All Hallows

Ahh, Halloween. The day that the boy has lived for (and the day that has been used as my leverage for the last 2 weeks) is finally here. I will have to start using Christmas, now. He really shapes up when I "call" Santa. Hahaha. Oh the joys of finding creative ways to make your kids behave!

The kid will be a pumpkin. He asked to be one so that he may be a "cousin" to the pumpkin that we "shaved". I have told him several times that we carved it, but for some reason, shaved is stuck in his little head. And it's cute, so I'll let it stay there until he figures it out on his own.

The weekend was a quiet one. I drank my daily caloric intake, beer being the liquid of choice, twice and still managed to drop 2 pounds. Go me! Love the little surprises in life.

I read an email, one of those that you get 2 or 3 times a year about family and blah, blah, blah. This one is the one about how you go about your days, extending nothing but courtesy to perfect strangers, but when it comes to home and family, your manners seem to have evaporated. It really struck home and got me to thinking, seeing as how I have to apologize to the boy for the abuse I heap on him when he is hanging off me or throwing on of his 4 year old fits. Abuse in the verbal "What the hell is your problem?" sort. Not the physical sort, although there are times when the thought of certain animals eating their young seems perfectly rational to me. I always feel so bad. And he knows. He knows that if he works himself up to the "Oh my god, my mom hates me and is going to give me away" sort of hysteria, that I will instantly apologize, crawling on my knees and begging his forgiveness for being the absolute bitch that I am. What gives? I mean, I know that this little boy is the light of my soul. I know that I would die for him, literally, if it came to that. I know that I love his little soul more than I love life. But yet, the knowing of how precious he is to me, it seems to drift away at the end of a long day, when all he wants is me. My attention and my time. And I feel so hard pressed to give it to him. When I am rushing about, washing dishes and cooking and exercising and folding laundry. For some reason, the knowing gets pushed to the side and I always feel such the hag for forgetting when I see that I have hurt him. And I apologize and try to explain that I didn't really mean anything I said, that I am stressed and angry at life and that while I know that it's not his fault, that he was just in the line of fire. And I wonder, am I scarring him for life with my own tantamount fits? Am I turning him into the typical axe-wielding, mother hating, angry murderer? And why is it that as a parent, I am much harder on myself than I have ever been?

I guess it's because there is so much at stake. A whole little life that someone, somewhere has entrusted me with. Trusted that I would make the most of it, teach him to be a good citizen and that lying is bad. Teach him to laugh and to laugh the most at himself. That screwing up is acceptable. But how do I teach him these things when I'm still working on them myself? Lead by example? God, I don't want him to be this fucked up. I am by no means a great role model, I don't think. I guess we just have to do our best and hope that the universe will catch us when we fall, or fail, as the case may be.

There I go again, being so hard on myself. I know that I'm doing ok. I know that all parents suffer through the hurting of their own babies, well maybe not all. But the good ones do. It's the good ones that care. And I do. The best I can do is just suggest these things and hope that he takes them to heart, right? I can't MAKE him a good person. I can't make him an upstanding citizen. I can just tell him what I think is right or wrong and hope that he can tell the difference himself. Put trust into whatever being is out there watching over us. Trust that they (it?) instilled a good heart in him.

Yes, I am rambling. Getting a head cold and feeling a bit off today, if you couldn't tell. Sorry. And it's going to be so dang cold tonight. Nothing like shivering in an 80 degree office all day and going to walk about in the 30 degree night with at least one screaming kid at any given moment. Will be taking my car because sister's heater is screwy. So, I need to go and clean out the car.

OH! And as a favor to one of my best friends, and my best babysitter, I will be a Monday through Friday mother to...a....*GASP* teenage girl!! She will be moving in around the eleventh of November. Expect high drama. Haha. Just kidding. She's like a little sister to me, so we may get into some little tiffs, but little sister lives only 3 doors down and so the teen can go and recuperate at her house off and on. Good thing that sister is willing to share the responsibility because as we can all tell from this post, I am constantly tripping on the motherhood path... Take care...

Rainy Day Feelings

Saturday morning and the skies are so swollen and gray they look painful. About 2:30 this morning, I awoke to the sound of pouring rain. I love to lay there in the darkness, listening to the speed of the rain as it quickens into a rain with no discernible breaks. When it goes from a splatter to a rush. And I don't know how long it went on, because the endless rush of it put me back to sleep within moments.

A blogger I read every day often has problems with sleep. She wakes up in the mid-night hours and her thoughts start rumbling and making noise and she can't go back to sleep. I sometimes think of those mid-night wake ups as searching hours (well, unless I've been drinking... then they are just pee breaks) because it's just you and your own searching thoughts, chasing each other around and around. You start out thinking about one thing, which has some thready link to something else, which of course puts you to thinking about that something else. It's a time when I am so honest with myself that often times there are tears and I usually end up hurt. But by morning, a fresh face has been put on it, because really, you can convince yourself of anything if given the right time of night and the right words. More often than not, they are morbid thoughts because God knows, I'm such an optimist!

Oh my goodness, I do see a stretch of blue. It's cold outside. So cold. I feel sorry for the little sister that works out in the elements, half of the time, and freezes her butt off. There's something infinitely more satisfying with outdoor work vs. indoor work, I think. I say that as I set in my warm house, with vanilla cookie candle by my side, flame dancing. But seriously, with outdoor work, not only do you get to see the animals and the sky and feel fresh air in your face but you see the end product of your toil. While us office dwellers push papers around all day and the end result is only a messy desk. Leaves something to be desired in realm of SEEING the result of your eight hours. I'm the kind of person that, in order to be fully convinced that I have done my part, I feel like I need to have a hard copy to feel and touch. I can't remember what the word is, and frankly, I am guessing it's remarkable that I might have ever known it in the first place. Some sensory sort of word, I am thinking. But anyway. Some days, the dull, un-fresh air of the office gets to me. I want to be out, with people and the animals, seeing them and feeling the bite of fall instead of sitting in my overly warm office, people stopping by maybe once every three or four hours. To me, it sometimes feels overwhelmingly isolated. So I leave the door open and people scream at me because it's almost as cold inside as it is outside, but I understand. They want to come into a place that is warm and welcoming while I want to be someplace that reminds me that I am still alive and functioning as I should - as a ranch girl.

God Save Me

... from spoiled rotten 4 year olds. I'm sure my next door neighbor thinks I am the most evil of all parents.

