I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Well, I hear the Chinese have developed remote control pigeons. Seems they've planted electrodes in them and can direct them where to fly. Some people are stumped as to the purpose of this. But not me.

I hear George Bush is planning to visit China, sometime in the near future. Hope he's wearing his cowboy hat.

George Bush:

I ain't easy, bein' an idjit. I try but...

Well, they just put a sold sign on the building...one more thing to be anxious about--will the new owners change anything? Will they decide to turn the building into a bed and breakfast and kick us all out? Will they raise the rent? Tell us no pets? Keep things as they are? I hate my life.

Well, I get to keep my social security check. At least for the moment. So the rent's taken care of--the internet and utility bills, I think are manageable as well. Food--well, we'll see...

Off to work--doing 4 to 10 shift tonight. Yuck. Calling more rude prigs, lovely.

I think many of us have grown so far away from what is true, what is real, what is simple and good. It's a bit sad. It's the progression of humanity, I suppose--but I think we've left something important behind in the transition.

We've forgotten our sense--it the noise of modern life--the sounds, the whirling and changing bustle of everyday living--we've lost something essential to our humanity.

The calmness, the inner stillness of nature, has left so many of us. We are no longer content to simply walk under the sky, or feel the breeze or smell the morning rain. To hold a moment--a fraction of quiet beauty---in our heart and spirit and soul, and allow it to give us joy.

It's left me, often enough, these days--and God, don't I mourn it.

The earth is a living, breathing poem whose lines, rhythm and rhymes are continually changing.

What happens when your pet bird watches one too many Tweety and Slyvester cartoons.

After feeding the dog table scraps, this is how you really know when you're a bad cook.

The used horse dealer sold Tex a rubbish horse--but threw in some really neat accessories--including a killer sound system inside the stirrups.

Actor David Tennant is caught off-camera, consuming the magical crisps that instantly turn him into a sex god.

Feeling...inadequate in front of his girlfriend, Billy Bob decided to buy a really big gun.

Vermont farmer Jerry Rig, called his wife "an old cow" so many times--she finally became one. He professes to be pleased with the change. "Well, I get more work outta' her, she's doin' somethin' useful--and two more tits--there's the real bonus, ey-yeah."

Well, I've decided to lay off all the doom and gloom stuff for a bit. I'm personally beginning to feel like some spoiled and whining prat--not a good feeling.

Not much going on today--sitting about waiting for a call from social security, on whether my monthly cheque will continue next month. If not, I'm in for an interesting time--think I'll make the rent and bills okay, with what I have put by--but food's another matter. Ah well--that's what community food pantries are for.

So, I'm sitting here, messing about with my daft ol' play--dark one..never wrote a dark one before...don't know why I'm writing this, other than to give myself something different to write. It's nothing much, just a very short one-act with only two characters--at least, so far. Never going to show it to anyone, but it's giving me something to occupy myself with.

It's making a feeble attempt to snow, here. A gray and gloomy day. We've at least 4 to 6 more weeks of winter--possibly much more, possibly less. One never knows, anymore--the weather patterns are so messed up now, the seasons just aren't what they used to be. It may be weeks--or a month or more--till we see the bare ground again, or we could have an early spring, and see the bare ground by the first or second week of March. Snow's melted enough so that it's just below my knee, now...still 1 to 2 feet deep on the open ground, where the sun's melted it--but the shadowed places are yet 3 feet, or higher, where there's been drifting snow.

I've got Charlie on my shoulder--takes up the entire back of the rocker--it's very much like having a furry soft overstuffed pillow behind one's head. I'm thinking about having him stuffed with he offs it--would make a comfy head-rest, ha-ha.

Well, nothing much more to say--I'd love to say something witty and amusing--but just too tired today, after pulling the Sunday shift--it was one of those workdays where it's only 6 hours--but feels more like 12. I feel like I've hiked up to the top of Mount Marcy (NY's tallest peak at over 5000 ft.) and back--absolutely knackered!

So, I hear that Doctor Who's back in his jim-jams for part of one episode! They'll do anything to push this guy as a sex god, won't they? Still think he's a extrodinary actor--a bit handsome I suppose, nice smile, seems pleasant, etc..etc., but still....the man just looks like a normal skinny guy, to me.

But the Doctor's grown up, it seems--now that he's got a supermodel looking companion--I hope to heaven he keeps it (okay, I promise, I won't go there anymore) in his pants--it is a kid's show for pity's sake.

But, thinking back to the Christmas Invasion episode: Just who did change him into those jim-jams, ey?

But he's got nice jammies, really. Better than my old flannel PJ's, that's for sure. I've not bought new jammies in well over a year. Over here they cost more than a blinkin' pair of jeans!

It's Sunday, the dull winter sun's pouring through my front windows, the cat's are alternately washing and napping, and I'm sitting here typing...what?

Haven't much to say. Wasn't even going to bother blogging today. Seems rather pointless, some days, when I've nothing to say.

It's funny, my life before, was like a paper full of scribbles and jumbled notes and cross-outs. Now, it's just...blank. And I seem to be stuck in the writer's block of life. I've no clue what to do, where to go, or how to even begin. It's not a good thing, for me, who has a tendency--after I'm done freaking out or being all depressed about it--to just take the bull by its proverbial horns and wrestle with it 'till something happens--good or bad. Problem is, I can't even find the bull right now--so no horns to mess about with, even.

Have to work today--12 days in a row, by the time Friday rolls around--with only next Saturday off, before I have it all to do, all over again.

My job is so pointless--but then, have I ever held a job that wasn't? I am in the place I never wanted to be in--and I sometimes wish I'd never tried to make things different--If I'd just faced the facts about who and what I am, 20 years ago, I probably would be a lot happier now--and a lot better off. Now I can see why my dad was such a miserable SOB--and I'm becoming just like him, it seems.

I sometimes crave human contact--but at the same time, shy away from it with a passion. I don't want to involve someone in my topsy-turvy life. And, I can't see anyone wanted that, either. I always get the impression that my presence makes people uncomfortable--I don't know if that's an accurate impression or not, mind. It's just what I perceive. But it's true--I'm afraid. I am scared that I'll get close to someone and he or she will one day walk out on me in anger or disgust or just...give up on me. And that's one hurt I simply cannot bear--so it's better for me, inside, to be alone, in the physical sense.

The road of my life, will just have to remain empty--and there's no changing that, that I can see.

So, the latest Doctor Who rumor: the last episode of series three is titled "Zog." Yeah. Great name--sounds like a bad 1950's film, or some hip new kid's slang term for snogging. Well, I won't criticize the thing until I've had a look--it's probably good, most DW episodes have been exceptional, so far. But "zog?" I dunno'...hope it's a working title.

And, speaking of snogging, I also hear Martha's going to snog the Doctor. I guess even male Time Lords go through a middle-age crisis, ey? At least he hasn't turned the Tardis into a Ferrari, is wearing gold chains or promoting Viagra...thank goodness for small favours--or in tennant's case, "teninch" one's--sorry, couldn't help myself.

Had a weird dream, last night. Dreamed that I was just walking along in some little garden, somewhere--and then....nothing. I was in a completely blank space. It was white and there was nothing else---totally empty. I was trapped in a void.

That'll teach me not to watch the Doctor Who "Doomsday" episode before bedtime.

But I'm left wondering:

What would I do, if I were trapped in a void? What would any of us do?

Well, being a manic-depressive, I could always just start talking to myself--actually, I sometimes do that already, a bad habit I've carried for years, "thinking aloud," since I was a teen--but you know, being the way I am, I can sort of get away with it.

Yeah, I try real hard not to do it in public--not always successfully--but for years, I really have had an annoying tendency to speak my inner thoughts. This began when I was a teen.

I got hooked on antique bottle collecting--found an old bottle in a ravene, and mum ordered a book from another library, called "Bottle Collecting in New England." And of all things--my bottle was listed in it! I was estatic, to see something I'd found listed in a book. The book also gave information on finding old bottles and how to clean them, as well--thus my first true hobby began--one that would last over ten years. I even became a docent (volunteer guide), and, briefly, temporary acting secretary, at the National Bottle Museum, in my mid-20's.

Anyway, while crawling around--sometimes literally, when I had to worm my way through a tunnel of heavy brush--the various ravenes in my area, going over old dumpsites looking for bottles--made some other interesting "finds," as well---I would sometimes, when faced with an especially tough route to traverse, would start "talking it out" in my head--puzzling out the route out loud, while trying to figure the best way to reach what looked like a great site, without seriously hurting myself. It was potentially dangerous, sometimes---there were piles of seemingly bottomless deadfalls, gobs of blackberry and other thorn bushes, broken glass and sharp rusted objects (can you say "tetnus shot?), sudden drop offs, hidden holes, poison ivy...it wasn't really dangerous, but the potential was always there for an accident--and I usually worked alone--except for our two dogs, that is...and sometimes the cat.

I would stand there, and scan the best route, and actually "talk" myself through it, puzzle it out, sort of. Dunno' if it helped or not--but I never once ever got hurt.

Now, sometimes, when I'm trying to make a decision--like deciding the best buy on meat in the store, or choosing a book to read, or planning my day---I sometimes find myself "voicing" my thoughts. Recently, I was trying to decide if I could afford some stew beef, and noticed a man edging away from me, giving me an odd look--before I realized I'd been doing my ruminating out loud.

So, if I was trapped in the void, reckon I'd have it all over "normal" people---at least I'd have myself to talk to."

America is a big country...big land, big cities, big cars..big boobs...big ideas...big brains--whoops! Did I say brains? I meant trains--we have big trains here--very big trains.

One of my night supervisors was telling me about an ordeal college was--something I could relate to--seems we both have Swiss cheese memories. Anyhow, she took a psychology class, and the first day the professor said, "I want you to memorize this table--I want it etched into your brain! We're going to use it in an upcoming exam." So, my supervisor goes home, and memorizes the stupid table of all these various emotional disorders--goes to class the following week: no exam. Well, she thought maybe she had it wrong and the exam was the next week. So, she studies the table even harder.

Well, it's into week three, and still no exam on the blasted emotional disorders table. So, she goes and corners the prof. "When's this exam on the table, she asks? I thought we were going to be quizzed on it?" The professor looked at her and replied, "No, you only had to memorize the page it's on--it's an open-book exam."

Yes, boys and girls, that's the American education system for you.

CATSKILL MOUNTAINS, NEW YORK

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote: "God works in moments."

Many appreciate the sun--most especially in the winter or spring. But how many take joy in the rain?

The rain can be a magical thing. The drops hanging from leaf or branch, like diamonds. The sound of the rain--individual raindrops singing a massive chorus. The feel of it--and the warm glow you have, when you've come out of the rain, into the snug comfort of your home. The smells the rain releases--smells hidden from our dry weather noses--the smell of the hot pavement, after a sudden summer rainstorm, the scent of old leaves and pine and flower, heightened by the wet days of early spring.

The trees are amazing as well, even in the dead of winter. the buds are dormant--but life is still inside that tree, waiting patiently to bud at the first hint of spring.

Everyone loves the autumn colours--but many never realize that the colours of autumn are ALWAYS there, in the leaf. They are just waiting for the right weather to tell them to change. How do the leaves know when to shed their green pigment for the brighter colours? What genetic process has wrought this? It's a miracle that goes unnoticed--like the stars in the heavens.

Emerson once asked us, what would we think of those nightly stars in the sky, that we so take for granted, if they only appeared once every hundred years? Every thousand?

It's something to think about, ey?

Oh gee whiz, now that George Bush is being strongly opposed in the now Democratically controlled congress, guess what?

They've found a chemical weapons factory in Iraq.

Yeah, right. You notice they didn't "find" it when the Republicans were in control of congress. Uh-uh. Now that Democrats are trying to convince Bush to withdraw---which he will NEVER do, someone finds the mythical weapons factory.

Hmmmm--the CIA has been busy, it seems.

Wonder what they'll "find", when the mentally ill George DUH-baya decides to invade Iran, and people oppose him?

I was a stablehand, I used to shovel manure for a living--and believe me, Ol Mad George reeks of the stuff.

THE REMNANTS OF GEORGE BUSH'S LAST SPEECH

Well, I'd ordered a book back in early January. Just got a notice is was out of stock and won't be reordered. The notice was printed or whatever in mid-January, according to the date on the sheet, but it wasn't mailed until last Friday. I was rather looking forward to it, too--a Steven Saylor book I've not read, yet.

It's snowing a good clip, here. Guess we're supposed to get another 2 to 4 inches--no big deal. Will make it harder to see the patches of ice on the sidewalks, tho'. Hurt my knee slightly, last night, slipping on some ice. It was warm enough yesterday to melt some snow--not a lot--now, instead of being just below the waist, it's just above the knees. But it left some slick ice in many places on the sidewalks, when the temperature dropped, last night.

The landlord's agent is showing the apartment tomorrow afternoon--have to make it a bit spiffier than it looks, at present. Oh joy, can I stand the excitement? I get to clean the apartment on my afternoon off!

A co-worker tells me I should "get a boyfriend." Yeah. With my looks? Ha! Not around here--besides, if you'd seen most of the guys in my building, and hanging around the local laundromat--you'd shudder, girls. Besides--haven't dated in over 10 years--and never really even been properly snogged, no that I think on it. No. No dating. I meant it when I said I give up. I mean, I don't see the point of going out with some guy--just to go out.

I mean, I want to be able to talk to the guy--or not talk, if we're really simpatico, to share, to...just enjoy each other's company--the problem: Almost every guy I've ever dated, either only wants to shag (and I can't), or, is showing me off to his ex, or is just dating to say he's dating. For many women, that's perfectly acceptable. For me, no. NMS--not my style. It's just not me. Now--find a guy who'll share the housework, and help me bring the groceries upstairs...eh, I'll think about it.

Well, really bummed out over the notion that they'll be no more new Doctor Who for a while. It's the only real joy, I have anymore--aside from communicating with my internet friends, that is, and playing with the cats.

No Doctor Who. Well, Went years without it before--but, had other distractions, back then. Now...more repeats. Yahoo. Ain't life just grand. But, I guess if they have to, they have to. But two years seems a helluva long "holiday" to me.

God help those people who make Doctor Who-- if they ever had to live in my world--no offence to them, but they wouldn't last the week out. We work just as hard, and we don't get breaks. I've not had a holiday--a proper holiday, since January of 2004...not unless you count the couple of months last winter, when I was living in my unheated caravan in the dead of winter, jobless, virtually pennyless, reduced to living in one room--the only room my little electric fire would heat, in minus 20 C weather at times, without benefit of hot water. That was a a grand ol' "holiday," yessiree bob. I'd clearly rather face a dozen Daleks than do that again--ever. After that, I could eat Daleks for breakfast, ha-ha.

And, they're ending my other favourtie TV series, the American version of Queer Eye. That was a fun show. Those guys always managed to crack me up. And, sometimes gave me decorating ideas, in the bargain--not that I could take advantage of them, but, hey..I might win the lottery one day. Yeah, right...dream on.

Still, it's a good job I decided against the expense of getting cable television. I haven't had TV in a couple of years now, so not missing much--except when my friends discuss TV shows, and I'm clueless. Well...it's sort of that way with music and movies, too. I've not been to a movie in nearly a year and a half, and only just bought my first music CD in years, the other day. (When I say I'm isolated--I ain't kidding.)

I really like Queer Eye, though. The guys can be a bit..well, rude, sometimes--but they're so cute and funny, one can forgive them.

I'd hate to see what they'd say about me, and about this dumpy ol' apartment. Ouch!

I feel a bit like the painting above. An unfinished fence, waiting for completion--for purpose.

I'm blessed with some very wonderful long-distance friends, whom--'tho we'll likely never meet, have given me so much that I feel I can never truly return. A year ago, I had virtually no one. It's a warm feeling, knowing there's someone out there, that acknowledges my existence. I am only alone in the physical sense.

I don't seem to have a use, anymore, though. I don't--really not--I don't mean that in the sense that I'm feeling woefully sorry for myself. I mean that in the real, practical sense.
I just don't know what to do with my life. I got turned down--tho' not totally rejected--for the freelance offer at the local paper--writing's "very good, but.." I "need to work more on (my) journalistic style." As rejection letters go, it was actually very nice--constructive criticism--which is actually helpful, sort of. I was asked to re-submit at an unspecified "later date," whatever that means.

Reckon I needed to study my newswriting stylebook a bit harder, I suppose. My portfolio was a bit lame--I'd only managed to recover one of the four feature stories I'd written for the college, and had to submit mock-ups, mostly, and some online articles.

But really, it's hard. Knowing--and again, this isn't an "oh, poor me" thing--it's sincerely difficult, going through life, with the very real knowledge that no one actually needs you. No one. Not even my employer. If I suddenly couldn't work--nothing would happen--they'd fill my spot and life goes on. I've no one to care for, but myself and the three cats--and I have no illusions--given enough love and attention, they'd not be missing me long--animals are even more resiliant--mostly--than many people.

I miss having something to actually DO. In school, there was continually something to do, at home, mum needed care. But they're gone. The apartment's so small--even when it's a total pigsty--like at the mo'--, it takes less than two hours to be made nearly spotless. I have no real skills, to speak of--good phone presence, or so I was told, but so what? So do a lot of other people--and everyone now wants a bunch of computer skills, and...just not gonna' happen. I can get by, with a computer--but things like Excel and Photoshop and Quark, and stuff---beyond me. I've tried--I've taken Excel 7 times, and bombed out, and Photoshop classes twice, and totally suck at it. What use is it to read well and have an okay speaking voice, be an average writer and be someone can file and do research virtually in my sleep--all nearly useless skills in the 21st century! Trust me. I've found this out the hard way.

They don't even use file clerks anymore, research is done either by student interns or people with PhD's, receptionists now have to know fancy computer programmes...I came to the coldly real conclusion last year--that I have no real useful job skills, anymore. I don't fit into the work world of 21st Century. I am employable only as a drudge. Mind you, there's a whole lot of us out there, in the same boat--the S.S. Titanic.

Which leaves me wondering--what good am I? Where is my place in this world? Do I even have a purpose, anymore? I've no answer to any of that. I never thought I was special--but somehow, never really thought of myself as anonymous, before. And that's a rather somber realization. Just another weathered old fencepost by the roadside.

I was asked, recently, if we're getting into spring, here. The reality is, that if all is normal, weatherwise, we're about halfway through our winter. If--and the weather has been especially wonky, this year---if, all is back to normal in the weather department, Spring won't arrive in these parts until mid-to late April...and not truly here until mid-May. We've been known to have some serious blizzards in mid-March--up to a foot of snow or more, so Spring? Long way off yet, sadly...tho' there have been years when it does come early, in late March--there have also been years, when it barely comes at all--we have Winter (with snowfall in early May)...two or three weeks of Spring---then jump right into Summer.

but I have my memories of Spring--especially when I had my tiny little garden, slongside the house--very much the same size as the one in the photo.

Our soil, due to the fact that we were a bit under half a mile from the Hudson River, was a mixture of clay and rich earth--you could grow just about anything, without much help from fertilizers and such.

