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Posts archive for: January, 2007
  • Morning Headlines: Are they really worth it?

    Just a quick one, before I leave for work:

    At 9 am, it's clear and sunny in Glens Falls, NY. The outside temp is 1 degree F, minus 17 C.

    Was reading a few headlines online.

    Oh gee, the USA (read: George W. Bush and company) has botched training the Iraqui military...what a suprise...yeah, that's about as much news as the the fact that it snows in Greenland in wintertime.

    A sherriff's wife was gunned down in her own driveway, along with a deputy..the man across the street's account: "...it was quite a bit of excitement. There were about 20 police cars and everything!" This is my culture, a man's neighbours wife gets murdered in her own driveway, and the man is all giddy with excitement...and one wonders why I don't want to live in my own country, anymore...yeah, I love modern American culture...I've said it before, I'll say it again...if many Americans were a pond, the fish would suffocate.

  • Well Here I am Again

    I did finally get a bit of sleep--less than four hours worth, sadly. Means it's really going to be a hard day. Think when I come home for lunch break at 3pm, I'll just wolf down a couple of hot dogs and take a 30 or 45 minute power nap--providing I can sleep and that the kids across the way aren't booming their stereo.

    Sent my 40 dollar student loan payment in--and now I've got an "you are about to default on your loan" statement...guess they didn't get my payment...geez--what next? Hope I don't have to make 2 payments now...sent a money order--if I'd sent a checque, it'd be okay--if they hadn't cashed the cheque, the money'd still be in the bank--now, I've apparently got this money order floating around out there, and may actually wind up having to pay 80 dollars for Jan/Feb! Damn, that's gonna' hurt.

    I already am in default for my 300 dollar plus student loans with Citibank, and am looking at having my pay cheques garnished and heaven knows what all...now this. I knew things were going too smoothly. And this was the one loan I could actually afford to pay! Now, if my payment's been lost--I don't know, maybe I can get a one-time tempoary reduced payment--but that's not good, as there may come a time in the future when I really do need reduced payments...have I mentioned that I really hate my life?

    Well, trying to force myself to eat something--it's a long time till I get home and eat lunch, something like a good 6 hours, really, inbetween--not good for us diabetics--and your'e pretty much limited to what you can eat at your computer station...gawd, this is going to be a long and miserable day--but, I did volunteer to pull these hours, no one made me...well, okay, the fear of the return of abject poverty made me--trying to eat on the equivilent of less then 10 pounds a week---but still, I wish now, that I hadn't.

    Ah well, if wishes were Dr Who collectables, I'd have wall-to-wall Dr Who in my house, ey?




  • Gobsmacked in Glens Falls

    Whoa!

    I was cruising the wwww. and found this site:
    "http://www.visit-newyork-online.com/saratoga_springs.htm

    Guess who's very first online "practice" article is featured on the front page?

    Moi's!!!

    :)

    I was totally and absolutely gobsmacked! I had no clue whatsoever that anyone had picked up my article. Early last summer, I did a "practice" submission to a free online e-zine website, writing a semi-mock tourism feature. (I mean semi-mock, because, tho' the facts are accurate, and I was writing seriously,I wasn't writing for an actual publication, but merely to keep in practice--hence my utter shock). I can't believe it!

    I'm just so...gobsmacked, flabberghasted, stunned. I'd no idea. And...

    Other sites have picked me up as well--not a lot, but enough to make me think maybe when I get out of my blue funk that I'm presently in, I should seriously start thinking up some feature article ideas and start doing some research and maybe even some interviews.

    I had no clue--no indication on the original website---that other websites would pick me up--and give me credit--no monetary compensation, mind--but hey--they gave me credit! Cool!
    Beats the limited circulation of the college newspaper, hands down.

    Now, I've been bombarded by reality enough in the last two years, to realize that this may lead to nought--and I certainly don't expect to get rich or anything naive like that...but, I love to write, and, well, any port in a storm, ey?

    I may not be talented--and that's fine, I've long since learned to be okay with that--, but I do feel that I'm a pretty good average writer--good enough for a few feature articles and essays maybe, at any rate.

    But wow--the homepage of a major NY tourism website? Whoa--I really needed bit of a lift, and well, this is something nice to find out about, isn't it?

    Other sites have picked it up: Saratgasuckers, Leisure and Sport Review, Article Rose.

    Another site picked up a long ago piece I wrote on removing moldy build up from old saddles...fancy that? That one was written in 2000!

    And something on Yahoo!, called Citymanual, picked up my other "practice" article on Adirondack adventures. Who knew?

    Well, I'm still in a bad way, emotionally, tonight--and physically not feeling great, either. Cabin fever? Winter blahs? Depression? Physical illness? Not a clue, I'm afraid. Just wish it would go away already.

    ADDENDUM:

    As if depression or whatever wasn't bad enough--now moi has insomnia--and I have to start my 10 hour shift in seven hours, which means, at best, I have all of 5 hours sleep left to me--assumming I ever actually do get to sleep, that is. Damn. That's all..just, Damn.

  • Puh-lease! Tell Me There's a Cure for DavidTennant-Itis


    Ohhh-no! My young fan friend is back! Another long e-mail. Seems she read a post I'd made tonight on the DW Online site, regarding my preference of Derek Jacobi over Tennant, as acting goes. Well, gosh, didn't moi get an earful?

    You'd think I'd said he was rubbish and he couldn't be the backend of a cow in a panto.

    I mean, Jacobi I've been watching for years--I hadn't even heard of DT until April of last year! At all! I think it's pretty much a compliment, when I put him next to DJ, considering I'd never even seen him act until I watched Christmas Invasion in late July of 2006.

    But, sadly, my young fan friend didn't see it that way. So, yours truly has been dutifully chastastized by a 15 or 16 year old. (Huge sigh.) Okay, so I have to PUBLICALLY APOLOGIZE to David Tennant. Yes, that's what she says I should do. Oh brother. :roll:

    Okay, so I apologize to David Tennant for him being second to Derek Jacobi. Okay? The things you do for teenagers.

    Ah well, I was young once myself...I think. Not sure I can remember back that far.

    I may be only 46 chronologically--but inside my head, I'm definately turning 90, ha-ha.

    Just ask the cats...nearly forgot to feed them their canned food, this morning...and boy did they ever remind me!

    And, she wants me to write a fan letter. Yuck. No. Not gonna' happen.

    Riiiight. Like a huge, filthy rich, super popular, ultra-busy star like David Tennant is going to give a flying fig what someone like me thinks? Ha!

    I'm manic-depressive, but I'm not delusional--at least, not yet anyway. Why waste 85 cents on a stamp, and a dollar or two on a card, for some secretary (albeit, I'm sure a very nice secretary) in some office (likely a very posh office, mind) that won't even read it, anyway?

    Nope. Life's too short to waste (okay, well, I've the time, haven't I?) on writing letters that will not only be meaningless to the recipient, but won't even be read in the first place?

    So what'd I tell my David Tennant fan girl..."Maybe." Stupid me. She'll probably take that as a "yes," if I know teenagers. (Insert another huge sigh here.) Whatare'ya gonna' do, ey? How do I let myself get roped into these things?

    And people wonder why I'm becoming a crotchey old maid?

    Well, tommorrow's my "long" day--two five hour shifts with that two hour lunch break at three p.m. Kind of rough on the stomach, working 10 to 3--I eat breakfast around 8:30, shower around 9---have to try and sleep later on long days--only a half hour--because, quite frankly, I need it. One's voice takes a bit of a beating on those 10 hour days--even if you are working two different sales programmes--two slightly different scrips--you're still eseentially saying the same thing over and over all day long--and trying to sound perky and polite and enthuiastic in the process of getting your arse verbally kicked every hour on the hour.

    It's nearly as tiring as some of the physical jobs I've had this year--but yes, easier on the feet and back, at any rate--but the throat and stomach and head tend to suffer instead.

    I did have a nice moment today, though--didn't make the sale, but I did tell this reitred teacher how lovely her profession was and how much teacher and professors have meant to me. She cried. I was speechless--hadn't expected that reaction--it seems she was feeling down and she told me my little totally offhand remark, had made her day, and made her feel better. Wow. The power of words, ey? That's why I love writing so much...and theater, as well--the power of words, of speech--a wonderful thing, ey?

  • When Wishes Mean Nothing and Dreams Turn to Dust

    It's hard, you know? Sitting here, night after night, Sundays, mornings..alone. No telling how many times I've gone over to the big front windows, the one's looking out onto Glen Street (the city's main street) and just stared out the window--at other people's windows, at people walking the streets, cars passing by, the moon, the snowfalling, the rain and frost the sunset, the branches of the trees swaying in the wind...sometimes, at nothing at all. Sometimes, my mind wanders to happier times, but that's only breifly.

    I realizie now, that I'm in a bad depression...a very bad one. The kind where you literally have to force yourself to do anything--write, watch a DVD, listen to music, read, do the wasshing up, even feed yourself. It's hard...and it's even worse in an empty room. You've no idea how bad it really is...unless you've been alone and depressed yourself, that is.

    I mean, I shouldn't be feeling this way, should I? God knows things have been a lot worse, gawd yes, so much, much worse. So what am I so sad about? Couldn't begin to tell you.

    What happens to us, the day when we grow up and realize that our personal wishes mean absolutely nothing, that one's dreams have withered and turned to dust? I'm tired. I don't know why, but I am.

    I should be happy, shouldn't I? I mean, in the moment, now? Bad things most certainly haven't stopped happening to me--no one will ever convince me of that...I'm not going to meet Prince Charming, or win the big lottery or be "discovered." I have a sort of decent job, at least, telemarketing beats cleaning toilets, or washing hundreds of pounds of dirty towels every day, hands down, ey? So why am I feeling so sad and empty for? I wish I knew.

    I wish I had a purpose in life. I wish I'd been able to finish college--have a real career. I wish I at least had a job where I could either be sort of creative, or help people...but wishes are worthless for someone like me. They no longer hold any meaning.

    Why? Because, I realize now, that I'm in that place that I've tried 40 year to avoid being in: a dead-end life, a dead-end job, dead dreams, dead in all but name.

    But, there's still some spark of life in me--one of the plus's of being a nutter, we can bounce back like a rubber ball. Maybe soon I'll "bounce" and get myself out of this funk I'm in. But it's rather sobering, to wake up one day, and find yourself in the place you never wanted to be.

    There's always tommorrow--maybe something good will happen. I am not totally ungrateful. I do appreciate my friends--and anyone who takes the time to think of me, to remember me, to talk or write to me--that's such a gift, you know? It's something to be grateful for, something I didn't have much of, for a while, last year.

    So...I'm stuck with a nothing life at the mo', but...I'm also stuck with that "maybe" nagging at me, that makes me take that one more step into tommorrow, to want to wake up just one more morning--with the promise that maybe "things will get better."

    You know? Maybe I'm just crazy enough to start believing that, soon...

  • How My Life is Like a Dr Who Villian and an Open Road

    Well, I must admit, sometimes I really wish I were someplace else. Not here. Not this. Okay, I am learning to accept this, finally. The months of my innerself screaming "NOooooo!," like a Doctor Who villan who's been foiled yet again by that trusty old sonic screwdriver, have more or less passed. I'm moving on, albeit, somewhat reluctantly.

    I must admit, it was beginning to seem as if my life had gone from this (mostly) innocent and naive existance, to this evil alter-ego. I mean, I had known heartache and hard times in the past before, certainly. But not all at once like this--and most definately not all piled up, one after another like one of those old train wrecks you see, with the wooden cars all telescoping into one another, until the lives inside--and everything else, are all crushed to bits into nothing.

    My life, in the last month, has--again, sort of---returned to normal. And it's hard for me to just stop the constant proverbial looking over my shoulder, in fear that my whole life will be once again swept away from me, that I will yet again, be left with nothing. Become nothing.

    How do you stop feeling that? I don't know. I'm trying to ignore that pesky little fear, scratching away at the base of my brain...but..I don't know.

    Maybe that's the thing, ey? Maybe it's the uncertainty, the unknwoing, that strikes its icy cold hand of terror into the heart of my quaking soul.

    But life is a journey, isn't it? Full of detours and dead-ends, yes. But you know, the one thing I always liked when on a path or driving down a new road--is, you never know what's waiting 'round that bend, do you?

    Sure, in my case, it's often been a deep dark pit of despair to fall into (again), but, there've been times, in the past year or so, when I've also had some lovely surprises. I've made new friends, for one thing. The most wonderful surprise of them all.

    Yes, I miss the ability to just get in the car and go for a drive over the hills and valleys of northeastern New York and western New England. I loved the living tapestry of the landscape, the mini-adventure of what I might see around that next bend...but, here I am, stuck at home, day in and day out, in the city--where I'd never thought I'd ever live, not me, the dedicated small town girl---but, alas, here I'm stuck. Maybe forever, maybe not. Guess I'll just have to see what's around that next bend, ey?

    So here I am, tonight, nearly half-past five in the evening, nothing much to do, and no one to do it with. Got a big ol' cat asleep on my shoulders, purring away in my ear. Was listening to part four of the Doctor Who concert--until the video decided it couldn't find me part 5. Ah well. I did find out that my number one favourtie actor, Derek Jacobi (sorry David Tennant fans--DT is #2 on my list, I'm afraid) is playing a part called The Professor on Doctor Who this year. Fantastic! Don't know what or whom this "Professor" is...a Time Lord, the Master, the Doctor, The Doctor's son, just some character in a lab coat, or the guy from Gilligan's Island...who knows. Well, I suppose "Who" does know, actually...but, you know what I mean. The Whovian rumour mills are flying with this little revelation, let me tell you...

  • Murry's Gold and a Cat with a Hair Fetish

    Well, it's another day, isn't it? Seconds passing into minutes, minutes passing into hours....gosh, isn't that the lyrics to one of those chesnuts my late mum used to play on her stereo in the kitchen? :DD The Ray Coniff Singers or some such or other...

    Anyhow, have been slugging my way through, trying to give an ear (and eye) to all 12 parts of the Doctor Who concert in Cardiff. Brilliant! What a wonderful idea--and for a really worthy cause, as well--or so I've been told, anyhow. Murry Gold's a genius. Guess I'll have to save my nickels and dimes (need the quarters for the laundromat and bus fare--when the busses are actually running, that is) and get the soundtrack album when it's available here in the states---really lovely stuff. Pure genius.

    So, here I sit, with my freshly washed hair. I actually have to have my behind in the seat in 20 min. so I must dash off now--get Flame's snoot out of my hair--she loves freshly washed hair! The wee little thing can't seem to get enough of newly shampooed hair, no clue why. Maybe it's because she can't see well? He nose just loves perfumey things. Can't sit here with wet hair without a nose and paw rummaging through it. Bit painful, sometimes, when she forgets I don't have fur to protect me from her claws.

    Well, off to another day of the same old boring scripts being read over an d over and over and over, and mean nasty people cursing my very existance--ah well, I did say I wanted this job, didn't I, he-he?

  • It Ain't Wagner on the Accordian--But it Works!!!

    So here I am, stuck here in the night with nothing but a headache (another minor concussion--but my hard head saved me) and a yowling cat in heat for company. Finally little Miss "I'm in HEAT! YOWLLL!" falls asleep on the old blanket in front of the radiator, and I think, "Ahhhh--peace and quiet." HA! Not on your life.

    Yes, the kids on the other side of the building are partying away again--and my ear plugs have seen better days (or rather, nights.) Here it is, 9:30 at night--and here, if I had a car, no prob, just go to the 24 hour K-Mart or WalMart and get another set, right? Problem. No car--in this case, I would have to spend around 8 dollars round trip car fare, plus 4 or 5 dollars for plugs, and wait about 20 to 30 minutes each way--in the cold night--in the bargain. Not gonna' happen.

    So what to do? OPERA! That's right, I turn on my Media Player and try to find the best--or rather, worst--opera station on the net. Turn the speakers to the wall facing the offending apartment, turn them up full volume and...voila! Works every time, like a charm. Seriously. Kids today loathe and destest opera, even more than I loathe and destest heavy metal.

    Believe me, they do most definately get the hint. They nearly always either turn it down, or turn it off, altogher. Love it! Bless opera.

    In my case, it truly ain't over 'till the fat lady (or fat Nancy, I should say) sings! And that would be my next course of action, actually. Get a Mr. Microphone and belt out some show tunes--but I wouldn't do that, not really. Wouldn't want to start a panic in the building, now would I?

  • This is What This is

    Well, Monday's here. Oh joy, oh rapture, oh...brother. Ah well, made it though the long dull weekend.

    The question is, when did my life change so much, that the most important thing in my life all weekend, was new curtains? Man, I really am getting old, aren't I?

    It's a bit strange, as well.

    I mean, going from a world of continual crisis, pain and upheaval--to nothing.

    I suppose it's a bit like a lone holidaymaker, coming home from the most fabulous and exciting holiday he or she has ever had--and then being grounded by a blizzard or fog or whatever, at the airport for days on end. Or, like the time I was a stablehand--loved my job--couldn't wait to get there in the morning, always hung around after work...then, one day, I got hurt, and the owner also had a massive coronary and died instantly. And then, the stable closed, and it was back to unemployemnt and flat on my back with--thankfully minor--nerve damage for months on end.

    You get in this groove--either negative or positive---and then..everything just stops. And where are you, then? It feels kind of funky, let me tell you.

    Someone asked me the other day why I refused to date--why I didn't have a guy in my life--or much of anyone else, I should amend.

    Simple. Easy-peasy. I don't want anyone getting hurt because of me. It's that basic. I am far too aware of how hard it can be, sometimes, to live with me. Heck, I can be hard to live with myself, sometimes, ha-ha.

    But seriously, I simply don't see how anyone would even want to live around me. Can't even picture that in my mind. Really, it's inconceiveable to me that anyone would go out of his way--or her way, even--to want to be around me on an intimate basis. It hasn't happened in 46 years, and I don't forsee it ever happening. It's not easy being manic depressive, and...well, I'm a bit of an idiot, sometimes. And my social skills are a bit backwards, probably. Oh, I can manage at a party or in a group okay, but can't say that anyone's ever flocked to me, to hear what I've to say. Not gonna' happen. And, truthfully, I'm too aware that I'm a bottom-feeder, career-wise. I'm never going to amount to much, I'm always likely to be poor, and I'm just plain nothing special--a very unglamourous, low-income chav--nobody, that's me--but then, lots of people are like that, and there's worse things, I suppose. I'm not feeling sorry for myself when I say this. I'm perfectly, soberly, serious. Despite youthful dreams, this is where life's chucked me, and..that's that. This is what there is, this is all there is.

  • A Wintry Sunday with bored cats and David Tennant

    Here's pretty much what the weather's like, out there today. 'Course, I live in the city now, so it doesn't look quite like this, except outside of town, in the southern Adirondack and western Vermont foothills--where this photo was taken.

    So, I just puttered today. Feel listless, tired, and well, grossly bored. Wish I had some mates to hang with, but...oh heck, even the cat's are boring today. They just want to curl up on the cushy quilt I've placed on the floor in front of the radiator, and snooze.

    Made a quick trip to the store, and when I got home, "hung" my new "curtains." The quote marks are used because, in this case, "hung" means hammered in place with push pins, and "curtains" because really, its just roughly four yards of material that I purchased from the department store fabric department, on sale. I cut one to fit, but then on the second one, my scissors dulled it wasn't happening, so I put that on the window behind my dresser, as hopefully it won't be so noticable. But my old curtains were rubbish--frayed, stained, far too small--they were purchased in 2001 and were for a totally different size window, in 1995 moblie home (caravan), so there was a gap at the top of the curtains, and a big gap at the bottoms of the curtains, and the colour--slate blue--was rubbish against the paint job on my current bedroom walls...totally clashed--and they made the room seem smaller--not a good thing, as the room's already pretty small. And, as things are, one has to pass straight from the kitchen, through my budoir, to get to the living room--well, new curtains really were in order. These are only marginally better, but at least decoratively, they work much better, and are more pleasing to the eye to look at, and do make the room seem slightly larger than it did with the old ones...and no more orange street lights shining in, at night! A big plus, as far as I'm concerned--hate those ornage street lights, find them obnoxious, for some reason. Feel like I'm living on Mars or something...

    Listened to Stone Rose, read by the incompparable David Tennant, today. A highly pleasant diversion. It was great! And I think Mr. Tennant did a bang up job on this one, even better than Feast of the Drowned. Made for a real treat, on what otherwise was a mind-numbingly lonely and boring, and mostly pointless, day. (Not complaining, boring can be nice, ey?)

  • Bored? A Post for People Who Have Way Too Much Time on Their Hands

    Was surfing the net out of boredom, the other day, found some things that would appeal to the bored--especially if one is just a wee bit michevious (yes, I know I've likely misspelled that, I'm comfy in my rocker, and not going to chase over to my room for a dictionary, so sue me.)

    Here's a thread for those folks who have way, way too much time on their hands:

    Things to do at your local McDonald's drive-thru:

    1. Stand close to the speaker and yell your order, using colorful expletives in ways which would embarrass the patrons inside.

    2. Drive through backwards.

    3. Belch your order.

    4. After ordering, cover the speaker and mic with transparent tape. Watch as customers and order-takers are unable to hear each other and, thus, each raises his/her volume.

    5. Barter. Offer a Whopper for a Big Mac.

    6. Walk through.

    7. Speak a foreign language (make one up if you have to). When the manager comes to the mic, speak English and inquire as to why the order taker had such difficulty understanding you.

