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10 Reasons to Buy Her Flowers Anyway

Most guys I know are pretty practical creatures. I mean, tell a guy your woes and they’ll do what they can to fix them. Whether the “fix” be knocking someone out or fixing your car, men like to solve problems. So it shouldn’t surprise anyone to know that most men consider buying flowers a waste of money.

Think about it. You pay $50 and they slowly wither and die before your eyes. Then what do you have? An empty vase. Usually a cheap, ugly empty vase that’s not good for much of anything except hiding under the sink. Great.

So far I’m with you. Paying $50 for something that’s just going to die in a week certainly isn’t the most practical thing to buy as a gift. Why not spend your money on something she would have forever – or at least longer than a week. I mean, for the price of roses on Valentine’s day, you could buy her a Kindle for God’s sake!  Instead (says The Man) why not buy her a dvd of the first movie you saw together? (Romantic!) A cool app for her phone? (Fantastic!) What about that book you were telling her about? (Intelligent!)

Quite frankly, all of the ideas above are top notch. Heck! Most of them are cheaper than flowers. All of them will last more than a week. On top of that, most women would love all of the above. But I’m here to tell you: Do not write off giving flowers to your woman! They really do mean more to a woman than just colorful plants waiting to die.  Let me explain..

Top 10 Reasons to Buy Her Flowers

  1. They are visual candy and a daily reminder of you. – I know you’re a guy, but even you have to admit that flowers are beautiful. Everyone likes to look at beautiful things. Top that with the fact that for an entire week, every time she looks at those flowers she’ll think of you. A great way to get those juices flowin’!
  2. They smell great! – Smell is the most powerful sense we have. Not only that, but it’s intimately connected to our memory and thereby, our emotions. She’s going to walk by those flowers and associate good feelings towards you with that scent. Double bang for your buck if you ask me.
  3. They make you sexier. – Yes, you heard me right. Flowers make you sexier. In a recent study, they paired men with flowers, and  that made them significantly more attractive and datable. So show up with bouquet of flowers, or even a single flower and boost your chances!
  4. They speak a secret language. – In Victorian times flowers were used as a secret code to show how a man felt about a woman. There are also some great myths and legends associated with flowers that make great fodder for the card. For example, I once had someone send me flowers and on the card he explained the flower’s myth and how it related to how he felt about me. Worked like a charm!
  5. Even cheap flowers buy you points. – Now I won’t say that every woman is like this; but with most women, even the “cheap” flowers will score you points. I know that one of my favorite springtime treats is the $4 bunches of daffodils at Trader Joe’s. I even like the $12 bouquets of flowers you can find at Safeway.  Honestly? If a woman turns down her nose at *any* sort of flowers you give with genuineness, think twice about dating her again.
  6. Go ahead! Tell her how you feel. – Unless you’re a big card person, (like my family), or are a poet by profession, it’s unlikely you’re penning her love notes on a regular basis. Use this opportunity to tell her how you feel. You don’t have to pen a novel, but a thoughtful sentence or two, or a nice quote will have her heart racing (and extend those feel-good benefits.).
  7. Flowers are mood-enhancing, production-boosting powerhouses. – Multiple studies have shown that flowers boost people’s moods, relieves anxiety and boosts production at work. Wowsers! Talk about packing a wallop. Triple threat! So maybe you know she’s going to have an extra-stressful week? Bam! In comes the flowers. Smooth sailing now baby. Dontcha know it?
  8. Giving flowers makes you look good. – I know I said that flowers make you sexier; but they also make you look good in other ways. A study done by Rutgers University found that men that give flowers are perceived as happy, achieving, strong, capable and courageous people. Now how’s that for advertising? Not only are you making her feel good; but you’re looking better and better. Now you’re cooking baby!
  9. The numbers are in your favor. – You want practical? Here you go: 92% of women remember the last time they received flowers. 88% of survey respondents say a gift of flowers changes their mood for the better. 83% say they like to receive flowers unexpectedly. 86% say receiving flowers makes them feel special. 99% say that a person who gives flowers is thoughtful. Good Lord mister! What else can I say?!
  10. And last but not least..women like flowers silly! Duh. – In yet another study, virtually 100% of women who were presented with flowers as a gift smiled a real or “Duchenne” smile. Unless she’s allergic, she likes flowers. Even if she tells you she doesn’t, she’s probably lying and she likes flowers.

