Ignoramus

The airport.  This is a fun place, maybe more fun to me because I haven’t had any drama in my life for the past eight months.  This morning the Chief took me to the airport for my three month trip back to Texas.  After checking my two, very large, very full bags...I head to the line to get through security.  In front of me a little boy is with his dad.  He is asking his dad four hundred and seventy-two questions about flying.  For about two minutes I thought MY little man was in front of me!  After a long pause, enough for me to sigh relief thanking God little man was past the age of questions, he turns to his dad for another round of questioning.  This is how it goes:

Child: Do airplanes have car batteries in them?

Dad: No, only cars have car batteries in them.

Child: So, if it doesn’t have car batteries...we are flying hoping Jesus holds on tight to the plane and doesn’t drop us?

Dad: Thats right, but the planes are also made to fly on their own.

Child: Just in case Jesus is busy?

Dad: Yes.

There is another long pause as the dad is helping the little boy take off his shoes.  

Child: Will I be able to see clouds?

Dad: Yes, really well, if we can get a window seat.

Child: Will I be able to roll down the window?

Dad: No, they don’t let you do that.

Child: Because then Jesus might try and climb in to take a break from carrying us?

Dad: No, you can’t roll it down because it would make it hard to breathe.

Child: Oh.

Another pause.

Child: Why would it be hard to breathe? Does it smell?

At this point he heads through to the other side out of earshot.  The way his little mind was turning was almost...refreshing.

I make my way to my gate.  Walking in front of me is a woman with her two year old...on. a. leash.  I admit, when Little Man was about that age, I too thought that was the greatest invention ever.  I strapped that thing on him, clipped him in, and tried to test it around the house.  He took one look down at the clip across his belly, and you could almost follow his train of thought as his eyes drifted to the long strap behind it.  He promptly sat down and started whaling.  I took a picture of this, the one and only time I put it on him.  

This idea is now very strange to me.  Why would people put their children on a leash, and put their dogs in a stroller?  What is wrong with society?  Think about it for a second.  We have these cupcakes that dress their dogs up in clothes and treat them as if they were children.  Last weekend we were out of town and I watched a dog go by in a stroller.  A STROLLER FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!  Of course this wasn’t some mutt basking in the sun, it was your stupid little yapper dog that never shuts up.  In my opinion, if it weighs less than five pounds, it isn’t a dog, it is however, a long haired rat that thinks it’s a princess.  Look here princess, you are no better than my 95 pound mutt that we call our “special needs” child because she can’t catch a marshmallow if it hit her on the lips.  So here goes by this hairy rat with a tutu on and a ribbon above it’s left ear.  I am thinking to myself, was this owner dropped on her head as a small child?  Does she know that is a dog and not a two-year old child?  Then I thank my lucky stars that my mother isn’t a fruit loop like this retired, obviously extremely bored, and too rich, woman.  So back to society.  We dress our dogs up and push them around in strollers.  Then we put a leash on our toddlers and walk around in public with them.  Let me tell you folks, the cheese is sliding off everyones crackers....

Forty-five minutes later, I am sitting on the plane trying not to make eye contact with anyone.  This is the most stressful part of flying.  I am so fearful that I am going to be stuck between “morbidly obese man”, and “woman with screaming baby”...both making me want to put a screw driver through my left eye ball.  I got lucky.  The plane filled up and I wasn’t stuck with anyone crazy.  We get up in the air...away from escape, and I hear a man snoring.  I bend forward thinking it was the man next to me, and it wasn’t.  I look behind me and there is the criminal.  A man in the middle seat with his mouth hanging open.  I am trying to read a book, and I am not sure why this is making me so irratated.  I was having flashbacks of all the nights that I have laid awake and listened to that same maddening noise.  I had the urge to kick.  The man next to me doesn’t know how lucky he is that he doesn’t have bruises running up and down his legs.  I know he wasn’t the one snoring, but he was the closest one to me.  I want to make it very clear, I am not talking about just a bothersome little rumble.  This fat ass snored for 2 hours straight.  Do you know how loud a plane is?  You of course have the irritating plane hum, then you have the random baby screaming...you may even have talking around you.  The only thing I could hear for 2 hours was this obnoxious snoring.   It was infuriating.  I seriously wanted to hit someone.  I was sitting there, with my eyes reading the same lines on my book over and over again, thinking about how I could possible shut the man up.  Here are some scenarios that came to mind.  