    8. Repeat everything the order taker says.

    9. Attempt to take the order-takers order ("Hi, may I take your order?") before they get a chance to take yours.

    10. Order confusing items, i.e., "Hi, I'll have a large orange Coke and a small medium fries, please".

    11. In a crowded drive-thru line, place a HUGE order, then slip out of line and watch the fun as the person behind you is handed 40 bags of food.

    12. When you arrive at the window to pick up your food, hand them several bags of garbage & ask if they'll dispose of it for you. Make sure it smells.

    13. Drive through with a carload of naked people.

    14. Speak in such a garbled fashion that the order-taker will think there is a problem with the speaker and ask you to order at the window. When you arrive at the window, speak in the same garbled, incomprehensible fashion.

    15. Drive through with someone on the hood to accept the food.

    16. Bring along a Mr. Microphone. When the order-taker speaks, aim the mic at their speaker but do so while aiming the Mr. Microphone speaker at the mic to produce excruciating feedback of their own voice.

    17. One word: Flatulence!

    18. Have a friend hide in the trunk. When you approach the window to pickup your order, have him start yelling and banging his fists on the trunk.

    19. If you are a male, have a female friend place the order by speaking VERY seductively and suggestively into the speaker. When she finishes, have her hide and pull up to accept your order. See how many of the order-takers fellow employees have been called over to the window to "check out the babe".

    20. Change a flat tire in the drive-thru lane.

  • Back to Reality: bad vibes and bad dreams

    I know, at least for a little while, that my life has improved quite considerably. I have plenty to eat--and can even purchase some food items (mainly things like small inexpensive steaks, my favourite brand of spaghetti and spaghetti sauce, my favourite brand of frozen ready made mashed sweet potatoes, etc.) And, I've been able (thanks in large part to those wonderful 40 to 75 percent off January sales) to get some new clothes that I needed (I've lost nearly 50 pounds since I last went seriously clothes shopping and have dropped down a size to a size and a half, and much of my clothing--while still seriviceable--looked all baggy and the pants can't be worn now with out a very tight belt) so I bought a new dress and a couple of pairs of jeans and a new pair of trousers and some blouses..all very cheap. Thankfully, I live in a huge resort area, and there's tons of fashion outlet stores that sell the same top name brand stuff you see in the better department stores and boutiques, for less then what you pay for the low budget chav fashions at WalMart. Last time I went, I got two 28 dollar (14 pounds) blouses for only 6 dollars.

    But I'm hardly going on a spending spree. I did treat myself to two Dr Who books and a Queer Eye video, and a miniature model horse (half price)...but mostly I've been putting what I can by, for the hard times I live in constant fear of.

    Yes, even though things have been going smoothly and my life, for the first time in well over a year, is finally bearing some semblance of normalcy again, I have this continual, sobering fear in the back of my mind. Lurking like a stranger in the gloom of a shadowy alleyway.

    I really work hard to forget it...but, I can't. I'm scared. I'm always scared. I've nearly been homeless twice in the last year. I've lost most of my close family members, I did lose my home, I lost some of my beloved pets, I've lost some long-treasured family heirlooms and other possessions, I've gone hungry, I've been totally alone, I've lived in sub-zero farenheight (think of -15 to -40 below C) tempertures in one room, with only a small space heater to keep me warm--and no hot water whatsoever to bathe with. Only a small electric skillet and toaster oven to cook with, lost my car, lost jobs twice--before I even found a job, I went two months unemployed, lost my college education one year shy of graduating...it hasn't let up, much.

    I've been bombarded and bombarded with so many bad things, that my inner soul just can't bring itself--no matter how hard I try to ignore the feelings---my inner self just can't believe that the bad things have stopped. I just can't stop worrying about what bad thing is going to befall me next. I just can't seem to convince myself that the bad times are over. Of course, I've so many debts hanging over me--and no money to file for bankruptcy--and my huge student debts don't have any legal protections--unless, of course, I go totally blind or die.

    What does it feel like? It's a sick, sobering feeling, nagging at you continually. It's a sack full of cannon balls, weighing down your soul. It's a crawly little fear that climbs up your back where you can't reach it. It's...well, It's just plain terrible.

    To make matters worse, I've been having disturbing dreams, of late. It started with the tornado dream--have had two now, a week apart. I've also dreamed about dead pets--both recent and my dog Shamrock, who died in '83. I've dreamed of both my parent--most especially my dad--who I've NEVER dreamed about before! I even dreamed of a dead uncle--one whom I'd never even met--because he died before I was born--I never even think about him! I also dreamed about the bakery my late mum used to take me to when I was a child--and again, hadn't thought of it in years. Some of the dreams are genuinely frightening, and I often have to turn the light on, and lie awake on my bed, reading or petting the cats--or mostly, just staring at my ugly nicotine-stained ceiling. Some are just...weird. But all of them leave me a bit disturbed, as while I have, at times, dreamed about my childhood home/street, my pets, my mum and tornados..I've not dreamed about Shamrock in years and years...and never dad or any member of his highly distant and disfunctional family.

    I just don't know what to make of it. Mum would have probalby rolled her eyes and told me they were just dreams and to go back to bed--still, to me they are beginning to feel more like bad omens--the buildup of clouds before the storm.

  • Out of the Mouths of Babes: Maybe I should buy my cemetery plot now?

    So, our local weekly paper, the Glens Falls Chronicle, had a snippet where they asked 2 to 4th grade children where they envisioned themselves 30 years from now. Here's some of my favourite responses:

    "Thirty years from now, I will be in a wheelchair. I will be in a wheelchair, because I will be old and cranky. I will also be mean and wrinkly. That is what I will be thirty years from now." KT Grade 4.

    In 30 years I will be old and I will be eating hard candy. My skin will have wrinkles. I will have a walker and a motorized scooter. I will have no teeth. I will be doing crossword puzzles. I don't want to be 37." DM Grade 3

    "In 30 years I will be napping because I will be old and tired. I will work at a snowboard shop because I love snowboarding." KL Grade 1

    HERE'S SOME MORE OF MY FAVOURTIES:

    "I will be driving a convertable with the wind blowing in my hair, being a mom and working as a teacher.I will take my kids to McDonalds in my convertible and will will all eat Happy Meals!!" ML Grade 2

    "In 30 years I will have a job, and I will be a saleswoman or a ballerina. I think I would rather be a saleswoman instead of a ballerina. I would be a saleswoman because my dad used to be a salesman a long time ago. He was 38 I think. I would like to have kids and get married. I will live in a castle with my husband and my cat. I will make raviloi's every night. Maybe we will be rich! We could get anything we want. I would be like a queen!." GZ Grade 2

    "Thirty years from now I will be 39 years old. I see myself being married to a wonderful husband with two great kids. We will have a big beautiful house with a front porch and a pool in the backyard. I will have two dogs. One is a Yorkshire Terrier, and her name will be Shelly, and the other dog will be a Pomeranian, and his name will be Petey. My job is to be mayor of South Glens Falls so I can go to all the parades and the parks and have a good seat so I can see." EJ Grade 4

    "In 30 years I will be a mom and have a husband. I will have a house that is pink. I will be a nurse. My husband will be a doctor. My life will be happy." C-L W Grade 1

    "In 30 years I will be a comedy show host. I will be 39. I will look like a comedian with a suit and tie. I will be thin with brown long hair and money in my pocket. The show will be in Boston. The show will be called Comedy Man, with D____R__. It will be in a glass building in front of Fenway Park." (The stadium home of the Boston Red Sox pro baseball team.) "The floor will be blue marble with black seats, a stage with green curtains, and the stage will be ten yards long. The stage is there if I get a band to play. The show broadcasts every week. The time when it broadcasts is 7:30 p.m. to 9 p.m. The day it will broadcast is Saturuday. I will have a great life in 30 years." DR Grade 4

    AND SOME MORE FAVOURITES:

    "In 30 years, I will be a farmer. When I am a farmer I am going to chase cows in the barn. You have to chase cows in to milk them. I will also make food for the cows. You have to have special machinery to make the cows' foods. Another chore I will do is spread the poop on the fields. The poop makes the crops grow, and they they cut the grass again. I would love to be a farmer." WT Grade 3. (Same dream I had at that age, oddly enough).

    "Thirty years from now, I will be 38 years old. I will be a famous scientist. I love science! It's my favorite subject. My new name will be Albert Einstein. It's a real name. That's how I got my name. My mom named me." AP Grade 3

    "Thirty years from now I will be spying and inventing new gadgets, because I like sneaking around and making new stuff. I also want to be a spy because of all the spy books I read, and I also want to be a person that invents new gadgets, because I want it to be not as hard to spy for the CIA." KS Grade 3

    This photo brings back a nice memory. I used to love it when Harry, the Episocpal Bishops gardener, used to give us rides on his big ol' red Massey Ferguson tractor...what fun!

  • A Whovian writer's reaction: OMG! Somebody's actually reading this stuff?

    I haven't checked my chapter stats on the fan fiction website recently, and got a bit of a shock. I've been getting over 450 reads for my first chapter! Of course, less than 25 for the most recent chapter, added Sunday, still...hmmm--people are reading this rubbish? I am a bit surprised--delighted actually, but mostly a bit gobsmacked.

    Why? Because this isn't one of my better stories. I mean, I've written rubbish before, mind. But this is just stuff that I'm making up as I go, and not taking seriously at all. I guess I'd better do a writing session tommorrow, ey? Write another short chapter, maybe two, if I'm really feeling ambitious. Guess I'll have to start seriously considering an acutal plot, ey? I really am...astounded. Last time I looked, sure some people had read Chapter One, but hardly any of the other chapters were getting any serious reading...odd. Just overnight, people are reading it. Which is a bit daunting now, as when I thought no one was bothering with it, quality and plot weren't really an issue--I was just having fun with it, and letting the story go wherever it may...now...gosh, gotta start making notes and stuff. Geez...love getting read--but when I know I'm getting read (unlike my blog--which I honesty don't care about, when it comes to perfect writing, as it's just my journal and not a formal work of creativity or anything remotely like that)--when I know that people are taking the time to read one of my creative works-- a story, poem or play...that's serious stuff, and I have to write accordingly.

    Of course, when writing journalistic articles, essays and the like, I always fuss over perfect writing. Creative writing--eh, not so much. I didn't take hardly any creative writing in college, so I haven't learned to be quite as paranoid about perfect copy as I have with the non-fiction.

    I nearly fell tonight, coming up the stairs of my apartment building. My retinitis pigmentosa sometimes trips me up--can see better in the dark than the dim light...sometimes, if the light's really dim, I literally can see hardly anything at all. It's getting slightly worse, my periphial vision's pretty much toast..but I don't have tunnel vision or anything like that, yet, which is good. What little blindness I've got so far, is pretty much limited to one small corner of my right eye. My left eye's pretty good, it's mostly my right that bothers me.

    I was always hitting kerbs with my car tires, because I couldn't make the adjustmet with my eye..but not a problem anymore--don't have a car. But I do need to remember to stop and let my eyes adjust, when I do enter a low light situation...such as coming in from a sunny place, a low wattage bulb, deep shadows and late dusk situations.

  • Radom Notes from an Old Maid

    Have to be at work in an hour, running through the same old script, hearing the same old cranky people give the same old snarky responses--and, maybe, if I'm very lucky, actually have contact with someone especially nice to talk to, or make someone feel better about his or her situation--still an awful lot of jobless people out there, despite with the ignorant people in America "think."

    Had one yesterday. A "lady" from Oklahoma--calling OK is almost as bad as ringing up Kentuckians, trust me--Anyway this little old southern lady, kept yammering at me about how her daddy worked for Texico and how she grew up on the oil fields, how she used to be a big executive with the state government, how she's 81 years old and runs a big ranch with 55 head of cattle, blah-blah-blah...and then, this person--whom I'm willing to be probably never was never poor--or at least, never wasn't able to feed herself or her kids---started yammering on about welfare people whining that they weren't getting enough food stamps and that the pay was too low and that they couldn't find a decent place to live. (this is the part where I gritted my teeth and politely said (in other words, I lied) "oh I know, dear."

    When the woman ironically said that she "wished these people would stop complianing and whining." I merely visioned this woman in my mind when I truthfully answered, "Ummm-hmmm." It's so very easy for these conservatives and others to put down the poor--because they've NEVER been poor, don't have a clue, don't want to have a clue. Because caring takes courage and thinking takes effort and...well..these people may be nice in some ways, but they're just so...shallow. If they were a pond, the fish would suffocate. Heck, I was working full-time back in July, and at one point, didn't have enough money left over from the bills for food. I went a good part of the week, with nothing to eat but--literally--peanut butter on a spoon and some tinned peaches. And I had only myself to feed--what do people on low wages do, who have kids? It's hard, and what makes it harder in this country, are these ignoarant self-serving uptight "my way or the highway" conservatives thinking that they know what's best for everybody---when they aren't really thinking at all.

    Someone was going around the office, asking people to a party. I knew she wouldn't ask me. No one ever does. People seldom talk with me. It's just me, I guess. I'm just not someone people want to include in things. I rarely have ever been asked to join in. And that's okay. That's who I am. I often think that if my penfriends ever met me face to face, without knowing who I was, very likely they wouldn't want me around, either. I'm just that sort of person. Some people attract people--I make them stay away...not on purpose--it's just my looks, my personality...it's...me. And I've grown used to it. I've never been in anyone's clique..never had a circle of friends, to speak of. Sometimes it's hard, but mostly, I just accept it. After more than 45 years, I don't think that's ever going to change.

    It's quiet here, I like the quiet. I don't always like being alone, but it's okay. Thre's a world of worse things than being alone, trust me.

  • Cemetery Stories: proof that fact can be stranger than fiction


    SIGN LOCATED AT THE EASTERN ENTRANCE AT THE END OF CEMETERY AVENUE, OFF BROADWAY (NY ROUTE 32), IN MENANDS. MUM HAD A SUPRISE, WHEN SHE FOUND DRUING HER GENEALOGICAL RESEARCH, THAT HER FATHER, WHO WAS FROM HUDSON, NY, NEARLY FIFTY MILES SOUTH OF ALBANY, HAD BEEN BORN ON CEMETERY AVE...ALMOST IN SIGHT OF THE STREET MY MUM AND DAD BUILT THIER HOUSE ON, OVER FIFTY YEARS LATER.

    Well, seeing as I've mentioned some stuff about the Albany Rural Cemetery, I thought I'd share some of the very true stories I'd encountered during my research, so many years ago. While I no longer have most of my notes, most stories are so well ingrained in my mind, I really don't need them, anymore. But first, a little background--just some facts off the top of my head.

    In the early 18th century, the city of Albany, NY was overun with little cemeteries. Often these were really horrible places: exposed graves, dead animals, rats, starving dogs--you get the picture. Not good. So, a mess of the prominent citizenry got together, chose some ground and called it a cemetery...367 acres worth. Many graves were moved there--and in the 1860's, I believe, a huge burial plot, known as the State Street Burial Ground--consisting of a bunch of churchyard cemeteries all thrown together, dating from the late 1600's (some stones removed to ARC still bore Dutch inscriptions)...and a place was set aside for this cemetery (near where my late mum, grandfather and great aunt are buried). Anyway, there was this big parade and a grand opening and tra-la! A grand cemetery was born--which in the height of the Victorian era, would be considered one of the most beautiful in the world.

    But enough history...I could go on, but it can get a bit boring, I suppose--let's plunge right into the more interesting stuff.

    Tragic (and sometimes bizzare) stories:

    These are stories I either was told about, read about, or simply stumbled across on my own.

    One day, while photographing a monument near the cemetery pond, I noticed at the base, that the two little headstones were of little children who'd died close together. While walking around to the back, I found that there was an inscription on the back of each stone: They were each child's last words, just before each one died.

    In the northern section, there's the graves of a man and wife, from the 1900's. They died on the same day. The story: The husband and his wife were walking to a movie house one Saturday. As they walked over the railroad tracks, one of the heels on her old-fashioned high buttoned shoes got caught. The train was coming. He couldn't pry her loose, no matter how hard he tried. So, when the train came upon her, her husband gathered her in his arms and they died together. Their daughter, when later asked by a local historian/journalist about it, wasn't nearly so romantic about it. She never forgave her father.

    Near this same section, just a little to the east, a young Victorian girl was with her family paying their repects to the family grave plot. She decdided to wait for her family in the carriage. Just as she got in, something spoooked the horses and they took off--upsetting the carrige. She was thrown out, and was flung into a headstone, dying instantly....the headstone was in the family plot---right next to where she would soon be buried.

    In the 1900's, a young chemist was accused of murdering his new wife, but putting poison into her medicine. He was tried and found guilty. To the end, he vehemently protested his innocence. He was the first man ever to be executed by the electric chair, in the state of New York. He was buried on the hill near the eastern entrace of the cemetery. As his coffin was lowered into the ground, it was noted that a brass plate on the outside of it bore the inscription, They would not if they had known." There is no formal marker marking where the young man is buried.

    "Unique" monuments:

    The cemetery also contains some very unique monuments, as well.

    Probably one of the most unusual monument, is a mable pylon, encirled by a series of bronze umbrellas going up the sides. The umbrellas at one time, had little silver bells attached to each "rib," but these were later stolen.

    On the same hill where the alleged wife murderer is laid to rest, there stands two small children's monuments, a boy and a girl. The girl's monument depects a very detailed sculpture of her high-button shoes and little straw hat.

    Further on, up the hill a ways, stands the outline of the foundation of what once was a good sized brick crypt. It was torn down. Why? Because word got out the that the eccentric old lady who was buried in there, had ordered that after burial, that the lock be filled with lead, and the key thrown into the nearby Hudson River. Well, word got out, as it will do, and people tried to break in to the vault...didn't succeed, but the vault was damaged so badly it had to be torn down. If any "treasures" were ever found in there, nobody talked about it.

    Nearby is a granite pyramid. No design, just a pyramid, with a small, approx. 1 inch square inprinted on one side, for no apparent reason. There's also some gigantic balls (no jokes please) made of various materials in the cemetery, as well as several life size and smaller broken off "trees," one of brownstone, most of marble. And huge Celtic crosses are quite popular in some areas.

    Even further along is a stone depicting a young boy in his knickers (the short trousers, not the undershorts), holding his schoolbooks in one hand, his other hand outstretched with one finger pointing. At one time--before mention was made of the stone in local papers and it was vandalized---the outstretched finger had a bee sitting on it. "Howie" was killed by an alergic reaction to a bee sting on his way home from school. How's that for a bizzare but touching memorial?

    Near the cemetery pond, there's a simple modern stone, that tells of the heroism of a ship's captain, who, in the 1950's, saved passengers on a sinking ship. The back of his monument bears part of a famous nautical poem.."I want to go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and sky..."

    In another section, the 19 ton monument of one Lyman Root, was, when it was installed at the time, accidentally set to the exact points of the compass.

    A monument on the far eastern hill, facing the old Delaware and Hudson railroad tracks, sits a simply plinth...surmounted by a finely detailed fireman's helmet on a padded cushion, all done in marble. It's dedicated to firemen who died in a horrific hotel fire in Albany in the late 19th century. The plinth also depicts a fireman's speaking trumpet on the side, and, if I recall correctly--but my memory's a bit fuzzy--I think some of those ball-type fire extinguishers they used to use.

    There's some empty chair monuments, as well. One is a tiny marble chair, all padded and tufted, just like the real thing, on a child's grave.

    There's an oriental stone as well--of course, I can't read the inscription--oriental stones are tall and narrow, it seems.But, I can't say for sure, as it's the only one I've ever seen.

    Some of the more elaborate Civil War soldier's graves contain, Republic sheilds, draped flags, swords/buckles, crossed cannon and cannon balls, eagles, medals, kepie caps (hats), and other accourtements.


    THE WESTERN ENTRANCE OFF OF STATE ROUTE 378 (just four drives above my own street that I grew up on). THIS IS WHERE THE LOCAL PRESBYTERIAN CHRUCH HELD ITS SUNRISE SERVICE ON EASTER MORNING. ONE TIME, WHEN I WAS IN MY EARLY TEENS, THE "MR PIBB" SOFT DRINK HOT AIR BALLOON, HAD TO MAKE AN EMERGENCY LANDING HERE...AND US KIDS GOT TO HELP THEM TAKE IT APART AND ROLL UP THE BALLOON--THAT WAS REALLY FAR-OUT.

    There's a bell tower in the cemetery, that used to be rung for funerals. It's still there, located behind the main office. However, they had to stop using is as the cemetery grew, as it got so the bell was ringing almost constantly, and the neighbours started to complain.

    Some of the more famous people buried there, include President Chester A. Arthur (a service is held at his graveside every year), President Martain Van Buren's son, most of the early prominent politicans of New York state, a famous 19th century American actor named Joseph "Fritz" Emmett, is also buried here, as well as the promenant Albany sculptor, Erastus Dow Palmer, who's memorial works include some large monuments, as well as some bronze medallion portraits. He also has some regular sculptures on dispaly in a local museum.

    General Stephen Van Rennselaer--last of the old Dutch patroons (lords)--he founded RPI college (the famous American engineering school, Rennselaer Polytechnic Institute( in Troy, NY. He also a state senator, leutenant govenor, state assemblyman, a US congressman, and fought in the War of 1812. He was a key factor in the anti-rent wars---tenant farmers protesting unfair rents, dressed as indians in calico, and blowing tin horns--rebelled against the Van Rennslaers (who, at one time, owned most of the Albany, NY area--many square miles of it-- and these tenants broke the patroon system once and for all in the early 1800's. One of my direct anscestor particpated.

