construction zone

this site is under construction and not due to be reinstated until completion of detailed reconstruction on person.

Not so much dirty, but a wee bit nerdy

Mike the dude

So the other day with my leg in some serious throbbing pain, it became apparent that it was time for a little investigating. I pulled off my pants to look for signs of bruising on my backside where the pain was radiating from.

Standing in front of the full length mirror, I couldn't get a real good look at my situation... so I called my husband in for some help.
Entering the bedroom I bent over at the waist and asked Mike if he could see any bruising or suspicious areas.

"All I see is an invitation" was his fast-track reply without missing a beat.

Ah, the good God almighty must have one heck of a sense of humor.

Creating such different mentalities and then encouraging cohabitation of same!

Elinor-Elly-Ella Our Bella the Beautiful

"c'mon, no new blog in nearly 2 weeks???? what up seester??? me want new blog, just a jonesin for some of that fine bloggin material, blog me, blog me blog me. please............................."

Okay, this - the latest email from my darling baby sister - is a message I dasn't ignore. Long my biggest fan, Bella has always had a special place in my heart. My first maternal swing, both loving and loathing her - sometimes in the same moment - but never able to imagine a world without her in it.

We call her "Bella" now...so many names later. Her names evolving, even now as I write. Bella is good. Bella means beautiful and that describes her perfectly.

Yes, back in the day when my beloved twin Clara, or Cawa if you will, was out tossing balls with the boys Bella was patiently awaiting my every word. Like a bird in the nest restless for the worm, her apt attention would have made another squirm.

We had bats in the basement back then, I know I know most bats are in the attic. But not the bats on Darboy Road. Not the bats in Mongin Manor. Who knows why they chose the basement, all I can assure you is that I refused to be in the basement alone. Since the shower was located...yup, you guessed it - go directly to Park Ave & collect $200 - the shower was in the basement. The bats were in the basement. The only way this girl was going to shower was to have a bat lookout. Oh Ella, oh Ella on guard with no umbrella, not to worry, Bella's guard was for a shower that never got her wet, but kept this here writer free to focus on shampoo and not the possibility of uninvited mammals.

All those years of bat watching for me and bless her heart Bella never said no. Even handed me my towel a time or two. Service like that can leave a footprint on you.

A footprint she has left too. Some folks pass through your life with nary another thought, others leave footprints on your soul and they forever become a part of who you are.

Know what I love about my Bella? She is the part of me that I love most.

bella & rosey

Hope that sums up a nice little blog fix for ya now Bella. You all come back now ya hear? Just w8 until the dog days of summer are a memory. Cause the memories we are making are too quickly in the past and those sweetest of memories, well we just can't make them last.....

Sol Onnibus Lucet

The Same Sun Shines Upon Us All

Sol Onnibus Lucet

You Say Its Your Birthday

Fifty years of living. Thanks to the gift of a lifetime bestowed upon me by my parents I have never ever been alone on the planet. I came into the world with my best friend and God willing I will leave without ever knowing a life without her presence. Or should I say her "presents" because she is truly a gift, my sister, my twin, my ever "present" always loving twinnie Clara. Clara Joan.

Maybe it is because the Mongin clan has pretty much put Ned's kids through college with their patron ism of his pizzeria, but whatever the reason when he was approached by our mother to put a birthday message for Virginia's first set of twins on this the day of their half-century mark he not only heartily agreed to do so, but to keep the message up for the entire week. Oh what the heck if 50 years of good clean living - okay okay - 50 years of living isn't worth a week on the local marquee, nothing is.

So head on over to Kimberly. Take in a pizza at Butch's Pizza aka Ned's Place. While relishing your slice of the pie, be sure to check out the marquee. Gosh but I do LOVE a bit of attention, don't you??

Silver Anniversary

On Monday, June 21st, Mike & I quietly celebrated our 25th anniversary. I remember on our wedding day thinking wow, if we make it 25 years I will be turning 50 the same week - two thoughts that at the age of 25 seemed remote and highly unlikely to ever occur. Yet here we are, a quarter century later celebrating the arrival of both of these milestones.
Today marriage is not taken as seriously as it once was. Truth is I have a hard time understanding why such a marvelous institution has taken a back seat in the lives of so many. While I admit it has been a great deal of hard work, I think the truth is; that which we work hard to achieve is met with the greatest amount of satisfaction. Easy street is dull and conquerable. The hard road of real living means tasting the saltiness of your own sweat, watching the seasons as they roll past and living in the moment cause the moments don't last.
Real living isn't for the faint of heart - it takes true grit to get through it.
If you live long enough you learn how to plant your own garden and tend to your soul with the fertilizer of faith, hope & love. Yes and the greatest of these is love.
So to my great love I say; "thank you darling for 25 years of laughter & tears" long may we love.

James & Cassie

What an amazing week it has been. Saturday we had the pleasure of celebrating of our son's wedding (the wedding was May 1st) during an evening at High Cliff Park where we were treated to a spectacular sunset.

As you can see from this pic both James & his lovely bride Cassie were ecstatic to share their happiness with family.

