Pickle Dish Number 2
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As I piece this block I can see so many more options. I imagine you might
see them now as well. Here are some stats re: the make up of the block.
Click & d...
13 years ago
Monday, October 04, 2010
here we are again... just got back from Cali, visiting the family. My mom is going to be 98 years old and has bouts of frailty, she can't even sit in a chair (ho ho ho). She had a caniption fit the other day and went on about a two mile walk with the use of her walker. Busy interesections and all. Now I know where I got the gumption to run away from home so much as a kid, hopping from one roof to the next. You go girl! Momma you are a trip.
Sunday, October 03, 2010
The little ride has a one car garage, so un-modern womanish. Anyway, that is how it is. There is a Chevy Cavalier that has had the opportunity to park in the garage now for 8 years. Unfortunately it was never put it park because it is a manual shift and it kept coasting. There is an Expedition too for the last eight years it has had a lot of baggage in the back of the truck and really didn't fit no matter how hard we tried. Now, there is a motor cycle. There is room in the garage for the Little Ride and for the cycle too. So far it seems a perfect fit, no oil leaking on the pavement and no baggage on the back. Hate to admit it but the Little Ride is pretty happy with the motorcycle. It likes the speed, snap and sound so far. The motorcycle belongs to a long distance trucker so it won't be so easy to get bored and there is always something to do. Can you say delicious anticipation?
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Who Am I?
If I lost an arm or a leg, I’d still be me, so I am more than you see.
I can give hope and enthusiasm to others, so my energy is not always contained.
When afraid, there is a small child, hiding behind my aloof demeanor. So I am less than you see.
I sense joy and love from the nature that surrounds me. My energy is regained.
There is more and less than my body. Fed by the universe, I’ll always ‘be’
If I lost an arm or a leg, I’d still be me, so I am more than you see.
I can give hope and enthusiasm to others, so my energy is not always contained.
When afraid, there is a small child, hiding behind my aloof demeanor. So I am less than you see.
I sense joy and love from the nature that surrounds me. My energy is regained.
There is more and less than my body. Fed by the universe, I’ll always ‘be’
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
This is the third and final chapter to the word 'jumping'.
Jumping again
OK, where was I:
A wool beanie tried to ruin my day
A prison 12 x 10 was too much to bear.
An scape plan decided
Now for the “Execution”
In San Francisco, the front of a house could be 2 stories high, the back can be more or less.
I committed to the jump, I flew like a faerie I dived like a B-52…. I reached the porch!! On the edge of my rib cage, my last breath escaped with no new one forthcoming, my hands grappling the roof of the porch. My finger nails scraped and broke. I could hear my new favorite shirt snagging, my shoes tapping the water pipe. I jumped but not with enough arc. My struggles only detained the inevitable.
I crashed like the B-52, sprawled within the flower bed and the pathway, the rose cane (tree trunk) holding me down, spikes in my hair, chest and arms. Thank goodness I passed out. I would have been terrified otherwise.
Now comes the scary part. I had to get up, somehow. I was dizzy and shaky. That damn rose was lying on the ground laughing and pointing at me. I grabbed it and leaned it against the house. The water pipe was still against the house. My new shirt was a mess, snagged, torn and ripped. Who knew when I would get another one? Being a tom boy, I thought there was a chance I would get away with it, but I really was sad about it.
Now I was outside and had to break into my own house with my mom and dad in the living room.
My city didn’t come over and help me with this yet.
Either someone left the door unlocked or I really was good at picking the lock or shaking the door knob until it unlocked itself. I don’t remember, but I did get my beat up 5th grade body back into the house. My City did take care of me after all. My dad had a penchant for locks and booby traps. The garage was one of the spookiest places on the street, but I made it through and crept up the stairs when I found them. The cobwebs leaned against my face and arms. The door was opened a crack, the coast looked clear.
I made a break for it.
Just as I was opening my door, looking to get into bed, my mother reached out and caught me. At this point I needed to change my clothes. I had to stand straight and act like nothing was wrong. I had to think fast.
Why was I out of my room? Of course it was to use the bath room.
I was so relieved to be confined to my room again. I had a chance to hide the cuts, I licked them like the cat did and pushed the skin back over the worst ones. I tried to hand sew my shirt back together and gave up. My mom wouldn’t be surprised if it was torn up while I climbed a tree, a fence, or an abandoned car. I laid there trying to just breath and keep the world from spinning and spinning.
A couple of things happened. My sister came over that weekend with her boys. That is when the rose bush was found on the ground. My city kept that killer up until that day. Sorry boys, you took the heat for what I did. Several years later, a doctor asked me if I was hit by a car years and years earlier, when I was a child say. The last five vertebrae were broken. Nope, I wasn’t. Let him figure it out or maybe he can read this blog.
Jumping again
OK, where was I:
A wool beanie tried to ruin my day
A prison 12 x 10 was too much to bear.
An scape plan decided
Now for the “Execution”
In San Francisco, the front of a house could be 2 stories high, the back can be more or less.
I committed to the jump, I flew like a faerie I dived like a B-52…. I reached the porch!! On the edge of my rib cage, my last breath escaped with no new one forthcoming, my hands grappling the roof of the porch. My finger nails scraped and broke. I could hear my new favorite shirt snagging, my shoes tapping the water pipe. I jumped but not with enough arc. My struggles only detained the inevitable.