I used to plant green beeans, tomatoes and onions. Sometimes Boston lettuce. Gave up on the corn--there wasn't quite enough sun where the garden was, to encourage corn--and if I tried to put my garden closer to the sun, in the backyard--I found it was too close to the woods, and the wild critters would eat the stuff faster than it could pop up out of the ground.

I loved the Spring--especially when I first turned the earth, after a long cold winter.

I'd sit out there, alongside my newly dug garden, enjoying the setting sunset, an orange glow lighting up the pine grove out back.

The warm zephyr breezes of spring, would tickle my hair, as I sat on the newly grown grass--so new, it virtually glowed emerald green--and admired my garden.

I'd pick up some earth in my fingers, feel the soothing coolness, smell the rich soil--a sweet-sour smell. Dark Chocolate with a tinge of lemonade. Silky smooth, comforting.

In the trees, a robin would cease it's cheery song, and preparing for night, would begin to slowly and contentedly softly chirp.

A deep sense of peace would come over me. I'd feel the caress of the wind against my cheek, the serenity of the robin's chirping, the promise of the newly turned soil. And a broad sense of total gratification--that just for that one moment--all was truly right with the world.

A GROVE OF EASTERN WHITE PINE--SIMILAR TO THE SMALL GROVE BEHIND OUR BACKYARD--AT SUNSET

Somehow, when we were growning up, I don't think my slightly older sister liked me very much.

Why? Well...one time she and her friend went up into the woods out back--I was about 6, at the time, and had never been allowed there, alone. I followed her and the neighbour girl. My sister sat me under a tall pine tree, and told me to "wait there, and don't move "till I come back." Being the polar opposite of my evil sister--I didn't wander off. And I waited, and waited...and waited. Finally, God only knows how long--I'd begun to cry, as it was getting dark, and I'd no idea where I was--'tho in reality, I was in sight of home--if somewhat distant. Sis finally trudged back for me, and yanked me home--mad as a wet hen.

Okay, story aside--do hens really get mad when they're wet? I should think "mad as a wet cat," would be more appropriate. Or, rather, "Mad as a soggy Moggy."

Meanwhile, seems dear ol' sweet sis went to the neighbour's house, and spent the afternoon listening to records. (remember those vinyl things with the holes in the middle, that got scratched if you so much as looked at them funny?). Yup. Dear ol' adorable sis completely forgot about me.

But...heh-heh-heh, I got even, eventually.

We had a bowling alley down the hill and literally across the tracks from us. One day, I borrowed sister's bowling bowl (I didn't have one), and went to bowl a few games. Well, about halfway through, I went to retrieve my ball from the chute--and there was only half a ball there. "So that's what the inside of a bowling ball looks like." I thought. Management not only refused to replace the ball, they were quite put out with me--not having a parent there to back me up, and the owners being absolute prigs about it. Went home, and sis didn't talk to me for a few days---Oh what blissful days they were, too. Incidentally, the management couldn't find the other half of my ball.

In my teens, around 1978 or '79, I didn't have a bicycle of my own, either, so I had to use my sisters--she absolutely never used it herself, as she was living away from home, most of the time.

I took that thing everywhere--a ten-speed Icarius was what I was--thought I could fly on that thing--used it just like kids here in the north country use their mountain bikes. Over woods, roads, fields--anywhere and everywhere.

One day, I noticed the handbrake was coming loose--told my dad--got the usual, "Don't worry about it," or "So what?" I don't remember--just that dad wasn't inclined to fix it.

Anyhow, I rolled down my driveway one day, on a ride, and soared down the street--and my handbrake fell off and landed in the spokes of the front wheel. I tried real hard to steer my bike on to the grass of my neighbour's lawn--and that's the last thing I remember, until I came to my senses--on the opposite side of the road where my bike had landed--with a load of blood filling my mouth and running down my throat. Scared the hell out of me, that did. But it was okay. I'd landed on my face.

Got 4 stitched in my ripped upper lip--still have the scar, and a few more in my left eyebrow, but no harm done--was a bit hard to eat, for a few days, tho'.

The bike did have to be put down tho', as the front wheel and frame were a total loss.

And believe it or not: Sis is still mad about it--over a bike she never used!

(This blog entry has been edited by the author. If you'd like the full version please contact the author.)

A nice thing did happen to me today--I found a really cheap copy of a Proclaimers CD and got it. My one and only music CD--wow, I really am getting to be a hip old maid, he-he.

Anyway, a long night at work. Boring meeting about scheduling changes--I now have to work 5 hours on Sundays--back to the ol' 6 day work week. Oh well, at least one day off is better than none.

My cubicle neighbour got some guy on the phone---we were doing state-wide opinion surveys at the time--anyhow, the guy says to her, "I ain't got no opinions." What is he, an Auton? Or a neo-conservative republican? Same thing, isn't it?

One of the jewels of New York's Upper Hudson Valley and Capital Region, is Saratoga County. Located on the northern border of Albany County, Saratoga County extends from the broad Mohawk River in the south--near the confluence of the Mohawk and Hudson Rivers--, to the southern Adirondack mountains in the north.

ORIGINAL ERIE CANAL

In the southern part of the county--full of suburban commuter communities and posh housing developments, Southern Saratoga County still has it's share of attractions. One is the original Erie canal. Built in the 1840's--dug by hand by mostly Irish laborers--the Erie Canal spanned western New York state, from Albany on the Hudson River, to Buffalo NY, in the far west. It was the gateway to the western US for many immigrants, and was truly the catalyst for westward expansion.

In Vischer's Ferry, one can walk along the original Erie Canal, and view a dry dock and an original lock--an awsome sight, the sheer size of the blocks of stone is amazing.

One can fish in the Mohawk River, visit an apple orchard, ride a horse, take a river cruise, plus dine and shop in a number of suburban shopping centres.

PHOTO: A MODERN-DAY ERIE CANAL LOCK NEARLY IDENTICAL TO A CHAMPLAIN CANAL LOCK.

On the banks of the Hudson River, lies the small town of Stillwater. Here, one can see a few nice examples of Victorian-era mansions, as well as a couple of old factory buildings on the river. Crossing the NY state Champlain canal bridge, is Canal Park.

At the park, you can actually stand on a metal walkway, over the huge lock and watch it in operation. The lock is designed for oil barges coming in from the Atlantic ocean in the south and the St Lawarence Seaway to the north. These huge barges are something to see---they clear the sides of the lock by barely a 12 inches, and take up nearly the whole large lock.

The bulk of lock traffic--both on the Champlain and Erie canals---is recreational. From canoes to moderate size river cruse boats, to ocean-going yachts and motor boats.

At canal park are really nice picnic areas, and short hiking trails, where one can walk down to the banks of the Hudson River. One can speak to the friendly lock tender, if he or she is not busy.

Stillwater is also the home of the Saratoga National Historical Park. Located north of the town, in the rolling hills bordering the river, it is the site of the two battles, known as "the turning point of the American Revolution."

Sorry, my British friends, but the site celebrates the first decisive American victory over British forces.

The park--open year-round-- features miles of well-maintained hiking trails over rolling fields and farmland, historic reenactments and demonstrations, and historic buildings, markers and equipment. One of the most unique markers, is a monument of a single boot--marking the spot where hero-turned-traitor Benedict Arnold was shot in the leg.

Nearby, to the north, are the towns of Saratoga, Victory Mills, and Schuylerville.

Saratoga is the home of the new Saratoga National Cemetery--honoring war veteran's and their spouses. My dad's buried there. There's the newly re-opened Saratoga Monument--and soaring plinth, that one can go inside to the top of, honoring soldiers of the revolution. There's also the Saratoga Apple farm--which offers a nice variety of fresh fruits and veggies, homemade cider and donuts, honey as well as hay rides to the orchard, during apple picking season.

Victory mills is a small village--it contains an affordable antique shop, and is a nice example of an old factory town.

Schuylerville is a small town on the Hudson River. It has several nice shops--antiques, art galleries and crafts. There's a canal-side park here, as well as a cruise boat on the Hudson, and some small eateries. Just outside of town, is the restored Schuyler farmhouse, home to American General Phillip Schuyler--who's colonial mansion is also open to the public, in Albany's south end. There have been periodic archaeological digs at the farmhouse.

HISTORICAL REENACTMENT, SARATOGA NATIONAL HISTORICAL PARK

The heart of Saratoga County lies in the city of Saratoga Springs. I could devote an entire page to the city. It can compare with some of the trendiest small cities in Europe. Chock full of history, even George Washington went on holiday here.

Mineral springs and baths and posh spas, a number of museums--two of them national--a major performing arts centre, drawing nationally and internationally famous recording artists, as well as classical concerts. Dance--most notibly ballet, is popular. An award-winning state park, nationally famous golf course, a Victorian-era city park--with a museum housed in a Victorian mansion, beautiful gardens with original statuary--and the highlight, a 1900's restored handcarved carosel (one I used to ride in a now defunct local amusement park when I was a small child).

Saratoga's main street, Broadway, is full of trendy shops, both big and small, plus many fine and unique resturants and outdoor cafes (summer only).

Saratoga was THE Victorian-era summer resort for America's elite. One of the original grand Victorian-era hotels still exists on broadway.

What did they come for? HORSES. Thoroughbred racing at one of America's oldest tracks, historic Saratoga Race Course. Saratoga is all about horses--well the arts, too--but mostly horses. There is also world-class polo, and harness racing as well, at the Saratoga Gaming and Raceway (my former employer). Saratoga Gaming and Raceway has night Standardbred horse racing several nights a week, most of the year, and is also home to a video lottery (fancy name for slot/fruit machines) machines and a off-track betting palor. It sometimes hosts musical events, as well.

The thoroughbred track is the real star. Running from late July to the end of August, Saratoga Race Course, is a place to see and be seen--with nationally famous race horses running there--including Kentucky Derby and Triple Crown winners.

Around 1990, a movie was shot here--my boss at the stable's boyfriend was an extra--and got to keep his 1930's attire. The movie was Billy Bathgate, I think. Also shot here, more recently (and again, aquaintences of mine were used as extras) were scenes for the movie "Seabiscuit."

CONGRESS PARK

Saratoga Lake is a broad lake outside the city. It's home to fisherman and rowing regattas. Mostly developed, there's few places for the casual visitor, but the views are fantastic.

North of Saratoga Springs is Wilton. There one can visit the summer home of General--and later US President, U. S. Grant. Access is limited though, as it's located on the grounds of a state minimum-security prison.

As you continue north, on state Route 9, there's many unique resturants: A "Florida" restaurant, featuring Southern BBQ and, yes, alligator. There's Italian, American, French and Western BBQ/ Southwestern cuisine, as well.

Further on, in the town of Moreau, is a small state park, featuring camping and a small scenic lake. A national PBS (Public Broadcasting Company)documentary--I think on Benedict Arnold--was shot there, just this past November.

Also found, in Moreau, are Hudson river canoe and kayak access areas, wild hiking trails, river fishing and a view of the huge Speir Falls dam, built in the early 1900's--as well as some of the original small quarries used to supply rock to the dam.

Corinth and Day and Hadley are in the Adirondacks. Corinth, 25 minutes north of Saratoga Springs on state Rounte 9-N, is a former mill town, a small blue collar (chav) American town. Featured here, is Pagenstacker Park on Palmer Avenue, with views of the last pallisades on the Hudson River, Palmer Falls, and magnificent old growth trees. Corinth hosts many local events: parades, field days and an Independence Day celebration in July features fireworks on the scenic Hudson River and is attended by thousands of people. There's a public beach on the river, and snowshoe trails outside of town. Corinth fields an excellent snowshoe team, which often competes in the state's winter Empire State Games. Outside of town, near the Sacandaga Lake, the opening scene for the Robert Redford film (the part where the girl falls from the horse) "The Horse Whisperer" was filmed.

It also has several unique Adirondack craft and art shops, and antique stores as well. One of the most unique buildings in Corinth, is the "snowshoe house"--decorated with weirldly shaped wood and tons of real snowshoes.

Day is located on the beautiful manmade Sagadaga Lake and Resevoir.

Hadley is home to an old train station, a unique "bow" bridge, an original mountain fire lookout tower (which can be hiked to) and Rockwell Falls. In Hadley, you can soon be able to catch the scenic train to North Creek station--and this same train once a year, features such things as a fake robbery (with cowboys, but who cares about accuracy?), as well as a weekend of golf, rodeo, and other activities at a local dude ranch. In Hadley one can also book a white water rafting or river tubing trip--traveling downriver in a blown up rubber tyre innertube. There's also a supposedly "haunted" bed and breakfast/resturant, as well as a quaint soup and sandwich shop frequented by local residents. The nearby town park hosts events like an antique car show and sometimes fireworks.

ARTISTS RENDITION OF ROCKWELL FALLS LOCATED ON THE MAIN ROAD OF HADLEY, NY

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THE LINK BELOW ISN'T FOR SARATOGA COUNTY--IT'S A TOWN NEAR WHERE I GREW UP, AND SOME OF THE PHOTOS (TRAINS) WERE TAKEN JUST DOWN THE TRACKS FROM MY VILLAGE) IF YOU WANT A GLIMPSE OF THE SEEDIER SIDE OF MY OLD CHILDHOOD TOWNS, FOLLOW THIS LINK:

http://www.jericsmith.com/hiddensub.htm

I sometimes get a little peeved when people in other countries--and even here in the United States, believe it or not--think that all Americans are "rich." Yeah. Pull the other one.

Latest stats: (and these are just the one's that were actually able to be counted, the true figure is very probably much, much higher): In 2005 there were counted, here in the good ol' USA, 744,000 homeless--40 percent of which were actually living on the streets, and not in a shelter or temporary housing.

Experts attribute the number one reason for this: lack of affordable housing. Number two reason, was inadequate mental health care, number three reason was drug and /or alcohol abuse. Number for was lack of jobs and /or living wage jobs in many areas. Number five reason: sky-rocketing healthcare costs driving many people--including the elderly--out of their homes. We don't have NHS, and the USA has some of the most expensive healthcare and medicines of any industialilzed nation on earth. No joke. These are just some of the reasons--the reality can be much more complicated than that, of course.

STATE ROUTE 9, LOUDONVILLE, NY. If you turn right, go about 3/4 of a mile, you'll happen upon the street I grew up on--literally the last street on the left on 378. This is where NY Route 378 begins--or ends--depending on whether you are traveling east or west to or from the Hudson River. In this case, it would be east. The riding stable I mentioned in my "Horse Crazy" post, as well as the polo field, were just up the road from here, on NY Rt 9.

Ah, growing up did have it's trials and treats, when I was a kid.

The treats were often small delights for us kids: For a few years, the ice cream truck made it's stop, obnoxious kiddie tunes blaring, up our little dead-end street. Of course, we kids had to shout the equally obnoxious ritual chant: "I scream, you scream, we all scream for Ice Cream!" Poor guy, having to listen to that all the time. My sister favoured the red white and blue icy "Bomb Pop"--flavoured like cheery, lemonade and blueberry. I went for the Italian ices--either cherry or lemonade.

Then, for a while, we had the "Fruit bus." No, it wasn't a busload of gays--'tho that would probably have been more fun. It was a beat up rickety old school bus, with the seats taken out and bins put in--filled with all kinds of fresh fruit. I am not particularly fond of fresh fruit--usually just bought apples or an orange or tangerine. The Doctor would have been disappointed --they don't sell satsumas here. Mum and sis would buy bananas, or grapes, as a rule,and sometimes cherries or pears.

But these weren't our only culinary treats, not by a long chalk.

Whenever we'd BBQ, there was always a bag of marshmallows handy. Us two girls--and any neighbour kids that were handy--would dash off and grab sticks from the nearby trees, jam our marshmallows on to the tip of our sticks, and toast the white chunks of fluff over the glowing charcoal briquettes, until they were golden brown on the outside, and nice and gooey inside--tho' sometimes they'd unhappily burst in to flames, and all you'd have left is black charred white goo--which we often ate, anyway.

Sometimes--not very often--we'd eat the tops of the "onion grass"--wild onions, that looked like scallions. The onion part was buried deep, and hard to uncover--so we might just eat the "grass," which was plentiful--it had a serious bite to it, 'tho, so I didn't like it much.

Our favourite summertime activity, was picking blackberries. This wasn't as easy as it sounds. As you may see by the photo, blackberry bushes have thorns--loads of them. We often came home from the overgrown fields with scratches on our legs (if we were wearing shorts) and arms and hands. Not to mention loads of misquito bites. Oh, what fun. Scratched, itcy, with a margarine tub or coffee tin filled with berries most us and our parents didn't eat---without loads of sugar, they tended to taste a bit like, what I often thought of, as slightly sweetened ink.

One time, one of the boys stepped on the far end of a small well-rotted log. It flew up and caught me in the cheek--I never felt a thing--was truly scared when everyone looked at me all horified, and pointed to my face---apparently, I was bleeding profusely and didn't even know it. Seems the broken off tip of the small log, had left a deep gouge in my cheek--I really never did feel anything--which I learned later is not a good sign...it's sometimes when a deep wound doesn't hurt, one has to worry.

So I went home and it was off with mum to the ER of Albany Medical Center. I spent the remainder of the afternoon--totally terrified out of my wits. They stuck me next to some kid who was also up for getting stitches--a lot of them, apparently--without the aid of anestetic. The boy just screamed and screamed. And there I was, waiting...and waiting...and waiting for the doctor to show up and stitch my right cheek (still have the scar, by the way, 'tho it's very faded). About ten days later--actually, I think it was only about a half hour to 45 minutes--the doctor comes in. I tense...."Well, he says, we'll just put a bandage on that, and you can go home, okay?" Oh, the happiest of happy news! I felt like hugging the man! Seems the would was too jagged to be stitched or something like that.

The next day, I was out picking berries again, being admired for my bandage.

SOME NEW YORK STATE LITTLE KNOWN TRIVIA:

Photo of Black race track writer, John Fitz Gerald. He is unofficially credited with first calling New York City, "the big apple--a name he picked up from an unknown groom in New Orleans. New York's nickname "The Big Apple," took off in the 1930's in the African-American communities of New York City. Although others have attributed the popular city nickname to black jazz musicians, the first "official" use of the name, does indeed appear to be in the 1920's racing news of Fitz Gerald. John is Buried--mostly forgotten-- in my old hometown, in Albany Rural Cemetery, in an unmarked grave. He wrote a column for the New York Telegraph called, "Around the Big Apple."

It's true, what I wrote a few days back. If I were to die without warning (not that I'm planning to), no one would know. It's sobering to know this. I think it hit home to me, a little, when mum died. She died early on a Tuesday morning, and Friday morning, we were there, beside a mound of freshly dug earth, a pale blue pauper's casket, raised above the muddy earth, resting on a sheet of fake plastic grass, six of us and the local Presbyterian minister--the new one--who was gracious, but clearly uncomfortable, officiating. No one else, but the respectful workmen, manning the near nearby backhoe.

The snow had come and gone, the rain had held off. No one came to her funeral. She'd lived in that village for over 25 years, was the school secretary for several years, before I was born. She was the village's librarian for over 15 years, a member of the Presbyterian church from wence the nervous lady minister came...and no one bothered. Just two anuts, an uncle--from dad's side, mum was pretty much the last of her family, me and my slightly older sister, and the nephew I love, but rarely have seen.