Now before you hop on the phone or computer, let me give you a some tips on how to maximize your efforts!

Flower Buying Tips

  • Make sure she’s not allergic.
  • Give with reason.
  • Give for no reason.
  • Be your sneakiest and find out her favorite flower. (Or just ask her!)
  • Think green and buying locally.
  • Don’t give her one of those cheesy flower cakes or weird bouquets. Stick to a simple arrangement.
  • Don’t just sign your name on the card, actually write something!
  • If you’re still twitching on the “it’s gonna die” issue, buy a potted flower instead. (i.e. lavender, African violet, orchid, etc) Just don’t complain if she has a black thumb and kills it in a week anyway.
  • Bonus points! Bring her a bouquet you picked from your yard.

Now go get ‘er tiger and good luck!

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[Originally posted to my blog ‘Point of Tears’ on Nov 15, 2005.]

While cleaning out the car on Friday I found an index card with this little tidbit on it:

Taking a moment of silence in my chaotic day I lay floating in the bright blue pool and, for the first-time-in-I-don’t-know-how-long I gaze up into the sky at the billowing clouds and see a boy in a cape flying on a magic carpet, a wedding dress, an alligator, a rabbit, a kite, and a path leading deep into a range of mountains that I imagine myself pedaling along. . .until the chaos of my life intrudes, and when I look back at the sky, the wind has blown it all away.

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The Facination Of Stats

[Originally posted to my blog ‘Point of Tears’ on Feb 15, 2005.]

Every once in a while I take the time to look at my stats page. It helps to look at this to determine if there is anything I need to do to keep those ugly spammers from flooding my comments again, and it’s fun preen to see so many passing through (ya right).

But what’s the most fun about my Stats page?

Checking out the key phrases that were used on search engines to bring random people to my site.

So what’s the most common? Easy. http://www.pointoftears.com. Although why you would put a website url into a search engine to find it is beyond me. There are also some fairly normal phrases used to find me that make sense. Like “Live to the point of tears,” which is actually the quote from Albert Camus that I used to create the *feel* for this place. What is really interesting are some of the more. . .colorful phrases used to find me.

Top five most interesting phrases used in search engines to find my blog:

Number 5 – rate my boob (do I talk about my boobs THAT much?!?)
Number 4 – meatball coloring paper (oooo-KAAAAAY)
Number 3 – vaginal birth pictures (Note to self: No more talking about my vagina online)
Number 2 – the urge to just look into your eyes and say i was sorry would make a normal person fall to the ground in tears but what you gave me will always keep me strong (am I *really* that sappy???)
And the Number 1 interesting phrase used to locate my journal. . .cherie pummel (Now I know I have a tendency to piss people off but COME ON PEOPLE!!!)

Oh, and after checking out the most common single words used to find me here I have determined that either I swear too much or I have an obsession with sex. Take you’re pick.

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You Went Where?!?!

[Originally posted to my blog ‘Point of Tears’ on Feb 15, 2005.]

I took the day off today. I don’t take days off very often, but we were suppose to go up to the lake but decided to wait until the four day weekend.

As such, I didn’t have any plans to go anywhere, or anything special planned for my day off so when my Mom suggested a day trip to Capitola and the beach the Brat and I jumped at the chance.

But Fate, you’re probably saying, the weather was horrible today on the coast. Couldn’t you have picked a better day?

Probably. But you see, my daughter and I love the water so much it’s unlikely you’d get us to say no to a trip to the coast. So off we went.

And yes, we did go to the beach in the rain. We weren’t any crazier than the tens of surfers out there. I mean, all we did was roll up our pant legs as high as they could go and wade in the surf a bit.

The beach was actually beautiful today. The sky with dark blue-grey roiling clouds, and the tide coming in. . .I could sit there all day and take it in.

But I didn’t sit. I walked along the beach, tempting fate by veering further and further into the rising tide. If I could have, I would have stripped down and dove into the water. Yes, I know it’s cold. My feet were numb after about five minutes. . .but I love the water. I love the ocean and the feel of the sand under my feet, the crash of the wave over me, the salty smell. . .I love everything about it. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time I went into the ocean in the middle of the winter!

I taught the Brat how to stand still as the tide went back to sea so you could feel the water drag the sand out from under your feet. I ran after her and splashed her, (were we really dumb enough to not bring extra clothes?), waded into the water further and further, picked up shells (she’s a collector of EVERYTHING), and generally just had a good time.

