Yuck

First, Rumbles has been complaining at me for not completing our next He Said She Said.  All I will tell you is that it's the "Oh Dear Toe" edition, mine's half done.

Second, Bobby gave me his cold/throat/whateveryuckthing he had last week.  Yuck.

Third, As of Monday I'll be officially out of work for three weeks.  Our client needed to suspend my consulting services "for about two months".  While it was was nice to hear, "you'll be the first one will call back", they also knew I wouldn't wait around for two months.  I hope their business does well because I was really enjoying myself.  Got tons of great feedback and hugs on my way out the door.  Have some good/great/so-so leads, but nothing solid yet.  BIG YUCK. 

Now for the good stuff.

Two weekend ago we had a great time at the CMA Fest in Nashville TN.  Had great seats and lots of fun.  Greatest Country Music weekend that exists.

Last weekend, Rumbles became a grandpa for the first time.  I have a gorgeous new nephew.  Congrats Rumbles.

This weekend, my "Texas Daughter" is coming back to visit with her husband and twins girls.  We had a great time last year and I can't wait to see my granddaughters again.  As I've said numerous times, not all families are created by biology.  She's been teaching them to say, "Grandma Rita".  I've been slaving over preparing my world famous chicken and noodles for their surprise.  Feeling lousy today, but I managed to get alot of the broth done.  They'll be staying until Wednesday morning, so spent the morning grocery shopping and trying to plan a menu.  Bobby's cold thingy only lasted four days, so hopefully I'll be over it by the time they get here.  I plan on Lysol'ing everything down before they get here.

Next weekend is Fourth of July, hopefully having friends over one day and a late birthday party to go to for my granddaughter's fifth birthday.

And if I'm not employed soon I WILL GO INSANE.  Never lost two jobs in one year before, but I need to get a grip on this "Consulting" life.  Love the freedom, but my first gig lasting four years lulled me into a false sense of security.

Apparently it's Legal

But this woman is nothing more than a high-paid prostitute.  I don't care WHO she's representing.

Just sayin'.

RIP Marshall Dillon [He Said, She Said] Part 3

This week one of America's most infamous cowboys passed away.  For those of us lucky "oldsters" we remember fondly James Arness' character of the gun slinging Marshall Dillon on Gunsmoke.

Interestingly enough, "He Said" and I decided we would tell our own story of the Wild Wild West days before our beloved Marshall Dillon passed away this week.

Well it wasn't EXACTLY like the Wild Wild West, but it did involve two drunk idiots flinging themselves through the bar's swinging doors and an even wilder tale.  All I can tell you was at least there wasn't a duel at the end of the night.

I was twenty years old, so I was too young in the state of Indiana to even enter a bar.  For reasons I don't remember, my sister, her husband, my brother Rumbles and his not-quite-yet first wife decided to go to his favorite place to hang out.  It was called the Benchmark Inn, a local bar.  Back in those days, Rumbles never let a bar seat get lonely at the Benchmark.  Four of us stayed in the family area, while Rumbles went through the swinging bar doors (YES, they really were swinging bar doors) and sat down next one of his favorite drinking buddies we called Wormy.  Rumbles and Wormy were already "well oiled" you might say, a state of intoxication (or something worse) was never far away. 

I think I recall that we ordered dinner while sitting out in the family room.  Suddenly there was some loud ruckus coming from the bar area.  It wasn't difficult back then to do simple math.  Just as 1 + 1 always equaled 2, Rumbles + Bar always equaled Ruckus. 

Of course the four of us knew immediately that Rumbles was getting himself into a big bar fight.  I'm sure it certainly wasn't his first, but it was the first where I was ever in close proximity.  All of us went running toward the bar doors when they flung open and in true Wild West fashion, out came two drunks fighting.  To be honest, I wouldn't EXACTLY say it was a fight, since that would imply fists.  They were more accurately performing very aggressive "hugging".  (Who wants to bet Rumbles takes more offense to THAT term than any other in the story?)  Cue the sound of crickets here Mark.

As the two idiots swung through the doors, they were followed by the other bar sitters, all just standing by as the dingbats hugged there way to the floor.  No one, NO ONE was even attempting to break up the fight. 

Our group was yelling for them to stop.  As was custom for her, my sister decided to act.  She acted like she always did in a family emergency.  She PANICKED.  Screaming like a banshee.

In the meantime, I was po'd the other drunk bar men did not even attempt to break up the fight, which by then had become a lovefest of two straight men rolling around on the floor together. 

Since no one was accomplishing anything, I grabbed my brother's pant leg and began to PULL.   Trying to get them separated.  I probably weighed all of 95 pounds back then, but I wasn't going to sit back and do nothing.

After a few good yanks on his pants, I had pulled them hard enough.  NO, I did not manage to pull his pants OFF although that would have probably made for a better story.  I had pulled them hard enough to dislodge a freakin' GUN he had stuffed in his waistband. 

Sorry Mom, but there can just be no way that this idiot brother and I share a common set of biological parents.   OH WAIT, that's right.  I forgot about Dad's propensity to behave this way when he was young.  Nevermind.

With seeing the gun bouncing along the floor, I suddenly decided I would let my brother explore his sexual preferences with the man on the floor.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I let go of his pant leg, grabbed up the gun and moved away from the lover's quarrel. 

I was hiding the gun  in my purse so I didn't see how the lovefest finally broke up.  While my back was turned, the fighting stopped.  It could have stopped because my screaming panicked sister started screaming, "I'll call the cops, I'll call the cops, I'LL CALL THE COPS". 

The next thing I remember is that Miss Calm continues to scream and starts to hyperventilate.  She collapses in the middle of the family dining area floor while everyone now stands around her.  Rumbles was standing next to me and I remember grabbing his arm and pointing at our now-feral sister still screaming away and I said to him, " THIS is what you are doing to your family."  For some strange reason I don't think he liked that too much.

He went storming off and I knelt down by my sister.  Some strange guy was kneeling next to me and I tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to find me a paper bag. 

In the meantime, my brother-in-law is doing what he does in a family crisis.  He was pretty much ignoring the whole event.  Although he did manage to inject a bit of humor.  While his wife lay screaming on the floor, he stands there, draws back his fist and says, "Get up and I'll hit you again." as if he had slugged her a good one. 

Yes, I AM the only normal one in the family.  Thanks for asking.

When everything had calmed down, we left the Benchmark as they were closing the doors.  I left with my sister and brother-in-law and we agreed that we would keep this entire story to ourselves, not tell Mom or Dad so they would not worry.   I hid the gun far far back in my bedroom closet.

Rumbles, not realizing we had NOT ratted him out answered a simple, innocent question from our Mom a few days later and ratted himself out, telling her the whole story because he thought she already knew.  I figure THAT was the best revenge for his stupidity.

