Why Give A Crap What I Say? It's JUST me.

Why should you give a crap about me? I have no idea... BUT....I want to thank you for joining me on my journey of a super shitty - averagely happy - drama filled - absolutely hilariously funny life.
I clearly feel the need to spill my guts about what is happening in my life to people I don't know. The funniest most off color TRUE stories you've ever heard - and when you least expect it, you'll cry like a baby.

The photo you are seeing is "my" yard in the summer. A home is not a place it is the inhabitants that make it a home.

With love, Alyce

November 22, 2012


Thanksgiving 2011

...I see myself in this picture but I don't remember it.

Thanksgiving 2012

The difference between Thanksgiving of 2011 and Thanksgiving of 2012 is so vast I’m not sure where to begin.

Last year was spent with family.   My divorced parents - my brother, his wife, and children - my husband and our three children - all together.   One of the last times we would gather like this.  What a horrible shame.    Almost forgot that we did gather at Eric’s funeral.  Of course we did.

We took “planned” pictures during our feast.  “On the count of three everybody appear to be elated”.  Gathering around “daddy, husband, uncle, brother-in-law” we posed.  Our hearts were breaking, through our smiles.

My husbands body was becoming more weak, but his mind and spirit were strong.  

I don’t remember last year’s festivities.  I know I was physically there because I see myself in pictures, however, there is not one flashback of that time.   Come to think of it I have very little memory of any time after a meeting I had a doctor in August.  “We’ll try to get him to his birthday,” I was told.  “His birthday????????  That’s in January!!!!!!”  The next vivid memory is of Eric’s last breath 4 days after his birthday, on January 21, 2012.

(As an aside - my mother is in the kitchen of my rented home frying onions.  I am in a paralyzed position on my couch, waiting to feel thankful.)   A new and fabulous friend is coming this morning to help cook.

I’m trying so hard to remember anything of Thanksgiving 2011.  It’s so crazy, that I can’t remember “a thing”.   While in the moment you swear you will never ever forget “a thing”.   You promise yourself that this moment in time will be embedded in my memory forever.  That is if forever, is only 24 hours long.   

Within 2 weeks of Thanksgiving my husband was paralyzed.  I wish we had danced.  I wish we had danced.  I wish we had danced.  HOLD ON A SECOND!!!  Maybe we did dance and I just don’t remember.  New memory....we did dance.  We slow danced.  We didn’t talk.  We just danced.   I didn’t cry in anticipation of his death.  I just let the moment just be.  

O.K....so I know this is all just a bunch of crap, but it could’ve happened.

This year my brother and his family will not be here.   Not sure where they’ll be, but they’re not here.

The cast that will be at my home for Thanks (names are being withheld to protect the innocent)

Bruce Willis: 25 year friend that is a life-line  (and “her” husband)
Elvis: 6 month friend that I’ve known for years
Vidal: 6 month friend who is a giving tree
Bela Karolyi: 3 month friend that slid in as if always there
Unknown Character:  Single mom and 3 children.  No place to go - sure come here.
Unknown Character: A friend of Bruce Willis that I “need” to know
My divorced parents: speaks for itself
Child 1: Brilliant
Child 2: Brilliant
Child 3: Brilliant

I’m sure there will be additional people coming to my new home.   Our old home was the same.  Everyone was welcome, and everyone came.   As swiftly, everyone left.  I mean everyone.  

Am I less fortunate this year than last?  I’m different fortunate I guess.  It totally sucks that my children are spending Thanksgiving without their father.  As the most horrible saying goes, it is what it is.  This fact I cannot change.  Eric will never spend another Thanksgiving with us again.   OK.  Next.

My family is healthy this year.  Sure, we’ve all got something or other...BUT nobody is dying.  Well, we are all dying...but you know what I mean.  I am grateful.

My home will be full of people who are choosing to be with us.  Whether friends or relatives, there will be people, and there will be love.  I am grateful.

My parents will be here together’ish,  I am grateful.

We have food, clothes, shelter, blah blah blah.  But there are those that don’t.  I am grateful

In summation, I wanna be done in the why me...I wanna be in the why not me.  I wanna be in the “I remember” and it was nice.

I need to remember....


November 12, 2012

No Picture Book - This is a Novel

I spend a lot, and I mean a lot of time trying to find a picture that conveys what I am writing.  It’s as if what I’m writing is not clear enough, there needs to be an accompanying photo with it.  A picture book for grown-ups.  

