Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Today I received a myspace friend request from a lady who runs a "Holistic Pregnancy Retreat" in Southern Spain called "Da A Luz." I accepted the request and got very excited at the prospect of having a purpose for going to Spain other than the regular tourism and being a Gaudi architechture whore. Then I began looking through this person's "friends" and found a woman with the above picture on her page. I took one look at it and said, "Holy breastfeeding! That looks like the Virgin Mary breastfeeding Baby Jesus!"
I wonder how much certain right-wing Christians would squirm upon looking at this lovely piece of art.
Yes, boys and girls, that's Holy Mary's breast, nourishing her child, just like God intended.
But who is God? If someone can introduce us, I would be honored.
Monday, May 21, 2007
"Break through clean air into a kiss with you my dear oh yes."
I love that song. Really, you should go see the video for Float Down on youtube.
My husband is the small dark one wearing green, sometimes black, sometimes a hideous multi-colored blazer, playing guitar. At the end, he's the one rolling down the hill while he shreds on his guitar. Yum. After nine years, he still the sexiest thing since, well, peanut butter.
Oh, here, have this shot of him also. This was taken about two years ago at a show in which Blake Lewis, now of American Idol fame played also. I can't remember who opened for who.
And here's a shot of Blake from that same show. Both photos taken by me.
I don't know why the two photos are different sizes. I'm not as high tech as I'd like to think, I guess. Anyway, I don't watch a lot of television, but I saw Blake audition for AI back in February and have been watching ever since. I'm not close personal friends with him or anything, but we have mutual friends, and it's pretty exciting to see someone from the Pacific Northwest actively working his dream! GO BLAKE! He's in the finals! There are only two of them left, until Wednesday....
Since we're having fun with photos, here's a fun shot of one of my BFFs, Patricia, Saturday night at a Good Monkey show. Her soon-to-be husband is the drummer/lead singer of Good Monkey.
Yeah, she's a drrrrrrrrrrty grrl. She also was the lead singer in my former band, Juicebox. Oh, what the Hell, with all the life-story crap, why not do some fun stuff; here's a shot of Patz and myself:
And here's our band when we were still a band. This is Juicebox:
R-L: Patricia (vocals, keyboards), Aimee (bass, vocals), Erin (guitar, vocals), Iris (drums)
We aren't a band anymore, but it was fun while it lasted. Iris is going to have a baby in September! I'm very excited that I get to be there as a doula. I'm sure I'll be posting a birth story (with their permission) and photos when it happens. Stay tuned.
Well, that was fun. I'll go back to the doom and gloom of my never-ending story soon...
Hasta luego, paz y amor por todo.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Oh yes, on Interstate 80 near Lovelock, Nevada...little red pick up truck...
After bailing out of a ride from SF in the back of a pick up I most certainly wasn't excited about getting into another one. However, we had been standing on the side of the highway for a couple of hours and I just wanted to get out of the middle of nowhere to a new nowhere.
So we took the ride.
The two guys in the cab of this truck were some surly looking fellows, but my dad's a biker and surly men don't necessarily scare me. I figured that, since I was with my boyfriend I was relatively safe. That is, until we pulled off the freeway to use the bathroom and put more clothes on to fend off the coming nighttime freeze.
I think we were in Utah. I headed into the bathroom, which only had a toilet, sink, and mirror--not a multi-person restroom--and began changing my clothes. I heard a knock at the door and opened it to discover Tom needing to come in and use the toilet. When he finished and left, he didn't lock the door behind him, so next thing I know, one of the guys from the truck walked in as I was pulling my shirt on. He walked over to the toilet, which didn't bother me as I'm a fairly open person and if he's gotta pee, so be it. But then he started asking me questions--really inappropriate questions regarding my love life. Then he asked me,
"Are you a man or a woman?"
My hair stil hadn't grown back from shaving my head a few months earlier, but I was shocked to hear this question. Bewildered, I turned to face him and saw that he was not urinating; he was masturbating.
Not that masturbation is a bad thing...I just don't want to be in the room with a stranger while he is doing it.
Even if he is giving my boyfriend and me a ride to Colorado.
Immediately I went out to the truck to discuss the situation with Tom. I explained the turn of events and quietly included the capper. Tom looked at me and said,
"Bullshit. You're making it up."
Try as I might, I couldn't convince him that this had really happened. And so, instead of leaving him right then and there, I chose to stay in the truck with him.
