Just a Bunch of Crap I Think About

 Today was a really hard day. I wanted to tell a great story with old photos tonight, but I'm a bit empty. I was up last night until almost 5am this morning then slept for 4 hours. Seems I overdid the walking with crutches yesterday and pulled a muscle in my chest wall. I'm not sad, just really pissed off tonight. In the last three months plus 3 days, I had to have 2 molars pulled, broke my ankle and detached my eye goo. Now the pulled muscle. I'm just waiting for the vet to show up to put me down peacefully. Remember, I want a fiesta. 

Interesting little thing that happened today as well. I had two people reach out for help and I thought to myself, how am I suppose to help anyone right now? But something told me to step back and look at things from another angle, so I did. And for those few moments of refocusing my one good eye, I was able to see the answers for both requests and get them done. This isn't because I'm so brilliant. I'm actually quite stubborn and thick-headed. It was completely dependent on my willingness to look in a different direction, even if only for a moment at a time. I bet using that super power would change quite a lot in todays world. I'm going to try it more often. 

When I did catch some sleep this morning, I had a very vivid dream. I was at the home of someone I loved very much and considered family. Its one of the relationships that has been lost over the last few years. We were sitting in their kitchen while tea was being prepared, just chatting. It was very calm and peaceful but felt all wrong. At one point, I reached across the island, grabbed their hands and looked straight into those eyes I loved while asking, " Is there any way to fix this?" The sad look on their face told me the answer. I woke up with the realization that, sometimes things change no matter how hard we try to hang on, so just let go. I let go today. I cant say it wasn't sad but I can say I feel free. I'm going to focus on investing in those relationships that invest in me and let the others go. I have a feeling that effort is going to bring some scary-positive changes. I'm ready. I think. 

One side note on letting people go...there was room on the door, Rose. I'm just saying.

And finally...

There are 300+ photos in this little box, all sorted and ready to go into shipping mailers tomorrow morning. Once I get them headed out the door with Bob, I'll post a quick note on The FaceBook letting you know if your name is on one of them. I've sent out 20 mailers so far and have been so excited to hear the reactions, once received. So far, so good. But fair warning, if you reach the point where you're sick of receiving pieces of my mom's treasures, I will unfriend you because I need to get these damn things out of my house! Don't make me push you off the door. 

Yo Ho Yo Ho

 Ok, first things first. I went to see the doctor this afternoon. He is a retinal specialist so he knows his stuff. I walked in, sick to my stomach with fear. Thankfully, I walked out completely relieved. I have vitreous detachment, which he explained is the gel detaching from your eye or some such nonsense. All I really remember is the doctor telling me I was fine, several times. I have to go back in 5 weeks to make sure everything is as it should be and I must call him immediately if anything changes. No retinal tears. I'm fine. Amen and Amen.

Thank you, Dr. Sullivan. You're pretty fine yourself.

One question. I am not suppose to touch or rub my eye, right? 

Then, you use this fancy gadget to poke me in the eye, of course, only after numbing my eye. 

This aint right, dude. But its ok because I'm fine, thank you Jesus!

I did ask him about continuing to work since I'm at a computer all day and he said, no worries. Reading, which I do every night for hours, perfectly fine. Eye patch, not necessary. This last one was a bitter disappointment. I had an entire post written in my brain about me and my eyepatch while I was being examined. And then, there was this encouragement from my life-long friend, Joanie:

How am I ever going to break it to Joanie that there is no eyepatch in my future? 

There is however, rum in my future, so there's that at least.

And then this gem from our daughter, Lizzie. She's my new favorite child.

 

That's it for tonight. I'm tired and need some rest but I'm fine. 👀

Free Advice Friday

Tonight's Free Advice:

   If you ever find yourself with a wonky eye, and it just gets worse and worse throughout the day, make an appointment with an ophthalmologist asap. But if the doctor can't see you until the following week, do not and I mean, DO NOT, google "what's wrong with my eye." You wont be able to un-see what you saw, even with one eye.

What is happening? I feel like there is this thing hanging over me right now because of my wonky eye. Then I go to find just one stupid photo to finish tonight's post, and I find dozens of photos of me with one eye. What the hell! Was I trying to be funny throughout the years with these one-eyed wonders? Was it an ominous warning from this Australian rat in the beautiful Australian library in Melbourne? Why am I writing this with an Australian accent now? So many questions.