But underneath the fun, my mind was tinged with sadness. For this beach town is my son’s town. This is where he lives with his family, and I miss him. It probably sounds silly to say, but I can almost feel a closer connection to him in that town. I spent some of my last weeks pregnant with him laying on a beach just down the road. Waddling out into the waves to float suspended in the salty water, introducing him to one of my favorite places in the world. I know that now he loves the water. Much like myself and his sister, he loves the water with a passion and would rather be in it than out of it.

I took a moment there today at the edge of the ocean. A moment to close my eyes, open my senses, and think of him. I hope my message got through.

Happy Valentine’s Day Ross. I love you and miss you more than you will ever know.

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Old Stuff

[Originally posted to my blog ‘Point of Tears’ on Mar 10, 2005.]

 

I haven’t written any poetry or even any really decent prose in a long while. While perusing some of my old Live Journal posts I found the following and thought I would share. The pieces picked range from short poetry to longer freethought pieces pulled directly from my mind. Each piece was picked mainly because I like the sound of my own writing. Partly because I’m trying to remember how to fucking write something after having my brain turned to math mush twice a week. Please be warned that I did not pick one piece. I picked several pieces that I have enjoyed. I hope you enjoy them as well.

 

3000 miles away
you hold my heart
precariously in
your hands

3000 miles away
my blood frantically
pumps along my veins
without it

3000 miles away
you hold me captive
with who
you are

3000 miles away
I struggle
with invisible bonds
of my own creation

3000 miles apart
we endeavor
to lay a foundation
through a phone line

no chains
to bind me
to you
only words
twisting around
my heart

I AM NOT BOUND
I AM NOT TIED
FOOTLOOSE AND
FANCY-FREE

HEART FLIES FREE
SOUL WANDERS LOOSE
YOU CAN’T
TREAD ON ME

MY MIND & BODY
ARE MINE
TO DO WITH WHAT I WILL
TO GIVE TO WHOM I PLEASE

HERE I STAND
NOT BOUND
OR TIED
HEART FREE
WANDERING SOUL
MIND & BODY MINE

STANDING ON THE EDGE
WANTING TO GIVE
IT ALL TO YOU
TERRIFIED
IT WILL FALL
TRHOUGH YOUR FINGERS
AND I WILL BE GONE

I live in a world of emotion. My emotions like the wind in my mind. Following the contours of my thoughts, rushing through the cracks of my life able to permeate even the tightest closed door of my mind.

If I close my eyes and put my fingers to the keyboard, I can tell you all about the walk I took today. I can, without looking at anything except the pictures behind my eyelids, tell you how the pavement steadily met my feet, one by one thump thumping in what seemed an endless walk to nowhere. I can tell you about the smell of anise, growing thick along the path and the wafting scent of the never-ending raspberry thickets falling down the side of the hills down to the small stream under the trees that beckoned me to clamber down and sit along it’s side and listen to the water move merrily down it’s bed to a place that exists only in my imagination.

I can tell you about the trees reaching gracefully to the sky, taking a twisting, turning path with it’s branches ending in small berries interspersed with long, oval, dusty green leaves. The darkening sky, wisps of clouds riding the invisible currents of air. The lowering sun reflecting blue, purple, pink and green of all things off of the windows of an office building I could see over the fence. I could describe the sweat sliding down my skin, puddling in the middle of my back and into my eyebrows and the slow burning heat of my muscles as I pushed harder with each step…imagining the body I WANT coming out from under the body I HAVE with each and every step.

There are so many things I could tell you..if I close my eyes and put my fingers to the keyboard. Problem is, what can I tell you when I open my mouth? I can’t. What is it that makes it so my brain and fingers connect, but not my brain and mouth? What is so much harder about opening your mouth and saying words to another human being? Does anyone out there have any ideas? Cause I know it causes problems for me…not being able to connect brain with mouth versus brain with fingers. Well, brain connecting with fingers in certain circumstances can be a GOOD thing…like…English class for instance! (What were you thinking?!? Geez! Get your mind out of the gutter!)

I sit here in the night, the place and time I am most comfortable. No people except myself. My music, words and sounds combining in never-ending ways, evoking emotions, sights, tastes; moments of my life that have been, might have been, will be, may be or will never ever happen no matter how hard I wish it to be. The only light coming from the screen in front of me, white and unforgiving; and the moon outside, it’s soft light filtering through the trees outside my windows.

