will defend
Each man as my brother
Each man as my friend"

The Laws of Life

My stepsister won this essay contest in her senior high school year and big bucks for college.  I can't remember the sponsors name but he started the Friendly's restaurant chain.

  Enjoy.

Laws of Life Essay Grand Prize Winner 2003

Thanksgiving Day is defined as an American national holiday, set apart for giving thanks to God, celebrated on the fourth Thursday in November.  Today society has acclaimed "Thanksgiving" as time spent with the family to celebrate the first shared dinner in 1606 by Pilgrims and Wampanoag Indians at Plymouth Rock, Massachusetts.  As a family holiday, it represents a time to cherish love for family and each other.  The day is celebrated with a meal of roasted turkey, sweet and mashed potatoes, green bean casserole and other various foods that have been made into the "traditional feast."  However, not all American families are the same.  For me and my family Thanksgiving is not traditional.

My heritage is typical -- white middle class with an extended family.  I would guess that most of my peers and their family have no idea what it is like to be a minority; especially at Thanksgiving. But, for me being a minority is not that unusual.  My mother, a wonderful person, who is enchanted by other cultures as well as being a magnificent historian, has made such family traditions and holidays different from what American society would call normal suburban holidays.  Before I was born she was involved with cultural education at the Brighton Seminole Reservation, seventeen miles west of Okeechobee, Florida.  She met and came to love this unique culture and met some of the most incredible people -- like the Jones family.  Shula, an elder Florida Seminole, the matriarch of her clan, took to my mother and graciously gave our family an introduction into her culture.

Each Thanksgiving, ever since I can remember, has been spent with this wonderful family.  This Thanksgiving holiday is not exactly what everyone else experiences.  It's hard to do the same traditional things when you're 40 miles from normal civilization, and in a completely different culture.  Our host, Shula Jones is the mother of eight, grandmother and great-grandmother to dozens of children, and is the oldest of the Jones branch of the Panther Clan.  Her large family gathers for one week in the Florida hammocks camping and experiencing nature and family at its fullest.  I remember when I was younger the feeling of resentment that I had toward my mother.  I was ignorant and spoiled to think that being the only white girl was uncomfortable and weird.  I definitely did not understand the privilege of my experience.  I wanted my life to be like the movies and TV shows portrayed it to be.  You know the traditional family Thanksgiving spent around a huge dining table, with an abundance of television, family and food.  Instead I was freezing my tail off in a distant land with a distant culture, and the only thing I could do was sit by the fire and wish I had dark skin, black hair, and could understand the Creek language.  For years this is what I thought of my not-so-traditional Thanksgiving.

I now realize my experiences with the Seminole Indians are truly a treasure that should be shared.  My first memory was watching the elders cook sofkee over the large cooking fire in the middle of the tall cooking chickee in the middle of the camp.  Young children playing with baby animals and running happily to and fro, while their young parents (most my age) laugh and share stories.  The first night is spent setting up the campsite.  Men get the hunting gear ready and the women pitch tents or settle into their chickee, the traditional Seminole dwelling built of cypress poles, thatched palm frond roof and a raised floor.  I guess you can say that not much has changed in the traditional Seminole setting.  Teenagers bring out the four-wheelers and the horses.  Our family, of course is different.  We bring tons of packing equipment, a camper trailer, two tents and lots of things to keep us occupied for five days.  I guess it's the "white man" for you: too much, too often and too wasteful!  The first night my brother and I usually keep mostly to ourselves because of racial differences.  We are, for the first time, a minority.

By the second day, we settle in and enjoy being part of the group. Nights are spent in a big party.  The men hunt, or drive around in the big swamp buggies looking for game, while the women talk around the never ending camp fire, and the children find different ways to busy themselves, mostly playing "manhunt" or hide and seek in the dark.  The festivities go all night and the party doesn't end until the last person falls asleep -- usually when morning breaks and the breakfast cooking begins.  Racial differences are put aside, and we all come together and have a great tine, just being friends and family.

The following days are spent tending to cattle, fishing, and swimming in the old mine pit.  Not being much of a cattle person, I tried to help as much as I could in rounding up the young calves, all destines to become steers.  After rounding up the calves, young boys straddle the poor, castrated calves and ride until they fall off.  This I must say, is an odd tradition, but one that is cherished and honored just as much as those traditions of eating turkey and watching television.

