The ship awaits

Just a real briefy here ...

I got the job. I got the job. I got the job. Hear me roar!!!!

So, I just want to thank Schoolhouse Rock and Mr. Lindholm, my junior high English teacher who learnt me how to diagram sentences. Kudos and props!!

More later.

Springfield bound.

9:04 PM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Shinola and Dolly
Category: Life

Dolly Parton has got it going on.

Mom and Dad dragged me to a concert at the Shrine Mosque in Peoria when I was about 9 or 10.

That’s when I knew I recognized I was a member of the powerful women sect.

We saw Loretta Lynn, Conway Twitty, Kenny Starr, Dolly Parton. At the same venue we saw Bob Hope (much to my chagrin because he was old and NOT funny). But Dolly and Loretta stuck with me.

These women from the "SOUTH" had overcome. I didn’t know what they were dealing with. Now, I’m among the contingency.

I’ve already recognized I’ve met up with the soul mate. He claims he has 11 "good years" left.

He’s conceded. We HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE.

He’s said, basically, "You go for it ... and I shall follow."

So ... I am going to package myself and we’re gonna get the heck out of Dodge.

I’ll report back as time allots. We have agreed it’s gonna be rapid and we’re gonna "cross that bridge as we get there."

So, now it’s up to me to be the knight in shining armour to get us out of this.

Branson, here we come!

8:15 AM - 5 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio
Current mood: bitchy
Category: Writing and Poetry

Some time back, my childhood friend, Jill, (or maybe it was my cousin Sandy) recommended the movie, "Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio." Or, maybe it was the book she recommended. At any rate, over these snowy past few days, I ordered the DVD from Netflix.

I watched it on my own yesterday and was filled with emotions. The story begins in the early '50s. The "housewife", played by Julianne Moore, is one strong, tough cookie in a time when that was not acceptable for women. I won't go on about it, but I will say I've learned the child who wrote the book (subtitled "How My Mother Raised 10 Kids on 25 Words or Less") was daughter Terry "Tuff" Ryan. She turned out to be a helluva writer like her mom. She captured the era and the inner-workings of a family trying to make it.

I aspire to write something like this myself. Heck, I could take the old diaries and do that. I made an outline 15 years ago and still have it.

Women speaking for their generations. That's what it's all about. Hillary -- getting the chance and drawing the attention. I'm so freakin' glad to see it in my lifetime.

We are women. Hear us ROAR!! It's about damn time.

Julie

Currently watching : The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio Release date: 14 March, 2006

3:09 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Birthday and Mama Kitty’s death
Category: Blogging

Thanks to all of you who sent birthday wishes for my big 45 yesterday. Wow. I made it through. We had flooding yesterday and then tons of snow overnight. I was glad I could be here today on this snowy day because my Mama Kitty needed me. She died at 3 p.m. today from kidney disease. She was 14 years old.

Mama was originally named Loretta. But, my youngest son (then 2 and now 15) couldn't pronounce it. So, he called her Baretta. I thought that was cool because it reminded me of the Robert Blake series and his bird, Fred.

Then, the next year, from the same Cat Fanciers Association show in Little Rock, I got Rocket. Both were Exotic Shorthairs (a short-haired version of the Persian).

Baretta and Rocket fell in love. I registered both of them and even opened my own Cattery through Cat Fanciers Association. It was called Lair Bearz Cattery after my first Persian, Larry.

With their youth and their smashed-in faces, they produced offspring. Among the first litter was a long-haired blue with his leg on backwards. I was able to sell the other kittens, but this one I kept to love myself. We named him Timmy (after the South Park character).

After that first litter, we changed Baretta's name to Mama-retta.

Mama liked cheese. No. Mama LOVED cheese. No matter where I was in the house, if I was getting into any sort of cheese, Mama knew. She would come running when I tried to open a slice of single-wrapped Kraft. Try getting into a handful of grated Mozarrella, she was there. Enjoy a slice of deli Provolone -- forget about it. We became hard-core cheese-eating buddies.

At some point, Mama demonstrated an ambition for fetching small pom pom balls from Hobby Lobby. I'd sit in my chair, watching prime-time TV, and I'd pop one out across the front room carpet. Mama would run across the room and pick up the white pom pom in her mouth, then trot back to me looking as though she'd found herself a marshmallow. You couldn't see anything but the pom pom when you looked into that black face.

One Hobby Lobby trip we got her a bag of glow-in-the-dark little pom poms. She LOVED those. She gathered them one at a time and put them into her food dish to soak up the gravy, then she'd float them in her water bowl. We'd find several at a time in the water. Mama!