I think I am most comfortable during this time of day, night..whatever, because it allows me to be me. Not some person that the world expects me to be. Not the person *I* expect me to be. Just me. With my geek glasses sliding down my nose, sloping slant of my back because for the life of me I can’t seem to sit up straight when I type, light tan bra digging into my shoulders pulling at the middle of my back holding me in and up, ear popping, foot tapping, body sagging, knuckle cracking, talking to herself just to hear how the words on the screen *really* sound…it’s all just..well, me.

Yesterday I watched with a smile as a kindergardner and his father sprinted down the sidewalk, trying to get to class before the bell rang. The look of micheviousness and fun on their faces had me wondering if that same little boy would remember that day, years later. I also started wondering what days/hours/moments my own child would remember when she was grown; and I began trying to remember what moments I remember with my own parents.

Unfortunately, the majority of memories that filter to the surface are not good ones like a parent and a child running in abandon. It wasn’t my dad pushing me on a swing, or my mom teaching me a new skill. My memories are of screaming matches, and fingers gripping my throat tight until I couldn’t breathe…every muscle straining to pull them away. They were of arguments on our front lawn, as we packed the car to go on another trip..each moment tense with anger and tears…my brother and myself cringing into the backseat…hoping they forget we exist for just one moment more. It is objects whistling past my head and bouncing off the walls..leaving a dent in it’s wake. Screaming at my father one more time for calling my mom a “bitch”..and having him turn his anger to me rather than her…only to find my hair in one of his hands, my neck in another..and my mom beating his back trying to make him stop. Eyes full of hate, veins popping full of blood coursing adreneline through his body, muscles tensing for that moment of release…and me hoping beyond hope that I could distract him long enough so that he wouldn’t touch my brother. The day I held a knife in one hand, that same blood of my father’s coursing adreneline through my veins, muscles tensing for that moment of release..and barely being able to mutter under my breath, “if you want to live…run….” to my brother, who stood..so young and oh so frightened, not knowing what to do…until he got it..and ran for his life. Sitting on the side of my mother’s bed…dispensing tissue for her red eyes and dripping nose…listening to my mother wail about my father leaving her. Something I already knew…because he left me and my brother too…but she had forgotten that..forgotten us in her sorrow. My mother screaming at me from the other side of the door because I understood that he was not coming back…and she had yet to understand.

I have to stop. Too many memories overflowing into my NOW.

This explains a lot..don’t you think? My inability to share my emotions…these are the reasons why it’s not “safe” to share. Just bits and pieces. Just moments that I lived…all of them added up together are only a small small portion of my time on earth..but each one has been indelibly etched upon my SELF. Of course, for this small portion of my life, there are thousands of other moments I don’t remember. Birthdays, Christmases, Thanksgivings, Easters, summer vacations…and all those moments inbetween.

Out of all of that something positive? I remember growing up my parents having a secret language all their own. Each card signed with acronyms…and never would they tell me what they meant. Not even to this day do I know what all of it means. S.P.O.O.K…..that’s the one I remember most..there were about 10 more that they etched on every card they’ve ever given each other.

Always made me want to find someone I could have my own secret language with that no one except the two of us would ever know. Therein lies my romantic nature..watching two people who loved each other so much..so deeply. Even through all the anger, tears and fear I saw that.

Reading through all of this it makes me wonder once again what moments my daughter will remember when she is grown? And while I can’t change what memories she already has…I can be cognizent that each moment we are together we are creating a memory together..and hope that there are more good ones than bad.

WARNING! This last one is not for the faint of heart. You have been forewarned.

NC-17

slide it home
slam it hard
and ride it to the apex.
semen drips down my leg,
sly smile upon my face.

I possess only
his body,
but am searching for
his heart
from the inside
of my cunt.
[9/2003]

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For No Good Reason At All

[Originally posted to my blog ‘Point of Tears’ on Mar 17, 2005.]

Normally I hate math class.

Normally I hate math class because, well . . . it’s MATH folks. And I hate math.

Today was extra special though.

I was sitting at my computer, minding my own business going through my lesson when, over the sound of the droning voice explaining how to solve a quadratic formula using the factoring method I heard, “…..and the Marine Corps is the branch that brainwashes you.”

I didn’t even take off my headphones. I just fixed the young man with my steely gaze and said, “Learn what ‘brainwashing‘ really is before you make that sort of claim.”

