Writing Successes: Just this wealth of blog.

Music Playing: KISN Love Songs

Exerpt from "...And You Think You've Got It Bad"

If you find yourself of depressed spirits, morbid and gloomy imaginations or perverted feelings, try to discover the cause. Look first to your diet, quality and quantity. Those who work with the brain do not need pease and beans. See that you get enough exercise. Cultivate a quietness of mind, and freedom from care and passion. Try reading aloud, singing or any kind of music that will lift your spirits.

Put down those pills! Here's how to battle depression: Sing! Read aloud! And just what is "pease and beans" ? That's a new phrase on me and I know a lot of old phrases. And of course my diet is to blame. I eat too much, too little, and too much crap. I knew it! It's not a symptom of depression! It's the cause!

Not too big a blog today, I fear. It's late and I expended a lot of energy on this massive PSP project I started. I'm drawing a face all on my own. Okay, well, I copied the color and shape from another picture, but the blending is all me. It's taking a long time. I'm learning quite a lot about color and blending. All good.

Let's see, when last we left our heroine, before the freedom of speech rant, she was going to say something about her sister Kellye. The upshot is that I'm terribly jealous of my sister. There's a simple reason: She has my life.

You may think, what a rude thing to say! You have the life you were meant to live! Which is true. I wouldn't be me without the horrors and the nightmares and the troubles. Who would? But the similarities between Kellye's actual life and my dream life are spooky, to say the least.

I discovered she loved ice skating, had professional lessons, and was in competitons. When I was a child, I slid around the house on the wood floors in my socks. During the '76 Olympics, I mimicked the Hamill Camel in the middle of the kitchen, much to mother's dismay. I spun and I twirled and I dreamed and dreamed. I had the haircut. (Who didn't, really?) I took up roller skating as a poor second, my tennis-shoes bargin-basment skates (ah, disco rolling!) didn't really do well on the pavement. But I learned to skate backward, stop, turn, all those things. I was a genius when I hit the actual floor. My first time on ice? I'd had two kids and we were taking them skating. Probably about 8 - 10 years ago.

It hurt to find out Kell had lessons and was competing. I think I was fairly obvious about this as a child. It's not like I practiced when nobody was looking. And I know for a fact the tic-tac-toe board shaped scars under my chin are from several Hamill camels that landed me out the back door onto pavement.

She also learned piano. My father can play, and well. He worked at a Rodgers Organ Company as a tester of some kind. He occasionally played the accordian. Not a piano, but it had a keyboard and it was kind of cool. (It was the 70's, remember.) When I was about six (I recognize the dress in the Christmas picture as one from my kindergarten photo) I got a tinny little "Shroder" piano. I adored that thing. I played it until I couldn't play it anymore. Not songs, nobody taught me songs and I lost the book somehow. Just plunking away. When my brothers and I made up our own entertainment, I always played piano in the air band. Again, it wasn't something hidden. It was fairly obvious I wanted to learn this. I still have no idea how to play. I did teach myself "Oh Christmas Tree" one time, but I've forgotten that.

She has been to and remembers California and Disneyland. I remember "It's A Small World" and a lemon on a sign. We were there at least a week. She's been camping, can fish, hikes and bikes, visits my brother in Montana, all kinds of things. I went to Hamfairs and Hamfests and learned to make a really good rum and coke and how to squirm away from older men. I've never visited my brother. My father never took me camping unless it was in relation to the Hamfair, and that was out the back of the Ford Van. I don't know, it was fun. We had a lot of games we'd play and I had a lot of reading to do and enjoyed trying to get into the "off limits" room and sneak coffee. But overall, it was all about him and not about us anyhow. He spent as little time with us as possible. He spends a lot of time with Kell.

She's in a choral group in high school now, getting straight out A's. She works very hard, and she succeeds. She is praised and petted and she excels because of it. She will go to a real college and get a real education and have a really good life. (Not that mine sucks. I like mine fine, thanks.)

I don't begrudge Kellye her life, not at all. I'm glad she can skate and play piano and sing and travel and get A's and all that. Go her! I'm so proud! I'm her sister, after all. But I can't help that little voice that goes, "She got it, you didn't."

Then I hear she's had the one thing I would actually kill someone for. A breast reduction. Well, this is just the last straw! It's gotten insulting now. It's laughable!

So I called my stepmother. She made some good points. First, my father didn't notice any of Kell's budding talents; that was her. Second, she was the one who signed Kell up for things and made sure her interests were cultivated. Third, I had a small mother problem.

All true. I just didn't think of those things. My mother was equally wrapped up in her own world. Bikers and drinking and substances of the 70's. The farther dad pushed away from the family, the farther from the family my mother went. My brothers and I were little islands unto ourselves. I watched them and cared for them. I cleaned up after them and helped with homework. I kept track of where they were and I made them dinner.

In that light, it's not a shock that nobody noticed I was smart and enjoyed school. That I read a lot. That I wrote as much as I read. That I skated in the middle of the kitchen and really hurt myself doing it. That I danced through the house. That I sang at the top of my lungs. That I played air piano and put on plays. Nobody was there to notice.