I Spy With My Wonky Eye

 Well, seems we've had a slight problem arise which will delay my evenings post. I can't see out of my right eye. What the heck does that mean? Typing is difficult as my head is tilted to one side as I try to keep my right eye closed all the while wanting to rub it. Which is probably the problem in the first place. That and all the damn allergens in Florida. And bugs. And alligators. Anyway, I'll call the eye doctor tomorrow and make an appointment. 

Until then, enjoy this delightful photo of the guy I sleep next to.

See this face. This is what my face looks like right now because my eye is wonky. His face looks like this because he's a stubborn, hard-headed, picky eater. I mean, seriously. Who goes to a high tea in a 5-Star hotel in Amsterdam, where the Rolling Stones stay, I might add, and makes this face with each new course served? This guy does! Thank goodness Mick didn't join us that afternoon.

Snips and Snails

 So, last night was an entire post on the oldest child of the family. The one that has consistently stated through his 42 years that he should have been an only child. Yeah, that one. Tonight is about the other two. You know, the ones that ruined his only child streak after two short years. 

See that pretty boy on the left? That's our John. The Golden Child. The one we refer to as John and Jesus. It started when my mother was dying. We brought her home from the hospital and had Hospice set up. It was an overwhelming sad time in our family. Until John and Jesus showed up, that is. We had set beds up in my parents big den so my mom would be the center of all activity as she had always been and also so I could sleep next to her at night. In the middle of all the chaos of getting the room arraigned, my mother made sure that 8x10s of her two favorite people were hung over the sliding glass doors at the foot of her bed. Yep, John and Jesus, in that order. Over her remaining weeks here on earth, my mother lingered in and out of awareness, as the house filled with people, flowers, animals, music and food, exactly the way she liked it. People came in and played the piano and guitar for her. We blasted her beloved Swiss music. It was a constant party with laughter and conversations surrounding her, because we knew she was listening. And always, my mother, although not fully conscious, would tap her foot to the music and give a crooked smile every time someone walked in the room, looked at the pictures over the sliding doors and gave out a hearty, "Hey John and Jesus!" 

I know John doesn't really compare to Jesus, but he is pretty great. This is the kid that never forgets my birthday or Mother's Day, even when he's been overseas. This is my tender-hearted child that the military has taught to be tough, but I still see my sweet boy even if he pretends to hate it. He has been so good and kind and generous to his dad and I and he didn't have to. I love this kid so much and I don't know what I'd do without him. Although, letting me roll down the driveway in the wheelchair at Andrew's house was not very John and Jesus of him. I'm just saying.

See the hippie standing next to John and Jesus? That's our baby boy. The Drewdie McPootersen. The kid who, from what his brother stands by, liked to beat up bigger kids who were bullying him. The tough guy. Yeah, not even. Andrew is the sweetest, funniest, most loving and caring kid. He's the favorite uncle because he acts crazy around the nieces and nephews. He is the one that is in a constant state of pulling the family together to one place. He couldn't wait to get away from us at eighteen. Now, he's begging us to come stay with his family or dropping in at our house for surprise visits. He tends to be like his mom and grandma in that he believes in the more the merrier. He is the reason I was able to visit Australia for 5 weeks. He's also the reason for one of my tattoos. He's pretty much a male version of his Aunt Kelly, truth be told. I adore this kid and am so incredibly proud of who he is. 

This picture was taken right after John's graduation ceremony from the Naval Academy. A few years down the road, all three boys became pilots. John and Matthew, helicopter pilots in the Navy and Army. Andrew is a corporate pilot. Well done, gentlemen. Your granddads would be so proud.

I had a conversation this evening with someone that was saying how much easier life must be for people who choose not to have kids. All I know is my sister regretted that choice at the end of her life and it broke my heart for her. I have no regrets. I am so happy I made the choices I made to have the family I have. I wouldn't give up any of it. 

Matthew Charles Hansen

Disclaimer: Be careful of drawing my attention. I have a million photos and you're probably all in there somewhere. 

Now, onto tonight's little story, thanks to my cousin Mindy, who drew my attention with this comment on FaceBook...

 just wait until tonight's blog... my 3 adoring sons Oh, how I love thee... except the first one he's trouble...

Mindy and Matthew. Just look at those sweet little cousins. Who would have thought these two would ever grow up to be the troublemakers they are today? Makes my rebel heart proud, I tell ya. I'm so happy you two are still close. I hope you don't share clothes anymore but that's none of my business. Oh, how I love thee both. 