So, as the old saying goes; "we have not lost a son, we have gained a daughter".

An evening spent in the intimate company of our family with plenty of smiles & a great amount of well-wishing both James & Cassie could feel the love enveloping them from all who were present. What a magical, memorable evening we had!

Love Is All We Need

Sometimes in the chaos we call living, the simplicity of how to best live is lost upon us. When I stop, stand back from myself and observe my behaviors it quickly becomes apparent what is wrong if I am "in a mood".
I have forgotten the mantra; "All you need is love" which is as basic and fundamental as any truth ever spoken. In fact it is likely the greatest truth ever spoken.
When I force myself to look past the pettiness, look past MYSELF if you will and embrace whatever/whomever with a sincere wave of love, well it works like a vacuum and quickly sucks up my fixation on SELF and like a giant floatation device I am lifted up - no longer stuck in my muck.
Love is the raft that saves us from stormy waters. Love is the strength that holds us together. Try it on for size.
We don't need a reason to love, all that is necessary is a desire to love and love is all we need.

Hi Clara

You cannot imagine my joy in seeing the smiling face of my twin sister right there on the home page of my blog site. Waving out at me as though this wasn't a moment in history carved out in my blog.
It has taken me a moment or two to take this in. Clara on my blog site. Not just a quick anonymous reading, but a committed follower with photo id' confirmation. I am honored that she has chosen my site as her electronic communications launchpad.
Besides which I am always guaranteed laughter will follow my best attempts to humor if my humor falls on her ears!
Elly are you out there? You won't be far behind I imagine will you little sister? You know how you hate to miss anything.
Hey Clara, over here...I have a secret......

Words Retracted

As the old saying goes; "when I am wrong I say I was wrong":
"I was wrong."
In an earlier post - or maybe the right word would be "rant" I suggested something to the affect of "stop buying from bp" over my frustration with the gulf spill.
Then last night I watched a news segment interview of a local convenience station owner - yes of the bp franchise. This local guy was talking about how much negative backlash his station has received since the oil spill. How he is as angry as anyone, but when he purchased his bp franchise it was not an endorsement of environmental disasters, it was just life in America living his dream.
He feels just as bad about this ongoing situation, probably feels a whole lot worse. His shame is his livelihood and they are one in the same "bp". No more his fault for eking out a living than it is our fault in the greedy pursuit of gasoline.
Sorry bp downhome guy! Of course this is not exclusive behavior by bp. Before we do our filling, somewhere there is drilling.
As it goes....we are all one under the same sun.....

My Mother

The first born child of Paul & Laura Priewe, her father insisted on naming her after Christianities most revered woman; our Blessed Virgin Mary. Hence the name Virginia Mary Priewe.

Sometimes when I image what life has been like for my mother I am in total awe at the immensity of her life. She was always 2 steps ahead of the rest when it came to experiencing life to the fullest and yet she always seemed rather aloof and distant in regard to personal relationships. Of course when one considers herstory it is not hard to understand how she hardened her heart to such trivialities as relationships.

Here was a woman that moved to California after she graduated from high school and while out west she tried to join the military. Unfortunately the Air Force had to eventually (honorably) discharge her from serving in the military, not for any overt reason on her part, but simply because she had the misfortune to wear a size 13 shoe. The military, at the time, was ill equipped to deal with special sizes especially for women recruits and thus Virginia was not able to be properly uniformed and therefore the military was left with no other choice but to discharge her from serving her country. Can you imagine? Discharged not for flat foot, but for big foot. Oh the humility.

So, military career nixed from the "bucket list" Virginia spent years doing radio and just living/loving the single life west of the Rockies. Years later heavy with child, she returned to Wisconsin but was not exactly welcomed back into the open arms of her stoic (German) father. Not only would he not accept her unwed pregnancy, but after the birth of her firstborn son he took to referring to him as "the bastard". Can you imagine? Living with such blatant disappoint and verbal abuse of a strong family patriarch?!

A weaker female would have took to the hills, denounced her faith and spent her years in bitter resentment. Not my mother, oh no Virginia would have none of the "poor me" syndrome we so often find ourselves gravitating towards. No instead Virginia took an office job to support her family and eventually she set her sights on Allouez most prominent bachelor, yes my father, and after a mere 4 months of courtship found herself accepting his marriage proposal. Since he had been a bachelor for all of his 36 years his family was dumbfounded by this turn of events. Needless to say the charms of Virginia wore down the resistance that Ambrose Mongin had spent a lifetime building.

Barely into his 37th year and a year after their first date they were married in a simple church wedding followed by a reception at her parent's home. By this time her father, Paul Priewe had taken to calling his grandson by his given name no longer using the label of the ignorant.

Well the rest of the story is destined for another post on my blog where I will attempt to disseminate the story of their marriage.

Let me leave you with one cliffhanger to dwell on; they had seven (7) children in their first (4) four years of marriage. Yes that is no typo; 7 in 4 without the aiding and abetting of a fertility clinic either.

7 in 4.