There was just us, the workmen and the silent, dripping woods nearby. We stood in the deep mud, while the minister read some prayers. I read a passage, and some lame poem I'd written on the fly. No flowers. No wake in some posh funeral parlor. After, everyone got into their cars, and went to Friendly's resturant for lunch. Just another day. There is no marker for mum--I still have yet to pay for the funeral, entirely--owe about 435 dollars, yet, I think. It's just a mound of earth, atop my grandfather's grave.

For me, I know, there may not even be a proper burial--not unless I miracuously land a good-paying job, or win the lottery, and on both counts, I've a better chance of being hit by comet falling to earth. So, like mum, I've no insurance. And, with the burial of mum, there's no more room on the last family plot. So it's Potter's Field and a pauper's grave for me, as well. And few if any mourners--likely less than mum had. It's a lonely feeling,knowing that. Sad and lonely.

You start to realize, when you get to thinking like this, how really small you are, in the scheme of things. Oh, there's loads of people with big or closely knit families, or loads of friends, or who are well-respected and/or famous. Those people will long be remembered.

But people like me...we're forgotten almost instantly. A leaf that falls in the autumn woods, perhaps picked up by some passerby, pressed between the pages of a book, and then left there, unremembered. A drop of rain, falling in a pond. The circles radiate outward--then..stop. They disappear forever.

Is that me?

Probably so. No one comes here, to my place. No one much talks to me, except in passing--a conversation of the moment, soon forgotten. And that's my life, now, isn't it? This is all there is. E--mails, and PM's and letters--but very little physical human contact. I'm am truly the drop in the pond, the leaf in the forest. I will be acknowleged for that one brief moment--and then...forgotten.

I'm not really so feeling sorry for myself, when I say all this---I am merely publicly admitting to something I've known for a long time. And I accept this. It's my reality. It's just the way things are. Maybe how they've always been, and certainly very likely--unless something occurs that seems impossible now---it's very likely this is how it will always be.

MID HUDSON VALLEY, HUDSON RIVER, NEW YORK STATE

Part of the restlessness and discontent that's upon me, I think, is that I've more or less lost my place in the world. And I'm at an impasse, cast adrift on the tumbling stream of life, like a leaf caught in the current of time, lost and drifting.

Unfortunately, I'm stumped as to how to go about finding a place for myself again. I feel so incredibly lost--have done, I think, for quite some months and months now, but simply was unaware of it.

In school, I belonged to something, I was part of something. With mum, too, I belonged, I had family, a home.

Back when I was living in our little village outside the city, when I was in my teens and early 20's especially, I truly belonged. Belonged to something far larger than a school, or a family. I belonged to the land. Many people walk through the woods and fields, and they may admire the scenery..but then, they go home, and it's just another day. And that's fine. But for me, a walk though my little woods and fields...I wasn't just an observer; I was a part of the very landscape. Just by being there, I became a fixture of the ground I walked--every footstep brought me closer to the universe--to all that was around me. Wind, sky, trees, grass, birds, insects--sound, colour, movement, smells...all were absorbed into my heart. It's better than getting high, it's something intangible, something beyond the mortal heart. And it's impossible for me to accurately describe.

I've heard it called being "centred." I certainly felt that way, that's for sure. But I felt something more--so, so much more. It's like being flooded with power--your senses are heightened, you see EVERYTHING. You become are part of everything around you. In all hours and all seasons, I was out there (thunderstorms excepted), and I so dearly miss it.

But as I've said before, it's gone.

I don't know if I'll ever "belong" again. Will I ever find a place for myself? A place where I can feel secure, where I can belong to a place, a person, a group, something bigger...it seems so very doubtful and impossible and far away, right now. I just don't know the answer to that question.

SARATOGA NATIONAL HISTORICAL PARK, UPPER HUDSON VALLEY, STILLWATER, NY (Near the spot where General Simon Frazier (British Army) died.)

So, the latest scuttlebutt from the world of Whovian fans is this:

That Series Four may be delayed by as much as 2 years! Ouch! I nearly be 50 years old by then.

I guess it's thought, or so the rumour says, that the folks that make Who need a bit of a rest. Now, having worked seven days a week for over a month non-stop, having worked more than my fair share of 10 hour days in my lifetime--and, when I was in college and caring for my parents as well, 14 hour day, 7 day weeks were the norm. It's wearing, to say the least.

But two years???? That's one helluva long holiday. Mind you, most of them can probably afford it. I went more than two months looking for work, and went hungry and lost my home, among other things. Oh well.

Be advised, this is only a rumor--but, comes from, I'm told, a fairly reliable source.
So, I guess, like a lot of things in this life, perhaps as the Doctor would say, only time will tell, ey?

"SEE, IT REALLY IS THAT BIG!"

In thinking about my mum, recently, I also thought about how much she put up with, and humored my love of horses, when I was growing up.

Oh yeah, this kid got the horse bug early. Where from, I've no clue...and odder still, I was sort of afraid of horses, for pretty much most of my youth. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I'm still afraid of falling off--but for much more serious reasons, now.

And, I never was an expert on confirmation or stuff like that. But still, the adoration was there--boy, was it there. Poor mum. She bought me dolls and dresses--but, I'd always prefer my cowboys and indians, and horse books. Oh, was mum ever thrilled when I finally started bringing home books like, "Lassie Come Home," and "King Arthur and his Knights," "Johnny Tremain" and the "Hardy Boys." Granted, they weren't "girl's" books, but, they weren't horse stories, either.

I read every single horse story--and there were well over a hundred--in mum's library, and had her order more from the storage facility at the local library federation in Albany. I belonged to a kid's horse story book club, for a time, and always bought horse books at the school's book fairs...toy store? Horse books--well, that, and Britain's cowboys. Let's not forget the magazine pics--wall to wall horse photos!

For years, they had ametuer polo matches up the road from us, in the posh Albany suburb of Loundonville, which was about a mile away, roughly. On Sundays mum would take us to watche them play. This was mostly in the late 1960's. First time I ever sat a real horse (as opposed to a pony, or a mechanical ride) was at the polo match. A bay mare named "Penny's Pride."

Then there was the trail rides and riding lessons. Horse shows..oh yes, let's not forget those. After a while, mum and/or dad knew they could just drop me off and go home or go for a ride or something. Usually it was mum, but sometimes dad took me, instead. One time, a customer of his (he was a salesman at the time) was showing her horse, and dad took me to the show--there was a real cowboy there, with a big black horse that had a genine silver studded saddle, just like what cowboy stars like Roy Rogers, the Lone Ranger and such used to ride in. Seems the cowboy was a friend of dad's customer, and the girl wrangled a ride on the fancy horse and rig for me--still have the photo of me, sitting in a special frame, here in my front room. I was wearing my western shirt and straw cowboy hat that day---it was, I think, 1972, and there I am, on that great whopping big horse, proud as can be..oh, it was a moment I've always treasured--even if it did only last 5 minutes or so. I was in seventh heaven for the rest of the day. It was a bit like getting to see the inside of Doctor Who's Tardis, would be for me now, actually. I was just plain chuffed fro the rest of the summer.

Around 1976, a miracle happened--or at least, I considered so. A riding stable came to Loudnonville...within walking distance--no more depending on mum and dad for rides! And, even better, I could shovel sh...I mean manure and clean tack, in exchange for lessons! Hooray! They had this great and wonderful gelding--he was a draft-thorobred cross, named "Budwiser," or Buddy, as we all called him. He was the kindest, most patient--and intelligent horse I've ever had the pleasure of riding. And yes, I was a terrible rider. No, not putting myself down, or exaggerating. I sucked at horsemanship--but I did try really hard, and I did learn. Yours truly, besides being hefty and a tad clumsy, also, through a childhood illness, has poor coordination. But, I worked hard and gradually made some headway. English (hunt seat) wasn't really my favourite, tho', I did take lessons. The stable didn't own any western saddles, so one Christmas, my parents splurged and bought me a used--okay, very very used---western saddle. It was great! The next best thing to owning a horse, to me, is owning your own saddle. So, I began taking western lessons on Buddy. I have a photo of us, loping round the ring one winter, that mum took (in the same frame, or course, as my other photo) one time.

That year was also a great year as far as my birthday goes. Tho' my birthday is in late October, I didn't get my prezzie, really, until nearly a month later. The day of my birthday, mum surprised me with a ticket to the National Horse Show at Madison Square Garden in Manhattan (New York City). I was thrilled! I'd always wanted to go, read about it often, but never thought I'd get to see it. And it was, wonderful. I got to see the Royal Canadian Mounties do their musical ride, and world class show jumpers all in the same day. It was just...wonderful. And afterwards--mum, bless her, splurged still more (and now I know, in my elder years, that she could ill afford it, then) and got us a carriage ride through Central Park. It truly was a day worth remembering.

Since once again, the all night loud party in the building prevented me--and at least two other tenants---from sleeping (we've an absentee landlord who doesn't give a fig about much of anything, except selling this building and making 400 grand for he and his partner, LOL).

Anyway, too exhausted to write anything reasonably intelligent, so I'll keep this brief.

Or, in my case, these days, more like my great-great-great Aunt Sarah:

I've decided that I'm just turning into tetchy old maid.

LONG LIVE VICTOR MELDREW!

I've been a bit crochety and miserable of late. Perhaps it's just the fact that for the first time in well over a year, my restless waters, beating ceaselessly against life's rocky shores, have at last found themselves somewhat becalmed. Maybe my caged spirit and soul are simply longing to soar free again. Or maybe I've just turned into a tetchy old maid.

Beats me.

Oh, I forgot. No bargains at the mall, I'm afraid. Well, I saved 10 cents on a bottle of catsup, and bought a nice winter hat with ear flaps for under 4 dollars, and got an Arby's hot roast beef and cheddar sandwich, with that great 'secret sauce' on it. Whoo-hoo! Livin' it up in Glens Falls. I was briefly tempted to splurge on a movie--tho' I honestly cannot afford it--as there's some really great stuff on, at the mo'. And, I've not been out to a movie since September of 2005. But--nah--the high school wrestling tournement had just gotten out, as well as teen night at the YMCA, and the mall was being overrun with rugrats. Most of 'em are good kids...well, some of them...okay, a few.

,

Having spent most of my day sick in bed--much better now thanks, fever's gone. Anyway, I was getting a bit maudlin, I was....'course staring at my ceiling will do that--the ceiling in the living room, by the way, is much more interesting than in the bedroom...well, less ugly, anyway. Finished my book, wasn't up to fiddling on the computer, so..just thought about stuff.

I've been doing this totally boring "travelogue" of the parts of the state that I've traversed most frequently, over the years. Partly, because, quite frankly, sometimes the writer's well dries up for a time, and I can't think of anything else to write about. But also, I think, I'm doing it because I am, truly, pretty well a prisoner in my own life. I literally cannot go anywhere but Glens Falls. No money to spare--not beyond a few small things--I mean, if it's under 20 dollars, I can manage to treat myself a bit (factoring in cab fare) and try to, now and again. Like tonight, there's a sale on at the mall, and I have to go there anyway, to get some medicine, so while I'm waiting for the cab back, I thought I'd have a quick look-see. (I'll let you know if I actually find any bargains).

But really, I think partly, by talking about places I've been to and have enjoyed, I am sort of mentally escaping back into my past--taking a trip inside my mind down the ol' Memory Lane. Isn't that what travel writers sometimes do? Sit at home and write about far-off places, and maybe some not-so-far-off places, ey?

My teenage David Tennant fangirl friend sent me a link to a YouTube video, of Mr. Tennant in a panto. It's actually the first panto I've ever seen, really--have checked it out, but only find bits and pieces on the net. We don't have panto here. Was quite funny, I thought. Brian Blessed was a gem--had me in stitches. Mr. Tennant was equally good--tho' the outfit he wore made him look a bit like an organ grinder's monkey. Poor chap.

I'm still gettting chastised for not thinking Tennant is a, as my fangirl puts it, a "hottie." No. I just think the man, while good looking, looks...well, normal. Like someone you'd sit next to on the bus--mind you, I'm sure he drives a disgustingly expensive car and probably hasn't taken a bus in years...or a beat up cab smelling of old cigars and body odor. Lucky him.

So, changing the subject, someone else could not understand why I don't like my country anymore. I do love my country, actually, am quite proud of it's--and my--heritage, just don't like what my country has become, of late--nor am I all that optomistic about where it's going. And, mostly, the people have become rubbish--at least in my experiences. Oh, not everyone, of course, but far too many to suit me. Mean, rude, and downright stupid is the order of the day. And I DON'T say that lightly. Not by a long chalk. People are really getting bad, here. Maybe they are in other places, but especially here. There were, in 2003, over 350 murders in Washington D.C., our nation's capital--and the president wants to lower the age for juveniles to possess firearms. 'Nuff said?

But I am most emphatically not un-American, and never will be. And I take issue with the person who insisted I was.

Okay, now I'm becoming morose again. I'm feeling much better and this does not suit my mood.

How 'bout a few of my own captions, again? I know, they're boring, but...yup. I've run out of things to say.

HAPPY HOMEOWNER: "Yep, one more payment and she's finally mine!"

KIRK: "Hmmm--if i sit long enough in this pose, the crew might actually think I'm about to say something intelligent."

K-9: "I'm the one that REALLY carried the show, mistress."

SARAH: "Yeah, yeah, so you've been telling me everyday for the past 20 years--get over it, K-9! You have your own show now!"

Okay, so I lied. Sue me.

Here's some links to some great videos to delight George DUH-baya Bush haters, everywhere.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ac6ni8Hwoi4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0D4uAW_3Gjg

And just in case you're wondering, how the heck Bush got elected in the first place:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJuNgBkloFE

I was surfing the net about my mother's birthplace and hometown, Hudson, NY, when I found the above photo. Mum sometimes talked about this place. Vasilow's was more than a candy store--it was a chocolate lover's paradise. I guess the son or grandson has reopened the store, using the same recipes and materials. This photo is likely how the store looked to my mum and grandmother, back when mum was a small child.
housing numerous brothels in the 19th century, Hudson now is the Hudson Valley hotspot for many New York City residents, looking for unique treasures in over 70 shops, for their homes. Not to mention the wonderful food for their palate. Hudson has also become a mecca for the New York City art crowd, many of whom are part-time residents.

Hudson is the largest city in New York's Columbia County. A drive through this county is a view of small-town America. Many quaint villages are located here. The county was first settled by the Dutch, in the 1600's.

THIS IS ANCRAMDALE, NEAR WHERE MY MUM'S AUNT CARRIE'S FARM WAS

Columbia County is made up of rolling hills and rich farmland. Apple orchards and dairy farms are still very much a presence, here. Apple picking and pumpkin time is a busy time for farms, with many families going out to the farms to pick produce. Organic farming is also growing in the valley.

Historic homes are available for tours in some areas. Once such, is in Kinderhook, NY, is the Dutch style home of US President Martin Van Bueren.

One of the most magnificent places to visit, is Olana. Back in the 19th century, the mid-Hudson region became home to many fine American artists. Known as "The Hudson Valley School," The artists of the region quickly became known the worlds over. These included Frederic Chruch and Thomas Cole (a direct ancestor).

PORTRAIT OF MY GREAT-GREAT-GREAT AUNT, BY THOMAS COLE (HIS WIFE).

A HUDSON VALLEY PAINTING BY THOMAS COLE

Olana was the home of Frederic Church. Done in a Moroccan style, it's been fully restored and contains many of the original 19th century furnishing. Situated on top of a tall hill, the view alone, looking down about the Hudson River and Hudson Valley, is worth the trip. Of all the dozens of historic homes mum ever dragged me to, this was my favourite.

I've a feeling, before the weekend's over, the apartment's going to look a fright. I've never been envious, especially, of people with maid's. But times like this...I've been getting sicker all day, and now my head hurts so bad, I can't sleep. Oh well.

I did hear a great band today, that I might of heard before, but didn't pay much attention to, until now. They were singing a song, I think was titled "Letter to America." Great song--I think the band's called the Proclaimers or something like that--lovely music, really liked it.

I got over my mom-missing spell, mostly. Tough day, Wednesday, tho'. I even miss her yelling. Oh yeah, she was very mild mannered as a general rule--but we two kid's really could provoke her, sometimes, I'm sorry to say.

We were a trial to my late mum, when my sister M__E__ and I were kids. Especially in the area of our feet.

Oh, yes. Poor mum, sometimes she had to chuck the good ol' dependable Ivory soap, and buy the heavy duty Lava soap, the kind that felt like sandpaper.

Why? Because we were kids, the stuff was there, what more is there to say?

In summer, we often went barefoot (against mum's wishes, often as not). This caused me to have several trips to the ER, after coming in contact with a wasp or hornet, who was very appreciative of being stepped on.

Once a summer, the village Department of Public Works guys would come and re-asphalt our little dead-end street. This usually entailed spraying the surface of the road with tar, throwing fine stones over it, and rolling over the whole shebang with one of those big construction rollers.

As the tar dried in the sun, it developed these really cool little tar bubbles..and, well, you surely know how it is with kids and bubbles--we just naturally HAD to pop them...so, at the end of the day, mum would haul us into the loo, and break out the Lava and scrub like mad, muttering under her breath, as sometimes mothers are wont to do.

Often of a summer, our little gang of kids on our street would build tree forts (aka: tree houses) or whatever.

One year, we decided that we needed a bus shelter come fall. You see, our school bus stop was down the street, up a long hill, and right out on the four lane state highway, Route 378. It was okay in the nice weather, but the weather could be pretty brutal, out on that windy hill, come winter.

So, us kids all got together and built a clubhouse / bus shelter. Mind, we built it in the yard next to our garage--and our house was near the very end of the street. I don't think we gave much thought into how we were going to get the darn thing moved--down the other end of the street and up the long, steep hill. Did I mention the hill was steep?

So we built the house, put in wooden benches, windows, the works.

I should mention here that my dad was notoriously cheap. Okay, well, to put it not so delicately, dad was a cheap bastard. I mean, he bought a couple of gallons of white paint, to paint the house with. He painted the back of garage...and stopped. decided that he'd need a lot more paint and that paint was too expensive. Now, pay attention to this little detail: we had no backyard neighbours. Our back yard ended, and a pine grove and dirt road used only by the Episcopal bishop's gardener, began. So, for the next 20 years, the only part of the outside of our house that ever got painted, was the back of the garage.

I mention this, because dad, collected paint. Never used it, but we had half a dozen paint cans sitting in our garage. In the early 70's, for a while, mum worked at the local McDonald's. He boss had had the store painted, and asked mum if she knew anyone who might want the leftover paint...well, dad being dad, jumped on it...and promptly put the cans in the garage and forgot about it.

The paint was the colour of McDonald's at the time--red, white, yellow. What the heck dad was planning on, I've no idea--the house was white, the walls of I and my siters bedroom were yellow--but was the heck was he planning to use the red paint for?

