My dear Joon...

Create and maintain a daily journal here.
User avatar
shireling
Frodo's Stewed Coney
Posts: 6535
Joined: Sun Mar 21, 2010 5:37 pm
Location: Mordor? Make it so!

Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Wed Feb 14, 2018 4:51 am

I own a key. It opens the door to my home. And in my home, I have food, clothing, all the comforts I could possibly wish. I have a bed. It's old. The mattress should be replaced, that is according to those whose business it is to sell mattresses. But I have sheets that fit it, I wash them routinely. I work hard, as hard as I can, and come the afternoon, I seek refuge under the covers, falling asleep. My little family has me, and only me, against the world, and I don't understand why some people do what they do.

Today, we went out, the Honey and me. To walk in the mall, pay bills, buy peanut butter and jelly - just stuff. The ladies who clean our home came; we met them in the parking lot. We talked and laughed as they worked. Sandy had a procedure to go through, and was declared okay - finally. After scaring her half to death, and charging her two thousand dollars for the privilege of crushing her between two plates of Plexiglas before sending her for an ultrasound. And we laughed, because we're the same age, Sandy and me, because we can't do anything else. As much as I despise this saying, It is what it is, that's precisely what it is. I paid Pat and her, and we'll see them again next month.

Tuesdays are the days when Duane and I go out for Chinese food. And as I walked to the car, I saw something on Girlfriend's bumper. It was red, and it wasn't there earlier. Within an hour, someone had come over to my car and smeared blood on it. It wasn't a lot. You could clearly see that a thumb was involved in the application. And I knew, I just knew, don't ask me how, that a girl had done it. And it wasn't taken from her nose.

If you're a woman, who has ever had to use a public restroom, you've seen it. Used tampons tossed on the floor, the sink, used as brushes to paint toilet seats or smirch the character of others; sometimes the letters are especially thick, and the gore flows down the stall walls, like in a horror movie. Duane never saw it. He walked past it, it was there while I was fetching a wipe from the glove box to wash it away, but he didn't notice. I didn't want to call attention to it; I didn't know if she might be watching. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me upset. Wipe in hand, I removed the offending liquid, got into the car and we drove away.

Years ago, I was at an amusement park up north. This was very long ago, because those public lavatories had attendants on duty. Elderly black women, dressed in nurse white, sitting on folding chairs at the entrance. They would walk in, every ten minutes or so, to check the empty stalls, and take care of whatever the previous tenant had not. I overheard some tsking, and I stayed put while one of the ladies spoke to another. It seemed that she had found another careless act perpetrated on the hapless porcelain, and muttered as she worked
These girls don't know what a pride it is to have such power. God's power to womin. Jus' throwin' that gift 'round like it was nothin' - jus' nothin'. Ought'a be ashamed.


I remember thinking that those things died when I grew up. That I had done the stupid things, found them to be stupid and thought that was it. It would never happen again. I'd done it all, at least some of it, and figured now nobody ever had to do it again. I toilet papered houses, smoked weed, drank while underage, played with candles and dripped wax on furniture, stole beer and booze; I even smoked cigarettes, and was never able to get past the third puff - yuck, makes me shudder to this day. But I was never gross. My mother, for all her faults, instilled in me that every woman had periods - even the Virgin Mary. And that I was to leave the restroom better than I found it, because what if She needed it? What if She had to go, right after you, and you didn't flush?

I should mention that Girlfriend has had other indignities bestowed upon her. Soil, from just off the stoop, rubbed into her hood and trunk lid, the rough little stones ground into her finish; cigarettes put out on the same and tossed on the ground at her tires; women's panties tossed behind her front wheels; handfuls of that same dirt, packed like clay, into the door handles, magic-marker drawings of penises and a series of key-scars. I've ignored them all. I've cleaned them all. I've kept much of this to myself. But this. I just don't. I just can't...


sara
Image

'By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me! Engage!'
Avatar courtesy of Candy Kane, Webmistress Extraordinaire and Slayer of Trolls

User avatar
shireling
Frodo's Stewed Coney
Posts: 6535
Joined: Sun Mar 21, 2010 5:37 pm
Location: Mordor? Make it so!

Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Wed Feb 14, 2018 8:06 pm

I was really looking forward to going out today.

I had four things I wanted to do, and I really wanted a companion. I'd decided that I was going to buy perishables for the Lenten Food-Drive. I know it sounds oxymoronish, but this is for the pantry that Saint Francis supports. And the Franciscans decided (they consulted, mind you, and came up with this :) ), that instead of feeding our faces over Lent, that we would provide food for the barrels just inside the lobby. I have a budget for it, and I know what I want - which is boxed mac'n cheese, with cheese whiz that you just cut open and squeeze onto the cooked pasta. I like those because your milk and margarine can then be spent on cereal and toast, and not the powdered mac.

Other stuff is canned ravioli, spaghetti, chicken - a whole chicken, cooked in the can - stews, some soups (I like the ones with the pull tabs.) And then I think, what about diapers? And pet food? You can't buy those with food stamps. You can't get soap or toothpaste or shampoo, toilet paper, Kleenex. We had a delivery from a some sort of glorified food pantry once, back when Duane lost his job. I remember the girls who carried in the box. Very smartly dressed, manicured, coiferred - I remembered thinking that they had probably been sentenced to community service. Anyway, there was a big bag of rapidly thawing frozen cherries, three boxes of heavily sugared cereal (not the name brands either), a long loaf of white bread that I immediately consigned to the ducks around the corner, and a few other odds and ends, like lima beans and beets. Fortunately, Duane got his first disability check the following morning, and we never had to ask for help again. Not even a jar of peanut butter, or one of those bricks of cheese, whose ingredients had never been acquainted with a cow, or even bag of rice, in the whole shipment. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but, well, they could have saved the trip.

