What a Hopeless Feeling

Had a really bad night last night.  So bad that I'm afraid writing about it will just bring it all back.  

I'm not usually given to fits of deep, dark depression or self-inflicted misery--there's enough on the outside to worry about without delving deep into my own self for hurt.  Last night, though?

Dang.

I was sitting upstairs with my boy when, out of the blue, it hit me--I'm almost certainly never going to go do all those cool things in Europe and the Middle East I've always dreamed of doing.  I'm not going to see the Northern Lights in Norway.  I'm not going to ride a horse in the desert to see Petra and the Pyramids.  I'm not going to discover some amazing Viking hoard in England with my trusty metal detector.  I'm not going to climb to the top of the tower keep at Dolwyddelan.  Hell, unless I'm lucky, I'm not even going to see Niagara frozen or fireworks in fog or snow.

I'm pushing fifty, and the odds of me achieving any of my dreams are pretty slim.  I've always dreamed that someday, we'd have enough "disposable" cash to just do things like that, but you know what?  My mom thought that, too, and she's stuck on a fixed income without enough spare cash (or a reliable enough car) to even head to Wendover for a few nights of hot slot machine action.

I cried and cried.  And then I told myself that I need to suck it the heck up and work on what I can hope to achieve.  Like finding ways to make my boy happy, keep him healthy, give him fun things to do and see.  I can do that.  That's worthwhile.  And maybe, just maybe, he'll get to do those things that I'm almost certainly not going to.

Welcome to my world.  It's a pretty bleak place right now.  It's the first time I've ever felt utterly hopeless about the future.  I've never been that overwhelmed by the sense that it's too late to realistically expect dreams to come true.

Okay.  So, here's my world tour as it would go, were I ever to get that chance:

First, I want to take my boy and hubby and wander the English countryside, looking for the next big buried Viking hoard, something from Alfred's time, you know?

No, I don't want to keep it, I just want to touch it, to find it, to live that.  Then I'll be happy to hand it over to a museum.  Just like Dr. Jones, huh?

After that?  Well, maybe swing over to Ireland to see friends and research family (A big shout-out to the Wards, Collinses, and McManuses!), then back across and north to satisfy my husband's love of all things Scottish.  I can't forget Wales, though--Llywelyn Fawr captured my heart years ago, and it's a dream, visiting Dolwyddelan.

Dolwyddelan

Notice the second, ruined structure?  Funny story.  The intact structure was built by Welsh Prince Llywelyn ap Iowerth, aka Llywelyn Fawr ("Fawr" meaning "the great").  That was constructed in around 1220, when Llywelen was almost fifty years old.  It was, no doubt, just a way of keeping the English (Norman) lords at bay (and maybe to keep a few disgruntled Welsh back, too).  The second structure?  The sad, crumbling away bit?  That was built, most sources say, after 1283 by Edward I (aka "Longshanks) after he killed Prince Llywelyn ap Gruffudd (aka Llywelyn the Last) and seized Dolwyddelan from his brother Davydd ap Gruffudd (both being the grandsons of Llywelen Fawr).  After seizing Dolwyddelan, Edward fortified it by building the second tower.  Unlike the first, the second was definitely not built to last.  

And then?  Then I want to take my guys to Paris, where I had such a mostly-miserable time of things back in 1995.  Take them to Pere Lachaise to see the amazing graves, then to Sacre Coeur via the breathtaking stairs up Montmartre.

Pere Lachaise

Atop Montmartre

And Notre Dame, and Les Invalides, and the Louvre, and the Pantheon, and just a hot croque monsieur au jambon et au fromage.

From there, definitely north in hopes of seeing the Northern Lights (and just to enjoy beautiful Norway).  Tromsø is, they say, THE place to go for the Northern Lights, and here's a picture from there:  

That's the one least likely to happen, I think.  Because the Northern Lights aren't just hanging around up there, 24/7, waiting for you.  All the best planning, even having the financial wherewithal to hop on a plane the moment reports of a probable solar flare event come in, you could still wind up seeing nothing.  I once, when I was in college, saw the sky pink in Ogden, Utah.  Vaguely pink.  My then husband insisted it was somehow light from cars reflected off moisture in the air.  That night, the news reported it had been a rare lower-latitude aurora.  It wasn't much to see, but that may be the best I ever get.  

Sometimes, I think I'd like to turn south and east from there and hit some of the old Soviet Block countries.  And sometimes I think that, even today, things are maybe not particularly safe there.

Speaking of safety, the next leg of my dream is almost certainly not going to happen in my lifetime.  Not with the way my government keeps meddling in Middle Eastern affairs.  But I sure would love to take my boy through Jordan (for Petra), through Egypt (for Abu Simbel, the pyramids at Giza, the Valley of the Kings), and through Palestine.  Petra and Egypt?  I'd like to do those sites on horseback whenever possible.  There are also sites in Saudi that are much like Petra, but the fancy dancing you've got to do to get there is tough.  And expensive.

Petra, Jordan

Abu Simbel

Valley of the Kings

Are there other places I'd like to go, things I'd like to see or do?  You bet--I'd love to take the QE-2 from the States to England.  Maybe kick off the world tour that way.  I'd love to see the catacombs under Rome. I would so love to meet a manatee.  India, various African nations (Morocco!  Tunisia!), so many places appeal, so many I've dreamed about.

Oh, and I'd like to take Amtrak through the west in the winter, when the snow is thick and deep.  And I'd like to see Niagara falls in the winter.  Frozen, if possible, but even with just the amazing, limestone-cavern-like formations at the sides would be great.  And I think it's time for me to concentrate on those last two, because those are attainable.  Those can be achieved.  

Now, onto real life.

Found out night before last that my boy has been lying about his math work.  He's been, again and again, telling me that he's doing great, that today he did this or that, and I've been taking him at his word.

No more.

Turns out he's been lying.  He's been pretending to do his schoolwork but, instead, playing on his PS3 or the computer.  Video games.  I've been unhappy about the video games since day one (was solidly outvoted and out maneuvered on those), and now it stops.  New rule?  No video games (computer, PS3, phone, or otherwise) on weekdays.  Period.  not after school work's done, not after Dad gets home from work.  Just none on any day his father is scheduled to work.  No exceptions.  If he does as well this year as he did last year on the standardized tests, he can have the summer with loosened restrictions.  If he doesn't, school's going year-round.

I give him points for coming clean, and I give myself demerits for being foolish enough to trust a 14 year-old to work without constant parental "checking up."  Won't happen again.  And no, it's not that he can't do it, it's that he didn't want to, he'd rather play.


Heard back from the USPS about our tampered-with/stolen mail.  Their answer was so utterly unhelpful and so "butt-covering" that I can only laugh.  They're not interested in our mail being stolen, and they won't replace the lock on our mail box.  So much for "mail tampering is a huge, wowser federal crime!"  Sure, maybe it is, but the USPS doesn't seem to much care.  No wonder they're going under.

Now, here's something funny.  I've just spent a few hours looking at all these places I wish I could go and see, and instead of making me even more devastatingly sad, it's cheered me up.  How messed up is that?

Speaking of cheered up, looks like the atheist-hater's loud, cigarette-butt-flinging daughter and her stompy-stompy kids are moving out in a huff.  That works.  Good luck to you, and I mean that.  Think you could take the rats across the street with you?

Anyway, the wonderful, awful paneling so kindly offered me isn't going in today.  This is already a very picture-heavy entry, and I want it to really shine.

Don't Believe Everything You Read

So, I was cruising various news sites this morning when I came across a funny (ish) piece about yet another chunk of Wikipedia misinformation, this one in the form of an article made up out of whole cloth.  It's the story of a war that didn't happen, and the article has been in place for five years.  It took five years for someone to catch wise to the hoax.

The lesson there?  Don't get your information from Wikipedia.  It might be a good launching point, but don't ever let that be the foundation or "proof" upon which you base anything.

Speaking of internet hoaxes, there's one making the rounds again--the whole "Through a Rapist's Eyes" pile of trash (I won't post it--it's that awful).  It's spreading like wildfire because, once again, we have a bunch of folks who WANT to do good.  Sadly, spreading dangerous misinformation isn't "doing good."  It is, in fact, doing exactly the opposite.

In a nutshell:

Rapists do NOT seek out women with long hair.  Short hair will not protect you.

Rapists do not seek out women in particular types of clothing (and they don't carry scissors to cut through overall straps--grip!).  Dressing dowdy or wearing layers will not protect you.

Rapists are rarely the mask-wearing stranger lurking in the back seat of your car or in the grocery store parking lot (which doesn't mean you shouldn't be careful).  Instead, most rapists are KNOWN TO THEIR VICTIMS.  You have more to worry about from your DATE (or your sister's best friend, or your husband) than you do from some stranger stalking you.