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
(Kahlil Gibran)

Maybe that is why hope reigns eternal, because without which we might know sorrow, we surely cannot delight in joy. For if we cannot see blackness how can we find the light? If the light beckons only from white it is lost in the backdrop of an ethereal existence.
Shall I praise thy name for giving me much space to fill with joy? Praise be! Look - look to thee oh Lord and see thy sorrow has opened a cavern of emptiness. Cannot I, this day, be filled with joy?

Thy will be done, for it is true; we ARE all one under the same sun.

Blessed Wine

Not only is wine sweet inebriation, it is the miracle of Jesus as well. The very first miracle - with of course the urging of his sweet virgin mother Mary - Jesus' first miracle was at the wedding in Cana when he turned the water into wine. Not just any wine, but fruit of the vine top-notch wine. The kind of wine that caused the guests to wonder why it was not served first.
So, if Jesus chose this as his first miracle in part with the encouragement of his mother, I think wine must be the official beverage of women. Men can have the beer. Give me chocolate and give me wine the mood created will be divine.
Toast! To a good old vine zin. Toast! To a rich merlot. Toast! To a hearty port. Red red wine. Not just a song, but a melody instilled in the heart of the drinker.
Just remember, like everything else, sip the wine in moderation. To do anything else will dash away all melody and make for a long long wake up call. Trust me on that one. The voice of experience is always the smartest.
Toast! To you and to me and an old glory be!

2Hot2Handle

Okay so the title may lack originality, but there is no better way to sum up the weather of late.

I mean "hello Mother Nature could you take it down a notch?" Either nature has reached naturopause which is much like the human season of menopause, but with farther reaching implications, or the earth has truly spun off its axis and into hell. Fire burning hell.
While I try to roll with the weather and take what comes this 90+ weather in the merry month of May has me anything but merry. Truth be told, I am not much for the ice dance of winter, but I am at least able to defend my comfort zone. As you may recall in an earlier post I indicated my pleasure in layering. Layering of clothes that is. Well in the chill of winter I have been known to layer my way to four levels of clothing. As long as the clothes are properly layered - starting with the thinnest and working my way to the big bulky sweater on top - the 4-level layer is really quite doable.
On the other hand, in the heat of a spring fever such as we have right now, I am forced to dress down to one layer and well, though it was never a pretty sight, with 50 less than a month a way, dressing down to the birthday suit is just not an option. I pity the man that sees me birthday suit!
So here I sit sweltering in heat not fit for a constitution as delicate as mine. What, pray tell, might we be in store for Wisconsin this summer? I saw a bumper sticker the other day that said; "Global Warming is Just a Hoax". Really? I wonder what level of intellect agrees with such a notion. Better to have read "Global Warming, if You Can't Take The Heat So What" in this country in which the circle of life goes round and round a barrel of oil.
Speaking of oil, is anyone else completely undone by the likely permanent damage to our gulf shores that the BP oil leak is causing? I say everyone stop buying gas from BP. Just imagine if all Americans everywhere refused to fill up their tanks at British Petroleum. Think they might get the message then? I know I am committed to the ban. Convenient as their many gas stations are, I am waiting until I can get over to MotoMart or any other not-off-shore drilling gas provider before I fill er up. For being such a strong nation we sure have become the nation of reactive responses. For it is only in the pro-active strength that we draw our might and in the reactive strength that we lose the fight.
On that note, I end this post dedicated in part to the faithful readership of my much loved sister-in-law Linda. When my baby brother Andy first introduced us to Linda it was the summer of 1999 during a (family) gathering at my home. I remember thinking; "wow!" "Don't mess this one up baby bro" cause she was not only candy to the eye, but sweetness to the soul as well. A worthy mix not often found in combination.
So to you Linda I say "thank you" not only for what you are to my brother, but also for being the much loved sister that you are to me.

Spirit Orb

Okay if you are one of those skeptics who think spirit orbs are a figment of a wayward imagination take my advice and simply skip reading this post. No, I take that back, if you are a skeptic maybe it will enlighten you on the subject & open you to the possibility. Or, if nothing else, maybe the whole idea will itself offer you a dose of humor to lighten your day.
Last fall Mike & I drove up to Door County for a weekend getaway. We love to visit the peninsula and for me personally I feel a deep connection as this is the area that my father's ancestors settled in when they arrived in America from Belgium.
So on our weekend getaway as the day grew weary and the sun sank lower into the horizon we found ourselves driving down a long rough road that, at the entrance, had promised a "scenic view". We had not before on our many trips to the peninsula encountered this particular road, definitely off the beaten path, and our curiosity nudged us forward.
As we traversed this road it became more & more tedious to pass and I started feeling a sense of foreboding, of impending danger. I expressed my anxiety & Mike pointed out that we could at this point only go forward as there was no sure way to turn around without getting stuck and so we forged ahead.
Suddenly the road opened to a clearing. The road circled here allowing for a way to turn around and head out. Mike stopped the car, against my protests as my sense of fear/anxiety had only increased as we entered the clearing. I truly felt a threatening presence.
Mike convinced me to get out of the car and follow him to the edge of the clearing where the view truly was scenic and so I relented.
Even gazing upon the magnificent landscape I could feel the hairs on my arms rising and there was a chill in the air not born of the season.
I started back towards the van and begged Mike to follow me. I told him we needed to leave NOW. He insisted on taking my picture before we went.
After which we got back into the van and to my relief we headed back to the main road. As we drove away the feeling of foreboding started to subside and I started to feel a little silly for such unwarranted fears amidst such natural beauty.
Until I looked at the picture in the camera. There it was, clear as light itself. A spirit orb between the photographer and the photographed. I have encountered spirit orbs before in places like Crown King, Arizona - an abandoned mining (ghost) town.
The question that keeps coming back to me is this; what is this orb from? Is it the spirit orb of a long passed Native American? Is it the orb of a victim of a crime? Might there be human remains somewhere in this clearing? This clearing that gave me such a feeling of terror. I have always been very intuitive and I can't help but wonder if another visit down this road might be necessary.
Nudging me still, I keep coming back to this photo.
Here I feel a sense of unfinished business. A responsibility passed to me where it sits idling in restless anticipation.