Oh, I forgot to mention that Kelly was ill, so I'm home. That shopping would have been good. It'd have been nice to have an extra pair of hands, but I'm going to do this on my own tomorrow. The other thing was getting Girlfriend the spa treatment at the local car wash, lunch with Kelly, and then shopping for my shirts. But, those can wait. If Ms. Toyota doesn't know what she's missing, it won't hurt her. And I can wait on the clothes. I still need a coat when I go out, so who's the wiser?

*sigh* The dishwasher must be done by now. Later, joons.


sara
Image

'By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me! Engage!'
Avatar courtesy of Candy Kane, Webmistress Extraordinaire and Slayer of Trolls

User avatar
shireling
Frodo's Stewed Coney
Posts: 6535
Joined: Sun Mar 21, 2010 5:37 pm
Location: Mordor? Make it so!

Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Thu Feb 15, 2018 7:59 pm

I just got through the 53rd anniversary of Susan Castka's death. From the 9th thru the 11th of February every year, I remember my best friend. Up above my head, I have two dolls, perched on a broad shelf. They're both from the original American Doll & Toy Company that evolved into Mattel. They sit on a beautiful wooden Victorian-style couch, with a brocaded seat. One is Suzy the Snoozie, in her original clothes; the other is Hedda-Get-Bedda. These aren't my dolls, but this is how they arrived when I bought them.

Image Image

Suzie, of course, is my Susan, and Hedda is me. I don't have three faces you can turn with a pompom, but I did have the measles. With every year, I get older while she stays eternally ten. The Suzie Doll has those lovely curled bangs; so did Susan. She wore her hair in a high pony tail, those pale gold bangs cresting over blue eyes.

A gun killed her. A .38 caliber handgun. That sounds incredibly quaint these days; it might as well have been a flintlock. One of my last positions on the job for ESC, was in a special needs classroom. And we had a lock down, a shelter in place, no drill, the real thing, just after 10 AM. This guy who lived across the street from the elementary school, had gotten into a kerfuffle with his neighbor. One of them was drinking, and I'm pretty sure it was the guy with the grenade launcher, who had the six pack for breakfast. Anyway, the kids were noisy, as kids are, and we were only told to stay in the classroom and lock the door.

Now, the door to this particular classroom had the lock on the hall side. We could be locked in, but we could not let ourselves out. And, unlike the other rooms, the door opened inward. Anybody pushing against it could come right in. So, the teacher and I sought items to barricade the opening. Her desk was one, but it was rather flimsy, the kind of adult version of what the kids had. No drawers, no weight to it at all. Besides that, there was a two-shelf bookcase on wheels. It, too, was rather light, and if you could lock the wheels - which you couldn't - anybody charging the door could tip it over. So, we fed the kids lunch, and since it was a room for developmentally-delayed students, we had a bathroom and a nice assortment of bribes, including juice boxes and individual serving pouches of snack. We'd thought about games, but we were supposed to stay quiet, to avoid the bad guy's notice. If he had been in the school, we, my joons, should not have met. Keeping a whole herd of any kind of kid, let alone the autistic variety shushed, is simply not possible. It was the longest four hours of my life. Anyway, the drunk with his souvenir from WWII, was soon contained, and we were allowed recess.

It's important that you know, that you may not be among the first to know when there's a problem. Or whether or not, the room you're in can be secured. But, I can say with conviction, that you will definitely be the last to know when it's over. The culprit's processing at the county jail - or their trip to the coroner - will be long past completed, while you and your charges continue to cower in ignorance.

There's been another school shooting. But isn't it wonderful that everybody had all that training in Florida? One of the best high schools in the nation, from what I've heard. They all lined up, hands over their heads, single-filed out past the dead and dying to the parking lot. Wonderful, just wonderful that they paid attention to their safety program, because thanks to our illustrious Congress, they're going to need to do it again. And again. And so will their children, and grandchildren. Not to mention the Malls, and stores, and libraries; day cares and hair salons, fast food restaurants and hospitals, all scattered in and around the hundreds of thousands of institutes of learning, whose dreadful day of doom has yet to dawn.

I can't find it now, but there was a cartoon that I saw not long after Columbine. It had all the Founding Fathers standing around Thomas Jefferson, with Ben Franklin leaning over his shoulder, and whispering
"Make sure, Tom, to write 'a well regulated militia'. Otherwise every jackass will think he has the right to own a musket."
Or a grenade launcher.

It's a false dialectic, the 2cd Amendment. It didn't used to be. When it was written, a foreign power quartered in neighborhoods and individual homes, by law. The 'federal government' was that of George III. The nonsense that I've heard spewed over this, including quotes from the Founding Fathers without regard to their context, has kept this going. And it's not that people, adults mainly, haven't tried to inject sanity and balance into the discourse, but unless they have the means (money) to get politicians to hearken, forget it.

Columbine should never have happened. But it did, and the fact that it was the first but not the last of these mass shootings, has led to the experiences like the one I just shared. That was in 2008, and I'm now convinced that it was the last straw. The years of unmitigated grief over the meaningless loss of a friend, the deaths of people I did not know but loved and admired, being cut down in their prime, and these children, before Sandy Hook and after - all of that, kept beating on the door of my health until it shattered.

But in these kids from Stoneman Douglas High, I see a spirit which cannot be so easily blown off. They're angry, Congress; they are speaking truth to bullshit, and they are coming for you. And I pity the ones who chose to barricade themselves on the wrong side of history.


done,
sara
Image

'By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me! Engage!'
Avatar courtesy of Candy Kane, Webmistress Extraordinaire and Slayer of Trolls


Return to “Journals”

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest