Brought to you by Abreva

I am sitting at my computer that has been parked at the kitchen table for 5 days. Cords splayed unceremoniously on the floor, draped over chairs & piled up in the corner. There are 6 people in my family. We have a small kitchen. Computer do-dads in the small kitchen with 6 people (don't forget the dog!) makes me very, very nervous.

I have a TV in my bedroom (the shame!) a TV in the front room. Half an entertainment hutch in my hall way. A plethora of pillows, wires in a huge Aldis bag(wires form every electrical device known to man!). A de-humidifier. A hulking string bass nestled next to my bed....well you get the picture. Crap everywhere!

5 days ago our basement flooded. We live in a bi-level so our basement ain't just a basement, it's the play room, entertainment room, office, under stair storage, bathroom & laundry room.

So yeahhhhhhhhh, when THAT floor gets covered w/ 4 inches of water, it does some damage! It's amazing how 4 inches of water can destroy so much.

I would like to load my pictures onto my post, but I can't figure out how, now that the computer is in bits. Printer over there, Disk drive back up thingy over here. That plug in I need...wait...where is that thing?

Through all of this I had to take care of myself. I have managed to shower once in these 5 days. (I think today is the day I spoil myself & add some water to my hair...maybe rub my shampoo bar over it once or twice) I have been eating chocolate all day long, starting at 7:30 am. I took a 2 hour nap yesterday, on the couch, with the sun bathing my body, my eyes covered by my eye mask....heavenly! I threw caution to the wind & didn't add my sunblocking lip balm. So this morning I woke up to a cold sore thanks to the sun...or the pounds of chocolate I have been eating...or the stress....whatever.

Even though the weekend was a bit stressful, I realize how lucky I am. It sounds trite but I have friends. Really good friends that bring over food, "beer", Dove chocolates, Yankee smelly tarts heaters thingy. Friends that took my not so clean JUST LAUNDERED laundry (that I left in baskets, on the basement floor "headdesk") & did my laundry, underwear & all! Friends who took my kids so my husband & I could stand around saying "ummm, where do we begin?"

Thank God for good friends, neighbors & church peeps. My house is slowly getting put back together. My life is getting use to the upheaval. My kids are back to annoying each other. Crisis mode is over. It's all coming together. I take deep breaths & let the relaxing energy wash over me.

Oh yeah, My daughter has been home with the flu for 3 days.

Pass the chocolate & the Abreva.

Feeding the needy

3 girls dressed in vintage 1920 flapper dresses, sitting on a bench. Feet furiously pushing, pushing the petals to an old pump piano. Girls singing at the top of there lungs as the pump piano wheezes & hums My Rag Time Gal. Singing and singing till the fair lights come on & the old mansion shuts down for the evening.

Laughter.

What you see are children, raising a motherless child.

Brandy, Brenda, Jenny, Diane, Mindy, Drew, Noel, Jen. Names that go on and on. Were these children aware of their impact? Teenagers who stepped up to take me in when my mother died, as a father mourned.

They held me accountable to my actions. They ran along side of me as I fled from my earthy worries. They grab hold of my shoulders & spoke fiercely into my brain. Focusing me onto my path I needed to take. Holding down my grief, they scooped it out with their hands only to have me face it, then helped me bade it goodbye.

Encouraging me to do difficult things. Yelling at me when I got down on myself. Pushing me onto the stage when I couldn't breath. And holding my hand as I screamed into the dark.

We give children too little respect. While adults hemmed & hawed about my grades, college plans & how much sleep I got. Teenagers filled my soul with friendship and life. Pushed me back onto my own 2 feet. Held me up while I wobbled precariously on the edge of childhood and adulthood. Madness & sanity.

I was raised by a pack of giggly, wild, intelligent, strong, carefree & loving group of misfit teens. Teens who crushed me with their protective arms. Teens who allowed me to borrow their breath, their happiness, their strength.

I am the lucky one.

Well that's just great.

I got a response back from Social Security about my brother.


Social Security has not been notified of his death. Technically, by their standards, he is still alive...or rather his SS # is.

Wanna hear something funny? When you request a persons SS # they will give it to you for a small fee. Butttt, if that person is not listed as deceased, The Privacy Act of 1974 states (5 U.S.C 552a(b))

(I'm only going to type out part because it's redundant & I'm lazy) "The Privacy Act of 1974 restricts disclosure of the information you requested. We do not disclose to the public personal information from our record about living individuals right to privacy."