Attractively Dark

Someone once told me that I was very dark in an "attractive" way. If one ponders this sort of statement for a moment it becomes apparent why certain moods have a way of "slipping in under the radar" and disrupting my (usually) sunny disposition.
Must be an inherited trait as we never knew what to expect from my dad. He could go to bed with a twinkle in his eye and wake up with a dead-stare-sigh. None of which, I imagine, had anything to do with 10 pair of eyes staring up to him in constant need of his support.
So what is it that turns my mood from sunny delight to a twisted sister in the middle of the night? Possibly there is that old chemical imbalance we hear about from the head-banging specialists. Maybe it is the way an individual reacts to the ebb & flow of life. How well does the psyche handle unexpected change. How well do I emotionally accept that which I cannot control?
I kid around often about my OCD tendencies. Kind of a work place joke I cannot function at the top of my game without every little thing around me in some semblance of order. Neat freak or the alter-ego control freak?
So long abouts Wednesday of this week I was feeling low low low. Maybe I was also coming down from the opium high I experienced with a Monday back procedure. My sister, Elly, is a nurse & she emphatically swears that I am the only patient she knows of that still gets the opium lollypop for medical procedures. Given that when needles are directed at me I lose all consciousness, tend to have no pulse or blood pressure & become a soaking wet sweaty mess of (barely) living tissue; it stands to reason that before an epidural (do you know those needles are like 12 inches long??) before an epidural the good people in charge would find for me the ultimate distraction. How can something that feels so good be so bad? I mean literally I walk around for days after the procedure with what I call my "opium eyes" or what are more commonly referred to as "raccoon eyes" Really though, if one small dose of Fentanyl (200mcg oral) can do this to me, I shudder at what is happening to opium aka heroin addicts around the world. YIKES!
So maybe my dark descent was truly medicinal in nature, but given the fact that the darkness has been a continual loop since long before my first epidural, I have to ponder the question why. Why do I vacillate between girl of much humor to woman of deep pain? Johnny K once called me a bleeding heart. He doesn't know the half of it. Feeling is highly over-rated. Especially when the feeling is less than comforting and all too sharp in its (painful) intensity.
But thank you godson, Calvin, for your early morning email questioning as to why my blogging has taken a hiatus. That sort of "wake up call" is most helpful to the attractively dark - the occasional "what up" from a loved one. Especially a loved one that is more like me than he might at this point in his life care to believe. I am honored to be his godmother & bless the day he was born.
A quick self assessment of my darkened state and I am ready to let in the light once again.
Onward & upward....make it a great day, I know I am going to try!
Shalom; peace be with you, my peace I give to you.

James & Cassandra 05-01-10

Long may they love!

Today we have gained a daughter!

May 1st, 2010

James Justice & Cassandra Lynne Erickson

Surprising us all, James & Cassie were married yesterday. They had planned to marry later this year, but decided on a quiet May ceremony. We can't wait to celebrate at their reception in June!

James brings to our family a new daughter and we are pleased to welcome this newest member of our tribe to the fold.

We once were a family of four

The number is four no more

As our numbers increase

In harmony & peace

Weaving our family-folklore

Book Club April 2010

Tuesday night my book club gathered for our monthly meeting. We alternate hosting and it was again my turn to do the honors. The book discussion revolved around the classic “Pride and Prejudice” our latest chosen read. But before I delve into our dialog, let me first give you some club member background…..

If you are reading my blog than you are already familiar with me, so knowing my modesty when it comes to centering on self, I will instead describe my fellow members for the purpose of this posting. I will also give them pseudo names for the sake of protecting the innocent and respecting the privacy of some women that have truly become near & dear to my heart. My new BFF’s one might proclaim….