As I was digging through boxes, I came across this handwritten report from Matt. He was 13 years old when he wrote it. It's tattered having gone through a tornado but so am I and we're both still here. It was quite informative. He writes about his two (at the time) adopted sisters and how Rachel is always there for him and Belen is skinny as a piece of chalk. Then he goes on to describe his brothers. Apparently, John had grungy hair and Andrew, who was in 1st grade was beating up 3rd graders who jumped him. Um. I must have been watching my stories that day instead of watching my children. Oh, shush! I didn't watch soaps. Maybe a Novella now and then. But never when I was suppose to be watching my children. I'm a good mother, dammit! But I digress. The best part of Matt's report is where he explains the best day for our family was the day he was born. I'm pretty sure he is sticking to this story thirty years later as he still calls me on Mother's Day to ask where his gift is. 

This was our very first Christmas with sisters! I love these boys so much and I'm so grateful they were willing to open their hearts to having sisters. I'm also happy Andrew was willing to not beat them up since he apparently was quite the Joe Frazier of the family. 

This was our first Easter with sisters! Now that I take a closer look, Andrew might look a little ragged, like he just beat somebody up. 

Matthew's High School graduation with his sisters! We were so happy for so many reasons. He wasn't in jail. He still loved his family, for the most part. He graduated high school. He wasn't in jail. And I'm not referring to the massive party he threw at my parents house when they were out of town. Without them knowing. With their alcohol. And about a hundred kids. Don't ask. I'm not allowed to talk about it. But he wasn't in jail.

Ok, he might be a little bit right about me owing him a gift on Mother's Day because the day he was born was one of the best days of my life. I didn't even know you could love someone that deep. Scary stuff, and I'd do it all again. I mean, look at that baby face with my squinty little eyes. And those cheeks! 

Hey, don't draw my attention if you don't want the pictures posted.

Pretty sure he was asking me to sing his favorite song...

I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be. 

Don't be embarrassed Matty. Your friends will think it's sweet you want to sit on your mama's lap. Besides, if anyone makes fun of you, your brother Andrew will beat them up, or so I've heard.  

I love that Rachel and her family are so close to you and your kids. This is my reward. 

Nothing makes me happier than seeing you all together, brothers, sisters, cousins. 

This is what life is all about. I'm so glad you see that and understand the importance of family. 

I'm grateful you have made time for your California family. Although, you still haven't gone to visit Jack and Barbara and I'm pretty sure you should since you've promised you would. But hey, I'm just your mother. What do I know? 

I love this picture of you and Aunt Carol. You definitely look like the Hansen's but you definitely act like a Casas. I'd say that's a win-win. I'm pretty proud of you, and not just because you're not in jail.

Ok, I've poked a bit of fun at you but it's only because you said I wrote horse shit about your sisters. First off, watch your mouth or I'll waterboard you like when you were a kid. 

Secondly, I write crap, not horse shit. Get it straight! 

Finally, don't be jealous. You're still my favorite Matthew in the whole, wide world. 

By the way, Dad and I are so happy you married Gina.

Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Hansen and welcome to our family Gina. We love you already. 

Remember what I told you Matt, Italian girls don't play. I know because I'm Italian-Swiss.

Behave and be nice or you will definitely end up in jail. 

Sugar and Spice

These lovely young beauties are our daughters. We also have three boys, but tonight, I want to talk about my girls.

It's been over thirty years since our first adoptions and over twenty years since our last. How did this happen? I know old people say things like where has the time gone, and life is short, but here's the truth. Old people aren't wrong and I am now one of them.

I don't feel old most days. As long as I avoid all mirrors, I'm pretty well convinced that I'm still quite the hip chick. I remember my mother saying she never felt older than twenty and she was eighty when she said that. How does life pass so quickly without us noticing?

I'm not going to go into a lot of details about our girls adoptions because I've already told those stories.

Dream a Little Dream of Me

This Isn't the Chocolate Factory and I Am Not Willy Wonka

The Parent Trap

Surprise! It's A Girl!

What I want to say tonight is how much I love these people and how grateful I am God trusted me with them. He wasn't saving them. He was saving me. I feel that way about all seven of our children. They saved me and continue to do so daily.

Our oldest daughter is exactly who I needed in my life. She is my voice of reason child. She is extremely slow to anger and quick to forgive. She has always had wisdom far beyond her years. We can vehemently disagree and we have and yet, because of who she is, I have never doubted her love for me or her loyalty to me. I love this girl completely and I am grateful.

Our second daughter is my hippie child. She is the one that amazes me with her faith in God and His ability to work everything out for our good. No matter what darkness is swirling in the air, she is the calm in the middle of the storm. We had some rough years and I was fearful we might never be close. I was so wrong. I love this girl with everything in me and feel her love in return. I am thankful.