As usual I searched for a picture that would encompass the feelings I have today.  Solemn, sad, frustrated, disappointed, mad, disappointed (I said that twice), lonely.  There’s more to the list, but it’s dumb to write all the words that describe grieving.  

The “stages” of grief having been defined in 1,000,000,000 books does not apply to me, but rather to everyone else going through this process.  I am special and above such nonsense.  

When my husband died in January of this year, (yes still in this same YEAR), I was sad for a while.  Then, as I usually do, I snapped out of it.  I was intently focused on giving myself and my children a better life.   From March forward my life was dedicated to moving out of the grey and into the sunshine.  Out from the old and into the new.  Away from the disappointment and sadness and into the hope and joy.  Hello, Crock of Shit it’s nice to meet you, my name is Naive.

Sunny Palm Beach, FL brings 80 degree weather in November as opposed to the 40 degrees we came from.  Oddly enough even the sun can’t break through the grey in my home.   I would trade (not happily) 100000000 days of grey to have the father of my children back.  There will never ever be another father of my children to talk to, no matter what the weather.

How ridiculous of me to think that a weather change would change our broken hearts.  

I’ve talked many times about the imperfect relationship my husband and I had.   The betrayal I feel to him that I might have been relieved that I would be able to start my life over again.  What an idiotic thought that was and still is.   Starting a life over again only applies to those who believe in reincarnation and then at best you’ll probalby come back as a bird or a tree or something crazy like that.  This life I have just continues.  Continues regardless of what my zip-code... who my friends/enemies are... how those I trusted betrayed...or how I was the betrayer.  It all just goes forward whether you want it to or not.

No amount of crying or wishing can help me get back to the place where my husband isn’t dead, and I can say, “I am so sorry for making the last 3 months of your life shitty.”  I am so very sorry that I let my own ego interfere with allowing you the peace you needed before you took your last breath.  I can’t and won’t let myself be forgiven for being so evil!  It is just pure evil to deny a person the opportunity to breathe deeply and peacefully as they watch themselves deteriorate into the baby they once were.  

I was “the” caregiver to my husband.  I lifted him into the bathtub only to realize I was too weak to pull him out.  (With all the strength we both could muster, we did drag my naked and vulnerable husband out of the bathtub.)   One of the days I realized, holy shit, this ain’t no joke!!!  We are fucked in this battle against cancer AND we are going to lose.

Hoisting him above the hospital bed we had moved into our home so he could mingle with our friends.  Me, lying on the floor, pushing and pulling with both my arms and legs, just to then be able to lower him into the wheelchair that awaited him.  He was grateful.  Never failed to thank me.  I was pissed because I had to do EVERYTHING and ALL he had to do was die.

There was a day that using the bathroom wasn’t an option.  That was the day he realized that it was almost his time.  That is the day when I realized I couldn’t care for him forever.  It wasn’t that I minded doing all these duties - it was that the longer it went on the less “thank you’s” I was receiving.  How in the hell could I stand on ceremony waiting for a thank you from a man whose dignity was slipping away hour by hour.  Why wasn’t I grateful that he trusted me enough to allow me to take care of him?

I’m sitting at a car wash waiting for the car my husband told me to buy right before he died.  “Trade in the Lexus and the Dodge for the Honda Odyssey.  I don’t want to have to worry that you won’t have a safe car.”  He died January 21, 2012, I bought this car on January 27, 2012.

A “psychic” came to me recently and said, “Did someone close to you die recently.”  “Yes”, I answered.  “Well, I see him in your car.  Do you feel him in your car?”  Looking for the cameras thinking I was on a psychic medium show, I fixed my hair, and said, “His favorite country songs are on the radio ALL OF THE TIME!”

Perhaps I feel like I owe it to him to listen to the most awful music in the world in the car that he wanted me to have.  I was a radio DJ once, perhaps it’s my destiny to be a DJ on a country western radio station.   I an announce the music, even if I don’t like it.

Good morning folks, it’s AlyceIsCurious and next up is one of my husband’s favorite songs about gun shootin’, brawlin’ girl kissin’, and heart breakin’ and it amazingly enough sounds like every other C&W song you’ve ever heard.



November 7, 2012

...I wanna quit!!!