You'd think it would be easy for me to walk away. You'd think that he would believe his girlfriend (who had never lied to him before). You'd think, heading into the Rocky Mountains at night in the back of a truck was a bad idea. Speaking for myself, if I had another companion or if I had a rich daddy at home who would buy me a bus ticket, I would have left...maybe. But I didn't have either of those things. If I had left it would have been me alone on the side of the freeway trying to get back home. I was brave enough to hitchhike the 90 miles between home and the big city nearest to me, but not from the middle of Utah (?) all the way back to my little corner of the Pacific Northwest.
Speaking for Tom, there was one little reason that he wanted to stay with this ride through the freezing cold night. It wasn't that they were going all the way to Colorado Springs. It wasn't that it would have been more difficult to get a ride from where we were. It had to do with the guys who were driving the little red pick-up truck. It had to do with the shoe box they had stashed in the dashboard.
They had about two pounds of speed.
With dusk fallen and dark quickly taking over the thin winter light in Utah (?), we cuddled up in the back of the truck and tried to stay warm as we traveled into the night. A couple of hours into this leg of the trip, I awoke from a frigid nap as I overheard Tom talking to the guys in the cab. Not long after that the truck pulled over and Tom explained to me that he was going to get into the cab to warm up and that I could do the same after a while. I had very mixed feelings about this. Firstly, I was jealous that Tom would be the first one to get warm; I can't even begin to explain how cold it was in the back of that truck. There was snow falling from an angry sky and a 60-70 mph wind blowing all around me.
Let me just take a side note to try and remember what all I was wearing.
2 pairs of wool socks
a wool hat
a very large trench-style poly-fill insulated coat
2 blankets wrapped around me
And I was still FREEZING. Not just uncomfortably cold. I thought I was going to die. It was really that cold.
Ultimately I decided that I would ride very briefly in the cab of the truck. Just long enough to get warm and then I would get in the back and cuddle with Tom. However, I wasn't given the opportunity to get in the cab for quite a while because, little did I know at the time, they were snorting rails of speed and I was the furthest thought from anyone's mind.
This next section is quite fuzzy for me. I can't remember the exact order of events but I will choose an order and we'll pretend that's the way it happened.
Somewhere in Wyoming I peeked out of my little blanket cave to discover that we had been caught in a blizzard. I couldn't see more than ten feet in any direction but I did notice that we were very slowly going around a road block. Upon inquiry, I discovered that the mountain pass road was closed due to weather, but the guys had decided to go around the road block because they didn't think it was that bad. Tom was again in the cab of the truck and had been the one to convince the driver to go around the road block. I was pretty afraid when I saw nothing but the ethereal whiteness of a blizzard at night so I hunkered down into the perceived safety of my blankets and prayed to goodness that I would make it out alive. It did little to boost my hope.
Especially when I felt the truck spinning round and round.
I popped my head out again to see what was going on but were it not for the feeling of going round and round, I never would have known that we were spinning out of control.
Somewhere in their speed-induced apathy for what was happening, the driver managed to get us going on the road again. Luckily much of the surrounding terrain was pastureland so, from what I could tell, we went off road onto a relatively flat, open piece of land and then found the road again. What was truly a miracle was that, although visibility was almost zero, the driver found a cafe that we could stop at and wait out the storm.
We entered the flourescent-lighted oasis of a greasy spoon, spooked and thankful to be alive. We ordered coffees and sat back, warming up, waiting for the visibility to clear up and looked on a map for an alternate route.
I blocked out most of the rest of our trip with these guys. I don't remember much of what happened after that. I know that we arrived in Fort Collins, Colorado very early the next morning. I was very tired and hungry and Tom was high on speed. An elderly couple saw us and the state we were in and bought us some breakfast, then pointed us in the direction of the nearest Salvation Army. Upon arrival there, we were forced to pray to their God before they would offer us any services. After prayer they fed us some greasy food and gave us cots to sleep on for a couple of hours. Tom didn't eat or sleep. I did both in massive quantities.
Following a rest at the SA, we hitched to the nearest bus station to bum change and ride the bus to Boulder, where we were supposedly going to meet up with some friends for a lively time of eating, drinking, and smoking pot. Little did I realize, Tom didn't have any friends. We arrived at Penny Lane, a coffee shop on Pearl Street in Boulder, right down the street from the house where Mork and Mindy was filmed in the 70s and 80s. There, we encountered some hippies that were nice enough to take us to their house and feed us. We were allowed to spend one night there, and then I had my first experience with something that would become a theme with almost everywhere I went with Tom after that...
