A La Cosmo

For some reason my husband has recently taken a very strong liking to a certain popular coffee establishment. In fact it has almost become a daily feeding of his addiction.

We've tried to reign in the urge and keep it to a minimum of 2 or 3 times a week without much luck. With the rising cost of gas, I think we will soon have it down to mostly to Saturday and or Sunday.

He's also awakened the java monster that must be fed daily in our daughter. And oh honey does she get her feelings hurt if we don't wake her early Saturday morning and take her with us. Actually I believe it's the grown-up feel of holding the warm cup in her hand and hanging out with adults, you know the social aspect of it all, rather than a true java addiction.

At least for her. My husband is definitely a fallen member of Starbuck's Anonymous. I only get decaf so I am just along for the flavor.

Our son just goes for the breakfast.

I am definitely a morning person. Not many of us actually exist in the world I know, but I love waking up before the rest of the family to putter around the house, read, write, whatever. I get so much done. Apparently NOT writing on the blog has been one of them. Sorry.

This way of starting the weekend together has come to mean a lot to me. Time with my family and my coffee early in the morning.

And then there's the people. There are all kinds of earthlings that inhabit our world, and most of them frequent a Starbuck's. Most of them are at I-10. And I love to watch them all.

My mom used to say "to each his own". But then again, she used to say "said the old lady as she kissed the cow" right afterwards so don't put too many peaches in her basket. But scary enough, I have to agree with her. If we all had the same personality, the rainbow would be boring. Or something like that.

Last Saturday there were several coffee patron's sitting outside enjoying the cooler air and the morning sun. One was an older gentleman, rather distinguished. He reminded me of a character straight from the movies - very stereotypical of of someone from the north and of a certain nationality - one which I won't mention because I mean no, and I mean absolutely no offense. But, I know somehow, somewhere it might get taken. So fill in your own stereotype here.

The other gentleman was middle aged, weathered looking, smoking a cigarette, talking to himself and wearing some well worn clothing that was basically the same color all over.

Dirt brown.

My first impression was that he was homeless. I won't say for certain he wasn't, but as time passed I realized he was very...different. He had something on the table in between the ashtray and his coffee.

And he was petting it.

I kept looking at this greyish, round, computer mouse sized something on his table. I was totally fixated on the object. What would he be petting like that? Was it a mouse? Or God forbid a rat? I couldn't figure out what it was without walking right up to check it out. And since he was on the different list, I figured he might not take a liking to my perusing his personals all close like that. So I just watched and waited for a better glimpse of the...um...thing.

Well, we finished up our breakfast, our coffee and we got into the car. That's when it happened.

The object he had cooed at and carefully petted all this time....stood up, shook itself off, lept off of the table and flew right in to the side of our car with a resounding thud. I'm thinking 'What the heck? Poor thing...'

We (my family) looked all over for the rescued bird and could not find it anywhere. Mr. Dirt Suit simply walked off talking to himself.

So, Mr. From the North took it upon himself to tell us the story. According to him, the dirt clad gentleman had picked up the bird after it had flown straight into the Starbuck's window. (Perhaps the bird had needed a coffee fix too.) Where upon Mr. Dirt Suit had picked it up, rescusitated it, I didn't ask how, and had spent the last hour talking to it and petting it while it recovered.

This seemed to really impress Mr. From the North and give him absolute hope in humanity.

"That is amazing. Isn't that amazing? I tell you, that's just amazing that he would do that. There are good people I tell you. Good, good people."

This did not impress me nor did it give me hope in humanity. However it did make me think,

"Hmm, that would be something to blog about."

Someone back east is goin' 'now why don't he write?'

Remember that quote? Of course you do...it's from Dances With Wolves. Great movie. I remember right after that movie came out Jesse and I gave our kids American Indian names. Eddie was Wind In His Drawers, and Elena was Screams With A Fist.

I won't tell you our names lest I gross you out.

I guess I've been away quite a while...Stat Counter & Site Meter both register readership way down. From like 3 a day to 1 a day. Sorry my faithful reader!

I truly have not had much to say. Oh sure, there's been a funny thing here or there. A sad thought to share, or just an everyday occurrence to post about and keep in touch with all those I have come to know and love in Bloglyvania. If I would just take the time and make the effort to get myself in front of a computer and write. I mean, a writer writes always. Right?

But that's just it. I have not had the energy nor have I cared to take a moment or make an effort. There is something that has stood in the way and you may or may not know this about me, I battle depression. And I mean battle in the all out war sense of the word.

For a very long time I've had the black cloud that follows me in life well dispersed and no where to be seen on the horizon. Medicine, faith, family & friends were all a part of managing the dark little stalker of my soul.

Then I had surgery. Medicines were stopped. All of them. No need for it right? Blood pressure was good, blood sugar was great, I was losing weight and I was a happy little girl. Until about two weeks after surgery and I realized...uh oh, I've not been taking my happy girl pills. Realization came a bit late for I was no longer a happy girl.

So I say to myself, before I enter the danger zone and the little black rain cloud becomes a full blown category five hurricane, suck it up girl and start taking your pills again.