1. Stand up, turn around, and shove a napkin in his mouth.
2. Tear open my bag of pretzels, and throw them one by one at his face.
3. Scream at him to shut up.
4. Ask “woman with screaming baby” to swap places with his neighbor.
5. Tell the flight attendant that he was talking about a bomb earlier, and that he was very suspicious.  
6. Roll up the Air Mall magazine and start pounding him over the head with it.
7. Fill my mouth with soda, shake it around, stand up, turn around, and shower him with love sprinkles (this one probably is a no, because the innocent victims on both sides would also get the soda spray).

As I sat there, pretending to read, my anger stepped up to a top level position.  I wanted to put my hands over my ears and scream.  I love the Chief, but when he snores, it takes everything for me NOT to punch him in the face.  I wanted to strangle this stanger.  Just as I grabbed my pretzel bag and prepared to send them flying (which is a HARD thing for me, because I love Southwest pretzels like Molly loves peanut butter), the ignoramus woke up.  

I took a deep breath, and my heart rate slowed as the plane met the ground.  One flight down, two more to go.  

Graveyards...

I am trying to accept this is the state I live in.  Embrace it.  Find things you love about it.  Lets see...I am close to everything...well thats not the case considering I have to drive 15 minutes to get to a damn grocery store.  Okay, I have lots of friends and family...hmmm, wrong here too.  I not only have no friends, but my husband is staying out later and later every night...probably making friends (bastard).  Okay, there is something good...the food!  No wait, that isn’t possible considering every freaking restaurant is Italian and if I see another noodle or slice of pizza I might just take the pliers and pull my toenails off one by one.  Back to the positive...oh oh I know...I have learned my way around.  Nope, not that either because I CAN’T GO ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY MAGELLAN...not even to that damn grocery store!!!  Okay, this blog has taken a turn for the worse...

Back to the positive.  Something this state has that is wonderful...graveyards.  Recently I have decided to “take to” them.  Some of them are absolutely breathtaking.  I have taken pictures.  Check this one out

So pretty right?  This one is super old.  Many of the tombstones are simply large rocks with nothing written on them.  Look...

Here is another...

And another...

This one is my favorite...

Another Saint Mary's, this one is in Rhode Island...

See the picture above?  I want to know what you do to get a gravestone like that!  Just think of all the money thrown into that shrine, for a dead person!...or family!  Check out the one two above it...so many stories behind this!  Can you imagine, a mother, loosing her baby girl (only a year old), THEN just when you think it doesn't get worse, a few weeks later, she looses her 5 year old son.  Imagine the grief she went through.  She is left with two children.  One, dies only four years later.  Now she is left with only one son, who dies at the age of 22.  What was going on with this family?  How sad is that?!?  To have a gravestone that large, they must have had money, right?  Why couldn't the children be saved?  I wonder what disease robbed this woman of her children.  

Look at this odd graveyard...

So, I wonder what the rocks are for?  There were only 15 gravestones, but each of them had rocks spread across the top of them.  Is it the result of children playing in the graveyard, or does it mean something?  This one definitely left me stumped.  

I will close with this grave stone that I saw in the Saint Mary Cemetery (Rhode Island).

Laying tipped over in front of this stone was a single plant, that was dead.  I was going to move it before I took the picture, and decided I better not.  What a sad stone.  It was alone by itself.  It wasn't in the shadow of an oversized stone, and it wasn't camouflaged in with other stones it's size.  There it sat, alone.    

Did I make the right call?

Yesterday, after begging, pleading, and making promises I didn’t intend on keeping...the Chief agreed to take me to the beach.  My simple argument is, we have lived here for 8 months...we are less than 40 minutes away from a state beach, and 20 minutes away from private beaches...and we haven’t been!  So we packed up for a day at the beach.  I was giddy the whole drive over there!  Seriously, like an Ethiopian child going to the ice cream store. 