When Thanksgiving Day arrives we, just as other families do, gather children, friends and elders for a shared meal.  For so many years I spent this day ignorantly whining to myself that I didn't know what I was eating.  The various types of cultural foods were not at all strange to the wonderful people that I was eating with, and that was when I realized that it doesn't matter what foods are on the table, or who you are with, it was my mother's lesson -- the gift of acceptance.  She taught me that it didn't matter what you ate, who you prayed to, or what color your hair and skin is because people will love you for who you are, and that your race is just something that helps make who you are not what you are.

So, this past Thanksgiving as I departed from my friends and wished them well, until next year, I left with the greatest lesson in my life.  Throughout my life something extraordinary has happened. I began to grow up and realize while sitting by a campfire under a palm thatched chickee, I was participating in something that not many (non Indian) people get to experience. and that this is truly special.  My mother taught me a most important lesson, one which should be spread throughout the world: To accept other cultures, and avoid the feeling of trying to be the norm and embrace other traditions and values.

That acceptance of all cultures is, in my opinion, the most important Law of Life, because if you don't first accept who you are then embrace the culture and lifestyles of others, then that sets you back and sets the world back.  For it is cultural intolerance that is the basis of so many world issues, and I know that just the smallest thing helps.  Whether it is volunteering for social reform, working for the underprivileged, or just embracing another culture, it will bring the world closer and makes life a little more enjoyable for all.  It is also my opinion that many of the world's problems could be solved if people just exercised what my mother taught me to believe; that acceptance of other cultures and embracing others is as true as being yourself.

In conclusion, I would like to thank my mother for the greatest Law of Life, and for those who allowed me to grow as a person and make me understand that it doesn't matter what society claims to be a tradition, it's the family that makes it and a single person who embraces it.

Where is she?

Last night my sister in college IMed to tell me she had dreamt that I got married.

  (Just a plug for her school.)

She said that everyone was very happy for me and naturally her mother was all over the place, tending to things and chatting with everyone.

She said my bride was, I forget the exact words, but she was appealling and sweet.

Hmmm.  I don't think of my sister as visionary.  I've never known her to be psychic at all.

The idea of it, the ideal of it... makes my heart ache.  I've begun to lose hope that anyone will ever love me enough for that sort of relationship.

The woman I'm seeing seems very fond of me, but she doesn't love me.  I know it when I hear it and I believe in saying it often.  I've held back from saying it more to this one.  Once bitten....  She just laughs when I tell her I love her.  I think she is content just to have me to talk to.  My rose petal peach skin heart just takes it all too hard.

Anyway...

wasn't it lovely?  My young step-sister dreams about my happiness.

It just made me think about a song Elvis sang in one of his movies.  I think it was "Roustabout."

Follow that dream, I gotta follow that dream
Keep a-movin, move along, keep a moving
I've got to follow that dream wherever that dream may lead
I've got to follow that dream to find the love I need

When your heart gets restless, time to move along
When your heart gets weary, time to sing a song
But when a dream is calling you,
There's just one thing that you can do

Well, you gotta follow that dream wherever that dream may lead
You gotta follow that dream to find the love you need

Keep a-movin, move along, keep a moving

Got to find me someone whose heart is free
Someone to look for my dream with me
And when I find her I may find out
Just what my dreams are all about

I've got to follow that dream wherever that dream may lead
I've got to follow that dream to find the love I need

I've got to follow that dream wherever that dream may lead
I've got to follow that dream to find the love I need

Keep a-movin, move along
Keep a-movin, move along
Keep a-movin, move along

6093

COSMIC WIMP-OUT

Has anyone ever heard of this game?

My exe's best bud used to talk about it all the time but we never got a chance to play.

What's it all about?  (If you know, write Virage65@aol.com, por favor.)

Can anyone enlighten me?  I just happened to think of it now.

It's funny, ever since that previous revelation about the ex, I have found myself not thinking about her and not even wanting to, but her friend has been so kind... I think about what a nice person she is and what a shame it is that the two of us can't be better friends because of the situation.

I will just have to wonder what her boyfriend's family's farm is like, how his dog, Batman, will act when he smells the bunnies, and if I would have been any good at Cosmic Wimp-out.

Ah, well.  That's the rub.

Peace.