Whenever we talked about the incident with the gun, Rumbles stupidly claims, "I would have never used it."  And I add, "I believe you, BUT you did not know if the other guy would have!!!!"

Thank Sweet Jesus that Rumbles had a religious conversion on that same bar stool a few short years later when he had just pulled another stupid stunt which he thought for sure was going to land him in jail.  He said of that incident that when he sat on that bar stool he prayed, "Jesus, if you get me out of this situation, you'll never have to ever get me out of another one."  I watched my brother that next day outside after the second incident, working on his bike and listening to GOSPEL music.   He didn't touch a drop for years after that.

And there have been no swinging bar doors with my brother in the middle of a bar fight since. 

Well, none that I'm aware of anyway.

We Remember

Buy the poppies.

H/T -  Beej/Carrie

And the Smell of Sunday Supper on the Table

I heard it before I saw it. It sounded just like a blow torch and not a sound you would expect to hear at the dinner table.


I was pretty young, probably under 7 and it was a Sunday afternoon. Mom was fixing dinner and I was in the kitchen with her. I don’t know where the rest of the kids were, but I’d make a bet they were off stirring up trouble somewhere.

Dad came rushing in from the garage where he had been working on a car. Having grown up in the 30’s with 10 other kids, he wasn’t exactly raised to be one of those “touchy-feely” fathers. Pretty much after the age of four, you didn’t get hugs and the first time I remember my father telling me he loved me (back) was on his death bed when I was 32 years old. He had finally started returning hugs only a month or two before that, knowing that the liver cancer was going to do him in.

So, Dad was the kind of man you would describe as being a strict parent. He believed in lectures and strong discipline when raising kids. That can be misinterpreted when you’re growing up and so it was with Dad. He wielded a strong hand or belt when he felt someone needed it. Or a lecture, if you were lucky. Mark was usually the “lucky participant” of the majority of the lessons, mainly because he was not smart enough to keep out of trouble or his mouth shut.

But I digress.

So Dad comes running into the kitchen and turns on the faucet and begins to vigorously wash his mouth with the well water. When he could finally speak he told Mom what had happened. Apparently while working on our car, he had siphoned some of the gas out into a BEER BOTTLE. Then forgetting that the beer bottle next to him wasn’t beer, he swigged a big gulp of the gasoline. I remember being a little afraid. I wasn’t quite old enough to know how serious it might be, but I could sense his bit of panic when washing his mouth out.

An hour or so later, the six of us sat down for Sunday dinner. Only mom and I knew what had happened with the gas/beer chugging. Dad didn’t like tomatoes or spaghetti, so I don’t really remember what he was eating, but the all of us grubby kids were slurping our spaghetti. Dad always finished eating before the rest of us and that day he did what he always did when he was done eating.

He grabbed a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it and then proceeded to blow out the match, breathing a three foot flame of gasoline fumes across the table.

Yep, THAT was the flame thrower sound. Mom and I knew why it happened, but the other kids thought it was that nightmare we all probably had after one of Dad’s discipline exercises. To them, I’m sure it seemed like he really WAS that fire breathing dragon. It was instant chaos. I think I started crying; Mark sat there in sheer terror, probably thinking Dad had figured out something Mark had done wrong (again) and he was about to catch holy hell. Helen stood up in panic, putting both hands down on the table, one in Michael’s plate of spaghetti, neatly cutting it all in bite-sized pieces for him. I don’t remember what Michael did, probably because Michael never seemed to do anything.

It was a Sunday dinner none of us will ever forget. You could say it has been “burned into our memory.”

Tornados all around Indiana tonight

And getting another wave of scary storms.  WHAT THE HECK is going on with this scary weather for days and days on end?

He Said - She Said - Of course SHE's RIGHT.

Thinking back, all I can tell you was that I was a precious child, full of love and sweetness, always willing to do anything for my brothers and sister. When I came along, my sister was six, one brother five, and the other four.

The only thing I did wrong my entire life was ruining their Three Stooges routine.

And they never let me forget it. They were abusive siblings, always picking on me, but I endured their torture graciously and never held their meanness against them. My parents tried to protect me, mainly from my brother Mark. Their method of protection was telling Helen (who was one mean girl) that if Mark hit me she could hit him. How did she handle her newfound authority? By saying (when my parents weren’t around), “Hit her Mark. Hit her.” If he even came close she could beat the hell out of him.

See? They all conspired against me. It’s sad really. Such a sweet child being so abused.

But I forgave them and ultimately won them over with my saintly demeanor.

Well, at least this is how I remember those years. I’m sure someone else might have a different opinion, but they would be wrong, of course.

Since there might actually be a differing account of the events in our lives, my brother (the meanest one) and I have decided to start a “He Said, She Said” series. We’ll post about events in our lives and see how different or alike our versions are.

So look for our series of He Said, She Said. But remember, that my recollection will be factual and Mark’s (Rumbles) might be skewed. 

But to set the final record straight, my memory of the abuse I suffered might be just a bit exaggerated to gain the sympathetic vote. If I remember right, I was pretty good at using that when we were little.

Rumbles and I are blessed with a wonderful family. I rarely find others are so lucky. Sure we fought like other kids did, but every year all of us became closer and closer. We spend wonderful times together. But more importantly, we are there for each other, we stick together and we face hard times together and celebrate good times with gusto. No one has my back as much as the people in my family. And I have theirs.

I wish everyone else could be so lucky. So check out what “He Said” over at Rumbles from the Vent.

Just look at the love I have for my big brother.  Even if he can't remember to keep his pants zipped.

Does this make me an Intellect?

At my new consulting position recently I've had two of the executives express their excitement about my work documenting processes.  Both, in separate conversations have said that I'm creating "Intellectual Property" that is extremely valuable for the company.

Here's why this post is not boasting of my amazing ability.    While my outward reaction to their compliments has been appreciative and humble, I am inside stifling a burst of laughter.  If I was honest I would describe my job as picking up crayons and drawing colorful pictures with lines and geometric shapes.  But I'm using Visio to do that. 

Here's an example so you can see for yourself.

Click on the picture to be in awe of my work.

After I'm done coloring, I write down the process in such simple terms that they could hire my 9-year-old grandson to do the job and he'd be bored instantly.  Things like this:

The injury process only begins when a patient is injured.  The patient telephones the doctor's office and the Staff answers the telephone.  The Staff schedules an office visit with the Physician and the Patient notes the date and time of the appointment.  The Patient goes to the Physician and the Physician examines the Patient's injury.  (See, if I'm not clear here, there could be confusion and the Patient might end up examining the Physician's foot.  This may seem like a far fetched example, but believe me, I have heard of stranger things happening.  Anyway, back to the Intellectual Property narrative) 

The Physician amputates the foot and attaches a wheel.  The Patient then rolls home.