Sounds good right? Well then why did they GIVE me my brothers SS #?!!!!! Yes, you read that right! They gave me his NUMBER (It's the same number I had all these years. It was a # on his college forms. Those were the good old days when they used a persons SS# on everything. From college papers to driver licences!) They just broke their own Privacy Act!

And that my friends, is why the Government can be stupid. Oh, how did I get this delicate information you ask? "You must have jumped through hoops to get his #! You are amazing!" Well, I am amazing...but I did not have to jump through hoops. All I had to do was type on a piece of paper his name, birth date, father's & mother's name of the person I was search for. Oh, & $29. And for the low price of $29 I got myself an unused SS#! Wow.......My trust in the governments ability to keep me safe & healthy is one more flush down the toilet....morons.

So for now my dopey brother is still lost. Is he alive? I doubt it. His low life, drunk of a father never bothered to notify SS, that's all.

I guess I have to pick through all the states to search for his death certificate. That can take 100's of dollars & lots o' time. But I'll do it..maybe...if I'm in a good mood.

Remember kids...the government is our friend & is the smartest friend we have! I love you government...I want to be just as smart as you when I grow up!

His name was Brian

Brian was born to a popular, playboy city kid and a kind, wounded girl. He had red hair & freckles the moment he was born. He was a brilliant child. IQ through the roof.

He watched his father beat his quiet mother. He saw the parties, the drinking, the fights. He ran with his mother. He saw the blood splattered apartment his mother had rented. All of her clothes shredded, belongings broken, every window smashed & his bleeding father sprawled on the white carpet. He watched as his mother did the unthinkable. She got a lawyer and won an annulment, the car, the furniture, the dog, the restraining order...in the 60's. My mother slowly shed her wounded childhood heart and become a women to be reckoned with. She put her foot down, slammed the door & made a new life for herself. But she was punished, by her mother, her society and her church. The Catholic church excommunicated her for leaving her abusive husband. Her husband....he finally walked away from her, never to see punishment in this lifetime.

My brother was about 9 when mom ran. Mom married a nice man, who took Brian on ski trips, camping, fishing & canoeing. He taught him how to fix cars and anything with a motor. Brian was safe. But he never healed for everything he witnessed.

A boy & his beloved dog

Brian with the "new" guy on his wedding day.

Brian, his freckles & his blue eyes.

At 15, his sister was born. I must have thrown him off greatly, because at 15 he became a drug addict. It started with a cigarette his friend offered him. Then a beer from the friend's father. Soon after..pot. 15, Fifteen.

Me & my brother who, on this day became my Godfather.

My parents tried everything, well everything you could do for an addict in the 70's & 80's. But in the end nothing helped. My brother traveled the world...selling drugs. He was a pusher, a pimp, a felon, a thief, a user. He was the guy who would sell drugs to your children. A brilliant mind wasted.

My exhausted mother & my "high" brother at Thanksgiving dinner.

He finally left our lives for good when I was about 10. I breathed a sign of relief. My mother just sighed. I cringed when I received his gifts to me. Cards that said "be good." Clothes, jewelry, flowers. The gifts came for my birthday or Christmas. My mother, never received a thing, not even a word from her son. I hated him because I knew what he was doing. He was slowly killing our mom.

Brother & sister

My mother was a strong, feisty, fun, kind, loyal women. She never showed weakness. She tried not to cry over Brian. The closest she got was when he was stabbed in the gut after a failed drug deal. He lay dying in a New York hospital. Mom cried, not because he nearly died, but because he healed & walked out to sell more drugs. He left her sitting by his hospital bed alone. The tears she swallowed soon settled over her heart. She never again allowed them to flow, so they festered in her breast till it rotted with cancer. Her left breast carved off her body was a reminder of how powerful a wounded heart can be. All that remained was twisted, black, burned flesh that she tended to day in and day out for months. Tending the hurt Brian had left her. Mom lived with her cancer for 5 years. I watched everything. I saw the flesh. I saw the infections & the rot she would get. I watched as her hair fell out, then her fingernails. I heard her vomit violently after chemo, only to apply fresh lipstick & march out the door & go to work. I listen to the years of hacking she did. An uncontrolled cough that would break her ribs. My brother remained silent. Knowing she was dying & never getting clean enough to care.