Our hosts told me that I was welcome to come back, but Tom was not.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
I met her in 1992 on the south side of town at a coffee shop in summer. We were fast friends. She was a couple of years younger than me but she had an apartment with her boyfriend where we would hang out and do a lot of things we probably shouldn't have. But we had fun.
I hadn't seen her in a few years when I ran into her at a bar that no longer exists. She looked like Hell but she was in good spirits.
Then, a couple of weeks ago I randomly bought a newspaper and read about three people missing in the Bay. One of them was 31 year old Bonnie Robinson. Today I learned that someone found her body on a beach on one of the islands in our beautiful Sound.
Many years ago, when a mutual friend of mine and Bonnie's was hit by a train and killed in Amsterdam, Someone gave me the story about dragonflies. When they're first born, they live in the water, hanging out with their friends having a good time. Then they transform in to flying creatures and they emerge into the air where they flit about. They want to go back down into the water to tell all their friends what it's like out there in the big world of oxygen but they are no longer accustomed to water and can't get back to their friends. Maybe that's what it's like when we die. Maybe we just transform into another kind of being and can't come back to tell us what it's like.
Rest In Peace, Bonnie. May the afterlife hold better things for you than this world did.
Here are some of my photos for your viewing pleasure. They are all from 35mm film. When I had the film developed I had the developy-type people put all the images on a CD for me so that I could upload them easily to e-mails and blogs and such without having to scan them all in. They look pretty grainy to me in digital format, but I'm hoping that they won't be so grainy when I upload them. I wasn't able to label them each individually, so I will have to label them from top to bottom in a list right here:
(1) Silhouetted Twins
(2) Stealth Mallard
(3) Hubby, Daughter, and Doggie on the Dock at Dusk
(4) Light Through Fingers
(5) Lily Pad Reflection
(6) Padden Creek
(7) As The Sun Sets
Let me know what you think.
By the way, I'm aware of the convenience of digital cameras, but I still prefer 35mm prints so I am having an internal battle. I already have so many cameras that Hubby will probably have a fit if I get another, so for now I am sticking with my super-old Canon digi and my 35mm cameras (I have two that function and three more that need work done on them...anyone wanna buy one for a project?!). All of these photos were taken with my 35mm Nikon. Gawd I love that camera...thanks daddy!
Monday, May 14, 2007
You asked for it, so here it is...
Although it's difficult to put myself back in those days of lover, self, and drug abuse as I sit here watching the hummingbirds out my livingroom window as they gobble up and fight over the hummingbird soup I have made and placed out for them, I suppose I'll continue right where I left off. Crack smoking and drug dealing, right?
Yes, so during our last couple of days in Bellingham, I paid a guy $150 for the biggest car in the world: a 1975 Plymouth Satellite Station Wagon. I tried to find images of this impressive piece of steel on Google, but I don't think there is a camera large enough to capture the entire car on film. Yeah, eight hippies slept in that car on the Golden Gate Panhandle...(semi) comfortably.
I was sort of afraid to drive this car. It was the biggest thing I'd ever seen. Bigger than any of my dad's trucks, or my mother's '75 Plymouth Cordova, which I stole when I was 15 and cruised around downtown with my friend and neighbor, Darla.
I didn't drive it much, leaving that to my drug-loving soon-to-be fiancee, which, quite frankly, scared me as much as just driving the damn thing myself. Although, he made it plenty clear that he was in control. Even though the car was legally mine, he would be the one to drive it. That was my first inkling of the abuse that I would put up with for the next four and a half years.
Not long after we acquired the car we headed down I-5 toward the Bay Area. Quickly, we arrived on Haight Street, mecca for hippies everywhere. I was absolutely enamoured. Little did I realize, the "kids" that were hanging out there were doing far more than smoking pot in the trees of Golden Gate Park and dancing to fun music. Almost all of them were doing coke, ecstacy, and/or heroin, which are all drugs that, at 33 years old, I can still say I've never done. They were fighting and drugging, ripping people off and going to jail on a regular basis. I met a lot of people there who I would be surprised to find alive today.
We spent two months there. Most of the time we spent hanging out in either Golden Gate or Buena Vista Park or at a coffee shop called The Coffee Zone, and since we didn't know anyone who actually lived in San Francisco, we slept in our car, parked along side Buena Vista Park. Sometimes we went in on motel rooms with other people, which involved one person going to the office to rent the room, saying that they were the only one who was staying there while the rest of us hid in the bushes or ducked in cars. This ensured that the maximum number of people could sleep there for the least amount of money.