When I get done coloring pretty pictures and writing the process in a third grade level, I hold a meeting to get the official executive approval of the document.  I use words like "illustrate" and "narrative" and that makes me sound smart.

Don't you wish you had my skill set?

OK, now I'll add a little bit of explanation as to why this apparently IS a skill set worth paying for.

Obviously this is not the kind of process I am documenting.  Some are very complex and I work with great people who have years of experience in their field and all of the processes and ideas are only in their heads. 

My skill set isn't playing with crayons and writing in third grade vocabulary.  My skill set is communication and extracting the years of knowledge the professionals have in their DNA out of their mouths and into my fingertips so I can break it down into simple tasks in plain English and present it all in a nice professional looking document.  The professionals do not possess the skill set to take their vast knowledge and break it down into simple step-by-step processes.  They can't look at the process from an outsider's view and since I know nothing about their business, I can only understand the process if I break it down to a elementary level.  So, you could say my skill set is thinking like a grade schooler.

The executives then get to take that document, that "Intellectual Property" to the Board, to Investors and to the Clients.  Ultimately, the document creates (or it should) an impression that the company is professional and organized.  They know their business and they can prove it to you.  While it seems funny to me, that really IS Intellectual Property. 

You can bet I'm adding my ability to create Intellectual Property will be included on my resume from now on.  Even if it does feel like I do nothing all day except color pretty pictures. 

Indy's Busy Weekend

This weekend it's all about this.....

Qualifications.  Which, to be honest has lost it's fanatical appeal of bygone days.  The split between the IRL and  and CART in the mid '90s left the race with quite a bit of fall out.  Most of the recognizable names were no longer racing at Indy. Only A.J. Foyt was loyal to the organization that made racing. 

Arrogantly, Mario Andretti, splitting with CART had the nerve to say that the Indy 500 was world renown because of HIM. 

Although the organizations have long ago reunited, Indy will not forget Mario's traitorious comments.  Indy made household names of these racers, not the other way around. 

Also flying overhead this weekend are the best of the best.

These guys are amazing.  The sound of the jets as they fly mere inches from wingtip to wingtip will make your heart stop.  Don't worry about your little ol' heart though, because the electrical shock to make it restart will happen when you get a quick glimpse of them flying at breakneck speeds and so low that if you stand on your tiptoes you could swear you could touch them.  But do it quick, because they are flying so fast you'll miss them if you blink. 

Nothing beats the thrill of hearing them just before they appear.  I run out of the front door at the first sound and watch them from my front yard.  There have been dozens of times that they have flown so low over our house that if the pilots could take their eyes off their instruments, they could wave at me when I'm out front waving my arms like I'm trying to flag them down to stop in for a cup of tea.  Or a beer after their done flying.

It never gets old.

Like a Rock

Twenty years ago tonight I slept in my newly built house with so many of my relatives that most of them slept on the floor.  Several more were sleeping at my parents' home getting ready for the next day's events.

It would be the last night I spent the house that I had only moved into eight months prior. 

I don't recall any great details of that next morning.  Only getting dressed at the church, a few tears, my father walking me down the aisle.  I'm pretty sure THIS time he was happy to be escorting me to my new life with Bob.  I remember standing around the corner when dad pointed out that Bob could see me.  I ducked back around.  And even though it was not a Catholic church, the organist played Ave Maria while we waited.  It struck a chord in my long-ago Catholic roots.

I remember it being a very short but very sweet wedding.  And one where I had no doubt I was walking into my future. 

The road between here and there had such unexpected turns.  Less than a year later, my father lay dying of liver cancer.  I spent our second anniversary at the funeral of what had once been my favorite aunt, the one I was named after. 

Yes there have been terrific heartaches and yet wonderful highs.  The good Lord has blessed us with wonderful grandbabies and sweet memories.  We have great families who can lift our spirits and sweet friends that are more like family.

Last year we had plans to go away on a great trip for our 20th, but the timing was just not with us.  So tomorrow, I'll head off to work, Bob will take his dad to the VA and we'll just keep on keeping on. 

If someone flipped a switch and I was waking up in my old house, knowing today what I didn't know then.....  Yes, I would do it all over again.  Heartaches and disappointment be damned.  We'll be soon settling into our "twilight" years and the future looks even brighter.

Happy Anniversary Bobby. The next twenty will be even better than the first twenty.

"Twenty years now, where'd they go?  Twenty years.  I don't know.  I sit and I wonder sometimes, where they've gone."

Billions

So we've turned over more than 18 BILLION dollars to a country that harbored America's # 1 terrorist and are wailing in the streets today that we killed their hero. 

I say it's time we target more of their "heroes". 

And time to cut the bastards from the payroll. 

Quite frankly Musharraf, you can join your buddy as fish food. 

Thank you Navy Seals.  Thank you CIA Interrogators.

Thank you President Obama.

Yes, I WANT my President's administration to be taking this seriously. 

And thank you President Bush.  Today we learn this intell was collected during your administration, under the interrogation procedures used by the CIA that were viewed by many on the left as being a "war crime". 

Welcome to hell Bin Laden.  I'm sure Mohammad Atta has already let you in on that little white 72 virgins lie by now.

Chiming In

Ok, for once I'm going to jump on the bandwagon.

No, I really don't care about the Brit's royal family (is royal supposed to be capitalized in this situation?) but yes, I will DVR the ceremony.

I was twenty-two years old when Lady Di married Prince Charles.  Obviously that was long before DVRs and a few years before Beta Max recorders were affordable, so I woke up early to watch.  I still remember sitting in the kitchen with my mom that early morning and seeing Lady Di coming up the aisle in that incredibly long long train.

I remember the fairy tale carriage she rode in.  I was young and believed in the fairy tale and hoped that it wasn't only skin deep. 

Shortly thereafter it became obvious the marriage was just a sham.  Today, I still believe that Diana probably didn't know that she was only picked for good breeding.  I'm sure she was incredibly insufferable to be around, but throughout the years I loved seeing her with her children.  I still remember seeing William running into her arms after spending time away from her.  And my heart broke watching the two boys walk behind the horse drawn casket.

So although I don't spend more than a nickel's worth of attention to the royal family, I will still DVR the ceremony.

I guess all girls want to believe in the fairy tale no matter what they may tell you.

Update:  I thought I would be mildly interested, but actually the ceremony was the kind told in fairy tales. The bride was gorgeous and it was so sweet when she finally got up to the altar, William leaned over and you could easily read his lips.  He said, "You look so beautiful.  Beautiful"  And he was right.