Anyway, someone got hold of those paint cans and we painted the little shack--one of the girls mixed in some red with the white, to make pink paint, so our bus shelter was a nice pink colour. Then..some kid got this scathingly brilliant idea: why not paint our hands and feet yellow or red, and decorate the walls with our hand and footprints? Brilliant! We had a blast!

Not to mum, it wasn't. And did she ever get flak from the other mother's on the street. She came home from work, saw the mess, and well...I'll let your imagination do the rest.

Oh well. Next week's pay cheque is going to be just a wee bit thin. Okay, woefully thin. I have to call in sick to work. I was hoping I'd be feeling better today--and did for a while. But, just took my temp--101. Not good. It was 99 last night. I seem to be ill. Don't know if my tooth has become infected, or if it's something else. Outside of the pain in my right jaw and ear, I don't feel that ill--just tired, but thought it was just the aftereffects of not sleeping.

I was sick last night, but again, just thought it was the tooth/face pain making me feel tired and run-down. Guess I'll have to see a doc on Monday, whether I can afford it or not.

So, it's phone in the "good news" to work, and hit the bed for the rest of the night. Damn. I hate being sick. There's been tons of illnesses going 'round the office: from influenza to stomach flu, to heaven knows what. There's been more people out sick these last two weeks, than have been in.

And, if that wasn't bad enough. I couldn't do my laundry this morning--no cab service. With so many cabs out of commission from the storm, there's all of about 4 cabs to service a city of 15,000 and a sprawling suburb of about 10,000 more, not to mention all the outlying towns. I couldn't go to a store without walking, and the windchill's about -4 (--13 C). It's 24 degrees, F, but feels like minus 4, because of the high winds. Not gonna' walk ten blocks to the store. No.

Yeah, my iron quit today. Turned it on, to try and "recycle" some blouses that I wore briefly earlier in the week--and ten minutes later, it was still ice cold. Oh well, it was getting on in years. Hope I can find a new one on sale, somewhere. I own a lot of stuff that wrinkles easily. Damn. Double damn.

And the electric bill is due tomorrow, so I have to go after work an pay it--probably will have to walk those lovely ten blocks (not all in a straight line, sort of up, over, up and over and up again, ha-ha) in the cold, to do it, if the cabs are still out of commission. Will be reduced to doing my laundry in the shower--oh, how I miss my washer and dryer!

A co-worker and I both have toothaches--and both are having problems getting to a dentist, for financial reasons.

We were discussing how we each were handling the intermittent pain. I told her that sometimes the only way I can sleep at night, is with the help of 4 or 5 aspirin and a Tylenol PM. She was horrified...not about the aspirin, but that I would take a pain medicine with a sleep aid in it.

"You'd better not take too many of those, you might not wake up in the morning," she chastised me. Umm---one Tylenol PM ain't gonna' make me die. I think she was confusing it with the aspirin. I only take one, and only when the pain gets so intense that sleep is not viable without some help. I bought the bottle over a month ago, and have only usedthree or four tablets so far--and I only take half the recommended dosage...not an addiction, I don't think. Geez---! Give me some credit!

But, I got to thinking about something. What if I didn't wake up, some morning? I've had relatives who've had that happen--sudden death at home.

My grandmother--mum came home from a date, and her mum had died, just like that. My aunt Carol, who was only 10 years older than me, woke up one morning feeling ill, and died in her chair just a few hours later. My uncle--one whom died just before I was born--slipped in his bath and died. It was days before they found him and it wasn't pretty. 'Tho they were both quite ill, both my mum and dad died rather suddenly.

What about me? I expect that with me it'll be like Uncle Pauly. I may not slip and fall in the bath, but I suppose it would be a few days--if not longer--before anyone would be bothered to check up on me. It's true. If I died sitting here in my rocker, right now, in my jim-jams, keyboard in my lap--it would very likely be days before anyone would notice.

Bit of a lonely feeling, that.

I don't want anyone I know out there in the internet world to panic--I feel fine. This is just a passing thought, rambling around in my somewhat empty brain this morning.

That said, suppose I should change out of me jim-jams, put on some clean knickers and go tidy the house, ey?

A comment left by a friend, has given me an idea for a set of two or three blogs. I'd like to introduce you to my "neck o' the woods," northeastern NY, from the Mid-Hudson and Upper Hudson Valley, to the Adirondacks.

This is the Empire State Plaza--home to places like the New York State Library, the NY State Museum, the Corning Tower--tallest building north of NY City--we had a local Doctor Who convention there, once, back in the late 80's. It houses many state offices, a convention centre, known as "The Egg"---which is also used for many theater performances and concerts--I had my high school graduation, there, as well. In summer, the outdoor stage is used for big concerts and festivals. In winter, there's an ice rink. Down below the outside concourse, underground, is a huge ultra-modern wide hallway, often used forspecial events as well, and it's all done in marble, and it's really neat. At the far end of the plaza sits the grand Victorian-era State Capital buliding, a work of art in it's own right.

I remember seeing them build the plaza, when I was in first grade, about 1966 or 67--remember when they tore down whole city blocks and it was just a big dirt hole in the ground, with cranes and the like.

I was born in Albany in October of 1960, and lived in a nearby village, until 1983--and tho' I moved a bit further away, I still worked and played in the area for a good many years.

Here's what Albany looks like from the air:

Albany was originally Fort Orange, a Dutch trading post, founded in the 1600's. There were Native Americans living in the area where I grew up, until the late 1700's. I'd found arrowheads and other artifacts around my yard at home, over the years.

Although they built a car park over the site of Fort Orange, and other sites have been destroyed, much of early Albany still remains: The Schuyler Mansion, where one can still see the mark in the wooden railing, made by an Indian Tomahawk (used to love touching it, when mum dragged us there, as kids--they don't let you do that, anymore) and Ten Broeck Mansion--all original, from the early 1800's--said to be haunted by the ghost of an unknown War of 1812 soldier. I used to be a volunteer there--and, there were some wonderful artifacts and artwork and period furnishings--and what did people "Ohhh--!" and "Ahhh!" about the most? The period loo! Well, most of them had never seen the old chain pull or an enormous marble bath before, I suppose. Go figure. The colonial gardens are lovely as well.

Here's a photo:

There's the old train station--now a bank headquarters, and the old D & H Railroad building, at the foot of the main street, State Street, now housing the offices for the State University of New York, and the Board of Regents (the old blighters, bless them). Next door, is the old Hudson River Day Line steamer offices, now a French restaurant.

Albany has a lovely park, known as Washington Park. It hosts many events, year 'round, including the Festival of Lights at Christmas, and the famous Tulip Festival. The Tulip Festival is a big deal. There's a Tulip Queen (one year it was my neighbour, Bishop Brown's, niece, and us kids all got invited to the Japenese Gardens out behind my house, for all the free hot dogs and Pepsi we could consume, at a party in her honor--it was really cool. They dress in Dutch costumes and "wash down" the State Street hill, just below the capital building, symbolically, with brooms. And the tulips--hundreds and hundreds of them! Really lovely. There's a famous statue of Moses, a nice little pond and other Victorian-era leftovers, as well.

In the last 20 years, Albany and some of its neighbours have become popular with Hollywood, with a number of films being shot in the region, most recently, War of the Worlds, which was filmed just down the river, in Athens, NY (where my adopted sister's original family hails from, and where my grandfather spent his last days).

The "Miss Albany Diner," which is in North Albany (which is next to my home village), was used in the making of the film, "Ironweed," with Jack Nicolson, and was left just as it looked after filming--you can eat in there, still, today, and the decor is not much different than what was seen on film.

Despite the escalation of crime in certain areas of the city, Albany has thrived and become quite a metropolis--trendy cafes and international cuisine, nightclubs, small shops and galleries...quite different than when I was growing up.

Today, I can safely say, was the first time since 20th November 2006, that I actually got outside Glens Falls and it's immediate suburb of Queensbury. Rather than hang around "Wally world" (aka: WalMart) for an hour, waiting for one of only 3 cabs operating in the city today (seems the snow was a bit rough on the cabs yesterday--one even caught fire and is a total loss, one lost its transmission, one lost an important belt, two are immobile due to the fact that the cab company can't get them unburied from the snow, and one had an electrical short.) So, I opted to ride with the cabbie in the opposite direction of where I was going, and took a "sightseeing" trip to Lake George, were two of his other fares were going.

Saw lots of snow. The snow's up to my waist--and to give you some perspective, I'm five foot six inches, or thereabouts. In the median on I-87, way down in the deep hollow, of a grassy section that divides the six lane highway leading to Montreal, Canada, was a semi-tractor trailer....or at least I think it was. It was well and truly buried, and how the tow truck's going to hall that thing--cab and trailer both-- out of there is a mystery to me. It's amazing that the rig didn't tip over! It was quite a sight, let me tell you.

Despite estimations last night, the official report is just a smidgen under 3 feet--about 32 inches. Record snowfall for one storm in these parts--old record was back in '86, with a little over 2 feet.

THIS IS ABOUT WHAT 3 FEET OF SNOW LOOKS LIKE IN THESE PARTS

Anyway, the cabbie and I, on the way back from Lake George, got to chatting a bit. Seems we both like to fish--tho' I've not done any in several years. We got to talking about fishing when we were kids.

Mum used to take us out in the rowboat, when we were kids, up the road from our street, and a little place called "Little's Lake"--named after the man that created it, way back in the post-Victorian era. Until I got older, mum used to have to bait the hook for me--I used to feel sorry for the worms.

Later, I'd go fetch my own worms. We had a small ravene next to our house, with rocks in it..fossil rocks, at that. Anyway, one would turn them over and get some really lovely worms--skinny ones--which are much more appealing to fish, than the fat one's one gets from the bait shop. The one's from under the rocks had more "action" to them.

Once, a young friend was helping me--a neighbour kid from a couple of houses down from us. She insisted on lifting a big rock--and promptly dropped it on my big toe...ER visit that time. They had to drill a hole in my toenail, to relieve the bleeding--not a fun experience. Another time, I was wearing those same canvas trainers (and here's why, when I got older, I switched to steel-toed heavy leather hiking boots--and swear by 'em to this day--they saved me from a crushed foot once, when a race horse stomped all 900 pounds on my left toes) anyway, I was out looking for worms and got a large woody thorn, about the length of my little finger, through the side of one of my trainers--ouch, again. Still have a bit of it, in there.

Worm hunting accidents aside (all a part of growning up), I loved fishing. I had a simple 5 dollar bamboo pole from K-Mart's: tie one end of your line to the pole, tie your sinker, hook and float to the other end, and Bob's yer uncle, yer ready to fish.

One time, there was this rich dude from the ritzy section of town---fancy tackle box, 100 dollar fishing pole, fancy fisherman's duds. He came up to the dock where I was fishing. I said "Hi," and of course, being a rude snob, he ignored me, in my jeans, flannel shirt and old cowboy hat.

Well, Mr Snob with the ritzy gear and fancy lures, made a big deal about casting and was doing his best to show off to this small town kid with the K-Mart fishing tackle and coffee tin of worms. Each time he watched me take a big swing with my pole--to maximize the distance, I would hold one end of the line loosely in one hand, and swing the pole horizontally in a wide arc, letting go the line as soon as it cleared the wooden dock.

Oh, he was being a right old bastard, he was--snorting derivsively and making fun of my "techniques."---that is, until I started catching fish. After the first few "casts," I caught about a half-dozen sunnies (sunfish, a type of freshwater panfish) and a bullhead (a type of catfish). What did Mr wonderful catch? Zip. Nada. Nothing. After I caught my 8th fish, he stomped off, muttering about how I was "ruining" his fishing. "Shhhh---Be quiet," I politely told him, "you'll scare off all the fish." Funny, but to this day, I don't think he even heard me.

ANNUAL SLED DOG RACES IN THE PACK FOREST, IN WARRENSBURG, NY--PART OF THE ANNUAL LAKE GEORGE WINTER FESTIVAL. A LOCAL MAN, A FORMER CLASSMATE OF MINE, WON LAST YEAR'S EVENT.

Well, the storm's just about winding down. The road, while still snowcovered, is clear enough to allow the snow-encrusted cars to drive the speed limit. I looked out the back widow, in my kitchen, to the tenant's car park--there's one lone care out there--at least, I think it's a car--all I can see is one big lump of white with a side view mirror attached to it.

The plows were out in full-force, a while ago, clearing car parks (not ours yet--slum lord's dont' pay the hired help well). There was a chap out there on the sidewalk across the street, around 11.00 pm, taking photographs.

we've got between 34 and 36 inches--2 to 3 feet. Hard to tell, with all the blowing and drifting snow. The winds are high. It's about 6 degrees F, (--13 C) but with the wind, it supposedly feels more like --4 F (that's about minus 20 C).

Not a good night to be outside. I feel sorry for the animals and snow plow drivers.

So, I'm once again stuck awake in the middle of the night with this flaming toothache. Well, that, and the heavy rumbling of the plows are waking me...not a big deal in a small town or the country--where the intervals are fairly spaced, and the sound has become comfortingly familiar after 40 some-odd years. But, never having lived in a city before--and especially not during a heavy blizzard, I was a bit unprepared. It's not only the city plows, but dozens of private contractors from all over--plowing every car park and driveway--and dozens more snow blowers blatting away as well. The din is enormous!

In case you've never heard one, a snowplow is LOUD. I've described it as being like dragging an empty metal rubbish can--with a loudspeaker attached to his to magnify the sound--across a cobblestone street.

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO AN ACTOR WHO EATS AT THE BBC'S MOBILE CANTEEN

So, I'm up and I was bored. So my evil twin took over and I decided to stir things up a little on the Doctor Who Online website. I've been unexpectedly been getting s little flak from David Tennant fans, lately. Only because I seriously don't find the guy sexy. So, I posted a thread on the subject, so see why his lady fans, find him sexy.

So far, only one response--which is amazing as it was about 5 in the morning over in the UK, at the time.

The fan thinks his accent is a turn-on. He's from Scotland--don't they all speak with a Scots accent over there. Albeit, Sean Connery does have a bit of a hunky voice--but I think his (Tennant's) voice just sounds--normal, to me.

Well, going to try again to get some shut-eye. Thank goodness I am working nights, and don't need to get up any particular time, in the morning. I'd be wasted, if I had to work tomorrow morning.

THE LIBRARY WHERE MY MOTHER WAS HEAD LIBRARIAN/DIRECTOR FOR OVER 15 YEARS

I wanted to go out, today. Needed to go out--to the mall, or museum, library, anywhere.

You see, today would have been my late mum's 81st birthday.

I remember her last birthday party, three years ago. Her 78th. I had a little money, so I secretly went to a local bakery, with a large tinted colour photo of her, sitting crosslegged in a chair, her hair in a pageboy, and a pretty dress on--a professional photo, taken around 1931, when she was about five years old. I had them put it on the cake--one of those newfangled cakes with the photo imprinted on the frosting..and had lavender and yellow roses decorating the edges.

Then, I secret rang up my sister, and managed to have her meet us as the resturant. Mum didn't even know we were going. I got her out on the premise of going shopping--which we did a little of, and afterwards, I took her to this fancy all-you-can-eat buffet/steakhouse place. She got out of the car, and was surprised to see my sister and nephew waiting there.

It was a quiet celebration--mum enjoyed the food and the company. She got a new sweater and some odds and ends. It was short, because of her illness, she tired easily. But she smiled all the way home.

Her last birthday, sadly, wasn't much. I made a nice dinner--think it was veal and peppers, her favourite-- and we had cake. Gave her some small gifts. She was quite ill, and money was tight. She did get a belated gift, later, of a fancy four-wheeled waker, with a seat, but her last birthday wasn't that memorable, because she was so very sick, at the time.

And today, I'm sitting here, thinking of her. Missing her companionship--and most especially, her laughter. Heck, I sort of even miss the nagging, ha-ha.

So here's a toast to my mum: Best thing that ever happened to me, was having you for my mom. Cheers, mom.

Oh! I just found something that's made me feel better!

I just found a groovy music video based on one of my all-time favourite childhood TV shows: EMERGENCY! (Randolf Mantooth was soooo--cute!)

This is a great video! I really loved this show--and thanks to this show, many small towns (including mine) developed their own emergency and/or rescue corps.

Here's the link (I don't have a clue how to post YouTube videos, sorry). The short vid really made me grin, as it brought back happy tv memories from my very early teens.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wIOfby3BA8M

Here's what's happening in Glens Falls, according to the local TV station:

Adults get a "snow day" too
2/14/2007 3:08 PM
By: Jessica Mokhiber

Oh yeah, great day off, trapped indoors. Tried walking this afternoon--gave up the ghost...too much like trying to walk in a icy sandstorm--breathing and walking were both a bit of a challenge.

It began around midnight, last night---still going, but is looking like it's starting to wind down a bit. Everything back to normal tomorrow, most likely.

Just saw a beer truck rumbling past, down on the street below. What's their motto? "Neither rain, nor snow, nor dark of night, will stop us from delivering..."

ermmm--no, that's the US Postal Service. What's the beer distributor's motto? "Whether Bud Light or Beck's Dark or whatever "aies" the weather brings, we'll not let you go dry!" The cab's and buses aren't running, but the beer truck is. What's that say about us northeasterners, ey?

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It's official: we're in the throes of one of the worst blizzard's to hit our area in 10 years--and we have blizzards every winter--often several times!

A nasty nor'easter has swooped down on us.

Everything is closing--not totally unusual for schools and a few businesses--but most businesses, as well as the cab company. The cab company is only running cabs to certain areas--and mostly is just plain not running--most of their cabs are getting stuck in the snow, that's literally falling faster than the city's many snowplows can keep up with it!

The city-which is usually well-prepared for such weather, has resorted to using bucket loaders and other construction equipment, to help with the inundation. It's currently snowing at a rate of about 3 inches an hour.

And, this is something I've NEVER seen, in my 46 years of weathering a northeastern NY winter--it's snowing CHUNKS! Yeah, I'm serious. Mixed in with the finer and normal-sized snow that's swirling around, filling the air, are these whopping huge chunks of snow, varying in size from a quarter to a half-dollar...in other words--abnormally large flakes! Never seen the like! Not ever.

The snow coming off the roof looks like smoke...snow is just choking the air, filling it, billowing and blowing every which way, seemingly changing direction every second, like a hurricane of winter.

One minute it's gusting and billowing from the south, the next, from the north, back to south, then west, then east, etc...it's slamming into my windows, and traffic in the city, as I watch, is slowly grinding to a complete halt--very rare. The buses and cabs were running this morning, people driving to work, people out walking---now, in the mid-afternoon hours, it's suddenly like a ghost town. Even the plows have taken a pause.

It's amazing to see. The snow, swirling and skirling off of the roofs and through the air all around, so thick, one can hardly see.

Think I'll slip on my boots and coat, and go for a walk---it's such a fine day outside.

A CLASSIC NOR'EASTER BLIZZARD AS SEEN FROM SPACE

Checking out Nan-og's website, I got curious--well, and I was a tad bored--and took the personality test, "what movie are you?"

Seems I'm Apocalypse Now. Hmmmm--interesting. Never seen it. But, considering my recent past history--very apropo, I'd say.