We spent a couple of days in a particular motel near Van Ness with a guy who was rumored to be the famed "Cosmic Charlie" described in a Grateful Dead song. As I knew him, however, he was just another coke addict whose preferred vehicle for dosage was a hypodermic needle. He had a routine: he would rent the room (because he had the ID and the money) and let us in. Then he would go into the bathroom for about 45 minutes where he would shower and fix up. When finally he emerged, he would wander around the room checking any and all possible places that wire taps could have been placed in the room: the telephone receiver, the hem of the curtain, between the mattresses, under the carpet. It was an odd experience. During this time we were also spending our days and nights with a heroin junkie called Rabbit (this later cracked me up when the movie 8 Mile came out and Eminem's nickname was Rabbit). The first night we stayed in the motel room with Charlie and Rabbit, I experienced for the first time what it's like for a junkie of any measure to cop and try to be patient while he is en route to the place where he will fix up. Charlie was the first to cop, since he was the driver, and he had very specific intructions about what to say if we were confronted by a police officer. After he returned, we drove to a different area where he gave Rabbit 10 minutes to find his own drugs before he would leave without him. Once we all were back in the car, Charlie drove us to the motel. Rabbit didn't have any kind of routine for getting high. He just found a comfortable place to sit while he cooked up his dope. That first night, however, the dope he bought was not a good batch and wouldn't cook up right. Try as he might, he couldn't get the black tar to cook down to a consistency that would get him sufficiently high. Eventually, he got some liquid drawn up in the syringe and when he couldn't get a vein up, plunged in where he thought he might hit one. He missed. He freaked out, yelling and screaming about not being able to nod off. Finally, Tom suggested that they smoke it, which was NOT what Rabbit wanted to do, but it was better than nothing. Although offered, I declined. I didn't want to even try to deal with that monkey on my back. I crawled between the sheets of the bed and slept while they sat up and smoked cigarettes, pot, and heroin.
We also traveled to Auburn, east of Sacramento, where Tom's mom and step-dad lived. Since we were in that area over Christmastime, we spent Christmas at Tom's parents' house with me getting to know them and Tom avoiding them, frequenting the barn to smoke pot and cigarettes. It was on Christmas Eve that he asked me to marry him.
I said yes.
Not long after returning to San Francisco from Auburn, Tom revealed his liking for crack cocaine. We were walking up and down Haight Street late at night, asking drunken stragglers for spare change when a man poked his head around the corner and offered us a glass pipe. Tom eagerly indulged while I, skeptic that I am, politely declined. We would have remained there until the break of dawn had I not insisted that I was tired and urged Tom back toward our car, now broken down in a parking place on the east side of Buena Vista Park.
I don't really want to discuss publicly the things we were doing there because I don't know who reads this blog and there are definitely some legal ramifications if the wrong person stumbled across these words and learned my name or the names of anyone else involved. I'm content to leave it in my past for the most part, but I am happy to disclose to people I know. If you're one of them and you're interested, give me a call and we'll talk. Otherwise, suffice it to say that we avoided the police as much as possible and ended up losing all of our money at one point and had to come up with an alternate plan.
The alternate plan became a whirlwind of traveling to new places with a person who was basically a danger and bad luck magnet.
We left San Francisco on a cold January evening, heading east on I-80 to Boulder, Colorado in the back of a pick-up truck. I had hitchhiked quite a bit at this point, but nothing compared to this. Although wrapped up in every article of clothing and every blanket we owned, cuddled together in the back of this pick-up, we were freezing cold and, although the truck was heading all the way to Boulder, we opted to get out at a tiny convenience stop near Lovelock, Nevada. We got out of the truck and walked toward the convenience store in the early morning winter desert light.
Upon entering the store, we were regarded as we looked...strangers in a strange land. Tom had a head full of unruly dreadlocks and my head was shaved from ridding myself of my own dreadlocks. We explained what we were doing and why we were there and then asked if we could do some work for a bed in the motel attached to the store and a bite to eat. We were offered a bed for a few hours (it was very early morning and we wanted to be back on the road by early afternoon anyway), some coffee, and some convenience store microwaved food in exchange for help cleaning trash out of the parking lot. So we slept for a few hours and walked out into the noon sunshine to begin our task.
About 2 p.m. we walked out onto the freeway and put our thumbs out. As the cars whizzed past we noticed that they were laughing at us but we figured it was just because we were a couple of hippies in redneckland. Then we looked at the sign we were standing underneath; it read, "PRISON AREA: DO NOT PICK UP HITCHHIKERS."