    Unitl I was in high school, about the time I was 17 or so, Albany's evening paper was--and had always been since the mid-1800's--the "Knickerbocker." My granddad worked on the Knickerbocker for a while, as a pressman, after he left the Daily News in New York City. I used to help my friend Tommy, deliver that paper when I was around 14 or so. Anyway the founder of that paper, which lasted over 100 years, is buried in the cemetery. He founded this grand old paper---on a total capital of: $7. (That's just a bit over 3 pounds, ey?) Qutie a man, was ol' Hugh J. Hastings.

    Another historical figure is that of Samuel Stringer. He was an officer in the British medical department, and was present at Lord Howe's side, when he fell at Fort Ticonderoga. He was later appointed by the Contentntal Congreess as Director-General of Hospital for the Northern Department.

    There was Thomas Spencer Llyod, who was a famous American hymn composer in the 19th century. His stone at one time bore his autograph, but acid rain and the harsh northeastern winters have made it difficult to read.

    Another historical NY state figure, is Govenor William L. Marcy (for which our tallest state mountain--located here in the Adirondacks, at over 5000 feet--is named) besides govenor, he was also supreme court justice, US senator, Secretary of War under President Polk, Secretary of State under Govenor Pierce. It's wrtitten that his funeral procession to the cemetery was two miles in length, and contained 27 military companies and 17 fire companies. Additionally, his monument--by Erastus Dow Palmer--was the very first granite monument to be placed in the cemetery--until then, stones were strictly marble or brownstone.

    Yes, there are several slaves buried in Albamy rural as well. And a Souix indian girl.

    The black graves were kept seperate from the white graves, when they were moved from the State Street Burial Grounds in Albany to make room for what is now Washington Park. The black graves are in roughly four mass graves, located off into the woods, all alone. No effort has ever been made to rectify the situation (and yes, I did notify people, but was totally ignored.)

    Of the infamous sorts, there is a Mr. Morrisy, a famous 19th century boxer, who was involved in the famous New York City Tamminy Hall scandal, and also help establish the now world famous Saratoga Race Course.

    Several early 20th century gangsters are reportedly buried here--but I never got around to confirming that.

  • Playing with catsup---whoops! I Mean, Playing Catch-up

    So I've been striving to catch up to all of my e-mails that were backed up from the month I was without internet service. Think I've finally managed to wade through most of them. Hey! Guess what? I've won the euro-lotter, the internet lottery, the UK National lottery, and the Netherlands lottery, 297 times, at last count! Forget about dreaming of traveling to England--I can BUY England!

    But seriously, does anyone actually buy into these scams? Guess someone must, or they wouldn't bother trying it so much...man, dumb isn't the word. But I do feel sorry for someone who does believe it. I myself was almost ripped off for 3000 dollars once--had to go through hell to retreive my funds, once I'd realized I'd been had, but I most certainly did learn my lesson. The shame of it is, it had run through my mind that it might be a scam, but I was just so gobsmacked at the offer (I was selling a collectable saddle, that was actually worth thousands--well, it was anyway, before the bottom fell out of the western collectables market two years ago.) Anyhow, I was stupid and naive, and I throroughly learned my lesson, trust me on that score. But I do get tired of three of four "you've won!" e-mails in each of my e-mail boxes every single blessed day.

    I did hear from my cousin, the antiques dealer, and was pleased to hear that all was well with him. He's a really cool guy--I always liked him, when I was a kid. He's about 10 years or so, older than me...and like me, he always made his own path to follow, didn't fit into life's little pidgeon hole--much to his dad's anger and utter dismay. I was blessed with my mum--she always supported me, no matter what I wanted to do with my life--unless it was something she worried about---she talked me out of those free downhill skiing lessons, which in hindsight, was probably a good thing. Needless to say, last time I was on a ski slope--think it was Willard Mountain--I walked down.

    And (she groans good-naturedly), I heard from my young David Tennant fan. Oh gosh, more piccys of David Tennant. Gee, I was just thinking, I really could use more pics of David Tennant--not. Don't get me wrong, actually, I do have so pics of him as Dr Who on my screensaver...but that's as far as fandom goes with me. Love him as an actor--think he's utterly brillant, actually--but, don't have any bedroom dreams or anything even remotely like that--don't kiss his picture goodnight, or spend all my spare time on the David Tennant website...just enjoy his work, and that's that. But, my young teen friend--well, she gets a bit carried away, doesn't she? She's that age, ya'know. I was just like that, as a young teen. David Cassidy, Randolf Mantooth (from an American TV show called "Emergency"), John Denver, Parker STevenson. Sure, I had my little crushes too, I remember. So I humor the girl, and she's just so happy to have an adult who takes her seriously...how could I say "no" to her, ey? But, really, if you must know, yours truly could care less what David's wearing, what music he listens to, what his brother does for a living (he has a brother? Didn't know that) who he dates and even what kind of blinking car he drives! I want so badly to tell her that I don't care about his probably disgustingly expensive car, but I just haven't the heart, you know? But this time she just sent me reams and reams of totally useless trivia about this actor...talk about David Tennant overload. My gosh, that e-mail went on--and on--and on...I'm beginning to thing that this girl knows more about DT than his own mother knows! Was I ever this bad--probably. I used to collect every book, every picture, every newspaper and magazine article about John Denver...posters all over my wall, his music playing constantly..yeah, I guess I was, or nearly so. Thing is tho', I'm not even all that attracted to David Tennant--I mean, I'd love to see his work live, someday, and yes, he's a nice looking young man, and seems like a really witty and charming person...but...I dunno', he just doesn't make my heart skip a beat, ya'know?


  • The Old Maid's Eye for the Yuppie Guy Show

    So, I've deleted my last post--too depressing. Well, that, and I just was rung up by my supervisor a bit ago, and told she can put me on nights and Sauturdays for the interm, until day work resumes.

    And in light of that--and, to lighten the mood a bit, I thought I'd do something...well---different.

    I adore the American version of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. So, thought I'd do my own version. Old Maid's Eye for the Yuppie Guy.

    Assuming some yuppie is stupid enough to move to a small blue collar ("Chav" if you're British) redneck town in the Adirondacks, we'd just have to get him into the programme, wouldn't we? I mean, he just simply wouldn't fit in, otherwise.

    Here's our Yuppie as his is, now:

    Yeck. Not gonna' work--he'd stand out like a sore thumb in this town:

    Okay, it doesn't really look like this anymore--that was in 1901--but trust me, it hasn't changed all that much.

    First, let's start with the hair. We gave our yuppie guy a genuine redneck haircut, so anyone walking down the street of Corinth, NY USA, could just look at that do, and say, "Hey, isn't that your cousin--the one that's married to your other cousin?"

    Of course, now he has to have the right clothes--cheap jeans from WalMart and Sears, some tan canvas work pants, plaid flannel shirts, a denim chore coat and a carrhart jacket--and let's not forget the work boots.


    And let's not forget the piece de resistance, the baseball cap!
    These guys up here adore NASCAR racing, so we'll get our yuppie guy a nice racing themed baseball cap to complete the look:

    And here's our yuppie guy in his new duds:

    There. Now his Ivy League friends from Harvard would never reckognize him--but he'd have loads of new friends that he met at the local gin mills (bars/pubs).

  • Open Roads and Pipe Dreams

    When I was much younger, as I've mentioned before, I adored spending time in the woods and fields surrounding my childhood home. While much of my time was spend observing and becoming a part of the very landscape around me--there was also another joy that I experienced, as well. I loved to explore.

    Everyday outdoors, is truly a brand new day. Nature is not a constant, and neither is the landscape. Oh, I know some folks talk about the "unchanging landscape," but that's really just a lot of hooey. There's no such thing. As nature wears a different appearence every day--sometimes every hour, so too, does the landscape. A tree is uprooted by a storm, and leaves a hole in the ground. A new tree--just a wee little thing, takes it's place within weeks, if the season is right. Every day, every moment, nature is changing, she never stays still--even when to the casual eye, it may look the same as yesterday--it isn't. A tree grows taller, a path is worn by the tread of many feet, an abandoned farm field turns into a woodlot again.

    And that's what I love. Everyday I walked the woods, I knew I just might see something, I'd never seen before. But, you have to look. It won't come to you. You have to open your eyes, your ears, all of your senses and be open to it. The colours, the textures, the contrasts, the sights and sounds and smells--all merging into this lovely tapestry of God's making.

    And for some of the same reasons--I love an open road. Whether it's a country road like the one pictured above (which I've actually driven down, by the way), or a long abandoned farm road, that I must explore on foot, it's like a little adventure for me.

    I love old gates. Can't say exactly why, just do. I think it's a bit of the romantic in me--not that I'm the romantic sort--but it's the idea, the question, "where did this lead to?" I think, that just makes me want to open it and go on. Even the old gates themselves are enoyable to me. They can be beautiful, in their way. The way the elements and time and man has shaped them, left them sagging and worn, but with a certain character, about them--the colours of the wood or metal, the way nature has tested the workmanship of the farmer...I don't know. I just like to see them.

    And when I used to go for a drive in the country--in every season, there's always beauty all around. The patchwork of woodlot and hay or corn fields, that one can't always see as well, in summer, become stark, yet lovely, in the late autumn and winter. Shadows and sunlight, trees and hills and fields, blue skies and angry clouds, all a living, continually changing work of art, that rolls by my windscreen as I drive down the backroads and by-ways. And it just feels so free and so lovely. I can be anything when I'm out there--whether I'm beind the wheel with some great tunes playing, or hiking in relative silence---I'm free to dream, to wonder, to just be myself. To love the land and cherish the things that I see around me. To dream my dreams...yes, of someday owning a piece of the beauty that I love--tho' of course, that's just a pipe dream now--but still, even as a kid, I always loved a ride in the country--and tho' I'm car-less now, and live in the city--still, I think I always will have those feelings inside of me. And I wouldn't change that for anything in the world.

  • New America; Land of the Ignorant and Home of the Paranoid

    Washington D.C. - President George W. Bush awarded Saddam Hussein with the Medal of Freedom today for his work defining U.S. policy on torture, the use of chemical weapons and domestic surveillance.

    My country is going off the deep end into a world of trouble. It's getting so no one can say anything bad about their own country/president, without being terriorized by the FBI or Secret Service agents. It's true. Read this and see for yourself:

    BETHLEHEM, Pa. - An elderly man who wrote in a letter to the editor about Saddam Hussein's execution that "they hanged the wrong man" got a visit from Secret Service agents concerned he was threatening President Bush.

    The letter by Dan Tilli, 81, was published in Monday's edition of The Express-Times of Easton, Pa. It ended with the line, "I still believe they hanged the wrong man."

    Tilli said the statement was not a threat. "I didn't say who — I could've meant (Osama) bin Laden," he said Friday.

    Two Secret Service agents questioned Tilli at his Bethlehem apartment Thursday, briefly searching the place and taking pictures of him, he said.

    The Secret Service confirmed the encounter. Bob Slama, special agent in charge of the Secret Service's Philadelphia office, said it was the agency's duty to investigate.

    The agents almost immediately decided Tilli was not a threat, Slama said

    "We have no further interest in Dan," he said.

    Tilli said the agents appeared more relaxed when he dug out a scrapbook containing more than 200 letters that he has written over the years, almost all on political topics.

    "He said, 'Keep writing, but just don't make no threats,'" Tilli said of one of the agents.

    It wasn't Tilli's first run-in with the federal government over his letter writing. Two FBI agents from Allentown showed up at his home last year about a letter he wrote advocating a civil war to unseat Bush, he said.

    Also, anti-war protestors have been hounded by police....is this "freedom?" The answer is unequiviocly, no. Not at all. You see, when democratic freedom of speech is threatened by a paranoid government (I would like to say, "regime" as that seems more apropo), democracy is doomed to failure.

    To me, the utlitmate American "freedom"--isn't owning a gun, or voting, or being able to do whatever you want with your life---democracy, the utlitmate freedom: is the right to say "NO!" The right to speak you mind without fear of retaliation. President Bush's govermnet--has stripped us bare of that essential freedom. My late mother used to say, "the only good GWB, was a dead, GWB." She meant it as a joke--although mum really did hate the man--but I wouldn't have put it past the Bushites to have interrogated a sick elderly woman. This is because these people are totally and hopelessly out of control. This is the sort of behavoior one might expect in Stalinist Russia.

    It is a known fact (tho' the administration would have us believe otherwise) that GW is completely out of control--doesn't listen to anyone, is not mentally stable. I have this on good authoritiy, from someone closely associated to the White House. Someone who would have absolutely no reason to lie about such a thing.

    I have thought, since the late 80's, that it's a distinct possibility that this country could once again see a civil war. The government has consistantly been taking and taking and taking from the middle and lower classes--and giving and giving and giving to the upper classes and corporations...and this has, in past history (the French and Russian revolutions spring to mind) led to massive civil unrest--and, eventually war. As long as the authorities continue to ignore the desperation (and this has grown in leaps and bounds since the Iraq war) of ordinary Americans---as long as governmental authorities remain massively paranoid and continuie to gag freedom of speech---this country is doomed.

    Forget the bleedin' terrorists. The Bush Admin is doing a far better job of detroying democracy than any terrorist ever could. For over 25 years, the conservatives have pushed about the rules--even eliminating them altogether--to selfishly suit themselves, and it's backfiring on them. Democracy must, at minimum, be a 2-party system, and freedom of speech must be upheld at all costs--or, democracy is gone.

    I would like to see Bush impeached. I have no wish to see harm come to him, although, if he were to be assinated, while I'd feel sorrow for his family, and would hate to see the upheaval such a crime would cause, to be honest, I wouldn't shed a tear for ol' GW. He's the worst president this country ever had--even worse than Regan, Hoover and Taft put together. And that's my opinion as a free citizen of a supposedly "free" nation.

  • Hey there! I'm back online!

    The picture says it all. (Well, that and I love the saddle--it's gorgeous!)

    Around midnight Friday, my internet suddenly gave a little hiccup and went kaput...about 30 minutes later, so did my digital phone service. Took me most of the day Saturday to contact repair---20 minute wait time on average just to reach them. Didn't get through until Saturday night. So, the repair man got here around 11:30 or so, I think, Sunday afternoon. He apologized for being late--but for once, I was grateful.

    You see, stupido here, took out her bin bags to the dumpster out back--but accidentally knocked the front door downstairs closed...and didn't bother to check if it was locked on the inside...so, I got locked out--in -12 C weather--with only a tee shirt and a light jacket on, from the waist up--thankfully my jeans were thick enough to ward off the cold from my legs---but still...not a good prospect--and, I only had a quarter in my jacket pocket--it costs 50 cents to make a call from a pay phone.

    Anyway--I got lucky, and ran across another tenant exiting the building--with his mobile in his hand--and, luckier still, he just happened to have the landlord's cell number on his phone. So, the landlord would be up--but he didn't have his car with him. He wasn't happy. But hey, he's the one who reufuses to leave spare keys with someone local, in the event of an emergency (the landlord lives out of town). At any rate, I walked down to the little store four blocks away, and sat for a bit. They weren't happy about me loitering, but I went to the manager and explained my situation, and she was very understanding, thankfully. An hour later, the landlord shows up in his nice warm Mercedes, and gives me a lift back to the building. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't rude or anything, either. He even refused my offer of reimbusement for his gas...which is lucky, as I bet those posh cars are real petrol guzzlers. Give me a little ol' Ford Ranger, anyday, when it comes to saving on petrol.

  • Whoops! My Roots are Showing!


    MAIN OFFICE--OF THE 367 ACRE ALBANY RURAL CEMETERY, MENANDS (COLONIE), NY, USA. FOUNDED 1841.

    The one thing mum loved best to do--short of being a librarian--was research her family tree. Though totally untrained, mum spent over twenty-five years researching her family tree....and yours truly has a large part of the paperwork to prove it. Several boxes of it, as a matter of fact--all handwritten notes, for the most part.

    Yes, over two decades of handwritten notes and photocopies and genealogy charts--and I've not a clue where to begin. Not a bit of it.

    Now mind, I've done my share of historical research, myself--also untrained, starting when I was in my late teens. My specialty was one of our three neighbouring cemeteries, the Albany Rural Cemetery. My interest was sparked when a historian came into mum's library, to research the cemetery for the National Register of Historic Places. You know, it just started out that I was merely curious, about this really beautiful park-like place that I grew up near...and the more I found out, the more I wanted to know--and eventually, I not only learned the entire history of the cemetery--from the time before it even was a cemetery--the Dutch days of the 1600's--all the way to the 1940's or so.

    I found out the name of a lovely little stream--Moordenaerskill--that Moordenaer was a Dutchman who'd been murdered while crossing a bridge over the stream near the banks of the Hudson River. But I found so very much more--the histories and stories of the men, women and children buried there...some tragic and horrific, some heroic, some just plain weird and ironic, many touching stories, as well. And the stones themeslves, in many cases were and still are, works of art--some by a famous Albany, NY sculptor of then international reknown. One of the first ever grave monuments, to portray an angel as totally masculine, is in the cmeetery--the "Angel of the seplucture"...it sits by itself on a knoll overlooking the Upper Hudson Valley, just in back of Cemetery Pond (aka: Cypress Waters). It would be featured in a well-known Paris art journal of the day, later on. There are slaves buried there and a US president and another US president's son.


    THE ANGEL OF THE SEPULCTURE BY E. D. PALMER

    Oh, I could tell all sorts of stories about that place--both in the historical context, and my own life experiences--for I'd spent hours and hours in there, all through my life, playing, learning, just enjoying nature and stuff like that--but also, spending time with mum, exploring my family's past. You see, a good many members of my family are buried there--including mum herself, now. The oldest dates, that I'm personally aware of, date from the 1700's. So, she and I, either together or alone, spent a good many hours there. Mum even taught me to drive the car in there! (At one time, the cemetery boasted over 32 miles of roads.)

    Incidentally, they even filmed a Hollywood movie in there, I believe the movie was Ironweed. Yes, I was in the cemetery that day, but was unaware of the filming as I wasn't in that part at all, and was waved around by a security guard, anyway. Mind you, I know that place as well, if not better than, my own room at home, (I was a bit of a messy-bessie roomwise, back then, ashamed to say) so if I'd really wanted to, had I known about it, I could have easily sneaked by for a look...but only out of curiosity, as I'd never seen filming before--all my experiences are with friends and aquaintences who've worked as extras, and a friend's sister who's been a long-time a P.A. in Hollywood (she also used to be film star Al Pachino's and the Gong Show's Chuck Baris' secretary--and incidentally, I answered the phone once at their home, when it was Pachino calling for his secretary, and well--the guys a total jerk, okay? I'm serious. And he hooked her into cocaine-yes, Al Pacino is, or at any rate was, a cokehead. She was back home on our street, trying to sort her life out and get clean, and the stupid arse is ringing her up and bugging her. I guess you can tell that this is one movie star who doesn't do anything for me...and never will. Anyway, he was incredibly rude to me--just because I didn't know right off who he was...not that that would have made any difference, in all honesty.

    Mum raised me to believe that it's not who you are that matters, or what you look like, or where you come from (although where one comes from can very much matter, on a deeply personal level)--it's what you are inside, how you behave, how you treat others, what you do in your life, that's what matters. And I thank her for teaching me that, every single day, bless her.

    Okay, now I'm completely and utterly off the main subject, aren't I? How'd that happen? I try to avoid jumping all over the place when I'm writing--I sometimes do that--much to my familiy's and friend's utter dismay--when I'm speaking, as well. I think it's partly the manic-depression--my mind will make this leap--but my words won't neccessairly follow--I mean, the segway from one subject to another, may simply not always exisit. And it can fustrate the listener---I work really hard on not doing that...but sometimes it just happens, and I don't realize I've done it again, until it's too late. Then I have to back up the engine to so the rest of the cars of my train of thoughts can hook up again. Not easy, let me tell you.

    Anyway, I have all these paper's of mum's just lying all about my bedroom still in their boxes. Some paper's went missing when I lost our home and had to move in a hurry (seems I always have to move in a hurry this year). But, still have all these tons of papers and no clue where to start. There's the Featherly thing: is it "Featherly" or "Vedderly" or "Vedder" or "Fetterly?" There's the "Clackners" or "Clickners"...There's the Cole's, the Weaver's, the Cooper's, Bouck's, and the mysterious odd "Mc Leod" that's buried in the family plot and no one has a clue about. There's the Hursts and the Hughes...and so many more, it just plumb makes me dizzy thinking about it all!

    So where to begin...haven't a clue. I'm afrid the boxes will be sitting there, when it comes time to bury me, quite frankly. I have neither the time, the transport, nor, most importantly, the resources to do this. Mum had contacts, she had years of knowlege of where to go and what to look for...me.. I've been with her to the state library in Albany, to local libraries and town halls, to the cemeteries and the Morman chruch (the MC in the USA keeps extensive genealogical records on file). But, I just don't have the time, the energy and the cash outlay for such a big undertaking--besides which, what for? My sister is adopted, and has little interest in the family tree, outside of idle curiousity. For all intents and purposes, I'm nearly the last of mum's family tree. It directly ends with me...and trust me, not going to be having any kids in this lifetime. My biological clock is not only slowed down, it stopped--years ago. So, why bother, ey?

    I've a few distant cousins in the Featherly line--never met 'em, but they're around down south somewhere's, North Carolina, I think...but mum was really the last direct decendant, so that makes me truly the last.

    There's actually loads of Featherly's out there--some marginally distant cousins (in the ancestral sense only) and some no relation at all, far as I know. There's a Featherly Creek somewhere, and, in California, a Featherly Park. Some of the NY Featherly's migrated to Michigan, and those are some of the one's I'm very, very, very, distantly related to. But, as far as mum's line goes--the buck, as we yanks say, pretty much stops here. Truth to tell, I've more relatives buried in the Albany Rural Cemetery, that I've got living.