Rise Up

Happy EASTER!  Truly the Holiest of Holy Days.

I Wanna Have a Beer With This Guy

I love the artistic turn this takes when the reporter pans her camera back to the guys she's having a side discussion with.

I watched this several times, laughing harder each time.  It's comic genius




H/T Hotair

Rumbling Surgery - Updated

Update:  He's home and doing well. 

Tomorrow morning, Rumbles goes under the knife due to his work accident.  Amazingly, they are going to remove two of his neck vertebrae, replace them with cadaver vertebrae and then weld three of them together AND it's considered out-patient surgery.

In keeping with family tradition, I can't let a good ribbing go to waste.  Enjoy the video Mark.  I'm sure those bolts extruding out of your neck will come in handy next Halloween.



Good luck big brother.  You'll be fine.  Love you.

Sometimes Your Kids Just Won't Listen

Tomorrow I will get a chance to watch my big brother cry like a little girl again.  I can't wait.  We'll all be watching as the "baby" of the next generation of my family is "given away".  I told her it was nice she planned such a big party for my birthday.   Go read his Father of the Bride post, while I get myself a Kleenex.

I Never Thought I Would See The Day (Warning Political Discussion)

Yes, I do TRY to not blog about politics, although I have very strong beliefs and my "hobby" is reading alot of differing viewpoints about politics.  I have become much more passionate about what I believe the older I get. 

I even read radical liberal sites just to keep an eye on what people at the opposite end of the spectrum might be thinking, even sites like DailyKos.  Rarely do I find any logical reasoning.  There are some reasonable sites where you can at least disagree intelligently without resorting to namecalling, but they are rare.  When anyone (right or left) can no longer support their ideology, too many of them resort to the Nazi, Racist, Hitler names which I just find appalling. 

In perusing my nightly routine of reading several politcal blogs of both sides, I found the most amazing thing tonight.  

One of the people I find most offensive is not a blogger, but a very well known "supposed journalist" for Time.   Joel Klein  I don't read his writings often because he is so biased and hateful that I want to throw my laptop across the room.  I read the article because of a link on hotair.com stating that Klein was in "full throttle freak out mode" about possible GOP contenders in 2012.

Klein likes to complain about the horrible rhetoric and he's the worst of the worst about throwing it at Conservatives and the Tea Party.

Of course the article starts off slamming every conservative belief and ripping into all the "front-runners" thus far, but he ends today's article with this:

"...so I plead, as an unflinching American patriot--please Mitch Daniels, please Jeb Bush, please run. I may not agree with you on most things, but I respect you. And you seem to respect yourselves enough not to behave like public clowns." 

I literally had to read the last part a couple times to make sure I read that right.  I don't think I could get behind Jeb Bush only because I think he, like Palin, Bachmann, and several other GOP contenders would draw out millions of voters only to vote AGAINST them.

But Mitch?  Since Mike Pence won't run (yet), I think Mitch would be a good President and could win. 

All I gotta say is that Klein must be VERY nervous about the outcome of the 2012 Presidential election and he's thinking it may NOT be in the Democrat's favor.

In the words of Arte Johnson, "Interesting, VERY interesting."

Good Will

One of the best scenes in a movie ever.

And Since I No Longer Work There

Which at this point in my life, could be several banks, mortgage companies, the FDIC and at least one retail shop. I have some bizarre wonderful co-worker stories. I'll reserve the right to change a few details to avoid prosecution identification. (Look at me, I found the "scratch that" font.)

As a preface, let me first state that if I mention someone's race/ethnicity/gender/stupidity or any other outstanding noticeable differences it does NOT mean I have issues with the particular trait, only that it's important to explain the storyline. I'll try to leave out those details, but if you figure that trait out all on your own, I bear no responsibility.

Ok, here goes.

When I asked him, Chang told me he had been in America 26 years.

Well, at least I THINK that is what he said.

The cubes in the office were just about the height of my head, which meant little privacy. Chang sat on the opposite side of my cube wall. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear every big SLURP of coffee, water, coke, soup. Did I say slurp, no I meant slurpS.

Not kidding. It was especially bad because the slurps would come in waves. Thirty or so within thirty seconds. Rest a couple minutes and it would start all over again. Every slurp felt like someone would jam 100k volts through my back.

At lunchtime, he would prepare this at his desk:

You can imagine the smell that would wash over me like a wave.  I finally brought in two small fans and directed the smell up and over to one of my buddies that sat with an open cube next to Chang.

Immediately behind Chang, sat Cliff Clavin.  For those of you that may be too young to remember who that is, he was the mailman on Cheers that would sit around the bar spouting things like this:


Cliff: "Well ya see, Norm, it's like this. A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members. In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Excessive intake of alcohol, as we know, kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine. That's why you always feel smarter after a few beers."


(Sorry, tried to find a great video of Cliff, but sadly few seem to exist that show off his vast knowledge.) 
Anyway.

Cliff had been married to a Russian woman, which made him know even more about the world than the rest of us. Well, except we had Indians, Brazilians, Ukrainians, and Taiwanese. Oh and Chinese. There was an extreme amount of "English as a second language" in the office. But Cliff knew more about their cultures than they did. He once told the Chinese guy that he was “clean for a Chinese man” and told the sweet Indian lady behind me that she was “lighter skinned than most Indians”. Obviously Cliff is now divorced.
 
Behind Cliff was a deaf lady. She wore hearing aids, but would take them out most of the day. Many of us envied her disability as the chaos reigned down around us.

Behind the deaf lady was a very argumentative, loud yet witty Ukrainian. He had been friends with Cliff for decades. They argued like a couple in a very bad marriage.

Mr. Ukraine and Chang didn’t speak to each other often, but when they did, a huge argument would ensue. I have to explain that Chang had serious issues with the English language. It was universally impossible to understand about 4 out of 5 words he spoke. Consequently, everyone he spoke to would stand there with a “deer in the headlights” look. It was extremely entertaining to watch it happening to anyone but me. He was extremely, overly, unbelievably nice to everyone (with Mr. Ukraine being the exception), so I really did feel badly that he drove me absolutely insane.

Making it even worse was the fact that I honestly believed Chang wasn’t odd because he was from a different culture or could barely speak English. Having looked up the symptoms, I believe he may have been suffering from a mild form of Asperger’s Syndrome. He had the physical and mental conditions that matched exactly. I know, I know. I’m a horrible person but you didn’t have to work next to him 40+ hours a week.

Between my cube and the printer stood a shredder bin. Everyone shared the same printer. One day Chang shuffled back from the printer corner and very politely asked me, “Reetaa, how woiaroa ownguuu fowta shred?” He stood with papers in his hands. I figured it out. “Oh, you need to shred some papers?” Bowing his head up and down, he said, “Yes. Yes.”