Our third daughter is probably the most like me in so many ways. She is the one that worries and frets the most and yet, she is also the one that can make me laugh the loudest. She is a fighter. She faces life's challenges exactly like a boxer. She is in the ring ready to win. If she gets knocked down, watch out because she is coming back stronger in the next round. I love this girl so much and am so proud of her. She reminds me to never give up. I am inspired.

Our youngest daughter is also the baby of our family. I have loved this child from the beginning and I will love this child to the end. Our journey together hasn't been easy but it's also not over. She has sent me to my knees when my faith was the weakest. She is my reminder that there is always hope. Faith, hope and love....but the greatest of these is love. I love this girl and I am hopeful.

Miranda Nicole, Elizabeth Ann, Belen Marie and Rachel Patrice. My girls 💗

Captain Ray

Just a little over a year ago, our granddaughter, Ahni Marie turned 16 years old. All she wanted for her birthday was to come to Florida for 5 days and hang out with us. She barely finished the sentence and I had her plane ticket purchased. 

When Ahni arrived, I peppered her with ideas. DisneyWorld, the beach, Universal, Kennedy Space Station, etc. All she really wanted to do was hang out with us at home, have her favorite home-cooked meals, and play cards. I was good with that plan but I wanted to do something special for her birthday.

That's when I remembered Captain Ray. I told Ahni about this guy I'd heard about named Captain Ray that would take people out on his airboat to see gators. When I asked her if she'd like to do that for her birthday, she was all about it.

"Nona, I'm a little scared. You'll protect me, right?"

"Hey, if gators come after us, you're going in first."

Yeah, I'm that Grandma.

Sunrise at the dock. Looks safe enough.

Ahni on her 16th birthday with Captain Ray's boat in the background. 

No longer looks safe enough.

I am literally hanging on to Ahni for dear life and we haven't even left the dock yet.

We finally get underway and all I can think is this just keeps getting creepier and creepier.

Cows? Why. Are. There. Cows!?!?! In the water!?!?!?

 The water full of gators!?!?!?! What is happening!?!?!?!

Suddenly, we find ourselves in the middle of what surely must be a National Geographic documentary. One poor old cow is dead and bloated, bobbing in the water like a blow-up beach ball while too many alligators to count are jumping for joy all around this poor thing. It was like a train wreck. You don't want to watch but you can't look away because you just can't believe what you're seeing. 

Finally, Captain Ray moves along into more peaceful territory. The airboat glides across land and water effortlessly and we feel our blood pressure returning to normal. 

There are beautiful birds everywhere, with the comforting sounds of nature all around us. Ahni and I discuss how amazing it is and how happy we are that we can see this side of our morning's adventure. 

Are you kidding me? Shoo! You are way too close to this boat mister. That's when Captain Ray tells us to look at the sidestep of the boat, right next to my feet. He explains those marks that look like teeth marks are actually teeth marks because this mama gator he personally knows gets grumpy at times. That's when I look at Ahni as I'm pulling my feet up on the seat and let her know she is never to tell her parents what we did today. I offer her cash.

And then we made the mistake of looking around us.

Captain Ray could feel we needed a bit of a gator break so he took us to what he referred to as the Enchanted Forest. I was really hoping we weren't going to end up on the evening news at this point.

Ok, Captain Ray was right. This place is like an enchanted forest. It's absolutely stunningly beautiful.

To see it in person instead of on a travel show was amazing.

It made all the heart-thumping craziness of the morning worth every minute of the two-hour trip. 

Ah, geez!

Captain Ray says the gators are more afraid of us than we are of them. 

Captain Ray is a liar.

Happy Birthday Memory, Ahni! Just wait until you see what we planned for this year.

She Thinks She's the Boss of Me cuz She's Old

My older sister, Char, called me today and after a 90-minute conversation, I'm pretty sure we solved the woes of this world. Now, we just have to figure out a way to get people to bend to our wisdom. Think Darth Vader and Megamind team up to save the world. 

After we hung up, I tried to remember the last time I actually saw Char. It's been two years. That is absolutely wrong. How in the hell can two years have passed since we were together? Effn covid. You don't deserve capital letters in my world. 

Our last big hurrah together was Christmas and New Years' Eve 2018 in New York. Manhattan, to be exact. Bob and I met Bob and Char there for 8 amazing days. It was so cold, and colorful, and exciting. We all love New York and had planned this trip together for a very long time. I'm so grateful we finally did it. 