Mama slept on my head. She stayed on my pillow at bedtime. I would always lie on my side, and she would put one of her paws into my outstretched palm. I would sing to her: "Put your paw in the hand of the one who buys the catfood. ... Put your paw in the hand of the one who scoops the boxes ...."

I was having computer problems today on this snow day. I lost the internet on my newest computer, the one I use for everything. I kept going back and forth, checking on Mama in our bedroom. At one point, I lay down to take a nap, but I rolled over and saw Mama with her tail end sticking out of the litter box. She hadn't even been able to move all day, yet she was trying to get into the litter box to go potty.

I panicked. I called out to Don and asked him to help me get Mama out of the litter box so she wouldn't die like Elvis.

Later, while working on the computer problem, I knew I should run back to the bedroom and be with Mama immediately. I'd covered her up with my Race For the Cure 5K shirt from 1996.

Her ears twitched as I entered the room. I'd left the TV on my favorite programs so she'd hear them and have a sense of normalcy. She felt cold but tried to lift her head. I put a daybed cover over her to warm her up, then I lay down with her. I stroked her head and told her everything was going to be OK. She lifted her head and said something to me. She tried twice more to give me her last words. And I sang ... "Put Your Paw in the Hand ..."

Then she was gone.

I called Don at work to let him know. He asked if I'd be able to put her in the box we'd set aside. I told him I didn't think I could do that. I couldn't get her sweet eyes to close. I could only put my shirt over her little smashed-in face.

I went to the kitchen and got into the "cheese drawer." I got her out a Kraft American Single -- wrapped individually. I put it in the box.

I'll miss you Mama Kitty.

Currently listening : Put your hand in the hand By Ocean Release date: 18 January, 2001

4:29 PM - 6 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

How Retail Killed the Oscars
Current mood: Reflective
Category: Reflective Blogging

The infamous Oscar Party won't happen again this year. Last year was the first in about 11 that I didn't throw a big throw-down the night before the Oscars. All the friends and acquaintances from all the different jobs I'd ever had were invited; and anywhere from 4-75 could show up at any given time throughout the evening.

I would study for at least a month (The Screen Actors Guild and the Golden Globes would determine my picks) and gather all the DVDs, VHSes and pirate copies I could. Everyone attending would compete for trophies in Best Prognosticater; Best Original Munchy; Furthest Traveled; and Night Owl categories. Attendees would compete fervently for that Best Prognosticater. We'd take votes and I'd keep a tally the next night, giving the award to the one with the most correct guesses on who'd win the little men. (I had to take myself out of the running after the third year for prognosticater and best munchy with my macho nachos.)

Schedules when you're a prized salesperson at the local home improvement warehouse are unpredictable.

Here's what I'm thinking this year:

* I like "Juno." I like it a LOT!! However, this indie film isn't gonna win an Oscar for lead actress Ellen Page. It's gonna go to Ms. Christie for "Away From Her." I've been so hung up over "Juno," the Sweet Baboo reminded me the other day (after having subjected him to the soundtrack for the umpteenth time), "It's JUST a movie!"

Alas, it's not "just a movie."

It's my life. It's ME when I was 16 (well, all but that "sexually active" thing). It's about the strong independent chick who doesn't quite fit in at school, or anywhere for that matter. It was me checking into the hospital a month before my 18th birthday, about to have major surgery and insisting on carrying my own bags and NOT riding in a wheelchair. It was me, knowing that I was indestructible.

We've all been there. (Well, I have met a few who haven't.) It's life-altering.

* The dude who plays opposite George Clooney in "Michael Clayton" (sorry - I told you my research was lacking this year) should definitely walk away with the best supporting actor award this year. Hell, he should actually get best actor in my book. Wow. That was a freaky performance -- mind you I haven't seen "No Country for Old Men" yet, so I imagine the lead dude in that is totally better.

I digress. 'Bout time to pick up No. 2 son from school. He'll be 15 Sunday. Wants an anti-haircut. So, I'm gonna take him to the barber's and pick him up a cake.

Later,

Julie

Currently listening : Kinks (The Ultimate Collection) By The Kinks Release date: 03 June, 2002

12:11 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Juno -- A Diary for the 21st Century
Current mood: artistic
Category: Blogging

So, it's Valentine's Eve, and I've actually talked the Sweet Baboo into taking me out to a movie. He's been fretting about buying roses and having them sent to the store because all of the girlfriends are going to ask him why he didn't if he didn't. I told him he needn't if he just took me out to see "Juno" at the local sardine can cinema.