    CEMETERY POND (CYPRUS WATERS)

  • Pitbulls and Poodles: Is America Going to the Dogs?

    What a joy our jobs were today. Man, you wouldn't believe the snarling and snapping going on across America today. Some days just seem to be like that. I and the guy sitting next to me, both had the little rugrat who, when you asked for the adult, replied "Okay, hang on."--CLICK. And hung up the phone. One little...dear simply said, "No!You can't!" Laughed and slammed down the phone, such a charming child. I did have a funny moment tho', when W____ sitting next to me, was struggling to explain to an irate memeber that he "wasn't trying to push anything" on to her (we were calling people who'd signed up for--and in many cases had already put money into--life memberships in various clubs and had for various reasons, never paid or stopped payment.

    Anyway, poor old W___ is sitting there trying to get a word in edgewise with this snarky woman, and I'm on a call with someone mind, when W____ suddenly blurts out, "What do you mean, you're not that kind of woman?!?" I had such a hard time not laughing out loud in the person's ear, that I was speaking with! I've been on this job day in and day out since October, and that, I must say, is a first. Oh, it was just so funny. Incidentally, W___ is a senior citizen who's very happily married to a lovely wife, and has the sweetest little son, so that made it doubly funny for me.

    Then I had the drunken redneck with the deep southern accent, who tried to convince me he only spoke Spanish. Ai-carrumba! :crazy:

    But gosh, there may not be a full moon out tonight, but geez, it sure felt like it! Drunks, ASBO brats, snarky poodle wives and male pitbulls...trust me, America is not always a pretty place, up close and personal.

    I swear, by the end of the night tonight, if I had a Tardis, I'd go back in time and strangle Alexander Graham Bell! 88|:))

    In the hunting club magazine news section:

    It seems that a woman in Michigan went to use the loo, but what she found in the bowl wasn't the Tidy-Bowl man or the Toilet Duck. It was soaking wet, small dark and furry. Seems a red squirrel got into the trap of the toilet through an uncovered outside PVC pipe, and got stuck inside the woman's toilet bowl. They had to fish the porr little guy out with a butterfly net. I'm sure there's loads of jokes I could come up with to accompany this story, but...too tired at the mo.

    A black bear in Washington state proves that even bears have a favourite brand of beer. Seems that a black bear raided a bunch of coolers at this campground--but only walked off with beer from a specific brand--Rainier Beer--a local brand. There was Budwiser and Miller and Coors and Molson's...but the bear only opened Rainier Beer cans, and left the others unmolested. Rangers found the bear later, sleeping off his drunk in the top of a tree. They later trapped him, using cookies, honey and--you guessed it, two open cans of Rainier Beer.

  • Okay, it's morning, yippee.

    Yeah, yeah, yeah. It's morning. Yippee. Feel like I should get a medal just for waking up this morning, ha-ha.

    I've got this medicine I'm taking--seems my wonky tooth has caused a painful infection in the right side of my face--anyhow, the meds make me just a little tired, which is why I can only take them at night--and last night I was in la-la land--I mean, I've no clue what my last blog entry was about..think I went on some tirade over something someone e-mailed me regarding my Doctor Who stories? Haven't read it yet--hope it's not too badly spelled and is reasonably coherent. It's weird, knowing you wrote something---or re-wrote, as I lost the entry at least once--or was it twice--and don't remember what I even wrote about. So last night was my first night taking them, and now this morning I feel like I've a hangover--I mean, I feel completely shattered--which isn't at all good, as this is my 10 hour spilt shift day.

    Ah well, another long day dealing with drooling idiots who don't know how to properly answer a telephone, snarky poodles wives--"You don't want that club membership anymore, do you dear?" (Translation: "You'd better get rid of that membership hubby, or else you're dog's dinner."), grown men belching at me, cursing me, and basically acting like Arses with ASBO's. Yes, I love my job. But, it doesn't physically hurt, and it pays better than the menial back-breaking drudge labour I was doing.

    Well, have to go change for work. Yuck. Really don't mind my job, too much. Like doing phone work, and some of the people I talk to are actually pretty nice--one offered to help my find my dream car (I was selling car club memberships at the time)--a 55 or 57 Chevy or Ford pick up truck. Someone yesterday told me I had a great voice and I should be on the radio. (No. Radio jobs actually pay much worse than working at McDonalds or WalMarts, here in the states, which is why I opted out of taking radio broadcasting and voice classes at college. Radio really isn't a good career choice when you have student loans to pay off.)

    Anyway, it's Thursday, it's morning, and I've got to run and change or I'll be late getting off to work. Thank goodness it's less than a ten-minute walk. By the way, the current temperature is 10 degrees F,( --12 C), under slightly overcast/partly sunny skies.

  • EeeeK!

    Good Morning--It's just a little past half past eight in the morning, here in the northeastern USA, and I've overslept! Eeeek! Somebody was so tired last night, she plumb forgot to wind her little ol' alarm clock. Stupid cow. Thank goodness I don't have to start work 'till ten a.m. these days.

    So here I sit in my living room, admiring the prettiness outside, and dreading going out into the cold. Right now, as I speak, the outside temperature is 0 degreees F, that's minus 18 C, to you on the other side of the pond---brrrrr! But it's nice to look at from a fairly warm living room--I had to turn up the heat to 70 F---had it set on 68 F, and it was 65 in here this morning...I hate cold bathrooms in the morning, so I turned the heat up for a bit. Outside the trees lining the street are all glistening with clear coats of ice on every single branch, trunk, etc...and what isn't glistening with a clear coat of ice, is topped off with a rime of frost--so very photogenic out there this morning--if literally painfully cold--and still slippery to walk about in.

    Here's a winter sunrise photo, that was taken not too far from here--about a half hour to 45 minute drive east, just across the state line, in Vermont. A typical eastern NY/western New England sunrise:

  • A Tardis and a Kilt, Bruno??? Is He Dead or What?, and Ice Castles they Aint

    So, just spent the evening with the Tardis and David Tennant--sort of. I've been enjoying surfing the DWO site and PM'ing two friends, watching a bit of The Runaway Bride as well. Nothing like a "trip" in the Tardis to make you forget the less wonderful side of one's day (more about that, later). But anyhow, I've been having a blast--a friend turned me on to this site called "UTube" Or something like that--couldn't get it before, with my dodgy old dial-up service--slower than maple syrup in the deep freeze--but now I can, and it's been wonderful! I watched some Doctor Who bloopers, and had a good few laughs. Then I found some clips of David Tennant, which were very interesting. Then, another Doctor Who Online person directed me to some print interviews from the show, which I enjoyed reading as well. I love the line that Anthony Head said, regarding acting against Mr. Tennant in School Reunion--he said that Mr. Tennant was nice to work with, but "odd" when he was in character as the Doctor. Funny, I thought Scotsmen were born odd--:crazy: I mean, who calls trousers "breeks?" And I won't even get started on the kilt thing. :p Just kidding, don't anybody go throwing any hagis's at me. 88|:))

    Well, a relaxing evening, and nice and quiet as well. Love my peace and quiet...comes naturally, I suppose, all those hours I spent hanging in the fields and woods with my dogs, when I was a young adult, quietly observing and absorbing, reading poetry and R.W. Emerson's "Essays," singing (trust me, outside of the shower, the woods were the only safe place for a voice like mine), birdwatching, tree-hugging, all that sort of nonesense. But, anyone who's spent any sort of time out in nature, will tell you that you really do learn the wonder of silence. Of course, with that wonder, comes the very real feelings of contentment and serenity. Through all of my sorrows and hurts and troubles, the one thing I can say that I've been blessed with, and, will always carry a little of inside me--are those blessed moments of tranquility, when I was wandering over my wee bit of fields and woods in the Upper Hudson Valley. It really was pure magic.

    I sometimes get these odd e-mails from people I don't even know--got one today from someone responding to something ancient that I'd posted years ago, and long since forgotten about. Seems this person wants me to correspond with him...ummm---and his name is given only as "Bruno." He wants to "get to know" me better. Huh??? :roll: Okay--from long-term exposure to New York Italians--both for real and on telly, this is the picture I have in my head of what this "Bruno" guy looks like:

    Well, had a lot of snarky poodle wives again, today. Yeah, you know, "I wear the pants in the family, and the Y-fronts as well," types. One woman I called, and asked politely, as usual, if I may speak to the guy who was the club member. "No, you can't!" Okaaay---I asked when the man might be available to speak with. "What do you want him for?" she yipped at me. I calmly explained that he was a member of the ____club and I needed to speak to him regarding his membership. "Well, you can't! He's not here anymore!" She snarled. A bit confused now, I asked if he was still living at that address. "No! He isn't! He died three months ago!"

    This is where I roll my eyes and wish to heaven I was British or Canadian or Dutch--anything but American! Why in heavens name can't these daft people just say, "Sorry he's deceased." Sorry, wrong number," etc.? Man! My fellow countrymen (and women) really scare the pants off of me, sometimes. |-|

    Today wasn't a fun day, weatherwise, either. We didn't get the snow--just sleet and freezing rain--mostly freezing rain. Right now, as I speak, there's about half and inch to an inch of ice coating every single blessed thing, outside...every single branch on every single tree, powerlines, cars, grass, untreated car parks and sidewalks--it's a real mess...everything's just simply encased in a clear sheath of ice. I had to take a cab to and from work--may have to do that again tommorrow as well. Not very good on the ice, you see...a bit like an elephant on roller skates, a three-legged dog walking on hot coals, a tight-rope walker with an oiled rope--as I said to a friend, earlier, help me out here, I'm running out of metaphors! ;)

    Actually, in a way, it's also very pretty--once you're safely indoors to view it, that is. The orange streetlamp outside my window, is shining through the locust tree branches--making them look like a glass cobweb. Very beautiful.

  • Stray thoughts on a Winter Night

    I don't want anyone to get the idea from my last post that I'm lonely or feeling terribly sorry for myself. Oh, I do get sad, and I do have a lot of hurts piled up behind me like a fifty car wreck on a fog-bound motorway, and yes, I do get lonely. But those things have become as much a part of my life as breathing. They are there, and all I can do is try to cope as best I can, and hope that maybe, my everyday life will become stable and secure enough again, for me to begin the healing process in earnest.

    But, being alone is a way of life for me, always has been. Loneliness is something that's there, like the ache of an decades old injury. You forget that it's even there, most times. I will say, that early last year, was the first time in my life that I ever felt, well and truly alone--probably because for the most part, I really was. With mom's death, it seems nearly everyone I knew just sort of dropped off the face of the earth--no, scratch that--it felt like I'd just dropped off into deep space somewhere, miles from everything I ever know. And let me tell you, that's the loneliest feeling there can be in this life. To suddenly lose touch with everyone and everything--or even not so suddenly.

    As I've progressed though life, losing things I held dear seemed to be a long-term habit. My childhood home, my dog Shamrock, my woods and fields, my home several times now...gone. My mum and dad, gone. Most of my close relations, gone. Sis--well, we were never close..we love each other, but essentially are strangers. Only talk a few times a year. Treasured possesions sold to keep me in food and shelter. Friends made, go their own way, get on with their lives. I understand. I let them go. I know some of them still think of me. I know I'm not always easy to be around, being manic-depressive and a loner, not a good recipe for formenting long-term relationships, at least not close up. My dreams are mostly kaput. But, it's the path I've choosen--whether consciously or not, I can't really say for sure.

    I don't know what the future will hold. Not even sure I have one, to speak of. But, sometimes I get these lulls between the bad stuff--sometimes I even have good stuff happen. But often I live my life on a powderkeg of poverty, and depression, and failure and fear. It's not easy to admit any of this, and I've no clue why I'm bothering to now.

    But being alone in the night, sometimes for days on end, isn't at all terrible. It...just is. I listen to some light jazz or new age, sip some tea or cocoa or whatever, pet the cat, read or surf the net. The loneliness is like the air, molecules that are there but unseen, unfelt, unknown to the concious mind. We need the loneliness, like we need the air, becuase it makes us appreciate togetherness a hundredfold more.

  • Some random thoughts on a Wintry Sunday

    It's a bit gloomy here today--snow, sleet and freezing rain--snow, at the moment. It's been bouncing back and forth between the three all day. They say we're to get up to 6 inches of sleet and/or snow by this time tommorrow, but here in the northeastern USA, the weather tends to be a bit of a crapshoot.

    I'm watching the snowflakes slowly decending, whilrling this way and that in the intermittent wind. The locust tree outside my window still seems a bit sad and droopy, not enough snow or sleet has fallen to make it look all pretty and cheery yet--but, it's starting..just a hint of white on the mryiad of delicate intertwining branches. Soon it will look as if it were made of granny's old lace. The little yards and car parks are coated with sleet and snow, the cars and trucks rumble by, lights shining in the gloom.

    Slowly, the lights turn on in the various apartment houses, the former stately vicorian mansions and homes. I've some light jazz playing on the intenet..good ol' BostonPete.com, and some milk warming on the stove, for some chocolate-almond cocoa topped with a bit of whipped cream. Just the ticket for a raw and dismal late Sunday afternoon.

    I wish there were someone here to converse with, but all I have is the barking basset hound across the hall and the occaisional rumble of the cars below. At least the kids have stopped with the booming stereo for a while. Oh well, silence (or, relative silence) can be nice. Gives one a chance to chill and ponder the meaning of life. Pity I've finished both my Doctor Who books--but I think I've still got a little used western paperback lying about that I've not read yet.

    I spent the mid-afternoon at Chav-tasitc wally world (WalMart). It was packed with people--nice to know that when the authorities tell people to stay off the roads, they listen, ey? Didn't get much, just some things I can't get elsewhere that I needed, some personal items and pet stuff, mostly. Bought myself a loaf of their homemade French bread, as well--still warm. It's soooo-yummy. I'm making a pork and vegetable stew tommorrow, so I think the bread would go well with it, and the bread was on sale, only 98 cents for the loaf.

    So, here I am. Watched The Runaway Bride yet again, this afternoon. Getting so I know all the dialog by heart. It's just so very good..even the music is good. Wish I could write something like that. But...if wishes were horses, I'd have a stableful of Friesians, ha-ha.

    Well, no idea if we're going to lose power or not. Depends, I guess on the temperatures...if the ice accumulation gets significant, we could be in for a few cold and dark days..and not just the weather. This is where there's an advantage of having gas cookers--can't make a cuppa on an electric cooker during a power outtage.

    I've some washing up to do. Must confess I was feeling a bit lazy this morning, and didn't finish my breakfast dishes. Now it's time to pay the fiddler, ey? What's a good tune to do the washing up by? The dishpan hands rag?

  • An Old Maid's Ups and Downs

    Well, I finally am getting readers for my story--seemingly overnight. Guess after a long absence, it takes people a while to realize you're back. Even got a second review for my newly written (as in just wrote it a half-hour ago) fifth chapter. It's surprising. I posted the fifth chapter to the Teaspoon site, and got 6 readers within the first 10 minutes--and, a review! I personally think the story's a bit boring, so far...but they're pretty much short chapters--500 to 600 words, on average, sometimes longer or shorter, but that seems to be the comfort level of internet readers, so I try to stick to that as much as possible, these days.

    I left chapter five with two cliff hangers, one of which has at least one person on the edge of her seat, and trying to guess who the mystery villan is. That's what I like to hear, so I guess it's not quite as dull as I'm thinking it is. In the past day or so, I've had over 250 readers of chapter one, and so far, in the last hour, 9 people have read chapter five. That's the way it goes, with internet fan fiction...your readership drops with each successive chapter...but, I figure that if I'm retaining at least 25 readers by the last chapter, then that isn't too shabby--especially this time, as I'm literally just making this up as I go--no notes, no brainstorming...a bit of research now and then, but mostly just writing off the cuff. It's a bit like when I was in college, and had a 10 page essay due at 10am on a Friday, and it's 11pm on Thursday and I've not written a blessed thing--time for an all-nighter...four or five hours to write and edit ten pages of something (hopefully) brillant--and deliver perfect copy at the start of class that morning. That's where you just let stuff fly off the top of your head, and pray to God that it makes sense, doesn't have too many grammar errors and, most importantly, is engaging for your professor to read.

    Actually, I sort of like that type of writing...ripping off the pages spur of the moment, and trying to make them interesting reading. I mean, I write ahead of schedule whenever possible...but there's a challenge in just sitting down and writing off the top of our head...it's sort of like a competition with yourself. You raise the bar by adding the pressure of a deadline. Of course, for me, writing's loads easier when it's an essay, speech or research paper, you're writing about the real world, not making things up out of thin air like one does with fiction. And, with journalism or reasearch and the like, you have facts in front of you to work with. Even an essay--you're usually writing about your own life experiences, or things that are happening around you. Fiction--ouch. Fiction doesn't come easy to me. I'm afraid I'm far too dull, have had far too many brushes with reality, am too jaded by life's constant battering, to have much of an imagination any more. And you really need to have a brillant imgagination to write good fiction--you have to be the consumate story teller. Me, I stumble through a simple knock-knock joke.

    Well, I am thinking that I'm in the thoes of a bout of depression. I feel down today, and yesterday as well-and there doesn't seem to be any explination for it. I'm used to being alone, it's really no big deal to me--haan't been that way in decades. I only feel the aloneness rarely. So, it's not that. I don't know. Guess it's just the manic-depression setting in--might be my recent illness. Doctor said I was very anemic, and read somewhere that that can give one the blues, sometimes. Plus, I've had two nights this week, when I basically had no sleep. I've been napping to catch up, but that may not be enough. Haven't been taking iron long enough to have it kick in yet, so maybe when it does, I'll feel better.

    Plus, I've just had this wariness, lately. This feeling that things are going too smoothly, that things are too normal..too many good things happening to me. Not that I want it too. But, I've been pounded and pounded by life so much for over a year...all my worst nightmares happening continually for months and months and months...and now..relative normalcy. I know this sounds strange, but it just doesn't feel right..feels...weird. And underneath it all is a cold hard fear, barely there, under the surface..but there, nonetheless.

    Saturday morning, I had a nightmare. Hadn't had one for a long while. And this one was, as we Yanks say, a real doozy. It started out all normal..dreamed I was in my old childhood home, my friends were there--both old and new ones--and suddenly, a storm approches out of the blue, and it's in the distance, we're watching it, a tornado forms. At first, it looks like it's going to pass us by, then...it makes a sharp right hand turn and plows right for my house that I grew up in. We run. I run. I go indoors--the tornado is right on us--I can hear it in my dream. There's no time to look for mum, there's no time to grab all the cats (I dreamed of my lovely 15 year old Red, whom I was forced to put down recently, an added sadness to my dream)...and then the dream got weird--the tornado passed over, we were in the cellar...Doctor Who was there--and abruptly became my dad. Okay--dreaming it's the Doctor isn't all that weird--I watch and read and think Doctor Who so much, not really surprising it would creep into my dream. What was weird, was that I dreamed of my dad.

    I never dream of my dad. Ever. Not once, have I ever dreamed of my dad. I have dreamed of my mum, of my cats, my friends, my dogs, co-workers..even my sister once or twice..but my dad--Never. Never ever, ever. And, tornado dreams are a recurring dream with me--have been ever since the early 80's--they started about the time my parent's got their divorce--and, I know this sounds really nuts, but tordado dreams are sort of like an omen--a bad omen. I mean it. This has been going on for years. Sometimes, it's a flood...but when it's a tornado, usually within a week or a month..something really bad happens. I could give you countless examples, but you'll just have to take my word for it. I know, logically, that these bad things just happen, and it's probably just coincidence that I have these dreams just before something bad happens--I mean, I just seem to be a magnet for bad things, in the last year or two. And, I was still a bit sick from the kidney problem. But, even though, it still was a very vivid and rather disturbing dream.

  • Well, here I am at 3:30 am

    Well, here I am, not a wink of sleep all night. Kids and their stereo...either they're having one helluva party, or they are passed out on drugs or drink or whatever, or they are just too lazy to get up out of bed to turn off their stereo. Tried the cops, but they couldn't get in the building to tell the rugs to turn it down, the landlord doesn't give a damn...time to start looking for a new place. I hate to do that, but it's either that or lose my sanity to the base beating of the bass. I really am at my wits end...tried ringing up the Queensbury Hotel down the street to see what their rates are, for one night--way too pricey...well, guess I'm not surprised, as President Clinton was there, so it would have to be a bit posh, wouldn't it? Anyway, tommorrow, I have to ring round to some of the suburban motels and hotels, to see if I can find a reasonalbe rate, just in case this goes into "night two." Arrrgh! $600 dollars a month PLUS utilities--169 dollars a month or more...not to mention the phone/cable service. Even without the phone/cable, that's about 400 pounds plus for this dump. For the privilege of 'BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM' for hours and hours and hours on end. Not thanks. I'm going to give it a pass. It's like living in a ruddy welfare motel, I'm serious! The guy across the hall, while nice enough, gets all drunk with his buddies, and rowdy and tries to get his basset hound to "sing" at midnight--throws beer cans in the hall from time to time..there's maybe one tennant in the whole building that's not an absolute chav--and I hardly ever see her or her daughter. Anyway, having a little chat with the landlord tommorrow--if nothing is done, than I start the long search for a new place. I don't want to, but then, I don't want to lose my sanity for lack of sleep, either. Gah--I miss having my own home! You've no idea. I mean, sometimes things got noisy with the neighbours, but not all that often--certainly not almost every day, like witht the crack-head rugs in this building.