It also says that I'm a "rouge wanderer on the winding river of life, searching after (my) shadow self."

Ey???

Ya'know, that sounds more like a description of the New Doctor Who, than me. I always thought I was fairly self aware.

Hmmmm---not a bad thought, Nancy the half-baked country bumpkin Time Lady, the new new new Doctor Who. My Tardis could be 69 Chevy pick up truck, he-he. Instead of a sonic screwdriver, I could have a sonic combination pizza cutter and cattle prod. Saving the universe for fast food and dairy cattle everywhere.

"What? You asked for a 9-inch pizza and they didn't slice it! Oh dear! Well, I can fix that, with my trusty sonic pizza cutter. Here. Eight slices all nice and...what? You only wanted six, eight is too many for you to eat? Are you planning on eating all 6 slices? You are. But it's still a 9-inch pizza, whether you...oh forget it. Here's a fiver, go buy a Big Mac instead."

"Unhand that bossy, you fiend--how dare you grab her there! (ZAP!)--oh. Sorry. So that's where milk comes from then, ey?"

Meh--maybe not.

Okay, I know, now I'm just being silly. Had a lousy night at work--but then, so did a lot of other people--so, I'm taking my rather lame attempt at humor and trundling off to bed.

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR MY READERS:

As of 20 minutes ago, a blizzard began. It's going to be bad--sleet, high winds, tons of snow, thunder and lightining, the whole schmeal, roughly lasting two days. It's the dreaded winter nor'easter. We don't get 'em much, but when we do, they're real doozy's.

It's coming from the south--and the northeast, both, this time. Not good. But never fear. I'm made of sturdy stuff--Here in northeastern New York state, we've had earthquakes and hurricanes, tornados and nor'easter blizzards...you just go with the flow and deal with it.

My internet and phone provider is the local cable company--therefore, there's a 50-50 chances the lines will go down--there's already been one outage tonight, albeit, only a few minutes. There may be more. So, if you don't hear from me--don't panic. It's just the storm, no big deal. It'll be back up in no more than a day at most, very likely, and, if I'm very lucky, it won't go out at all.

Despite the chill, it's a nice winter day. It really doesn't feel all that cold, as long as one stays out of the wind. Of course, being a native Northeasterner, I'm pretty much used to the cold. I've been outdoors in a minus 60 windchill (that's a bit more than -51 C, I think--not sure). The coldest actual temp I've worked/played outdoors in, is about -35 F, or minus 37 C. So, 1 degree F, is absolutely no big deal, for me. By the end of February, anything over freezing starts to feel downright tropical, ha-ha.

We're expecting (FINALLY!!! YIPPEE!!!) an actual snowstorm--a real one, this time, not just a passing flurry or squall. Sometime in the next 48 to 52 hours we're SUPPOSED to get up to two feet of the white stuff--we'll see. Weather prediction in the northeastern US, in winter, is a bit like trying to pick the right lottery numbers, bit of a crap shoot, really.

In 46 years, I don't recall ever going this long without a serious snowstorm. We've had naught--and we've should have had at least two or three good storms, by now, if not more.

So, I went out to the store to get a few odds and ends I was out of. While waiting for the cab, I enjoyed the feeling of the sun on my shoulders, the wind in my face, the branches of the maples and elms, moving in the winter breeze.

So many of us, are so busy living, we sometimes forget to live...to live in the moment, the brief seconds of our days, when we can pause, and breathe--watch our breath form clouds that disappear into the sky, see and feel the restless wind, enjoy the sun, and other sights and sounds. Of course, it's a lot harder for me, in the city. Manmade noise is not good for peace and contentment, but...one tries.

The cab ride to the store, was a bit of an adventure. Seems my cabbie never heard of the word, "speed limit," and was zipping around the side streets and main roads like a bat out of hell--nearly getting broadsided (naturally, it would have been on my side of the cab) by a huge truck. I'm thinking, "Hello! Did you not see that big fricking truck that's twice the size of your cab, coming at us??!!??" But the guy kept on driving in his total state of oblivion. I suddenly had this urge to stick my blinking head out the window and scream at passing motorists, "HELP! I'M BEING DRIVEN BY A ROBOT!"

Well, it's getting near to 3.00 pm, and I've stuff to do. The watery winter sunlight is filtering through the front windows. Boots is zoned out on top of the radiator. Flame is asleep there, as well, using Boot's arse as a pillow. She's buried up to her feline eyebrows in Boot's backsides...well, he is a big fellow.

Charlie was mad at me last night. To keep the glare of the orange streetlights out of my face at night, I always close the door leading to the front room. Even with the door shut, lying on the bed, if you look under the door, it looks like I left a light on in the living room--that's how obnoxiously bright the city's streetlights are. My first few nights living here, back in November, I remember waking up thinking I'd left the lights on.

Anyhow, always close the living room door--usually making sure the three cats are out--sometimes they are a bit reluctant to give up their posh cozy spot next to the radiator. They love mum's ol' comforter so very much--heck, sometimes they even play with it, rolling around and attacking the folds--it's made of a slippery polyester, so it slides around easily...they are so very simply amused, cats are, aren't they? Pity we can't be more like them.

So, getting on with things, last night, didn't see any cats, shut the door as usual. Around 4am, it occurred to me, that I'd not seen Charlie all night--usually he's hard to miss, as he takes up most of the lower half of my small bed. At first, I assumed he was under the bed asleep--but didn't hear him snoring--he snores really loud, usually. So, I went and took a peek--no Charlie. Popped my head into the kitchen. Boots on a cupboard, Flame was following me around, presumably helping me look--she's a very nosy and curious cat--and no sign of Charile. Checked the bath. So, retraced my steps and went back through the bedroom into the living room. No sign--until Flame put her paws up on my rocker. I looked--yup. There was Charlie, curled up in my chair---giving me the most foully hurt look any cat has ever given me.

"Awwww---poor Charlie, I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed. He wasn't having it. He slunk out of the chair, with a look that clearly said, "You abandoned me. You don't love me, anymore." He would have none of me, let me tell you. So, I picked him up--not an easy task, let me tell you. he really does look like a feline Orson Welles--and just as heavy to lift, it seems!

So, at 4am, I get down on the floor--and that's not easy to do, when one is overweight and has arthritis---and petted and consoled him. After about five minutes, his pale eyes lost that soulfoul hurt look, and softened. He rolled over on his back (think beached whale with white fur) and started purring softly. Cats are just so incredibly forgiving. It's their best feature, I think--one minute totally pissed off at you, and the next, forgetting and forgiving...as look as you remember to soothe their fragile little egos.

Flame was there as well, my late mum's "little nursey" as mum used to call her--because Flame is so compassionate for a cat, and genuinely gets distressed over any illnesses or upsets--human or feline. Flame spent her time following Charlie around, to make sure he was okay.

FLAME

So, it's nearly noon here in Glens Falls, NY--that'd be about five if you are in the UK. Hope you had a good afternoon, if you live over there.

At 10.30 am here, it was 1 degree F, minus 17 C, with a windchill factor of minus 25 C.

We're expecting continual, or partly continual light snowfall, for the next seven days or so, beginning sometime after midnight, tonight. Today it's just cold, partly sunny and overcast. Another fun day in New York's northeast region. Cheers!

Well, if you read the title of this post and thing I'm some desperate housewife or a streetwalker, 'fraid you're in for a bit of disappointment.

No, I got to do a new programme tonight--no sales, well, at least for the first four hours. Just a state-wide survey for the govenment. Tough on the ol' voice tho'. It's not that the survey's all that long--only 10 min. if you hustle, 15 if you get a talker on the other end.

But, it's sort of like a ten-minute monolouge, and you are doing nearly all the talking for ten or 15 minutes a pop. Sometimes the questions are very short, sometimes there's serveral sentinces you have to spew out--and you try saying "electricity" and Utilities" repeatedly in the same group of sentences--and still sound perfectly coherent by the end of four hours. Ho-ho, that's fun.

But really, that's not too bad, if you get a lot of wrong numbers or answering machines or whathaveyou, in-between. Tonight, I had six surveys in four hours. Doesn't sound like much, does it? Yeah, well, tell that to my voice.

I've turned into a pony for the rest of the night ----a little hoarse, ha-ha.

But I like doing surveys--they're what I do best, and there's no real pressure like there is with sales--I only have to do 5 surveys in 5 hours, roughly, to meet my quota. And if I'm a bit under quota, they don't have a cow, like they do with sales.

No odd names tonight...just "nomal" names like Davis and Jones and Higgins. It was odd, the other day tho', getting those two names, ten minutes apart: Joe Killer and Tony Scariface. I mean, don't you think that's weird? I most certainly do. Geez--I was starting to feel like my call list came direct from the set of Sopranos or The Godfather, for crying out loud.

I was soooo-tempted to try a gangster imitation: "This club's offered you a life membership, see? And'a your'a not'a gonna' refuse, see? Or you may wake up inside the trunk of Bobby the Butcher's caddy with cement boots on, see?"

Okay, well, to start with, I woke at 4am, and couldn't get back to sleep until after five--which means I overslept by a couple of hours...hate that.

Woke up with a stomach ache--made the mistake of eating the last of the leftover Chinese takeaway lunch from the other day, for lunch. Not a good move.

Feel better now, but then around 11 or so, Boots barfed (hurled, tossed his cookies, etc.) all over the kitchen floor--he'd been playing with his feather wand, and it seems he accidentally swallowed a bit of feather. He promptly went on top of the kitchen cupboards to pout, and I was left with the mess on the kitchen floor I so dutifully washed just yesterday. Needless to say, it didn't help my queasy stomach, getting up close and personal with cat barf.

Well, about the only exciting thing that happened to me this weekend, was getting a good deal on a new pie dish. I hope your weekend was a bit more exciting than that.

I had a bit of a wakeup call, on Saturday, by the way. After leaving the laundromat, I asked the cabbie to make a quick stop at the convenient store. Ran in, bought a small tin of cat food and a roll of toilet paper. The lady cabbie, who was standing in line at the next till, looked over at my toilet paper sitting on the counter, looked at me and asked, "Live alone?"

What's that say about me then? When all someone needs to do is see me buy one roll of TP and know I'm single?

Darn. My Runaway Bride DVD has gone all wonky. Freezes just past the halfway point. Well, one more diversion for me, bites the dust. Now what? Well, I still have all of series 1 and 2, to watch--same one's I very literally watched virtually every single day, from July until December. Good thing I LOVE Doctor Who, then, ey?

I went to buy a disposable foil pie plate at the store, so I can make American shepherd's pie, and found that the store had some posh blue glass pie dishes on sale--for less than a pair of aluminum foil one's, that you use once and throw away! So, I saved 10 cents and bought a permanent pie dish--even matches my blue glass dinnerware. Well, it'll be permanent, if I don't drop and break the blessed thing, like I did with the last one.

I spent the rest of the night, looking up some Father Ted clips on YouTube. Love that show! And watched some Are You Being Served? clips, as well. Nothing lightens a heavy spirit, than a good laugh, I think.

The evening's near gone, and it's about bedtime. I was reading my very last fiction book I have, that I hadn't actually read before. But, someone stole it while I was at the laundromat yesterday. Put it down to get change for the dryers, and when I came back, it was gone--and naturally, no one fessed up to snatching it. The pity of it is, if some guy (I was the only female patron at the time) wanted it that bad, I probably would have just given it to him, after I was finished with it. Oh well, some other evening, some other time, I will get a new book to read.

Tonight, I've decided to re-read Bendigo Shafter, by Louis La'Mour. No special reason, other than it was just the first one I put my hand on. Yup. Another exciting evening at home. I miss mum. We used to sit and watch videos, or just talk, or play Sequence Dice or some other game. I love the cats, they love me and they make me laugh.

Boots is like a big teddy bear cat. He's like a cat that should be on a poster or a tee shirt--definately and "Awwww--how sweet is that?" kind of feline. Well, and I'm sorry, this is going to be a tad crude...but tonight, I was tired after shopping, and to give my aching back a rest, after lugging 6 heavy bags up 2 flights of stairs, I decided to lie down for a bit.

I was sprawled on the bed, with my legs apart, when Boots came along and plopped down between my knees. He curled up and kneaded the air with his paas...closed his eyes tight and went to sleep with a little cat smile on his face. Well, he'd been like that for quite a few minutes, when I uh.....um...okay, no way to really put this politely, I farted. After a brief pause, Boots abruptly raised his head and cranked his eyes open at me with the most disgusted look a cat can ever muster on its little furry face. I'm teling you, the expression was almost human! I broke up laughing so hard, my side hurt and tears were coming out of my eyes.

I know the story probably isn't translating very well--and I'm not that comfortable with fart jokes anyway, but trust me, it was hilarious! Definately a look worth a thousand words! And at least one of those words, if translated, would have been "Ewwwww!"

Where do I find myself, now?

A long-term existence of constant pain and loss and upheaval..well, it's like when I was working 7 days a week, for weeks on end--you get into the groove, this mindset. You just keep going, don't you? Or in my case, I nearly stopped. Forever. But that's past me, now, I believe.

And here I am. I have an office job. Enough money to pay the household bills and rent--and for food. No more peanut butter on a spoon (and just for the record, I HATE peanut butter), and tinned peaches and cold cereal and boxed macaroni with ersatz powdered cheese. I've got the New Doctor Who on video, the cats are happy...why aren't I?

What's wrong with me, lately?

It's like my life has just...stopped. Stood still, stuck in a void, and limbo of maddening munndaneness.

I feel, so empty, and I couldn't begin to say why.

There's always been this need in me, ever since I can remember, to see new places, new things--even if it's only in my own backyard.

To learn new things, to discover, to explore, to observe and simply enjoy the world around me. That's mostly lost to me, for the moment at least. And, until now, I never realized how vital this was to my existence. I can deal with the loneliness--it's being glued to one place that hurts my soul.

I long for an open road. For a moment shared with someone. For an hour or two learning and growing.

But all the longing in the world, won't change a thing. And until the day dawns where I can finally be in a position to change things myself--I'm just plumb dumb outta' luck. Oh well. There's worse things, I very much know. At least the bad things have stopped, for the time being. That's something, anyway, ey?

I'm so incredibly bored. Here's a list of things a bored person can do, at one's local WalMart or Sainsburys, Costco, Woolworths, etc.

1. Hijack the store mic, and announce that the first ten people walking through the door with Y-fronts on their head win a free twenty-five pound (fifty dollar) shopping voucher.

2. Set up ten soda bottles in the centre aisle of the store, and "bowl" with a whole frozen chicken (duck can be substituted).

3. Walk around the store with rolled up newspaper in front of your mouth, singing selections from "The Sound of Music" for the shopper's enjoyment.

4. Hide behind a rack of ladies posh satin nighties, and when a woman looks them over, laugh and say, "Size what? You must be joking!"

5. Snag a store employee smock and walk around "inspecting" the contents of shopper's baskets, saying, "we're just checking to see how cheap you really are," or "Oh my God! Those jeans are so last year," or, "You're not planning on actually eating that, are you?" or, "My Gosh, that's ugly. What were you thinking?"

6. Run around the store with your arms spread out, making airplane noises.

7. Get a stop watch and stand by the till, timing how long it takes for shoppers to unload their baskets. If someone's to slow, tell them they have to go back to the end of the line and start all over again, 'till they get it right.

8. Walk around the store in fancy dress (ie: costume), loudly humming or whistling the Doctor Who or Twilight Zone theme tune.

9. Stand by the store's loo and wait for someone desperate-looking to happen by, and tell him or her the loo's shut and they'll have to use the alley out by the loading docks.

10. Stand by the shoe department pretending you're waiting for someone. When someone tries on a pair of shoes, look down at his or her feet and laugh hysterically.

I can remember, in my teens, getting up in the dark of the morning--about 4.00 am, before the birds even began singing. I'd slip on my jeans and a flannel shirt, stick the ever-present cowboy hat on my head, lace on my trusty work boots--or go barefoot, if the weather was warm--and go out into the "the field next door." The small, disused farm field across the little ravene, next to our house.

It would be still, mostly. A bit of traffic on the nearby four-lane highway--State Route 378--up on the hill. But mostly, there'd be perfect stillness. Even the wind dies before dawn. It's like the world is holding it's breath...waiting.

The robust chirping of the crickets that seemed loud in the night, was always hushed, just before dawn. A few stragglers still keeping the song going, but mostly there was just the...silence.

In the darkness, you could see, down in the village, the bright lights of the Regional Farmers Market--the depot where all the produce and fruits from local farms, and the banana boats and such from the Port of Albany, and the Delaware and Hudson trains, and big semi-trucks--and just from everywhere--would wind up. It was always lit up like a Christmas tree, down there in the bottom of the valley, in the early morning.

But, up on the little hill, where I grew up, it was dark and still yet.

I'd walk to the centre of the field. The dew on the long lush green grass was so heavy some mornings, that the bottoms of my jeans would be soaked with it. But it was a good feeling. Despite the chill of the dew, the feeling it gave me inside was quite warm.

Then, maybe going to lean against one of the two remaining ancient apple trees--their bark gray and streaked with black mold here and there, as nature tried it's best to wear them down with time. But a sturdy friend, nonetheless--something that was always there, something solid and dependable, like the morning itself. It was still there, when we finally moved away, in November of '83.

And I'd wait. Wait for the tapestry of morning to unfold itself before my eyes, a living breathing, ever-moving, ever-changing work of art.

The black slowly turned to cobalt blue. The moon would slide down, but the stars would still be visible. The cobalt blue shading slowly to gray. A lone robin would chirp. Once, tentatively, then a few more times. Then, the sky would open, and a warm, soft blue would take shape.

Across the river, the light against the hills would also change. A soft pink, tinging the blue, would creep across the line of low hills. Soon, that lonely chirping, would burst into the song. And that one brave robin, would soon be joined by others of his or her kind--a sudden bursting of cheery song from dozens of throats of the red-breasted wee things.

Then, a miracle would truly happen. The sky over the hills would be transformed into the most amazing palate of colours one could ever hope to see. A living tapestry being woven before one's very own eyes. The robin would be joined by the sad cooing of a mourning dove. And the sky would transform...deep rose, blood red, orange, white, blue..so many colours, and in such quick succession, you could barely credit your eyes.

And this, this was worth getting up in the dark for, and getting my the bottoms of my jeans wet.

Okay, opened an e-mail...OMG! Another female Whovian from the Doctor Who Online site, taking issue with the fact that I don't think David Tennant is "all that".

Am I the only female Doctor Who fan on the planet who doesn't drool or scream everytime the man makes an entrance? Guess so. Hmmmm---interesting. He's sexy? Wow, I have been out of circulation a while, I guess, ha-ha.

Yeah, great actor, seems personable (having never met him--nor am I ever likely to, I certainly can't say), he is, I guess, somewhat handsome and has a nice smile--but no. Not sexy.

Why do female Who fans get so upset with me for not surrendering for Mr. Tennant's supposedly sexy charms? Who cares? I'm an ugly, ill-tempered old maid with no life whatsover--why care about what I think in regards to his questionable male charms?