Wow. And to do that without whining? He groaned a little bit upon the thought that he'd probably be going to a chick flick. I explained to him that this movie is up for four Academy Awards -- Best Actress, Best Original Screenplay, Best Film, and Directing. I'd already watched it at watch-movies.net a couple of times. So, he relented.

We brought beers and sat in the backrow. There was a mom and daughter to our left up a row. There were three couples, younger than us. That doesn't take much. They were in thier 20s or 30s. And that was it.

There are so many things I love aobut "Juno". When I watched it on my computer I knew I loved this kid who becomes pregnant after having sex only once. She even has a supportive family. She is a unique individual. She's not a cheerleader, she can't be lumped into any pigeon hole. This film written by 29-year-old Diablo Cody (yes, that's a chick whose real name is Brook something) brings you right into the life of a teen-age girl in 2008. Although when it starts out, I'm doing good to figure out what she's saying, it sucks you right into what is on the mind of teen girls right now. They are no different than we were. They are still loving TVand "older men", and now they have internet and instant messaging, cell phones and constant means of trying to find that boy who is perfect. When I studied more about Diablo Cody, I found that she is a blogger from Cchicago. Represent. I'm about to turn 45 in another week or so. This chick got her break blogging at age 29. That's cool, and I'm oh soooo happy for her. But when will my time come? Really. Her writing is a slice of life for now. She wrote in a diary-style her entire life, and that's what most people can identify with. I wouldn't know any other style. I'm gonna keep on blogging. You may see some entries here and there that are just what I did that day, but what the heck? I'll just throw it all on the public blog.

I don't know when "Juno" will be out on DVD or make it to your local movie theater. I can't believe we had the pleasure of having it here in Batesville for a few short days. I look forward to Diablo (c'mon, dude, pick a real chick name -- like Dusty LaRue, for instance). And, meanwhile, we'rel be at your local home improvement warehouse, fixin' up this old piece of crap house in the ghetto .... boo hoo ... Diablo said she was blogging on My Space instead of Blog Spot because she could pick her mood and such. I still have my blog on Blogspot, but have't added to it lately. I guess Face Book is all the rage now, and I've signed up for that but haven't checked into it fully. If you fuck up on Face Book, you fuck up in the eyes of the Lord and those who may hire you in the future, so I think I'll keep my blog on My Space and possibly Blogspot.

Later, Peace Out and all those hip sayings the kids have now.

Julie

Currently listening : Juno By Original Soundtrack Release date: 08 January, 2008

9:13 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Tornadoes and Tennille hairdos, OH MY!

Boy, do I need to write. And I'm way past due on the haircut. Life goes on here. I didn't know on Super Tuesday night if my dad was still alive or not. I went out to cover the Primary for the Associated Press. But before that, I lost phone contact with my dad over in Mountin View just as we were watching the storms close in. Meanwhile, the Sweet Baboo was working at your local home improvement warehouse. Good for busieness. Sold lots of generators. Is Dad still alive? There is destruction all around. The people who had the fanciest house. It's gone now. The one fatality attributed to that path is the lady who worked at the bank and everyone knows her. Tomorrow it wiill be a week since they've had power.

Meanwhile I've been on a ghost hunt with my girls. We went to a haunted grave yard and I think we recorded something. I'm going to anaylize that tomorrow. Thank you Lord for letting my dad survive this storm and for bringing him over here to spend a night in my house and my life. He can see what I'm dealing wih with two teen age sons about to be 15 and 19 this month. He's all in touch with Mitch Albom and such. When we "pass" we can be in touch.

I'd better hit the hay. Just some ramblings, and I'm sure I'll do much more of that and will post pix here. Meanwhile, keep up with the web site because I'll be adding things daily now

9:54 PM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Dad and the wine bottle
Category: Life

Here is an e-mail I received from my father this morning.
This is how a 79-year-old retired Caterpillar Tractor Co. design engineer opens a bottle of wine.:

Hi Sis,

Had a bit of a hassle yesterday opening that bottle of Post Familie RED TABLE wine I got at George's. I'll call it the battle of the bottle:

