Confessions on a Blog Floor

Part Deux --White Knuckles et el, will be along soon -- till then enjoy this little outburst from this morning.

Okay, I have a confession to make. I’m not even sure why I’m coming clean on this; maybe Madonna’s Confessions tour has inspired me. Or, maybe not.

And on a side note; could someone please ask that woman to eat a little more and exercise a little less? Honestly, she’s starting to look a bit scary up close (in person sans airbrushing) without the benefits of ANY body fat what so ever. Ripped is one thing, stripped is quite another.

Back to me, although the two are related and yes I am stalling.

I”VE STARTED EXERCISING!

There I’ve said it and I won’t apoligise for it. No, not at all. It had to be done I tell you. Had to. After the whole nearly killing Bill Murray by inducing an erupting hernia while holding only half my body ton-age something had to give, besides his hernia.

Nothing like a near death experience, even if, in this case, causing someone else’s, to get one’s arse in gear, as we say.

I’ll wait a moment while you all collect yourselves, as I know this all comes as a bit of a shock considering my stand on exercise and/or lack thereof.

It happened in the midst of all the rain we had been having recently and since I had no voices telling me to build an ark, I started walking. Four and a half miles a day rain or shine. The dog started out all excited and quickly became confused during one particularly drenching walk. He kept stopping and looking at me as if to say, “Okay, you’ve made your point. Although I have no idea what that point is, can we stop this madness now?”

Huh, what does he know? He’s a DOG.

I’m sure it has something to do with all these upcoming changes happening in my life right now. All for the good, but all rushing at me at once and knocking me a bit off kilter. Okay, more off kilter than normal. Okay, I am nowhere near normal on a good day, but that’s not the point. The point is, I feel better for it and that’s a pretty good side effect as far as side effect go. If you ever listened to the side effects at the end of any pharmaceutical advert, you know what I mean.

Another lovely side effect, I’m getting my curves back. Instead of being one large round curve, I’m getting a waist and looking less like a candidate for The Biggest Loser. Which is good news because watching me kill those judges on that show on national television, while entertaining, would’ve been troublesome for the family.

Anywho, I’ve got to go for my walk, lots to do today as I’m getting ready to head to Tempe, AZ for OCC’s big hoohaa there this weekend.

I will leave you with a couple of pics from Saturday night, The Boy Wonder’s Prom.






©2006 Dawn Marie Kelly, all rights reserved.

Crawling Out From Under

I have been completely unfocused now for going on two plus weeks. I have put it off on the weather, (over 11 days of rain), hormones, (well, everyone else does), allergies, (there is pollen blowing about when it’s not raining), but never really putting my finger on the real trouble.

I cry at the drop of a hat. Okay not really but I found myself walking past a possum dead in the road yesterday, along with two dead baby possums and I burst into tears.

I watched an older movie on one of the movie channels titled, “The Power of One” and bawled my way through it.

Maybe trouble isn’t the right word and I don’t know what is, but I think its finally hitting me.

May is a tricky time of year for me. Mother’s Day is followed closely by my mother’s birth date, May 16. Then you can segue on to mid June, when my mother died.

But that’s not everything.


Saturday is the Boy Wonder’s prom. Followed closely by his graduating from high school. If you all remember, it’s really his junior year but he chose to graduate early a few months back.

But wait, there’s more.

The Hubster ia about to go through some changes with his job. It is all for the best, onwards and upwards as they say, but a transition nonetheless.

Let’s also take into account that we are in the process of a ton of work on this house to get it ready to sell in the quickest time possible. While we are also fervently seeking out that acreage to buy where we will all resettle and build into our futures. A future made of organically raised beef, lamb, milk, eggs, chickens, herbs, berries and veggies. Horses of our own, boarded horses and leased horses. In a new state, where new friends are to be found and made and new local publications will be wooed to feature my writing.

It all sounds lovely and exciting doesn’t it?

So why am I so out of sorts?

Well, let’s call this Post One of a series called, “If Change is Good, Why am I So Damn Scared?”

Tune in for Post Two – “If I’m Letting go, Why Are My Knuckles White?”

Another Mother's Day

This is actually a post from back in January and no less appropriate for the upcoming holiday.

My mother has a way of never leaving me. Not that I want her to.

Bits and pieces of her find their way into my life when I least expect it, but need it most. Even if I don’t know it yet or at the time, it always comes clear.

We have a new grocery store here in Keene. A Price Chopper. Those of you in NY know them well as they originated there. They have made their way into NH and my backyard. Within a mile and a half of it, literally.