I took him back around from where he just came and showed him the shredder bin.

He politely, very politely thanked me profusely. Then…..

He looked into the slot of the bin and looked confused. He looked back up at me and began to move both hands back and forth, miming a perfect imitation of a paper shredder.

“But, how does it shred?” My conscience is dealing me a huge blow right now. I know he means well, I understand he’s a nice man. I took a deep breath and said very slowly, “Chang. It doesn’t shred. It’s a BIN. They shred the paper somewhere else. This is where you place the paper to be shredded.”

Again, he nods his heads in agreement and thanks me. Twice.

Then bent down again and looked at the slot.

And again. Said. “But....how does it shred?” And again, making his Edward Scissorhand’s move.

I know at this time God is about to smite me with some severe affliction, because I just want to get away and crawl back to my cube. Patience. Patience. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“CHANG, it DOESN’T shred. “

“Oh, how?”  Johnny Depp returns.

“Chang. You put the paper in the bin. It falls into a bag. Someone picks up the bag and takes it away to a place where they shred.”

“OH, ok. Thank you very much.”

I’m making my escape. Or so I thought.

“Reetaaa, what weow owrwa with paper you don’t want to shred?”

“I put it in my trash can, Chang.”

Just one tiny example of an everyday workplace that no one could write in a sitcom because it would not be believable.

Oh, and one day, my sweet Indian friend decided she would try to imitate a Chinese accent. The office was in tears.

I know.  I'm horrible.  But office work is this close to insanity.

An Anniversary - Of Sorts

Now been four years ago today.

Thanks Doc for saving my life.

Surely We Are Being Punked

So apparently today, this guy...

and this guy

and this guy

and this one.

decided to give the United States a lecture at the UN Human Rights Council on human rights.

Someone, anyone tell me why we would be connected with an organization that allows these nations voting on our human rights.

I think I'll go have a migraine now.

I'll Take Nuclear for Two Hundred Please Alex

Someone, anyone please explain this to me.

I am learning, but it's obvious I cannot become a Nuclear Physicist overnight, especially because I don't know the difference between Nuculer (which I'm told is NOT a word, just a mispronunciation) and Nuclear. 

I've been listening to the news trying to explain this in simple terms.  I want to understand more, but I have no one to ask my questions.

God, please help those poor people in Japan.  I don't understand the havoc wreaked on this nation.  I know there is so much I cannot understand and as one faithful Japanese man put it, "This is a test of my faith."    Amen.

The Best Sitcom

I refuse, and I do mean REFUSE to post about the latest Hollywood meltdown.  But since the idiot claimed that he was the best sitcom ever, I wondered what your favorite might be.

I have to say Frasier made me laugh nearly EVERY episode.  The combination of Frasier, Niles and their father was just classic.  Martin reminded me so much of my Grandpa Cissell.

Next is a new one.  I really love Big Bang Theory. 

Even though not technically labeled a sitcom, we would laugh hysterically at Boston Legal.  You had to get to know the characters, but once you did, no one did it better than William Shatner in that role.

Entertaining was The Golden Girls, Cheers, and Seinfeld.

I'm sure I'll think of others.  I'll add them to the post as I think of them.

I'm just too tired to post serious stuff with the new job.  So much to learn, getting used to new people (everyone seems to be great) and learning a new industry and dealing with a start up company and missing my old friends and comfort zone.

Which reminds me of another one.  The Office.  I never regularly watched it, but I lived it the last four years.  The Office could never write an episode that came anywhere near the environment I worked in because no one would believe it.  But the great people far outweighed the crazies and it was always entertaining to listen to someone else having a discussion with the handful of crazies when I was not having to participate.  There were just too many funny non-pc stories not to tell. 

Soon, my friends, I'll tell them soon.  When I'm not so tired.

Are they trying to google brothel? Update

I'm still getting all kinds of hits for chicken broth.  Please someone from the other side of the earth explain to me why there seems to be a sudden interest in chicken broth?  Is this some code word in another language that I am missing the latest news on?   It's a chicken broth conspiracy, isn't it?

Blogging and apparently googling is weird.

It's NOT Thanksgviing people.   Why aren't you reading any of my interesting posts?

Update:  Here are the stats from the last 500 hits on search terms on my blog if you think I'm imagining things.  The 50% doesn't include "raw chicken", "photos of chicken broth" or "3 raw chickens."  I think it's the image of the Swanson's chicken broth that is getting the hits.  Maybe I should try to turn this blog into a paying ad one with Swanson's except that the post it refers to says, "I don't use this stuff."  (Which actually isn't entirely true, I always have some on hand JUST in case I haven't made enough broth the "real" way.)

Num   Perc.           Search Term

87      50.00%       chicken broth
  5        2.87%       1978 monte carlo
  5        2.87%       ordinary
  5        2.87%       Officer David Moore
  4        2.30%        raw chicken
  4        2.30%        peter koe
  3        1.72%       "an ordinary life"
  3        1.72%        Pete Koe
  2        1.15%        an ordinary life
  2        1.15%        blue 1978 Monte Carlo
  2        1.15%        officer moore
  2        1.15%        reviews of Live like you are dying
  2        1.15%        west baden hotel rooms
  2        1.15%        extreme hatred
  2        1.15%        west baden springs
  2        1.15%         i see dead people quote
  2        1.15%         start out that way
  1        0.57%         impd david moore
  1        0.57%         baby blue 80 monte carlo
  1        0.57%         kenneth anderson jake laird
  1        0.57%         78 monte carlo
  1        0.57%         Officer Timothy Jacob (Jake) Laird
  1        0.57%         disney elevators
  1        0.57%          i phone autocorrect fail
  1        0.57%         eow 1/11/11
  1        0.57%         death people
  1        0.57%         my parents expect me to have an ordinary life
  1        0.57%         west baden
  1        0.57%         78 monte carlo sky blue
  1        0.57%         a final 10-42
  1        0.57%         the mave site.fetch my flying monkeys
  1        0.57%         why love those family gatherings
  1        0.57%         photos of chicken broth
  1        0.57%         ordinary life
  1        0.57%         monte carlo 78
  1        0.57%         You and I cry I cry
  1        0.57%         ordinary life estate
  1        0.57%         I'll Be Seeing You Photography
  1        0.57%        officer koe
  1        0.57%        west baden springs hotel
  1        0.57%        impd officer david moore
  1        0.57%        old school monte carlo
  1        0.57%        officer jakr laird indianapolis police
  1        0.57%        teaching children about columbia
  1        0.57%        thought id see you one more time again
  1        0.57%        3 raw chickens
  1        0.57%        tolerance with my friends
  1        0.57%        officer peter koe
  1        0.57%        locks of love bob
  1        0.57%        Indianapolis police officer Pete Koe
  1        0.57%        10-42 officer
  1        0.57%         i have an ordinary life
  1        0.57%        "Anthony Maschek"
  1        0.57%         but I just thought I'd see you one more time again
  1        0.57%         text from dad dont come home getting it on got to hate autocorrect
  1        0.57%         an ordinary life reading for funeral
  1        0.57%         iphone autocorrect failures

174  100.00%

Hi, I'm Rita

Started my new contract position today.