I've quit most things I've started.  My philosophy was, first is first, second is last.  True isn't it?  Look at last nights Presidential Election.  One guy one the chair and the other guy wound up with an empty chair.  (If you've watched any of the election you'll laugh at the irony of the empty chair).  If you can't be the best why even try?  My whole life has been a struggle in accepting my mediocrity.

Had a heart to heart chat with my personal trainer.  "Jill, I'm cutting down from 3 days a weeks to 2 days a week."  She said nothing.  "I'm not eating well all the time, and the only time I do anything is when I come here."  Again, nothing.  "I've decided I'm going to take the day I'm not here and sit in my bed, watch the news and eat onion dip with potato chips."  "Go ahead," she told me.  "I know you'll feel a hell of a lot better when your ass is bigger than it is today."   GRRRRRRR  "Fine," I told her.  "I'll come three days, but I'm not going to work hard!"

How else can I check out of life for a while?

That's the real issue.  I'm just done dealing with issues.  I'm just done.  It's hard, too hard.

There are peaks and valleys and valleys and valleys.  A valley then becomes a hole and then that hole becomes a bigger hole, but now it's made of mud.  I just keep trying to crawl up the sides only to “almost” get to the top and then, WALAH, you slide down to the bottom again.  Ugh

Isn’t that life though?  You try something you fail and you try again.  The fun of life experiencing new things - not whether you win or lose but how you play the game.  That’s the life lesson I’m teaching my 10 year old twins.  How the hell can I teach a lesson about “mastering the art of the fail” when it’s something I avoid at almost all costs.  If I got no skin in the game I can’t get burned, right?

Tony was an entrepreneur kinda.

If I tell my kids one more time about how many times Babe Ruth struck out or how many times Albert Einstein failed I'll scream.  C'mon you guys, it's o.k. if you don't get it right, just do your best.  I say this to my children with not an once of judgemental'ness.  I mean it.  Get a 76 on a test...if you tried and that's your best let's do dinner, I tell then.  What a hypocrite I am.  If I don't know with 110% certainty that something's a go, I don't move. 

Here's the issue.  Do I get into the game or stay on the sidelines????????????????????

I wrote a children’s book.  Took me 6 months to write it.  I think it’s quite good, and so does the external disc drive that it’s housed on.   Perhaps I should send it to some publisher’s.  Perhaps they’ll hate it.  (In all likelihood, they’ll hate it.)  It’ll get rejected, (I’ll be rejected.)  This just stinks.  I don’t have a “real” contact in the business.  “Hey_____________, it’s Alyce.  Yeah hi, how are you?  Great, great.  I wrote a children’s book and I know you’re in the business.......  What????  You’re looking for a children’s book to publish written by ME???  This is so great.  Oh, and you want me to sign a contract to write 7 more books, AND you’ll advance me the money.............”

Let's not get crazy...I'm not calling anyone today.  But I am going to try to figure out why I shouldn't.

I get that I sound like a moron...but if life were only this easy....I’d wanna play more of it.

I'll play but I gotta know I'm gonna win ahead of time!!

November 1, 2012

'til further notice ALL holidays are cancelled

 Halloween 2011 Family Photo
Halloween 2012 Family Photo
My late husband LOVED Halloween.   I think it’s an accepted form of begging for stuff that most can buy for themselves.  He and I fought year after year on the SIZE and QUANTITY of the give away.   Two years ago my husband bought mini-mini’s.  I believe 3 of these equaled one half of a whole bar, so that is what I gave.  We argued over how inappropriate a prize that was.  

Eric’s last Halloween he went hog wild and bought the giant 1 lb. bars AND the regular  bars.   The family walked the neighborhood as I gave out the candy.  Small bars first saving the big ones for, not sure what.  “Why did you save the big candy for last?”, he screamed.  “I always save my favorites for last,” was my retort.   No candy fight this year.

Took the kids to a street called “Dolphin Rd.”  A beautiful street on Palm Beach Island.  They close this street to traffic, (except those moms (me) who are dumb enough to drive down the street.).  

Free Italian ice from the local icery known as Rita’s Ice - free hot dawgs from a Sabrett cart.  Moms, dad, and kids wore beautiful costumes.  

“How’d it go?” I asked the kids.  They were both surprised that the size of a home does not correlate with the size of the candy given out.  I think they were hoping the top 1% would give more then those that are in the 99%.  That’s not how Halloween works I tried to explain to them.

My day was filled with sadness.  