The Boy Wonder applied and is working there, knowing he can transfer to one of the 3 locations near where we are moving to in NY.

So of course I had to check it out.

Me and 25,842 other people during the first week it was open. You would think we didn’t have another two major grocery stores to choose from in town. Maybe they were running some great specials that I was blissfully unaware of as I shop only the outside walls of the store.

I start in the organic produce section. I then head into the natural foods section before hitting the natural and organic meats section. Pick up a couple things from diary and I’m done.åç

Today though I was a first time visitor at their deli counter thanks to The Boy Wonder. His dinner request was for hot sub sandwiches. Crusty baguette, bacon, fried Genoa salami, roast beef, capicola, roast turkey, red onion, hamburger pickles, tomatoes and Irish Swiss baked in the oven. I’m getting hungry again just writing about it.

That sandwich was slamming delicious!

So there I was at the deli counter and as they are slicing up the roast beef I start checking out the salami choices and there it is. The Tobin’s First Prize logo was screaming at me from inside the case on the liverwurst, bologna and salami.

Tobin’s First Prize products originated from the Tobin’s meat packing plant that was located on Exchange Street just off Exit 5 of Interstate 90 in Albany. It’s where my mother worked while we lived in Albany, until I was nine. They are now produced and distributed by John Morrell.

But they have kept the same logo and packaging on the products and when I saw them a smile followed by a slight wince emitted from me.

Funny how a big old slab of liverwurst brings my mother back to life but it does.

I don’t believe I ever stepped foot in the plant but I remember vividly what the parking lot and the big white building looked like and the logo on the tower that you could see from the interstate going north.

I also remember this one girlfriend she had from there that had red hair, smoked, dressed in bright prints and dated a gangster. I think her name was Denise?

A day when the two of them spent the whole afternoon painting the ceilings in the dining room and living room and enough time went by that a little blonde girl playing quietly on her own staying out the way was blessed with them being themselves and given a window into the lives of women without the usual boundaries by which they’re tied.

I’d like to think that day played a small but important part in what makes me the woman I am.

Then there was a story that has become infamous over the years for me.

A Christmas party prank gone horribly wrong which involved an air hose, some poor mans buttock and too much alcohol. You do the math.

The last couple days have been an ongoing dialogue with The Boy Wonder about where he’s going and how he is in control of what does and doesn’t happen for him. We’re coming to the end of the semester and he’s in full excuse mode and defense. (I'm the innocent bystander, Somehow I got stuck, Between the rock and the hard place, And I'm down on my luck)

On my way to Price Chopper I had time to think as the guy in front of me forgot he was in his truck and was basically strolling to the plaza with his cigarette, reading his newspaper and darning a pair of socks.

I got to thinking about what I want for him in his life and it’s really quite simple and here is how the thought process went.

**Disclaimer~ those prone to motion sickness should take the necessary precautions or at the very least, remain seated and have a paper bag handy.**

As I was pulling out of the driveway the Santana/Steven Tyler song came on and it made me angry. It’s not the song. The song, Just Feel Better, is hauntingly lovely and what is it about Steven Tyler when he is doing the belting bits in any of his songs I uncontrollably sing along at the top of my voice.


Every time.

Hearing Mr Tyler sing is like smashing into a fresh bruise for me at the moment because it makes me think of J Frey and that makes me want to smash J Frey into a million little pieces if for no reason than there will be truth in the title of that book.

In that book J Frey goes on and on about a guest speaker who he refers to as an aging rock star who is clean and making a comeback and seems to go out of his way NOT to identify but sounded all the world to me that he was describing Mr Tyler.

J Frey goes on about how angry this speaker is making him, that this person is lying and no one could survive the amounts of drugs and alcohol they were saying they would ingest in a 24-hour period. And I am trying not to be upset as I love Mr Tyler but not in that---they have to pull me off his leg kinda way and then isn’t it ironic that we find out thanks to this article in The Smoking Gun, that J Frey himself is the liar.

How bloody hypocritical is he.

So yeah, I’m still bitter as J Frey became yet another person who chose to lie to me after I became emotionally invested in him.

Which got me to thinking about The Boy Wonder and how I want him to be his own best friend and know that he can do whatever it is he sets out to do. No one can stop him but himself.

Here I am, 45, finally investing enough in myself to pursue the one thing I always wanted to do---write. Send little bits of myself out into the world through my own distinct voice.