We pull up, get out, and unload.  We head to the sandy white spot where I know I will hear the waves and see nothing but water.  We walk up to this:

Guess everyone else had the same idea.  I have never seen so many people in all my life.  After wandering around trying to find a place to settle, we decided on a spot big enough for my towel and the Chiefs chair.  I covered myself with oil (don’t tell the mom), and sprayed the Chiefs pasty white chest with sunscreen and settled down with a book.  As I am reading, I turn to look at the Chief.  Before we left the house, I asked him if he wanted to bring something to read.  Reluctantly, he threw a magazine in my beach bag.  Now, as we lay here, I asked him if he wanted that magazine.  He responds, “I don’t need to read, I have enough entertainment watching all these people.”  He sat there for the full three hours people-watching.  This is something I love about this man.  He doesn’t require my entertainment, in fact I’m pretty sure he probably prefers me to be quiet and reading...so I went back to my reading.  

A few hours in, an older gentleman came and sat down in an empty spot close to us...but closer to 4 teenagers.  He was probably 45ish.  Okay...let’s just cut to the chase here...he gave me the heebie jeebies.  There was something about this man that made my skin crawl. He began talking to one of the male teenagers (16ish).  He was talking to him about VERY adult topics.  He was telling him about his girlfriend that overdosed, and then went on to tell him about a drug bust that involved cocaine.  I am not sure if it was the mom in me or what but there were red flags all over this man.

1. He was at the beach in shorts and a t-shirt. Not a swimsuit. He didn’t take off his shirt.
2. He was eating animal crackers. Seriously? 45 year old bachelor (no wedding ring), eating a kiddie treat?
3. He planted himself next to 4 teenagers.        
4. He digested himself into a lengthly conversation with a 16 year old boy about very adult topics.  
5. He is a pervert.
6. He is a pervert.
7. He is a sick, nasty, pervert.  

So I think I listened to that for about ten minutes before I turned to the Chief and asked if he was hearing this.  The Chief, coming to the beach to do nothing but please me, and look at hot chicks, didn’t want to get involved.  My stomach was literally turning.  My hands started shaking.  When I feel like that, I can’t do anything but think about worst case scenario.  The Chief, seeing the path I was heading towards, asked if I was ready to leave.  We ending up packing and leaving.  

I feel guilty.  In a circumstance like that, do you do something?  I figured I had three choices.

1. Pull the teen aside and tell him to be VERY careful, there was something creepy about the man he was talking to.  
2. Tell the man, loud and clear (making sure all surrounding people heard) that he had no business talking to a teenager about such adult subject matter. 
3. Packing up and leaving. 

I chose, in my opinion, the easy way out.  I still feel guilty about it.  If that were my child he was chatting with, I would hope and pray someone would speak up and tell the creep to find someone else his own age, and leave the kid alone.  Had I not been with the Chief, I would have said something.  I think kids are so naive, and I feel that pedophiles think they are slick and sly.  Maybe the man was completely innocent.  Maybe he had no friends and came to make some kind of connection.  Maybe I have him pegged wrong.  I am a pessimist.  I see the worst before I see the good.  Instead of seeing innocence, I see the crime it can lead to.  I trust no one.  As we were walking away, I was saying a prayer that the child would not give the man any personal information.  

I hate that I see a situation like that and immediately jump to evil.  Maybe that is wrong, but that is this world.  It is full of evil.  I know I can’t save everyone, but I hope and pray I didn’t walk away from something that could have been prevented.    

You want me to dust what?

Today I had the day off...good right?  WRONG.  I woke up from my land of dreaming to 8 fire alarms going off saying, “Fire...Fire”.  I slowly get out of bed, the mutt at my heals, and fling open the door...half hoping to see some sort of something.  Of course I open the door to the wonderful land of nothing.  The alarms then stop.  Thank goodness!  I climb back in bed hoping to go back to sleep for another hour...it is only 8 am and this is my day to sleep in!  I pull the comforter over my head and close my eyes....

Instead of falling back into a dreamy world, I lay there and think of all the things I need to get done on my day off.  I had just figured out last night the oven quit working, so I knew I was going to need to make some phone calls about that.  I wanted to get a head start on the laundry, and I needed to clean the house.  I also thought about all the follow-up calls I needed to make for work...my ultimate goal of trying to trap people into signing a lease, to make a small bundle for myself...ahhhh, sales.  

I very dramatically fling back the covers, wishing the Chief was there to see how early I was getting up.  I stomp my way down the stairs, sill with no audience to witness my tantrum.  