The projects seem interesting, it's exciting to learn a new industry.

But the minute I walk out the door in the morning, I have to put on my personality face like I'm perfectly comfortable meeting new people, LOTS of new people, not knowing what to expect and appearing confident.

YUCK.  I hate that stuff. 

I love already knowing the personalities of the people I work with.  I don't have a problem with learning new processes and asking questions when I don't know the answers, but not knowing people's personalities, who will be my friend and who might be looking to stab me in the back makes me nervous.  I have stayed for years with companies where I was miserable only because I stupidly have the "devil you know" attitude.

Maybe I was just in banking too long.  I'd estimate it was close to 50% that would prefer to set you up to look bad, so I'm more hesitant than what I should be.

Four years as a contractor with a retailer where I found nearly everyone was just a great deal of fun to work with and I didn't have to continually look over my shoulder for that person aiming at my head made it very hard to leave.

First assessment is that this new company is ready for some major changes and have assigned an inside resource with alot of project experience to help me along.  That's all good.

It's just that poor Bob has to put up with me being wired a little too tightly for the next few months.

The good side is that I can finally tell some of the quirky stories of past assignments (names will be withheld to protect the stupid).  I swear the TV show The Office could never write some of oddities of some of my past associates.  It made every day interesting, that's for sure.

I'm So Confused

The last few days I have been getting visits from all over the world simply because they have apparently been googling this....

I just be missing some worldwide chicken broth festival. I need to make my real version of the broth so these dozen or so people throughout the world would know what real chicken broth tastes like.

What's up with that?

Raymond

Raymond - Brett Eldredge - Brett Eldredge Videos

Tolerance from my back yard

I remember as a kid singing a kid's song about Daniel Boone.  I cannot tell you where I first learned the song, but I guarantee you it was not from my own house.

The silly little song contained a derogatory racist remark about why Daniel Boone ran up a tree when he saw a big bear.

I distinctly remember my mom giving me hell for saying that "word" and told me how ashamed her very good black friend Gladys would be to know that I ever uttered that "n" word.

My mother's words burned into my psyche and I forever on believed that word was one of the worst words you could ever utter.  Nothing makes me cringe more that hearing that word uttered and I don't care what color you are when you say it.  I find it as offensive when the black rappers say it as much as I do when I hear a white racist say it.

Occasionally, unbelievably I will overhear a conversation about the KKK and those people are not condemning the group.   Although I keep calm, I cannot help but explain to them that I was raised Catholic and the KKK hated me and my family as much as they hated people of color.  Most never realize how that hate-filled group not only hated (and still do) blacks, but also Catholics.  Suddenly they find themselves staring into the eyes of someone the KKK hates and the discussion quickly ends.

I remember my mom telling stories of how her southern Indiana town sometimes had burning crosses in their yards because they were Catholic.

I try to stay away from posting blogs about politics, but I see the "new word" vitriol thrown about from the right and left.  They both do it and they are both wrong.

Anyone who carries a sign putting a Hitler mustache on Obama, on George Bush or WI Governor Walker and of course the "evil" Dick Cheney (sarcasm) should be required to spend one day hearing a story of a Jew who had to spend one year in an concentration camp.  Yeah, they have a right to their free speech, but they really need to understand how that free speech was bought, paid and bled for them to be able to carry such disgusting signs.  And maybe they would understand how making those comparisons diminish the true evilness of Adolph Hitler and his attempt to annihilate an entire group of people.

When I was a kid, I didn't have much of a political lean, as I grew older, I slowly grew into a Conservative.  

That doesn't mean I don't love a good discussion with someone that believes differently that I do.  I find those kinds of conversations as interesting as I do with my Hindu, Jain, Jewish, Muslim and even my athiest friends.  I know they will not change my Christian view and I know I will not change their religion or lack thereof, but I find it fascinating the differences and the similarites. 

That being said, I have yet to understand those people I disagree with that turn our discussions into a personal attack.  Believe me, I am not stupid and I cannot help but be offended when people call me filthy names because I believe differently than they do. 

I don't believe that diehard liberals are stupid, I just believe they don't see the world as I see it. 

It becomes apparent early on when I can have an intelligent discussion with someone that has a different opinion than I do and the one that just wants to make it personal.

A year or so ago I used to read and comment on a very liberal (although she thought she was a moderate) blogger.  When she referred to me as a Teabagger, I tried my best to explain to this woman why that was such an offensive term.  It didn't work.  When I backed her into a corner with her own words, she still didn't understand  my position.  It was then I realized I could not have an intelligent discussion with her about anything.

A day after comments back and forth, she posted an extremely nasty blog about all Tea "baggers".  I gave up.  Her hatred spewed out in her blog, which used to be interpersed with some conservative dialogue, but her nasty attacks now leaves her blog comments only filled with her blogging friends who believe only as she does.  It was a shame, she's an intelligent person but ultimately her hatred of anyone who believed differently overtook what used to be a fairly reasonable liberal view.

The same thing happened with a very good friend of mine after she (a few years ago) believed everything Michael Moore said when he directed the movie about 9/11 wherein Bush and Cheney supposedly knew, aided and abetted the attack.  I finally directed the conversation away from her ranting and raving by reminding her that we had met to help a friend who was grieving her sister's unexpected death, not to discuss politics.

Last year our 10 year friendship ended after she was ranting at the party about how unfair it was that some local big celebrity was sending his kids to a private school and this local celebrity thought it was awful that they were paying property tax to the public school and his kid couldn't participate in the public school's sports program, since he didn't attend the public school.  I asked her why that was any different than how I was paying property tax when our kids were long out of public school.  This local celebrity could afford to pay for his entire town and fund any sports facility in the state if he wanted his kids to get the best sports training.

She went on and on and then I made the worst mistake ever.  I answered her question when she asked me if I thought the big local celebrity loved this country.  He is known for being very political and I saw him at Farm Aid in October 2001 when a fan was waving the American flag past the stage.  The other celebrities would take the flag for awhile as they sang, the local celebrity waved his hand in dismissal when the fan tried to hand him the flag.   One month after 9/11 and he refused to touch the American flag.  So I answered her honestly.  I didn't call him Hitler, I didn't scream or yell.  I simply said, "No, I don't believe he loves this country."  That impression in October 2001 forever changed my mind about him, right or wrong, that was the impression he left me with.