The kid is going through some THING. I don't know if he'll make it out to the other side alive. For the last two nights, he has been just absolutely rotten. Howling and carrying on when he's not back talking me. I know that not having a man in the house affects him. But since when does he figure that he can take the place of the absent man and talk to me like he is a full grown asshole, oops I mean man? When did he decide that being a smart ass to his mama was cool? And when he's not being a smart ass, he's being down right awful. Am I a failure as a parent? I'm sure everyone thinks this way at some point or another and no, I don't really think that I am. He guilt trips me because he knows that I have a huge heart for him and he tries, god, he tries, to guilt trip me into giving in to him. Tonight it was (and I kid not, full on dramatics, howling, tears and gasping ensued!) "Oh my god, my mom is going to give me away. I can't believe that she is going to give me away!" Where does he get this stuff? Is he going to choose acting as a career? Sheesh. God, save me.

I wanted to post a nice long full on post tonight, but alas, I am tired and wrung from the battle of tantrums this evening and my eyes are drooping as I hunt-and-peck this out. Will try to post tomorrow, M, I know how you live for it. Hopefully internet will be working tomorrow at the office so that I may fritter hours away playing on the internet.

Twisting Thoughts for Tuesday

I promised I would blog because apparently, there is one person out there who *gasp* likes to read. Nice that she's related and all.

This morning I have a monster headache. Hoping like hell that I am NOT coming down with the flu or something. I dunno, though. Haven't had a headache like this before unless it was the warning bells of an illness. One that makes my eyeballs sensitive to light and I am constantly squinting, making it worse.

So far this morning, I have furnished the boss with an employee history for some deposition or something. I have been liaison between Forest Service and cow boss. Yep, that's about it. All in an hour's work. Oh, made a few phone calls re: fuel inventory. Yuck. I can't imagine trying to figure out fuel inventory with this headache. Usually, fuel inventory gives me a raging tension headache, I can only fear what that might feel on top of this.

Nice fall day today. Soft light, little breeze, hazy skies. The FS is control burning so the smell of woodsmoke pervades the air, furthering the fall "feel" of things. Goodness, Halloween is a week from yesterday and then we're onto November. AACK. The older I get, the quicker time flies. And yes, I remember to slow down and cherish a few moments here and there, but in the day-to-day sameness of everything, time slips away.

I am reading this book called "Losing Julia". I can't remember who the author is. I wish I could so that I may do him/her some justice. I picked it out, thinking it was a romance novel. Yes, I am of the trashy romance nature. Anyway, it turns out that while it does have a romantical spin to it, it's the memoirs of an old man, at the end of his life in an old folk's home. Purely fiction, I believe, but still. It takes me to a place in the future where I question what it was in my life that might be questioned and pondered while I sit in a musty room, surrounded by No Names (what the author calls old folks who come in with nothing in their eyes. They just sit and breathe in and breathe out. They don't talk, nor react. They just sit, staring at nothing, with life already gone from their eyes). I don't want to be a No Name. Note to any family reading this: Should I suffer a huge heart attack or stroke and to be a No Name will be my fate if saved, please pull the plug. I plead with you. I don't want people I love and care about to remember me as a shell, with my soul having already left. So, anyway, this book "Losing Julia" for some reason stays on my mind through out the day. It's a really interesting perspective for me, at age 28, to be reading this old man's perspective. The book takes him back and forth. Back to WWII, warring with the Germans in France. Forward to a War Memorial Ceremony in France where he meets his troop leader's girlfriend, who is there to honor the dead Daniel. And forth even more, to the old folk's home where Patrick (the teller of the story) is in love with one of the nurses and sends her love letters, anonymously, and loses his roommates in a perpetual losing battle with time. I don't know why, but this book just sucks me in. I will usually devour books that pull at me this much, but with this one, I put it off until bed time where I can savor it and really HEAR it in the peace and quiet.

Well, my headache is moving to my eyes. On a sidenote, yesterday I got to see what it is on the computer screen that makes epileptics have seizures. God, no wonder. When I look at the screen, I just see the page displayed. But there are diagonal lines that are constantly running down the screen. Did you know that? We just can't see it, but for some reason, it sets off seizures in epileptics. Hmmm. Learn something new everyday, or try to at any rate.

Morning After Regrets

Last evening sister and I attended a little bonfire party in the local trailer park. Yes, a bonfire in the trailer park. As absurd as it sounds, it's really quite commonplace.

See, the trailer park is right next to the river. So it's almost like going up into the canyon and partying around a bonfire up there, well, without the hairpin curves to deal with as you make your way home. Last year, a couple of our friends went off the side and luckily, hit a tree. And V. luckily they went off in a spot that was rather shallow, down towards the bottom because there are some spots up there with some rather eyebrow raising drop offs. Makes for some really nice scenery (especially right now with the fall foliage), but could make for a pretty deadly drunk driving accident. So we get all of the ambiance, not so much of the danger.

Anyway, the regret part of it... woodsmoke. It gives me an awful onset of allergies. My head aches (probably partly due to the fact that sister and I drank our fair share of beer, sister more than I) and my eyes are all swollen and I feel like I could rub the skin off of my eyelids. My throat hurts. My nose is half stuffed, half runny. I'm just generally miserable and whiny. Now I must go and see if I can make pancakes from scratch. Will probably end up going to the store and paying ten bucks for a tiny package of just add water crap. Later.

Mind Draws a Blank

Saturday morning... Listening to Jimmy Neutr0n blasting from the TV. Sending the smallest one to the bathroom every 15-20 minutes. Pilfering through my luggage (my med. sized purse that carries everything except a change of clothes) looking for gum for the boy. Surfing the internet. Blah. Drinking French Vanilla coffee with a couple of mellow creme pumpkins sitting at the bottom of my stomach. What to do today?

Last week, I went through the house, cleaning like a mad woman. So, that's ok. I suppose I COULD go ahead and do laundry and clean up some, I don't know, if I was ambitious or something... Things to do this weekend on the list include (ed?) mowing the boy's hair (he really likes the clippers and has a fondness for anything lawn care related), clean out my car (which is in DIRE need of it. I think the backseat contains, along with various preschool projects, 2 sets of sheets given to me somewhere along the way, no less that 3 sweatshirts for the kid, several socks of different sizes and colors, 2 or 3 cowboy shirts that the boy discarded when it was hot and god only knows how many broken plastic toys, hot wheels cars and rocks that would seriously wound a person should I wreck). Yes, I think cleaning the car will be a "have to" this weekend, ambition or no.