In praise of MEN

Yeah.  That's right.  Wanna make something of it?  Who says a lesbian can't admire a man?  Not me!

I have just been thinking how much I enjoy the journals of some of the boys here in J-Land.

I want to give them their props.

 

NJLittleBear

He was the first person to ever IM me as a result of my journal.  I haven't given him nearly enough attention.  Sorry, Bear. :/

screaminremo303

Here's a guy who's honest and humorous.  The truth is out there, and it's pretty funny.

chasferris

Here's a guy in an old folk's home with an electric scooter and a digital camera detailing life on the far end.  Warm.  Very warm.

goldenchildnc

Just read him!

grofsand

This is a sweet, sensitive, very kind man who lives in the area where I grew up.

gaboatman

A real gentleman.

egino11fly

A pilot who shares the world openly.

 

Wait! Wait!  I almost forgot:

thelovetrain

He's new to me, but I'm getting to know and like him.

OK, these aren't all the guys, but these are the guys that I've found that I enjoy reading.

Show me.  Who's moved you?

Whoa!  Stepping away from AOL for a moment, I present the two young men in my life who encourage me and give me pride in the people who are going to take over very soon.  They are my co-workers, but even better than that, they are my friends:

Josh's journal

Josh's Homepage

AND

Joe's journal

and the very clever library page he started,

Amusing Things that Patrons Do and Say in the Library Environment

Let's here it for the boys!

 

 

6077

fragility

I'm awake from a nightmare generated from a mistake.  It was more like a vision because every time I knew I was waking from it, it kept coming back.

Last night at the kennel, I gave insulin to the wrong dog.  I called the doctor and we tested the dog's blood and fed her puppy food laced with sugar (dextrose).  The doctor took her to the emergency clinic for observation overnight.

It's a very bad mistake that I have never before made in the eight years that I've been at the clinic.  It made me think that maybe it's time for me to resign. 

My nightmare started as a dream of siblings in a house.  One was in his room and not letting anyone in but I knocked and spoke softly and was allowed near. (I was one of the siblings.) The child was bloodied and bruised and raw in places.  As the dream progressed of me trying to get this child to the doctor, the child became small and as fragile as the dried bones of a bird.

This dream didn't frighten me.  It was my guilt chiding me, laying weights in my heart.  The dog could have died.  I have confidence that it will survive and probably not suffer too ill an effect (affect?) 

Still....

 

I have to say that my people know me.  When I told Cristy what happened via IM, she asked if I was okay.  She already knew that the doctor and I had done everything we could for the dog.  She also knows that I take things like this very hard.

And the doctor... she has no notion of firing me. 

I thought about the resignation, then I thought about the employees who come and go at the hospital.  I thought about how quick I was to call the doctor and how responsibly I own my mistakes.

Yeah, I f***ed up pretty big.  Yeah, I feel awful about what may yet happen to the dog, to the owner and to the doctor.

The hospital will eat the cost of emergency care. I feel pretty bad about that, too.

I kept trying to find out who had done the damage to the child in the awful dream.  The child wouldn't say, even as it became as fragile as paper.      

I know now it was me.  It was me who hurt my animal brother. 

 

 

 

6045

Go Fluffy!

Last night I went to the Improv in West Palm Beach to see this gentleman.  I went because I saw him perform last year and I laughed like crazy.

His comedy is pretty clean, actually.  He didn't even cuss until after enjoying some of the drinks that the audience keep plying him with.  The show went almost three hours we were all having so much fun. 

What's my point?  I guess I just want to endorse him.  If he comes back next year, I'll probably go again.

Go Fluffy!

www.fluffyguy.com

Just a note to Gabriel: If I was straight you'd be in big trouble!

Laughter is so sexy.

 

Attack of the Killer Toilets

The night that I went driving to keep myself distracted, I stopped into a Barnes & Noble to look for a blank book.

I headed for the ladies room and found a queue of ladies standing back against the door and two stalls standing vacant.  I queried if someone was going to use the empty toilets, but they sort of mumbled something about the little girl that was huddled by one of the women being afraid.

I walked into the stall they pointed to and flushed the toilet.  Problem solved, I thought.  I walked back to my place in line and said, "Go ahead."

Nope.

So I walked into the handicapped stall, which was clean except for toilet paper on the floor.  I said, "This one is free... just some paper on the floor."

Nope.

"Okay, whatever...."