I watched dads sit on the driveway of their multi-million dollar estates - wearing camouflage jackets - sitting on Adirondack chairs and shooting the shit.  This brought back a flood of memories of my husband sitting in the driveway of our home - wearing a fleece jacket - camouflage shorts - gnawing (literally) on a steak bone that he heated over a flame in a fire-pit on our driveway, drinking a scotch.

Not Halloween but could've been!!

My kids and I never discussed the obvious missing trick or treat'er, but we all knew it.  It was the, for lack of better phrasing, the ghost in the room.  I held each of my big kids for a little while longer and kissed them more deeply.  A kiss from two of us.

I must see if there’s a government agency I can call to ask them to ban all, and I mean all, holidays from being acknowledged for the next 12 months.  

October 23, 2012

Searching for the...

My husband died on January 21, 2012.  Up to January 12, 2012 (ironic numbers), he was recording videos for our children.  There are videos with him talking to the children about numerous things - Important things - Heartfelt things - NOthing about me however.

I've taken up watching these videos with the eye of a detective.  Did I miss a cryptic message he was trying to send to me?  Watching him read aloud a book called "The Invisible String" I wonder, was he secretly saying that he and I have a string?  Is he trying to let me know, in some secret way, what the password is to his computer,  in case I need to reboot it?

I am so desperately searching for answers to the unanswerable.  What else is there to do but SEE A PSYCHIC.  I wrote to "The Medium" chick from Long Island - I know it's crazy.  I didn't receive an answer that day so I drove 20 minutes to visit with a real live psychic.  A woman that claims she can see dead people, (I can't help but think of Haley Joel Osment in the Sixth Sense as I write this.)  Not only do I hope she sees dead people but I hope they talk to her.

Taking off all of my jewelry and walking in with only a phone and a credit card stuffed in my bra, I challenge her to tell me the secrets I'm looking to hear.   Staring at me daring me to NOT tell her something, I sit silent.  She asks me how I am.  Fine, I tell her.  

Then she looks over my left shoulder with a tilt left of her head.  "I see someone has passed, someone small."  I think of the baby I was carrying in July of 2011.  At our 6 week pregnant visit we went to visit our babies heartbeat at the doctors office.  There wasn't one.   We were escorted out of the office via the back door.  It seems my crying was disturbing the "happy patients/parents", who saw that flicker of light that was to become their baby.  

More chatter, of what I couldn't say.  Then, a look to the right, toward the floor this time.  Another small dead thing.  Ugh!!!!  

Then it happened - a look - a smile - a nod - as if there was conversation - then...."I see someone hovering over your left shoulder.  This person is practically on top of you."  I squirm to the right feeling an invasion of my space happening.   A person with a hairdo I can only describe as a come-over is standing next to me.  The psychic assumes it's a woman.  I am sure it's my husband.  He didn't die with a combover but I'm sure he would have had I not begged him to spare me that awful, obvious look of hair despair
You are right.  Nobody notices you're balding.

"He is no longer mad at you," she says.

Life has a way of creeping in.

I don't read my writing before posting, so I'm not sure what I was actually talking about.  I might have been talking about my visit with a psychic.  Trying to reach out to my late husband to get some advise on what/how/if I should do something.

I started to receive advice from “living” friends.  Have a relationship with god, leave it up to the universe, whatever will be will be, and other ideas on how to leave your life in someone-thing else’s hands.

This advice started to, well, aggravate the shit out of me.  

Is this to assume that I have no control over my life situations?  If I think in a negative way then negative things happen to me???  What was I thinking that enabled cancer to creep into our lives and take away my children’s father?  I have an answer to this question - I WASN’T!! This whole cluster of a mess was not my fault.

My husband was a planner.  He didn’t leave much to chance.  We had 30 year food; ammunition to trade for food; weapons to ward off whomever tried to enter our home without an invite; a 1,000,000 watt battery, and things I don’t even know about.  I left the safety of our family in his hands.  His preparedness did not give him cancer.  Genetics gave him cancer.  His preparedness and forward thinking gave us the opportunity to take our lives into our own hands.

Life, is now up to me - not God - not the planet - the universe - the government - my parents - it’s just me!!

i am iCONIC!!

That's right I said it out loud.   I am an icon.  How do I know?  I feel it on the inside.  I'm taking my life back.  ME!!  Not leaving my life to fate or anything else that doesn't involve the letters M & E.