Rapists are not a "one size fits all" phenomenon.  What will deter one will enrage another.

The majority of rapes do not occur in the morning hours (?).  In fact, according to The Department of Justice, most rapes occur between 6 pm and 6 am.  As you'd expect.

In fact, the only accurate part of this idiotic spam is this:  rapists thrive on seclusion.  The more alone, the more isolated a place, the more a rapist will like it.  His crime depends in large part upon his ability to keep his victim from being heard.  So the warnings to stay out of alleyways and stairwells and darkened streets are worthy of heeding.  Yes, you're more likely to be raped in a home (over two-thirds of rapes occur in homes), but it still pays to be where there are people and lights.  Still pays to lock your doors and windows, too.

Now, if you know me at all, you know how much I hate the whole "teaching the girls to dodge rape because we can't teach the boys to stop it" thing.  I spent a few years as a rape and domestic abuse counselor, and one of my duties was teaching "self-defense/rape-avoidance."  Again, even today, the entire idea pisses me off.  By teaching women to stay away from here or don't do that, we're conferring a sense of responsibility onto the potential victims rather than letting that blame rest where it should--entirely on the rapist, regardless of where the victim was, what she was doing, what she was wearing, etc.

I just found this piece, and I think it's worthy of a read.  And, of course, the obligatory Snopes article.

Back to the missing/tampered-with mail issue.  No word yet from the USPS, but the local police refused to take a report because it's a federal crime.  A terrible thought occurs.  We sent out 34 Christmas cards.  We got six in return.  Eight, if you count the two that showed up on January 2nd (11 days after being mailed), already opened, one cleared of its monetary contents.  Right before and after Christmas, we had a number of days with no mail--unusual for us.  Very unusual.  Plus, when we moved in, the real estate agent handed us the various keys and remarked, "Hmmm, only one mail key, I guess."

Here's my fear--the woman who lived here before?  The one the cops came looking for over and over?  Including once in a door-banging 2 am raid-style visit?  She moved back onto the street a few months back. Now lives across the street and four houses down.  What if she kept a key?

What if she kept a key?

What if that's why my Epinions checks keep not showing up?  What if she's snatching credit offers and the like out of the mail?

Please tell me I'm just being paranoid, huh?

Looking to take Charlie in for his annual vaccinations plus a heartworm test.  Personally, I don't agree that he needs a heartworm test--he's been on Heartgard since he was five months old, never missing a dose.  But the vet insists.  However, we won't be taking him to the vet for this--see, the vet wants $190 bucks for the vaccines plus heartworm test.  The local wellness clinic wants $75.  Kinda like the neutering thing last year.  The vet wanted $560 with microchip.  Local "Neuter Commuter" wanted $65 with microchip.  Amazing.  Yes, I get that the "Neuter Commuter" is subsidized by the ASPCA.  But I also get that, when we had Bodhi fixed back in 1996, it only cost $95 bucks at a regular vet.  Hard to believe the vet's costs have gone up by five-plus times.

Walgreens emailed me last night, said I had a script needing refilling, all I had to do was respond to the email.  I did, then got an email telling me there was a problem with the script and they were contacting my physician for renewal.  I crack open the medicine cabinet and can't find a script with that number.  I call them, and it's some script from over a year ago from the wildly personable and spectacularly inattentive urogynecologist who absolutely missed that mass, even when I told her exactly where it was, what it felt like, how big it was, etc.  So I told them to cancel the request.  I have no dealings with Dr. I up in Maryland any more.

On the paneling front, I found a gem, a pure-D miracle of awfulness, but I've dropped a line to the owner of the website to make sure it's okay for me to post it.  It's really amazing.  If I don't hear back in a day or so, I'll post it with a link-back to his page and, if he later objects, I'll remove it.  It's amazing, I'm excited to post it!  Until then, here's ME, in 1987, with my Mom's bad (but could be so much worse) upstairs paneling:

Note the mallard duck lamp.  

Yay!  The owner of the blog says I can display the picture!  Look for it tomorrow--it's an explosion of awfulness!

