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A Prayer for Annie Saturday June 20, 2009

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I know a lot of people really don’t like it when we ask for prayer requests.
It seems even worse to ask for a prayer for a dog.

I don’t care.  This is my dog, and I’m asking for prayers for her.
We just lost Jack a year ago, and I don’t know how we’d go on if we lost Annie now too, especially with her 3 week old puppies to care for.
Really, the heck with the puppies, we’d deal….I just don’t know if I could carry the heartbreak of losing Annie.  She’s my girl.

Woke up this morning to her clear vomitting.  Everywhere.  Over and over again.  She’s had a hard time keeping up with milk production for all those pups, but I figured, who wouldn’t?  We’ve been trying to wean them slowly so she’d have a break, but this constant vomiting had me really worried.  I called the vet and he said to bring her in NOW.

Uterine infection.  He’s doing surgery on her now.  That 30 minutes it took for all the bloodwork to come back took a lot out of me.  I did a lot of praying, a lot of crying, a lot of telling her how much I love her, a lot of wishing I’d had the chance to tell Jack all those things before he died of poisoning, in agony.

Hug your animals today, your kids, someone you love.  You just never know when you’re going to be praying over one of them waiting for a doctor to tell you just how bad it is.  I love you.

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“Information Please” Tuesday June 16, 2009

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THE OLD PHONE ON THE WALL

When James
was quite young, his father had one of the first telephones in our
neighborhood. He remembers the polished, old case fastened to the wall.
The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. He was too little to
reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when his
mother talked to it.

JAMES:
Then I
discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing
person. Her name was ‘Information Please’ and there was nothing she did
not know. Information Please could supply anyone’s number and the
correct time.

My personal experience with
the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a
neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked
my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no
point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.

I walked around the house
sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The
telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged
it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor
and held it to my ear. ‘Information, please’ I said into the mouthpiece
just above my head.

A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
‘Information.’
‘I hurt my finger…’ I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.

‘Isn’t your mother home?’ came the question.

‘Nobody’s home but me,’ I blubbered.

‘Are you bleeding?’ the voice asked.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.’
‘Can you open the icebox?’ she asked.
I said I could.

‘Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger,’ said the voice.

After that, I called
‘Information Please’ for everything. I asked her for help with my
geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with
my math.

She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called,
Information Please,’ and
told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups
say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, ‘Why is it
that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families,
only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?’

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, ‘James, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.’

Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone, ‘Information Please.’
‘Information,’ said in the now familiar voice. ‘How do I spell fix?’ I asked.
All this took place in a
small town in the Pacific Northwest .

When I was nine years old, we
moved across the country to Boston . I missed my friend very much.
‘Information Please’  belonged in that old wooden box back home and I
somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the
table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those
childhood conversations never really left me..

Often, in moments of doubt
and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then.
I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have
spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my
way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle . I had about a
half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone
with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was
doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, ‘Information Please.’


Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.

‘Information.’
I hadn’t planned this, but I heard myself saying, ‘Could you please tell me how to spell fix?’

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, ‘I guess your finger must have healed by now.’

I laughed, ‘So it’s really you,’ I said. ‘I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?’

”I wonder,’ she said, ”if you know how much your call meant to me.
I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls.’
I told her how often I had
thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again
when I came back to visit my sister.

‘Please do’, she said. ‘Just ask for Sally.’

Three months later I was back in Seattle .. A different voice answered,
‘Information.’ I asked for Sally.
‘Are you a friend?’ she said.

‘Yes, a very old friend,’ I answered.

‘I’m sorry to have to tell
you this,’ she said. ‘Sally had been working part-time the last few
years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.’

Before I could hang up she said, ‘Wait a minute, did you say your name was James?’
‘Yes.’ I answered.
‘Well, Sally left a message for you.. She wrote it down in case you called.

Let me read it to you.’
The note said, ‘Tell him there are other worlds to sing in.
He’ll know what I mean.’
I thanked her and hung up.. I knew what Sally meant.

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.

Whose life have you touched today?

I don’t know the author

Love to you all,
Lynn

Crappy Memory Sunday June 14, 2009

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Some days just shouldn’t go by "anniversary".  Like Friday’s.  A year ago my father, Emily’s Poppa, decided he wanted to check out my naked breasts and feel Emmy up.  He effectively ended a long and loving family relationship I had not only with him, my nuclear family with my parents and my brothers, their wives and my nephews, but my touchstone holiday traditions that meant everything to me.  AND my big family traditions.  It’s almost unbearable to go to the big family gatherings now without squirming and flinching constantly-everyone knows I am no longer in contact with my parents, and they all want to know WHY, and since they sure as heck aren’t talking, they worry me to death about it.