My little niece, the youngest of the bunch, is prancing back and forth on the couch while her older brother is trying to watch Jimmy Neutron. She is covertly trying to piss him off, singing so sweetly. God, she is so cute. Quite onery too. She is just like her mother. Runs full tilt onery most of the time until she gets into trouble or stops to actually ask for something, then it's all sweetness and light, complete with batting eyelashes and an "i love you". Right at the moment, she is using her sandal as a bed for her "baby" which I can't see but I'm betting it's the little plastic farm animal she was carrying around earlier (editors note: Nope, the "baby" is the plastic lid to a PlayDoh canister). And she's screaming at her brother because he is antagonizing her by putting his feet on her, and drama queen that she is, she's is running around trying to hide her baby, effected dramatic, labored breathing ensues. She is such a funny little duck. Doesn't everyone wish they had kids?

Not a lot to write... Going to go internet crawling again (yes, fucking dial up SUCKS). May write more later

My Celtic Horoscope

You Are A Cypress Tree

You are strong, adaptable, and striving to be content. You're good at taking what life has to give - even if you don't like it. A passionate lover who can't be satisfied, you are quick tempered at times. You hate loneliness, want love and affection, and need to be needed. A bit of a live wire, you love to gain knowledge at any cost... and you can be careless at times.

Pardners

I went to a dinner with my dad last night and sat on one of the hardest g.d. chairs for the most miserable 2 and a half hours of my life. Made miserable by the chair and the fact that I was missing Survivor and CSI: Las Vegas, not by the company.

A cowboy poet was there and I was impressed. Not only by his funny poems and stories but by the fact that every single fucking time he said, "Just one more...", he had us all believing him. When the president of the cattlemen's assoc. thing jumped up and said "thanks for the entertainment so-and-so" I think she might have been in danger of being stampeded by over tired cowboys, forest service managers, directors and a couple from the BLM that were so very much appreciative for her putting a halt to his long winded monologue. Hell, she mighta even been kissed a couple of times. I could have. I was so friggin' tired and then we had to drive 45 miles to get home. The old guy was tired and I was afraid he might fall asleep if I stopped talking so I blabbed at him the whole way home. Don't ask me what I said because I have absolutely no idea. Alas, we arrived home, safe and sound, none worse for the wear (unless you DON'T include this morning) at twenty after ten. I went to bed as soon as I gathered up the sleeping kid and the minute my head hit the pillow, I was instantly awake. I got a new alarm clock and the glow from the clock on this thing.... good lord. It kept me awake until close to midnight. WOOONDERFUL. My point? Oh yeah, I'm tired and probably make no sense whatsoever. Welcome to my world.

I am always tired. Some days, it's worse than others. As soon as the lights in the boy's eyes go out, my mind goes to racing. I over-analyze everything; conversations, situations, looks, snubs. I worry. Constantly. About money. About the day one or both of my parents die. About my role as a parent. About my ability to provide my kid with the things he needs, what he wants and what it is he'll settle for on the inbetween. I spoil him, I know. But he's the only one I have, the only one I'll probably ever have and so why not? As long as I can teach him to be grateful for what he gets and gracious about it, then oh well. He's mine and no one else's.

My older sister asked me today if he still slept with me. Well, yes, he does. And I know it sets both of us up for problems. i.e. him not being able to sleep by himself and the issue of what will happen if/when I have a boyfriend, or even worse a *gasp* husband? I know that I should not let him, but you know what? Both of us are busy, from the minute we get home, him - playing, me - exercise, housework, the occasional TV time, my never ending addiction to the internet. And bedtime is "our" time. He tells me about his day and we talk about stuff that he doesn't understand (Current issue: Dying. Where do you go? How come you can't come back like in cartoons? Why do we have to die? And I don't wanna die!!!). And this is my favorite part of the day, every day. It is something that I look forward to and when I am having a particularly BAD day, I long for this time. When it's just him and I and no body else matters. Just us, reconnecting.

For me, nighttime conversations are the quality conversations of any relationship. What you reveal to a person or have revealed to you, in the dark of night, with your guard down, those are the things you keep. Those are the things that remind you of who that person is. I've always had key conversations with people I love after dark. Something about the darkness and the anonymity of that cloak of darkness inspire people to reveal the true soul and feelings within, sparking the bond.

Anyway, he'll end up in his own bed someday, just don't ask me when. Nighttime is hard for both of us. Being there, in the dark with all of our insecurities and fears creeping up to claim us whilst we let down our guards, and us being there together, for us right now, it's our solution. Since we're pardners and all.

and it's Monday...

Good day today.

Kid's fingernail finally fell off and it wasn't the tragedy I thought it might be. He was rather amused at the magic of another whole fingernail being under there.

My Uncle K is better. He has a clot in his brain and some bleeding, but they are sure they can fix it with surgery. He is talking, though his speech is slurred somewhat. I don't know if that will improve or not, or if it will be permanent damage from the stroke.

Kind of a slow day at the office. Things were quiet for a Monday, but that is ok. Finally heard back from the one board member I was waiting to give an "ok" before letting the new person know that it's all fine and good. She thinks we should have a probationary period where the previous provider won't be able to vote. I suppose she thinks that the addition might try to sabotage the board in some way. Shows how well they know her.

My nephew is getting sick. So that means it will be running through Ty and I here soon. Wonderful. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE being sick and having a sick kid. One of the only times I really wish there was another parent to pick up the slack.

Short post, but I'm whipped and don't have a lot to chat about today.... later

Sunday morn(mourn?)

Here it is Sunday morning. Two full days since I've seen my wee, little Twitch. I am pretty sure she is gone. *HUGE SIGH* Already moving on, I've decided that for the boy's BIG Christmas present I will try to get him a cocker spaniel. We live in some apartments and they are just too small for a normal size dog. We'd all be tripping over each other constantly. Besides, cocker spaniels are just so damn cute.

We had a pretty bad scare yesterday. My dad's brother, Uncle K., ended up being care flighted, flown, flew(whatever)...to Salt Lake City, they thought that he had had a stroke. Still not sure what exactly he DID have. All I know is that my aunt found him passed out on the kitchen floor yesterday morning. Took him to the hospital and he was saying that he didn't feel v. good, but he was responsive. Then he quit responding. To what extent I don't know. I know that he couldn't talk. But I don't know what all shut down. They flew him out, thinking he had had a stroke, and the prognosis was not looking good, from what I gather. I cried for a full 2 hours, praying with every heartbeat. But about 9 our time, 10 theirs, he was talking again. So we all let out a collective sigh of relief and will find out more today. At least we could sleep.