One sentence in a rant that had already gone on for 20 minutes.

All hell broke loose.  I felt sorry for our hosts.  I was not about to say I didn't believe what I had just said, and it wouldn't have mattered anyway.  My former friend began to scream at me.  SCREAM.  At a private party of 7.  I did try to calm her down by saying that we would never agree, but that I would always love her anyway.

No change.  The yelling (not by me, I just shut up) when on and on.  The other ladies actually started physically moving her away from me as she screamed, moving closer and closer to my face.  After 10 more minutes I told Bob it was time to leave.  I hated the whole exchange for our hosts.  I went upstairs, put my coat on and the hostess came up to convince me to come back and join the "party".  I hated seeing her in pain, so I went back downstairs hoping my former friend had calmed down.

That didn't happen.  I turned my back, watching Bob and our friend playing ping pong.  In the background was my former friend still ranting and raving how awful I was and how stupid I was to believe what I believed.  The funny thing was that all of the other people in the room had my political belief. Maybe not my opinion of the celebrity, but the rest of the group were conservatives.

I watched the ping pong game for another 10 minutes and when I realize that was not stopping the one-person rant behind me, I made it very clear to Bob that it was time to leave.  I gave the other 4 people hugs goodbye.  Bob hugged the ranting woman who then told him that "some people should just keep their opinion to themselves."  She didn't understand when Bob replied calmly, "That's right Amy, some people SHOULD keep their opinions to themselves."  Her right to speak her mind meant that I was not allowed to speak mine because it didn't agree with hers.  I was just supposed to shut up and sit down.  You see her freedom of speech was so much greater than mine.

The ranting didn't stop after I left and in fact continued all the way home for one couple who had picked Amy up for the party.  After about 15 minutes in the car, our mutual friend finally said, "Amy I will never be as passionate as you are about politics and no amount of you screaming it at me will change my mind."

I was so upset for our hosts because they had loved our get togethers and the host is my oldest friend.  I sent him an email the next day saying I was sorry I ruined their party by saying one sentence that apparently started the complete chaos.    My friend who drove Amy home called me the next day to see if I was okay.  I was never going to bring up the incident (but I would never subject myself to that environment again) but I was so relieved that she understood how hurtful that incident was to me and was glad she stood up for me on her way home.  It was then I cried.  I told her I would always love Amy but that was the second time I had taken her abuse and I could never subject myself to it again.

As much as I would like to let personal verbal assaults about my deeply held beliefs not affect me, I am just not that strong.  When I try to reason with that person and I get only more insults or claims of not understanding why being called filthy names is insulting, I find it necessary to keep those type of people out of my life.  There are too many other dramatic things that are harder to deal with

The only thing that made it better for me was that my good friend of 25 years ( who is like a sister to me) stuck up for me and called me the next day to make sure I was okay.   I really wasn't, knowing how long we had been holding these parties and that all that was gone. 

You might remember the a few couple post back where I said that life doesn't make me cry very often, well this was one incident that it did.

I miss Amy, but I won't subject myself to that type of verbal abuse from a stranger nor will I subject myself to that kind of abuse from someone I love.

I cried all the way home from the party.  I only stopped when my long-term friend called me to say that she thought it was unfair and that she was worried about me.  SHE apologized for her/our friend's attack.   I want to thank her for being a true friend.  A forever friend. 

Tolerance needs to go both ways, but sadly sometimes that just doesn't happen.

What Columbia University is teaching our children.

At 28 years old, he's seen more than most of us would ever imagine in our worst nightmares.

In November 2008, Army Staff Sgt. Anthony Maschek was involved in an horrific battle in northern Iraq.  He was shot 11 times in the battle, earning him the Purple Heart, one medal every soldier would rather avoid being awarded.  He broke both legs and was wounded in the abdomen, arms and chest.

He spent two years at Walter Reed Medical Hospital recovering from his wounds.

Last August he enrolled at Columbia University.

There's a war going on at Columbia, a war on the ROTC and our military.  The school first claimed they did not want the ROTC on their premises because of the Don't Ask Don't Tell policy of the military.  Since that policy has changed, it has not changed the disgust that Columbia instills in their students against brave men and women that serve this country.

Columbia has been holding several sessions about allowing the ROTC on campus.  Although there are a few professors willing to speak up in support of our military, Sociology Professor Emeritus Herbert Gans told the NY Post the following, "Universities should not be involved in military activities," Columbia should come out against spending $300 billion a year on unnecessary wars."

Even more egregious is the reaction that they students now display toward our soldiers.

Maschek was invited to address one of the sessions to discuss his military service.   He said, "It doesn't matter how you feel about the war. It doesn't matter how you feel about fighting. There are bad men out there plotting to kill you."

The reaction of the students?  They began to heckle this man who took 11 bullets for his country.  They began to scream, "Racist" at a hero that fought for their rights to say those words.  They booed him.

All I can tell you is that if I was paying for my kid to attend this school or any like it, I would haul their asses out of that school so fast they wouldn't know what hit them.  And if it was my kid holding up signs like the one below, they would get their next six months education volunteering at some VA hospitals and their assignments would be to document every single war story that those heroes suffered and fought for.

It's apparent that we, as a generation, have failed to instill in a lot of our children how much blood has been shed for their freedom to be able to insult a hero. 

You have to add a lot of twists and stuff.

Remember which movie this quote was from?




The line was delivered by a young boy that actually explained the whole concept of the big suspenseful surprise that came at the end of the movie. It was largely overlooked because most people remember and quote the line he uttered a minute later.  You can guess the movie.

Which brings me to this week.

Late on Monday afternoon I was initiated into the wonderful world of contract work.  After nearly four years working independently for the same client, I was told to pack up my things.

I'll have to tell you I was in complete shock, as was the rest of my co-workers, my friends that I have grown to love.  My phone was ringing off the hook (ok, cell phones don't have hooks, but you get my drift) by all my friends asking what happened.  I had no answer for them as I wasn't really given one.

My major project went live last February, we were still working on fixing the minor bugs and I was beginning a new project.  Then "poof" in the night, it was all over.  I heard the next couple of days was not very pleasant around the office.  Not to sound arrogant, but I pretty much was the life of the party.  Of course the party consisted of people walking past my cube hurling an insult my way and me giving as good as I got.  I really loved the people and the culture.

Since I was self-employed, that meant no unemployment either, not that that could have touched my salary, but at least I wouldn't have felt totally useless.