September 28, 2012

Words Hurt - Even "ON" Palm Beach

...taken about the same time the video was made.
I just watched a video my late husband recorded exactly two weeks prior to his death January 21, 2012.  He was giving the kids a life lesson on how what you say really does matter to other people.  He went on to explain that when you're working people will try to tear you down by saying things that might not be true - but you must rise above it.

My son had a vocabulary list to do and "integrity" was one of the words on the list.  He had to use the word in a sentence.  The sentence needed to be able to be understood by the reader without giving it away.  "My dad is a man with integrity.  He's honest and I want to grow up to be just like him."

I'm in a sticky situation now.  I must think that I wouldn't be in this if Eric weren't dead.  Other than the obvious - he would've done more due diligence before throwing himself into something (anything for that matter.)

Eric died on a cold day in January - by the budding of flowers in March I had decided my children and I HAD TO MOVE!  Eric took more than 3 months to decide on a new underwear type.  No, not me.  Don't make any big decisions, warned, um everyone.  With a subtle eye roll I'd acknowledge what they were saying and explained how that applied to most but not to me.

Fast forward 8 months after Eric's death and about 6 weeks after picking up my family and moving us to paradise.

I have so many absolutely hateful things to say about my situation.  I am trying so hard to bite my tongue (smack my hands) and not spew the venom about my current living situation.

This is what I will say.  Let me first say, that I absolutely understand the word slander and all that it entails.  I'm not being slanderous as long as I'm being honest.   Honest I'm good at.   Here we go....

...I rented a home on Palm Beach.  The next question is always where?  Palm Beach.  I know, but where.  It's the craziest thing...ON PALM BEACH ISLAND.  Ugh...Oh, you live on the island, they say.  Yes, yes we do.  It is an amazingly beautiful and peaceful place.  As you drive over one of the 3 bridges to get onto the island from West Palm Beach you immediately feel a sense of calm.  

The home we rent is 4 blocks from the Ocean - yes the Atlantic Ocean.  .75 miles to Starbucks - .3 miles to school - .5 miles to the Supermarket - within 5 minutes from anything and everything.  The home is much smaller than the home we lived in - BUT we have a pool - AND my mother has a very small guest house to call her own.   In order to get a reasonable (which is still unreasonable) price on rent I agreed to pay the monthly rent in advance (known as advance rent) - two years in advance rent.  


We moved in August 15, 2012 - by September 6, 2012 my landlord had already consulted with her attorney to see what her options are.  I don't have the strength to go into the minutia of everything.  It is fair to say that in my extraordinarily long and complicated life I have never happened upon a person such as this.  

The things I knew before moving in:
  • My landlord would be living two doors down from me.  No issue as I am very particular about how I live.
  • My landlord has no children
  • My landlord has never been married
  • My landlord is (or believes) that she is a prominent real estate broker ON PALM BEACH ISLAND
  • My landlord has a slight attitude issue.
The things I didn't know before moving in:
  • I would have to fight this woman to correct issues that were a danger to my children and myself.
  • I would have to call the Town of Palm Beach to see if there were code violations.
  • I would find out that low and behold there are code violations.
  • I would feel a sense of satisfaction knowing she would be opening her mail to find out that she HAD to fix the issues I had simply asked to be fixed.
  • I would want to scream from the rooftops that she is a mean mean mean lady.  Well, that's my opinion - do I then say allegedly?
Where do we stand now????????  Well...I'm trying to get her to understand that we need not argue.  We need not throw stones and say bad things about each other.  We need to go away from each other - not mad just away.   I have asked 2 different attorney's to explain to this "woman" that I will at all cost protect my children, my mother, and myself.  Still, the words fall on deaf ears.

As I watched my late husbands video today - explaining how words can hurt and how you should choose them carefully.  I can only think of one thing.


We can do this the easy way or the hard way but...

...Eventually we'll do it my way!!

August 28, 2012

...acting like the captain of the ship

...but I'm just
I'm the cook!!

So this is the deal.  This video isn't fun, funny or fabulous but it is amazingly loooooong.  I haven't written a blog in a while because I've been so busy trying to figure "it" out.  

In case you don't know I've picked up my family (3 kids and my mother) and moved us to another state.  I did this BEFORE the one year mark I was supposed to wait after the death of my husband.  It was 6 days shy of his being dead for 7 months.  

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." - 
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." - 
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." - 
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." 

"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks." - 
"I'm fine, really." - "This absolutely sucks."  