My sister is one of my best friends and all-time favorite people on this planet. She's everything I'm not and I wouldn't change a thing about her. Char is common sense and kindness whereas I'm foolishness and sarcasm. She's manicures and shopping. I'm short nails and dirt-digging. She's cats and I'm chickens. I could go on but the important thing is this. She has always loved and accepted me exactly as I am. She might try to brush my hair, give me bangs and take me shopping with a mani/pedi thrown in for good measure every time we're together but she never tries to actually change who I am at my core. That's a gift we should all be willing to give. Acceptance.

I remember calling Char a few weeks after Kelly died and crying into the phone. I felt guilty that Kelly had died and I was still here. Kelly and Char were alike. They did all the stupid girl stuff together that I hate. I was overcome by the thought that Char would never have a sister to do those things with. Not one that loved it the way they did. Her response was classic. She let me know I was a moron and to stop crying. She insisted me being the dead sister would be no better than Kelly being the dead sister. She was right, of course. Death sucks, no matter who goes first or last. She also let me know we would be doing all the stupid girl stuff together. I hate when she threatens me.

Anyway, I miss her and I really want to go see her. It needs to be soon. She's not getting any younger. Make sure you tell her I said so. 

One of these things is not like the other.

Free Advice Friday

Tonights Free Advice:

When your father insists that you dance with him at your cousin's wedding, do it. Even though you're young and self-conscious, do it anyway. And as he effortlessly twirls you around on the dance floor, try really hard to not worry who might be watching. One day, when you look back, the only thing that will matter is that your dad wanted to dance with you. 

Where's PETA When You Need Them?

I love this picture.

Piazza San Marco, or in English, St Mark's Square, Venice, Italy

I love it because I'm in Venice, Italy. I love it because I'm feeding the pigeons. But I really love it because I got away with breaking the law. That's right, I'm a rebel, man. Possibly wanted in Italy for bird feeding against the law. Maybe they'll find out where I live and extradite me back to Italy. I dare them. Please do it Italian Bird Polizia!

I have wanted to feed the pigeons in Venice ever since I saw it in a movie when I was a kid. Then, in 2008, Venice banned pigeon feeding. 

No Food For You, Pigeons

Italians pushed back with a vengeance. My cousin Gwen and I would have been right there with them.

Italian Animal Rights Activists Feed The Pigeons

But, as they say, Italians fought the law but the law won. 

So, ten years later, I make it to Venice. 2018 and the Square is still full of pigeons. They are everywhere. It was really fun to watch. Bob and our friend Lori and I sat in the square at a little outdoor cafe and had our 3 coffees and 3 cookies for $100 Euro. We were in Venice! Budget be damned! There was a live band playing, the sun was shining, people were happy. I couldn't stop myself. 

I walked to the middle of the Square and stood there soaking up the moment. How was I supposed to know I had some cookie crumbs, ok, big crumbs, fine, $15 worth of a crumbled cookie in my hand? Anyway, the pigeons spotted their American pigeon and swarmed me. It was heaven. That's when it happened.

This very little man approached me. Not really a man, per se. More like a boy but older than a boy, but smaller than a man. A man-boy. Yeah, so the man-boy comes running over to me wearing his tiny but "official" orange vest like the ones you can buy on Amazon for $5. He informs me rapid-fire in his man-boy voice that I am not allowed to feed the pigeons. I stand there, hands held out and in my best old lady voice said, "I'm sorry. What?" as the pigeons finished the last $3 worth of cookie in my hands. Man-boy states he could fine me to which I reply with a smile and show of my empty hands. He bounces away grumbling. I bounce away smiling. As my dad the boxer would say, it was a draw.

I know, I'm a terrible American tourist. You should turn me over to the Italians. Please.

 

The More Things Change

It's been over 11 years since I wrote my first blog post minus some missing years when I was drowning in grief. I remember very well why I started writing Butts and Ashes. My father was dying and my sister was fighting for her life. I was a wife and mother and felt overwhelmed with life in general. I didn't want to forget my dad or my sister and with so much coming at me, I thought writing things down in a blog would help me remember what I was afraid I'd forget and relieve some stress. I wasn't wrong. 

Tonight, I had the idea to revisit January 20th, or close to it, through the years of this silly blog. I want to see where I was then so I could judge where I am now. Not that I don't already judge myself enough on a daily basis. Anyway, I'm going through at this very moment so we'll see together how well I've moved forward or failed. That should be fun.