All in all, the phone conversation was really good. You can tell, since it took me over a week to relate. And this was just the phone call. We talked about an insane amount of stuff the day I went over for several hours. I don't remember much of that. It was more personal to her than to me. I think the phone call was more enlightening for me.

Next time: Deo tells her dad about the Year of Hell. This should be fun. I can't wait to do that. Really. NOT.

Writing Successes: Went to chat and helped do a live critique.

Music Playing: KINK "Lights Out"

Exerpt from "...And You Think You've Got It Bad"

The Care of the Skin - To avoid freckles, wear a brown veil whenever complexion is exposed to sunlight. French-women never think of going without a veil and English-women generally carry parasols. However, if the need be, let some horseradish stand for five hours in some very sour milk. If this wash doesn't work, crush some strawberries and rub them over the face at night just before going to bed or, as a last resort, catch a frog in a brook and rub him all over your face while still alive.

Well, let's start at the top. I do have freckles. And as a child, did the whole "lemon" thing. (Rub a lemon on your face. It was...let's just say I only did that once.) I'm totally afraid of letting horseradish soak around in very sour milk and then rubbing THAT on my face. Hand me the lemon again. And two things about the last sentence: First, ew. And second: While the frog is alive, or while I am? I hope both of us are, really.

I'm using the new "Blog This!" doohicky. It's pretty neat. A little box instead of the whole browser. Now I can surf and blog at the same time. Innovative.

And I know I promised you further adventures with Kellye today, however, I have something stuck in my craw and feel the need to share. It's about war and freedom of speech and Dixie Chicks. Feel free to run off.

I belong to several internet chat groups. Mostly this is because I wanted to be in their rather large and pretty webrings. Chat groups are kind of fun, even if you do get an insane amount of mail some days. There's a sense of belonging, of sharing, and of (since most are female-based) sisterhood.

Since the war began, almost all of them have gone patriotic. "Get a waving flag!" "Get your support banners here!" "I made a great page about the troops!" Things of this nature. Then there were forwards of this inspirational message and that letter and yadda yadda.

I'm a calm kind of girl. I have opinions. Lots of them. I generally don't share these because I'm shy and don't like to piss people off. How many times in this blog have I sworn? Hardly ever. At home? Well, a lot more than here. Just an example.

I believe in peace. There was a peaceful solution to the Iraq problem. Shrub chose not to take that path. Fine, since we're on this path, let it come to a swift conclusion. I support our troops, in that I hope they can come home as quickly as possible. I do not support the war. I think the US and our rather idiotic leader were beyond stupid to go stomping around in Iraq. "Aw! Nobody's doing what I said! WAH! Lemme shoot them!" This is how things really came across to me.

Know what? I have every right to think that way, to say that I think that way, and to put it up anywhere I want. Okay, I'm not a country superstar of a country band located in the President's home state. So what? Does her fame lessen her right to speak out? No.

Today, someone sent a link through the egroup. This link led to a page where the author had showcased a supposed "letter from a soldier" insulting the Dixie Chicks and calling for a ban of their music.

That's like making a web page to ban the constitution.

I wrote back in as little a nasty way as I could:

You know, they have as much right to express their opinion as you do. Not to put too fine a point on it. I know I wouldn't want you saying, "No Deo." just cause I wasn't afraid to share how I thought.But, whatever. Ban them all you like. That's your right. - Deo

Brief, but to the point. And it is her right to make that web page. But here she is, using the same Freedom of Speech right to speak out against someone who exercised her Freedom of Speech. More, she didn't even use her own words, she used those of a much-forwarded letter of a supposed military man.

Well, I still hate being a pariah, so I did apologize, in a way. It did sound nasty, and it wasn't what I meant. What I meant was: Why not ban the USA? Boycott freedom! Down with the constitution!

Which still sounds bad, so I didn't say it. But I wanted to say it. That's why I'm saying it here. It's unpopular, it's not the "correct" thing to say, whatever. Bullocks. It's the right thing to say, and all those folks marching around in the middle of my city and in the middle of YOUR city might be unpopular, but they are are unafraid and they are doing exactly what the soldiers are fighting for. They are being FREE.

Stop being a lemming.

Oh! I almost forgot! I called dad when I returned home Tuesday. He was concerned because my email was bouncing (yeah, after two days it was THAT full) and asked me to call. Apparently this means I'm hurt or in trouble or dead or something. I'd have to agree, really.

Anyhow, I called him. I explained that I had been to Kou's for two nights, sitting around playing Sims for a while and watching movies. I mention it's spring break for the kids, so we all get a little time off.

He goes, "That's a shame."
"What's a shame?"
"Here you have this great opportunity to spend time with your kids, and you go off to a friends house."

Well, what do you say to that? How about, THEY WERE THERE?

"But you spent all your time on the computer!"

Actually, her Sims game crashed or something after the first four hours I played it. I got off and let Matt and Pat and Kou all have turns and never played it again. We watched movies instead. I explain that no, I certainly did not.

He let it go.

But imagine...I'm being chastised for being a neglectful parent....by the king of neglect. He had a little room in the garage, way away from the rest of us and from life itself, where he spent 90% of his free time. Eventually he did ditch this room...only to build one inside the house and spend the time there, shooing us out of the "family room."