I flip on the television, and head straight into the office to pull out the manual for the oven.  Since I got up, I might as well get started on my to-do list, right?

Side note-I am watching price is right...when the hell did Drew Carey lose 500 pounds?

Okay, back to my morning.  So I flip the manual to the  troubleshooting section....right, like I am going to really get lucky here.  I look at all the problems, and none of them is the problem I have.  I then look for a 1-800 number, which I find quickly.  I called that and talked to a kind woman that asked if I tried shutting it off yet.  I asked how I might go about doing that.  She informed me to shut it off from the breaker...wait 5 minutes...then turn it back on.  If that didn’t work, she wanted me to call her back and she would send a technician over.  Great right?  Now if I can just find where the breakers are.  I started with the basement..GOAL!  Okay, I stand there for twenty minutes and stare at this: 

Ummm, do I start at the bottom and work my way up?  I read all the labels and none say “oven”.  So I start with “microwave”..thinking because they were close in vicinity that maybe I would get lucky.  I turn it to off, and run upstairs.  Not lucky.  I go back down, flip that one back to its original position and try for another, “refrigerator”.  Eight trips later, I am staring at this stupid box trying to figure out why this has to be so tricky.  I notice one that says, “range”.  What the hell does that mean? I assumed it meant a series of things in a line (thank you online dictionary for putting the words I couldn’t think of together).  I thought maybe it was the orange room upstairs, because it is one long range (area).  I figured I had to try it, though, since the only things I had left were bathrooms and bedrooms (all upstairs).  Sure enough, it worked!  Then I realized I think an oven can also be called a range...yes guys, school teacher on board here.  So I sat down to wait my five minutes.  

As I am sitting down to enjoy a bowl of cereal, guess what jolts me up out of my seat?  The fire alarm.  As I am wiping up the cereal that went flying (due to my scare), I am cursing this state, this house, and myself for being so jumpy.  Then the alarm stops.  I decide this alarm thing won’t be able to be ignored.  I called The Dad, to get his advice.  After minutes of lecturing the obvious, “you have to get that fixed,” he suggest that I call the fire department.  Great...a plan.  Just as I am about to hang up I explain the oven issue I am having and how it took me forever to find the right breaker.  He says to me, “don’t you have one labeled 'range'?”  I politely said my goodbyes and then accidently dropped the phone on the ground and stepped on it...twice.  

My next task at hand... calling the fire department.  I looked up the number and called.  The man explained to me that I needed to call 911.  I told him it wasn’t an emergency and there wasn’t a fire, and he explained it was "protocol". I hung up with him to make the 911 call.  I explained the situation and was VERY clear it wasn’t an emergency.  He said, “no big deal, we won’t sound the alarms or anything, we will be there in a few to take a look.”  I hung up thinking, “maybe this is going to be easier than I thought!”  Oddly enough, I hear fire truck sirens in the distance, lightly laughing to myself about someone else having the same problem.  Three minutes later, those sirens from the fire trucks were parked outside my home.  Four LARGE trucks, blasting sirens like an apartment complex was blazing to the ground.  Excellent, I thought to myself.  

As I run outside explaining there was no emergency, they shut the alarms off explaining it was "protocol".  Whatever, I thought.  They came in and checked the house...I guess they thought I missed the angry flames, heat and smoke.  After determining there was no fire (glad I had them to point that out), they said it was probably dust.  They told me to open each detector and dust it with a paint brush.  Do you know how many fire alarms are in my house?  Eleven.  Do you know how long it took to dust eleven fire alarms?  45 minutes.  I finished dusting the alarms and went down to the basement to turn the breaker back on for the oven so I could test it.  I came upstairs, turned the oven on and sat down to do some follow-up work calls.  I grabbed the house phone and noticed it wasn’t working.  I went to the Chiefs office (where the base is) and noticed it was all off.  Luckily, I knew how to get to the breaker since we had already bonded.  I walk downstairs, wondering what crazy name they labeled the office with.  Luckily it was obvious “den”.  I flipped it the rest of the way off, and then flipped it back on.  Easy right?  Ha.  Nothing is easy today.