The Instructor (a friend of mine) informs the young man that I’m a “former” Marine. His head swivels quickly around, his eyes wide as he looks at me. I merely nod and go back to my math. For a while I’m immersed in the math, oblivious to the conversation going on in the front of the room.

It sure as hell wasn’t about math.

Seems that a very pretty young lady had decided to join the Air Force.

Why? Well, for no good reason other than she wanted to get away from home.

So the conversation went on down in front and I stayed out of it. Someone else comes in the room, a former classmate of mine from Spanish class. My Instructor is FINALLY done explaing a problem to another student, so I make my way to the front to get him to explain something to me.

The conversation at this point was going kind of like this:

Instructor: You see, she doesn’t have a reason to go in the military.
Student 1: You can’t do that. You HAVE to have a better reason than no reason to go into the military.
Me: Why?

Silence.

Student 1 leaves.

I have the math Instructor help me with my problem and go back to my computer. I am trying, yes folks really really trying to concentrate on my math. Really!

But after this man sits there very casually grilling this young woman for over ten minutes I just can’t take it anymore. So I get up out of my seat and head towards the front of the classroom. Standing in front of my instructor I look him dead in the eye and say, “Leave her alone.”

Instructor: But she doesn’t have a good reason to go into the military other than she wants to get away from the rules! She needs a better reason than that!
Me: Do you want to know why I joined the Marine Corps?
Instructor: No.
Me: Because I wanted to get away from my family. I wanted to get away from the rules. I wanted to get away from home. That’s it. No other reason.
Instructor: Well, she’ll end up flipping burgers at McDonald’s.
Me: Don’t you DARE tell her that! The Air Force is the BEST branch to go in to learn a good, viable trade.
Instructor: She needs to go to college.
Me: She can go to college while she’s in the Air Force. Shit. They’ll PAY for her to go to school. And after she gets out? She’ll have the GI Bill for anything else she didn’t get finished while she was in.
Instructor: Well, she won’t have the same freedoms she would if she were to stay home. The military has a lot more control over what you do than your parents do. I mean, they can throw you in JAIL for being AWOL . . .
Me: So what you’re saying is that if she breaks a “law” she’ll go to jail. You mean just like here in the civilian world? Where there are consequences for your actions? Imagine that. Try again.
Instructor: She won’t be able to do what she wants to do.
Me: Bullshit. That’s complete bullshit. She can do what she wants to do. The military is in many ways like a job. You can’t do everything you want to do when you have a job, right?
Silence.
Me: Leave her alone. She has her reasons for going into the military and she doesn’t have to justify them to anyone. Not even you. She’s eighteen. She’s able to sign the contract and go do her thing. Why are you giving her a hard time? Don’t you think she’s already been getting a hard time at home?
I turn to the young woman and tell her . . .You go in the military. You do everything you can to enjoy the time you have in. You make sure you take every opportunity you get. Don’t say no to any of them. You have a good time. You live your life. And when your four years are over? If you want, go back to school. Or get a job. Be happy. Don’t listen to him. Don’t listen to ANY of them. You don’t have to explain it to anyone except yourself.

And after that my Instructor shut up and left her alone.

Civilians are stupid. Again and again I have met people that just don’t get why people go into the military. They want to argue with you. They want to debate your decision. They want to tell you how stupid it is. But I tell you what. . .

THEY are the stupid ones. I don’t have to explain myself to you. I don’t have to justify my military experience. I don’t have to explain to you why I went in. Or why I loved it.

So fuck you if you don’t get it.

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Kindred Spirits, Pt. 2

[Originally posted to my blog ‘Point of Tears’ on Mar 25, 2005.]

Judi is a morning person. That makes sense. She’s worked with animals most of her life, and they don’t normally wait to get up. I, on the other hand, am not a morning person. Thus I woke to the sound of giggling. The giggling was my daughter, talking Judi’s ear off, and it was music to my ears.

You see, this was why I was there. I wanted these two people to meet. For I am not as close to my family as I remember being as a child. Oh sure, part of it was growing up. Unfortunately though, much of it has to do with . . . ugly things I don’t want to get into.

But I have a lot of wonderful, warm feelings about some members of my family, and one of the ways I have worked to keep those feelings alive is by introducing those members of my family to my daughter. Like Judi.

Judi reminds me of warm summers in the sun, the rushing water of the river sliding across my skin, feeding goats early in the morning, and horses.

Did I mention that the Brat is animal crazy?