January 20, 2010

 I Laugh In The Face Of Fear ... Then I Usually Run Screaming

Ah yes, this was during a time in my life that I had become very involved with the homeless. Again. I have been drawn to the homeless population since I was a child. I blame my dad. He taught me through actions what it means to have something and share it with someone that has little to nothing. My dad didn't have to say much because he lived much. That's the best way to teach children. Thanks for that, Dad. It was also during this time that our daughter Belen was moving out into The Refuge, a Christian community across the street from the OKC City Mission. I was proud and terrified as her mother. She blamed me, something about the way I lived making her want to help people. Whatever, I remember wanting to escape my mother too. And so, she did.

Belen Marie Hansen and her mama

January 19, 2011

Disclaimers and Full Disclosure

Oh. My. Word. I have no idea what I was drinking when I wrote this but let's just say, I don't even know what to say. This is a post about nothing with ridiculous photos, the best one being of my sister Kelly in the hospital with really bad hair. She couldn't believe I actually posted this on the Internet. I couldn't believe she thought I wouldn't. I miss those days. Ha!

Kelly Jeanne Casas aka Courtney Love

January 7, 2012

Disgusting, Tasteless and Desperately Sad

Wow. Just...wow. I wanted to delete the blog, Bob was "reorganizationed" right out of his job after 30+ years, Kelly was on the downhill slide and we suffered the deaths of three loved ones. And yet, I found smartass humor in it. How did I find humor in anything when I wrote this? I need to remember that trick. It saved me more than once.

January 2013

There were no posts. My sister was dying. We all knew it and we all tried to pretend it wasn't happening. For the first time ever, Kelly shut me out. The entire month of January, I called every day like always but she wouldn't take my calls. I could feel my world closing in and was having trouble breathing. Literally, breathing. Chest pains followed and insomnia. I understand what people mean when they say someone went mad. I was right there. Then, on February 2nd, the phone rang. She was being taken by ambulance to the hospital and was asking for me. I flew there the next morning. Kelly died on February 5, 2013. My first post of 2013 was her eulogy. 

February 12,2013  

There Once Was A Girl

Then, five years passed, with not a single written word from me. I had nothing to say. My world had gone very dark and the voice in my head that told me what to write went silent. I wrote 5 shitty posts in January 2018 that didn't sound like me to me at all. I missed Kelly and writing and people and laughing. But, along with Kelly's death, those 5 years brought too many additional sorrows in the form of marriages and relationships ending and I just shut down and shut off. Not every day was bad. Some great things happened during those years. Some positive life-changing trips and events. I just had trouble hanging on to them. Depression is a frightening thing to live with because it's not always recognizable and can be easy to hide. Until your alone. Or trying to sleep night after night but can't. I scared myself more often than I'd like to admit. And I drank more than I ever had. Pain can be dangerous and make you stupid. I was stupid. 

That's when I truly believe God stepped in. My best friend of 55+ years dragged me off to Europe in August of 2018. I don't know exactly how it happened but I woke up during that month abroad. I smiled until my face hurt and cried until I felt free. Europe changed me. 

Three more years passed and here I am. I'm writing Butts and Ashes again. It's my therapy. Call me Sybil but I'm starting to hear the voice in my head once more. This could get entertaining.

If you have a best friend that dresses like a milk-maid even though you dress like a Chola and she wants to drag you to Europe one day even though you're super depressed and not much fun....GO!

Bernice Corina Walters aka Cambria's Rodeo Sweetheart

 Hey kids! Tonight's story is about a little gal we'll call Bernice Corina Walters because that was my mother's name. She was a lovely child, the youngest of fourteen, born in San Luis Obispo, California to immigrant parents from Switzerland. Parents, I might add, that needed hobbies but did not have any, hence, the fourteen children. But I digress.

There were so many stories, told to me by Bernice Corina Walters, that it presents itself a difficult task to tell but one. But one, I shall tell. Tonight's saga is titled Bernice Corina Walters aka Cambria's Rodeo Sweetheart or How My Mother Kicked Portuguese Ass. 

Back in the day, or so the story goes, Cayucos, California was made up of mostly Swiss and Portuguese immigrants. My Swiss grandparents happily settled a ranch back in the hills of Cayucos and worked in harmony with their Portuguese neighbors even giving some of their older daughters hands in marriage to the aforementioned neighbors. Life was uncomplicated in the little hamlet of Cayucos by the Sea until my 16-year-old mother ran for Sweetheart of the Cambria Rodeo. It seems some of the other contestants were not Swiss but possibly Portuguese and there was no way a Swiss was not going to win. Lines were drawn, pacts were made, marriages were strained. 