I immediately hear the familiar blast of the oh-so-dutiful fire alarm.  You have GOT to be kidding me.  I stomp back upstairs (I was in the basement), cursing the fire alarm, which led to the government, which led to the president.  All his fault!  I grabbed the phone, which was now working since the breaker did it’s job.  I stomped out on the back patio because at this point the alarm was constant.  I called 911 again, explained the situation, begged them NOT to turn on their sirens, and hung up the phone.  I sat on the porch for about 3 minutes as I listened to the “range” of fire truck sirens.  Can it get any better?  Oh, it does.  

They come back into the house, search it again for the imaginary fire that I keep missing out on, and notice my oven is on.  They asked if I was cooking something, and I said, “no, I am just testing it” (kicking myself for forgetting to turn it off before they came in).  Five men stand there staring back and forth at each other hoping someone speaks up saying, “yeah, my wife does that all the time.”  I explained that I was testing it because it wasn’t working and assured them the two things weren’t related.  They then determine that the alarm sounding is from a malfunction in the detector.  Really?  We pay for these geniuses?  My 95 pound mutt (who isn’t all that bright) could have told you there was a damn malfunction in the system! As I was explaining how the breaker set it off the third time, I walked over to show them which alarm was making a different sound.  As I did, something caught my eye behind the piano.  

Okay, despite what the Chief says, I can’t control my fear.  When something scares me or catches me off-guard, I scream and jump.  Call me a girl.  I know it is dead, but at first glance the only thing that goes through my mind is, “OMG, that is a mouse, a rodent, in my house, that could ultimately somehow manage to raise from the dead, and jump on my face.”  So naturally, I scream.  I wish it was as simple as a scream, but no, I like to do the full blown, death-feared, ear piercing scream.  They all look at me like I am completely psychotic...at this point I think I am too because I can still feel the mouse crawling on my skin.   I recover quickly flinging my arm toward the mouse explaining I thought it was alive (leaving out the part about it coming after me).  As I hear one of them mumble, “you don’t get more dead than that”, it took everything for me to not turn around and say, "is THAT protocol?"  Instead, I tried to quickly divert their attention away from the fact I had a mouse in my house (which is disgusting to me), and go back to explaining the weird sound coming from the alarm.  

They got the alarm to stop, and left my home with instructions to hire someone to fix the problem, “thanks dad,” I mumble as they all walk back down to their trucks.

That has been my morning, and it is still early.  I have informed the Chief there is a gift behind the piano for him when he comes home.  My oven is now working, and my alarms are no longer making a peep.  I hope I don’t have to add a part two to this blog.              

Heaven is For Real

I recently read a wonderful book.  Heaven is For Real by Todd Burpo.  The brunette BFF recommended it, telling me it was amazing.  

Lately I have been...not doubting God, but questioning the whole religion thing.  I think it is a normal thing that everyone goes through at some point in their life.  Of course I ask the questions...if there is a God, why is their so much evil? Why doesn’t God protect his children?  Where was he on 9-11?  Although I question this, I still believe.  It is really more of a confusion on my part.  Unanswered questions...  

Why not believe?  Whether it is real or not, what is the harm in believing?  I mean if it turns out there is a God, and a heaven...then I sure want to be first in line!  If you don’t believe, though, and it is true...you will spend an eternity in hell.  So, the smartest choice here is to believe!  

So I picked up this book on Saturday evening.  The story is about a little boy that dies, and comes back and tells his parents about the things he saw.  After a few strange comments, they realized their son had actually been to heaven.  The book at times gave me goosebumps so large I had to get a blanket to tame them!  The little boy says things that no child, even the child of a pastor, could know.  He talks about sitting on the lap of Jesus, and the things he saw while he was on his short visit.  If this is real, and this kid was in heaven...then I have a few things to report to you.

1. In heaven we all have wings.
2. We are young and in our prime.
3. It doesn’t get dark, because the light of the Lord never dims.
4. Satan isn’t in hell, he roams the earth.
5. There are rainbows all over in heaven...colors we can’t begin to imagine.
6. Jesus is breathtakingly beautiful.  

Thanks to this book, I am eager to stand in the presence of something great.  I am a believer, and EVERYONE should read this short book.  I didn’t spoil everything...but I will leave you with this.