And Judi loves animals.

It was destiny that Judi and the Brat became bosom buddies.
Image hosted by Photobucket.com

My mom stayed until lunchtime. Her and Judi stood around talking, while the Brat went off exploring with the dogs. I walked around some, followed the Brat some, but really just exploring and taking pictures.

We were hoping to go horseback riding. The Brat had only been horseback riding once before, and never had been on a horse by herself. I hadn’t been on horseback since I was a teen. Judi rides horses for a living and keeps a stable of five on the ranch with her. Unfortunately the horses were being ornery or something. Normally they show up at the crack of dawn to be fed, but even by that afternoon they still hadn’t shown their faces.

So we explored some more. Walking down along the creek, up over hills, down through the pasture we went. Sometimes we were followed by the dogs, sometimes it was just me, sometimes we went our separate ways. It was a really beautiful day. The sun was shining, the sky was clear. I couldn’t have asked for a better day really.
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It wasn’t until later, while we were sitting down to a dinner of pork chops and artichokes that the horses showed up. All day the Brat bugged Judi about the horses. Judi was amazingly patient with her. I, of course, had to play along and thus accused her of actually not really having horses. That they were a figment of her imagination. Heh. Right.

Now the Brat is suddenly done with dinner. First we’re starving, then all of a sudden the horses show up and now she’s full. Hmmm. Amazing how that works. Soooo, she actually had eaten a lot and she would never had let me be if I didn’t let her go down to see the horses. Me, being the hard ass Marine that I am, well I let her go. LoL Okay okay. So I’m not the hard ass Marine I used to be. Have you seen my daughter though? Well then. Phffft!

Now Judi had to go down. Still in the middle of eating her dinner and she wants to go down. Bless her soul. I told her that the Brat waited all day and thus the Brat could wait ten more minutes for her to finish her damn dinner. So she relaxed and finished her food as we watched as the Brat made her way down to the barn to see the horses, the dogs trailing along in her footsteps.

Did I mention Judi’s dogs? Oh! I have to talk about the dogs! Judi has three dogs. Uno – the goat dog that didn’t want to be a goat dog. Pup – Well, the pup of course. And Blue – the three legged herder dog.

Uno is the one there on the right. A reddish color. The goat dog that wasn’t. See, down the road there’s Image hosted by Photobucket.com this big goat ranch. Goats all over the place. I understand the goat meat is the new alternative. Either that or it’s traditional in cultures that are making their way here to the U.S. and so it’s a profitable business. Goats are cheap to keep. But in this wild country on the edge of the technology capitol of the world, goats have to be protected. Goat dogs don’t do anything except guard the goats. As you drive down the road next to the goat farm you’ll see lots of dogs. They’ll run up to the fence and bark fiercely at you as you drive by.

They don’t have much to do with humans though. They’re sort of in their own little world. But Uno. Right. Well it seems when they first put him in with some goats, to get use to them? Well it seems that he didn’t really take to ‘em. The way Judi tells it, he turned his nose up at them and was just like, WTF???? So they were going to put him down and someone offered to keep him. Then he started wandering Image hosted by Photobucket.comdown to Judi’s place. The guy who adopted her finally just took his dish and food and stuff down to Judi’s with a little huff. *laugh* Judi told ‘im that if he wanted to be Uno’s owner he should act like it.

Then there’s Pup. He’s not even a year old. Still getting beat up by the other two dogs, Judi adopted him when some city folk brought him to a friend of hers. Seems that the herding dog got ran over twice in the city while chasing cars. They thought it best that he get a home in the country where he can have more room to run around. Hmmm. Think 2000 acres is enough room? LoL The friend of Judi’s decided that Judi needed another dog. Or something like that.

And finally, there’s Blue the three legged dog. Another herding dog with a beautiful coat and different Image hosted by Photobucket.comcolored eyes, Blue is the apple of Judi’s eye. He’s about twelve years old. Getting up there. So it wasn’t a good thing when Judi couldn’t find him one night and in the morning found him with a leg almost torn off from a bear goring him. Because she is on a fixed income, and he is so old, Judi had a hard decision. Put him down? Surgery? Or take his leg off? Well, it’s not like you don’t know the answer to that question. Judi tries to take on that air of hard ass when it comes to her animals, but stories like this one are very telling of her personality.