It was just so laughable. When we went on trips, we went to congregations of his obsession. Which means: We entertained ourselves while he yakked with friends.

I mean, call the kettle black and get me the pot! Wait, that was wrong somehow, wasn't it? Well, you understand why I'm blogging about it. I was highly amused. Hope you are too.

Writing Successes: Wrote a heck of a post for the Amazons.

Music Playing: KINK. Not "Lights Out" cause that's already over. And I was going to bed early, too.

Exerpt from "And You Think You've Got It Bad" by Barbara Fairchild Gramm

Make the Saturday Night Bath a Luxury - The requirements for your toilet table are: an alcohol lamp, curling iron, a folding glass which permits you to see your hair from all sides, two good brushes, two combs, plenty of bone hair pins, a jar of vaseline and a box of quinine capsules for when you are feeling down.

Qunine was used to treat malaria and is defined as a "bitter white pill." I'm totally afraid of how this affected one's moods. I am also wondering why you need two brushes and two combs. How much hair do you have? I can see having a spare if one breaks, but I only have one of each myself. Then again, I don't have a curling iron, an alcohol lamp, or bone hair pins. And I hate to try to explain just HOW I used vaseline last. (No, not like that, it was more....stupid than that.)

Well, I went on a little two-day vacation from everything. Man, what a stupid week to go. I should have remembered all the million things I had to do this week. Oh well. I think I'm pretty caught up now, which is a good thing. Did my PSP assignment, and since I'm fond of killing two birds with one stone, also did a WotW assignment in the bargain. Want to look?

Last time on "Past Lives" with Deoris, we asked the question: Why did I call my stepmother in the first place?

When I went over we talked of many things, obviously. I guess I need more conversations like that, if only as fodder for my blog. Anyhow, she mentioned once that Kellye's "boobs" were now "breasts" or something. I let it slide, thinking she (and her new husband) were just sharing some kind of "in" joke. Later, I realized what they must have been talking about. This is why I called, to confirm my suspicions and ask a few pointed questions.

Like me, my sister had a rather ample bosom. I'll spare her feelings by not relating the details. Let us say that it was above a double d by a few letters. My sister has only just turned sixteen. I can not imagine having been that large in high school, although I may have been. In my childhood, proper clothing was a luxury seldom indulged. So who can really say?

Anyhow, my stepmother confirmed that yes, Kell had undergone the surgery for a reduction. She was much happier now, of course, and it really hadn't been any trouble at all. I said the only thing I could manage. "You saved her from . . . from . . ." and a million problems I have went racing through my brain. "You saved her, trust me." My current, and ill-fitting, bra cup size was a double J. Yes, they do make J's. They make more letters than this, as well, luckily for me. I need a new one.

The upshot is that they truly saved her from so much. As bad as you may think it is, it's worse. You can't do much with a JJ cup size. There's no dancing, no running, no jogging, no bending over, no buying normal clothes from regular stores, no easy way to tie your shoes....a hundred and a thousand more things. It just paralyzes you and worries you. Checking yourself for breast lumps is seeking a needle in a haystack. And these are just the problems I'm willing to relate, mind.

I ask the "supposed" question I wanted the answer to: how much? Well, it's a damn lot. I could buy a brand new car, as an example. The payments alone would choke me to death. I sighed and thanked her for the information.

Which is when she mentioned that she and dad had offered to pay for mine when I was nineteen.

I was flabbergasted. Literally. Choked. Flummoxed. Bemused. Pick a feature. "You did what when?" I turned them down with some words about how I was just fine and dandy, and that God gave them to me, so why mess with nature or something silly. "Well, that sounds like me, that's for sure." I don't remember this at all.

At nineteen, I can honestly say I really didn't like my dad at all. He didn't come to graduation. He didn't ask me to dinner. He didn't offer me a place to stay while I went to college. He didn't....he didn't a million things. He did send my child support check every month. It paid for my room rental and nothing else. When I was in trouble or had a problem, I turned to my mother. I guess I kind of felt like he hated me or hated seeing me or something. All I know is, he didn't call or remember birthdays or anything.

And I did. I called on his birthday, I called on holidays, I called sometimes just to say hello. These conversations would last about 5.4 minutes. Hell, they still do. We aren't big phone people or something.

I can view my attitude from that light. He's ignored me for a billion years and now he's decided to pay for this procedure? Buy my love? More than that, I was young and scared, I'm sure. They probably didn't have a lot of rational facts or anything on hand. Reassurances, whatever.

I also have to say that I push things away when I really need to accept them. It's a terrible bad habit that I'm slowly learning to get over. That and saying "thanks" and accepting bloody gifts. I hate all those things. It makes me feel...bad somehow. "I can't provide for myself, you do it." Which I'd never admit to. I'm much better now, but I still struggle. The fact that I haven't shared any of these revelations from the past week with my dad should give you an idea. He and I even spoke, but he was at the store.

This conversation about boob size led to yet another conversation about Kellye. But I'm leaving it for tomorrow. Can't give you everything tonight, can I? LOL