Reminds me of Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

I know my therapist would tell me that my feelings are justified, relevant, and genuine.  I'll stick with my famously childish saying of "it's just dumb."  Not brilliant, by fitting.

Sure, I'll get 1000 emails telling me to "stop feeling sorry" for myself.  Really, I'm not.  It always goes back to my children.  They've been so short changed.  I'm a good mother, I know that I am.  Am I good enough to be a mother AND a father?  

My mother says whether you're faking it or not if you're doing it, well, you're doing it.  It feels like lying kind of.  I'm familiar with this feeling as I spent my teens to early twenties perfecting the art of lying.  Lying takes WORK.  You've got to constantly remember what it was you said to be consistent.  That's what living a life that's unexpected feels like.  I have to constantly think about what it is I should be doing.  Being the captain of a ship means you train (or whatever it is you do to drive a ship).  I've got no training and the Captain of my ship has died unexpectedly.  That leaves ME to drive this barge.

Ugh, what a long driveling note this is.  Perhaps after the skies stop opening up around me and the sun comes out this will pass - Boy, I hope so.

August 26, 2012

August 2, 2012

...what is it all about?

Some would say this is my mantra.

I'm not a person that "asks" for things or favors.  Friends of mine do wonderfully generous things for me.  They offer.  "Do you need a ride?"  "Can I bring you coffee?"  Etc...

Let me say that I know this happens.  I'm not a blithering idiot that doesn't see people at their most generous.  I always ask, "Why the hell would anybody do anything for me?"  Yet, I have still not found the answer to that question.  

I am really very thankful, I am just have trouble wrapping my head around it.

Recently (like within the last 6 months) I've been called an ingrate, elitist, non-understanding bitch.  This came from people who gave me the most generous gift, their time.  I never asked, they just did it.
People tell me often that I believe "It's All About Alyce."  Alyce, that's me.  How can people say it's all about Alyce when Alyce...
  • doesn't ask for anything?   
  • has never broken someone's heart. 
  • shares with friends and family more than I can sometimes.
  • listens with a concerned ear.
  • takes shit when she knows she should be throwin' it.

I know...
I've been in therapy for more then 3, that's right three decades.  I've talked, debated, cried, laughed and realized that it's a never ending process.  That's the beauty of being a mental patient doctor - you never graduate from going.  Seeing a therapist is a lifelong commitment.  The only reason to break up with this doctor is because you're moving - NOT because you've figured it out.

My husbands death solidified (as if I didn't know), it's not about me alone.  It's about my children and me, or my friends and me, or my family and me, or the man who walks by my side and me.  

I gotta say the common thread in all these relationships is I'm there.  So, perhaps it is all about me.  
  • My choice to dis-continue relationships that are, well, not great...
  • My choice to live out of my comfort zone          ;-)
  • My choice to cultivate relationships
  • My choice to return favors the best way I know how

  • Kinda
My choice to continue with relationship that are, well, great...

Recently I asked for something - I didn't get it <I didn't think I would> but I still asked.  It did take upwards of 3 hours for me for me say it.   But I said it.  

I'm not sure what I thought would happen if I asked.  I know what I thought - I thought I'd be rejected.  I hate that.  Rejected (or so I thought) is what happened.  But, I didn't die - I didn't throw up - I might have eaten more at dinner than usual - but other than that I was fine.  

I originally said I was an idiot for asking someone to do something for me, as it didn't work like I hoped it might.  

What the hell, it didn't really hurt to ask.

July 23, 2012

...I have the uncanny knack

...to make everything - even tragedy seem simple.

In politics the people that judge your administration are called historians.  It takes a few decades to determine whether a President (for example) was a good/bad President.  The repercussions of ones behavior cannot be studied until way after the decisions have been made and the end of the game has been reached.

I am making decisions daily that will effect my entire family directly.  I am supposed to wait 20 years to find out if I fucked up or not?  UGH.   I will be moving my family out of the only home they have in their memories.  A two year commitment (with contracts and all) have been drawn to lock us into a new life for the next 48 months.  According to my original point - this decision cannot be judged until my children are themselves married with children.

My mind has been spinning wondering if I'm making the right move.  It's a huge emotional, physical, and financial decision.  What does one do when faced with a decision, you might ask?   Go visit their dead husband and ask his opinion.

The tree where you live.   Thank you for our chat.

Sitting and talking with you today was nice.  Clearing up some issue we had (or starting to) was pretty cathartic.  Asking if you agree with the decisions I'm making (still haven't got feedback on that one.)  But, I was able to remember that if something was really important to me you would agree after the fourth or fifth conversation.   Rest assured, I am aware that you would NEVER make the decision I have made without many conversations with pros/cons and lists up the ass.

At the end of our conversation I went to my car and had a sort of epiphany.  You died 6 months and 2 days ago and I have been unable to figure out what to write on your headstone.  I'd say I've thought about it 90% of the days since you've been gone.  What to write?  It just never came to me.  

First Name, Last Name, DOB, DOD

When a daddy dies they deserve more than that just the facts - they deserve a testament to who they were and what their legacy means.

Writing a  forever message to the father of my children through their eyes was more than impossible.  It was horrendous.  What to write came to me after my visit today.

You passed on integrity, love, wisdom, and honor to our children....

...our children's behavior is evident of your legacy.
My children don't know what I wrote and I don't feel comfortable writing it here.  I feel that our children will touch their Dad's headstone and feel a connection to the words I have finally been able to write for them.

Being able to write this does not mean that I will have no reason to think of you any longer.  I think of you daily as I look at the wonderful children we had together.   

With love,


July 12, 2012

Dear Mama... July 8, 2012

...please kiss Lorelei for her birthday for me.  I miss you and love you so much.  Can you please put flowers on daddies grave.


My oldest darling daughter who is at overnight camp sent me a two sentence note and one of them was asking that I put flowers on her dead father's grave. 


I didn't have a celebratory party for my daughter's 2nd birthday.  How could I throw a party for her when her daddy isn't here to celebrate with her.  Oh, sure it'll be easy for people to say, "Let her enjoy her day." OR "It's better if you celebrate, after all it is her birthday."  Well, I just didn't.  Her brother and sister are away at camp and it was only me left at home.  Well, of course my mom was with us...but, ugh, well you know what I'm saying.

When I tucked in my baby that night I kissed her forehead and apologized to her for not having done enough to help save her daddy.  I told her that her daddy loves her and misses her and he would be here to celebrate her birthday with her if he could.  I left out the "because he's dead" part.   Another day that I can't wait for.  The, I bet you're wondering why most of your friends have daddies and you don't conversation.


Today I found out that my 10 y.o. son was prevented from participating in a fun event at overnight camp.  Why was he punished you might wonder.  I was told that two boys were fighting and my son threw sand at one of them.  I was then told that he threw the sand because my son said, "I was protecting my friends' honor."  Let me add that the Unit Head said to me, Harrison said Quote  .... blah .... blah... honor End Quote.

What a fascinating story that is when I think about it.  Just to be fair there were NO counselors around during this argument amongst the boys.  I don't run a camp but if you put 15- 10 y.o. boys in camp in a cabin alone someone's gonna lose a limb.  


My son cried for forgiveness for the next 3 hours I was told.  Saying that "my daddy is looking down on me and is disappointed in me."  The answer to him was, we all make mistakes and your daddy is proud that you owned up to it.


I don't agree with laying your hands on someone else and neither did my late husband.   Together we taught our children about honor, standing up for what you believe in, telling the truth, being happy, and so many other things.  I know Eric would be so proud that Harrison was trying to protect his friends honor.  My son, (who isn't very tall), told the counselors that his friend was small and couldn't defend himself.  

My son is neither aggressive physically or emotionally.  He is a gentle person.   His empathy dwarfs that of most people I know. His selflessness is to be admired.  So when he is standing up for his friends' honor and he is punished - what is the life fucking lesson???????  After hearing the story I originally said to the counselor - "Good job.  This'll be a good life lesson for him not to put his hands on someone else."  I admit now and for the world to know - that was one of the most moronic things I've ever said.  I'm so grateful that life affords you the opportunity to call a "DO OVER" at will.  

Tomorrow is DO-OVER day.

Tomorrow I get to pick up my children and take them to lunch.  I'm surprising them by bringing the baby, my parents, and their favorite non-sister sister P'Hanie.    (As a total random side note that won't mean much to any of you - I want you to know Stephie - you have made a profound impact on the hearts of my children and myself.  You are part of us always and we love you.)


After we have lunch and the twins drain my bank account by a couple hundred dollars in Target, I will have a meeting with the camp.    I will ask them if they have a friend that is willing to fight for them.  I will tell them that everyone should have a Harrison in their life.  Someone who is willing to fight for them.  Throw themselves in front of what danger comes their way.  

