I think it's because yes, Kate is a different generation than us, but I was raised by Kate's parent's generation, so I fill in the gaps. I'm sure there's some term for that, but I haven't done my googling. Heh.
It's interesting and fun. We go together like ramma lamma lamma ka dinga da dinga dong....
Tell the people you love that you love them. Doesn't take long and you don't need their response, you just need to make the statement.
Today I saw a man in the grocery store that looked just like Justin's daddy. He had three gallons of milk, two steaks and a fifth of Jack Daniels in his buggy. I imagined that the JD went in first, because that would be what Justin's daddy would do.
I met Justin the first day of school my sophomore year in 1992. He sat across the aisle from me in Civics class. He made me laugh and I could tell that he hid behind his jokes and his rowdy reputation. His nickname was "Tank" because he was as big as one. He called me "Harley" (guess my last name) and became my bodyguard my first year at my new school.
He dated a lot of girls, I dated a lot of boys but we still remained close friends. When I left for college, we swore we'd keep in touch. He had one last year left in high school. He came up some weekends while I was in college and we'd see movies, go to the bars, talk about home. He was doing what all the boys in my hometown did, milked cows every morning and afternoon for spending money, went to school with cow shit caked on their boots, screwed whichever girl would at night, smoked some weed, drank a lot of Strawberry Hill, rode the loop, fixed up their cars, parked down by the river, wished and dreamed about making it out, but most never did.
He asked me to his Senior Prom and, of course, I went. It was right around the time I was getting sick, I think I stayed up the entire weekend without any sleep. It was worth it. Justin was the perfect gentleman and we ended the evening at his daddy's bar.
I convinced Justin to pursue his dream to work on the big rigs, to get out of that backwater cowtown, to become something other than some girl's ticket to a better life. He went to Nashville and spent three years there. By that time I was through with college and through with my marriage and ready to live a little bit. Justin was there. I spent a lot of weekends back home and with Justin. We never were more than friends, regardless of what he thought he wanted.
We spent a lot of time riding the backroads, listening to Creedence and Bad Company, philosophising, smoking cigarettes and drinking way too much. We'd wind up at the bar, dancing and drinking and hanging out with his daddy. By this time, Justin was going all over the country, making pretty good money for someone from Kentwood and able to buy and do whatever he wanted. He asked me to marry him one night, telling me he'd take care of me, telling me he'd always loved me, telling me he'd buy me anything in the world I wanted. I loved him, I'd always loved him, but never in the way that he needed and wanted me to. I told him no and we tried to move on from there, but never really could. I hated to see him drink his life away after that. Hated seeing him chase after things that never would be what he wanted. The Christmas after my grandfather died, he asked me again, and again I had to tell him no. We continued to grow apart, with my life taking me in other directions and Justin's keeping him in the past.
That Spring he told me that he had found someone and she made him happy. I was glad for him. He told me that he'd asked her to marry him and she'd said yes. He just wanted me to know, but wouldn't tell me who it was, although he told me that it was someone that I knew.
Justin married my sister in July of 2004. I stood as maid of honor for her because she's my family and Justin was my Tank first. I was so hurt that they both couldn't just tell me, but I wanted to try to be better, to be happy for them, for Justin to be my family. At family gatherings, Justin would never meet my eye, would never stay in the room if it were just me there. My brother would rib him constantly, there were jokes about Justin saying my name instead of my sister's when they were intimate, my classmates at my high school reunion got a big kick out of Justin marrying my sister. To say it was awkward would be redundant. I was always so hurt that we couldn't overcome all this and be friends, honor the friendship we had for all those years.
Justin's health took a turn for the worse. I was back home for a visit and he had been ill. He was rushed to the hospital that Friday night with trouble breathing. He was stabilized and seemed to be doing ok. I was supposed to go visit him that Saturday, but got there after visiting hours were over. I wanted to talk to him, to tell him that ... even now, I don't know what I was going to tell him. All I know is that I didn't get to see him, to talk to him when I had the chance. The phone rang at 2:00 that morning saying that he had crashed and they were intubating him. By the time my brother and I got down to the hospital to be with my sister, he had died. I was too late.
I helped my sister get through all of the preparations and the funeral. I helped her be strong. I told my four year old nephew that his Daddy Justin was gone. And then I came back home and put it away in a little box inside my heart. Because in my mind, Justin was still back home, still making people laugh, still dancing and drinking and listening to Creedence.
Until I saw that man in the grocery store today.
So far we've received $265 in pledges and donations. We're accepting donations through Paypal or checks made out to HELP Animals, Inc. mailed to an address provided via PM. We'll also take loose change and small bills through the mail. All Paypal fees will be spotted so that the full amount of your donation goes towards the masks. We also have a generous benefactor who is MATCHING ALL DONATIONS!
We've got some lovely parting gifts and door prizes that we'll be sending out, so if you're planning on donating, there's still time.
Thank y'all so much for putting up with us, interacting with us and keeping it interesting and real. You guys made the difference.
And after I got over myself and realized he wasn't poisonous, I went inside to get my trusty North American Wildlife Book. Turns out its a type of King Snake, one that eats other snakes, mice and bugs. A good snake, if y ou're so inclined.
We left him to go on his way, checking every so often to make sure he was actually, you know, making way. And that's when I saw him curling up in the tire of the Jimmy.
Danger, Will Robinson! TILT! Unacceptable!
With a little prodding from J (what? You think I"MA MESS WITH A SNAKE? I don't really care if he's poisonous or not, snakes put the heebie in my jeebie) he decided to continue on his way. He really did just want to stay out of our way (Just passin' through, ma'am). We sat on the front porch watching his progress. As he progressed through the neighbor's property, he raised quite a ruckus with the local bluejay population. Eventually, he shuffled through there and I can only hope he made it to his destination unharmed.
I grew up and she moved away and had a kid of her own and now all we are are strangers, But there was a time when I meant something to her. And she meant something to me.
98 bottles of beer on the wall, 98 bottles of beer. Take one down pass it around, 97 bottles of beer on the wall.
97 bottles of beer on the wall, 97 bottles of beer. Take one down pass it around, 96 bottles of beer on the wall.
96 bottles of beer on the wall, 96 bottles of beer. Take one down pass it around, 95 bottles of beer on the wall.
95 bottles of beer on the wall, 95 bottles of beer. Take one down pass it around, 94 bottles of beer on the wall.
94 bottles of beer on the wall, 94 bottles of beer. Take one down pass it around, 93 bottles of beer on the wall.
93 bottles of beer on the wall, 93 bottles of beer. Take one down pass it around, 92 bottles of beer on the wall.
92 bottles of beer on the wall, 92 bottles of beer. Take one down pass it around, 91 bottles of beer on the wall.
91 bottles of beer on the wall, 91 bottles of beer. Take one down pass it around, 90 bottles of beer on the wall.
90 bottles of beer on the wall, 90 bottles of beer. Take one down pass it around, 89 bottles of beer on the wall.
Please scroll back through my posts for the Paypal button if you'd like to donate. I'm aboout wiped, guys, but the end is in sight. Comment with any questions, concerns, etc.
GROUP HUG. Special thanks to the UK Contingent and the insomniacs on this side of the pond for getting us through the last few hours. We'll be cooking up something special for you guys!
SEVEN HOURS - fourteen posts - TO GO!
A song can take me back to a certain time, a certain place. I can be driving to work on some random Tuesday, and the right song can come on the radio and all of a sudden, I'm sixteen and still cute and healthy and smart and in love with a boy, the future spread out in front of me, full of possibility. I can be standing at the sink, washing dishes, and a song shuffles up on the mp3 player and I'm struck with grief, missing someone so bad I'd swear there was a hole in my heart. There may be a million reasons why I've lost contact with someone who was once important, but the song remembers them. The song remembers when.
One of my favorite things to do is to sit out on the patio at my chosen family's house, listening to "classic" music, talking about music's history, identifying artists and songs, introducing a new generation to the classics, and telling stories. Music tells a story. You decide which one.
Mechanical or human, makes no never mind to me.
One of the few issues that I had with this house when I bought it was the fact that it had no dishwasher. It's an older house, built in the Sixties. They didn't need no stinkin' dishwasher. J convinced me we could make do without it. After all, we hardly used the ones in our apartments. And he swore, forever and for true, to be the human dishwasher of the house. It works better than a marriage proposal and a pre-nup! The only problem is when he goes out of town and he takes the dishwasher with him.