"Votes" were tallied by how many tickets each teen contestant sold. This is where things always got a bit cloudy in the storytelling. My mother absolutely loved this story. She loved telling it. She obviously loved living it. But she could never explain exactly how she pulled it off other than to say, "The Swiss weren't going to let another girl win." My mother, Cambria's Rodeo Sweetheart, won with a solid 41,700 votes, almost 15,000 more votes than Miss 2nd place. 

I still haven't completely cracked this 1937 case of How My Mother Kicked Portuguese Ass in two small towns combined of less than 9,000 people. All I know is, a Swiss girl won. Oh, then years later, her niece and middle daughter, that would be me and my cousin, both Swiss, would be crowned the Queen and Little Queen of the Cayucos Portuguese Celebration. Because, the Swiss aren't always neutral. 

One last tidbit about my Rodeo Queen mother. She was terrified of horses. Yeah, this thing was rigged.

Bernice Corina Walters, Rodeo Queen

Yep, all Swiss

Mia Cara Cugina, Alma Gada

 We lost our dear cousin, Alma Gada last night. I am so incredibly sad she is gone but I am also incredibly happy for her. She is with her beloved Elbio once again. I can only imagine the reunion that took place with my parents as well. The four of them were not just family, they were friends. 

One of the great joys of my life was traveling to Switzerland in August of 2018. I was able to see my family, including Alma. I may have cried like a baby when I first walked into her home but I smiled until my face hurt the rest of the time. I will always remember the dinners at her table filled with family, food, wine, and stories. I'm so grateful for that time together. 

I remember walking from my cousin's home to the village church and cemetery where so many of our family members are buried. Over the next few days, my heart will return to Giubiasco, wishing I was physically there to mourn our loss but also celebrate Alma's life with those I love.

I'm going through pictures and have so many wonderful ones of Alma and all our Swiss family. I'm sorting through them and will do a proper post in the near future. 

Finché non ci incontreremo di nuovo, cara Alma

Burn Baby Burn

I just finished going through another 300 plus photos in a box of my mother's. I've burned all the ones of food, flowers, and people I can't stand. It was a bit cathartic, like a voodoo doll, I imagine but it took less time than sewing a demon doll. I've never been very good at sewing and I really try to avoid anything demonic especially in my house, so there's that. Anyway, burning them was surprisingly freeing.

Why burn them, you might wonder. Why not just throw them in the trash. Easy. I'm a weirdo and couldn't bear the thought of some creep digging through my trash at the dump one day and finding pictures that had belonged to my parents. I mean, what if they did something creepy with them like start a fake FaceBook account with pictures of my parent's food, flowers, and people I can't stand? I'd feel responsible. Yeah, I couldn't let that happen, so they went into the burning fireplace tonight.

Anyway, back to the cathartic part. I tend to hold on to things much longer than I should. Maybe even much longer than normal people do. Whatever. It's what I do. Over the last year, I've been focused on letting go. Letting go of pictures and furniture, dishes and clothes, and people. I'm not a hoarder like you see on tv. I mean, yeah, I have 5 cats, 2 dogs, 4 pigs, and a plethora of chickens, but they don't all live in my house. Anymore. Most of the time. Whatever. My hoarding is connected to memories. I have a hard time letting go of dead people's things because I don't want to forget. I'm terrified I will forget and then they won't exist anymore. So I hang on tight to their things. Until this last year.

This last year I have donated, thrown out, or gifted a massive amount of dead people's things. I've mailed 10 packages of photos already and have another 7 going out tomorrow. The crazy thing is, I thought it would kill me but it hasn't. It's freeing me. Who knew other than the people who have been hounding me to do this for years but what do they know anyway? And the burning the pictures of people I can't stand? OMG! It's like letting go of this huge boulder. I can't wait to go through more photos because there are literally thousands more and I'm sure there are photos of more people I can't stand hidden among those treasures. The anticipation is exhilarating. Don't judge me. Or do. I don't really care anymore and that is awesome!

As for letting people go, it's getting easier the older I get. I'm learning to allow people to earn my trust instead of handing it out like Costco cheese samples. My circle is getting smaller and tighter and that is a very good thing for me. So......

Girl Talk

I had a call from two of my daughters tonight. I love when my girls call me just to gab. We almost always talk too fast, over each other, and louder than need be. It's like talking to my sisters. There's always laughing with scattered deep thoughts here and there. Tonight's topics were COVID vaccines, popcorn machines, division in today's world, and one more thing. What was it? Oh yeah, my funeral.