Everyone has them, a favorite aunt, uncle, relative. My favorite uncle would be him. I can remember sitting on his lap (we lived all of 3? miles from him) and thinking, surely, there wasn't a larger man alive. He is just so full of life, and love, and laughter that his aura completely takes you in and surrounds you with warm, homecoming feelings. I have loved him fiercely from the word GO. Plus, just the other day - Friday - my dad had me scan a picture onto his computer of them, after coyote hunting, way back when. He (dad) is going to blow it up and send it to Uncle K. for his birthday. I was heartbroke at the thought of that picture and my dad's pure delight in doing something so nice for his brother. I was sad and upset for Uncle K., thinking he might die. But heartbroke and devastated for my pops. Thank the good Lord above that after a slight shift, the world has righted itself and spins on. I hate that mortality check that comes every now and again. They throw me off kilter for weeks. My heart aches continuously and morbid thoughts cloud my days.

So, last night, my friend and her daughter got into it. The daughter is a regular babysitter for me and I love her like a little sister. Her mother is one of my closest friends. Anyway, the daughter - J - is 14 and going through all the turbulent shit. Mother -E- offered to call the cops should the daughter not appear at home as suggested. Question: Would YOU call the cops on your own kid? I answered "Yes" if things got as out of hand as they are in this family, why, yes, I would. Something needs to be done to make the child realize that the PARENT is the authority figure, and the parent makes the rules. The reins need to be turned back over to the parent and how better than to completely humiliate a teen by doing EXACTLY what you said you would. I applaud her (the mother). It's been a long road for her and she is finally putting her foot down. Don't get me wrong, her kids ARE good kids. They just (all of them) need to be put back in their place, as the children. Plus, I think they all need to learn humbleness and respect for their parents. But that's just me, I COULD be wrong.

I need to go call sister and head for town so that we may pig out on Mexican food and spend what little $$ we have in the over-priced Safeway there. Have a nice day all and thank you, God, for sparing my Uncle K. for at least this day. Now I have to follow through on my end of the bargain (no mas casual sex, i.e. one night stands for me *SIGH* it's gonna be a long, cold winter).

Apologies

In case you haven't noticed, it's PMS week here at Lori N Ty... Everything is sad and shit. Promise, brighter days coming soon!

Hope Springs Eternal

Yesterday, when I got home, I headed straight for the fridge and my daily dose of pickle and the phone to talk to my sister, although we had only spoken 40 minutes before. With pickle in my mouth and sister on the phone, I answered a knock on the door. There stood a cowboy, full grown, looking like he was on the verge of tears. "Lori," he said, "I just ran over a cat right out here in front of the houses and I took it down the road so that none of the kids would see it". My heart sank, but I was sure that Twitch was OK. It's not like we don't have a plethora of cats running around here. Fast forward to nightfall, after sister and I went searching for the dead cat (he gave me a general description of where he threw it) and not finding it. Front door is open, just in case. Sister's cat is home, safe and sound. Twitch usually comes to the front door while I'm making dinner, plaintively meow-ing to let me know, that she TOO is hungry. I wait, and wait, and wait. And she never shows up. I am constantly going to both the front and back doors, calling her "Twitchery". To no avail.

I am fearing that it was her that was smooshed. While part of me is nonchalant about it "Hey, it wasn't my kid" the other part of me, down in the recesses of my sometimes black heart is aching something fierce. I am trying to remain hopeful that she is out on an extended mouse hunt or on the search to find herself a piece of cat ass. But somewhere, deep inside, I am resigned to the fact that it was my cat that lost her precious (precarious?) life yesterday.

I am sad. Although she irritated me beyond belief by calling her kittens in the middle of the night, keeping me awake. Although she infuriated me by hanging off the curtains quite frequently. She also made me laugh by streaking through the house at warp speed to show her delight in our arrival home from the workday. She made me feel not so alone in the wee hours when I was in despair over life and my loneliness. She would crawl up into the hollow of my waist while I slept and sleep with her chin on my shoulder so that when I opened my eyes, there her yellow ones were, lazily gazing into mine. When I would come home from work and dash to the bathroom (I used to drink iced tea CONSTANTLY out of huge styrofoam cups), she would follow and stand at the edge of the counter, with her face out, waiting for her afternoon kiss.

My heart is heavy and the lump in my throat will not go away. I should have let her stay in yesterday morning. I should have gone to get her sooner. I feel like shit. You know what they say, hope springs eternal... only my little thread is rapidly diminishing after not seeing her all night, nor at any point this morning. I hope she comes home.

Am I Gonna Die? Be forewarned, soppy shit ahead

My son just asked me a couple of minutes ago "Mom, am I gonna die?". How do you explain to a four year old that dying is a part of living? That no matter how much you love life and the people in it, it's inevitable that one day, you will have to leave it and them?

It takes my breath away, the thought of leaving the people I love. Sort of a selfish way to feel, I suppose, but in a way, not. In a way it's selfLESS. I don't want to die not because it will hurt me, but because I can't bear the thought of them hurting over me. Since I became a mother, the thought of dying devastates me even more. I know that he would be fine. I know that he will be loved and cherished by whomever gets him. But the thought of me not being here to see him grow up, it brings tears to my eyes at just a mere thought.

This summer, I went through a "thing". The "thing" being that I had a PAP smear come back abnormal. While everyone around me was saying "these things happen all the time, don't worry about it, you'll be fine" the thought that I might not constantly sat like a bowling ball at the forefront of my mind for MONTHS. Yes, months. I went in for the colposcopy, scared but assured that all would be OK. A month later, I get a phone call saying that the dr. didn't perform it correctly and that the one he performed was missing the vital biopsy that they needed to clear me. Annoyed, I went in (after paying on a $500 dr's bill) ready to give them hell because I figured they were just wanting more $$. Turns out that a "normal" abnormal pap smear contains certain kinds of cells. They are a-dsjfkfioaiohfi cells or some absolutely foreign word to me. The kind of cells they found on my PAP were glandular or grandular or some shit which carry a higher risk of cancer. The lady that explained this to me and ultimately performed the further chopping of my cervix made sure that I understood that this was an absolute, necessary procedure and that she was pissed the first dr. didn't do it. She also gave me the impression that the first dr. didn't understand the importance of what she had tried to tell him, but that's neither here nor there. I tell ya', I left that office feeling like the sky was going to fall in at any moment. And I lived that way until I got the phone call that I was ok. I spent many nights steeling myself for an unfavorable diagnosis. Lining up what I would have to do in my mind... The freezing of the cervix, the hysterectomy and eventually chemo or radiation or whatever needed to be done. I spent hours crying myself to sleep after he had fallen asleep because I didn't want to scare him. I put a smile on my face so that the world wouldn't chastise me for being the wimp that I am.