    At least I can afford it, this time. I won't have to pay the last month's rent (as it's already paid for) and I get my security back. With what I just put in the bank, even with paying the utility bill, I have over 400 dollars left over--of course, I haven't paied my student loans yet---another 40 dollars, for one--the other is still in contention. Yeah, they are talking about garnishing my wages and taking away my pitiful income tax refund..they want 300 plus a month from me...good luck. Unless a genuine miracle happens and I win the lottery, get a job that pays more than 20 grand a year, or...dunno'...like I said, a miracle, not going to be able to pay it. You see, the US government, gives poor students all the money they want for college--which is wonderful, if you can actually find a good job upon graduation--providing the government hasn't withdrawn funding before you get to finish (like with me). If an American student can't find employment, or is underemployed, that student has NO PROTECTION whatsoever. That's what George W. and his republicans have done, bless them. You can't file for bankruptcy, you often can't deal for a lower payment, you can't do anything but either pay and go hungry, or...dunno'. I have definately developed a love-hate relationship with America..there's so much injustice in my country, these days...more and more people are being stripped of their homes, their possessions and so much more...for what? So insurance companies and creditors can rake in profits--when is enough, enough? When will it be too much? When will the toads in Washington get so bloated by their greed, that they explode?

    Anyway, the stereo's still going strong, it's nearly 4am now, and I've put on some light jazz. Doesn't cover up the boom box, but at least it's better than just the constant boom and heavy vibration alone. How the hell can people sleep through that? Suppose they're used to it, I guess. Don't think I ever will be. If it wasn't so late, I'd start ringing up motels, but I have to get up in four hours--and why pay 40 bucks for four hours sleep, ey? So, I'll stay up, read Doctor Who or Louis L'Amour or something, maybe play some online cribbage, surf the net..something. I feel like I'm living over a bar (pub) for pete's sake. Dang.

    It's a cold rainy night, normally, a good night for sleeping. Wish we'd get a storm..this is strange--especially in light of the fact that it basically poured rain from June through much of October. I mean, record-breaking rainfall. It was so cold and damp, the leaves began changing in mid-August, in some areas. Now, in Albany NY's Wasshington Park, the tulips are coming up--in January! People were saying, earlier this week, "oh, it's going to drop down to the teens." (farenheight)...now, most January's--that would be considered a warm spell! The very fact that suddenly northeasterners are condsidering temps of -6 C or less cold, is rather telling. They are not used to the cold yet--which should have happened over a month ago. And we're not the only ones--other parts of America are getting odd weather as well. Places that never get snow or cold are being hit with it, and places that should be getting it, are relativiely mild and dry. And good ol' George W. still denies there's global warming--then again, this is the same moron who publicly admitted that he refuses to read newspapers--and also, of course, refuses to speak proper English--even tho' he certainly knows how.

  • Friday! Goodbye Dr Who mush, hobies and dreams.

    I finally got two readers for my story on Teaspoon--but, not sure about the review--the reader was "glad to see me back," but apparently "was lost" over my use of Martha in the story, as he "hasn't seen Martha yet." Well...neither have I, when it comes to that. I thought I was writing the companion sort of generically (this is my 3rd DW story that takes place in the Series 3 timeframe) I dunno' guess I'm off the mark--just tried to pick up a little (precious little) of the character's bare essence from watching the TRB Series 3 preview trailer several times in a row...but really, I thought the character was more or less a case of "Insert companion's lines here"...guess I have to go back and re-think the story a little. One other person on another site, thought it was "great" that I brought back the Ice Warriors, but thought "it would be better with Rose" in it. :roll::roll::roll:

    Poor Freema (new companion's real first name)...she sure has a tough row to hoe, ahead of her, ey? These people are really resisting letting go of Rose--even more than the poor ol' Doctor! You'd think the name of the show had been chaned to "Rose," the way they act. Yeck. That's all, yeck. I like Billie Piper, she was brillant, better than most, not as good as Liz, but really terrific nonetheless. But...The Doctor's moved on, Billie's moved on,...I'm ready to move on, as well...it's just that certain fans are mired down with Rose-itis. I don't know, I was afraid, if Billie stayed much longer, the show was going to get all drippy and gooey and soap opery...bleh, phooey. Thank God for Martha, I say...let's let some fresh air in the Tardis.

    It's Friday night! Yeah! Well, do have to work Saturday, but only 2 hours, so not too bad. I got last week's pay cheque, and it was almost exactly the amount I owe for the utility bill--with about 10 dollars to spare--so I don't have to touch what I have in the bank, except for a few minor groceries for the next week, and this month's rent, which still leaves me with over 400 dollars in the bank--and two more pay cheques to fatten the old account, mostly free and clear, because my Feb. disabliity cheque will cover next month's rent as well. Doesn't mean I'm on a spending spree, but I have been able to get some things that were needed, and a couple of small items--that while not needed, were certainly longed for. Namely two cheap Dr Who books and a really cheap Queer Eye DVD.

    My workday started out horried. Think myriads of snarky poodle wives..."rowr! Rowr! Rowr! Why are you calling here? My husband doesn't want this! I pay the bills! I tell him what to do, how to dress, when to pee! I wear the pants in the family..and the Y-fronts as well! Rowr! Rowr! Yip! Yip! Yip!" Dang! But, after the first hour, it got loads better--almost tied my record for total daily sales--and broke my record for credit card sales--and, apparently (I didn't know until after I won, but there was a contest on in the office today, for most credit card sales) I won a mini-George Foreman grill for my efforts. Don't know what I'm going to do with it, but it's nice anyway. I get it tommorrow, I think.

    Someone who knows I like horses, told me that she thought the local farm store was having a sale on model horses. I have to go shopping at the grocery store near there, so I thought I'd go over and look--probably still too expensive, but I haven't seen what the latest models are, lately, so it's something to do on a Friday night, anyhow. Models are really great--and you should see what the people with money do with them..unbeliveable! They have model horse shows--went to one, once--and they have regular horse show classes with models--and the one's with the tack and stuff on--wow. Everything right down to scale--and many collectors also have custom models done, some of which are truly amazing. Most of my models are very small, for income and space reasons--they fit into the palm of your hand, but I do have one or two slightly larger one's, as well. The top three in my little collection (most serious collectors have hundreds, I just have a couple of dozen) are my Bestwick Pottery Shetland pony, my original Breyer rearing palomino from the early 60's, and my Peter Stone Pebbles paint horse. But most of my models are the small one's that cost under 5 dollars each, and I don't have any model horse tack, either. I used to have a custom American saddleseat set--saddle and bridle to fit a miniature American Saddlebred horse put out by Breyer, but it broke one day, when it fell off the shelf--the really tiny mini-tack tends to be hugely fragile.

    Someday, maybe when I'm rich and retired, ha-ha, I'd like to go back into model railroads again. Gosh, they are fun to do...I really loved it. One time I did one where I built and entire model horse farm--complete with real stone walls that I glued together piece by piece...it's a wonder I didn't walk around permanently high, I spend so many hours on it. But...stuff happened and I never got to finish it...then my then 2 year old nephew got hold of it, while it was in storage...and bye-bye model! But, oh, it is so much fun, planning every little tiny detail and watching it slowly take shape. Not that I'm all that talented or anything, mind. I'm rubbish at art--just ask any of my art teachers over the years--but it really is great, getting to create something from nothing.

  • Notes from a Horse-loving Whovian

    Well, must pop off to work shortly. It snowed a bit this morning..barely a dusting. Supposed to rain as well, a little, later on today. Sunday--naturally my one day off--promises to be "cold and raw" as the weatherman put it. Guess I won't be going on any picnics then, ey? :DD And the way my back still feels, ten-pin bowling is out, as well. Darn. Haven't broken any bowling balls lately (yes I did--my sister's when I was in my early teens--only half a ball came back through the chute), and Hilary Clinton once again hasn't invited me over for tea. Darn. ;) So, I guess I'm just working and running errands Saturday, and spending Sunday with the cats, housework, laundry and that rubbish fan fiction of mine. Not sure I can handle all the exceitment. :roll:

    There's been some really good stuff on some of the Doctor Who fan sites lately. A lot of rumors about David Tennnat leaving. I'm not sure why that matters so much to some people...the poor man does have a life of his own, afterall. And he himself hasn't said that he's leaving, so until he does, I'm just going to enjoy his performaces. What with the rumors and all, the fans are going to give the kid the impression he's not wanted...which is the opposite view for most of us, actually. He's a pretty cool dude, actually. I say, that any grown man who can get away with walking around in public in his jim-jams all day--and still look normal--he's okay in my book. :p

  • More Photos: Downtown Glens Falls, NY

    Here's some more pics of the city where I live (I just needed to use up the film on my camera). Most of these were taken about 5 or 6 blocks down from the block my ratty old apartment building is on.

  • My Tardis-less Adventures

    So, my life is rather dull now, and ordinary..for the time being, at any rate. And I'm a little taken aback by it. I haven't had a "normal" existance for so long, I'm just a little bit overwhelmed. As I've stated before--I'm forever waiting for the other shoe to drop...for my relatively peaceful and welcoming dull existance at the mo, to shatter. But, it hasn't yet, and I'm glad.

    I'm glad to be bored. I'm happy to be living a mundane and unexciting existance, for once. Mainly because most of my "excitement" in the last year or more, has been of the very, very negative variety. So, to have that end--even temporarily, is like when I messed up the nerve in my back, years ago, when the pony ran me down--months of excrcitating pain, then one day--it simply went away. I was unemployed still and quite poor, and couldn't do some things I used to take for granted, anymore...but, the pain was gone. It's a quiet blessing. No bangs, bells or whistles, just...a respite. Like hiking in the sun on a hot day, and finding a deep pool of cool shade--you know the shade might shrink down with the sun's passing, but in that moment--you have rest. Not a bad deal, ey?

    It's not that I haven't had "fun" or interesting excitement, mind.

    When I was 19, I went out to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming (or more specificaly, Wyoming, Montana and Idaho--it takes in 3 states and is bigger than the state of Rhode Island) and after a cross-country journey in June of 1980, spent the night, 3 days, one overnight motel stay, and four busses later, at Mammoth Hot Springs in Yellowstone's Northern gateway. I left my home village of Menands (Albany) NY, in 90 F degree (a bit over 32 C ) weather, and 3 days later, I was stuck at Mammoth Hot Springs, because the roads were closed due to heavy snowfall. It was cold, believe me. And, I found that if I'd not opted to stay overnight in Billings, Montana, I'd have arrived a day earlier and seen Leonard Nemoy filming a scene for the Star Trek movie (the part where Spock is on Vulcan) at one of the terraces of the hot springs right near our loging. My dinner that night was an indication of what I could expect them to feed me that summer, as a new employee of the Park system--cold ham ala king on stale toast, and warm instant lemonade---well, it wasn't great, but I can honestly say it was better than Glens Fall's Shepherds pie pizza, ha-ha.


    MAMMOTH HOT SPRINGS

    The next day was the long bus ride to Old Faithful, where I'd be spending my summer living and working, at the cafeteria behind the grand old geyser itself. But not before the bus made a few stops. One was in a little glade to snap some photos of local wildlife: namely elk. That's when I noticed something moving in some brush nearby...walked over and discovered it was a moose calf, began doing the tourist thing with the camera--heard a bellow--saw an enormous brown blur charging me, beat it back to the bus--running the fastest I can honestly say, that I ever ran in my life...oh boy, was momma moose mad! And those things can look all big and gangly and ugly--but, brother, can they light a tear after you, when they want to!
    Only just made it back to the bus--the other tourists snapping photos of me being chased by a big ugly brown thing dribbling snot outta' its nose and yelling its head off at me.

    I got chased by other animals that summer, but not any real close calls, and not because I was doing something utterly stupid...the other incidents were just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time...hiking through dense forest, walking into a glade to come face-to-face with a bull elk, having a buffalo decide that it didn't want me to cross the bridge to the main lodge building (it had its way, beieve me), rounding a rock and coming onto a black bear...little things like that..no harm done...did the senseible thing and quietly backed off.

    My favourite stupid tourist saying: "What time does Old Faithful go off?"
    Favourite answer: (Not sure, the timer's broken.)--oh, we could be wicked to the tourons (tourist morons). I used to feel for some of the bus drivers though--these elderly tourists traveling by bus, would come into the caf, and order the knockwurst with sauerkraut and onions, and baked beans...I mean think about it...88|

    Back home I had some smaller adventures, as well. Saw a ghost. No really. I did. I didn't plan on seeing a ghost. I was, in fact, thinking about the pizza we were going to get for dinner at Papa's Corner Resturant in Watervilet, not thinking ghost in the least, trust me. Mom was the village librarian. And, yes, her library was indeed haunted. Mom didn't scare easy, and was okay with it. Most patrons simply shrugged it off as their imaginations or, pretended they didn't see a thing...what wisp of white skrirling aroung the corner, I didn't see a thing...that sort of thing. She liked to hang around the reference room. No one much used the reference room--and yes, there was a cold spot, and yes, if you weren't used to it, it could be a little creepy feeling in there.

    Anyhow, the building at the time was the village's old school building--a three story brick building--full of echoes and creaks and groans. The first two floors held the local VFW (Veterns of Foreign Wars) post...cellar was the bar facilities (where I often had birthday parites as a kid) and the second floor housed the banquet/meeting rooms (where my sister had her wedding reception when she was 17) and up a flight of stairs was a little foyer containing the ladies and gents--and the light swtich for the over the library's front desk--and this is an important switch in my story), and lastly up one more flight of stairs was the library. The stairs ended at a landing that housed a disused (and rather spooky--for no reason I can now explain) office that was the pricipals (headmasters) office. There were a set of glass doors (locked when the library was closed) and you went through them to the main desk lobby. To the right (facing the desk) was the reference room, housing a few books that couldn't be checked out, some big dictionaires, couches, reading tables etc. To the left of the the desk, was the children's room. Behind the desk were the two doorways lesding to the large open adult room in the back.

    To make the story short, I was helping mom out, as usual, on a Saturday, so she could get home in time. She promised me pizza for dinner (yum). We closed up, went down to that ladies/gents landing, she flipped the light switch, and was rummaging through her purse, I think, saying, "check to see if the lights are off, will you?" I look up--and there, standing staring at me through the glass doors upstairs, was a middleaged woman in a dark blue dress--I turn, startled and say to mum, "Who's that?" We both turn to look--took all of about 5 seconds for this to happen, mind--and...no one there. "Who's what?" mum asked. Well, she wanted me to go and have a look round--to make sure she'd not locked anyone in there--but I'd never seen this woman before in my life! I wasn't about to go looking for her either--I was really starting to get creeeped out by then, actually. Mom sighed--what to do with her scardy-cat daughter? And she trudged back upstairs--went through every room...no one. Empty.

    So, she was okay with it...I was a bit freaked out tho...mom just said something like, "so I guess Ada's back." Like it was perfectly normal to see a ghost. Mom was amazing. This is just before we moved the library to the old church building on Lyon Avenue, so mom's theory is that Ada wanted me to see her--or that she was saying goodbye or something. I don't know...guess I never will. It doesn't creep me out anymore, about ghosts tho'...I'm actually pleased that she allowed me to see her, I guess. A fellow bookaholic--oh yeah, mum always said she knew who it was--Ada Lee--the librraries former dedicated librarian--the woman was mum's soulmate-dedicated to books and libraries. Mum was blessed, in that she loved her job..and she loved being a mom--despite the hardship of living in a lower middle class disfunctuional family with a husband that didn't care about her, mom was blessed to find some happiness, and it showed.

    "NEW" MENANDS LIBRARY BUILDING--THE FORMER CATHOLIC CHRUCH (Where I was baptised and my sister got married) THAT HAD BEEN A CONVERTED HAY BARN.

  • Sick in Bed with the Doctor

    Okay, well...I'm not just in bed, but yeah, I rang up work this morning and reported in sick. Got not one wink of sleep. Wasn't just the tooth/face pain this time--my upper back started hurting as well, around 4 am. Have an emergency appointment with the doctor (a real one, not the fictional one, darn it :DD ) as the pain in near my kidneys, no idea what this is about. Doesn't hurt as much now, but decided it needed a look, so off I go to hospital late today.

    In the meantime, I'm spending my time shutttling between bed and a book (and napping), and sitting here in my dodgy old rocker with a pillow against my back, surfing the net, watching you-know-Who--(and if you don't, you obviously don't read my blog, ha-ha) and messing about with my story.

    Speaking of which, my ego took a tiny hit today. I posted the first two chapters of my DW story on the Teaspoon/OM site, and...zero reads. Before, I'd have at least a dozen reads overnight. I stop writing for several months and this is what happens. Nada, zero, zilch, nothing. Guess the story is bumpf. Oh well, I've always confessed to not being a good fiction writer, suppose the proof's in the pudding, as they say. No harm done. I was writing to pass the time mosly, anyway. No probs.

    I envy people who write good fiction. It's a real gift to be able to spin a good story that keeps people wanting to turn the page. I just finished reading "I am a Dalek" by Gareth Roberts--a quick read, as promised, but very entertaining and well-written for a little story. I liked it a great deal--kind of loosely reminded me of the stories Terrence Dicks writes. Yeah, I'd love to learn how to write like that--but I think it's partly talent, as well, that gets you there, and that's something one can't learn...it's just something one has to naturally have, maybe.

    You know tho', I was a bit surprised. Mine's just about the only Doctor/Martha story on the Teaspoon/Open Mind site--everything else is either Captain Jack/Torchwood, or 10th Doctor/Rose (lots and lots of 10/Rose stories), or 9th Doc/Rose, with a few older Docs scattered about...but mine's the only Series Three story. Odd, that. Guess the jury's still out on poor ol' Martha, ey? Personally, I think the young actress seems suitable enough, from the very little I've seen of her, anyhow, in Doomsday and the trailers at the end of Runaway Bride.

  • Just some stuff about horses and Queer Eye and...whatever?

    Well gentle readers, Nancy's at a loss as to what to write tonight. I've been hacking away at my little Doctor Who story, but when it comes to my blog--I've a wee bit of a writer's block tonight. So, what to do, ey?

    I guess I'm just going to rattle off whatever spings to mind--may not have much rhyme or reason tonight. I do most of my blog writing spur of the moment--as you can tell by my poor editing--but I do think about what I'm going to write, before I sit down to it, as a general rule. Not so tonight.

    So, it there may or may not be a neat segway from one paragraph to another, there may not be any rhyme or reason to this blog--I can't say...haven't written it, yet. ;)

    For someone who's been a horse nutter far longer than a Doctor Who nutter, I don't write much about horses, do I?

    I've not ridden in over two years...spained my ankle (indirectly, not while riding) last time. It hurts a lot to ride now, what with my bad knees and all...my knees are a torn up mess, still, even after the one surgery a few years back...so lessons are an object in excruciating pain. Lessons, in my case, usually involve a lot of work at the trot--without the benefit of stirrups--which is hard enough riding hunt seat (or "English" as we Yanks say), but a whole lot harder in a big old western saddle.more leather to get in your way. It means standing up without stirrups, at a bouncy trot (I'm not advanced enough, usually, to merit the horses with the lovely springy smooth gaits--I usually get the old rotters that trot like they've three legs) and when your knees are shot--baby, it HURTS!!!

    Technically,the style of riding that I do, western pleasure (see photo below), you don't trot, but jog. That's a slow version of a trot--it's a ground covering gait that's between a walk and a trot, and it's usually very comfy to sit to, once you've learned how...again, depends on the gaits of the horse and your own skill level. I'm still novice...can't afford to go advanced...lessons when I was a kid ranged from 5 to 15 dollars an hour--now they're 25 dollars--way over my head, financially, so I'm stuck at novice--tho' when re-starting lessons after a long period, like I did for phys-ed class in college (only time I ever got an "A" in gym class :p ) I began at the beginner level to refresh my memory and to re-train my muscles...very important, believe me.

    Anyway, 'fraid I was just a big scardy cat when I was younger--truth to tell, still am, a bit. Let's put it this way, my favourite horse story--and man, did I have a lot of them--when I was a kid, was called "Afraid to Ride" by the late CW Anderson (great illustrator as well, btw)...I was terrified of going fast on a horse--still am a bit scared, I guess...but at the same time, thrilled...sort of like someone who's a little afraid of the water, but loves to swim, I guess. Which is maybe why I got into antique saddles and other equine collectables. I view antique saddles--most epsecially western saddles--as working pieces of art--these were mostly handmade. And western saddles are fun, as they changed designs over the decades--very much like automobiles and clothing. I can frequently date a saddle, roughly, by its design. My favourite non-fiction book, is an out-of-print book called, Man on Horseback. It's the history of horse equipment and riding since the day man first domesticated the horse--facinating reading for someone like me--a history lover and a horse lover. I love cleaning tack--especially something that's not been cleaned in a long time--leather restoration is not much different than wood restoration...just need the right products, tools, knowlege, time and patience--and loads of good old fashioned elbow grease. I once bought an old iron stirrup--military or police style--and it was positively black with age. Thought I'd shine it up---expecting to see a silver finish--turns out the stirrup was actually brass--and it was beautiful! Took me hours and hours, but I got it looking back to it's orginal condition--gave it to a friend as a Christmas gift--which she loved. She still uses it as a deocration on her bookshelf. It came out even shinier than the pair shown below:

    People ask me what my favourite horse breed is, but it's hard to say. I believe that a horse is a horse, and a good horse is a good horse...but I am rather fond of Friesians (top photo). I first encountered them in the movies, Disney's "Tall Tale" (Patrick Swayze's character rode one) and the movie "Ladyhawke." Later, I actually went to Friesland, and had many close up encounters with this wonderful breed. They are not only beautiful, but intelligent, friendly and gentle as lambs. I fell in love, leaning over fences and petting these great horses. Of course, I enjoyed riding the Icelandic horses, and in Egypt rode a snow white purebred Arab mare, at 10pm at night, in the dunes above the Spynx/great pyramid. The mare was a dream--with gaits that were like riding on a cloud!-and, I very much like our American Standardbreds. They are also very intelligent and often very sensible horses. But, any good horse is okay with me.

    These days, the only horses in my life are models--and I can't afford to collect and show those, either. But, I still have the love, and that's what counts, ey? My dream is learn how to drive a horse--I've tried several times to get lessons--both by cash or trade for work--but either got stiffed after all my work (don't ask) or the lessons were simply way out of my price range. Of course now, not only can't I afford it, I don't have transport any longer, so that's another dream that bit the dust. But, at least I can say that I tried to make it come true, ey?

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    And, several people on the phone told me I was "nice" today, and more complements on my phone voice. That was nice, for a change--course I got the old bugger from the golfing club, who threatened to sue me and drag me through the courts because I wouldn't cancel his membership for him (I can't, as I don't work directly for the club--which I tried repeatedly to tell him). Gah! I hate golfers--I mean it. I don't know about other parts of the world, but American golfers are complete arses. And I do mean, complete. Utter. 110% Arses. The old fart yelled and fussed and hollered that I was "harrassing" him--all I was doing was politely asking him to ring up the club directly to cancel his membership...had to hang up on the old >:XX .

    Also, someone stopped by to say hello, a co-worker from my former job at the harness race track/casino in Saratoga Springs. She loved my apartment--which took me a bit by surprise. She wanted to know where I "got my ideas" for decor...huh. Didn't really think about decor too much--just put things where I liked them and where I thought they'd go well together--but not really planned or anything like that. And I don't really have a lot of nice things--don't even own a sofa or even a proper chair--this one I'm sitting in, a glider rocker with cushions--I bought used and it's literally falling apart--tho' it still looks sort of okay. I have only 3 chairs in the living room (two of which can be seen in the cat photos), one chair in the bedroom and two chairs at the kitchen table--and that's my seting--unless you count the bed--and none of the chairs are especially meant for comfort, trust me on this one. So, I was a bit taken aback by her enthusiasm. I always thought of my decor as just a step above Early American chav, ha-ha. I mean, the Queer Eye guys definately din't visit my home. :p Good thing I'm a straight old maid--they'd have a field day re-doing my apartment and me! Not that I'd ever want to be trendy, mind. NMS--not my style. :D

    Well...I guess I'll go watch Doctor Who some more. Love Runaway Bride. There are so many layers added to the Doctor's character in this--especially the final scene...first time I almost shed a tear watching the show--I felt so bad for the Doctor--and Donna. Tennant really did blow me away with his range, this time. It seemed to me, he really dug down deep into the character..fantastic acting. I don't usually get weepy with tv or movies--unless an animal dies--especially if it's a dog. But, something about the Doctor this time, and what he was "feeling"--or in reality, what Mr. Tennant was portraying him as feeling--really touched home with me.

    So, guess I've wound down, for now. Not a very interesting blog tonight, I'm afraid. Sorry. My jaw hurts from this blasted perpetual toothace--one of the many downfalls of poverty..oh, you have some health coverage, sort of--but you are limited in your medical/dental as to who you can see--can't see anyone locally, until mid-February, as there's only 2 dentists in the entire north country who take state/federal medical plans. So, I just have to live with a tooh/jaw/ear ache every day...the Tylenol helps, but it's actually quite tiring, sometimes, and often keeps me awake for a few hours at night. But I do have hours during the day, when it hardly hurts at all. So it's not that bad. It's no worse then when I hurt my back, or when I blew out my knee, at any rate. No big deal.

    It's finally cold again here--expecting more sleet, snow and freezing rain--yippee. Suppose that's life, ey? And, if any of you have bothered to read this far, I do so want to thank my dozen or so readers for taking the time to read my blogs--and for your kind remarks. I do appreciate it, very much. You've all been so kind and I'm just plain gobsmacked every time, I swear. Thanks.

  • It Weren't No TARDIS: The Great Taxi Adventure

    Last night, I got done with the second half of my ten hour split shift and discovered that the freezing rain had changed to snow. The walking was a bit iffy--and I'd had enough of sprains and breaks for one year, thanks. So I thought I'd share a cab home with Tommy Jo--even tho' she lived in South Glens Falls--across the bridge over the falls of the Hudson River (home of Cooper's Cave--the cave that inspired the hideout cave in the early American novel (written by my ancesteror) Last of the Mohicans).

    Anyway, I thought I'd share, and there was to be a stop at Burger King, and I was starving--my quick dinner at 4PM, while delicious, didn't last me the shift, I'm afraid...when you work 10 to 3 shift, no lunch, so, effectively, you're not getting lunch until dinner hour, and not getting dinner until late at night--if at all. Some nights when I work until close, I'm just too dang tired to cook or make a sandwich. Which is when I get up in the middle of the night with hunger pains, and help myself to a bowl of honey-nut toasted oats.

    So, there I was, 10:30 at night, in the dingy old blue and white cab, TJ in the front seat, me in the back, the jolly lady cabbie nattering away behind the wheel...all in good fun, ey? We pull up to the burger-woof drive through, I pull out my wallet--empty! There'd been a $20 in it, when I'd left that morning for work. And I don't usually carry around my ATM card, so no money. So, I got a loan of twenty bucks, rode with TJ over the river to her apartment building in the next county, and then the cabbie picked up a fare. Rode with this fare back into the city to his destination...she got a call and picked up a 300 pound guy at the pub downtown next, squeezed him into the front seat...then picked up two more passengers--one another 300 pounder--and squeezed them into the back seat with me....and now I can truthfully say I know what a tinful of sardines feels like. Dropped the 300 pound guy off in the front (but not before he slammed his back against the seat several times, causing the front seat to slam into my kneecaps), then it was off to my place--except she was lost and not sure where in the city she was (???? Glens Falls is very small, more like a large town than a city--really, really hard to get lost, but she managed) So I had to give her directions back to the main street...I did finally get home--with my bag of now cold junk food--around a half hour later, give or take.

    But you can't say I never meet people or go places, he-he.

    QUESTIONS OF THE DAY; Is the Doctor bigger on the inside, too? And, does Glens Falls fall? :p:)):crazy::wave:

  • The Serene Side of Winter.

    It's back to winter again. Winters can be hard, here in the northeastern U.S.. But, they can also be lovely as well. In the quiet moment, when the sun is setting behind the trees, the snowy field streaked with the shadows of pines, and the crimson reflection of the sunset on the snow. You walk slowly homeward through the virgin snow, just the gentle swish of the loose powder being moved aside by your feet. Maybe the soft moan of the gently rising evening wind, using the swaying pine boughs to weave its song.

    Or maybe it's later still...a full moon in the sky, casting the world in a glare of cobalt light and white and dark. You walk down the road, your footsteps squeeking on the hard-packed snow, in a rhthym that is truly all your own--your footsteps, no one elses. The silence like that of a tomb--but not at all fearful...because in that silence lies serenity...a frozen stillness that finds a place in your soul, and grants quiet to the restless spirit.

    Out on a winter's morning, the snow falling down, maybe shoveling...taking pauses to rest on your shovel, watching your breath do a apiraling dance upward, in time with your heart beat...seeing your living heart, in each and every spiral. Then, you go indoors, put your feet up, sip some cocoa or tea, maybe put on some music, and look out the windows at a brand new world--a world of gingerbread icing and grandma's lace doilies...and you feel warm and you know what contentment is.

  • How an Old Maid Gets a Man, or: whoops! false alarm.

    Well, there I was, sitting in front of my computer in the living room, writing a note to a friend, when from out of nowhere, with no warning, one of my smoke alarms starts going off. For no apparent reason...I wasn't cooking, the cooker in fact, hadn't been on all day, not even that morning. The radiators were all cool to the touch, felt the walls, no heat there...couldn't check the ceiling. No smoke in the hall--but did smell like cooking, so I thought maybe the neighbour was burning dinner--very sensitive alarm I have, don't need much smoke to trigger it---and, no. He was fine...so then...I freaked. I feel stupid admitting it but yeah, I grabbed the cat carrier out of the bathroom, I was shaking with fear, no clue what to think at this point, as to why the darn thing was going off. Just turned off power to my computer (no clue why) and basically panicked.

    Scared the living daylights outta' me. I was rounding up the cats and ringing up the fire department---it's weird...my alarm's going off, right? And the operator on the other end is calmly saying..."hat's your emergency? Where do you live? Really? That's not the address I'm showing? What's your address? What's your phone number?" and all the while I'm thinking to myself, "ey, I think my apartment may be on fire, and there's only one way out and I have three cats to round up and my wallet and passport to grab outta the drawer on my way out, and CAN WE PLEASE HURRY THIS ALONG A LITTLE!!!!!????"

    Then to make matters worse, the landlord and his agent was showing the building to two yuppies--prospective buyers--and he shows up...calmly walks over to the alarm and says, "this isn't the one going off." Meanwhile, the prospective clients are nosing around my apartment, poking in my closets and checking out my decor or whatever...I that morning I had unpacked yet another small box, and found my old smoke alarm from the other place...I had put it on the counter by the kitchen sink and forgotten about it. It had gotten wet, it seems, when I'd done some washing up when I got home from work, and shorted out on me.

    Gah!!!! I was sooooo--embarrassed. I don't usually panic mind, but fire is my second worst nightmare (second only to homelessness). When I was around 8 or so, there was a real bad fire up behind our house. The Episcopal bishop of Albany's (Albany is NY's capital city) estate was right behind our house, and Bishop Brown's house caught fire one night, while everyone but the gardener's cat was away (sadly, I think the cat died, as Harry the gardener, would change the subject when we asked about her). Anyway, also at that time, my dad the volunteer fireman, got one of those new PLektron call boxes installed in his bedroom--made a terrible noise that did...whooo-whoooo-whooo--beeb-beeb-beeb..."code one fire, code one fire--it's in the air! It's in the air!...Menand Road..." Dad, naturally, tho' he slept just three feet away from it, had it cranked up to full volume--you have no idea how scary that thing is going off in the middle of the night--especially for the first time! And naturally, mom and sis took off to watch..as did all the neighbours--but not before sis came back inside and said to me, "you'd better come out with me." I was too scared. So sis did the logical thing, ey? "If you don't you'll burn up too--the woods are gonna' catch fire, and the back yard and the house and you better come outside with us where you'll be safe." Now mind, the bishop's mansion was through the woods, and up the little hill, and there really wasn't any danger whatsoever...but I, being 8 years old and scared out of my wits, didn't know any better...I cried and cried and hid under my covers--my aunt had driven up the hill from down in the village, and she and mum were out in the back yard chatting, and sis was with her friends, and dad was off fighting the blaze with the rest of his volunteer fireman buddies...and I just hid in bed and cried in terror. And then, got chastised by mom for being scared of nothing--she never did know about what my sister told me. She thought that I was just being a stupid little scardy cat I guess...suppose I was, yeah. Anyhow...been terrified of fire, ever since. Not that I haven't had house fires..twice I've had to put out stove fires...and I know it's stupid being so scared...but I can't help it..I still have genuine nightmares about it..and still am afraid. Wish I wasn't but...there you have it.

    So, it was just a stupid malfuction--and I had to be on display in my rare state of panic in front of no less than five people--not counting the two firemen...although, the fireman was rather cute--but gah! Didn't I feel the utter fool. I hate that.

    Tho' I suppose it's one way for an old maid to get a handsome man into her apartment, ha-ha.

  • Why Mum Wasn't a Doctor Who Fan

    My mom wasn't a Doctor Who fan.

    I think my mom put up with it, because she was tired of over 20 yesrs of "horses-horses-horses," ha-ha. But then, around '82 or 83', all I started talking about was Doctor Who and horses. Poor mom.

    Through most of the 1980's, She had to put up with my monthly club meetings, the hours typing for the club newsletter, trips to the conventions in Boston and NYC, special events in Albany...talk about "totally Doctor Who," That was me, I'm afraid. I think she was genuinely relieved when the local PBS station stopped airring the show.

    I think she must've groaned in 1996, when I first learned about the movie being shown here..."Oh no, not him again!"

    Sadly, mom became so ill in 2005, that I never even knew about the new series, until 2006...which maybe for her sake, wasn't a bad thing. Although, I do think she would have rather liked David Tennant's Doctor. She was always fond of anyone with a nice smile, and she loved a good laugh.

  • Sunday: Church, Doctor Who and Housework.

    So, not a hundred percent well, but feeling much better, so time to do a wee bit of blogging, ey?

    Well, went to chruch for the first time in over a year, this morning. It was a lovely, lovely morning, for January in the Adirondacks. Yesterday,we were all going about in tee shirts, as it was summer-like...that's just so bizzzre. It should be at least -10 C, this time of year--even -26! And here it is, all warm and springlike...not complaining, mind. Our winters used to last (and sometimes still do) from late October or at least mid-November until sometimes early May. Snow, cold, more snow..more cold..grey skies, snow plows, snow shoveling--lots of snow shoveling (as in "oh my aching back, why didn't I buy that snowblower when I had the chance?") Months of shrugging into layers of clothes and heavy socks and boots...that's what it should be like. Instead, we've all had to fish our summerwear out of the closets and chests, and start wearing them again.

    One of the big local events, here in New York's north country, on New Year's day, is the Polar Bear Club swim in big ol' Lake George. Usually they have to cut a swath of ice away--this year the water, I'm told, wasn't half bad. I was going to join, several years ago (an aquaitence of mine is a Polar Bear and encouraged me) as I have a very high tolerance to the cold water (having spent a winter without the use of it), but my swimming abilities are sort of rubbish, so I re-thought that notion and discarded it. But this year, the water wasn't all that cold--cold yes, but without any ice in the lake, not quite as frigid as when they have to have a go at the lake with buzz saws to get through.

    Anyhow, it was a nice day, and I was up before 9am, so I thought I'd grab a shower and throw on a nice outfit and walk down the two blocks to church. It's not the sort of chruch I am used to attending--posh hardly seems to cover it. More like a cathedral than a chruch. I grew up in a village of about 3000 people--our Presbyterian church could have fit inside of this big city chuch. It fairly popped my eyes out, it did. Very smart.

    Bit intimidating, it was. As if I needed to be anymore intimidated. The one place where my shyness really kicks in, is chruch. Dunno' why. Just does. And since mum passed on, for some reason, church feels really lonely, to me. She's the one that got me started going to the Presbyterian..when I was 18 years old, I pretty much discarded being Catholic (not that I made the decision lightly, I just felt it wasn't doing anything for me, and that it seemed sort of nothing more than an empty ritual to me, so I stopped being Catholic) and stopped going to chruch for awhile...but not before I tried some others: Methodist, Morman, Episcopal. Mum talked me into going to our village's other church (my home town was largely Catholic--to the point were public school was dismissed early on Thursdays, so Catholic children could attend church school--yuck.)
    Anyway, the chruch was fantastic, right off, made me feel very warm and welcome, the music was nice, the sermons made perfect sense..and the people really seemed to genuinely be glad to be there (not often the case in the Catholic chruch, where people would leave after Holy Comnunion--befroe the end of service..they could not wait to get out of there, and Catholic service was only 30 minutes) so, it was a surprise for me, after a long childhood of suffering the same old boring Sundays where most people squirmed on their hard pews, in anticipation of escaping, to find a chruch where people actually lingered long after services were over. Amazing, that was--and, the minister was good looking..I mean hunky..but he was married, and to a lovely, lovely lady, I may add. She was wonderful, the minister's wife, very warm and caring young woman.

    Anyway, that's how I wound up a Presbyterian. That minister's wife? She had me wrapped around her little finger, she was just so nice, no way I could ever make myself tell her, "no." I can barely sing, hardly read any music, right? Can't act worth a hang, either. I wound up not only in the choir (how the hell that happened, I can't say), but singing/acting in a trio part in the Christmas musical one year..and caroling for the shut-ins--and a whole lot of other things as well. Dang, the woman was good. :yes:

    So, I went to this big posh old chruch down the street. Big isn't really the word--two ministers, two organs--big one's, one in each loft--two choirs, about ten ushers to pass out stuff. My old church, two ushers were usually plenty, except maybe at Christmas or Easter. And the interior--wow..lovely. I suppose folks in England are used to such things as huge elaborate stained glass windows, flying buttresses, fancy stone carvings and fancy lights and all that...wood carvings and all. Not me. I always went to small town chruches..we had stained glass, but most interiors were wood..just polished natural wood in my home chruch, and white painted walls in the others...nothing fancy, by any means...and small, intimate..my gosh, this chruch...if you sat in the very back, you'd need binoculars just to see the minister. No wonder they need a sound systems...those old time ministers in days gone by, must've needed a set of bellows in their lungs to make themselves heard in that place.

    So, haven't been to chruch since last Christmas, in Lake George...and that was, as I've wrtitten before, just too awful, coming right on the heels of mum's death and all. I do hate being alone in chruch..even with nice people around me--they're still strangers, aren't they? It makes me feel even more alone, tho' I cannot begin to tell you why. But I haven't been to regular services for quite some time...the Presbyterian chuch in the small Adirondack mill town where I had been living had become too...southern, too...out there. I like my service to seem like a service, not a rock concert or a tent revival. I am a person who takes her religion quietly, personally, and seriously. I don't look down on people who take the opposite view, in fact, I'm fine with that view as well..it's just not for me. I'm not now, nor will I ever be, a demonstratvie worshipper. That's fine for others--it's just not who I am, religiously speaking. And that's where some of the "new" Presbyterian churches are headed--away from where I want to be. (The Presby. Chruch in the USA split in two, back in the 80's--some sticking to the tradional service, and some going the Southern White Christian Ultra-Conservative (As in: televangelist, tent revival, bible thumbing, "my way or the highway" gospel sining, tambourine banging, arm-waving, Amen shouting..etc.) And all that's fine--if you like that sort of thing. I definately don't. It's not me. It's not who I am, relgiiously speaking.

    A CONCERT AT THE GLENS FALLS PRESBYTERIAN CHRUCH

    So, I just stopped going...also, some of these chruches seriously relaxed the dress code, and I don't really care for that, either. I mean, it's okay, if you have to be to work after chruch or something, but if you have the day off, I feel, and time to go to chruch, you should dress for it. No excuses. But, again, that's just me, and I don't hold anything against someone with the opposite view--it's just the way I was raised--mum would've had living a fit, if I'd gone to church in jeans and a tee shirt...although, that's where being in the choir came in handy one Sunday--we were in the throes of a raging blizzard and I had to hike up the hill, cross the four lane highway, hike down the hill past the village park to the chruch....so I had to wear jeans and snow boots, just for practicality's sake. Thank goodness for that long black choir robe! Couldn't hide the boots, but no one knew, until I'd de-robed at coffee hour, that I was in jeans.

    Anyway, the city chruch here in Glens Falls if really beautiful--if posh. They even have classical music concerts there...they are having a twin organ concert on the 28th of this month, called, (I kid you not) "Dueling Organs." Okay, I could make an off-colour joke here >:XX ...but I'll be a good girl, and won't.:DD:p

    Well, it finally happened. Through the great kindness of a friend, I'm now a lifetime member of the Doctor Who Online forum. Yeah! That was such a nice thing to do. It's my favourite website, and I've met so many nice, nice people there (and here, sorry, didn't mean to exclude any of my blog friends--you guys are fantastic as well).

    I've been thinking of starting a new "thread" on the DWO forum--ask members who've seen my piccy, to state which DW monster I most resemble. ;):roll:

    This has been such a great week--don't know if I can fathom it all...a raise, a new dress, The Runaway Bride, another friend getting me Torchwood (thanks), two tenth doctor books on the way in the mail, 2 new pairs of jeans and a new blouse (for under 30 dollars), a trip to the mall (hadn't been to a mall for over a year)...I'm going to get spoiled, at this rate. I'm starting to feel...normal. I'd forgotten what normal feels like..it's rather nice, isn't it?

    I've been pounded by bad stuff, so continuously for montha and months and months...this abrupt turn of good fortune--worries the heck out of me...I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop...for something really awful to happen rather suddenly...not that I want it to, mind, but that has tended to be the established pattern for the last year or so. But...I'm going to try and ignore that pesky nagging little worry, and just take things as they come...it wont' be forever, but for now...I'm going to enjoy what I have, while I have it, ey? :)

    In the meantime, I've housework calling me...what's that...oh, the broom is telling me to "get busy,you!" :p:DD:lalala:

  • Attack of the Cat Person

    Hey, I'm a genuine old maid--and genuine old maid's traditionally have cats, right?

    (I even wear glasses, have worked in a library, sit in a rocker and haven't dated since the mid-90's..and more! And besides..I'm definately qualifed to call myself an old maid, trust me on that score)

    Well, I'm a lifelong pet owner: cats, dogs, birds, fish, reptiles, bunnies, guinea pig, mouse, you name it. So, it's time to show off my cats.

    First, here's poor little half-bald, cross-eyed girl cat, Flamey. (She's improving, btw with the new meds).

    Here's her half brother (the zepplin with fur), Bonnie Prince Charlie

    And here's her other half-brother, and Charlies full brother, Bootsie...he's such a dear sweet big old mug of a guy.

  • Scary piccys: Me!

    Well, here they are. My most recent picutres of myself, taken yesterday (Friday 5th Jan. 2007)

    Prepare yourself--they ain't pretty--or rather I'm not. One's in my "normal" clothes, one's in my new dress.

    The other photos are of my apartment building, and the office building (big white one in the background right, just behind the chruch spire) Glens Falls' one and only "skyscraper."