I am my children's Harrison.  I love them so much - more than myself.  You'll get that if you're a parent, and if you're not I hope for you that you are/have a Harrison.

Today I will hug my children and explain to them that the way they lead their lives is a testament to their dad and myself.  How clear it is that they have absorbed the lessons we taught them as parent(s) and the lessons I will continue to teach them as a lone parent.   They are not without their father - as his morals and values continue to be present in their hearts and actions.  

With love,


July 9, 2012

...so many things to juggle

...so many many many things to juggle.

The sale of almost everything I have ever earned in my lifetime is going to be sold.

That sale starts in 36 hours.

It's not the "stuff" that's the hard part.  It's the memories of what occurred on - around - or near the stuff that's the hard part.  Everything has meaning, or memory, or reason it's been kept.  Kept - even if the reason is I didn't know it was even there so I haven't had the chance to throw it out.  (way run on sentence)

Going through "MY" clothes from years of working and then not and then working - Anyway, I'm selling anything I own that I've worked in.   I have donated work clothing before, BUT NEVER ALL OF IT!!!  

Going through "MY" clothes from years of stopping and starting at the gym.  (I did keep some workout apparel "just in case" I decide to work out again.)

Going through "MY" shoes I decided NOT to throw out the "blue" shoes I wore when Eric and I married.  I kept the little bag I carried that day.   The bag was baby blue too.

Going through "MY" dresses I found my baby girl's 1st birthday dress.  It was just beautiful, she looked beautiful, the pictures of our family looked so beautiful.   Our lives were imploding.

Eric was admitted to the hospital February 16, 2011 and diagnosed with kidney cancer that same week.  By July, 2011 we both knew he wouldn't see his baby daughters' next birthday party dress.  

Our baby is only going to be 2 years old and her father has been dead for 5 months.  Very soon he'll be dead longer than the 16 months she had known her daddy.  BUT, I will keep the dress she wore for the birthday she shared with her dead and give it her when she's old enough. 

She'll say:

"Ya see this dress it's the most beautiful dress in the world.....I wore this to the best birthday party of my life .... cause my Dad was there when I wore it."

Eric's clothes.  I decided now would be a good time to sell them.  There will be some people who come who can't find work and NEED a suit or a button down shirt and I have those.  I thoughts I would line Eric's suits on a rack and put a price tag on it.  Selling it to someone more needy for them than I am is what should probably happen.  

It's NOT Gonna Happen!!

I'm not going to sell my late husband's clothes.  I want to for so many different reasons.   Most of which make no logical sense.  None of what's happening makes sense.

The only thing that kinda makes sense is I absolutely have the deep understanding of what my responsibility is to my entire family.  

Anxious is how I felt when I started to write this.  Feeling like life was running me a bit as opposed to me running it.  Then I remembered that nothing really happens unless I let it.  Sure, I can't control outside things, like what people do, but I can control how I react to it.


While I was writing last night I received a call from the Camp where my kids are spending the summer.   They found two ticks on my son.  The ticks combined with a rash and a low grade fever worried the nurse.  She needed to check his genitals (WHAT?) to make sure no ticks crawled up there.  Harrison was absolutely hysterical when I spoke to him.  Not to worry, you stay clothed and I'll be there as soon as I can.

I left all of my thoughts of how overwhelmed I was from all that was going on and focused only on getting to my son to make sure he was o.k..  When I got there he ran to me and threw himself onto me.  Kissing and hugging me and telling me how grateful he was I came to him.  "Of course I did," I told him.

The nurse explained that he needs to go to the doctor to make sure he does not have a DISEASE and he made need to get a SHOT.  (Um, hello???????????????  I thought I spoke to everyone at the camp about my children's father having just died.  Apparently, the memo didn't get to this nurse.  Reassuring my son that NO he did NOT have a "disease" and that we don't know that he NEEDS a shot, he started to feel better.

My boy and I were having a private chat - Nurse Rachitt kept peaking her head in trying to hurry up the process of making my son feel at ease.  I told her, "We'll let you know when we're finished."  "That was awesome Mom," Harrison told me.

We discussed the dance he went to, (with a girl).  She's cute, smart, and funny.  He told me kids are saying that they're dating and he asked me how he would know if they're dating.


I am not going to be able to finish these thoughts - so I'm sharing them as my life is.  Crazy, changing, sad, lonely, happy, relaxed, exhausting!!!!!!!!