I was chagrined and I REALLY wanted to say something to the child and her parent.

The child was no more than eight years old, if that.

I wanted to say to her mother, "How do you expect her to survive if she can't even pee in public?  You've got her afraid of a toilet!"

I can't imagine what else the child fears.  I would have liked to have told the girl that the world is pretty big and full of lots and lots and lots of things and that if you fear everything you'll never cut the muster.

I found a book and went on my way, but here it is a week later and I am still thinking about being so young and so afraid of something so ridiculously liveable, conquerable.  Oi.

If you are terrified of toilets, carry disinfectant.

This is all about the fear of death, you know, but if you spend your time fearing germs you won't ever live.

 

This morning, Joe, my fellow blogger and co-worker asked me if I was "trying to have one of those blogs that everyone reads" because of the previous entry in which I asked for links to favorite journals. 

Joe's question was interesting.  No, honestly, I don't need to be too popular.  I don't have time to talk to a lot of people.  I don't think I want to.  I really am a wallflower, however I do like it when people leave comments in response to what I share.  More readers means more comments (because I really don't get that many.)

So far, no one has sent me a link that's new to me, but they have sent some really good ones.     

Joe just joined my branch. (Congratulations, by the way, Joe, on becoming a real person.) ((Real people: regular full-time employees with benefits.)) 

Joe started as a page about six years ago.   He's paid his library dues.  Now he's a number II.  LOL (That's a jab because I know he'll read this.)

There was no school today and there will be no school tomorrow.  Naturally, we were just about over-run by the kids. It made the day drag because you can't get enough done when you have to keep stopping to ask kids not to run, talk loudly, eat and drink, or hit each other.

I think that if we were brilliant and rich, we'd build separate kid places and let them trash the place and yell and holler and whatever else they want to do, thereby freeing up the library computers for actual study, communication and old-fashioned READING.

The thing is that we do not want to keep the kids out.  They need and deserve resources and a place to be.  Legally, we don't have to allow them in under the age of 16 without supervision.  But someday these kids will have jobs and money and if they have bad experience now, they might not join Friends Groups when they retire.  They might go elsewhere to keep themselves jacked up on entertainment and to socialize.  If they are sitting in the library, they aren't usually committing crimes or putting themselves in harm's way.

My problem isthat unlike most of my co-workers, I am not a former school teacher.  I have no children.  I'm used to quiet and I'm old school when it comes to respecting your elders.  The crux is that you have to respect the kids.  My problem is that there are confines of how you can speak to them.  When I deal with members of my family, it's on an earthier level that they respond to.

Different age kids respond to different things.  Most kids who are under a certain age will stop if you say, "Excuse me, I need you to stop running, please."  Then there are older kids and you need to be apologetic.  "I'm sorry but we need to keep this card catalog free for people who need to look up books."  Now we get to the ones who need consequences for their actions.  "If we find you viewing porn again, you will lose your library privilege for the day."

Me, I want to communicate with them like I talk to my teenage brother.  "Hey Bub, what the heck are you doing?  Do you think that's a good idea?"  If I can't get his attention, I tickle him.  If he looks upset or tired, I rub his back or stroke his hair before I even say anything.

There isn't time enough to spend with these kids to develop closer relationships so you know them well enough to really communicate. You can't touch them.  And to speak to them on the street level could get you into trouble.

I started this entry last night.  Today is Friday. Two more days of being mobbed by kids... pray for me.

 

6006

Suspiciously warm and fuzzy and other stuff

Morning: 7:45 a.m.  I hear the familiar alert signal and know that Judith HeartSong has just posted her semi-daily entry.

I read her post.  I check the article she's talking about. http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/10/11/AR2005101101781.html  I notice that she has another award, so I go to check out the blogger who gave it to her. The Love Train He has a nice journal.  He is suspiciously warm and fuzzy.  It's a wonder when men like him are het!

I notice that he has people who blog who he likes to promote.  It's so cool to find new people to read.  It's special when writers bond.

What are the characteristics of a successful blog?

With Judi, it's more than her art and more than her openness.  She is concise and she is kind.  She doesn't talk overly long and she is not self-pitying.  (I am.)  She is gracious to her readers.  Everything she says is true.  She tells you what you need to know without going into too much detail.  And the wonderful thing is that she never posts a bad entry.  Everything she says is thoughtful.  Even when she speaks of heartbreak, she doesn't leave you feeling bad, but rather hopeful... and rooting for her.