  • Time for a Time Out

    Well...don't bother checking my blog on Saturday. At the mo' I find that I am in a bit of a lull--thank God for lulls, I say---anyhow, I find that I really haven't anything of any particular importance to say, and certainly nothing interesting...so, I'm taking a day off. (Of blog writing, I mean.)

    Well, the company has screwed around with my hours again...two split shifts next week, and two hours on Saturday thrown in for good measure--leaves me with two days where I work five hours in the day, take a couple hours off and then go back to work for the rest of the evening. (Sigh). I was so hoping to get a second job...no chance of that now, I'm afraid, with this crazy schedule. So...it's 10 to 3 Mon-Fri, with a 5 to 10 shift tossed in on Tues and Thurs--and noon to two on Saturdays...good news, tho'---I just looked at my paystub...without notice, I found out that I just got a 25 cent raise--whoopie! A whole quarter of a dollar (a dollar being nearly equal to 50 P, btw)....Don't spend it all in one place, ey? I can buy a gumball from the gumball machine for that! Wow! A whole quarter!

    Okay, okay...9.00 per hour isn't too bad...it's still the most money per hour I've ever made, so I'm not really knocking it, okay?

    So, anyway, that's my news for tonight. And, really, don't bother looking for any new entries tommorrow. I have to work half a day, anyhow, so I won't even be home until late afternoon, my time (I'm 5 hours behind the U.K.) so I wouldn't have posted an entry until Saturday evening anyhow. Plus I'v e been a bit under the weather..nothing serious, just a common ailment going about the office, but still...reckon I'll be pretty beat when I get home tommorrow. And, as I said, nothing much to say, anyway. No probs, ey?

    To my few but loyal friends and readers (better a few good one's than many mundane ones, I say) have a fantastic Satuday, hope your weather, your health and, most especially, your spirits are in fine fettle. Ta!

    (Nancy pops off, in her imagination, to a farway land full of trees and lovely scenery and nice people--and horses and fluffy animals.) :wave::)

  • Ain't Afraid of No Daleks--but the Kids and their Stereo...

    So there I was, blogging away, doing my horribly bad imitation of a trancendentalist writer, When: "BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BA-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!" Yeah, the kids on the other side of this ratty old building are at it again with the stereo. Now, I don't really mind too, too much if I can hear it a little...but without warning, they turned up the stinkin bass, and then that's when the walls literally start shaking and the floors vibrate in time with the beat---and when one is writing one's rubbish, and trying to wax all poetic for want of anything better to do, that sort of noise can be the dingus dangiest thing to deal with---you almost literally, cannot hear yourself think--your whole world becomes "BOOM-BOOM-BA-BOOM!"

    Mind you, they've a perfect right to play their music, but I've also a perfect right not to be very much forced into listening to it--gah--I hate metal! So, I ended my blog, put on some opera (which I only hate marginally less than metal), cranked it up, closed the living room door and went to the kitchen to have my ready meal chicken pie for lunch. After about 20 minutes they either took the hint, or passed out stoned, or left...I don't know or care, I just have my relative peace and quiet back, so I'm happy enough, I guess. And, I got to turn off the opera.

  • Raindrops and Dust

    I was surfing the net, when I saw the above photo...reminded me of my pines in the rain--same needles, same raindrops...the rich, heady smell of earth, the dampening of sound by the gentle hissing of the rain--rain that makes its own unique sound--for every drop that falls to earth, is an individual, a single voice in a vast chorus of rain.

    Why is it, I wonder, that solitude is felt more on a rainy day? Is it that things just seem more isolated and still...the occaisional harsh squawk of a bluejay or a crow echoing against the distant rolling hills, the barely discernable sound of the gently falling rain upon the soft welocoming ground, the waif-like mist that dodges in and out of the treetops? Or is it something more? Something inside us? Inside of me?

    On days like that, something inside me, would in turn feel both melancholy and at peace. There was a stange comfort in the solitude on rainy days. The cold of the rain that made me feel warm inside, a sadness that was nevertheless also a joy. It's nearly impossible to explain. Actually I've never tried to, really.

    There's something about being out in the woods and fields in the rain, that makes me feel less small. It's like being in the heart of the cosmos, the centre of the universe. Everything in nature is unique, no two days are the same, no two moments...every rain shower, every sunset, every breeze that blows...changes from moment to moment, day to day, year to year. And when you are there, in the heart of it, absorbing it, becoming part of it, you know you are not alone. You are part of the cosmos, every atom in your body, every emotion in your soul...you are one with it, and it is part of you. The cosmic dust that drifts through the universe, drifts through you.

  • Mourning Becomes Afternoon

    Well, another year has come and past. A year of deep mourning for me, filled with living nightmares, continual crisis and deep-seated isolation. Yet also, the time has turned about. Like the ever-evolving earth, my life of constant upheavals, like glaciers moving earth and rock to form new mountain ranges, may be giving way to a more tranquil landscape. I don't know. I honestly don't. This may only be the calm before the storm, the eye of the hurricane that seems to have become my life. I guess there's no real way of knowing, yet.

    It's a rather frightening and daunting prospect, my future--if I have one. I've discovered, over the past year or so, just how fragile my own existance is. I've discovered that there are times when living can be far more scarier than dying.

    Yet, I've also discovered that I'm not as isolated as I thought. I'm not alone...and let me tell you, we humans are much like horses--we're herd animals--even a self-proclaimed loner like me--and we need to be around others, to talk to them, to just be with someone--anyone, sometimes. For some people, this need is constant, for me, it's just there...always has been, but over the decades I've learned to accept the solitary life, and mostly was okay with it--but, I realize now, that was only becuase I still had my parents--most notibly my mum...there still was--as long as my parents were still around--someplace for me to go to, for comfort, for companionship. When mum died--it took me a very long time to realize this--all that was lost. Lost forever. I never will have a family or a husband, I've seldom had a close relationship with anyone--too afraid I guess, that I'd be hurt, maybe, I don't know, or that I'd hurt someone with the way I am (bi-polar). I honestly can't say.

    Anyhow, another year has gone, it's a sunny January afternoon here, late afternoon sunlight streaming through the front windows, supper in the slow cooker for when I get home from work tonight--smoked sausage, onion and cabbage soup...got most of my chores done--still have to take out the rubbish :( but a quiet and restful day, at any rate. The cats are all asleep, and the building's tennants are quiet for a change.

    I re-viewed The Runaway Bride again. Funny, things you notice. In the scene where the Doctor and Donna are walking up and down on the street in front of "Hendriks," there's this one chap, a young man, in a denimn jacket in a sports team logo--although the back of the jacket is only seen once--and he keeps walking up and down in the shots--once from the back, twice, I think, from the front...they must've been short on extras that day, ey? :)) Still, great stuff, can't wait for more, whenever that will be...in the meantime, I have TRB to keep me occupied, and my usual stuff as well.

    Well, it's nearly four in the afternoon, here, time to get ready for another night of yellers and moaners and "what's?" Well, at least I am getting paid for sitting down, for a change. :wave:

    View of the Presbyterian church two blocks down from me, on a day just like today.

  • She's Not Talking and I'm Not Writing and S___'s Not Acting

    So, I gave my little ginger girl cat Flame, her special coat treatment with the wipes the vet reccomended--she's getting to the half-bald stage again with all the scratching from her mystery alergy, So, for most of the night she wouldn't come anywhere near me--she, sort of, forgave me towards the pocket-sized hours of the morning. I know this, as she insisted on snuggling under the covers with me--she hates being cold. Still, she refuses to come on my lap this morning--which makes typing a bit easier, but I sort of miss her prowling about my lap, arms and head while I type. Right now, she's flopped on top the old iron radiator by the front windows, soaking up the warmth in a state of utter bliss. But she's looking at me through slitted eyes, like she's thinking, "If she so much as picks up those nasty old wipes, I'm outta' here! She's not soaking me again!" Nope. She's not taking her eyes off of me--the medical wipes are sitting on top of the computer tower, and believe me, she knows what they are, already.

    She's sharp as a tack, for a cat...smarter than some Americans--okay, a lot of Americans-the right-wing Jesus freak ultra-conservative one's anyway. :DD (Nothing against Jesus, I'm all for him. I don't think He should be used. I am against people who use Jesus as a replacement for common sense and as an excuse for forcing their will upon others, and use Him to incite violence, and other totally stupid and negative reasons)--religions are fantastic--when kept in perspective. That's the problem, America is often a country of extremes and, of course, we've the Puritain background, and a penchant for violence and a growing fear of learning/thinking--not a good mix, if you ask me--and even if you don't ask me.

    Well, I wanted to take the day to work on my journalism notes, portfolio and study my textbooks and brush up on my Associated Press lingo...and maybe squeeze in some "fun" writing, my short story or the play or something like that. But..outside of reading a couple of chapters in my textbook, and doing a bit of editing on one of my old news stories, I am not feeling it, today. Too tired from yesterday, I guess. I'm forcing myself to study, and I am absorbing some of it, but not really into it. Which is odd, as I've been so chuffed to have been queried about doing some freelancing for the Post-Star and now also, The Glens Falls Business Journal. Maybe my depression is kicking in...don't know. I should be well rested and up...but instead I feel flat and limp. Oh well, maybe by noon-time things will be better. I'd rather not write today, if it's going to be rubbish. It's not very important for the "fun" stuff, but I really have to write the professional stuff, no way around it, I'm afraid. I will just have to pretend that I'm back in college and have a deadline to meet and I want an "A." :DD

    Oh dear, the nice old lady down the street must be having a medical problem, as the firemen/paramedics are at her house and an ambulance as well...hope she's okay, only waved at her once, mind, but she seems really nice.

    Anyway, yesterday I got a belated Christmas card from a former classmate in California. She sounded a bit sad. Seems she had a small part in a movie last summer--and her part got cut out of the film. That's the way it goes, I guess...but I do feel rather bad for her, this was only her second movie role in two years. But, she does have the lead in a small theater production coming up in February, so that's good, anyhow. I've written her my commiserations and congradulations and best wishes. She's a nice young lady, very talented and I really do hope she succeeds.

  • The Next Page, Stoned Cats, Weird Pizza and a Runaway Bride

    Well, it's been a day of ups and downs, that' for certain--happy to report mostly good, though.

    The job interview was cancelled--but, I found that a pet store and a pub/resturant were hiring, so I applied to those establishments. The pet shop would be sort of nice, what with me being a lifelong pet owner, and having worked in kennels and stables, I reckon I might have a chance--though to be quite honest, I'm a bit rubbish with a cash register...but, I managed. Hey, I have a severe math disability, yet I worked one year as an inventory control specialist, and behind the counter at a muffler shop, so I guess I can manage when I have to. Hate numbers tho'. To be quite honest, nothing on this whole earth makes me feel more stupid than working with numbers or abstract thinking...I try...and sometimes, I even sort of like it, but...well, it intimadates the hell out of me, really. I've got this thing, where, if I lack even a lttle confidance, I feel really small inside--but on the other hand, when I do have some confidance, I can take on the world, win or lose.

    That's my problem, lately, I guess. Over the past year or so, I've been beaten up by life so much, all the cofidance I've gained in myself in the last 25 years--gone to pieces pretty much. It's going to be an uphill haul getting it back--if I can. I don't know anymore. I've certainly lowered my expectations of life--more than I'd ever dreamed I would. But, with luck, there's always a tommorrow...tommorrow, I've learned, in these last few months (thanks to my friends) really can hold...I still don't like the word "hope", but I found that tommorrow, let's say, is anotheer chance to try and get it right...life, I mean. It's like when I've found a book to read, and it's really not always an exciting read, quite boring in spots at times, but there's that promise of turning the next page, that maybe, just maybe, the story will get better.

    Well, a while back I'd popped into a local little craft fair, and bought a tiny packet of homegrown dried catnip. I stuck in in my jacket and promptly forgot about it. Today I found it, and gave some to the cats--it was great! It's been so peaceful here, tonight...they're all crashed out on my bed, stoned outta' their minds on catnip...ahhhh--peace and quiet. No knick-knacks being knocked over, no one climbing around the back of my chair, sticking their paws and nose in my hair, no one begging to be played with, or trying to eat my dinner--while it's still on its way to my mouth---love it.

    So, being that I wasn't home, and a small bowl of my honey nut toasted oats cereal doesn't exactly fill up the old stomach for an entire day, I had to eat out. Went to the Irish Pizza place and tried a slice of the--I kid you not--"Shepherd's Pie" pizza. It was a bit...differnet, but not bad--kind of soggy, really. The mashed potatoes were obviously of the instant variety and very runny. A shepherd's pie pizza is a pizza crust topped with mashed, browned ground beef, corn and cheddar cheese--edible, but..weird. Not something I'd buy for a party gathering, at any rate. I'm told they are the only one's in the USA that sells it--and believe me, I can see why.

    I saw Runaway Bride tonight--wow!!! Love it!! That Tardis car chase scene has got to be the best sequence ever filmed in the entire history of Doctor Who (and yes, I've seen every TV Doctor, so I'm going back,truly,
    40 plus years). And gosh, didn't I just burst out laughing when the hapless hubby-to-be commented on his bride: "I'm stuck with a woman who thinks the high end of excitement is a new flavour of Pringle." Gosh, that was funny...actually, I am rather chuffed about the new chili-cheese flavour Pringles. :)):)) What's that say about me, ey? ;

    And I must say, David Tennant's performance was really superb,--quite charged, deep and electric. Oh, what I wouldn't give to see him live on stage. I bet the performance would just take my breath away. Of course, that will never happen. Tho', I dunno', 12 years ago, I was living in very literal abject poverty for a month...stuck in a welfare motel with seemingly no future...I remember having a conversation with someone, about our dreams--remember telling her I wanted to travel, to see other places, Europe, other parts of the globe. Then I distinctly remember saying, "It'll never happen, not in a million years."

    Well, being homeless for that short time, and, later, being stuck in the middle of nowhere, in a tiny one traffic light town, where the pubs outnumbered the chruches, without a car or a job, and only one or two trips a month into the "city" of Glens Falls---those two series of life events, changed my life. I went back to college because of that. Those 3 years of basically going nowhere and doing nothing were actually not bad years...but, I found that I didn't want to be like some of the other people I saw around me--stagnating, standing still, never changing. So, first I worked on getting a car, then I got going and applied to Adirondack Community College--and got accepted. It was through the kindness of my archaeology professor, that I managed to get the loans and grants to go to the college's Euroopean summer school programme in Leeuwarden, NL for a couple of weeks in 2001...with the bonus of a two-night stay in Iceland thrown in. So, I whenever I say, "that'll never happen," I know that what I say is likely true--but, maybe not. One never knows what the turning of the next page will bring.

  • A bit of Doctor Who to finish the day

    Well, it's the end of a very long day...got home from work about 20 minutes past ten, had the remains of the dinner I didn't get to finish before leaving for work..cold hamburger and chips, oh yummy, what a delight...but, waste not, want not. Lovely evening ringing up a bunch of totally miserable human beings--hardly anyone made any sales tonight, as most everyone called was grouchy as hell. I once again got a belcher...chavtastic! Discovered a terrible itch half-way through the night shift, and found a spider bite or something on the inside of my left elbow--itches like mad, and nothing for it but try to ignore it and keep working. Reckon I got it today, when I was sitting on the floor, sorting out the dirty washing and going through boxes in the closets this afternoon. It was warm in the living room with the sunlight streaming in the windows, so I was wearing only a tee shirt. Reckon the little bugger got mad at me for disturbing him or her.

    It's a bit like when you're driving down a major motorway, in heavy traffic, and you get an itch on the bottom of your foot...or, if you are standing giving a speech or something, in front of an audience, and you develop an intense back itch.

    Anyhow, came home, had dinner, petted the cats and fed them, and petted them some more. But I wasn't sleepy! I have to get up early to get ready for the job interview, and also to deposit my disablity cheque in the bank..and I'm just not tired enough to go to sleep. I hate that! Why is it when I know I have to rise early, that's when I can't sleep? When I don't have to set my alarm in the morning...I fall asleep early! We Yanks call it "Murphy's law"---if something should be black, it's white, and vice-versa.

    So, I decided to write a bit...worked on my little Doctor Who story..actually finished the first chapter! Of course, internet writing is completely different than my usual writing---I had to learn to write in very short paragraphs, and equally short chapters. It seems one gets loads of complaints, when some people have to actually read more then a few sentences at a time, on the internet. I personally find it sad, but--it's indeed true. So, as much as possible, I accomodate them--but seriously draw the line at this one sentence at a time garbage...that's not a short story, that's a comic strip.

    Mind you, I've nothing against comics, like to read them from time to time, myself. And certainly, a play or PSA (public service announcement) or whatever, is written in (usually) small bits like that--but that's because it's dialog, and it must be written that way--always good to leave loads of space for notetaking amd changes....but I'm old school, I"m afraid. I think a short story should look and read like a short story. But, that said, I do write shorter than usual--don't like it entirely, as it's goes against a lot of what I was taught in college, but...there 'ya go.

    Anyway, here's my first chapter. Don't worry. It's not going to be a regular thing on this blog. I just thought I'd throw it out there...I've not written a single thing since late September, or early October, I think, in the way of a Doc Who story.

    I'm just putting out this chapter, there won't be anymore forthcoming. Don't know if I'll even publish it or not--not unless it passes muster. It could wind up being really, really tedious and plodding and boring, for all I know...what you have in your notes, isn't always what winds up in the story. So, here's that first chapter, if anyone cares to bother with it..won't hurt my feelings at all if you don't...really, I'm just filling space, ha-ha. Writers are notorious for hating white spaces on the page.

    Killing Frost

    I.

    The night was still and cold. In the park, the grass bore a heavy rime of white frost, and the trees glistened with it, their interlacing branches looking like giant crystals. Colourful flowers were bowed down with the weight of it. A light icy mist clung to the ground in some places. A skim of ice covered the nearby lake, as ducks and geese burrowed their heads deeper into their feathers as they slept. Suddenly, with a great squawk, some of the birds took wing into the night. A wheezing and groaning noise ripped apart the hushed scene, as a blue police box materialized under some trees near the lakeside.

    The door opened and a thin man in a brown overcoat emerged, followed by a slender woman in a short brown leather jacket, jeans and boots. Looking around, the Doctor rubbed his hands together and frowned deeply. The woman looked at him askance. “A lovely stroll through the park, you said, to take in the spring flowers. If this is spring, I’d hate to see your idea of winter, Doctor. I’m going back inside where it’s warmer.” With that said, she stepped back into the Tardis. But the Doctor barely noticed her going.

    Looking around him, his every sense told him this was wrong, very wrong. It was late May in Cardiff, it should be sunny and warm--or at least, if it were rainy, not nearly so frosty. He glanced about, puzzled. “This isn’t right,” he muttered to himself. “it should be broad daylight. The park should be filled with people strolling about, children playing, birds singing. Why’s it so cold? Scratching his head, he shrugged and followed Martha back into the console room. Maybe he had gotten the date and time wrong. He’d better check.

    Martha was seated on the console’s chair, arms folded and looking slightly cross. The Doctor rushed in and shrugged out of his coat. He flung it at Martha. “Hold this, will you?” He asked absently. She shook her head. “Well it’s always nice to know that at least I’m good for something.” Martha muttered under her breath. The Doctor spared her a brief grin, then frowning in concentration, he began stabbing at buttons. He glared at the monitor. “This is definitely not right.”

    Leaving the coat on the chair, Martha walked over and stared at the monitor screen…not that she had a clue what she was looking at. “What is it, Doctor?” She asked wryly, “Was the weather report wrong? Or have we landed in the wrong time and place again?” Looking fiercely serious, the Doctor stared at the monitor. “Neither. It’s the right place, the right time, only…” Rubbing his chin, The Doctor’s voice trailed off as his mind began doing complex calculations. Martha leaned over his shoulder. “Only what, Doctor, what is it?” She asked anxiously.

  • Did I really say I love shopping? Somebody Slap Me!

    img src="http://www.dribbleglass.com/images/billboards/mart.jpg" alt="" title="" />

    Ugh! I'm exhausted! Took my bank forever, this morning, to figure out what was wrong with my ATM card--I kept telling them I'd never even used it..but got that suspicious, "suuure you did..." sort of look from the lady. Anyhow, that was sorted.

    Then, it was off for a day of shopping around for a new (and hopefully cheap) microwave. Finally found one at WalMart for the equivilent of about 16 or 18 pounds. Even found another pair of cheap jeans for the equivilent of about 5 pounds, so did pretty well, I think. But I am rather tired...then had to lug said microwave box up two flights of stairs to the apartment. My feet and back are a bit tired, tho'.

    And, still haven't been to the laundromat! Thankfully, due to last week's casual dress "treat," I still have two outfits of office acceptable attire handy. One's really meant for a more posh setting, but so they see me posh for a change, what the heck? I have a job interview set for 9am tommorrow, so it will be an early morning for me. I won't get home from work tonight until quarter past ten, so off to bed early for me. I have to take a cab to the temp agency where my interview is. I just hope this isn't going to be yet another waste of time interview. Those are the ones I call, "cattle calls." They just pull a bunch of people in for interviews--whether they are interested in you or not--and weed out the culls. I hate that...especially the one's where I used to drive an hour to get there, and spend a lot of my dwindling money on gas (and often lunch) and find out that they were just filling a quota, and the interviewer is all bored and confrontational and just plain is a pain in the behind. I hope this isn't one of those--a waste of time, cab fare and sleep. Well, guess I'll find out tommorrow.

