Seriously?

Where has all this endless Spam come from and why am I it's bitch? Seriously? I deleted 76 messages of spam today. . . I'm starting to think maybe deleting the blog would be easier! Ack!

The Cabin

PULLED OUT OF MY ARCHIVES AND TINKERED WITH . . . MAYBE I'LL EVEN FINISH IT . . .

Her cabin sat back from the road about 300 yards. Unless you were looking, you'd never notice. Not that anyone would ever look. No one traveled this road unless they were coming to see her. Few people came to see her these days as she'd managed to alienate almost everyone who cared about her.

The morning started as any other. Sounds from the forest woke her at the crack of dawn, nature's "rooster crow." It was a beautiful, crisp, warm summer morning. Those early morning sounds of birds, insects, the rustling of the leaves, the echoing bark of a far off dog and the soft, muffled sounds of the creek below gave her a shot of energy in the morning that no cup of coffee could replicate. She always went for a brisk morning walk, regardless of the weather. It was during these morning walks that she mapped out her entire day.

Today she was unable to focus on the future of her day, instead she was dwelling in her past. Seven years ago today she left the bright lights of the city and a promising career as a federal prosecutor – some said on a whim, she knew otherwise. It had taken months of careful consideration. She'd never be safe if she stayed in that high profile position, it had to be. She packed her entire apartment in three hours, dropped the key in the super's box and drove here, to her own private paradise.

A slight smile crept across her face when she recalled that on that same day, she gave the homeless man in the alley Tom's expensive Italian suits and shoes and shoved the rest of that cheating bastard's belongings down the garbage shoot on her way out the door, careful to dump the bacon grease from her breakfast, over the top of the pile. The smile disappeared quickly as it was replaced with the vivid and unrelenting memories of that night. He'd followed her here – not her cheating ex – but the parolee she feared more than any other. He taunted her always, even after she'd put him away for smuggling - young foreign girls, just one of his side crimes - he taunted her. She had a feeling he was there, and she should never have lead him here – to the middle of no where - her safe house. He crashed through her front door, and threw her through that beautiful picture window facing the creek. He beat her badly with her own autographed Jeter baseball bat, burned her with a cigarette on her temple, and left her for dead. She remembers him whispering in her ear that if she were younger, he'd have had a job for her too – her and those little girls from the Ukraine that he so easily smuggled into the country. She never should have come straight here. She thought she had planned enough time to get out of the city, she had no idea they'd let him out in the morning, instead of in the late afternoon as was the protocol.

She shuddered slightly, rubbed her right leg feeling the deep, jagged grooves left behind by the glass from the picture window, and was startled by the sudden vibration of her cell phone alerting her to a text message. She reached into the crease of her blouse created by the curve of her breasts - she always kept her cell phone there because of the tingle she got when it activated. As she read the text, a deep and beautiful smile formed on her lips as her laughter echoed through the woods, bouncing from tree to leaf, to rock and back to her.

There was a reason they called her Sunny – even though her name was really Sonja. She had a smile that could rival a lighthouse beacon, or just as easily sink ships, and Justin imagined that she was smiling just then. The thought made him go weak in the knees, so much so that he had to hold onto the counter for balance. He always went weak in the knees around her, she just didn't know it – no one knew it. He knew today would be hard for her. This day, this day for the last seven years was the only one in which that beautiful smile didn't occupy her face the entirety of her waking hours. But today, it would be harder still, as she'd be attending the parole hearing today. She'd have to go over that night and produce the letters he continued to write to her. She'd have to look him in the eye. He'd be there as moral support, and later to get her all worked up so that she'd smile that man-killing smile right at him.

With a rapidity that suggested she could in fact be a teenager in disguise, Sunny answered his text with "after the hearing . . . you and me baby! You won't know what hit ya!" He wished that she was serious. She almost half-way was. They traded texts like this on a daily basis. He was her "sexter". She adored him. She knew he was in love with her, but she was careful not to encourage him because she needed him desperately and romantic love got in the way. There was longing, in every touch, soft kiss or strong hug, but she needed to know that she could call him at any hour to chat, to lean on, to talk dirty to and to ask favors of. Romantic love got in the way.

She need spend only minutes in his company and a permanent smile was plastered to her face. He made her laugh like no one on earth could make her laugh. She delighted in making him laugh too, as his deep brown eyes sparkled as if someone had lit a fire in them. When they were together, laughing was painful – peeing first was always recommended!

She'd not been in a relationship these past seven years. The scars were deeper then their physical appearance, and were poison for any real relationship. She knew, one day he'd be out, and she'd be on the run. She needed Justin, she just couldn't love him like he wanted her to love him, because on that day that he was out? She'd leave Justin, and everything she loved about this cabin in the woods behind for good. She hoped with a wild desperation that today, would not be the day he was allowed to go free.

Lord Stanley's Cup

Wheeee! and Yummmmm!

Pictures of the Past

There is a picture on my desk at work . . . there are several actually. Each one reminds me of a time in my life when I was happy, when I was having fun, when I was loved.

Things have been rough here lately, that hasn't been a secret. The loss of my sister has reminded me that I need to tell those that I love, daily, that I love them. I LOVE YOU! You know who you are. It has also reminded me that I can't forget to have a good time and make memories, for myself, for my boys, for myself . . . Joyce had fun wherever she went and it was usually fun being with her.

I miss my sister. I miss being able to finish someone else's sentences, I miss the knowing glance that declared without words "damn, nice ass" ;) I miss giggling at inside jokes that no one else would ever get. I miss, most of all, being able to laugh at eachother and our family's quirks. Making fun of mom's broken English isn't quite as fun without my sister. . . dancing the Time Warp, singing the songs from various musicals won't be as fun either.

I have a picture . . . one picture from nearly every Christmas or summer in which my sister and I are dancing, fooling around, dancing . . . we do a lot of dancing at my house . . .

Here is one. I don't post pictures of myself, but I'm wearing her hat so you can't really see me - plus it is blurry cause it is scanned. My hair is really long there, I'm thinner, etc. This picture sits on my desk at work, if I remember correctly (by the car in the background) it was 1995 or so, at Assateague Island, Maryland. We were camping. I just arrived from Philadelphia, wearing my favorite cut-offs (and likely a bikini under that big t-shirt). I just noticed, I have pretty feet. . . ;)

I have no idea what we were doing in the picture . . . I'd guess finishing some sort of dancing. She kept this same picture with her, by her bed. I love this picture - I miss my sister.

Spamlot

WTF! Why have I gotten slammed with Spam over the last two days? I mean . . . It's been dry here, but cialis? viagra? I don't think I'm yer girl . . .

Nerves of Aerospace Grade Titanium?

I have been dealing with the loss of my sister. I don't grieve the same way that other people grieve. I don't break down and curl up in a ball and cry in the corner. I am focused. I shove my grief aside, and I deal with the things that need to be dealt with. I take care of the needs of my family and my friends first and then, if there is time, I deal with my needs - otherwise, I internalize.

On the day my sister died, I was far from home. My dad was alone in one place, my mom was alone in another, my nephew was not with them and my sister was dead. Rather than cry out, wail or weep, I made the executive decision to get my dad somewhere safe until my husband could collect him. I made the call to my nephew's dad to begin the process of preparing for telling my nephew the tragic news, and I placed calls to find my mom and tell her, and to tell other members of our family. Then I set to work to secure a plane ticket home and make the arrangements for a funeral dinner following the service. I cried on the shoulder of one of my dearest friends for a few moments, and then got back to what I needed to get done.

Some think that this behavior is unnatural - I think it is practical. I did not have the luxury of breaking down because my family needed me to take charge. I could not stop and grieve with family members because they would suck the very life from me when I needed to be busy making plans and taking care of things.

After I arrived home, my husband felt as if I was not emotional enough, and he was angry with me for it. I suspect he expected me to fall out of the car into his waiting arms a jellied, sobbing mess. I am not that person. I got home at nearly 1 am on Saturday morning and immediately set to work getting photographs cropped and prepared for the slideshow requested of the funeral home. I was distant, cold and unfeeling - IF you ask my husband. I think I was getting done what was necessary, and there was no time to grieve.

Members of my family, (my own parents), friends and strangers who came through the funeral home questioned how I could remain so put together or why I wasn't crying. I did cry a couple times when certain people entered the funeral home but it was short-lived and few and far between. I did not have time to break down. My mother was standing next to me and was unable to remember the names and faces of people she had known for 30 years. My father was standing next to me and had not stopped sobbing for days. I did not have the luxury of falling apart because there was no one to look after my folks. My cousin - who truly is more like my brother - has never had to deal with a loss. He was young when our grandfather died. This death has hit him like a steam roller. He found it hard to stand unaided. I did not have the luxury of falling apart because the boy who has needed me since he was 16 - needed me again. My 84 year old grandma who just got out of the hospital was frail and tired, my uncle was inconsolable, my aunts too. I did not have the luxury of falling apart because who would prop them up? Who would look after my gram? So there is that.

But to understand why I have the resolve of steel, one would need to understand my childhood, though I decline to get really specific here . . . I was the oldest. As a result, it was my responsibility to look after my sister. Should she get into trouble, do something we'd been warned against, or need anything, I was to set the example, and in failing, I was to accept the punishment.
I was not allowed to cry. Have you ever seen a 3 year old child who was not permitted to cry? That was me. Crying when being punished simply brought more punishment. So I did not cry. The tears could come later, when I was alone. God forbid that I cry when there was nothing to cry about - for I was quickly given a reason to cry. I was stubborn as well, and when old enough to know, I refused to cry. I'd be punished and laugh and exclaim that it did not hurt, which, alas, brought more punishment. What? I was stupid and stubborn . . .

When I was 4 we were on a family trip to the beach. We stopped at a convenience store for snacks and all piled back into the car. I was in the back seat of a four-door boat of a car. I don't recall what car it was. I'd not made it all the way in when my mom slammed the big door closed and crawled into the front seat. I sat in my seat with tears streaming down my face. When my mother noticed, I was admonished for crying "for no reason." It was only when we stopped at the campground to register that anyone noticed that my foot had been caught in the door - and indeed, remained there for a good 10 miles or so. I had not cried out because to do so would have caused anger . . . I stopped crying because that too was not allowed. This was simply one instance of many.

It is against this backdrop that I tell you that I do not fall apart. I take charge of crises, I get things done quickly and efficiently, and I am there to prop up those that need me most . . . but I do not fall apart. To illustrate, my son fell in a parking lot of shale when he was 3 or so. a jagged piece of shale pierced his forehead. There was literally blood everywhere. It looked as if he'd mangled his face and was bleeding from multiple places. I scooped him up, though not before removing my white sweater, and walked him into the fire hall where I knew first aid could be had. As several men stood around panicked at the sight of my tiny boy bleeding all over me (not even noticing I was in only a bra) and backed away, it was up to me to bark orders and take charge. I got the bleeding stopped (despite being there with an EMT) I cleaned up my sobbing boy and I bandaged him myself. I could not rely upon those men, trained in first aid, as they had fallen apart. I did not have the luxury of falling apart because it was my baby who was bleeding and crying. I made the decision to forego stitches - so as not to add to the trauma, and the scar is still visible today.

I broke this cardinal rule of mine when my husband was in his accident last year. I cried, I sobbed, I stayed in bed. . . it did me no good, and accomplished nothing. I can say with conviction that I cried all my tears then.

I am flawed. I am broken. I am without a sister who understands those flaws and imperfections . . . I am stoic. But, I get the job done when it needs to be done. I am a planner. I am not unfeeling, I am simply better at brushing it aside. I am dealing. AND . . . if I am in your corner - and you know if I am . . . I will prop you up when you want to fall. I will love you, support you and make you sammiches . . .I will be there for you no matter what and I will get it done when you can't. So there is also that.