Letters From Heaven Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely, but rather to skid in sideways yelling "YAHOO! What a ride!"
"When I am no longer here and can not comfort you or touch you or wipe away your tears, remember that my soul will gently caress your heart through the soft breezes of springtime."
P. Schultz
I remember her as a tiny, shy, stubborn, six year old with long blond Goldilocks curls. She came to live with us at about the same time the "father" of the house began his sexual molestation era.
I remember that I had very little patience with a six year old following me around, constantly asking questions, roller skating behind me as I rode my bike up and down the street wanting only to escape into that crystal blue sky.
I remember the day she was was singing her little heart out as she followed me and the neighbor's big, white German Shepard running out to the sidewalk to greet us as he always did.
I remember being so angry because she would not leave me alone and wishing that the dog would bite her.
I remember her scream. I remember turning around and seeing her pinned under the dog. I remember the dog's jaws clamped on the back of her head. I remember the doctor. I remember the fear I felt because I had made this happen. I remember swearing to myself that I would never wish harm to another human being.
I remember praying when I left that home that the same fate I had suffered at the hands of our "father" did not fall to her. I remember hoping that she grew up to be a happy, healthy, beautiful person.
I will never know.
Marchelle died of leukemia shortly before her sixteenth birthday.
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In Marchelle's memory, and for every child with any form of childhood cancer, please support the fundraiser being held today, September 25th, at every Chili's restaurant across the country.
Today, Chili's will donate 100% of it's profits to St. Jude Children's Research Hospital. In addition, you can visit www.createapepper.com to purchase "Create a Pepper" T-shirts, which can be customized with permanent marker, or purchase a "Create a Pepper" gift card.
Their goal is $3 million. A twenty dollar meal is but a drop in the bucket.
... Or when you have nothing interesting or clever to write, steal an idea from some one else! In this case, I stole the meme from Miss Candy-Apple (thank you, Candy!)
Appetizer: What was the very last song you listened to?
"Ghost in This House" - Allison Krauss & Union Station. Over and over and over and over and ... Tom is trying to learn it on the guitar, along with the words. His way of doing that is to listen to it and play along. Over and over and over and over and ...
Soup: What is one company/store/corporation you would recommend that people stay away from?
WOO-HOO! Soap box time!
Any body who has read this blog for more than a week already knows how I feel about Wally World so I won't go into the details (again). Suffice it to say, were it up to me, there would be no such place within a hundred mile radius of my home.
Their image is faltering lately (again) with all of the negative publicity about employee benefits so what do they do? Rather than try to improve those benefits for the people who work their butts off to make the corporation richer, they are lowering prescription drugs prices for the public. Well, who wouldn't go to Wally World and pay $4 for a prescription that would cost $100 somewhere else (I mean besides me)?
In the meantime, the employees are still treated like third-world, second-rate citizens. But ... they only have to pay $4.00 for their prescriptions! Just like every body else who doesn't work for them to help make the corporation richer! Oh wait, any one who buys those $4 prescriptions is making the corporation richer.
Salad: On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being highest, how much do you enjoy having your picture made?
Hmmmmm ... trick question. "Made"? Or "taken"? If someone wants to make a picture of me, please ... make it sexy, seductive and gorgeous. I hate having my picture taken! My daughter and granddaughters got all of the photogenic genes in this family, believe me.
Main Course: Besides a bookmark, what is something you've used to keep your place in a book?
Bookmark? What's a bookmark? That's probably the one thing I never use! Let's see ... I've used the book cover itself (the fly leaf); those tear-out-subscription-order-cards from magazines; pencils or pens; sticky notes; photographs; book of stamps; business cards; torn pieces of paper; paper clips; reading glasses; the cat's tail (that only happened once); and yeah, I've dog-eared the page. But only on paper-backs!
Dessert: Name a food that you like that most people don't.
Escargot! Sweetbreads! Chicken Livers! Chicken Gizzards! Marrow! German Chocolate cake in a big glass of ice cold milk! No, no, no! Not all together ... individually! Well, except the German Chocolate cake in the glass of milk. That gets mixed together. Mmmmmmmm! Good!
The year was 1975. My favorite car for years had been the Pontiac Gran Prix and I finally had one. White with a black top, long and sleek and powerful. Three hundred plus horse power. I managed to get my first speeding ticket (and the second and third) with my high powered beauty.
If you asked my mechanic however, he would shudder at the very mention of the car. It did have a history of problems ... to the point where I would call Dennis and the first thing he would say is "Now what?" In spite of that, I loved the car.
Working for a now defunct consumer lending company, I had just been transferred to the downtown Redwood City office as Assistant Manager. As usual, parking in downtown was at a premium and I finally managed to find a space down the street and around the corner from the office.
At noon, I wasted no time grabbing my purse, fumbling for my keys and heading for the door.
Except I couldn't find my keys. Back at my desk, I emptied my purse. I rummaged through drawers. I checked all of the other desks. I tore apart the front counter. Checked the bathroom. Upstairs. Under desks. Employees pockets.
No keys. Okay, I must have left them in my car.
And when I finally went outside and walked down the street and around the corner, not only did I not have my keys, I no longer had my car.