    There's a little dress shop on a side street downtown, haven't been by there in over a month--not to shop, but I liked to look--they had some gorgeous dresses, many in my rather hefty size. There was one--my God, it was...well....drop dead gorgeous--at least I think so. I'm not a fashion hound by any stretch of the imagination...don't have a clue in that department, I fear. But gosh, what a dress! It wasn't expensive, as dresses go, 50 dollars (about 25 pounds)...but too expensive for me, by a long chalk. Well, I was walking by there this morning, coming back from the bank--they are, sadly, going out of business--but, the dress is on sale for 50 percent off! I was astounded that it was still there, as I first saw it back in the spring. I'm hemming and hawing about getting it...don't really want to spend anymore money. If the microwave hadn't gone, it'd be one thing, but...I'm waiting to Friday. I'll have my last decent pay checque then, and the January 659 disabliity payment...I will go over my budget and think on it...I only own one dress--the other is strictly summer and is a size too big as I weighed 50 lbs more when I bought it 2 years ago. I don't know tho'....hate to spend the cash, but hate to not have the dress...have to sleep on it a few days--if it's still there after 9 months or so, it'll probably still be there by Friday.

    Well, off to have supper and go to work for the night...cheers!

  • Sleepless in the Adirondacks: Writing Doctor Who and Thoughts on Modern American Slavery

    I woke up in the middle of the middle of the night, couldn't get back to sleep, so I toddled off to the living room. Spent a half-hour working on my latest Doctor Who short story, wrote all of one paragragh--gee, now I have two paragraphs...but really, I'm enjoying writing again, if only for a wee bit of time, each day. And this latest story is actually proving to be a bit fun to write--if slow in coming. It involves Doc #10, Martha, a park in Cardiff, a little climate change and two of the Doctor's former enemies....well, that part is still just a pile of mental notes inside my head at the mo.

    So, wrote a paragraph, decided to head back to bed...but still not terribly sleepy...grabbed Nickeled and Dimed by Barbara Eherenreich. It's about a writer who decides to spend some time finding out what it's really like, working as a low-income worker in the United States--big ol' rich, powerful U.S.A.---all hail the cigars and pinstripes...I mean the stars and stripes--forever.

    Having spent most of my 30 years of various employements as a low-income worker, I found this book to be quite on the mark...which surprised me, as the author had never been in that situation herself, before. I first got a copy of the book in my State and Local Government political science class at Adirondack Community College...an odd choice for a textbook, given that the professor was a die-hard neo-convervative Bush-loving republican. But despite that handicap :)) I have to give him credit for even reading the book, tho' some of his comments about low-wage employment were sometimes a little off from the reality scale.

    One thing he said that still make me laugh, is on the dire need for public transport here in the US. He said that "America is too big" to make that practical--but had no reposnse to my come back that..okay, we can build rockets and shuttles and probes to go into the vast reaches outer space, but America is too big for a comprehensive bus and train network? In the words of Austin Powers, "Riiiight."

    Cars are expensive, and unless one lives in a city with good public transport (not like Glens Falls, where the busses stop running at 6PM and don't run at all on Sundays and holidays..and only go to certain areas of the city and one suburb.) It's not just the gas--although when I was working at Saratoga Gaming and Raceway, one entrie day of my pay was what I spent on gas for a week just to go to work--and I was only making about 75 cents over the minimum wage..the state and federal government took out another 70 dollars from my cheque, and the housekeepers union took out another 10 to 15 dollars, before I even got my share. Basically, I was working full time for a part-time income...and getting a serious bad back and a hernia for my efforts.

    Cars cost gas, oil, tires, insurance (expensive here in NY state)...and labour at the garage runs from 40 to 95 dollars per hour (that's 20 to 42 pounds)...not counting the parts, or if they have to hook your vechincle up to a special analyzing machine that's really a lot of money...there's also the yearly inspection...and, most low-income workers drive junk cars, so most of us dread inspection time. If your car doesn't pass state inspection, and you're broke--you either have to drive illegally, or give up your car or borrow money you can't pay back.

    Millions living in rural areas could find employment if the US government would wake up and smeall the proverbial coffee--but, corporate interests are more important, because that's were the pol's get they campaign funds from. And big business means the oil and car manufacturers and insurance companies. That attitude doesn't really help the economy, and it certainly doesn't help Americans...but it does a world of good to the elite and rich and powerful...and that's just the way thing's are here, and always will be, most likely. So it's either slave away on your feet all day, just to pay for your set of wheels to get to your job--buying food becomes a secondary priority to low-income Americans...or, you could just stay home and live on welfare or disability--and belive me, for many, they are actually better off that way...no joke, no exaggeration. They get food stamps, housing assistance and virtually free medical care...it's not that people don't want to work, in America, it's that they literally cannot afford to work!

    But, in reading the book, I read a line that really touched home. At one point, the author was discussing those of us who've had to work seven days a week, without let up for months, just to survive. On page 106, she wonders what working 7 days a week for months on end, at menial, backbreaking tasks, does to a person. I can tell her...I worked every single day, from late July to the second week of September, without a day off, washing, drying and folding dirty towels all day--and no lunch or tea breaks--sometimes I wasn't even allowed to use the bathroom (the owners tended to thoughtlessly lock both the nearest bathrooms when they left, and the only one available was on the opposite end of the complex--about a 7 or 8 minute walk away--too far when you've hundreds of dirties waiting to be done. You become and automaton. Your work is your life..it is all there is...your motions become robotic, you cease thinking and just focus on the job...the only time you can think for yourself, is when there's a pause between loads, or if a machine breaks down. Your feet hurt, your back aches, your mind becomes numb and your soul? What soul? Slaves don't have the luxury of souls, ha-ha.

    NOTE: Sorry about the bad spelling--my computer "desk" is either my lap or a wooden board resting on a cardboard box--makes it hard to type, as my chair is low to the ground, the screen is way up high (and I have so-so eyesight) and I have to mostly type hunched over like Quasimoto.

  • Give the Doctor a Hand. And it was a Dark and Foggy Night: bad grammar and other topics

    So, I'm informed that Jack Harkness has once again (maybe) connected with the TARDIS crew---think he wants to lend the Doctor a hand? (Sorry, couldn't reisit that one!) A few months ago, I couldn't have cared less about Torchwood, now, through second-hand information, I'm getting quite intriqued by it...don't know if or when I'll ever get to see it, but I am grateful for the updates.

    It is a dark and foggy night here in Glens Falls. Now there's a stupid sentence. Mostly because, except when there's a blanket of snow on the ground and a big, clear full moon, it usually is dark at night, isn't it?...Unless it's summer and you live in Iceland, that is.

    Now that was a strange experience for me. We left the Netherlands at 10pm in mid-June...the sun had gone down...we were in the air for..I forget, an hour maybe...we'd flown over Scotland in the dark...then a little time later--the sun began to rise....we'd only been in the air a couple of hours...it was bizzare, for me, to watch the sun go down, and then rise again, in the space of just a few hours! And to arrive at Keflavik in an early dawn sky--at around 2 am! That was very strange...but kind of fun, too...I love new and interesting experiences--was thrilled, going over to Europe the first time--my first trip out of the country--and seeing icebergs floating below me...I may have daydreamed about going to unusual places...but never really thought I would see real icebergs with my own eyes--albeit from thousands of feet up, but still...that was really thrilling for me.

    I've changed a lot, in that respect--new experiences, I mean. I used to be the biggest scardy cat on the planet--no, really, I was. I wouldn't eat any spicy foods, or go on scary rides, or watch scary movies, or use the stove or anything--I was even scared of horses (although I still rode them anyway). Then, somehow, I changed. When I was running the Steamin Demon (pictured below) roller coaster at one of the local amusement parks, I rode it--and I hate roller coasters! But, I made a point of knowing what to expect from the rides I operated (as long as they weren't kiddie rides), so I ignored my fear and just did it--screaming like a little girl every inch of the way. I din't enjoy it, but I got her done.

    I've done things, like traveling, and performing on stage (only once), and going back to school--and getting straigt A's for the first time in my entire life--and caring for mum, and living through what literally is my worst nightmare-twice in 2006 and once in 1995. I've tried foods I would have shied away from years ago--everything from smoked herring and stinging nettle cheese to hummus and haggis (which wasn't half bad btw). I've taken on big business and won, and become much more outspoken about my beliefs.

    But, also, there's some sides of me, that are slowly fading away, that are only dim memories--memories that I cherish most dearly, but are part of me that is long since lost, like the innocense of youth. The part of me that held and cherished the quiet times outdoors--is gone. It's mostly just memories now. For one thing, my joints won't let me do much hiking any longer, but mostly, it's just not the same on someone else's land...it's really hard to explain, but the hills and ravenes and fields I wandered in my youth, held a special wonder for me, a certain magic that can never again come to me. When I was out there, in my woods, it was like I was standing in the centre of the universe. There was balance there, and harmony, and I very literally could feel it, it was a part of my very soul, my entire existance. It's hard to explain, and I never have tried really, for fear people would belive me to be a complete nutter.

    I don't know, maybe someday I will own some land in the country again, be a part of somewhere special again...but honestly, I don't forsee that happening, not ever. But if there's one thing life has taught me, if nothing else---one really never knows what the next day, the next month, the next year--even, sometimes, the next hour--one never knows what the next turning of the page will be. I have my memories, and I love them dearly, they sustain me thought the lonely hours alone, sometimes. But a kite doesn't fly on yesterday's breeze, and I must also prepare myself for whatever life decides to throw at me tommorrow or next week or whenever, good, bad or mundane.

  • Lots of Luck! Odd News Items from 2006

    I'm a bit under the weather today--no, don't drink or party, but my dinner last night of New England pot roast with all the trimmings (including chocolate cream pie and my infamous "butch" coffee for dessert), anyhow, seems it was a bit too rich for the old tummy. So, until the Alka-Seltzer kicks in, I'm doing something "easy" for my first official post of the New Year.

    Also, can't go out today--period...not with my rotten old cranky knees, anyhow. The snow-rain mix of last night as turned to ice--and ambulances have been busy, this morning (the fire dept's paramedic unit just went screaming by--again)...the ice is slowly melting, but still, after spending a couple of months in 2006 with a fractured foot and sprained ankle, why the heck take any chances (especially since I walk to work and elsewhere), right?

    Surfing the net, I found some news items from last year, that didn't quite make it to the front page--but are sort of interesting, nonetheless:

    It turns out that size does matter, at least to some species. Males of animal species in which females are more promiscuous tend to have larger testicles. They also tend to have smaller brains. Scientists postulate that this is because in order to pass on your genes, when you are competing with your female's many other love interests, you must have more sperm than your competitors. In "successful" members of such species, more energy goes into making bigger testicles and less goes into brain development.

    WHAT MOST EVERY WOMAN ALREADY KNOWS--OBVIOUSLY THESE SCIENTISTS WERE MEN!

    The New York Daily News reports a patient man received his due. His car was stolen some time ago and recently it was returned to him. The car, a blue Corvette, was found during a homeland security department review of cars set to be exported. The car had some modifications made to it since its theft. It is painted silver, has a red interior, new transmission and engine, but has no gas tank and doesn't run. But heck, it is being returned to the original owner. Oh, the car was stolen Jan. 22, 1969, almost 36 years ago!

    NOW IF HE COULD ONLY STILL BE PAYING THE SAME FOR GAS AND INSURANCE--THAT REALLY WOULD BE SOMETHING!

    An 11 year old Michigan City, Indiana boy was said to be suffering with a headache for days after a little minor accident. According to the Associated Press, Cameron Schuette said Tuesday he did not remember much about the accident, other than the sound. The sound he described was one of the bones in his skull breaking. There's a good reason he heard that sound, his grandfather had just run over his head with a pickup truck.

    The boy was riding on the tailgate of his grandfather's pickup truck as it backed down the driveway. At first the grandfather thought he'd run over a piece of wood but then he got out of the truck and saw his grandson lying in the gravel. A visit to a couple hospitals revealed the boy had a slight skull fracture and a laceration on his ear canal. He's now taking tylenol for the headache and is apparently no worse for the wear. The grandfather concluded, "Maybe he has an exceptionally hard head."

    OUCH!!! AND I THOUGHT I'D HAD SOME ACCIDENTS!

    Two burglars made off with a woman's purse, after one of the burglars impersonated a dog.

    They broke into the house of an elderly woman. One burglar then dropped to his knees and began barking. The elderly woman, shocked at the scene, remained mesmerized while the other burglar found her purse.

    The two burglars then fled the scene.

    WELL, AT LEAST THEY DIDN'T IMPERSONATE A LION!

    In DeKalb County, Georgia, a county health inspector found a frozen guinea pig tucked in a freezer at La Sabrosa restaurant, 2857 Buford Highway. According to the inspector's report, the chef said the guinea pig was for his personal consumption, but he could not remember where he bought it or produce a receipt.

    The restaurant scored an 87 on the December inspection, up from its previous 79.

    Janice Buchanon, the director of DeKalb's food protection program, said later that the restaurant owner had to throw out the guinea pig.

    OH YUMMY! BBQ GUINEA PIG--JUST WHAT I WANT TO SERVE AT MY NEXT PICNIC!

    Prospective buyers of an office building in Indiana discovered a sealed off floor which had become a time capsule of sorts which included "a stack of canceled checks, all dated between June and December 1930." The "secret" second floor had three doors with frosted glass panels and overhead transoms labeled: "Receptionist - Come In," "Consultation Room. Private," and "Chemical Laboratory."

    The couple plan to live on the newly rediscovered floor

    HOPE THEY DON'T FIND FRANKENSTIEN IN THERE!

    Bank tellers in Japan must now pass an orange ball throwing test in order to get hired. Details are sketchy but an inside source says you have to use an orange ball (filled with water) and throw it at the target of a burglar. Ms. Yin Kim (a perspective bank employee) is quoted as saying, “You get three shots and two must hit the cardboard target or you can’t be employed by the bank.”

    The “orange ball” as it is referred to (even in different colors) is a special plastic ball that has dye in it and is used by banks or stores in case they are robbed. You throw the ball on the robber or on their vehicle and it explodes leaving permanent dye on them. The dye also contains a special pheromone that Japanese police dogs are trained to sniff out.

    WELL, GUESS THAT LETS ME OUT--BESIDES BEING HORRID WITH MATH, I CAN'T THROW WORTH A DARN!

    Advertisers recently installed posters in several San Francisco bus shelters that give off the scent of freshly baked cookies, this ploy is designed to get folks thinking about drinking more milk.

    The technology that creates the scent is identical to that used in magazine ads for perfume and other scented products. Adhesives coated with the scent are placed throughout the interior of the bus shelters, including under the benches.

    “As long as they are not harmful chemicals, it’s OK,” one somewhat confused elderly woman said as she pondered the cookie smell in one of the shelters. “They are trying to sell milk? Is that it?”

    The effort at five bus shelters is part of a campaign cooked up by the California Milk Processor Board, whose iconic “Got Milk?” campaign has adorned famous figures from around the world with milk moustaches for 13 years.

    There is a rumor they will be trying this type of advertising in New York but first they have to figure out how to get the smell of urine out of the bus shelters. An un-named source in the New York government is quoted as saying, “Cookies and pee don’t mix too well, we don’t want folks puking while catching their morning bus”.

    (NANCY (OLDMAID) SINGS NY'S STATE SONG: "I LOVE NEWWW-YOORRK!"

    Jumping onto the reality show bandwagon, Scooby and the rest of the crew from Mystery Inc. are set to have some real life adventures. Unfortuanately one of these involves Scooby and a ‘close friend’ having a homosexual relationship!

    Already children’s groups are screaming for this game to be sent to the trash. Religious spokesperson Jane Hiblard is quoted as saying, “If Scooby becomes gay it might as well be the end of the world”. She continues, “There is no place in children’s game for this type of sick activity.

    I am not sure exactly what kind of relationship this game would depict but I don’t know if Sat. cartoons are ready for same-sex adventures.

    OKAY, I'D LIKE TO THINK I'M VERY OPEN-MINDED, BUT THAT'S JUST PLAIN WEIRD!

    Famous American Game Show host, Bob Barker has annouced he's retiring. Barker has been the host of the CBS game show, The Price is Right, for over 30 years.

    This quote seems to say it all, “I will be 83 years old on Dec. 12,” he said, “and I’ve decided to retire while I’m still young.”

    Barker is of course famous for hosting the game show “The Price is Right”. But is also known for his lust for hot young models. It is rummored that the real reason for his leaving television is because of the over 22 previous and 9 pending sexual harassment lawsuits. A TV executive (that wanted his identity withheld), states….”Mr. Barker has cost this network 7 million dollars in out-of-court settlements so far and we just can’t afford it anymore.” “Some of us thought with age he would slow down but with drugs like viagra on the market, well we just can’t afford it anymore.”

    Nice going Bob, keep it up, and I mean….keep it up!

    NO COMMENT...OKAY, WELL, AS A FORMER MEALS-ON-WHEELS SENIOR MEAL HOME DELIVERY VOLUNTEER--ALL THE LITTLE OLD LADIES OVER HERE WATCH THE SHOW RELIGIOUSLY. 'NUFF SAID?

    The FBI searched two produce companies Wednesday for evidence of a crime in the countrywide E. coli outbreak that killed one person and made another 191 others ill.Agents from the FBI and the Food and Drug Administration used warrants to search a Natural Selection Foods LLC plant in San Juan Bautista and a Growers Express plant in Salinas to determine whether they followed food safety procedures. Workers were shocked when the FBI and FDA kicked in back doors with their guns drawn.

    Federal health officials said early in their investigation that deliberate contamination was not likely but could be possible. In a statement to reporters senior agent Williamson said, “We must take measures to protect ourselves, if someone is doing this purposely they might be prone to other types of violence.”

    An agent that wanted to remain anonymous said, “I doubt we would open fire on someone but I sure feel better having my gun out and ready, just in case.”

    Local Church leaders have stated that they will not put up with this excessive show of force and will be taking this issue up with the Mayor.

    KILLER VEGGIES??? OKAY, THEN--AMERICA IS JUST GETTING TOO STUPIDLY PARANOID, EY? IT'S LIKE THE CONGRESSMAN FROM CONNETICUIT, WHO INISISTED WE WERE IN DANGER FROM TERRORISTS BRINGING CONTAMINATED SARS CHICKENS INTO THIS COUNTRY. AM I THE ONLY AMERICAN OUT THERE WHO THINKS THESE PEOPLE NEED A GOOD DOSE OF TRANQUILZERS AND A SLAP UPSIDE THE HEAD?

    At the Kansas State Fair teams of sheriff’s officers, media personalities, firefighters and grocery clerks competed in this year’s hot dog eating contest, which drew a totoal of 28 competitors.

    Some were looking for entertainment. Others wanted a free lunch. But for Pat Garety there was a very specific reason he was there.

    Takeru Kobayashi, who on July 4, 2004, ate 53 1/2 hot dogs and buns in just 12 minutes was the winner and afterward when he went to rid himself of his full stomach he saw Pat Garety blocking his way to the bathroom. Garety held in his hand five one hundred dollar bills and requested Takeru deposit his vomit in a special “clean” bag. Takeru obliged and left $500 richer. It appears Garety is planning on selling his bag of hot dog chunks on Ebay and expects to net a quick two - three thousand dollars for the mess.

    ALL I CAN SAY IS, "EWWWWW!"

    A recent approval to proceed with a controversial new type of traffic offence in Texas has enraged some local folks and even had some doctors quoted as saying it is the wackiest law they have ever heard.

    The local H.A.C (Health Advisory Committee) approved the new traffic offence based on 3 years of research done at the University of Texas done by the Mycology department. The new offence will be officially called “driving while under the influence of a severe cold”.

    The original hypothesis was that someone suffering with a bad cold would be as equally impaired as a person who consumed 4 drinks and attempted to drive (within the hour). The research did not stop there, recently a special type of breath analyzer of sorts was invented to test mucus for levels of cold causing bacteria. This prototype has already earned nicknames inside the University, such as the Snotalyzer. The way it works is you blow your nose into the plastic chamber and it tests the number of cold causing germs per 100th of a milliliter of mucus, if the number is over 20,000 particles per million you would be considered intoxicated by your cold and will face the same legal penalties as a drunk driver.

    It has been argued that most people can’t tell how badly they feel from a cold and they should not be punished by the law for say, driving to the doctor? The M.A.M (mucus analyzing machine), will go into production next month and be ready for trial use at the beginninng of 2007.

    We spoke briefly via phone with officer Scot Crewns of the Texas State Police and he said, “I don’t know about this, I just can’t imagine pulling someone over and asking them to blow a wad of snot into a machine, I just re’ckon I would feel silly.” THIS IS THE STATE OUR CURRENT PRESIDENT HAILS FROM: NEED I SAY MORE?

    And on that note, forget "HAPPY NEW YEAR!"....I will settle for "NORMAL NEW YEAR!"

  • My First New Year's Dance

    Oh, I wasn't going to write, but I just had something kinda' cute happen.

    The neighbours across the hall are drunk and singing (loudly and very, very badly) to their dog--in an attempt, I'm guessing, to make him bark, since he's barking like mad. So I combatted the nusience by turning on a bit of music--in this case some jazz/swing/big band/musical numbers.

    So I was looking out the front windows, listening to a nice softly swinging version of a Gershwin tune, when I look down at Bootsie sitting atop the radiator...he stretches out his paws to be pick up and held...I start doing the box step with him (albeit badly) and he is loving it...I tell him, "well at least I get to dance with a handsome guy this New Year's eve." You know, he looked up at me, then buried his head in my shoulder...it was soooo--cute! Acutally, that's probably the very first time in my 46 years I ever have danced on New Year's eve! Well, better with a handsome cat that loves me, than with a broom--or a cardboard cut-out of a guy, he-he.

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