I've talked about the "spark of divinity" that we all have inside, as I see it.  I just happen to think that Judi's is a little bit bigger than most people's.

I am trying to be a better blogger.  In the past week, I think I achieved something of that when I told how I really felt deep inside about not getting to see my lover.  Yeah, I was a big baby, but that's who I am.

Ultimately, this journal is for me, but readers make it more real and can validate if not your thoughts then at least your right to them.  And receiving an accolade for something you wrote (which, aside from service, is the only thing I produce) makes you feel responsible and own what you say.

It just happens that I connect with Judi.  We have some things in common and that seems to smooth our ability to communicate.  Judi is... one of the best friends I never met.  I stand in the crowd of people who admire the stuffings out of her.

It's funny.  I enjoy the relative anonymity of this blog although I realize that it has potential perils.  I have tried to be careful not to reveal too much information about myself although if you read enough of this journal and it's links, you can learn or deduce where I live, who I am, what I do, who my people are and that I have a cat who is on a rubber band-free diet.  It's all there if you are savvy enough to figure it out.

I have been blind to bad karma and negativity between bloggers.  We're just a microcosm, after all, so it isn't a surprise.

Who's your favorite blogger?  Send me a link!

 

Good advice and other items

The other day at Staff Day a city police officer advised us, along with remembering to lock our car doors, to NOT keep garage door openers and extra keys in the car.   They get that garage door opener, they're in. But better yet, he advised us to white-out the address on our vehicle registration.  "We only require that you have the registration," he said.  "Your address is on your license."  That might prevent a car bandit from stealing your car and taking it to your house while you are at work or shopping or otherwise occupied.

 

In other news, I had some secondhand news of my ex- today and though at first I felt weird, knowing that she seems to be doing well has lifted a big weight from my heart.  I feel like that door closed that much more today. It's a mighty relief, actually.

I used to be desperate for information but now I'm more than anxious to move forward and get the last of it out of my system.  I will always care very much for her and her family, but I'm looking to the future and to people who actually want me around. 

 

When you're wanted, even the bad things are good.

 

Today was National Coming Out Day.

I wonder what the day meant to individuals and families and co-workers today.  What happened?  Did anything? 

Chances are good that if all the people who aren't exactly heterosexual turned a different color for a day, we'd all be shocked and the world might just change some -- and for the better of everyone... unless ignorant fear is allowed to run things.

 

Final item: I've got a "Jones."  Welch's dried cherries.  I found them in the snack section of my store.  Ooo-wheee.

I paid 60 cents more for a 5.5 oz. bag than I did for a gallon of gas and I have no regrets.  Mmmmm.

Great Lakes cherries and no "dioxide" of any kind in the ingredients.

I bought another bag to share with my co-workers tomorrow... but will I?

"Muah-ha-ha" she laughed, evilly!

I'll probably be over them quickly but a lovely treat.  Thank goodness Michigan and it's environs didn't have any hurricanes this year!

 

 

 

Everything's better for now

I did talk to Em yesterday.  She understood how I felt.  I'm not walking away from her.  I'm going to see if I can't hold out for a while. 

It's different from the last time I was kept away... but I don't know if it's different enough.

I have so much more to ponder and to say on this but I have to get to work.

I only wish I knew the whole truth of the first time it happened.  Even if it hurt, it would have made me a better person.  I don't even get to know if that one ended up happy.  I hope she found someone who adores her that she adores in turn.

I've told Em that I love her.  She laughs, but she doesn't say it back.

Here's your sign, fool.

Just a little bit longer.   She's too good to turn away from without some bit of a fight.

I drove all night.

I've been out for hours, cruising around, running some errands.  I feel empty and edgy.  I am thinking about my Em.  I don't know what to do.  There's no comfort here.

Am I asking too much; to actually see the person I'm dating?

I adore Em.  She's smart and so sassy.  She loves making jokes at my expense and after all the verbal abuse I endured in my life, I don't mind a single bit.  It's warm with her. 

I'd love to be patient with stamina.  I just don't know what I'm waiting for.

Her children are her number one concern.  I get it.

She has school to accomplish.  I get it.

Her ex-husband is a dingleberry who, with his second wife, is making her life very difficult.  I get it.