About this time a red pick up truck stopped to pick us up.
To be continued...
Hmmm, now I'm curious to see if anything will come up if I google Shuksan Doula Services. Can anyone help me develop a website?
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Today I spent several hours hanging out with my dad. It was awesome. I have the bestest poppa ever. We built a 40' X 40' raised box bed in his garden for his strawberry plants (Correction inserted here on 5/14...the strawberry bed is NOT 40' X 40'. Rather, it is 10' X 10'. Much smaller...My dad is NOT a strawberry farmer. Not in the way that he would need to hire rowdy preteens during the summer to come and pick his berries for market.). I wish I had photos, but my dad's digi camera took a dump. I'm hoping it's batteries.
Tomorrow I'm going to help him cut a cement slab (he's a cement mason...retired but still doing the odd job here and there), then we're going to go back out to his place and plant the strawberries.
Fun fun fun!
Monday, May 7, 2007
I am so excited about this project that I've been working on. It's for a friend, but it's a surprise for her, so I'm not naming any names. It's an afghan, and will be four rows wider than it is now when it's finished. I got inspired to post this pic when I visited the Big Round Room that is Janet's Yurt and saw her post about a knitted project she is working on. So, here it is. I'm very excited.
And, if no one has anything to say about it, I think I'm going with
Shuksan Doula Services
Shuksan means "roaring mountain" in the Native Skagit tongue, and is also my youngest son's middle name. I love it.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Well, I received the phone call today from the doula-hiring lady at the Mother Baby Center today and I am so excited! I have two tasks to complete before my interview:
1. Get a business license.
2. Write up a birth resume.
So now I have to come up with a name for my doula service. I was thinking about calling my business
Roots Down Doula Services
I would love to have some input on that one. Ask yourself, if I were searching for a doula, would this name grab my attention? Would it feel safe? What kinds of images does this business name evoke? Is it professional sounding?
Does it sound too hippy (or, as Louisa would put it, "woo woo")?
Please, please comment. Whomever you are that stumbles across the ground of my oh so earthly blog, please comment. Tell me what you think!
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
As I was looking into doula certification through DONA and PALS, I decided to find out if the Mother Baby Center still hires doulas for referral. Well, they do, and they need doulas! Apparently they only have two that are available and they have been very busy.
I am expecting a phone call tomorrow from the lady that does the hiring for this government funded position!
Wish me luck!
NO GAS...On May 15th 2007
Body: Don't pump gas on may 15th
Body: ...in April 1997, there was a "gas out" conducted nationwide in protest of gas prices. Gasoline prices dropped 30 cents a gallon overnight.
On May 15th 2007, all internet users are to not go to a gas station in protest of high gas prices. Gas is now over $3.00 a gallon in most places.
There are 73,000,000+ American members currently on the internet network, and the average car takes about 30 to 50 dollars to fill up.
If all users did not go to the pump on the 15th, it would take
$2,292,000,000.00 (that's almost 3 BILLION) out of the oil companys pockets for just one day, so please do not go to the gas station on May 15th and lets try to put a dent in the Middle Eastern oil industry for at least one day.
If you agree (which I cant see why you wouldnt) resend this to all your contact list. With it saying, ''Don't pump gas on May 15th"
Now let me quote my response the first time I read this (this year):
I love love love the person from whom I received this bulletin.
BUT, I have to let you all know that there is some false information in this. The supposed "gas out" did NOT result in gas prices 30 cents lower over night. It was a valiant attempt, but too many people are dependent on their cars, and so they either ignored the boycott altogether or gassed up the day before, which does nothing for the protest of rising gas prices.
Honestly, folks, the only way to deal with this is to ride your bike or use public transportation as much as possible, or buy a hybrid, or convert your diesel into biodiesel.
Also, it's very important to realize that it's not the Middle East that is causing high gas prices...it's the greediness of big oil American CEOs and the American public's dependence on petroleum products.
By all means, though, don't buy gas on May 15; just try to take it another step further!
Peace out home chickens,
I find it irritating and irresponsible that people actually think that a one-day weekend warrior protest of high gas prices is going to make a difference.
WAKE UP PEOPLE!!!
We keep giving them money day in and day out...one fucking day is NOT going to make a difference in their million dollar paychecks.
As far as the assumption about the middle east banking off of oil prices, here's the proof in the puddin'
Did anyone happen to notice that during elections in November that gas priced went down? That was the good ol' GOP begging for your vote. Notice that gas prices went back up not long after the election?
Ok, enough ranting for one day...gotta clean my house!