I’m not looking to win any prizes---won’t turn any down---not looking to be famous and not looking to be like anyone else, just me.

Apparently my voice is very different and not everyone wants to listen and I’m okay with that.

My humour class assignments have developed a pattern in what the teacher has to say and none of it is about a lack of humour, he tells me I’m very funny, it’s about the mechanics of my writing; switching tenses and POV----and that thing that’s gotten me pulled aside my whole schooling life.

“It seems like you didn’t follow the directive, but this is really good and I had to give you the A.”

A writing mentor recently told me that, “You’re humour and voice may be too intelligent for most average Americans to follow.”

I’m okay with that because I’m 45 now and at 12, 14, 18 and 21 no one put it to me in that way so that I could see that I shouldn’t stop and this time I won’t.

I want The Boy Wonder to know he shouldn’t stop.

I wish my mother hadn’t died before she finally did the one thing that was inside her, but she didn’t and I’ll never know what it was. I don’t know that she did either.
And that’s when I pulled into the parking space at Price Chopper and two minutes later there was my Mother visiting me in the form of Tobin’s First Prize, Mother Goose Liverwurst.

She’s given me more advice in the years since her death than she ever did when she was alive.

I guess that’s because those boundaries that use to keep her tied, no longer apply.

Isn’t it ironic.








Dedicated to all the Mother's who made us possible.
2006 - Dawn M Kelly - all rights reserved

Criminals Need More Rights ... & Lefts

Maybe I’m different – wait – I AM different, but let’s plow ahead anyway.

A couple weeks ago I was having a conversation with The Hubster and I don’t remember, which is often the case, how we got to here but it went a little like this:

Me: “They should collect and file everyone’s DNA at birth. That way when a child goes missing, they already have it handy. Or, when someone is found dead, they are easily and quickly identified.”

Hubster: Attempts to get a word in… unsuccessfully.

Me: “Better still, sex offenders will already be data based for earlier pegging and criminals of all sorts can be identified and picked up quite early on.” Gathers momentum in that way only a great idea born of red wine can do.

Hubster: Recognizes said momentum and realizes that this is a one sided conversation as only The Hubster can do.

Me: “Do you suppose people will be all – ‘Oh, no, we have our privacy rights.’ And all, “Too Big Brother for us!’

Hubster: “Ahh”

Me: “We get blood typed at birth, why not DNA typed as well?”

Hubster: “Ummm”

Me: “It would be to the advantage of all really.”

Hubster: “ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzz …”

Me: “People would probably be all, ‘Too Minority Report for us.” Shame really.

So imagine my surprise to see an article in the New York Times today; New York Pushes for DNA In Crimes Big And Small, (why is for lowercase but in is upper case?) by Diane Cardwell.

New York is trying to get a proposal passed into law that anyone convicted of felonies and misdemeanors will have their DNA collected.

What gets me is that there are actually people who are fighting against making this happen. Why?

For all of our forward technology and thinking how is it that we can still be so bass ackwards on this sort of thing? Why is the burden of proof still on the victims?

Seems to me we’d have a lot fewer people cluttering up our jails and being executed for crimes they never committed and more actual criminals taking up the space. That would be a good thing right?

After I became a parent and realized that even though I had been raised in a most inappropriate manner I could use that knowledge to become a good parent with a very large amount of commitment and work, I had an epiphany of sorts.

Wouldn’t it be great if they could do some sort of test at birth that would determine who would be a good parent and who wouldn’t, and you could just sterilize the bad ones right then?

I still think it’s a good idea.

My oldest brother and his wife decided not to have any kids because they felt the world was not a hopeful place. At the time, my other brother who was 13 said, “But Richard & Louise are smart people. If all the smart people do this, then in a hundred years the entire planet will be populated by idiots!”

Maybe this bit from the NYT’s article supports that theory:

“Expanding the law to include those convicted of misdemeanors, said Stephen Saloom, policy director at the Innocence Project, which supports DNA sampling of convicted felons, ‘is an inefficient use of resources, increases the risk of wrongful prosecution and conviction of innocent people whose DNA might end up at a crime scene and further strains a forensics community that is already complaining of a lack of qualified and trained analysts to work in their labs.’ ”

Wouldn’t the answer to that be … good old fashioned recruiting for the field and incentives for kids to pursue this line of work rather than not collecting DNA?

Thank goodness there’s still a good amount of smart people out there that are over ruled by their raging hormones.

Oy.


©2006 Dawn Marie Kelly, all rights reserved.