How she keeps pressing on is a wonder.  She's amazing.  She blows my mind.  I pray for things to be easier for her.

I'll just be over here wondering if I'll ever get squeezed in for long-term, hello-I-see-you-and-I-am-glad-you-are-here kind of thing.

It doesn't seem likely.  There will always be something creating an obstacle.

I don't expect promises of a future. I see how life works.  Staying together is rare.  Here we are and there isn't even being together a little while.  I guess I'm not enough.

She needs someone who chats a lot and is as fiery as she is.  Someone who isn't as sensitive as I am.  Someone content to be on the backburner.

I feel so empty today.  A few days ago, she called and told me all her problems and just listening to her made me happy.

Then she told me we couldn't see each other this weekend.  That's what I wait for.  How pathetic am I?!

She isn't pushing me away like the one who broke my heart did.  She isn't even letting me get close enough to get pushed away.

My heart is a vacuum.  I want to bury my head in the sand.  I want to sleep like I am dead.  I want to be everything I'm not.  I can't beg for attention, for affection.

Tonight I would have stopped where my mother's ashes are, but at 11 at night, the church parking lot was loaded with people.  It's just as well.  I know I would have broken down.

Never mind, it's happening now.  I wish I was still out driving... to keep my mind focused on surviving streets full of teenagers and drinkers rather than being here, alone, empty... and feeling like sugar on the floor.

Ants, in Equality and not feelin' the love

Luckily, the ants swarming inside this old mobile home tonight are the big, wing-ed kind that aren't malicious unless you mess with them.  Thank goodness for the bug spray that does them in quickly and isn't harmful to my cat and doesn't give me any respiratory grief.

There has been so much rain this season.  This isn't the first time the critters have tried to take over the house.

 

"Equality" is an grass-roots group that has done much good in other states, but in Florida, it's something of a joke.  I don't know why people here don't realize that if we don't fight for our rights and the right to be responsible for each other, we'll never get anywhere and might even be set back.

In the past, I went to where the group was supposed to meet, only to find no one else.  At my third try, there were some people there who looked like they might be meeting but damned if I was going up to them, in a sports bar, to ask if they were homosexual activists.

I received e-mail from someone who wants to try and start again.  I'm skeptical.  I don't have much energy to give as it is.  I certainly don't want to drive all the way to some meeting place in another county just to get burned again.

I will write to politicians and speak to crowds and take to the streets... but with other people who are for real.  I don't have the time to fool around.

I give regularly to the Human Rights Campaign. (*Note to self: Call HRC and change payment method.)  When I run into someone else who gives a flying kadiddlehopper, then maybe we'll start a movement.

 

What I really want to talk about tonight is my heart.  The woman I am supposedly involved with doesn't have time for me again this weekend.

I was hoping to see her to talk about the status of the relationship in person.  It isn't fair to expect me to wait forever for her to have time for me.  I changed my work schedule to accommodate her.  She can't even see me.  This will make it more than a month since I've seen her.

She has so much going on.  I understand that.  What the hell am I doing in the equation?  She has NO TIME for me.

I don't feel that I can approach the subject at this time.  I am the least of her concerns.  She doesn't need me whining or asking for freedom to see other people or telling her I can be her friend but I can't handle nothingness.

She's hurting me and it's just not right.  I wonder how long I can put up with being treated like this before I crack.  She doesn't know she's making me miserable.  It isn't the right time to tell her I need to be able to see her now and then or just be friends and nothing more.  I don't think I've asked her for anything more than that.  But it's too high a price for her. 

I don't know what I'm supposed to feel like when I get treated like this.  I don't want to add any other problem to her complex life right now.

I know I need to tell her that she needs to love me or let me go.  I am more than willing to fit her into my life.  I'm not important enough to be a real part of hers.

It's all about finding the right moment and the saying it... even if it comes out wrong.  The one thing that I learned from having my heart raked over is that you have to look out for yourself.

I gave up time to myself and time I'd spend with family and friends.  I save up to be with her.  Gas ain't cheap but I am more than willing to make the trip, even for just a brief visit.

Nope.  Not wanted.  School, kids, work. 

Why does she even bother with me at all?

Give me strength.  I'm afraid I am going to have to say goodbye.  I don't want to.

Maybe it's time to get those other 92 cats.  I'm about ready to give up.

 

 

5876