Not to mention the gut-wrenching, core-deep pain.  Pain doesn’t even touch the word for it.  To say my parents are dead to me is to make it ridiculous.  Parents who’ve died, after the grieving process leave good memories behind. You can eventually share good feelings with your siblings and relatives about them.  You can go to a memorial plaque, a headstone.  I have none of that.  I just have all this all encompassing PAIN that Mike doesn’t understand because he didn’t have a real relationship with his mother and hated his step-father.  He says "F*ck ’em and forget ’em, that’s what they deserve."  The girls are bitterly angry at my parents for what they did to us that day, for my mother throwing us under the bus for her husband, for my pain.  Laura asks about her Nana and Poppa, not having a clue what’s happened.  How do you explain to a 5 year old that sometimes parents stop loving their children…..when the last thing you ever want her to believe is that truth?   I’ve lived my adult life solely for the purpose of making sure my children NEVER EVER doubt I love them, no matter what. 

I’m so lost.  I talk to my brothers once in a while.  I’m going to try to throw an end of the summer party in a pool nearer where we all live and get them to come to it, sort of an early birthday present for the twins, I pray my brothers will show up.  It’ll be the first time I’ve seen them since last Thanksgiving.  I miss them.

How do you get over something like this?

June is Gay Pride Month Friday June 5, 2009

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Just something to think about.

What a friggin’ week! Wednesday June 3, 2009

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So, Annie went into labor around 8 pm Memorial Day evening.  Her first pup just sorta popped out. Btw, I told Mike and the kids all day long THIS was the day, and they just ignored me, as usual.  When pup #1 showed up, they all acted like Jesus and His Angels had arrived, and all I could do was say "Told Ya."

Yeah, I AM that kind of person who will say "Told You!"

Next pup didn’t show up for 3 blinkin’ hours.  We were beginning to get a little worried.  Not worried enough to go fishin’ for it…but worried.  Then along came 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.   By 9 am Tuesday we had a nice respectable, remarkable TEN!!!!  Holy overdone it, Annie!!  Jeez!  So when Annie started panting and heavin’ again about 4 in the afternoon, I told everyone she was about to drop another pup on us.

Can you believe no one believed me????

Low and behold, when we went to change out the bedding when she went outside to do her business, YES, we had eleven dang puppies.

ELEVEN.  From a first litter.  And Annie only 10 months old.

They’re all black, except for some white markings here and there. It’s kind of bizarre-blonde dam, black pups-Father most probably a rust Boxer.

Sadly, we’ve lost two in the last week.  It’s been very hard on me and Emily.  We tried nursing them, but it just didn’t work.  Natural order of things the vet said.  I just hate it.

That’s been my week mostly.  Recovering from ghastly summer cold and migraines and taking care of Annie’s stinky backside and all her pups.

Hope you all have had a better holiday.

I am back, really. Friday May 22, 2009

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No, I am not really here to blog though.  Too loopy from the migraine meds to even try that.  I’m hauling myself off to bed in a minute.  But I didn’t want to go another day without saying HI!!!!!!   Love you!   It’s just been a wacky week….got a gnarly, nasty cold.  And lots of migraines. 

So, I’m headed for bed and all that good stuff.   Miss you.

Finally got my music list right Tuesday May 12, 2009

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Yeah, it was just that friggin easy. 
Okay, maybe not that simple.  I had to get my books I needed and then read them.  And then there was the whole ‘baby madness ‘ thing goin’ on I had to rid myself of.  Did that now that our Lab Annie is all full of puppies and ready to drop in a week or so.  I’ll have plenty of ‘babies’ to take care of then, won’t I?

So, yeah. I’m back.  Fer sure this time.  It just feels right.  Like I’m ready.  I’ve exorcised most of the demons that’ve kept me away, and the rest I suppose anyone who has hung around to see if I’ll ever come out of my coma will just have to deal with them with me. 

But I’ve got my music list straight.  I can do anything with the right music playing in the background, ya’ know?  If I can just keep the dang kids from touching the "Shuffle OFF" clicker!  NO SHUFFLE!  That’ll throw me into a tailspin it’d take weeks to come out of.

Laura is graduating from Head Start this weekend.  I imagine I’ll be crying like a….well, like a mommy who has a kid graduating from her first school thingy. 

Emmy is failing Algebra I.  It’s a toss-up whether she’ll actually flunk it outright or qualify for summer school and be able to pull it up to a D and not have to retake it next year.  Not being one of those mothers, I swear!, her teacher is a big part of the problem.  Two-thirds of this class are failing or pulling D’s.  It’s not a ‘dumb’ class, it’s a teacher who doesn’t know how to present the material.  So….we’ll see.

Katie has three eighth grade boys in love with her.  It’d be funny, if it weren’t so darn weird.  They’re over here all the time.  Just…weird.   And Laura has decided she’s marrying one of them, when she’s 25, of course.

Jess and Landon are still engaged.  She’s working hard to get into grad school, and Landon’s working hard, period.

Becca’s just Becca.  Taking amazing photos, hanging out with us every chance she gets, still seeing Joe off and on.

One of my older girls had a pregnancy scare right around Christmas time.  That’s what threw me into my ‘baby madness’ spin.  After doing the "Oh no, this isn’t the right time….what will you do?!??!" song and dance, I sort of warmed up to the idea of having a baby *that wasn’t mine!* around a lot.   She did the pregnancy test a few days after Christmas, and darned if it wasn’t negative.  Darned if I wasn’t thanking God over and over for her sake, and bummed out for mine.