We’re very much alike in that way. I don’t think I’ve ever had the opportunity to have such a long conversation with Judi before that weekend. Not as an adult surely. So I think it was surprising to me that we are so much alike. Free spirits of a sort. Both of us have bucked the traditional. Both of us learned to stand alone, away from the family and the restrictions that they wanted to bind us with. Yet at the same time, our family was the core of us. They still held that something that made us able to buck that family system, while at the same time supporting our family when they needed us to.

We also have the same attitude about men. We both lived in a man’s world, smack dab in the middle of so much testosterone that we grew balls, yet retained a bit of girlishness underneath the façade. We both loved men in our lifetime, yet were content to be ourselves without them. And now, both of us are persuing our dreams. Hers for the kind of retirement she’s always dreamed about, mine to be viable in a job that satisfies me and my need for a stable environment for the Brat.

Now where was I? The horses. Right.

Well, I couldn’t just sit there while they both went down there to see the horses. I mean, I was trying to act all cool and stuff, like it was no big deal to see the horses. But I think unless you live around horses all the time, seeing the horses is always exciting. So we all went down to see the horses. Judi to feed them, the Brat to gawk, and me to . . . well I just wanted to touch them. Now that the horses were back we could go horseback riding the next day! Yipee!

We spent the evening playing cards. Just as my great-grandmother taught me to play cards, so did the Brat’s great-grandmother teach her to play cards. She is a big lover of card playing. We do it often in our house and try to take a game or two with us when we go on trips and stuff. We played together for a while, then I retired to crochet and the two crazy people played and cackled at the table.

Our evening ended just like the last. The darkness enveloping us with it’s quiet coolness, while the frogs chirped endlessly to each other. The last thing I remember seeing was Orion’s belt as I craned my neck to look out the window at the stars I had forgotten were there.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Kindred Spirits Meet – Pt. 1

[Originally posted to my blog ‘Point of Tears’ on Mar 23, 2005.]

This is long overdue. I originally wrote this over three weeks ago, when the Brat and I visited my cousin Judi. I had a math test soon after that, so this got put on the back burner. Now here it is . . .

Image hosted by Photobucket.comJudi was fifteen when she left home. I’ve never thought to ask her why she left home. Her reasons were her reasons, and I really don’t think that it matters all that much almost forty years later.

What I do know about Judi is that she didn’t take an easy path. At least within the framework that the “regular” world lives in here in the United States.

You know. Go to school, go to college/get a job, marry, have two point five kids, the house, the picket fence, the Hawaiian vacation . . . in other words, Yuppieland.

Instead she headed to the hills. Literally. She’s spent most of her last thirty years on one ranch or another, taking care of the animals or just doing what needs doing on the ranch. She’s been married three times and has collected countless people who call her “friend.” She makes enough money to support herself and her animals and that’s it. She doesn’t need much else, and is happy to live just the way she is.

Judi is my cousin. Unfortunately, over the years I haven’t been able to see her all that much; but each time I do it’s like walking back into the past when she wraps her arms around me.

I hadn’t seen Judi in about four years until this weekend. About a year ago, after my Aunt Doris passed, she set herself up on a ranch in Tuolumne. The entire ranch is about 2000 acres and belongs to a family she’s known since she was in her twenties. They’re allowing her to build and rent some acreage on their ranch.

Image hosted by Photobucket.comNow she lives in a small trailer, and is building a large workroom off of it. The workroom is going to be for her leatherwork. One of her hobbies is making saddles and leathergear for horses. So she’s building a room so she can make it into a side business.

Outside of her small trailer is a small pond with the barn further down on the left, the horse pasture over the hill on the right, and if you look closely you can see the Duckbill Creek running by.

While she’s only fifteen minutes out of town, it’s a rough fifteen minutes, and four wheel drive is recommended. Unfortunately we drove in to Judi’s in my mom’s Mustang. *Not* a vehicle I would recommend for the country roads. In the dark, we got lost. Image hosted by Photobucket.com

Now I’ll say here that the person who lives in the city has a wildly different concept of what “just a little farther” means versus say oh, someone who lives out in the middle of NOWHERE. So it’s not surprising that the dark, combined with the very rough roads made us wary of going any further than we did.

We did make it in the end though. Judi’s friend came out and had us follow her. So we were only three hours late is all. Needless to say, we were hella’ hungry. Judi was supposed to have cooked us dinner, so we didn’t eat along the way.