After I removed the material covering the top of the bottle, I find that instead of the metal screw-off top I'm used to, it had some sort of manmade rubber type "cork". A little disappointed at this, I got out my rarely used corkscrew gadget. It's the one with a bottle cap remover on one end, a church key on the other and a swing out screw in the center. I then proceeded to insert the screw into the "cork". With the bottle on top of the kitchen counter, I held the bottle firmly and gave it several healthy tugs. That didn't work. Next I put the bottle on the floor between my feet and had another go at it. That didn't work either. The "cork" didn't budge. After thinking it over for a moment, I decided drilling through it might help dislodge it by relieving the pressure between it and the bottle. If that failed, I could always pour it out through the hole. Went out to the shop. First, I used a small diameter bit, then a little larger one. The "cork" material was the toughest rubber I ever encountered...would have made everlasting tires. Finally got a pretty good size hole through. I was able to grab onto some of the material around the hole with a pair of pliers and with several attempts, the remains of the "cork" came out. It was extremely long, longer than any real cork I've ever seen in a wine bottle. Would sure like to see one of the Post Familie members have a go at getting it out. Went back into the kitchen and poured out a glassful. Wasn't worth the bother. Moral: don't purchase any Post Familie wine in a bottle unless it has a screw-off cap.

                  Dad

Currently reading : Suffer The Little Children (True Crime) By Barbara Davis Release date: 01 August, 1999

9:27 AM - 3 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Baby, It’s Cold Outside
Current mood: bummed
Category: Blogging

Nostalgia at Christmas time. I long for it. These times, they are a changin' too quickly for me. We have the tree up. For the first time ever, I had nothing to do with it. My youngest son and his buddy did it. They decorated the tree with the Rudolph beanies, tied by their necks with nooses to the tree. The lights are pretty, but the Abomniable Snowman and Hermie the Elf are hog tied back to back on the tree skirt, waiting for help.

This is the weirdest Christmas ever. I've lost one son to college. The other wants to go away and live with his dad. Meanwhile, the Sweet Baboo and I are trying to fix this place up so we can move into a more acceptable neighborhood.

I would love nothing more than to spend my time in the '70s, updating my web site and going through old pictures and stuff. But, I guess at some point I have to live in the here and now. I spent one whole day this past week crying for no reason I could come up with. That was stupid. But I guess a Mom has to break down now and then.

We're about to turn a corner. I have to let them go. I have to move on. My brother took Dad to the ER this week. Mike was at work when Dad called & said he felt terrible -- with the irregular heartbeat. Mike dropped everything and ran home and got Dad and took him to the ER. Of course, Mike called me and let me know what was going on. Dad poo-poohed him and said he shouldn't have called me. Dad spent the night in the hospital, and the heartbeat straightened out the next day. But, what a scare it gave us! Meanwhile, it's time to get to work. I don't know what the youngest one is up to. All I know is he wants to get out of this Podunk town and live with his dad in the big town. And I want what is best for him because he is not fitting in here.

We're going through the stuff in this place and hoping to find things and get rid of things. I would like to spend more time on my site and keep visitors up to date. I would like nothing more than to spend my time writing about what is going on. Yet, in this stupid retail career I've landed in, I can't stay awake for it. Every other night I find myself gathering carts in the parking lot at 35 degrees. They call for a cart roundup, and I'm the only person out there. Yeah -- here's a 45-year-old woman with a degree in media arts from a U.S. News and World Report top-rated college pushing carts into the local home improvement warehouse. Sorry, that sounds like I'm looking for pity. It's all been my choice.

So, now I deal with it. Both sons abandoning ship. The Sweet Baboo and I left with the piece of crap ship and trying to figure out what to do from here. His mom 91 years old and deserving some serious attention. My dad just turned 79 and likewise. There's a serious shifting here.

Thank you for coming back and checking up on me. I will keep writing, although the distractions come more furiously all the time. Menopause is a bitch; and I think I'm dealing with that too now. Feel free to drop me a line. I'm not ignoring anyone. There's just so much crap out there.

I'm not sending out any Christmas cards this year. The number of them I receive is dwindling. You get what you give.

Happy Holidays to all. I plan to write soon, and I will appreciate all the women's comments from those who have dealt with similar situations.

Julie

Currently listening : Dig That Crazy Christmas By Brian Setzer Orchestra Release date: 18 October, 2005

9:40 AM - 1 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

P.R.O. (Pregnant Retarded Ostrich)

OK. We work at the big home improvement warehouse.  we love our jobs and will not be disrespectful. My "husband" works at the PRO desk. When I was a kid, we would say "Yeah ... you're  a real PRO." Pregnant retarded ostrich. Apparently that was just a very localized thing. Maybe local only to Mossville, Illinois. I want to know if anyone besides me recognizes that. 

8:17 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment