WAKE UP!!!

Of course it’s May 28, 2009 and here its 55 degrees (brrr!) here right now because it’s rainy and icky….But Booga can’t wait for school to get out because it interferes with his sleep schedule.
He said last night, “I’m tired of, get up go to school, get up go to church, get up go to grandma’s, auntie’s…Etc.”
It just never dawned on me that he cared, but I told him schools out in two weeks so it will all be good and he can sleep in as long as he likes…

Unless we have to go to church…

You should hear him do the commercial for Pepsi Max.
"WAKE UP PEOPLE!!!"
Then in this little voice, "Diet Pepsi Max."

An inherently bad thing….

So, when you own a classic car, you should be prepared for many things whilst driving said car.

1) Be prepared to be stared at….

a) Many a time have I sat in my car in the passenger seat while my husband

ran into the store and had people stare at my car and thought… "Why is this person staring at me?"

And then I realize…. "Oh, it's because I am in a vintage 1950's car."

2) Be prepared to give specifications, especially if it's a street rod.

a) Know the engine size, the kind of transmission you have and the size and kind of tires and wheels are on your car.

b) Know the name of the color of the car.

c) Know the little "slang-terms" that are referred to when "car guys" are talking about your car.

3) Expect a veteran of some war to come up and tell you that:

a) They were going to get that kind of car right after they got discharged

b) They had this car before the war and had to get rid of it afterward.

c) Got this car right after they got back and it looked "exactly" like this one.

Not to knock veterans. My dad's a veteran, so's my father-in-law. Two of my brother's are veterans. I really loved my Uncle who was a decorated WWII veteran. It's just ironic. They all say similar things.

So we took our vintage 1950's car to the car wash and we were going to wash it because my husband is OCD about his car's being clean… (we have several vintage cars) and Booga was with us in the back seat…And it just so happened we didn't have any quarters with us….So my husband decided since he couldn't live with his car being dirty- he absolutely had to take it through the automatic wash….

This is when your classic car becomes "that car that you've forgotten to install something on"….In this case it was rubber seals around the windows that helps keep not only noise down but water from spraying you from the outside in…

You know, from rain and automatic car washes.

So....just as the sprayer came around to my husbands window it gushed water down on him like we'd driven into a lake and since we keep a bunch of towels in the back seat and we grabbed the towels stuffed them in the cracks of the windows while Booga half-amused and half-frightened, screamed every time the sprayer hit one side or the other.

He loves car washes to begin with because they are monsters with a good purpose and all that happens to you is that your car gets clean.

But there was real danger of being soaked in this run through and every time the sprayer sprayed one window or another someone would yell, "Oh, here we go again!"

"Did you get the extended wash!?!"

"No!"

"No, it just seems that way?"

"Maybe the automatic is not such a good idea!?!"

"Ya think!?! Oh crap here we go again!!!"

Afterward we decided that we would not be taking any of the classic cars through automatic car washes again, however, our car was no worse for wear….She'd survived being outside for a good thirty years before we restored her. A little water wasn't going to kill her now.

However, this was an adventure for Booga.

I just hope he doesn't roll down any windows during future car washes to re-experience that thrill ride.

I think that would be an inherently bad thing….

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Frank Lloyd Wright - "TV is chewing gum for the eyes."

Letting Go...

Recently I packed up what I consider one of my best girl friends and sent her to live in another state.

I did this with much trepidation and sadness.

Now the trepidation is not for her. It's for me.

 

I know, right? That sounds uber-selfish. However, of late, I have found myself to be more dependent on others company and less entertained by my own conversations with plants, cats, or even my own reflection.

You can try to have conversations with Booga, but they generally end up being pretty odd and sort of abstract.

 

I have packed up my two older children and shipped them to other states; and I know they don't want to come home, however, I wouldn't mind if they both might move closer.

I guess this is something I am going to have to learn to understand about getting older.

 

I miss my friend terribly. But this is what is best for her. I think.

We all learn things from each other and she needs a different learning environment.

 

….And a better economic structure and more jobs and better schools.

 

Love is letting go, there is no room for obsessive control in a loving and teaching heart because you must set the bird free and allow it to fly away.

 

Plus I have a strong feeling her life will begin in earnest in another state.

 

Booga has taken to saying goodnight to his print of a wolf he calls "Teacher."

 

He says, "Good night Teacher."

 

He loves that print.

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YOU WILL GO HERE!

I maintain that Marty is a miracle.
He wasn’t supposed to be here at all.
My husband had a vasectomy before he was conceived and trust me there is no doubt whose child he is because he looks more like his father than any of my other children.
It’s almost as if God’s intention all along was for me to be Marty’s mom.
I had a cousin that was severely mentally disabled and I had another one that had genetic anomalies that cause her to be handicapped.
Sometimes the later cousin’s handicap was socially incapacitating and seemingly totally unfair. I learned to defend my cousin against ridicule and scoffing from other kids so much so that I ended up defending neighborhood children against each other (none to my benefit sometimes and sometimes to my own dismay later).
I was told horror stories about mental hospitals and I told myself that no child of mine would go through that-ever if I could help it. I would never put my child in a mental hospital or a nursing home.
This was me, speaking as a child/teenager.
Now, you have to remember, that this was in the 1950’s. This was when people were told to leave their child and forget they ever had them. Like a parent could do that without guilt or nightmarish psychological consequences.

Oh the practice of early psychology.

However in my family, forgetting someone was in our family was completely out of the question and we had periodic updates on my cousin who was in the mental hospital (where she was, what she was doing, what her health was like) and she became for me, someone whose face I could only imagine from my uncles description. I never saw her in life. I only met her when she passed away in her late thirties.

When I was in art school, I wanted to figure out if I would be better at some other occupation. Art was fun for me, however, art professors have a tendency to pit one art student against another also, some lean towards certain styles of art and students have to play to that style, even though to them it seems wrong for them as an artist.
So I took a test to figure out what career I would be good at; and when the results came in I was asked by the grumpy counselor, “Have you ever thought of working with people with special needs?”
“No.” I sat for a moment, “I don’t have that kind of patience.”

Sometimes God says, “YOU WILL GO HERE!”
Like Jonah and the big fish. And instead of what you think you want to do, you end up doing what his will is anyway.

God’s grand scheme of things is a complex web. He’s the best teacher and planner etc.

Think about Moses. Raised in Pharaoh’s house, among princes, taught by scholars to stand and defend the Israelites and basically be God’s lobbyist.

Sometimes I wonder why I’m here and sometimes it’s so clear. I am here to be Marty’s mom.
*smiles*.

By the way, the other day I told Marty to hustle up and help his dad carry in something from the car.
I said, “Hey, move it, move it, move it!”
Marty said to me, “Mom, I am not in military school.”


You’d have to know Marty to know how funny that is.

No Lotto Numbers Here....

Sometimes it’s not easy being insightful.

Sometimes it sucks.

People think this is a controllable thing. It’s not. It’s highly uncontrollable.

It’s not a vision or looking into a crystal ball or chanting and having some sort of realization through smoke.

It’s not that easy.

It’s an internal push this way or that. Or unfortunately, a frightening dream or nightmare that provokes you to action someway.

It’s a difference between going right or left; an ability to read peoples faces or feel their emotions or gather information from their body language. It’s unspoken and sometimes they themselves are unaware of how much they are saying in just standing there looking around at the world in their own space.

People mistake this as being psychic sometimes.

This particular ability is something learned more than felt.

But the heavy pressure of someone else’s emotions….Well, that’s a whole nother thing completely. So you feel drawn this way or that. Your life has told you its own stories that might give you an idea or insight into how a person is feeling or what is going on in their head.

You evaluate strengths and weaknesses and consider what futile desperation is and what inevitable responses could be and from there you draw your conclusions.

So what looks like a psychic reading might only be the normal 2+2=4. Bigger than that it might be telling a person not only what they cannot see for themselves (because they are looking from the inside out) but what they already know and refuse to see in the mirror.