Still in shock Monday night, I was reviewing my contacts at linkedin.com.  For those unaware, it's a job networking site that I have been on for about 5 years now.  With about 150 contacts, I could see plenty of opportunity to begin working on first thing Tuesday morning.  The last thing I did before going to bed was to update my status.  I simply wrote "looking for opportunities" and called it a night (and a very lousy day).

When I cranked up my laptop Tuesday morning, I had an email from a friend I hadn't seen in a couple years who now owns her own small consulting firm.   Wanted me to contact her right away.  I called and left a voicemail AND sent a responding email.  By 10 am, she emailed me she had a busy day, but wanted to call me at 1:30.  Talked with her about a position she had with a client that needed my skill set.  We set up a meeting for Wednesday.  I spent Tuesday preparing a resume and Tuesday evening running out and buying a couple of interview suits and shoes (that was the worst part).

She called me Thursday, told me her client wanted to meet me on Friday.  About 4 pm yesterday, my new boss called me to say the client thought I was perfect and I could start my new job a week from Monday.  They are giving a rough estimate of 7 months to a year work, but it's a rapidly growing start up company and odds are (unless I screw something up) it'll last longer.

I was so extremely relieved and shocked I could find another contract position before even one week went by.

Bad News,  Good News and then.......

Bob's cell phone woke us early this morning.  His mother only said, "I need help." and hung up.  We threw on some clothes, brushed our teeth and were heading out when Bob was able to get ahold of her again.  We told her to call 911 as his dad was yelling in pain and struggling to breathe.

We flew down the highway and arrived at their house about 6 minutes later and there was no ambulance in site.  His dad didn't want her to call, we all agreed that from now on, we will call 911 regardless of what he says.

He was standing up leaning against a recliner, loudly complaining about the pain and not being able to breathe.  Bob loaded him in our car, I took the backseat and held his hand.  I could tell he was more in panic than in pain.  Thankfully they live only about a mile from a fire station. 

The guys at the station calmed him down right away, got an IV, oxygen mask and on a stretcher.  I rode in the front of the ambulance thinking I could keep him calm, but he had already settled down alot knowing he was getting help.

Come to find out, a few days ago his doc had prescribed medication to help drain the fluid that was swelling the lower half of his body, but they hadn't filled the prescription.  They are very proudful people, sometime to their own detriment. 

They have now admitted him with congestive heart failure and gave him some medication that is definitely removing the deadly fluids from his body.  He'll turn 90 in May and smoked up until about 10 years ago.

We'll be heading back up to the hospital soon and one of us will likely stay with him through the night.  He's a wonderfully old stubborn man that won't listen to many people, but he does what Bobby tells him to do and I gave him a calmer lecture in the emergency room (I save my very stern lectures for my knucklehead brother) and told him that he is not to argue with his wife anymore about calling 911.  He agreed with me, he's been my buddy ever since I began calling him "Burly" even though he's a slight built old guy.

This is a picture of him with my grandson nearly nine years ago on Father's Day.  God I love the guy.  (Actually I love all three of these guys in the pic.)  Say a prayer.  Gotta run.  And by the way, if anyone happens to talk with M. Night Shyamalan, you can tell him to lay off my family for awhile, everyone is a little tired of all the twists and stuff.

This is a good kind of cry.

Found this from a friend on facebook. I don't know if it's really true or not, but it's a good feeling no matter what.

The Post Didn't Start Out That Way

Yesterday's post was supposed to be lighthearted as I was watching some chick on TV manipulating some stupid male by using her tears and the next thing you know I have another "downer" posting.

On a lighter note, my idiot brother has another dumba$$ idea.

I'll Be Seeing You

Photo courtesy of Brian Bruner.


I'll admit it. I cry alot. But....

It's not what you think.

I cry at movies, at posts from bloggers, at silly TV shows. I cry at alot of things.

But I rarely cry about life.

Don't get me wrong, I am not unemotional or unattached, it's just that I find that most women use tears as a way to manipulate people, mostly men. And I don't understand men who can't see through the tears.

When I do cry about something in life, you know it's serious. And when I reach that level, it's not a pretty cry, it's a horrible gut wrenching kind.

Bob, although he's becoming a softy like alot of men do as they age, laughs at me when I'm watching a movie or something on TV that gets the tears flowing. Even after 20 years, you'd think he'd stop saying, "Here comes the rain." when we're watching some sad or very happy show. I honestly think he says it only to keep himself from crying.

I can probably narrow down the things in life that make me cry to three things. Death, Love and Family.

A few years ago, one of my last uncles passed away from pancreatic cancer. Having lost my father 19 years ago, death of anyone, much less someone I love, immediately brings all of that up to the top of my throat and it's very hard to control.

But for some reason when Uncle Bob (yes there are alot of Bob's around in my life) passed away I could not for the life of me figure out why I was not crying.

Yeah, obviously a pancreatic cancer death is not a surprise and although not old, he was in his 70's, but still..... I loved Uncle Bob and (at that time) I had only one uncle left in the entire world.

We spent lots of summer nights at his house growing up.  He was really a funny guy who we all loved.

At the funeral I was sitting directly behind his family, next to my mom. It was a nice funeral, if there is such a thing, but for some reason I kept thinking over and over, "why isn't this bothering me more?" It was the first funeral since my dad died that I didn't spend the entire time crying.  I cry at complete stranger's funerals and I cried all day last week when the IMPD officer was laid to rest as I was iced in and the local station aired the funeral.

As my uncle's funeral was ending, we were standing and about to leave.  But apparently my aunt had told them to play a certain song, one from the 30's/40's era. One of those great songs my mom made sure I heard growing up.

I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day through.

In that small cafe;
The park across the way;
The children's carousel;
The chestnut trees;
The wishin' well.

I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day;
In every thing that's light and gay.
I'll always think of you that way.

I'll find you
In the morning sun
And when the night is new.
I'll be looking at the moon,
But I'll be seeing you.

As the very first notes played and I recognized the song, I swear that I physically felt like someone had just punched me in the gut. Since I didn't know what was coming, I could not stop the very audible sob(s) that came out of my mouth. It would have been embarrassing, except this was a funeral and it was my uncle and I loved him. And I missed my dad, and I felt horrible for my cousins and aunt and mom and my family and death and and and....apparently I have become very good at burying deep deep down inside the grief that can well up in me at a moment's notice since my dad's death.

And it was made even worse because I was about 20 minutes behind all of the rest of the family's sobbing. And I was LOUD. I really tried not to be, but I just lost it.

Honestly I think it shocked my mom, because I had been perfectly fine one minute and a complete utter pool of grief the next. And they are playing the song, the song my mom had taught me to love when I was so little, as we were supposed to be filing out of the church.

So my mom led me out of the church with her arm grabbing my shoulder as I shuddered my way down the long aisle.