“Carly” has faced serious grief in her short lifetime. Losing her father at an early age and then losing her husband in the prime of their marriage would certainly have destroyed a weaker woman. Left to the task of single parenting she has rallied to the challenge. I truly admire the relationship between Carly and her only child. They have a special bond and unlike some adolescents her child reacts with genuine interest to her questions and queries. Carly is one of the most down to earth women I know. Well spoken and interesting, yet surprisingly nonchalant. She prefers silver jewelry to gold – I can see her silver dangling earrings as I write - like her, the jewelry is effortless in its beauty. I have known Carly for many years, but really it has only been recently that our relationship has taken on a deeper level. My respect for Carly is insurmountable and all of us owe the creation of this book club to her perseverance to the cause.
“Jenna” is my special surprise. When first we were introduced I felt unsure in her presence. Somewhat intimidated, I didn’t immediately warm to Jenna. Over the months though instead of growing increasingly more uncomfortable in her presence I have instead come to admire her quiet strength. Her words, when spoken, are weighted by substance and dimension. She is a woman that does not put on airs and certainly reflects my ideals of a women of independent means. Married with 2 grown children, I am certain that her life is a series of give & takes with an equal balance of each. Jenna just does not strike me as someone that will settle for less than a healthy balance, whether in her relationships, her livelihood or just in life in general. With Jenna it has become my personal mission to make her laugh, for no stand-up comedian is ever more flattered than when invoking laughter from someone not easily amused. Jenna may take more than the average Joe to provoke a tickle, but one is rewarded by the music of her authentic laughter when successful in such efforts.
“Jackie”, I give her this name because she embodies everything I admire about Jackie O. You know - the one and only - the first lady of fashion and grace. Our Jackie is a woman with piercing dark eyes that see clearly the world around her. Recently dealt the unexpected blow of her husband’s decision to leave their marriage, I have watched her evolve from genuine shock to cautious acceptance. When she walked in the door at this latest gathering I was taken aback, for not only does she continue to exude grace, but having taken a job that requires intense physical labor she has really taken on the WOW factor. Though it is still early spring, Jackie is already burnt dark brown by the sun. She walked in sporting a button down starched white shirt and flattering blue jeans that really accentuated that tan. Her hair was pulled carelessly back and the wild wisps that fell around her face gave this woman of grace an added air’ of sensuality that made me look twice. I smiled to myself imagining all that this fool of a man had lost - for this was no shallow trophy wife here, Jackie is the kind of woman that makes “her story” a telling not for the faint of heart.
Yes, I think I am going to enjoy watching Jackie grow.
And finally there is “Trudy”. Gentle, kind, fun loving Trudy. What a people person our Trudy is. Her hugs and kisses so naturally shared with all of us. Our group radiates intimacy when Trudy arrives. She is the sweet side that brings us full circle. For what is a bowl of ice cream without the slow pour of a sweet syrup?
Trudy is married to her polar opposite, but somehow this unlikely duo makes for a solid union. Having herself survived a divorce, Trudy is not naïve about the ways of the world, yet refuses to digress from her sunny optimism believing in the best from everyone and everything. No wonder plants thrive under her watch. I blossom under her gaze and if this flower power child of the 70’s can feel the love, the universe must surely be basking in her glorious rays. First to arrive tonight, I answered the door to her open gaze and was immediately put at ease. Blue iridescent earrings dancing in the sunlight like bookends to a face everyone loves.
So this is us. The book club with an agenda that is casual and unscripted. Simple women with a desire to be challenged by our own literary goals.
Our loftiest goal to date has been to read one of the timeless classics of Jane Austen. Pride & Prejudice. As Trudy so eloquently put it; “I had a love/hate relationship the whole way through this book”. Other members heartily agreed with this assertion for this was no easy read, but rather required (at times) the ability to be present in the moment and completely focused on words written. Being present in the moment is not an easy undertaking for women - you could call us the masters of multi-tasking.
But, with this book we were forced to “read outside our boxes”. For not only was the period dialect a challenge, but the style of writing presented surprising twists to the plot that were both unexpected and (at times) hard to digest. In the end though, we all sighed with relief when Mr. Darcy got the girl. Elizabeth our heroine deserved her new found place in society for she, like our own “Jackie”, pushed aside false barriers to be the epitome of true class.
Though this book proved itself a challenge, the unanimous sentiment was that it was worth our time to read & we will pursue more of this author’s work in the future.
Our next chosen read? “The Lake Shore Limited” by Sue Miller. We had read another of her books; “The Senator’s Wife” and look forward to delving into this her most recent work.
Bidding a fond farewell to one another we departed for our separate lives. A separation that is bridged by the shared communion of a common woman.

Visit from beyond

As the night turned to a new day and April 19th became April 20th Mike and I were awakened by the sudden illumination of our bedroom. The lamp on his nightstand suddenly turned on. This has never happened before but sure as I am writing this post, that light was suddenly lit. We looked at each other with the weary stare of two disrupted sleepers. "Did you turn the light on" we simultaneously asked each other. "No". Okay, this is weird.
Holding onto his c-pap, Mike reached over and turned off the light. I could soon hear the rhythm of his return to slumber. I, on the other hand, lay awake thinking - thinking about nothing and then thinking about something.
Thinking that it was the anniversary of my dad's death. April 20, 2004 - six years ago - Ambrose Mongin took his last breath. I was with him in the moment of his passing - a moment to share in another post on another day.
So, knowing how much dad loved to visit our home when he was still alive and remembering several "odd" occurrences in our home immediately after he died, I had to wonder if he was just letting us know that he still illuminates our life.
He is here even now, forever watching over us. Dad always called me his "#1 daughter" sure I was the first, but I always figured there was a deeper meaning to that title. We had a special connection dad & I.
Thanks for the visit dad. I miss you. I love you. Forever your #1 daughter....