Topic One: COVID vaccines. I ain't doing it. I know, I'm an absolutely selfish human being who doesn't care about anyone else. I should do it for others. It's the right thing to do, yada, yada, yada. Listen, I support every single person on this planet that has decided to take the vaccine. I applaud you. I celebrate your faith in taking it. I think you've done the right thing. For you. I also support every single person on this planet that has decided to not take the vaccine. I applaud you. I celebrate your faith in not taking it. I think you've done the right thing. For you. Ultimately, it is a personal decision that must be made by each individual, and honestly, how dare any of you shame the other side for taking/not taking the vaccine. Live your own damn life and stop being so effn judgy. That goes for both sides. Amen.

Topic Two: Popcorn machines are the best Christmas present evah. I'm not talking about those little weenie things that sit on your countertop. I'm talking about the kind like the movie theater has but on wheels. It's got to be on wheels so you can wheel it all over your house, out to the barn, shoot, out to the chicken coop if you feel like it. Make every day a party with your popcorn machine! Any Nona that would Christmas gift her grands with one of those suckas is pretty hip, happening, and groovy in my book. Oh, and you're welcome.

Topic Three: Division in Today's World. Yeah, this one is just giving me a migraine. We are divided about everything. I mean, everything! I see it in my family. I see it with my friends. I see it with strangers. This is the second pandemic in my book. If all Muslims are bad because, you know, Al Queda, then all Christians are bad because, you know, KKK. If all blacks are bad because, you know, welfare and ghettos, then all whites are bad because, you know, slavery and white privilege. Then there's the entire Democrat, Republican, Biden, Trump, how evil are they, is he, ongoing debate. Seriously. Just stop already. Fix your own house first. Then fix your own neighborhood. Then work on your community. After that, tackle putting your State in order. Stop blaming and start doing something. None of "them" are for us. Not the media. Not the government. "They" aren't going to fix things for us. WE have to fix things for one another. We can't do that if we're fighting. A house divided and all that. I've been screaming this for fifteen plus years. It's hard to hear over all the fighting. One last thing. This is my opinion. I'm entitled to it. I support yours as well. So, don't start with me.  🙈🙉🙊

Topic Four: My funeral. We have suffered several deaths recently in our family. It has been heartbreaking, to put it mildly. This has had me thinking about my own death. I made it very clear to my girls how my funeral is to go down. There will be mariachis, a frozen margarita machine and lots and lots of stories told about me. Embellish, please. Everyone may cry the day I die up to the day of the funeral. That day is to be a fiesta! Make sure there are homemade tamales and my mother's rice and beans. Face paint for everyone, please, like for Dia de los Muertos. Oh, and a donkey painted to look like a zebra wearing a sombrero so the kids can have their pictures taken with him/her. Make. It. Happen. One last thing, remember what I told you. It's just a short separation. I'll just be realizing where I am before I turn around and there you'll all be. This life is short and weighed down with so many things. The next life is forever, with no more pain, sorry or suffering. I'm ready and I'll see you there. Hopefully not just yet. I've got things to do, starting with my own house.

See Ya Later

I keep dreaming about alligators. Dreaming every night is normal for me. Dreaming about alligators is not. I don't ever remember dreaming about alligators ever before. What does this mean?

So last night, I dreamt I had to walk around this lake that was surrounded by high cliff walls. There was a tiny little trail I had to follow along the lake edge. The problem was, I could see in this shallow lake that was crystal blue. That wasn't actually the problem. It was all the alligators in the lake that I saw. It was terrifying and yet they never moved or came at me. Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, I saw up ahead there were some more alligators sunning themselves on the tiny path I was on. I was going to have to step over them. Something kept telling me I would be ok and they wouldn't hurt me but I didn't want to have to do it. I kept going though. Its been several days of having this dream in varied forms. What the heck does this mean? 

So, of course, I had to look up what dreaming of alligators might mean. I am no longer worried about dreaming of alligators because I will never sleep again. Thanks, Internet.

Almost Famous

 This is James Garner, the famous Hollywood actor.

This is not James Garner.

Still James Garner. Still famous. Still Hollywood.

Still not.

James Garner and his wife. Married 57 years.

Not James Garner with not James Garner's wife. Married 61 years.

Question: 

Did anyone else have a father that mildly resembled James Garner? 

Did he sign autographs for fans when mistaken for James Garner? 

No? 

Just mine?

Carlos. Carlos. Carlos.