I think the nick-name's a bit of a turnoff, as well: David "Teninch." What? Did he actually measure the darn thing? Does he keep a tape measure in his pocket to give all the girls a thrill?

Anyway. Sex-appeal aside, I adore the acting, get a thrill watching him work--such energy! Would have loved taking acting class with this guy--bet he was a blast to work with. But please, fellow Whovians--At 46, and having never been seriously kissed, yours truly is just not now, nor will I ever be, into "sexy." And even if I was, I'm more the Hugh Grant type, myself.

Gah! I am so incredibly bored. I suppose I could have gone out to a movie tonight--but don't want to spend the money. I've the cable/phone bill and utilities to pay yet.

I suppose I could finally break down and spend the additional roughly 12 dollars a month on basic cable--the local channels--except I'd have to shell out for the service call, and next month my income is going to drop by around 500 dollars, at least. I will only have on average, about 50 dollars, and I'm trying to save to get another car, someday, so I can finally get the hell out of this city.

Yeah, Glens Falls, NY is real exciting in the winter. You can sit in the park, and watch the pollution-laden steam rise from the cooling stacks at the paper mill. You can stand facing the wind, by the Glens Falls National Bank clock, and see how long it takes for frostbite to set in. You can walk along South Street on a Friday night, counting drunks. You can walk to the bridge over the Glen Falls, look over, and watch the water freeze on the rocks. You can wait outside the theater or wine merchants, and accost yuppies, pretending you've lost your hound dog and you can't go hunting squirrels in the park without him. You can jog through the Burger King drive-thru naked. There's loads to do in Glens Falls, this time of year!

HUDSON RIVER AT GLENS FALLS, NY

DOWNTOWN GLENS FALLS (Photo by me)

I am just sitting here, alone in my front room--well, not really alone, two of the cats are busy washing themselves on my late mum's old comforter, which I've placed in front of the radiator. They've been running around, chattering and playing like crazy things, today...so pleased to see they've finally settled down.

Okay, well, not Charlie. He's so fat ("How fat is he?" the audience shouts here) he could have his own postal code. He's like a wee little Orson Welles with fur.

Everytime Bonnie Prince Charlie sprawls out on my bed, I've got to resist the urge to yell, "Free Willie! Free Willie!"

But, to get back to the subject, (sorry, manic-depressives, I've been told, do have a this tendency to get sidetracked sometimes), I've been sitting in my front room, listening to some music, playing my "free cribbage online" game, and just pondering odds and ends of thoughts.

I was thinking--did you smell the smoke?

I was being a bit melancholy--you see, February 14th--Valentine's Day--was my late mum's birthday, and suddenly I'm just missing her something fierce. So, not to get myself too down--to the point where I break out the snack foods and start wolfing them and then explode--I deliberately tried to turn my thoughts to lighter, more whimsical notions.

If I had an action figure, what would it look like and what would it do?

Okay. Well, it'd be hefty--but not too much, have really bad hair, it's clothes would be down-to-earth, sort of a cross between a feminine cowgirl and a lumberjack. Action accessory? A combination pocketknife and hoofpick.

Hmmm---now what would our action figure do--what sort of situations? Oh, that's easy, spend months trying to survive one major crisis after another, and weeks with absolutely nothing whatsoever to do and nowhere to go.

Yeah, I guess that about covers it.

I went on the Doctor Who website tonight, and posed this question: If your life had a mascot, what would it be?

I thought hard about that one. I thought, it would really be far-out, if it were K-9, ey?

But then, reality took hold, and I decided that it would be a toss between the Toilet Duck

...or the Tidy-Bowl Man.

So I heard all about the "big" snowfall in London and parts of the U.K., yesterday.

Whoo-hoo--what? Five inches of snow or whatever? Ha!

Here's what central New York got in the last five days: 100 inches plus! Central NY is about a three to four hour drive west of Glens Falls, so we just got a few flurries. This is called "lake effect" snow--snow coming directing inland from off of the Great Lakes and Canada--to us Upstate New Yorkers--Central New York is known as the "snow belt" for a reason. Here's the article:

OSWEGO, N.Y. - New York's governor declared a disaster in Oswego County, where five straight days of lake-effect squalls have dumped nearly 100 inches of snow, and even more snow was forecast through the weekend.

"Unfortunately, the forecast is for the same through the weekend," the mayor said. "Hopefully, it won't be as intense. But if it is, we'll just clear it as the snow stops and wait for it to start again."

ACTUAL PHOTO OF A CENTRAL NEW YORK STATE "LAKE EFFECT" SNOWFALL, 1977

It's a slow day today, nothing much else to do--except take the remaining laundry to Suds laundromat down on Bay Street. So, I made some lists: bills to pay, chores, finish the grocery list, etc.

But I didn't stop there. I started a "wishful thinking" list, as well.

THINGS I'D LIKE TO HAVE OR DO, BUT PROBABLY NEVER WILL: ((Not all listed in any particular order)

1. Meet my internet friends in person (UK, Florida and US Midwest)
2. Watch them film Doctor Who
3. Hire a horse for a day, and ride whereever I want.
4. Spend the day in New York City, visiting the Metropolitn Museum of Art, riding a horse or carriage through Central Park, shopping, dining and seeing a play
5. Climb inside a Dalek
6. See the household cavalry at Buckingham Palace
7. Visit Mexico's Copper Canyon by train
8. Meet the American Queer Eye Guys
9. Get a good camera and travel my area taking photos
10. Watch either Derek Jacobi or David Tennant on stage
11. Sail on a windjammer cruise
12. Cruise the backroads of northeastern NY and western New England in a vintage pick up truck with a really good stereo system and loads of CD's
13. Be debt free--or nearly so
14. Have a small home of my own on land of my own, in the country
15. Have a job I'm good at and enjoy, and that I can acutally make a decent livlihood with
16. Own a collie or collie-mix dog again
17. Have dozens of Doctor Who books to read
18. ditto, only DW videos
19. Own a 16 or 17 inch, Monte Foreman or Fallis Saddlery, balanced ride western saddle
20. Ride the Orient Express

Yup. I'm an idiot. I honestly went through half the day yesterday, seriously thinking it was Thursday. Even after I saw the word "Wed" on my Yahoo mail, I thought, "geez, my mail's slow catching up to me, today."

Actually, I think my little brain explosion yesterday, was partly due to a mixture of serious pain, lack of sleep, and one too many pain killers. I take on average, with this bad tooth, about 2 to 4 aspirins or Tylenols a day--the other night, it was, I think, 6 extra-strength Tylenols in about a 4 or 5 hour period..so maybe between being awake half the night, and that, I was a bit stupid, yesterday...not a good feeling, I may add.

I hate feeling stupid, more than anyone could possibly know. My 8th grade math teacher was always telling me how stupid I was, and my dad, sometimes, as well. Feeling stupid really hurts. It easily makes me feel like instant rubbish. Which is why sometimes I get a big shock when someone tries to tell me I'm smart. Hell. No. No frickin' way. My IQ is, in reality, rather on the low side. I just try very hard--I've had brain damage as a baby, and it messed up a lot of stuff--my emotions, my math/musical skills, corodination, memory. On top of that, I can't do stuff backwards--I actually have to stop and think before doing anything in reverse--seriously. Doesn't matter if is simple subtraction or backing up a car.

If I appear to have any intelligence at all, it's just dumb luck (pun intended). I'm naturally very curious. I love learning, but am, in fact, not a good learner sometimes (memory sucks, and I'm slow to learn new things), and often people don't realize that. So they aren't very patient with me. I get flustered easily, and that just makes things worse, because it makes me feel even more lowly.

So I compensate by trying very hard. There's some things I do okay. And some things I just do well at, once I've feel like I really know what I'm doing. When I've got confidence in myself and/or what I'm doing, I can shoot the moon, do anything, just about.

But, sadly, that doesn't happen very often. And when I don't have any confidence in myself--especially if I'm feeling stupid--and feeling that way will always intimidate the hell out of me--I just am a complete and utter idiot. No way to sugarcoat it--yup, I'm a moron that could really give George Bush a run for his money.

Well, overslept. Ihave about 40 minutes left to get ready for my ten hour split shift today. Not hungry, but forced down a sticky bun--which I will regret by noon-time, when my stomach will likely start making those good ol' "I'm hungry" noises. Ah well.

Forgot to take anything out of the freezer for my 3;15 lunch, as well. Hopefully something will thaw by then. I've half a quiche and some hot dogs in the fridge yet.

Last night was a bit rough. Had the worst toothache ever. No, really. I was at the point of calling a cab to take me to the Emergency Care Center. I was in such terrible pain for about two hours--even four extra-strength Tylenol's were doing naught--my whole right side of my head felt like the nerves were being stripped bare. It hurt bad enough, that if the grim reaper were to have walked through the doorway and beckoned me to go with him, if it meant an end to my pain, I would have gone with him--rather gleefully, I may add.

At least the pain's down to a dull throb now.I'll limp thorough my phone scripts today, but hopefully no one will notice. It would happen on my long day. Couldn't happen on my 5 hour day, when I can have a lie down after work. My two hour, 3 to 5 break in the afternoon, usually isn't very relaxing. It's odd, most of yesterday, the tooth felt fine. Don't understand what triggers it. I can go a whole day without hardly any pain at all--then, without warning, it slams into me with the force of a freight train. Oh well, week and a half to go, before it gets yanked. That's one tooth I won't be missing--well, actually, I will, but..oh, you know what I mean. (I hope.)

On top of everything else--my knickers didn't dry--it's either go to work feeling like I"m wearing wearing wet nappies or no knickers at all (perish the thought).

A Typical New York valley scene

I've been too negative lately--I'm beginning to feel like an old shrew.

Okay, change of gears is due, ey?

It's the heart of a northeastern New York winter. I'm stuck fast where I am. It's freezing cold and I'm in the city away from my small town/country life that I love so much, and my life is at more or less full stop again. Not a bad place to be, considering recent past history--last time my life came to a full stop--for the better part of three years in the mid-late 90's--I wound up going to college at the tender age of 39, and that lead me to re-discovering myself, seeing foreign shores, winning awards and praise (not that I need that, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good), co-buying my first home (okay a very large caravan, but who's picky?), and many other nice things.

Then, in 2005, my life once again came to a crashing halt--more like completely shattered to itsy-bitsy little bits. Now, I'm not out of the woods--next month my income goes back in the ol' loo again--but I've got a sort of decent job, and (so far) a fairly stable existence. So far...I am too aware that I'll likely never have a truly stable and certainly never, a secure existence. But, if I'm very lucky, maybe some good, someday down the road, will once again come of a seemingly dead-end. Only time will tell, I suppose, ey?

On to other thoughts:

So here it is, dead of winter. Who wants to think about being cold and miserable?

Think I'll write about summer.

My earliest memories of summer, involve being in our playpen outside the kitchen door, and my slightly elder sister squeaking this plastic toy shaped like a clothespin, and getting the pheasants from the nearby woods (who later would mysteriously disappear completely around '70 or '71) to come right up to the bars of our little enclosure. It was really cool.

I also remember, a few years on, sitting on our front lawn and porch a lot, playing with our toy dollhouse, playing cowboys and indians, and playing with our cat, Buttons, kittens.

We used to sit on the front steps and colour in our colouring books and talk about music and tv shows, Doctor Suess, whatever. We were especially enthralled with Disney movies: Bedknobs and Broomsticks, Mary Poppins, Escape to Witch Mountain, The Love Bug and other such movies. The Monkees and the Beatles and Sonny and Cher were frequent topics of conversation, as well, as I recall. One year, my sister became totally into a rather gruesome movies (she loved weird stuff--but, she was weird, anyway, or at least, I thought so--she thought the same about me, by the way.) M___E___ loved movies like "Willard," "Soylent Green," "2001--ASO," and of course, "The Excorcist." I watched movies like "The War Wagon" and "True Grit," "The Gypsy Colt," and "The Wild Pony." Oil and water, my sister and I. Most definitely.

Of course we played games: kickball, hopscotch, softball, basketball, horseshoes. We went fishing, picnicking, exploring the woods, picked blackberries (complete with the resulting scratches), caught frogs, Garter snakes. At night, we got out our mayonnaise jars with holes punched in the tin lids, to catch fireflies. We'd keep them in the jar overnight, on our dressers, then release them the next day (at mum's insistence.) We went swimming, and the school had craft days (which yours truly detested, as I was not "crafty.")

We played cowboys and Indians--which was fun, especially getting "shot" and getting to roll down hills and such. We threw rocks at bats at dusk, to get them to divebomb us--before you get ticked off, we never hit them, they were too fast. We had this really steep hill, and we used to flatten cardboard boxes we got from the appliance store in the village, and slide down the hill on them, on the tall dry grass...but one had to watch the stinging nettles, when one was wearing shorts--ouch!!! One year, sis got really bored and set fire to the grass. Boy, did she ever get it!

I've probably wrote all this before in my blog, I guess. I don't remember for sure. But we had fun. We'd camp out in the backyard, play in the piles of grass after dad had raked the yard after mowing--very itchy, but fun! We'd ride bikes, and play with our cars and trucks in the dirt piles, play "house" in the woods, play board games like "Sorry" and "Operation" on the neighbour's porches. And, no summer would be compete without the resquite trips to places like the Catskill Game Farm (a zoo), Story Town, Frontier Town (my favourite, of course) and Time Town--the most boring place ever-- (theme parks), the local little amusement park, Hoffman's Playland, horseback riding, and, the dreaded picnic--usually to one of the local state parks.

My dad's idea of a family "picnic"...start the charcoal, thown on some steaks, and sit in his outdoor lounge chair, and read the paper, while mum did all the other work...and, we had to use plates from home, as he refused to spend the 69 cents or whatever on paper plates, which would have meant less work for poor ol' mum. He'd sit and read the paper. Mum would get the food ready. If there was a pool or lake, we kids went swimmming. Otherwise we went exploring. We'd eat, he'd finish the paper, we'd go home. Whoopie. Loads of fond memories there. Oh yeah, sometimes this would involve a 45 minute to two hour drive, one way, in a hot car with no air conditioning. Yippee. What fun.

But, yeah, most summers were pretty fun. We were lucky in that respect. Sometimes homelife was rubbish, but play was really..okay.

Well, it's a bit after 9 am here, the outside temp is 10 degrees--minus 12 C, under mostly clear skies. Froze coming home last night--going to dress warmer for the office, today.

Am feeling a little better--if slightly tired. Woke with a dribbly nose--hopefully not getting a cold on top of everything, but 'tis the time of year for it. The flu's been making the rounds at the office. Hopefully it will pass by my cubicle.

Working 'till 3 today, but have to run errands after work--oh the joy of waiting for cabs in Glens Falls--bit of a crap shoot, really. Can be minutes or can be a half hour or more. Normally, I'd walk to the store, if possible, but way, way too cold--don't have a proper winter coat, you see--couldn't afford the 80 or 100 dollars for one, this year. Not that I mind. I'm used to the cold, but it makes for a miserable walk, when one is loaded down with groceries or what-have-you, with a sub-zero farenheight wind blowing in one's face. Bit hard on the lungs, that. Hard to blow one's nose as well, one your hands are full of the shopping, he-he.

Well, by 10 am, I'll have my well-fed American posterior in the seat, with my phone glued to my ear, my script sitting there in my face, for another lovely day of listening to Americans be rude. Fantastic!

So, the Neo-Nazi's---opps! I mean, the Neo-conservatives have totally blocked any debate on Iraq in the senate, yesterday--they want us to stay--and send more troops and billions more dollars, to throw away on a mess that they created through what moi knew before it began--as bullcrap. I listened to the people who'd been over there BEFORE Bush snagged onto the idea of going after Saddam. Everyone else, it seems, listened to Bush. But, I'm not going to crow about being 110% correct in everything that I predicted back in January 2003. That would be too tacky and not what I'm about. The whole thing is just too sad.

Yup, 'ol DUH-baya is proposing spending billions more on Iraq--while also proposing to cut taxes! Okay, where's the money from Iraq coming from? From housing, health, food, education and other social and medical programmes--vital programmes that Americans desperately need to function reasonably in this life. However, he's increasing spending on weapons, hunting and benefits for large corporations, as well as, of course Homeland security.

And just so you know, if you haven't noticed, or don't live here--the word "homeland" does not appear in the American lingo--until George Bush showed up. Neither does "Axis of Evil." Well, his family, it is documented, did actually support ol' Adolf, financially, at one time.

So, another day of being abused by total strangers. Ah well. The AARP, it seems (Association for Retired Persons organization that puts out a national magazine) put out that all you have to do with telemarketers is just not answer the phone. Stuff and nonsense! We just call you back. Slamming the phone on our ears--hurts! What's we ever do to you? We're just doing our jobs! Most people in the US think telemarketers are just students or losers who can't find work doing anything else. No. At 9.00 an hour, ours is actually one of the higher paying employers in the area--most jobs in our geographic area of the north country pay minimum wage or only slightly higher...and unless you are professional, are lucky and landed a good job, or whatever--most jobs in my area are indeed menial, and frequently backbreaking.

Many people on my office, are working mums, retirees who can't manage on their fixed incomes alone, the disabled (like me who are mentally disabled, and some in wheelchairs), and such. Oh, there are a few students--but most are people struggling to make ends meet--just like many of the people they are calling--and many of us, in fact, do have college degrees, just can't find good=paying jobs. But we've been lectured by doctors and teachers and other so-called "professionals" to "get a real job." These people wouldn't last ten seconds in our world--the real world.

And bear in mind--in America, no NHS! 60 percent of the people who lose everything they own and/or go bankrupt, do so because they can't pay their medical bills. Something Bush and his heard of morons, and all neo-cons don't understand--because hey, that would require thinking--scary stuff. They don't want to think or care or behave like civilized people--because that would mean making an effort. Oh, don't get me started. Sometimes I think many Americans are getting just as bad as the terrorists--they let their own die from lack of health care, and other preventable causes, and put people down who need help, just because they don't want to be bothered with caring, or are tight with their money--the terrorists don't care who they hurt, and neither, it seems, does George W, and all other conservatives in this laughable nation.

And thus ends my "soapbox" lecture of the day, kiddies.

I miss college. I didn't like Castleton State as well as Adirondack Community College--sometimes thought I should have transferred to Green Mountain College (pictured above) in Poultney, Vermont--or transferred, if I was really smart, down to the College of Saint Rose in Albany. (where I would have had the lower home state tuition and more funding, as a resident of NY state), it would have been the same mileage--roughly 50 miles (a bit over 80 km) one way--same as I was commuting from Lake Luzerne, NY to Castleton every day. Well, that's all water 'neath the ol' quaint Vermont covered bridgenow. No going back to school in my future. Let's face it, I'm a drudge. A laborer--and there's worse things--actually, when I was working with animals, I rather liked the drudge work--well...except for the time I fell into the manure spreader. (Don't ask.)

I switched my hours around today--on account of me being a little ill, yesterday--switched from day to night shift. Hate the night shift, but needed the time to catch up with stuff that didn't get done yesterday. There's this song Virgin Radio keeps playing that is starting to get stuck in my head: "America." I'm going to start singing along with it, pretty soon--not a pretty sight, or rather sound, I should say, ha-ha. Nice singer--never heard of 'em, but he's nice.