Canned Chicken: A Memory

Growing up, my grandmother would often times bring "extra" groceries to our home for consumption by 10 little Mongins (my maiden name). Bless her heart, I am sure her efforts were much appreciated.
One fine August day as summer winded down & we began the slow slide into academia mode, she graced us with a bag of groceries that included one of those cafeteria sized cans. You know the ones, they make you think of the jolly green giant sans all the fancy labeling. This hear label was pretty straightforward; "Canned Chicken" was all it said. No pictures, no gimicks, just two solid words with a world of possibilities behind them. Canned Chicken.
Now, you can only imagine the reflections that were considered by the 10 little recipients of this canned chicken. Sitting, staring at the pantry shelf in the basement dialogs went something like this; "do you think they left the feathers on it?" Because of course we envisioned, in our lively little minds, that inside this can was stuffed a chicken. Crammed into the can in a position similar to the fetal curve of an unborn baby.
By this time in our little lives one or more of us had previously had the experience of seeing a glass jar with a pickled pig - you know the kind, like the biology teachers use to sport on a very visible shelf in their classrooms. No doubt strategically placed to freak out young impressionable minds. No kid is going to come into a classroom & start messing around when there is a pickled pig staring out at you from a jar filled with formaldehyde. No siree that there teacher has a free pass to a right respectable classroom.
So there in the musty confines of our basement we debated the contents of the can; "I wonder if they left the beaks & claws on the bird" one of us ventured. "Of course not" was the quick reply, "they always cut off the head when they kill a chicken". Now instead of giving comfort to the younger siblings, a remark like this sent a visible chill through the air. For our fetal-prone bird was headless as well. With a sideways glance, at each other we made for a hasty exit. Last one up the stairs is chicken shit. Spread real thin now ya hear.
And so it went, for weeks we became the most virtuous of young pious Catholics. Praying that somehow mom would overlook the canned chicken in pursuit of other culinary choices.
Then, as the days got shorter and the cold winter winds began to blow an announcement from church was made. The Sunday before Thanksgiving there was to be a food drive. All parishioners were invited to participate by bringing canned goods to any Mass. The food would be sorted and sent to the poor so that they too might have something to give thanks for on this special holiday.
Like a row of Xmas lights, our little minds lit up one after the other straight on down the line. Each in his or her own way coming to the same grand conclusion; "canned chicken for the poor" was our silent chorus. Yes, that was it - together we would convince mom that this would be our personal sacrafice to the cause.
Surprisingly, mom needed little convincing. Now, mom has many, many gifts. None of which are expressed within the confines of the kitchen. She had probably wondered from the moment she laid eyes to that can of chicken just what the heck she would ever do with it. Now, her children, brought up with a strict belief in faith and a spirit of generosity for those less fortunate, had answered the question for her. The canned chicken would go to the food drive.
Of course a can of chicken is just a can of chicken unless you include some delicious sides; a can of green beans, some boxed mash potatoes (mom never could understand the reasoning behind going to all the fuss of mashing your own potatoes when a few flakes from the box cooked up a batch of no-lump wonder spuds). Oh and a can of cranberry sauce. Jellied.
With a mixture of pride and relief we worked together packing our bag.
That Sunday we proudly lugged our heavy bag of groceries to the altar. Yes sir we were right proud of our generosity. Let the poor people rejoice. God is good. We left Mass that day with our heads held high and a lightness to our step.
As the days were getting shorter, darkness had already settled in when later that day there was a knock at the door. Wondering who might be visiting - a rare treat as for some (unknown) reason we didn't often get drop in company - we raced up from the basement where several of us had been admiring the now vacant spot where our beheaded chicken in a can had previously sat.
It was Father VandenHogan from Church. "Well Father", we angels of mercy exclaimed, "what brings you here?" We asked in our most precious tones, imagining he was here to praise our generous contribution to the food drive for the poor. Slightly out of breath, he set a box down on our table. Slowly all eyes went to the box. "I just wanted to stop in to wish all of you a happy Thanksgiving" he said with more baritone in his voice than I care to remember. Peering cautiously into the box one by one we drew back in fright. For there it was...the "Chucky" of all chickens are very own Canned Chicken was back.
Lord up above I believe I have seen the devil in my dining room. What else could have propelled that chicken back to our home.
But wait, what does this mean? Are we? Could it be?
And so with fear and trepidition our security was ripped from our innocent little hearts. For the truth had been told. We were the poor. What else could have brought this bird back to our fold. The poor. The pitied. Branded like a poorly labeled can of chicken.
Life, for some of the older fry, was forever altered. Hunger would take on a greater urgency and our pride in the size of our family became the shame we wore as a belt of poverty instead.
Many years would pass before we could laugh about this can of chicken.
We might never have seen the humor if not for the fact that one day that can of chicken simply disappeared. Mom not up to the challenge opted to dispose of the Canned Chicken instead of trying to make a meal of it.