Vent: a fissure in the earth's crust (or in the surface of some other planet) through which molten lava and gases erupt
Cinco de mayo is this Saturday; the biggest celebration of Mexican Independence this side of the Mexican border.
They don't celebrate cinco de mayo in Mexico.
However, this is one of our favorite "holidays" as it is the greatest opportunity to eat some of our favorite foods, drink light, yellow, fizzy beer and good tequila. It is a tradition here at Casa de los Locos. We have a gathering almost every year; last year there were close to 40 people in and out of our small home.
We made last minute plans about a month ago regarding this year's fiesta and began calling people to invite them over. I think there are approximately 15 people invited, not including children.
Twist #1: I have been searching for work to supplement our family income to no avail, and I have been asked to cover four shifts this week at a restaurant I worked for briefly last fall. One of them is on Saturday, scheduled from 10am to 8pm, likely to get out around 6 or before. Our housemate (living downstairs in the daylight basement apartment), a.k.a. partner in crime, also works that day (it's actually the restaurant that she manages that I am working for that day), scheduled to be home around 2:30. This leaves much of the preparation on hubby's shoulders, which previously he agreed to.
Twist #2: Two of our children have soccer games that day. Luckily, they are both in the morning, and will be done by 11:30.
Frustration: Hubby's parents returned this past weekend from a 6-month long vacation and evidently, hubby made plans with them to go to their house for lunch on Saturday.
Problem: Hubby's parents live 25-30 minutes north of where we live, adding an hour on to this lunch date. Add another hour and a half for lunch and catching up, hubby isn't getting home until 2pm, giving him only an hour or so to prepare for the arrival of guests.
I have offered solutions to this dilemma, such as going to lunch on Thursday, Friday, or Sunday; going to dinner on Thursday, etcetera. However, hubby is hell-bent on having lunch with them on Saturday, the most inconvenient day he couls possibly plan for.
Possible outcome #1: Hubby has parents meet him at a park in town for said lunch date and is home by 1 or so and everything goes smoothly (although I really doubt that he will pay close attention to time and still not get home until 2 at the earliest).
Possible outcome #2: Hubby decides that I am right (because I am, right? LOL) and makes other plans to hang out with the units.
Possible outcome #3: Hubby decides that he is too pissed off and inconvenienced to alter his plans with the units and tell us to go to hell, causing us to call off our celebration. This is the worst possible outcome. It is unacceptable to me and we may end up in divorce court (kidding), but to call off a gathering that we planned at least a month ago in lieu of afterthought plans he made with his parental units may send me off the deep end and he may be sleeping on the couch until he makes it up to me. Let's see...a two week vacation in Mexico seems appropriate.
Thoughts, anyone? Am I irrational? I do have tendencies toward irrational...
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
I don't feel well. I spent the whole day at the freaking laundromat to deliver heaps of filthy laundry to a divine place of cleanliness. After all, cleanliness is next to goddessliness, right?
Now my beautiful, brazen, boisterous ten-year-old daughter is slamming things around and uttering disgusted and delinquent utterances because I told her that I didn't feel like coming to her room right this minute to help her shove her dresser back two inches toward the wall.
Oh the humanity.
A mother's work is NEVER done!
James and I had this nice squooshy foam pad on our extra firm mattress, but not any more. Apparently Ruby didn't approve of our comfort and chose to shred it into pieces.
The upside: I've been wanting to upgrade it.
The downside: I had to punish my dog. She's so sensitive, too. As soon as she saw me walking back toward the bedroom, she began cowering and shaking. I think she was abused by the guy that had her before the Alternative Humane Society. Well, I know she was mistreated, but I don't know if he beat her or anything. I spanked her for the first time today. Just a swat on the butt while showing her the foamy pieces and telling her, "NO!" Then she crammed herself under the bed and hid there until I called her out (it took a few times) and then I loved on her. I felt really bad for punishing her, but she's been chewing on things lately, other than her chewing toys, and it's got to stop.
In other sad news today, I read in the local news paper that a lady who was a good friend many years ago has disappeared with two guys out on the bay. Apparently they were partying on Saturday night and decided to take a canoe out late Saturday night/early Sunday morning. Canoeing on the bay is insane anytime, not just at night after partying. Of course, I'm assuming that they were partying, because that's what she loved to do.
This is actually the third person that I've known who has disappeared on the bay under very similar circumstances. The other two disappeared about 10 years ago (maybe it's been 12) after stealing a little rowboat and going out for a late night partying excursion.
May they all rest in peace.