Anyway, God--or someone--was looking out for me today--my apartment looks a disaster, and it turns out the landlord and his real estate agent were doing a showing this morning--thank goodness I was home! I made my excuses--that I was in bed sick--not entirely a lie, I still am feeling a bit out of sorts, and I was, in fact, in bed proofreading some handwritten notes I'd made for a play I'd been messing with back in the fall. Strange--I swear, all these prospective buyers look the same to me--yuppies in suits--the women as well. Who wants some yuppie poking his well-fed, expensively clothed snoot in my chav decorated apartment when I've been ill and the place looks like something leftover after Hurricane Katrina?

Ohhh--! They're playing "Brown Sugar!" I love that song---fantastic driving song!

Yeah, the open road and tunes--who needs material stuff to be happy? That's all I need. It's the simple things that really matter---a good conversation over a great cup of tea or coffee, a quiet moment alone under the moon or watching the sun come up over the hills, the satisfaction of finishing a great book, a job well done, helping someone--just because, a quiet moment working on your hobby, watching your pets (or kids or friends) play and enjoy themselves, taking a moment to just listen and feel and sense the world around you...that's what counts.

I may be permanently poor, I may be nobody, I may be stuck in a nothing job for the rest of my life---but I do know what's really important in life.

Okay, that said--of course I'd like to be rich and debt free and be able to buy "stuff" and go places.

Oh, how I long for some new Who to watch...I positively crave Doctor Who. It's the only real diversion I have, now.

My Sunday wound up all cockeyed. About noonish, my bad tooth started in...and got progressively worse. But 2pm, I was in bed, trying to sleep it off. The right side of my face was swollen like a balloon, my jaw, ear and side of my head was throbbing in time to my heartbeat. I took a mess of aspirins and just tried to sleep it off--worked. Can't wait to see the dentist--never thought I'd say that---but still nearly two weeks to go yet, before my appointment.

Actually, the tooth's been a bit better, last couple of weeks, don't know why it chose today to be a pain in the...face.

Short of it, had to write off the booksale--well, still have one more book I haven't read yet--and can always re-read stuff, like usual.

Wish I could afford more Dr Who books, but have to start stashing the money away...may be losing my disability benefits in March--no guaranteed rent payment (my disability cheque covers the rent and most of my internet/phone bill).

It's late, past 11pm, and I've got to be to work at 10 tomorrow. Glad I opted not to work today. It would have been miserable--well, more miserable than usual.

You know, with my lifetime of being verbally abused by everyone from total strangers and classmates, to my dad and a few teachers, you think I'd have developed a thick skin by now--but I really hate it when I'm sincerely trying to be nice and professional--and someone treats me like garbage over the phone. It's frustrating and makes me sad, still, after all these years.

So, I'm switching between listening to Virgin Radio and listening to Stone Rose again. I enjoy listening to Mr. Tennant's rendition of this particular story, he did an exceptional reading, I think.

I tried writing some fan fiction today--I've not added a chapter in quite a while--but my health just wasn't allowing the creative juices to flow, so to speak. It was all I could do to write that gosh-awful blog entry below. My blog entries have not really been up to par of late. Hard to write when you're down. Yes, still under the heavy hand of depression--but, I'm better--I think. Would I know? Beats me.

I know I've been moaning too much lately, about being bored. Sorry. I really shouldn't be complaining. For the first time in well over a year, my life is more or less back to "normal." Or, at least, normal for me anyway.

For the first time in a long, long while, I've plenty of food in the cupboards and 'fridge--and not just the cheap stuff mind (you know the 69 cent package of "mystery meat" hot dogs, 29 cent boxes of maacaroni and fake powered cheese, 50 cent packets of Ramen noodles, etc.) I actually have stuff that I like, as well. My gosh, I've even had steak twice in the same week--unheard of in the last year and a half. I can pay my bills on time (well, except for the 350 dollar plus student loan looming over my head like a guilotine), I'm not sleepless at night, worrying about making my 600 dollar rent, I have clothes that actually fit and aren't missing buttons or stained, my apartment is reasonably decorated to suit me (tho' I don't have much in the way of places to actually sit--so it's sort of a good thing I don't get anyome coming over--they'd have to sit on the bleedin' floor or a very uncomfortable chair), and--I'm actually making 9.00 an hour (albeit, only part-time) which is more than I've ever made in my life, since I got my first real job at 14...and, it's 1.50 more than minimum wage, which, considering that in reality, I've not got a lot going for me in the career department, isn't all that bad.

So, what the heck am I complaining about, ey? No clue. I really should be grateful to be bored. Should be getting down on my knees and be thanking God that I'm not suffering a major crisis.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm getting "barn sour."

A barn sour horse is one that doesn't want to leave the vincinity of the barn.

A few years back, I was on a rent-a-horse at a local stable, Bailey's Horses. Because I was so...hefty (even more so than now), as usual, I got the the big ol' plow type horse to ride. Lovely.

Except for one thing: This horse hadn't been trained to neck rein.

Now, here's a bit of a riding lesson thrown in for good measure. Flat riders (what we here in the states call "English" riding--hunters and jumpers and such), "English" riders hold one rein in each hand, and to "steer" a horse right or left, pull back on either the right or left rein. Easy peasy.

In western, one neck reins--takes both reins in one hand, and pulls the rein against the side of the neck in the direction one wants to turn. We also use our legs, and sometimes voice. To make things really confusing, sometimes western riders also hold a rein in each hand, when doing reining routines (western reining classes involve lots of quick lead changes, fast 360 degree spins and sliding stops and such, all done on a loose rein, and takes a lot of horsemanship skill--sadly, I never got to do a fast spin--wasn't really advanced enough, but it's quite a thrill, I'm told).

Anyway. Here I am on this glue factory reject. We head out for the trail..and ol' Dobbin doesn't want to. He decides he likes the pile of hay in the corral much better than hauling a 250 pound fat broad on his back down a dusty trail and through streams and whatnot.

So, the battle of wills begins.

And, that's when I find out the ol' nag doesn't know how to respond to rein cues. Lovely. I'm thrilled.

I pound his big barrel with the heels of my boots. He just stops, turns around and stares at me beligerantly. "Ha! I ain't goin' anywhere, sister!"

Okay, so I grab the long trailing end of the reins--the one with the knot at the end of it, and give em' a good whack on the rump and neck--whack! Whack! All the while kicking him with the sides of my legs for all he's worth...he just stands there at the trailhead, pretending to be a statue, flipping with his ears back and acting bored.

Okay, time to try something else then, ey?

I remember reading something in a book once, about problem horses, and decide to put the book's advice to the test.

Grabbing a rein in each hand I begin to pull back as hard as I can. Well, whaddy'a know? Old fly catcher knows how to back up--and yours truly keeps making him back up...okay, now I'm pushing his buttons--he's pissed.

So I stop. Urge him forward with a loose rein, a verbal "chhkk, chikk" and leg pressure. He starts forward, gets to the trailhead, and yup. Stop.

We do the backwards dance rountine again--and after the third or forth try, easy=peasy. Dobbin' finally gets a clue. His rider isn't taking no for an answer. We go off on our trail ride, end of story.

I guess my point is...maybe that's what I'm doing now. Maybe I got barn sour about my life. I don't want to leave my protective shell--and today, I'm backing up a few times, and re-examining what's been going on with me, this past week, and see if maybe I need to look at things in a different light--stop resisting the "nomralcy" and just go with it.

It's really hard, just turning off the bad stuff--I think I will never be the same again--will always have fear about losing everything I care about, again. But, maybe I need some backing up, some inner-reflection, so I can take a step into this life I'm "stuck in" right now.

I don't know if that makes sense or not. It's just a passing thought of mine. I'm off in an hour or so, to Suds laundromat on Bay Street. It's not as nice, or as cheap, as the one on Dix, but it's easier to get a cab home from, as it took over 45 mintues for me to get a cab home from there, last weekend--and it's only a 8 minute drive away!

Here's a thought (if you can call it that), if one dies of boredom, what do they put on your death cert as a cause?

"God, she was dull!"
"Monotony overdose"
"Struck down by tedium."
"Had no life to begin with.

I read the other day, an article about some of the things pilots overhear while sitting on the runway.

Here's a pretty good one--can't remember it verbatum, but I'll relay it the best I can:

TOWER: United 999, climb to 10,000 feet, you have a Fokker flying in to your right."

PILOT: Tower, I've always wanted to say this: I have the little Fokker in my sight."

Being as I've had genuine hillbilly's as my neighbours and all, I realize that many of my readers haven't a clue how to reckognize a redneck, so here's a redneck test:

You might be a redneck if:

YOU THINK SHERLOCK HOMLES IS A FANCY HOUSING PROJECT

YOU WEAR CONFEDERATE FLAG UNDERSHORTS

YOU USE ROADSIDE "DEER CROSSING" SIGNS AS PRACTICE TARGETS

YOU'VE HITCHIKED NAKED

YOUR FAVOURITE COMPETITION IS THE LOCAL TOBACCO SPITTING CONTEST

I read, not to long ago, that the wife of a duck hunter down Tennesse way, opened her 'fridge recently and got quite a shock.

Seems hubby shot some ducks and just tossed the carcasses in the refridgerator without bothering to gut and dress them. Well, the wife opened the 'fridge to pull one out, two days later, and it raised its head and looked at her.

The lady duck, named by the vet, "Perky," is going to make a full recovery, but will probably never fly again. The hunter and his wife are paying for the treatments.

Yes, here we are, another exciting weekend, alone in lovely downtown Glens Falls, NY on a winter Saturday. Oh gosh, what's the big event today? A book sale at the library! Whoo-hoo!

Actually, I'm going to the "bag sale" tommorrow--all the used books and whathaveyou, that you can stuff into a bag (and believe me, I can stuff a lot) for only 5 dollars--which is exactly the amount of spending money I have for the week.

Gah! I've got this really godawful case of cabin fever (what we northeasterners call it, when one has been cooped up too long indoors in the wintertime) and I'd give an arm and a leg--and part of the other arm--to be able to just...go somewhere. Anywhere. As long as it's not Glens Falls.

Don't get me wrong. I like Glens Falls, it's a nice little ciy, as little cities go. It's just that this apartment is getting smaller by the day, and a walk around the local shopping mall, or a trip to the library, just isn't cutting it for me at the mo'. I literally haven't been anywhere outside the ciy/suburb of Glens Falls in months, and I'm feeling it, a bit.

What I wouldn't give now, to be able to just hop in a car, plane or train, and just....GO.

Don't mistake me though, I'm not ungrateful...I'm just...bored. Bored to the point that I'm sitting here having Pringles and Pepsi for breakfast.

I do miss college--something new everyday--even the commuite, at least I was seeing the outside world as I was driving, listening to the news and whatnot on the radio. Now, I don't even have television, and can't get in my news station on the radio very well, here, as there's some type of interference.

I sort of miss the travel, as well. Hard to believe, sometimes. A homebody like me, seeing other countries--seems like a distant dream, now. Netherlands, Iceland, Egypt--don't know if I can count England--I was only in Heathrow for three hours or so--but now, it just seems so...impossible. I dunno', it's hard to explain.

Hell, even a trip "next door" to Vermont or Massachusetts would be welcome--even down to the capital city of Albany (and I grew up down there) would be a treat, right now.

I doubt I will ever even see New York City or Boston again, let alone more distant shores. I'm afraid I"m stuck. Stuck fast. Crazyglued to Glens Falls. Well, I guess there's worse things. I could be living in Toledo, Ohio. There's a song about that...

"Saturday night, in Toledo, Ohio, is like being nowhere at all. All through the day how the hours rush by--you sit in the park, and you watch the grass die...go visit the bakery and watch the bun's rise----...but let's not forget the dusk and the twilight, when shadows at night start to fall, They roll back the sidewalks percisely at ten, and people who live there are-not-seen-a-gain...just two lonely truckers from Great Falls, Montana, and a salesman from places unknown--all huddled together in downtown Toledo-----to spend their big night all alone!"

I went back into work at five, to a light snowfall--came out at 10 to nearly four inches of the light fluffy stuff...very pretty, coating the trees and streetlights. Walking down the street to relative silence--odd seeming, in a city, with nothing more than the "scrunch-scrunch" of my snow boots, the sudden heavy scraping of metal on pavement, as the snowplow goes by, orange light flashing against the snow covered gingerbread bushes and trees and porch railings. Once, I heard the sound of two young girls, giggling on a side street, somewhere, their echos probably making them sound farther away then they really were. Winter is finally here--we can all sigh and rest easy.

There was the usual sight of a big ol' pick up truck hauling a snowmobile trailer, hustling out of the city towards in the direction of the state snowmoblie trails up in Lake Luzerne and Lake George. We have, mind less than four inches (under, I think 10 centemeters) of snow--not a lot, but I've seen these rednecks on their snowmobiles out when there was only 2 inches of snow on the ground--even in the mud! I dunno', I'm old fashioned, myself. I prefer snowshoes and horses--but, that said, wouldn't say no to a ride--provided the person you were with was actually sober, mind. In the Adirondacks, it's not unusual for snowmobilers to follow the trails from one bar to the other, not fun--and heaven help you if you live near a trail--think roaring thunder mixed with a zillion whining misquitoes and you have the sound of a snowmobilers--often in droves-- at 4 am, going by your front yard--drunk. Fun, fun fun! Life in the country isn't always quiet, by the way.

SNOWMOBILERS NEAR LAKE GEORGE, NY

So, I finally got 'round to finishing watching the Friday Night Project with David Tennant--and lo' and behold, what was on--a bit where Mr. Tennant admits that Billie Piper does indeed call him..well, you know.

I'm trying to picture this young bloke at a disco, coming on to some drooling fan girl: "Hi love, I'm David Tennant. But you can call me David Ten-inch." Whereupon he whips out his woo-hoo and waves it at her. "Isn't it lovely?"

Whoops! Am I being crude? Sorry. I'm so very rarely crude--honest, it's true, but I just can't seem to help it, tonight.

I guess I'm either coming out of my depression, or overcompensating (something, apparently, our Mr. Tennant doesn't have to worry about), by getting stupidly silly.

Okay, well if I must, for once, be crude, I will add this:

There's no denying David Tennant's a fine actor. Which leaves one to wonder, and, if you really object to crude humor, don't read further.

But it leaves one to wonder--if "size" has any relation to talent, Sir Lawerence Oliver must be very well endowed indeed.

("Endowed" wasn't my orginal choice of word, btw, it's just that I'm still enough of an old maid to cringe at the thought of offending any of my friends.)

Okay, lunch break, have to schlep back up the street to the office by quarter to five and want to have a bit of a quiet read (reading a western/mystery with a Holmesian theme--interesting, but gross, sometimes--screworm decscription I could have lived without, having seen them before anyway.) Was too tired/depressed to read much, this week, but maybe on the upswing, never know with this dang-blasted thing I got.

So, I actally made some sales today, no many, but better than the zero I batted on my last 10 hour hitch in front of a computer screen with a phone virturally glued to my ear. Did get some lu-lu's though--one guy just couldn't seem to figure out the phone number I was reciting him--poor fella, think he was getting on a bit--I kept saying, "seven-five-oh" and he kept writing it down as "seventy-five-fifty." I kept saying "No," etc...he kept insisting on making four digits out of three. I was patient with him naturally, but it was a bit trying to my patience after the timer (the length of each call shows up on a little timer on the side of my screen) reached 4 minutes! I believe we finally communicated though. I think.

So, read where George Bush and company slashed the history budgets (archives and research) in the USA to virtually nothing. No exaggeration. Okay, here's the deal: guns and bombs may help preserve "democracy," for the short term--but the real founder and saviour of democracy is knowlege. How the hell can we prevent history from repeating itself, when we have no knowlege of our past history to begin with? And how can we truly value and respect and honour our nation, when we essential give the two-finger salute to the records and deeds of the people, places and events that made our nation what it is today? How can we forge ahead towards a better future, if we deliberately make ourselves ignorant of the past? They call him Geroge "dubyah" Bush--I just call him "Duh."

So, a short (thank goodness) e-mail from my young David Tennant fan friend--just a few loose pieces of trivia: "Do you know what Billie calls David?" Oh yeah, I'm waiting with baited breath---you're not gonna' beleive this one: "David Ten-inch!" she writes.

OMG. You've got to be joking? I hope she's not serious. Am I the only woman who likes David Tennant, who's NOT attracted by him? I mean, good gravy! With a nick-name like that, the man's ego must be bigger than his...well, you know. Geeeezzzz. Why doesn't he just flip it out, and wave it around, for pity's sake?

Okay, was sort of hoping we'd finally actually get a blizzard. Nope, missed us yet again. This is starting to be a bit unsettling. I mean, we should have at least, at minimum, this time of year, a half a foot of snow--if not 2 or 3 feet--on the ground. Not happening, this year. Weird. All we have--have had--is about an inch or so, with maybe another inch or two--maybe, late this afternoon. In 46 years of living in northeastern NY state, I can safely tell you, that's never happened--not ever.

And it's weird, I'm telling you. It did finally get cold--although we still haven't had anything like 20 or 30 below zero farenheight. The coldest it's been all winter is about 12 below zero--I think that's about minus 20 C but not sure. This is the warmest winter we've ever had here.

Funny, and we just had one of the rainiest summer's on record--hardly hot at all, this summer, and all the autumn leaves turned early, and the geese started migrating south early--and we all said, "oh dear, going to be a cold snowy winter." And, no. It's not helping the local economies, either, let me tell you. Many towns here depend on tourism--what with the 40 million acre Adirondack state park, and big ol' Lake Champlain and the Hudson and other rivers, and 32 mile long Lake George (AKa: "Queen of the American Lakes") Okay, there's something: why do they call Lake George "Queen of the American Lakes," when it's named after a king?

Anyhow, no snowmobilers, no ice fishermen, no dog sled and outhouse (outdoor privvy) races, or 4x4 truck and motorcycle races on the ice, no snowshoe races, no cross-country skiiers. The downhillers and snowboarders are okay--they can make snow at West and Gore Mountain ski areas--but the little towns are really up a creek, this year, mostly.

And the rainy cold summer didn't help Lake George tourism, either--businesses that have been around for decades are selling out--yet, they are building more hotels--what gives? There's not been enough business for the long-established hotels that are already here, yet major hotel chains are building even more! One wonders if either they (the corporatinons building the hotels) know something we don't--or if they are just looking for tax write-off's--or if they are just plain stupid.

LAKE GEORGE NARROWS

Anyway, enough babbling on about the weather...

It's Friday morning, just a bit before 9am. My workday starts at 10 today, goes to 3pm, I walk home, have lunch, putter about until 4:45, walk back to my office building down the street and work until 10 pm.

Yes, another day at a job I totally suck at, comepletely destest (don't mind doing the surveys, the collections, the pledge drives--hate selling life memberships to people who absolutely don't want them and hate the club mostly--no fun. Another day of "no's" and "Who is this!" instead of a simple "hello," people hating my guts just for trying to do my damn job--that I suck at. It's amazing how many Americans don't even have the slightest clue how to answer a telepnone properly--which seems to be most. I find that a bit scary.