And I tried. I really did. The problem is that for the first 3 months after surgery my surgeon does not allow you to swallow any medicine, it must either be crushed or chewed. And so obedient little me went a bought a pill crusher and tried again and again to calm the storm that was brewing.

But I gotta tell you, there's nothing like swallowing a spoonful of battery acid, having your mouth go completely numb and your head feeling as if you've just stepped off of the tilt-a-whirl after riding for hours on end. Oh, and all those lovely feelings last for hours on end. Yeah, that will cheer you right up.

So I did what any normal human in my condition would do. Stop taking the vile crap. Ah but nuclear meltdown would fast approach and I make a lame attempt all over.

I tried hiding the poison from hell in almost everything too...Sugar free fat free pudding. Crystal light. Applesauce. Yogurt. Yogurt was the worst. I think the combination of the milk and battery acid upped the whole world is spinning side effect several notches.

All that to tell you this is where I've been. Lost under the black cloud and just not giving one bit of a care about anything. Ignoring friends, family, housework, life, blogs and pretty much everything under the sun. No pun intended.

And I apologize. I know I don't have to. I know you understand, you may even have your own black cloud to tend to.

But I want you to know that I love you guys. I want you to know I will be okay. I have managed to take the happy girl make the black cloud go away pills for 2 weeks straight now and I am starting to see a little sunlight break through. I am starting to feel again.

For instance, I actually care that you know that I care.

Or something like that.

Tag I'm It...

I've been tagged again!
Not by one or two, but three people. Thank you Kelly, Courtney and Pamela! I have taken such a long time to reply to the tags because honestly, I don't know what I could share that you don't already know, but here it goes...

Oh, first the rules.


to share "7 Things" about myself - then, tag 7 friends to share some facts about themselves. So, we all know the drill....first and foremost - the rules:

The Rules:
Link your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

My 7 Things:
1. So much of what I despised as a child, I now love. Baseball, classical music, gardening, vegetables & cooking. Oddly enough, these were mostly things my mother loved. I was a brat.

2. I have a problem with committing to certain things. Things like lunch with a friend, parties, volunteer assignments. I'm not sure why, I just know that I don't like to commit to them. At all.

3. I cannot wear closed toe shoes. I hate them with a passion. I always try to wear sandals or flip-flops - unless I am walking for exercise. This holds true even in winter. When I wear closed toe shoes my feet begin to panic. I swear I can feel my toes hyperventilating and I hear little screams coming from inside my shoe...until I kick off the shoe and I see them breathing a little easier.

3. This is going to be a hard thing to admit. The last official grade I graduated from was the 8th grade. Yes, I repeated 9th grade several times. LOO-HOO-OO-SER. After the second time the school tested me for any learning disabilities they hoped I had. Guess what? They were shocked to find that I tested college level in every subject. All sophomore & junior level. They figured out I was bored. However, they couldn't figure out what to do with me. That many, many, many, many moons ago they didn't have the opportunities they do now for troubled/bored/ADD/snotty kids.

4. I aquired my GED the day I turned 16. Because I couldn't pass the traditional route, I went 'away' to school. I was 15. I tested to see what subjects I needed to brush up on before I took the test. Turns out none. So what did I do for the next 8 months? Tutor. I was an 8th grade drop out who tutored people as young as myself and as old as 25 to help them prepare for the GED. THE day of my 16th birthday I took the test & passed.

5. When I was a kid I had no clue what I wanted to do when I grew up. I still don't. When I grow up I will decide and let you know.

6. I don't like crowds. Much like my feet in a closed toe shoe, I begin to panic. Not in the true - need a therapist and/or a sedative - sense of the word. But I truly do not like them and will avoid them if at all possible. Perhaps this explains me not liking parties, shopping or people in general. Okay, I do like people. Okay, just some people. Ummm, maybe just a handful. Myself sometimes included. :O

7. I truly, truly, truly...hate male bashing. Or female bashing for that matter. Oh heck, any type of human bashing. But this point, #7 on my things about me, is going to be solely about male bashing. Yes, I am blessed beyond blessed to have THE most wonderful man in the world be my husband. And yes, I am head over heels in love after 14 years of marriage. Sickening and mushy yes? And yes, I know not every woman has had a good husband or a good male figure in their lives. MYSELF included. Dad ran out the day he found out mom was preggers. My first husband and I well, that was just all wrong. HOWEVER, that doesn't make a man an idiot simply because he's a man. Nor lazy. Nor clueless. Nor whatever else is considered the Y Chromosome defect. As genders go, we are very different. Applause! And we are that way for a reason. BUT, the differences - both bad and good - apply to both of the sexes. Here is why I say this: Movies, television shows, commercials and the world in general, portray men in such a negative light and it frustrates me to no end. We start girls out thinking this way young, consider what you see on t-shirts, Girls Rule, Boys Drool or Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them. In the movies and on tv, the father is usually portrayed as a moron, and usually either the mother or the kids run the show. Think about this: these men, they were raised by women, they are brothers to women and they are married to women. Get my point?

Okay. Enough soap boxing. Hope this was interesting to at least 2 of you for all of 5 minutes.
I'm not going to tag anyone, I think we've all been tagged within our circle. HOWEVER, if you'd like to play then be my guest!

Will write soon...