Steampunking Art

If you've read back through my stuff, you know that I have, for years now, been on the lookout for a vintage mourning locket that was my mother's.  It had been a gift to her from the wife of her father's (my grandfather's) business partner back in Hallstead, Pennsylvania.  It was a large (around two-plus inches long by over an inch wide) gold or pinchbeck (I don't know which) mourning locket with deep scrolling and a large, rectangular black stone--I believe obsidian, but maybe not, maybe onyx.  It was not jet, and it was almost certainly not glass.  I know those things.  The inside was missing the glass, and was an uneven, pale enamel blue.  The chain was incredibly muscular and substantial, a brilliantly heavy box-link chain that was obviously meant to be with the locket.  My mother gave it to me on my wedding day, and, as far as I can tell, the husband of that day stole it when we split up in Provo, Utah a year later.  It's been 28 years since I've seen that locket, and I'm still looking for it.  It means more to me than I can adequately explain.

What does that have to do with Steampunk?

Everything.

You see, I know folks who are completely taken, captivated even, by the whole steampunk thing.  And hey, that's fine, have fun, it's harmless, it's creative, and if it takes your imagination to new heights, that's wonderful.

What isn't so wonderful is how some steampunk folks have taken to snapping up vintage jewelry and tearing it to bits for their own "reimagined" art.  This destroys me, it tears ME to bits.  I can imagine someone taking that amazing, beautiful locket for which I have searched years and tearing the stone off, replacing it with some dippy beetle made out of soldered coathanger and a Heineken bottle cap or some other such thing.  And it makes me almost crazy with preemptive grief.

I've heard the cry, "It's ART!" but I disagree.  It's "art" like me breaking into the Louvre with a can of spray paint and "reimagining"  Da Vinci's Virgin of the Rocks is art.  The locket itself is art.  To deface it would be vandalism.  If you want to pull apart jewelry and watches and recreate other, new, steampunk-y things, then please, please buy cheap, knock-off jewelry from Burlington Coat Factory and Walmart.  But please don't go to antique shops and vintage stores and snap up treasures for the purpose of defacing them!  If it's the "old" look you're after, it's no big deal to distress metals to make them look vintage.

Please!

And enough of that.  Been thinking about the whole "fiscal cliff" deal and how it doesn't really fix much on the sequestration front because all they did was kick the can down the road by a couple of months.  So we don't really even get to relax much.  We're just caught in the idiot waiting and worrying game again.  Or still.  Thanks, guys.

My son's Christmas card from his Aunt finally came yesterday.  Open and no money.  Yes, she actually put CASH in the card.  So now we're torn.  Do we tell her the card came opened with no cash, or do we just let it go and give him the cash out of our own pocket?  I don't know, but I can't help but feel just a tad pissed off here.  Who puts cash in a card these days?  Why would anyone do that?  My mom also sent a card, and it showed up the same day, also opened.  But she had included a check, not cash, and the check was still there.

Grrr.

Going shopping tonight.  Going to work very hard to keep it cheap AND to load up on fruits and veggies instead of crappy snacks.  It's time to rein this in before my blood sugar becomes a real issue again.

Speaking of real issues--going into week three without seeing any lice.  We're pretty sure we know who they're coming off of, and there's not really anything we can do.  It's another boy in Hapkido, really unkempt, seems mentally troubled, perhaps autistic?  Bad body odor, really greasy hair.  No, I don't believe any of those things give you lice--case in point, my kid with the clean hair and the fresh-smelling armpits.  But this boy has problems with being touched, and the only time we find lice on MY boy is after he's been paired for sparring with the boy I'm talking about.  And he is FOREVER scratching at his head.  I'm thinking he has a wowser infestation and won't let anyone in close enough to see or do anything about it.  So we'll just keep doing what we're doing--when my boy comes home, he rinses his hair, and then I thoroughly lice comb him and blow his hair out to fry the bastards.  I don't see another option that doesn't damage the studio owner (and he's a nice man) or cause that disturbed boy harm, and I'm not looking to have him thrown out or whatever.  So we lice comb.  Now that we're aware of the problem and the likely source, we should be able to stay on top of it.

And before anyone says anything about me being mean by saying I think the boy is likely autistic?  My boy stopped talking right after his first birthday.  And he stayed non-verbal for over a year.  At the same time, he began developing odd repetitive tics and took to screaming and hitting himself whenever anyone sang or whistled.  We spent years working with him to get him past the spectacular Asperger's gig he had going on.  And there are still issues, though most are so dramatically improved that the average person dealing with him doesn't notice.  So I'm not being mean, I absolutely sympathize with the boy and his parents.  So much so that I'll put up with my boy being exposed to lice up to three times a week.

And, finally?  Bad paneling!  Bad!

I really do think the lighter ones offend me the most.  Nothing like a little "blond" paneling to make my fingernails itch.