Tucked

Thank you Lord, for granting me today the humble experience of realizing my girlish figure is once and for all a thing of the past…
As much as I love to “tuck” my shirts, my daughter is forever reprimanding this style faux pas on the part of her mother. I try to adhere to the strict rule of style etiquette that forbids tucking of the shirt, but on the occasion when I am layering my clothes I sneak in a tuck. I love the way it feels to have a layer of clothes tight against my torso – a sort of second skin – and given my “thin skin” physique, this feeling borders on the blissful.
Today just happens to be a “layer it up” day, which of course I gleefully realize means a secret tuck for my protective pleasure.
Tucking is always more secure when the tuck includes ones panties. This helps to keep the snugged more securely anchored – a trick I credit to the advice of an old buddy Kay. So after tucking my shirt into my panties I proceeded to pull them up around my flat ass. In the process of doing so I heard the simultaneous sound of fabric ripping as my thumbs broke through the material on either side of my hips. The reflection in the mirror is not pretty. Fonzie gone bad. Two thumbs up on the old hipsters. “Heyyyy!”
A tragedy of sorts. Maybe Victoria Secret would like the patent on these here beauties. They could market them as the new “peek-a-boo panty” or better yet the “tug time teaser” maybe this here situation could render itself after all.
Well, daughter’s advice aside, the tuck is once more my dirty little secret. Besides a little ventilation never hurt – especially if I decide to take these blossoming hips on a little power walk later today….

Out of the Blue

The other night I had a dream that just won't get out of my head. Maybe if I put it to words, the images will, if not disappear, make room for other thoughts....

I was at a large service station. Many mechanics working on vehicles. One of the mechanics turned to me and it was "RR" someone I had known in high school. He was always treated cruelly by other students and came from a broken, troubled home. I have regrets about not siding with him when he was picked on, but instead I silently stood by while he was taunted by the high school hecklers.

RR approached me, we hugged & started a catch-up conversation. I was relieved that he had fared well in life because even to this day, I find myself drifting to thoughts of him on occasion. As we were talking, we walked out of the garage. Outside it was a dark, ominous day, no sun in a cloudy sky with the weighty feel of an impending storm.

Suddenly I looked to the sky and there the most amazing site greeted my gaze. A pair of hands (bigger than life) came racing through the clouds. The best way I can describe the hands was that they appeared to be the most brilliant blue - the blue of a bolt of lightening - except unlike lightening they did not light up the darkened sky and disappear within seconds. Rather, they slowly moved across the break in the clouds illuminating the darkened sky. Watching the hands I was filled with an indescribable awe.

Then very clearly I heard the words; "behold the hand of God is upon thee" and saw around me people dropping to their knees in prayer. I, too, fell to my knees and began to pray. Next to me, on his knees, was another face from the past; "DB" who I had always felt a sort-of "protected" feeling from. Growing up he was a neighbor from down the road & one of many brothers. Though we never dated, to this day when I see him (which is very little) I always feel a sort of kindred spirit between us.

As DB & I were praying to the illuminated sky, I realized that around us were people refusing to look to the sky, going about their way. This confused me, couldn't they see what was happening? And then very clearly I heard; "For tho they too can see, still they will not believe".

Suddenly I was awake. Wow! I felt such a strange sensation as though I were outside of myself. My body felt heavy beneath me and I was filled with a range of emotions - joy that I had been so close to God, fear for those who refused to believe & trepidation wondering what this dream could mean. I could not move for quite some time, barely able to utter the words; "I think God just came to me in a dream" to my husband.

After 25 years of marriage, Mike has learned to expect the unexpected with me for a wife and merely asked a few innoculous questions.

This questioning actually helped bring me back to myself and I started to slowly feel more grounded in the moment.

But the dream has not faded the way most dreams do. I see them still - those magnificent hands - the overwhelming awe I felt at the sight of them and I remember my dismay at the people who continued about their business with no regard for this apparation in the sky.

All in a dream and out of the blue; was it a message for me and for you?

Kitty Pickler Day 2

Early, very early, I was reminded of why I no longer have pets. Weighing in at over 20 lbs. Mr. Pickler is no longer a fur ball light weight. Imagine awakening to a 20 lb ball of fur sucking your neck while simultaneously suffocating you. My first coherent thought as I was attempting to remove this mass of fur was; "that better not be his ass in my face!" Thankfully it was his stomach - the ass end was propped up on Mike's pillow. Better flip it over for the man before he gets home from the night shift. Working 12 hours overnight a man deserves a pillow that doesn't smell like ass. Save that for his late night beer runners. Just kidding I may get irritated on those occasions, but I don't resort to skank revenge. Kissing just wouldn't be the same. Onward and upward it was time for the feeder to rise & feed. And so it was, a new day dawning.