I did a lot of growing up in that short span of months. And I was terrified through the whole thing. Not so much terrified of dying, but terrified of leaving him without me, horrified at the memories I might have to leave him with. I know, doom and gloom. But this is me and this is the way I work. I hope for the best, but expect the worst so that I might know how to deal with it, should it come. And at the end of it all, I realized (as I have for as long as I can remember) that "it" will come. One way or another. I can't stop it, you can't stop it. We can only hope that the journey there will be a long one. That in the end, people will have loved us and we will have loved them back. That we broke hearts and had ours broken so that we knew how it felt the next time we trod carelessly. That when we take our last breaths, that we will know we have run the gamut of feelings. That we LIVED and loved and hurt and cried and were proud of ourselves.

In the end, I told him that he needn't be afraid to die, because by the time he died, I will have been long gone, waiting, so that when he arrives, my face will be the first he sees.

Halloween approaching

...what can I say? I've been busy? Not too much, but somehow or another, two days have slipped on by without my noticing.

Just finished watching Ghost Hunters, which is a show about a team that goes to these supposedly haunted places and tries to record paranormal activity. FREAKS ME OUT. But I still watch it.

Ghosts have always held some sort of sick fascination for me. Don't get me wrong, I am absolutely, positively terrified of and about them. But I can't not want to know all the details about any ghost story I hear. Wanna hear something funny? When I talk about or hear of ghost stories that intrigue me, I get tears in my eyes? WTF? Why? I mean it's not like I feel sorry for them, or that their plight has touched me to the degree that I might cry. I don't know. I have always been that way. As long as I can remember, I can remember the tears welling up when I speak of them. I hope that it isn't a certain sympathy that opens a fucking portal or something, cuz I don't want NONE of that shit in my life. It's screwed up enough as it is. I can just see me as some Ghost Whisperer or some shit.... I'd be nuckin' futs and my family would have to commit me and have me constantly sedated. Those are my wishes, so if it should ever happen, please heed them. I couldn't do it. Who knows what life spirit they are sucking from your own?

Onto other Halloween characters. Vampires, or vampyre depending on who you talk to. Now, vampires on the other hand, I can totally get into. I suppose it's the seductiveness surrounding them that draws me. Although, I would probably, more than likely, shit my pants should one ever cross my path. I hope that I wouldn't appear so juvenile to a creature of the night, but let's be real: I'm such a wimp. Werewolves scare the holy mother of christ shit outta me. I change the channel if some idiotic film maker has wrote some fucked up story about a werewolf and changed it into a movie, put it out there for the world to see and it just happens across my TV screen. My older sister and brother made me watch "Werewolf in London" when I was little and I haven't been the same since. (Sidenote: They've done a lot of other screwy stuff since then that I am sure has contributed to my beatific character. My brother more than my sister{s}) Oh, yeah, and my friend, Holly and I used to run through the orchard on the ranch (which consisted of maybe 36 trees all in two lines), anyway, we'd run through the orchard while my brother and his friend would drop out of the trees, growling and howling like werewolves, IN THE DARK. DUH! You wouldn't catch me within a half-mile of such an absolute, surefire way of scaring a kid to death sort of thing anymore. I've grown older and wiser.

The cows are all coming in to the feedlot. So when I go outside in the morning to have my sunrise smoke, mixing in with all the lonesome, coyote howls is the bawling of cattle. A sound that is as familiar to me as, well, howling coyotes. I heard someone say that they couldn't sleep last night because of all the cattle bawling. It was a split second before I realized that not everyone grew up with that sound. The sweet, sleepy lullaby of cattle, scared, roaming, and calling out for the familiar is not the music to everyone that it is to me. These last couple of years, I haven't lived close enough to hear it as I drift to sleep and wake upon the morn. I've missed it.

Drama(s) within Lori's life

What to say, what to say? Shall I blog on the ongoing saga that is my life, complete with cops and tweakers, not to mention aforementioned little lying, conniving slut that makes my life hell?

Cops and/or tweakers. One was involved with the other this weekend and said tweaker is beginning to make me nervous because he is just a tad volatile and has called my dad out, wanting to settle the situation with fisticuffs, only to be taken aback when my 62 year old father jumped out of the pickup and started rolling up his sleeves. Of course, the tweaker quickly remedied the immediate ass kicking by bawling like a little kid and "Of course, I didn't mean it. I would never do that to you!!!". This last weekend, when an officer of the law saw lights out in the field, he went to investigate, only to have the headlights start bearing down on HIM at a high speed. The cop turned on his little blinking lights to let the approaching vehicle KNOW that he was a cop, and probably give them time to hide their beer. Only, the tweaker, being the highly intelligent individual that he is, casually hung his loaded rifle out of the window. WTF? I am amazed that this man is this stupid. Really. I know that there are dumb people out there, but most of them don't run businesses that they have stole from their fathers, but I mean really. Loaded rifle + cops = VERY MUCH BIG TROUBLE for tweakers. And the fact that it was in the middle of the night, in a deserted hay field is a prime set-up for getting rid of stupid people. Or at the very least for a very stupid man to get very seriously injured. In a way, I wish he had. Because someday, if he isn't killed or maimed by law enforcement before then, he will take it a step too far with my dad and I am afraid for him.

Onto said slut... My god, I am so glad that it's all crashing around her. This last weekend was a doozy and I won't go into it because it'll take to long to explain. I'll just say this, minors, alcohol and her own car. And that it was OK'd by the slut.

I'm not generally a person that snickers with glee over someone getting ostracized by small town people. I feel bad for people that have to stand alone because there is no one to back them up. But on this, I don't. Because this girl DESERVES it. She came here, to our small town and tried to just take over. Not realizing that we run on a buddy system. And when she realized that's how it works here, she tried to lie, cheat and steal friends to make herself feel accepted. Then she went about saying stuff and doing things like the above incident that end up making her stand OUT more. Oh, yeah, and sleeping with 2 guys in one week. One of them being a man I had some pretty serious feelings for and had told her that it hurt my feelings when she hung all over him, because she asked. Yet, she seems to have conveniently forgotten the conversation when I finally blew my top and tried to whip her ass. Whatever. She is getting what she deserves and the rest will follow. I have faith.

Nice, fall day here. I love this time of year. I love all of the seasons, at the beginning. It's 3-4 weeks into it that I start getting irritated by the consistency, but the beginning? So cliche to say it's like an awakening of the senses, but it is. At the start of fall, you start seeing all these different colors and the air smells so good, clean and fresh, with hints of wood smoke thrown in. The night air is brisk and I sleep with my window open, under a down comforter. I start getting my beloved sweatshirts and sweatpants out (not to be worn together, per se). I love the coziness of it all. It's only after the third week in a row of not getting above 32 degrees that I start getting impatient with it all. And all the good eatin' holidays start once fall begins. Halloween with all it's sugary bliss. Thanksgiving with the stuffing and smell of pumpkin pies. Christmas and it's most delectable cookies. Makes my stomach growl just thinking about it. For some reason, I am thinking that Christmas cookies and stuffing aren't really included in my Slim Fast meal plan and that there probably isn't a GOOD way to fit them in there. Sigh, give and take.