I actually had a guy yesterday--the second I POLITELY said "hello?" Start to lecture me on telephone etiquette! Me! Me, whose mum made her learn how to correctly answer a telephone when I was in the second flippin' grade! Me, who's been answering phones at businesses in professional manner, since I was blinkin' 14 years old! And, ironically, it was he who needed a lesson in etiquete--he was screaming at me the split second I said hello--and that's all I ever got to say, because he was too busy foaming at the mouth like a mad dog about something--bit of irony there, ey? I never did find out what he was on about--just hung up on him and coded out the call as a "do not call."

I don't have much of anything in my life anymore. No physical contact as far as friends and family go. I do have a few friends--just, strangely enough, never met most of them, in the physical sense. My sister hasn't called me (I don't have long distance on my phone) since around Christmas, no one's called me at all--excepting two wrong numbers and, again, ironically, a telemarketer, in the last month) I supppose the phone not ringing may be a bit of a blessing, to some people. I sometimes wonder why I bother shelling out 35 dollars a month for the privilege--except then I'd have to walk four blocks in the daytime--and 7 blocks at night--to the nearest pay telephone. I hate mobiles, got no use for 'em. And they're expensive, mostly. Really, don't think my telephone here has rang more than four times, in the last 30 days.And that's okay, who would I talk to, anywhow?

I've never got much to say, anyway--sadly, I tend to yak my head off, when someone actually deems to engage me in conversation--and then feel like an idiot afterwards, because I talked too much and didn't have anything much important to say. Think I liked myself better when I was a quiet little wallflower all the time, and people were always saying to me, "you're so quiet." I liked being quiet...it's been hard adjusting to being outgoing..but didn't have a choice, did I? Between those cheezy acting cleasses at my community college, and having to give in-class lectures, and poetry readings and the like---it was either sink or swim, and I learned how to dogpaddle rather nicely, I think.

I feel a little less tired and sad today--but not by much. Chatting with two friends last night, and watching some comedy on YouTube (my young Tennant fan that I mentioned several posts ago, sent me some YouTube links--one was rather good, something called the Friday Night Project, had me in tears and stitches and gales of laughter--just what I needed). But I am still down. I'm looking at yet another weekend of nothing more exciting than a trip to the bank, the grocers, the post office and the Dix Avenue Laundromat.

Can't spare the cash for any extras, this week, sorry to say, so I'm pretty much stuck at home. There's nothing going on in the city, and the musuem down the street--well, if they're anything like the Hyde Collection on the other side of town, they're probably too expensive. My spending money this week: 5 dollars (about 2 pounds 50). Can't even see a second-rate movie for that. Need to cram money aside to pay the electric, cable and phone bills in the next three weeks, not to mention pet food and groceries and stuff. No extras.

So, yeah, stuck in a rut, going nowhere, doing nothing, in a nothing job with a nothing life and a nothing future...if I have a headstone when I die--which is unlikely, couldn't even afford one for mum--mine should just be blank. That's honestly the way I feel, right now. Like my life has been for nought, and will continue to be for nothing. It won't matter that I've been here, and won't matter when I'm gone. If I said otherwise, I'd be lying. I know the truth, and my truth, right now looking backwards and forwards in my life, is an ugly, ugly thing.

But, in the here and now, I do have loads of Doctor Who--well, lots for me, considering my income and geographic location. I loaned the Feast of the Drowned audio to a fellow Whovian at the office--you should have seen her eyes light up with glee. "I can't wait to get home tonghit! I'm sure I'm going to love it!" She whipspered to me as she walked past. Doctor Who does seem to have that effect on people.

So, yeah, still sad and miserable and lonely--but, better, sort of. I suppose this must sound pathetic, but Doctor Who has literally been a lifesaver for me. I may not be one of those drooling David Tennant fan girls, but I sure am glad he took on the role. Doctor Who has sometimes made quite a difference in my life--and the laughter, and fun and, most importantly, the friendship, is far more valuable to me than anything else I can imagine.

Sometimes, in the late hours, I miss my old life. The one I left behind me, more than twenty years ago, the one I can never have again.

Nowadays, as I get older, it gets harder and harder to get up in the morning...well, not being thrilled with my job, and sometimes bouts with insomnia and/or manic-depression, have a bit to do with that, I suppose. Sometimes, I make the night stretch into the pocket-sized hours of the morning, for no other reason, than I don't want it to be tommorrow, not quite yet, anyway.

There are times, when I use the gifts life gave me so generously, when I was younger, in my elder years.

When I was in my late teens, in exploring this big old ravene near our house--back in the ice age, gigantic glaciers moved through our area, carving out these huge ravenes all through the Upper Hudson Valley of New York. They made mountains and hills and valleys. Many of the smaller ravenes were filled in, but several in my neck of the woods were left au natural, and, small as they really were, in my elder hindsight, they proved to be wonderful places to explore. I used to find the most wonderful things in the old dumping grounds. But, I'll save that story for another time.

But one thing I did find, once, were old bricks. Lovely bricks--I called them "Dorothy's bricks." Why? Becasue they were yellow! (Oz reference) When two of the neighbourhood boys had stupidly demolished the Depression-era tea house in the Japanese gardens of the old Sage estate (this was the Episcopal biship of Albany's estate when I was there, but was orginally in the Russell Sage family, a famous late Victorian American industrialist, who has a college named for him). The old Japenese gardens were directly behind our house, and I spend many an hour there, so I knew right off where the bricks were from.

Anyway, I puzzled what to do with my little "find." Then I had this scathingly brilliant idea. So, fetching the June Marie--our family's wheel barrow (a very small joke on my part, I told my mum, one year when I had no money for a Mother's Day prezzie, that I painted her name on our wheelbarrow, and she woould have to pretend that it was a yacht. very lame, I admit, but, hey, I was only 14 or so, I think--mum just rolled her eyes, but took it pretty well, I think.)

So I fetched the bricks home, and dumped 'em by the garage. Then, I dug a pit in the ground, and lay the bricks in a square around it, stuck a metal rack from our old fridge (dad never threw anything away) over it, and called it a "fireplace." I was chuffed. I'd always wanted a fireplace.

I got a lot of use out of it, too. I'd set a fire in it (had help frequently from a tin of charcoal lighter fluid and loads of matches).

But it was those frosty late autumn nights, that I remember (seldom lit a fire in summer--the misquitoes were wicked fierce due to one of those smaller ravenes being next to the house--it was a breeding ground for them)..anyway...on crisp cold autumn nights, on Fridays most frequently, I'd light the fire, turn on the radio, make myself a cup of tea or flavoured coffee, and just sit out by the fire, with the dogs and cat for company--mum was usually working at the library nights, and dad was off playing gin rummy at the volunteer firehouse's bar, with his buddies. I had the house to myself.

So I'd play some music--country or pop (hate to admit, but yes, I did listen to country music up until my early 20's--now I can't stand country music, no clue why).

I'd sit there, sipping my drink, listening to the music from the old AM radio plugged in in the garage, listen to the wind in the trees, rustling the leaves around my feet, the whoosh of a car going up the highway on the hill. I'd stare at the clouds meanering through the crystal clear skies, the diamond sharpness of the stars, the way the bushy needles of the eastern white pines swayed and rocked gently in the wind, the dimly seen clouds, chasing across the skies, the bright white-blue brillance of the moon, the flames dancing, the wood snapping and crackling, the smoke and my breath--both spriling towards infinity, in the cold night air...and I would feel such peace...it's like time itself was standing still..that the world was holding it's breath, like there was this dance of life slowly going on, inside my heart--a part of everything, and everything a part of me. And there was peace in the landscape and in the moment--and there was a serene contentment inside of me.

I realize that I can never be in a place like that again. Not ever. My valley has been plundered by developers, the house long since sold and redesigned, the actual moments like that, in the only place in this life, where I ever truly felt I belonged--are gone. Forever.

But...not enitrely lost. Some nights, when the apartment building is quiet, the street below deserted, I make myself some tea or cocoa or coffee, put on some quiet music or light jazz, stand and look out the windows, sipping and and feeling content in the moment.

The nights of being around my woods and fields are lost forever, but somewhere inside me, that special feeling of quietness, of contentment and true serenity, it's still there. It's the legecy of my valley, my sad grey hills and the nights I spent there.

I was present, the other day, when some of my co-workers started in with some rather, ummm--crude, humor. That was okay, but I just wasn't into it, so left...not in a huff or anything, mind...just quietly slipped away--or so I thought.

One of the girl's said to me later--"What? Didn't you think it (a fart joke complete with sound effects, followed by some rather graphic bathroom jokes) was funny?" In a tone that clearly said she thought I was being, at best, a prude, or at worst, a stuck up snob.

No, neither. I've laughed at crude jokes, once in a while. It's just that I've grown out of them...a long time ago.

when we were kids--bathroom humor was all the rage. I remember the first auction I ever went to--it was, I think '1967 or '68--a charity do at Bethany Presbyterian Church in our village, we were in the hall, they were auctioning off a doll--mum bought it for me--and to my utter delight, it was a genuine Betsy-Wetsy doll! (See photo above). Mum got a red step ladder, I got a doll that wet her nappies. Mum was pleased--especially since my ever-cheap dad refused to buy her a new one--and me, I was estatic.

(Ours was black)

Mum did one more nice thing--right after the auction, she drove the family's old '63 chevy station wagon down to the Esquire Drug store (the local chemists and where I later would, in the 70's, forever be pestering her once a month to buy me my Western Horseman magazine) Anyway, she bought me (drum roll please); a toy baby bottle! OOOOOhhh! Neat! Now I could make my doll pee whenever I wanted! Do you know how facinating that was to a 7 or 8 year old?

I mean, I had other dolls before and after that--Mrs. Beasly from the TV show Family Affair, and I was in love with my "Drowsey" doll (with lines like "I'm sleepy." "I want a drink of water.") Barbie and skipper, Johnny West etc., But that Betsy-wetsy really stands out, you know? What kid could resist a doll where you could control it's bodily fuctions,ey?

And, I clearly remember us my siter and me and a few others, out on our neighbours glassed in porch, sitting in front of a roar woodstove on a winter day, listening--over and over and over again--to the toilet flushing at the end of a certain Chicago song, (Chicago III album, if I recall correctly) and giggling our respective arses off. It was 71 or 72--I was about 10, at the time--and it was a really cool thing to listen to, I suppose--hey, it was the 70's, we didn't have video games, had to amuse ourselves somehow, yeah?

There were the usual crude jokes, "Did you know the song "Yellow River" was written by I.P. Daily?" And other things like that. But never anything "dirty"...just, you know, crude.

So, you know, I sort of grew out of that, by the time I hit my mid-to late teens...now...it's just not that funny to me, anymore, ya'know? But, that said, I don't care that much if other people want to laugh at stuff like that--just not into it, anymore, really.

But, it's a bit like when I was a teen and in my 20's--my peers trying to get me to try pot or get drunk. I didn't want to. Had no desire to. Just wasn't...me, you know? NMS. Not MY Style. And the awful thing is, when you don't want to do something that's part of the crowd--for no other reason than you simply completely lack the desire or motivation--people take offence. It's almost like they feel you are passing judgement on them, or they maybe feel unconscicious gulit? I don't know. But it's very tiring, after decade of "just saying no" to have to keep putting up with the attitudes you get, when you don't want to follow the herd.

So, when it was drugs, I lied: "Oh I tried it (never have, actually), but it makes me sick to my stomach." And they left me alone. So, with the crude humor: "Oh, it's not that, I just have a bit of a headache, that's all." I don't like lying about it--but I like people thinking I think I'm better than them, or, judging them--when I'm absolutely not--even less.

I can, thankfully, be more truthful with alcohol, most of the time. For some reason, people seem to accept that, more. "I just don't like the taste of alcohol"--although, my sister for years has been bound and determinded to get my to try some fancy liquors (acutally, I had peach brandy over some popenjees--little Dutch pancakes--once, and liked that), but mostly people are okay these days with my not preferring to drink. And really, it's the truth, for once, I really don't like the taste of alcohol. (When I was 19 and living in Wyoming, I did try real chewing tobaaco once--on a dare--and instantly regretted it).

Well, here I am, another exciting evening at home! Not.

Got out of work, and I'm already ready to fall into bed--and it's not even 5pm yet! When did I get this old? Semi-jokes aside about being an "old maid" (although, I suppose, technically, I really am), When did I reach the age where things like new curtains, early naps and playing (computer) cribbage, became important to me? Wow. That's an eyebrow raiser.

So here I sit in my rocker, in front of my computer, eating BBQ ribs and fries (that's chips to my Brit friends), drinking Pepsi and wondering if I should get a different brand of washing up liquid, as the new brand isn't sudsy enough to suit me. Oh. My. Gawd. Now I'm scared. I'm.....OLD!

Yeah, BBQ ribs and greasy fries--with lots of salt. Heart attack, here I come--but whatt'a way to go! Yummy! Yeah, guess I'm a chav, as that's my idea of haute cuisne...would be even better with some cole slaw or corn on the cob, and some cornbread. Ah well. I can, actually do gourmet, have the skills, just not the income, or, more importantly, the inclination. I'm pretty much a meat and potatoes kind of gal. Although, I do sometimes like to experiment with sauces now and again. In cooking school, I once spent two whole afternoons making a sauce--and it was fantastic--but, just not the gourmet type, really--I'm strictly home cookin' for the most part, what the trendy set here in the USA calls, "comfort food."

So, tonight's mostly "Totally Doctor Who" (Mind you, never seen that show, so not really sure what it is, but I've heard of it)...yeah, more Cardiff concert, Runaway Bride, DW Online, jot off a sentence or two in my latest story (maybe), re-listen to Stone Rose, finsih the washing up, shower, read go to bed. My, what an exciting life moi leads, ey?

My computer's been acting all wonky lately...can't get pages. Sometimes comes up not available--sometimes I will click on my e-mail and get pages in Russian and stuff like that--or fake e-mail pages (not my e-mails homepage, though it says it is)...must be spyware or something--guess I'll have to go and get something to take care of that--like I can afford it--but can I not afford it? Don't know---hope that stuff's not too expensive, at any rate. Sometimes I'd like to shoot this old thing (it's the American way, y'know--get it before it gets you), and put it out of it's misery--the manufacturer--who's now out of business--used to sell these to the American military...'nuff said?

Gah, I really do hate my job. Today I was cussed at second hand. Yup--but an old southern woman--and her daughter. I called the old woman, first her daughter says she's "resting." Then when I say I can call back, the daughter says, "well she's busy peeling potatoes." (Interesting--when I "rest" I lie down--peeling potatoes was never restful for me--and I've got a very tiny piece of one finger missing to back up that assertion) Anyway, the daughter, who's on the phone with me, starts relaying what I'm saying, and dear old mum starts screming ephitets about how much she hates the club "I must of had a brain seizure when I joined that (explitivie) club---meanwhile-and yes, I can't help but hear everything this..ummm...feisty...81 year old Southern "lady" is screming mind--The daugher is also relaying her words--verbatum--into my ear, albeit much mure politely--I hung up with the old woman from Georgia and her stereo daughter (who at least had the decency to sound embarrassed) started in on me, "Tell that F___in' Bi__h that I don't...".

Okay, I've talked to people who were drunk, stoned, senile and just plain totally stupid. I've talked to a man in a tree (seriously, the guy was on his mobile while sawing off a tree branch up in a tree) and I've talked to people in the shower, a guy who was out in the woods and just killed a deer, Eskimo's, Hawaiians, and people who's relatives had just been murdered or killed in accidents, I've been cussed at, teased, propsitioned, abused and veryball spat on...but never before have I ever been cursed at in stereo.

Well, I guess this depression is just not going to pass as quickly as I'd hoped. I woke up this morning, still hating my job, my life and myself. Not good. At least I've learned, over the years, to sort of be aware of when I am depressed.

I tried some Doctor Who--and did get a laugh out of the DWO site, this morning--thanks to a friend, but the glow just ain't there. I didn't even feel like watching much of Runaway Bride or listening to the Cardiff concert last night. Not good--when even Doctor Who doesn't work--nothing much will, I guess.

I just have to ride out the storm and hope it passes by me, soon. I really don't like feeling like this.

I've come home from work tonght, hating my very existance. I hate my job, I hate my life, I hate me.

I suck at my job. I loathe and destest selling. Like--I'm assuming---most people, I am happiest at work when I feel like I'm doing a good job. I suck at telemarketing! I totally and absolutely suck. There's no other way to put it. I try and try and try--but I'm just no good. Collections, yes. Surveys, piece of cake. Pledge drives--not bad. But selling, no way Jose. I HATE it! Every single flipping minute of it! It wouldn't be so bad, if I believed in the product--in this case, club memberships--except that these "clubs" are just big business money machines owned by some European trust or other, and their business practices--despite what my bosses say--are less then savory...it's a chav whore pretending to be a royal dutchess--forgive my bluntness, but it's true.

Oh, they are legit, and would be really terrific--if the morons who ran the clubs would be more forthright about payment plans and stopped double billing people and billing people for stuff they never got, and the like. It's the seniors who get ripped off a lot, and the disabled as well. And knowing that really hurts me sometimes--but I'm stuck. It's the highest paying job I've ever had--even if it's only part-time--9.00 an hour (about 4 pounds 50) and it's a million times better than cleaning toilets and slinging dirty heavy bin bags into dumpsters all night long. It's not like I have a lot of choice, Glens Fall isn't exactly a Mecca for high-wage jobs for people like me (chavs) --and, regrettibly now, I did want this job. But then, how was I to know? I must say tho' sometimes I don't always like myself much, at the end of the day.

I don't like me. I'm a crotchey old woman at the tender age of 46. I'm looking down the barrel of a very bleak and meaningless future--if you can call it that.

I try to ignore being alone--and I really am used to it--but at the same time, I hate it so much. Sometimes, it just really gets to me, you know?

I miss going for a drive--always made me feel better, really it did. Places like the Adirondack and Vermont foothills, near the town of nearby Granville, NY, pictured below:

How can one feel bad, when surrounded by such scenery, ey?

And here's the 150 plus year old Battenkill Covered Bridge, near Salem, NY, that I used to visit:

The ever mysterious turn of the bend.(Been down this road, btw)

The drop dead gorgeous scenery around the soutern end of Lake Champlain (Been down this road, as well--lovely!)

But don't have a car, don't have anywhere to go. Please don't suggest the blinking library! I grew up in mum's library--and mum used to drag me to all sorts of other libraries--I love libraries, but to be quite honest, the thrill is gone by now.

Been to the mall--once a year is about my limit of that stuff, the museums? Expensive, but maybe will have a go, one of these days. Not into the bar scene--never have been, never will be. Church is way to posh for a low-budget chav like me, no friends, locally, not much going on this time of year, in the city--not anywhere I'd fit in.

It's weird--I'm not chav enough to fit in with the bar and bowling alley crowd--but I'm not posh enough to fit in with the lecture and theater crowd...I'm in a social no-man's land. Hate it, but not much I can see to do about it. I am who I am.