At 15...Fifteen... I buried my mom. At 15 my brother slithered back to attend her funeral. I hated him. I hated he was in our house. My father made him cut off all his stingy red hair. He took him to get his teeth clean. He handed me a wad of cash to take my stupid 30 year old brother shopping for respectable clothes. I watched as my brother twitched & fidgeted. He couldn't walk without looking behind him, waiting for someone to stab him in the back. At 15 I knew a jonesing drug addict when I saw one. I hated him. My mother was dead & I was hauling his pathetic ass around Crystal Point Mall. He said crap like "I'm clean. I went to rehab. I'm getting better." Liar. "I love you. I'm sorry I left you." Liar. "I'm sorry I never wrote mom, I love you, forgive me." Liar. He could barley try on shoes he was shaking so hard. He jumped every time a salesmen talked to him. Liar, I hate you.

At mom's funeral, my clean, suited brother stood by my dad's side. He wore a light pink shirt and a light colored suit. I refused to stand near Brian. I refused to be his sister. I had a friend say that he was cute. I told her "His nose cartilage has rotted away by all the blow he did. Oh yeah, thanks for coming to my moms funeral, so nice to see you."

Brain followed me everywhere. Outside to breath...Brian. Sitting on the steps...Brian. Bathroom...Brian. He creeped me out. I over heard my dad tell him "stop hovering around your sister. She doesn't trust you. If you bother her, I will kill you." I smiled at that last line. After the funeral my dad thought it would be fun to take a road trip to visit his sister in Minnesota. Grief makes people do weird things! I sat in the back of the car as Brian & his stepfather drove in silence...the whole way. One night at the hotel, I decided I needed to away from the men folk, so off to the pool I went. Swimming in the pool....Brian. Diving board...Brian. Ahhh hot tub....what the Hades?!....Brian. I bolted out of the hot tub & ran off to find a place to hide. Me, being oh so smart hid in the....sauna .........Brian. Brian in a bathing suit, awkward me in a bathing suit. Door shut...sauna. I felt the bile rise in my throat. He had me trapped. A drug addict had me trapped! I stayed calm as he sat next to me. I scooted away. He started to cry. He told me he knew he messed up. He knew I would never trust him. I asked him why he did it. Drugs. Leaving mom. He started to retell his story. "I watched my father beat my quite mother. I saw the parties, the drinking, the fights. I ran with my mother. I saw the blood splattered apartment my mother had rented. All of her clothes shredded, belongings broken, every window smashed & my bleeding father sprawled on the white carpet."

"It's still not an excuse, but it was too much." "I was too weak." "Mom...mom...mom suffered terribly. I saw it all. Somethings to horrible to repeat.""I'm so sorry.""I missed you.""You are my only family." Cold air rushed in as my dad slammed open the door. My dad, standing there in his short swim suit growled, "Get away from her...now" My brother towered over him as he walked out. My brother hide his tears from dad. My brother disappeared when we got home from our trip. He left saying he was going to get better. Make his life better for mom. But he knew, as we did, it was too late.

The awkward trio in MN. "Smile everyone! Mom's dead & you are standing in front of a lovely lighthouse. Ain't vacations fun?!"

His father called one day out of the blue. I knew immediately as my father said "John" with disdain & dripping with hate. My dads face never changed as John told him what happened. I didn't have to hear John to know. They found Brian alone, dead of a heroin overdose. All he had left of the $300 worth of clothes, shoes & toiletries my dad bought for him was a duffel bag, a pair of socks and a worn picture of me. A picture of me.

My dad & I didn't shed a tear. All my father could say was "at least he waited to die after your mother."

I don't remember when or where he died. I know I was still in high school. I continued my life just trying to survive my teen years. I didn't have time to think about a brother that deserted us. But all these years later I search for him. Sometimes I imagined he was alive...hiding somewhere from the drug lords that owned him. But I doubt a 5o something druggie is smart enough or healthy enough to survive this long.

When I joined the church I heard about how families can be together forever. I didn't want Brian to be apart of my family. All the agony he caused our mom....it caused me to hate him. I put the thought about doing his "work" into the back of my mind. I got married & moved on with my life. I forgot about Brian. Until one night my husband & I had a dream...each. It was of my brother, in white..... "please, I'm sorry." He actually looked happy. Dang nab it...now I had to find him! Besides, I realised, if I don't do it, no one will. I am his only family. I asked my Dad if he remembered Brian's death info. He didn't. So the search began.

Years ago we didn't have the Internet yet. I couldn't just pop on the computer & find all the info I needed. So I had to go the old fashion route of working with a genealogist and then writing 3 stated for his death records. My searches came up empty. But now, I got smart (I really don't know what took me so long!) I finally realised I could contact Social Security to have them search for his SS number & hopefully it will tell me when & where he died. So here I sit. Waiting for the paper to tell me his info.