Kitty Pickler

No grandchildren it is true, but I do have Kitty Pickler to nurture. Amber (our daughter)is off on an extended roadtrip so Kitty Pickler is spending the week with Mike and I. Now you might wonder where such a silly name as "Kitty Pickler" ever originated from. Let me just say that anyone who knows us intimately is aware that we are closet idol fans. Relentless watchers of the mundane.
Might you remember a certain American Idol hopeful by the name of Kelly Pickler? Yup, now the old wheels are turning aren't they?
You see, it was I who was originally in pursuit of a pet kitten. When I visited the home of a ragdoll breeder I immediately fell for a wild looking all white ragdoll with a penchant for the naughty. A little minx one might say.
"Hey Pickler" (here he comes now)...up onto the desk and planting his furry physique on the computer scanner. Whats happening Mr Pickler? Time for a quick clean. Rub a dub dub licks his paw instead of dippin in the ole' bathtub. For Mr. Pickler the bathtub has but one purpose. Getting high. He absolutely loves it when I put some catnip in the tub. Jumps right in and rolls around like a mosher in a slippery pit. Not that I can recollect exactly how that there metaphor might feel given my aversion for all things moshing.
Anyway, so there I am at the breeders home having already laid claim to my new kitten when I notice a very large ragdoll locked up in a kennel. "What is that cat doing locked up?" I naively asked the breeder. "He is the stud, can't let him wander or he sprays" she replied. "Oh? So he is like jailed for a crime you make him commit? That hardly seems fair" I said. She was starting to look sideways at me like maybe it was time to collect the fee and send the crazy-want-a-kitty lady on her way.
"Is that his dad" I asked pointing to the imprisoned while clutching my precious bundle of fur. "That there stud is every kitty's dad around here" was her rather bored reply. Looking around at several wandering cats it occurred to me that these must be the birthing machines. "Is his mom here?" I asked. "Ya, over in the box there with the rest of the litter" she said with a point of the finger. Following the direction of her pointing digit I walked over to a large box on the floor. Sure enough there was a cat with several kittens nursing on her tits. I am so very happy that the human mammal has but one set of very strategically placed breasts.
"Why isn't he in there nursing too?" I asked turning to the breeder in my maternal stance. "She pushed him out, they do that sometimes to some of the litter. Don't seem like a bad idea now does it?" she said with a smoker's cough amidst peals of laughter.
So, his mom doesn't want him & his dad is in jail? Who is nursing him then? "Well, his grandma took over when he was pushed out of the box." "Really? But, I didn't know cats could keep nursing long after they were done breeding!" I said with a measure of awe & relief. "They don't" came the quick reply of a breeder who was fast losing my r-e-s-p-e-c-t. "She may be a grandma, but she is still having litters of her own." That was enough for me, I tossed her my money, snatched up my kitty and headed for the door.
Once to my car I gently arranged my precious cargo in his new kennel that I had brought along. Securing the seatbelt around the kennel I got behind the wheel and started for home.
Driving home I started thinking, well actually I had been thinking quite continuously up to that moment because as Mike often remarks; "honey you have got to learn to quit thinking all the time" which (just between me & you) is a little something I have not yet mastered. So anyway, my thoughts turned to trying to decide on a proper name for this little bundle of fur.
Let me see, his dad is in jail, his mother rejected him and his grandma was his source of nurturing. That sure sounded a lot like my idol favorite that season - Kelly Pickler, hmm Kelly isn't such a hot name for a cat, by golly I've got it..."Kitty Pickler". I love a name with a solid history and this one was perfect.
Okay, so now you are probably wondering why after all that interest on my part Mr. Pickler is now the proud pet of Amber.
Well, apparently if a kitten is weaned too soon that kitten has the propensity to take up some very annoying habits such as the late night suckling on his tired feeder's neck. Obviously when push came to shove we knew who the real animal lover was.
After one particularly difficult night of being awakened several times to a sucking ball of fur, I got out of bed, placed said fur ball outside of my bedroom and shut the door. I fell back onto my pillow lulled to sleep by the distant sound of a crying kitty. In the morning I opened the door & found my punishment for kitty banning. A puddle on the floor. I stormed over to the house phone and immediately called Amber. "Do you want this damn cat?!?" I practically yelled into the phone. "Cause if you don't he is on his way to the pound." "What!" Amber was clearly trying to come out of a sleeper's fog and understand what I was threatening. "You can't take him to the pound, I will take him."
And so, just as the king determined who the real mother of a particular infant was with a threat of cutting the baby in two, we realized Kitty Pickler's real home was with the cat lover, not the "I am in the mood for a little lackadaisical nurturing cat owner wannabe".
But, as Amber loves to be on the go, we still get to see plenty of Kitty Pickler as we are his guardians in waiting.
Hey Mr. Pickler, how about some canned salmon (all the Pickler's love their salmon).....

Official First Blog - Will this be the end of the beginning?

So, let the story begin. My first day as a "blogger". After much encouragement from my book club I have stepped into the world of the daily posters. Okay girls, here it is....now what to say exactly? For there is no greater censorship than the desire not to hurt those we love. So, knowing that words written, unless immediately shred, are words that remain for all eyes for all eternity gives me cause to pause and consider carefully what NOT to say. Shudder me spine, I feel the censoring of my words as they filter through my consciousness.