All three of us had beans dancing in our heads. We had been hoping that Judi might cook this family staple. Amazingly enough, the family mental grapevine must have been working overtime, because when we got there, Judi had piping hot beans on the stove waiting for us. Add to that corn bread with real butter and we had a feast! YUUUMMMY!

Now, Judi’s not on the grid. So after nine o’clock, it’s lights out. But in the darkness we talked. About the family and what they are all doing, about progress on my mom’s house, about progress on Judi’s house, and about what Judi is doing there. We talked about movies, politics, books, and just about anything else you could think of. We hadn’t seen Judi in a while. Finally, after midnight rolled around and our voices began to sound sleepy rather than just excited, we drifted off to sleep listening to the frogs chirping into the night. It was a wonderful way to fall asleep. It was almost as if I had drifted back in time, to when I was a child and still believed in the comfort and safety of family.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

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Zerophobia

[Originally posted to my blog ‘Point of Tears’ on Apr 22, 2005.]

When I was in high school and during my 1st try at college, my biggest fear was blowing out one of my knees. Of course, back then the sports I played ,(soccer, field hockey, & rugby), were a mega big deal to me. I couldn’t have possibly imagined my life without my sports. So to blow out a knee would have been tantamount to . . . well, death.

I’ve gotten past that. At age thirty-mumble~mumble, I have activities that aren’t quite as hard on the body as say . . oh, rugby. Soooo, I think I can lay to rest my old fear of blowing out a knee. Now I don’t always go around discussing my fears with people normally; I mean, I really, truly don’t have many major fears.

Okay. I’m a little freaked out by bugs. But what chick isn’t? (The Brat doesn’t count. She’s weird.) I have a small fear of heights, but it’s not debilitating or anything. I mean, I’ve done rapelling in the Marines and stuff. Shoot! I’d even love to learn how to skydive one of these days if I get the chance. Mice & rats are a little icky, but I like hamsters. So rodents aren’t a major problem.

Overall I thought that I was pret-ty fear free.

I was thinking that until this afternoon anyway.

I was thinking that until I decided I needed to check out the My Fresno State website to check my email there. I’m still really in the middle of the whole getting admitted-oh-my-gods-there’s-so-much-FUCKING-paperwork stage of my relationship with Fresno State, and I’m supposed to check in there about every week to make sure all my ducks are in a row.

After checking everything out I saw a major minor problem with something new that showed up. Seems that Fresno thought that even after completing several English classes successfully I still needed to take an English placement test. Now this little problem has been fixed. But in those moments before it was, I found a fear I never realized I had.

You see, I realized that my biggest fear is transferring to Fresno State, signing up for classes, going to my first upper division English class, turning in my first paper, and just completely failing to come up to the standards of the University.

Of course, the couple of colleagues I mentioned this to scoffed at the idea. How could I possibly fail? Not to mention the tons of data that shows that transfer students coming from a community college are usually more prepared than the juniors who have been going to the same college since they were freshmen.

But what does data mean in the face of a fear such as this?

What if all of those English instructors I had, who I was friends with way before I ever stepped into their classroom, were just humoring me? What if they gave me A’s because they liked talking with me? What if they gave me A’s because they liked my personality? (What?! It could happen!) What if they gave me A’s because they were my friend and they just couldn’t bear to give me a bad grade?

I mean, quite honestly I’ve been scoffing at my English department for a couple of years now. How could I possibly write a crap paper in about four hours to get an A? Don’t they know the meaning of quality? Why were they giving me A’s?

Okay. I have to note here that I’m not writing this to get you to praise my writing skills here. Number one, the writing I do here is radically different from what I have to do for an English class. Number two, it doesn’t really make me feel any better. Number three, I’m just not looking for praise here. So please don’t.

For about three years now I’ve been getting these bogus A’s in every English class I’ve taken, and now I’m just terrified that it will all come back to bite me in the ass when I walk into that first classroom and turn in my first paper.

Looking at the degree requirements for my major, I’m exhilerated and panicked at the list of classes.

Exhilerated by the thought of spending sooooo much time reading and writing. Two of my most favorite things in the world to do.

Panicked at the thought of being called out as a fraud. Of finding out that I just can’t write. That I’m incapable of doing the work required of me. That I couldn’t possibly put together two sentences together to form a coherent thought that could possibly make any sense to any instructor I might have.

Well, you get the gist of it all.

Most people I know will tell me that I have zerophobia, the fear of nothing. I’ll tell them that they can’t prove a damn thing until I get that first paper back.