Can’t ever forget I’m clinically insane.

Then Annie went into heat.   We knew letting her get pregnant in her first heat wasn’t wise, and we tried as best we could to protect her.  But there are like….70 dogs in our neighborhood…and they were all over our yard night and day.  I think my left leg almost got pregnant once….I did have an open sore.   (Sorry I couldn’t resist.)
We’re taking bets it’s the Boxer down the street.  He was VERY persistent and VERY Alpha.  At first the idea made us all sick….pop-eyed puppies.  Then we looked up on the ‘net, and ‘Boxerdors’ are very cute.  The look a lot like Lab’s but they’re short haired!  Hallelujah!

So we get to tell Annie her pup’s won’t be ugly now, and we’ll have a better chance of giving them away.  Maybe the Sire’s owners will even want a couple.  I hope so. 

Anyway, that’s it for now, I’ve got to get ready for another Dr’s visit.  I’ve got to talk him into letting me try a new migraine med…or rather, have him talk my insurance into paying for it.  Wish me luck.  Love you all.  Talk to you soon!!

Still Alive Friday April 17, 2009

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Still thinking of everyone.  Still ill…mentally and so forth.  Fighting as much as I can.  Pinky promise, as La says.  I’m getting back to myself, honest.  I’m just really lousy at this whole weak in mind and body thing and I really really hate talking about it.
 
I miss and love you all.  I’ll be back soon as I can.
 
Blessings on you all.

A Dangerous Place In Here Monday February 9, 2009

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Ever spend much time in your head and then realize you’ve been places you shouldn’t have gone? I’ve journeyed tooooo long in there lately-hiding out from Mike, mostly; but worrying away at other things too. How I could just turn off the computer for months and willingly leave people hanging, knowing I shouldn’t, but at the same time being incapable of just getting the words out "I’m HERE…but I’m NOT, too."

Believe me, you wouldn’t have wanted to hear from me during those months anyway. I’m still a very angry, bitter Lynn, a wet cat that’s been picked up by her fur, shaken violently and thrown at someone. You don’t want to be that person for the most part. And I’m better now.

Ain’t that scary?

Still very little privacy here, so not a lot of time to write, but Mike’s finally gotten a sort-of-regular job in addition to his business so hopefully soon he’ll be gone days at least a while regularly. As it is, I get online when he’s asleep or gone (if the kids aren’t on during those times, of course).

My e-mail addy is the one I got when I moved…. lkelly@scrtc.com I wish I could’ve kept everyone’s addy’s when Daniel crashed our system but I’m just thankful I saved the computer at all.

Inside my head today I’ve spent time wondering why I’m addicted to a song by The Toadies Possum Kingdom, a song about a serial killer serenading his next victim with such charming lyrics as "Do you want to die?! Do you want to die?! I promise you I will treat you well, my sweet angel, so help me Jesus". This is not the worst part though, liking this song…I find myself wondering if I identify with the serial killer dude or the victim, and if I am fantasizing at times of being taken out by someone like this guy if I’ve got to go. THAT isn’t even the worst part…

The worst part is the song is a sick kind of turn on. The only part that makes that easier to live with is that other people I know who like the song tell me it kinda turns them on too. But does that me I’m not a complete freak or that I just hang out with a lot of freaks?

And how do I reconcile this with the woman who lives the Bryan Adams anthem Everything I Do when it comes to her kids and best loved ones? "I’d fight for you, I’d lie for you, Walk the wire for you….Yeah, I’d Die for you….you know it’s true….everything I do, I do it for you."

Even my dog Annie. The old battle axe next door threatened to call the dog catcher on my poor pooch after Laura let Annie out without hooking her up to her chain. So now the old hag is on my list. She really didn’t want to land there.

Okay. I wrote something today. Nothing productive. I couldn’t get the hyperlink done, but I’ll come back and fix that when the ‘net is actually up.

The Great Crash Monday February 2, 2009

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Well, the latest one I’m not ready to talk about yet.  That was the mental state crash that left me all curled up in the bed, and it’s still pretty fresh, raw and tender.

The other, is the crash that destroyed my computer for a while.   Some one who comes to live here every year or two and create havoc in our lives, and then just wanders right back home again, put a heinous virus on my poor life-line did it again, and annihilated my PC but-good.  It took me almost a month to get the hard drive wiped, we couldn’t even get half the things we wanted saved off and onto disks before the virus ate most of my system.

The wipe ate everything else.  Including all the e-mail contacts and my cache of phone #’s and addys.  Yes.  I know that sounds lame as hell.  But the only place of privacy I have in this house is this computer, where I can lock documents, have passwords for my e-mail and keep me to myself.  I don’t dare write a damn thing down on paper at home because if I do it will be found during one of the many search and seizures that go on the minute I leave the house for a doc appointment or to go grocery shopping.

And then, no one e-mailed me again, so I couldn’t mail them back to shout "YAY!  Thank You!  I finally have your addy again!"

So I’m sorry beloved people I used to communicate with through mails and phone.  I couldn’t write you.  If I had your e-mail addy I would now.