Gone. Stolen. Kaput. Bye-bye.
My beloved 1968 Gran Prix was in the hands of strangers! My boyfriend picked me up after work and took me out to dinner, which turned out to be a celebratory dinner with my mechanic and several other people who were familiar with the car's history.
Two weeks later, I received a call from the Palo Alto police department. My car had been found, though not quite in the original shape it had been in when it was taken. The transmission was destroyed; two tires were flat; and one rim was damaged beyond repair. To top it off, and what really irritated me the most, was that my white linen blazer had been used as a rag for greasy hands!
Since this was in the days of no insurance required, and I was one of those who believed I would never need it anyway, I had no insurance. Not only was the cost of repairs out of my pocket, I had to pay the towing company for towing the car and the storage fees. Which it turned out was for three days because that's how long it took the police department to contact me.
In spite of Dennis' grumblings, he did fix the transmission for me. But I still think he had something to do with the police department taking their time to contact me. I'm pretty sure he tried to convince them to let the car stay there forever but they finally got him to hand over the paperwork.
See, not only was he my mechanic, he was also a Palo Alto police officer.
There's one of those banner-ad-thingies at the top of the page right now with a time line beginning at 0-10 and ending at 70-80+. The heading on this thing is "How old will you be in 2013?" See it?
^ | | | | |
Right up there
Now the funny thing is, flashing on either side of this time line, is "SUPER QUIZ!"
I'm just curious ... are there really that many idiots out there who need a "SUPER QUIZ" to figure out how old they're going to be in seven years?
Ok, I broke down and went to the doctor on Friday. After suffering in silence and not being able to sleep worth a damn, I figured why not.
So he poked and prodded and pushed and twisted and finally said "Hmmm ... well, you either have a strained whojiwhatzit muscle or it's something else that will only show up on an MRI or CatScan. Take this medication and if it's not better by Monday, we'll order an MRI. And by the way, you have an elephant growing in your ear."
Or something like that.
So I took the prescriptions to the local pharmacy and when asked if I wanted brand name or generic, my first response was brand name. Since I had never taken this particular medication before, I had no idea how I would react and since I have had adverse reactions to many generic drugs, why not start with the real thing.
Of course, since I'd never taken it before, how would I know if I was reacting to it because it was generic or just because of what the drug was. And the druggist was extremely helpful as I stood there with a confused and dazed look on my face, wanting only to get home, take my drugs and pass out.
"Well, most people get the generic. Let me look up the prices for you and then you can decide."
*Click, click, clack, click, click*
The druggist looked at me with eyebrows raised, a slight smile on her face and said "Ok, the brand name is $150; the generic is $19."
No, seriously ... not the kind that every body refers to when they have to deal with some bozo-boy, but a realpain in my neck.
Kinda like a crick in the neck except that it's not going away. It started as a sharp twinge every once in a while when I turned my head the wrong way. Now it has progressed to a steady sharp pain, especially when I turn my head to the right (yeah, I know ... so don't turn my head to the right!)
I only mention this because I decided to do some research last night and after reading everything on MedLine, I'm not so sure that the "information age" is a good thing. Self-diagnosis is bound to create a plentiful supply of hypochondriacs.
What happened to the good old-fashioned crick in the neck from sleeping upside down and sideways? Now, a pain in the neck can mean everything from Meningitis to brain infection to whiplash.
No where on MedLine does it indicate that a pain in the neck could be caused by the cat sleeping on top of your head or the dog kicking you or your partner who, in the middle of a dead sleep, decided to give you a bear hug and in spite of your struggling would not let go because after all, this is the guy who sleeps through freight trains and fire alarms.
So I'm going to stay away from MedLine but if it doesn't get better by, say, Monday ... then I'll go to a real, live doctor who hopefully does not rely on MedLine for his diagnosis.
I'm just glad it's only a pain in the neck.
You should see what MedLine has to say about a pain in the butt!
There was a story several years ago about a certain un-named package delivery service who was experiencing theft problems within the organization. Due to these Unknown Performance Standards and questionable employees, a sting operation was set up to catch these thieves.
This un-named package delivery service was known for not only loosing packages but also for late deliveries and damaged packages earning it the reputation of a truly Useless Package Service.
The sting was set up to have a highly insured package delivered to an undercover-type person. Inside the box was some type of camera and recorder which was designed to activate when the box was opened, thus catching the thieves in the act.
At least that was the plan. Until this Utterly Parodistic Service managed to loose it's own package.
In the meantime, a small jewelry store in a small strip mall in Pleasanton received a highly insured package from an unknown source and upon inspection, they realized the package was ticking.
They did exactly what any normal person would do ... they called the police. Who in turn called the bomb squad. Who evacuated the strip mall, shut down the highway in front of the mall and set off to defuse the package.
To say the least, the un-named but Undeniably Pathetic Service came out of this situation with rather red faces and vowed to change their reputation.
Over the years it has worked on doing just that, though I still have my doubts because they have now managed to loose the birthday present I sent to Michelle. The good news is that there was nothing ticking in the package.
And of course, I would never name this Useless Package Service.