53 things about and of her

I figure since the only people reading this are directly related to me, that I would do a tribute to our old mom. HAHA just kidding, Mom. You're not old... not really. I mean it's not like you are SIXTY or something! Kisses!

I read a tribute that this woman had made to her mother, on her mother's birthday. Only the mother had died and it was very bittersweet and nostalgic, but incredibly beautiful and insightful and I was struck by what a nice tribute it made. It also helped that this was just like a week ago. Yes, I'm nothing if not un-original, correct? So... in honor of your birthday, Mom, a tribute.

53 Things About Our Mom That Makes Her "Our Mom" And What Makes Us Adore Her
(Please dear god, let me think of, at the very least 50 things!!!)
(And she is trying to convince me that she is only 50 years old this year *Hysterical laughter ensues*)

1. Her honest-to-goodness, deep down belly laugh.
2. The snorting that is included with aforementioned laugh.
3. Her petiteness, how little and fragile she seems. It just makes me want to protect her.
4. Her love of all things Christmas. Starting the day OF Thanksgiving.
5. The fact that she insists on buying Christmas presents for anyone and everyone. Her generosity.
6. Her quirky, off-the-wall sense of humor.
7. The fact that even though technology scares her, she'll baby step through it until she understands, at least, partway.
8. For always making our birthday cakes so pretty and fussily decorated.
9. For always making our birthdays special, for insisting that it IS a special day.
10. For paying our bills when we can't.
11. For buying Christmas presents, Halloween costumes, birthday presents for our kids when we can't.
12. For making a big deal out of visitors.
13. For obsessing for days before visitors come so that "the house will be absolutely perfect"
14. For her excitement over decorating
15. Her excitement over REdecorating
16. Her unconditional love for "Trading Spaces" and anything involved with house redecoration
17. Also, her unconditional love for Bruce Willis
18. Her passion for "Die Hard" 1 through 14
19. For grieving when dad's dog - Jake - died
20. For grieving more for the man than the dog
21. For always trying to make him happy, a lofty aspiration for anyone
22. For growing up with nothing, only to give us kids everything
23. For her love of laughter
24. For sitting and laughing with us, until we all bawled
25. For her sound (and not so sound) advice
26. For laughing about growing old
27. For taking me in when I was pregnant, scared and alone
28. Her laughter while watching the dog and cat play, or the kids
29. For laughing at Dad when he fell in the bathtub
30. For giving so much of herself to her family that little was left for her own self
31. For loving and actually LIKING her mother-in-law
32. For looking for her older sister, Ann
33. For falling in love with her younger sister, Terry, all over again
34. For teaching us to laugh
35. For holding my hand during the C-section that brought my son into this world and being with me the second I became a mother
36. For holding my hand while I was puking my liver up
37. For terrorizing the little sister and myself while driving me to the hospital by looking over her shoulder every 30 seconds.
38. For staying the entire 4 days while I was in labor, even though it nearly killed her and teaching me the power of a mother's love
39. Her gardens
40. Her fascination with the Weather Channel
41. Her equal fascination with Fox News and Shepard Smith
42. Her BIG, old glasses that she's had for 30 of the last 53 years
43. For trying to rein us in
44. For laughing at herself and teaching us to do the same, especially when it comes to our own kids
45. For every Christmas morning of my youth, I swear she was just as excited as us kids
46. For passing on her love of books to all of us
47. For listening to my crazy dreams
48. For encouraging me to follow those crazy dreams
49. For sending me a care package when I was so sick and too poor to do anything about it when I lived with Steven.
50. For sending Dad to come get us on Christmas when we were too broke to come
51. For giving me at least this many things to write about
52. For always being there
53. For being her and all that it encompasses

I hope that you know I would be lost without you. We all would. I love you, not only as my mom, but as one of my best friends and my confidante. Happy Birthday, Mom.

My God, Is It Nap Time Yet? And Do We Get Snacks?

What to say? I am so damned tired that blinking feels like a major effort? That everyone seems to have abandoned the aforementioned board, except me? That one certain girl in town seems to causing problems right and left and for some reason or another, I seem to be in the center of things?

I'm tired because I didn't sleep very well Tuesday night. When I went home with the boy, he and I ended up taking a 2 hour nap. So mama didn't go to sleep until after midnight. Last night, little sister and I had a few drinks (middle of the week stress relief) and alcohol always makes it hard for me to sleep. Seriously. It's like my system needs to filter it out before my mind will even consider closing it's doors for the evening. So, after many drunken, toe stubbing, tripping over dirty clothes trips to the bathroom, I finally start to wind down, oh about 1 am this morning. Yuck.

Yes, the president resigned and after all my kicking and screaming, for some reason I am now trying to fill out quarterly reports and going through financial statements to figure out where the hell all the money went. Not to mention stirring things up a bit by extending an invitation to the former day care provider to join us on the board. Way I see it is, who better? She knows what steps need to be taken to cover all the bases and she also knows what we, the board, need to offer a provider. So far, no disagreement from anyone. Of course, at this point, no one except for myself really cares. Oh yeah, I'm also the only one on the board who takes their child TO the day care being discussed, on a regular basis. So, yes, if I have to, I will step up to plate and make sure this thing carries on because dammit, my kid NEEDS me to. I need to have a reliable place to take my kid. So do my sister and various other ranch employees. Ah, the sacrificial lamb. That's me. Not that I have a whole lot of initiative when it comes to things like this, but I'll try. Also, that's what the new member is for. She's full of great ideas, plenty of insight, and it's a topic that she's very familiar with. I'm hoping that she'll be able to either tell me what to do or take on the job herself and STILL tell me what to do.