I don't know if I really believe in "the work." It's a sweet but impossible, confusing thought. The best I can do is offer up this olive branch. Offer him a new life. Remeber him as a child. Think of him as a brother he wanted to be. Do the work & HOPE that in the end...it is true. And in the end I will see my mother and brother healed...together.

Teen angst

I have entered a new faze in my life....mother of a teenager. So far...a few hours into it, it has been going well. I'm not weepy or sad. I'm excited for my baby. I think I'm a little more excited for him then he is. He enters into this new world with hesitancy & a bit of fear. I, on the other hand embrace this change as exciting & thrilling. I am giddy for him...is that weird?

On Sunday I was trying to think of something symbolic for him. A little turning of age ritual for a boy turning into a teenager. I offered to get his ear pierced or get a tattoo...he promptly turned me down. So I settled for a picture scavenger hunt. For me a scavenger hunt is symbolic of a child turning into a teen. The game itself is childish. The lure of gifts is a selfish childish desire. Then there is the Thrill of the Hunt!! The actual hunt takes brain power & perseverance. A trait learned from experience & age.......ok, you do know I pulled that out of my butt. Sounded good for a second didn't it?!

For the scavenger hunt I will take pictures of hiding places. Each place will have a little treat. Markers (permanent markers...only a teen would get permanent markers! No more washables for him! ), Gum, Nerf bullets, candy. For the candy, I went to a little candy shop downtown. I picked 6 different candies & put 13 pieces of each candy in bags. The store owner got a good chuckle of me counting out 13 tiny little balls of mini midget jaw breakers. Stupids balls kept rolling off the scoop.

I then will take pictures of hiding places. (praise to the digital camera!) My neighbors sand box, undercarriage of the van, the school garden, the library. Oh, yes, I'm going to make this kid work for his treats! Hopefully he will be able to get thought the hunt in good time, because then it's off to dinner. At the end of dinner the waitress will hand him his last clue, a picture of home. A kitchen table with his gifts resting on it, a homemade chocolate cake.

My baby is 13. A true teenager. No longer a child, not an adult...but yet...he's a little of both. He stands on the line, teetering. Dear Lord, help me to keep him upright. Help me to steady him. Let's us all enjoy his ride together.

Awwwww crap...now I'm a little weepy, sheesh!

Slob

What has happened to me? I use to have energy (ok, not really, but I did have more then I have now!) I use to care. I really don't care anymore. This picture proves it. I got a smudge of chocolate on my shirt. Didn't want it to stain. So at least I treated it..........& proceeded to leave my shirt on because I really could not be bothered by picking out a new shirt.

Brilliant

Oh, & to make matters worse, before I stained sticked it....I licked the chocolate stain. Yes, my friends...I ate something..... off....my...shirt.

Kill me now

Facts of life

"Mommy, where do dust bunnies come from?"


"Well Sweetie, dust bunnies come from a very special place. They nestle tight & safe inside a protective layer of soft downy fur. Then they wiggggggle out slowly. It gets so hot, they want to be free & float in the air just like the bunnies before them. When conditions are justtttt right, like right after I mop the floor or when your Grandparents are just about to visit, they spring joyfully from their comfy home. They float & fly. Swirling & whirling on the current of cool air conditioned breeze. For a moment they are soooo happy to be free. They flutter onto the fans, into the potato salad,to top of the fridge & into my nose. Then after all that hard work...they rest. They gently, gently droop & sway onto the awaiting floor. Some bunnies only rest for awhile. They get bored of laying around. They want to float free again. They are sad they are on the floor or stuck to the greasy oven. They get desperate. Once they get desperate...they become rabid. They cling to black dress pants, they sneak into my cosmetic basket. I find them confused & floating in the toilet. I even find them hiding in the van. Poor little things. If we don't step in to cull their numbers they will rise up & slaughter us as we sleep. Then they will take over the world & we would become their food supply...& we don't want that do we Sweetie. So then...this is hard to hear. We have to put them to rest. We must gather them together & send them Elsewhere. yes....Elsewhere. We gently suck them up with my new cool toy. The Swiffer Sweeper Vac (que music, AaahhhaaAAHHhhHHHH) The vacuum is their portal to Elsewhere. It doesn't hurt them, but they are now tired but happy to go to Hel.....Elsewhere.

Sleep well little one, Don't let the dust bunnies bite....or float up your nose, get into your brain & then suck the life juices out of you.





My dog proudly displaying her fur of death & carnage after a good brushing. Dog fur dust bunnies are of the devillllllll.