Over the years Colton’s mom and dad asked him, after seeing a picture of Jesus, “What’s wrong with this picture, Colton?”  The little boy would point out things here and there that weren’t right about the picture.  Then Colton’s dad read about another little girl that had the same experience as Colton...and she is a gifted artist.  Colton’s dad called him downstairs to show him the picture the little girl had drawn of Jesus.  He asked Colton, “What’s wrong with this one, Colton?”  After seconds of silence the little boy responded, “Dad, that one’s right.”  Here is that picture by a little girl named Akiane.   

Ghost Town

When we moved to Connecticut seven months ago, one of the first things I noticed was a massive set of abandoned buildings near our home.  Every time I leave the area around my house, I drive by this spooky place.  About a week in, I sat down with my laptop to figure out what the story was behind this mysterious ghost town.  This is what I found: 

http://www.forbidden-places.net/urban-exploration-Norwich-State-Hospital#gal

It doesn’t really give a cut and dry explanation of why it closed down.  I assume the main reason was because the need for this type of hospital vanished...although the building was polluted with asbestos... My personal thought is because once we discovered medication as a cure for the mental disorders of the world...the need for lobotomies expired.  The whole area is very morbid.  It is all over a stretch of a mile, and it is guarded by a chain link fence and signs threatening to cut off your left arm if you cross over the property line.  Of course that held me back...okay if that didn’t the cop did (a whole other blog in itself).  I took pictures of this area so you could see.

  

This is a video I found on youtube of the inside of this marvelous building.  It is nine minutes long, so only watch it if this is as interesting to you as it is to me.   

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R5Pq_sEQubg

One more rockin’ fact...this hospital made it to the season finale of the show Ghost Hunters last year!  They say it is haunted.  We tease Little Man telling him if he doesn’t straighten up, I will make him spend an hour in their with the ghosts...it has yet proven to be affective. 

Justice is NOT served!

This story has had America’s heart since 2008.  Finally the mother stands trial for murdering her child.  We all know she did it right?  Why else would she be partying and having a good time?  If she thought her child was missing, I think she would have been distraught.  She knew her child was dead, therefore she wasn’t worried about her whereabouts.  

So, she walks free.  Free of a life in prison, free of being on death row.  She is free of the hands of other prisoners, who may have taken it open themselves to show her just how guilty she is.  She is free to have another child, and free to move on with her life.  I understand that we didn’t have enough to convict her.  That is how it works right?  What I do wonder, though, is what happens to her now?  Does she walk the streets with any guilt?  Do her past friends take her back in their lives?  Does her life get to go on?  Her little girls life doesn’t get to go on, but hers does?  Where is justice served?

From a young age, I was in a stable church home.  Our pastor would preach on how every sin is equal in the eyes of the Lord.  I am thinking about this now.  Really?  If I tell a lie and ask for forgiveness, I get to go the same place that someone who kills her child and repents goes to?  If this is how it goes, I am not sure I want to go there.  How is that fair?  Does that even make sense?  To me it doesn’t.  You shouldn’t be able to murder your child, or rape/molest someone, and get to just have everything wiped clean with a golden ticket straight to heaven in your right hand.  Where is justice served?  

Think about it for a second.  She murders her kid, but no biggie, she can just ask for forgiveness.  She gets up to heaven and who is on the other side of the pearly gates?  Her child, that she killed.  So then are they just supposed to grab hands and walk away in the sunset?  COME ON!  I think she should be tied up, and kicked around...maybe even have a few fingers cut off.  

I watched the interview with Diane Sawyer and Jaycee Dugard.  This woman was born two weeks after I was. She was kidnapped at age 11 and held captive for 18 years.  She was raped repeatedly.  Will justice be served for her?  The two that took her are serving life sentences.  Is that enough?  They get to be in prison?  By “get” I am implying that the punishment doesn’t fit the crime.  They get to sit in a prison, behind bars.  The prison is air conditioned, they are handed three meals a day.  They get to see the sun, they get a clean bed to sleep in.  Their clothes and sheets are cleaned daily.  They get reading material.  What a punishment.  That’ll teach ‘em!  

It is hard for me to imagine that God is so forgiving.  All they have to do is repent and they are good and clear with their golden ticket.  I don’t think it is fair.  A woman who murders her child, or a couple who steals and rapes another woman’s child.  A punishment is due...and the question I have is who is going to execute it?