On to the little skank that makes my days, weekends, nights, afternoons, mornings terrible. She is a lying, conniving slut. She is the person that everyone hates, yet, we were raised to be nice and mannerly. A couple of weeks ago, she pushed me to my limit and I pushed her back, hard. She almost fell on her ass. Now, if you knew me, you would know that I'm fairly calm. Nice. I don't like fighting or confrontation (can't we all be friends??). But this girl, she's awful. Any guy that I look twice at, that I get into an ongoing conversation with, any guy that I MIGHT or might not have feelings for, presently or in the future, she is all over them. And not in a "haha you're so funny" tap the arm kind of way. But in a "I'll do things you've never even imagined if you'll just look at me" hand sliding WAAY up the thigh sort of way. And she makes me angry. She turns every night out into a competition, so it's not even fun to go down to the bar and have a few drinks anymore. And now she's slipped up with the little sister and little sister can really be unforgiving. Although, she has a tendency to love everyone once she gets drunk, but really, who doesn't? Little sister will probably forgive the skank and all will be half-way normal again. Until she pisses one of us off to the point we need to say something....again. She's awful and terrible and I am ashamed to admit that at one point, I really liked her. I really thought she was such a nice person and fun and funny. But now I know what lies behind her sparkling eyes...not much. She's all about herself. Doesn't give a damn about her kids. Hell, she even gave one back to his dad so that it would be easier for her to gad about, whoring herself around. Then she moped around for days, crying at the slightest provocation about how much she missed her kid and she couldn't believe that the ex would take her baby from her. God, I even cried with her over that. And it was a lie. She isn't even worth the internet space this is written on. I'm glad it's finally coming down on her. No one deserves it more.

Since I've spread my bile and ugliness in the few paragraphs I've wrote, I perhaps should go. Just a little look into how my head is feeling today. Hope you all enjoyed the scenery. Promise, next time it won't be so dreary. Just. So. Tired. Must. Make. It. To. Eight. To. Watch. Survivor. Thank goodness I have eastern networks, otherwise CSI would be a lost cause. Can't have that!! Toodles...

Thank God

Thank God, it's not his true colors glaring through. It's just a virus showing up, or a sinus infection, I'm thinking. Little boy isn't feeling well today. He's got a sore throat and a headache, he says. I noticed this morning that he wasn't his usual mile-a-minute talking, pert self. Rushing me out the door and glowering at me from the sidewalk when I have to run in for "just one more thing!". Instead, he was complacent and quiet. I should have known and made him stay home. Hopefully the babysitter's little guy doesn't get sick. Part of me thinks that he's faking it to stay home, but then again, he was really looking forward to seeing Anna (I think he has a crush on the fill-in babysitter). I asked him this morning if he wanted to stay home and he said "no" he wanted to go to Anna. At the moment, he is staring dazed, at the TV, watching Shark Tale and picking his continually dripping nose. Not really a drip, per se, as a constant oozing of ... well, you get the point. Not really a slime, but a sludge. Yuck.

What is it with mothers? We scream over spiders and shiver at snakes, yet we can and will discuss poop and snot without batting an eyelash, with perfect strangers. The only thing we need in common is a kid and a willingness to spill the dirt, or snot as the case may be.

Especially mothers with babies. Put two mothers w/ babes in a room and they can entertain themselves without interference from outside world for HOURS. Discussions of throw up, diapers and mucus abound betwixt mothers with babies. What is that about? People who, before motherhood, that would walk into a different room to blow/pick their noses can casually toss around conversation about snot in the company of... who cares(?) without stopping for breath. Hmmm... must be something about labor and leaving the hospital and your dignity behind, huh? Really, I think that it basically comes down to the fact that when you have a new baby, you are obsessed about everything that pertains to your little bundle of not so much joy. Does his breathing sound funny to you? My god, that stinks, do you think she caught that bug that is going around China? Good cryin' out loud, that kid pukes a lot, do you think she ingested bleach, lye, de-wormer, fertilizer? Seriously, new mothers are obsessed and I suppose it comes from spending SOO much of your energy towards one little human that you naturally become completely and totally immersed in anything baby. I know I did.

I used to lay in bed for hours, eyes open and staring at the ceiling in a complete, sleep deprived haze. Holding my breath until he took his next one. Sitting at the side of the bassinet, peering over the edge at the boy laying there, thinking "My God, I can't take care of him. I can't be who and what he needs me to be". I always wanted to be a mom and pardon me, I really am humble, but I think I do a pretty good job of it. But in those first, oh, 8 months, I was constantly terrified about everything. How much he threw up, how much he weighed, how much he ate, how much he peed, how much he pooped (or didn't). Terrified. Eventually, though you come to an understanding of yourself and of parenting. That you do what you can (namely take care of the kid's basic needs) and what you can't, it can wait. That the rest (in both senses of the word, the sleeping kind and the rest of the world kind) will come later. Laundry doesn't go anywhere, it just multiplies. A little dirt never hurt anyone, or in my case, a lot of dirt. But that boy needs someone to teach him to walk, talk, eat. Someone to feed him and cuddle him and laugh with him. Someone to change him and wash him and spend hours playing in the bathtub with him. The rest will get done when it gets done.

I catch myself worrying every now and again, still. The worrying, it doesn't go away. I worry now that he doesn't know his ABC's or how to count to 20 and he's ALREADY 4, for god's sake! But I try to remind myself of what I (and my family) have already taught him. The things that he'll carry with him all his life. That his mama will walk through fire (maybe even wildfire, at that!) for him. He does know how to share (although it takes some prodding), he does know how to say "Please" and "Thank You" (again, SOME prodding). He knows how to laugh, the good, from your gut belly laughs that feel so good. He knows that laughing until you cry makes all the sense in the world and it's one of THE best things, ever. He knows how to say "I love you" with complete and true feeling. He knows what hugs and cuddling with mom on sunny afternoons feels like. He knows that he can go to Aunt Merce's and get the same love there. He also knows how to make people laugh, which explains how he gets out of a lot of pretty rough spots. He is starting to know the Cowboy Way, that old fashioned, gentleman way of thinkin'. He holds doors for me, which I don't know that he's seen a lot of, I am thinking it's just him... Just some old fashioned sense that lives inside of his old soul. He also knows that he's supposed to be lying on the couch because he is sick, instead he's crawling around, pretending to be a cat. Friggin' rotten child. God, I do so love him.

Delving into my fear of wildfire...

Not much happening over the last couple of days. Gray, gloomy, RAIN, thank God, we were running pretty far behind on precip. totals. Still very much behind, but at least the forest service took the wildfire rating down to low 1. AND, knock on wood, we got through most of the fire season without very many fires. I am deathly terrified of fire, of all forms. I don't let very many people light my cigarettes because I'm SURE they are going to light my eyebrows on fire. When I was in the eighth grade, the smartass that sat behind me in Science lit my hair on fire. Burned a section about 3 inches across, 6 inches long off of the back of my head WHILE MY HAIR WAS STILL ATTACHED! Hence, my fear of fire.

And although I am scared of them, as long as it is far away from me, I am fascinated by wildfire (I just wrote that wildfar.... indication of what a redneck I am?). I love to watch it burn. The erratic flames rushing down hillside and up the next. The glow so bright at night, it almost hurts your eyes. The danger, the smell. The way it makes a harvest moon look. Like I said, just as long as it is far enough away. Put me within a mile of it, though and it's a different story. I used to live in Lake Tahoe, long ago and far away, back when I was married, in my foolish youth. There was a raging fire up there with quickly shifting winds and very rocky terrain. A local newscaster had gone up with the BLM and Forest Service on a ride along for this fire. He was out of the truck, filming the fire close up when the wind shifted and the fire started rushing their way. This man, he jumped into the back of the pickup, with all the faith that the BLM guy in the front would start up the pickup and they would dash off into safety and wouldn't that be a great story to tell at parties? Well, he ended up with more to tell than he bargained on. The fire was moving so quick, it sucked the oxygen from the air, therefore the truck wouldn't start (or died) because engines need oxygen to run and they were stranded. The reporter rolled underneath the toolbox as the fire consumed the truck and amazingly, the camera didn't quit. I remember it to this day (of course they aired it, how could they not?). You couldn't see anything, but the audio, oh my god. It gave me chills and made my spine hurt. The man screamed and screamed. And you could hear this growling, flicking, windy noise in the background. It was awful. The man lived. Only like 30% of his body was burned, the fire was moving THAT fast. But he lived and now he has a helluva story to tell. But I will never forget those screams or the sound of that fire, like demons from the pit of hell bearing down on the innocent. Never. And I suppose that's where a lot of my fear comes from. Because it's not like I'm dumb enough to get so close that I will be trapped in one. Me, at the first smell of wildfire, I'm looking for the escape routes, especially once I know where the smokes rolling in from. And if I wasn't so damn tired, I could go off on a completely different tangent with that last line.... because it does make a prophetic sort of statement, doesn't it?

Anyway, so my point was, and I did have one, was that although I love fall, I get kind of sad when the wildfire risk drops off because I do so love to watch them.

The boy was up off and on through the night, after a day from hell yesterday. He was a completely, rotten, ROTTEN child yesterday, well, until his nap. After that, he was ok. But before, goodness. We went and had lunch at the bar and he had a complete meltdown in front of everyone. Preachers and everything. I'm sure they went home and prayed for that poor cowboy child who was and is surely being abused. Close, but not hardly. I am hoping that this is just a phase he is going through. Not the person he is going to be. There are some parts of him that are soo very sweet. Like the absolute joy he gets from giving treats to his cousins. His laugh, especially when he is highly amused over something, and he is that, quite frequently. His fear of the dark and the certainty that mom will take care of him. But there is such a flip side to that, I just want to explode. At the end of the day, that is when it is the worst. Hopefully, it's just his tiredness and him being only 4 that is showing through, not his true colors. Good Lord in Heaven, do not (and I BEG), do not let him be a carbon copy of his father. With no respect for anyone or anything, least of all himself and his mother.

It just feels like home

Kind of a gray, gloomy day here. Supposed to rain.

Talking on Messenger with someone who lost everything they owned in Hurricane Katrina. He moved back home to Delaware from New Orleans. He was telling me that it was a small town when he left and now it's huge. Rather disappointing to him. Funny how we expect and hope for home to be the same when we go back.

I live in a VERY small town. The epitome of a rural setting. The biggest employers here are the ranch that I work on, the school (to some degree) and the forest service. We have a bar, a gas station, a little store, a saddle shop, a library, and a post office. As I pointed out to my friend, at least if the bar stays open, we'll hopefully survive.

There are so many positive things to living in a small town and yet again, so many drawbacks. Your neighbors (and in a town this small, everyone is your neighbor) look out for you. If you break down, chances are you are going to hitch a ride with the next person that comes along because not only do you know them, but they insist. There is a strong sense of community. We take care of our own. Whenever someone is sick or hurt or dying, the community feels it as a whole, no matter who the ailing is, young or old. We hold community fundraisers for people with large medical bills. We offer our help, our food, our prayers, our grief to our neighbors when they need us. Walking into the store, the bar, the post office, there is always a plethora of greetings to be done.

Of course, there is the flip side. Everyone knows your business. There are some glancing sideways and talking about you out of the sides of their mouths. Some of them are friends, with whom you THOUGHT you shared true camaraderie. Most of them judge you just for something to do or didn't do, just something they heard. The "god squad" is particularly adept at this. I've had my share of being on the end of their holier-than-thou attitudes, which I find so gratingly irritating and hugely hypocritical. Good Lord, I refuse to believe they haven't heard the "judge not lest ye be judged" line. But oh well... You just brush their glares off and wait until the next scandal hits. You can't ever truly end a friendship in a small town. No matter what has been done to you or by you. People are not an expendable resource in small towns and you don't want to burn any bridges, lest you are standing on the side of the road when one of those bridges tumbles by.

Which leads us to the isolation of it all. Our town is perhaps 6 blocks long. No stop lights, nor stop signs (not even a 4 way!) make their appearance upon our main street. The speed limit is reduced to a mere 35 mph to avoid slaughtering residents (note the sarcasm, I think 35 is too high). Once you are outside of town, there are ranches and the occasional house every couple of miles or so, but you so very much don't want to be walking down a dark highway with our high population of cougars. Yes, cougars, mountain lions. Stealthy boogers. One lady in town put her little cocker spaniel out and heard a strange noise, she opened the door, mere seconds later, to find her precious little pet's head caught within the jaws of a female lion. They are a scary, shifty shadow. You are ALWAYS careful when you are on foot, outdoors, once the nights start getting cool. Up until June or July. And even in summer, you are not guaranteed a safe walk. The kids, playing at recess noticed a mama and two half grown kittens resting upon a haystack right behind the playground. When ODFW officials went to investigate, they discovered the cats had been living there for some time. I shudder to think...

But, I wouldn't change it. My boy is being raised within a community that still remembers the true sense of the word. He will grow up in a hard, unforgiving world knowing that in some places, neighbors still help each other out and notice when you are gone, when you are sick, when you are down and out. He will grow up thinking it normal to not only receive no less than 2 "Hi! How are you"s while getting his mail. He will know the power of forgiveness because it will be utilized often enough living in a small community. And overall, I think that he will have a greater respect for mankind, not the casual disregard I see so often when I visit the bigger cities.

To each his own, I suppose. Myself, I prefer this: the slow, crawl of day-to-day life that my town offers, the "hello"s, the knowing that when I need to, I can ask for help and will get it from my fellow community members, the way it just feels like mom's living room, the way it just feels like home.