I crashed like the B-52, sprawled within the flower bed and the pathway, the rose cane (tree trunk) holding me down, spikes in my hair, chest and arms. Thank goodness I passed out. I would have been terrified otherwise.
Now comes the scary part. I had to get up, somehow. I was dizzy and shaky. That damn rose was lying on the ground laughing and pointing at me. I grabbed it and leaned it against the house. The water pipe was still against the house. My new shirt was a mess, snagged, torn and ripped. Who knew when I would get another one? Being a tom boy, I thought there was a chance I would get away with it, but I really was sad about it.
Now I was outside and had to break into my own house with my mom and dad in the living room.
My city didn’t come over and help me with this yet.
Either someone left the door unlocked or I really was good at picking the lock or shaking the door knob until it unlocked itself. I don’t remember, but I did get my beat up 5th grade body back into the house. My City did take care of me after all. My dad had a penchant for locks and booby traps. The garage was one of the spookiest places on the street, but I made it through and crept up the stairs when I found them. The cobwebs leaned against my face and arms. The door was opened a crack, the coast looked clear.
I made a break for it.
Just as I was opening my door, looking to get into bed, my mother reached out and caught me. At this point I needed to change my clothes. I had to stand straight and act like nothing was wrong. I had to think fast.
Why was I out of my room? Of course it was to use the bath room.
I was so relieved to be confined to my room again. I had a chance to hide the cuts, I licked them like the cat did and pushed the skin back over the worst ones. I tried to hand sew my shirt back together and gave up. My mom wouldn’t be surprised if it was torn up while I climbed a tree, a fence, or an abandoned car. I laid there trying to just breath and keep the world from spinning and spinning.
A couple of things happened. My sister came over that weekend with her boys. That is when the rose bush was found on the ground. My city kept that killer up until that day. Sorry boys, you took the heat for what I did. Several years later, a doctor asked me if I was hit by a car years and years earlier, when I was a child say. The last five vertebrae were broken. Nope, I wasn’t. Let him figure it out or maybe he can read this blog.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Back to the word ‘jumping.’
It was a beautiful seductive day, the kind that demanded that you to go outside. I responded to my city by wearing my brand new outfit. The colorful, abstract polished cotton shirt made me happy, and the shorts were cute too. This may have been one of the first shifts from being a virulent tom boy. I thrummed with the heart of my city.
I couldn’t decide on what to do. To reach the porch roof, I would have to jump out in an arc to avoid the rose bush and the water pipe.
While I sat outside the window sill, dangling my legs I pondered and pondered the feasibility of throwing myself around like that. I mean, jumping from a swing to the ground was one thing, but I never jumped in an arc.
An apple called me from the kitchen, one of those golden kind that were sweet and sparkly. This time, I stood on the window sill, leaning against the jam crunching away at that apple. Still trying to figure out what would happen if I stepped off and jumped out like a diver from a high dive board.
In my childlike wisdom, I decided that sitting and swinging my legs to throw myself out the window would probably land me on the porch at my ribs. I would probably bounce off and kill my mothers’ plants. As much as she loved and sacrificed for us, I knew where my ranking was when it came to her flowers.
I decided.
The apple was long gone. Standing on the windowsill, one hand on each side of the window jam I decided that I would jump to the roof of the porch. I never worried that the yellow corrugation would hold the impact of my weight. I never worried that I couldn’t jump in an arc. Now people watch basket ball players do it all the time. Yeah, but I thought of it FIRST.
I bounced up and down a little, to get ready for the jump… I was committed to the act
See you back at the porch later, that's enough jumping for now
It was a beautiful seductive day, the kind that demanded that you to go outside. I responded to my city by wearing my brand new outfit. The colorful, abstract polished cotton shirt made me happy, and the shorts were cute too. This may have been one of the first shifts from being a virulent tom boy. I thrummed with the heart of my city.
I couldn’t decide on what to do. To reach the porch roof, I would have to jump out in an arc to avoid the rose bush and the water pipe.
While I sat outside the window sill, dangling my legs I pondered and pondered the feasibility of throwing myself around like that. I mean, jumping from a swing to the ground was one thing, but I never jumped in an arc.
An apple called me from the kitchen, one of those golden kind that were sweet and sparkly. This time, I stood on the window sill, leaning against the jam crunching away at that apple. Still trying to figure out what would happen if I stepped off and jumped out like a diver from a high dive board.
In my childlike wisdom, I decided that sitting and swinging my legs to throw myself out the window would probably land me on the porch at my ribs. I would probably bounce off and kill my mothers’ plants. As much as she loved and sacrificed for us, I knew where my ranking was when it came to her flowers.
I decided.
The apple was long gone. Standing on the windowsill, one hand on each side of the window jam I decided that I would jump to the roof of the porch. I never worried that the yellow corrugation would hold the impact of my weight. I never worried that I couldn’t jump in an arc. Now people watch basket ball players do it all the time. Yeah, but I thought of it FIRST.
I bounced up and down a little, to get ready for the jump… I was committed to the act
See you back at the porch later, that's enough jumping for now
Monday, February 16, 2009
Jumping is a good word. Let's start there. This takes place when the little ride was just a little on training wheels.
My parents were immigrants, and like most immigrants, they had little money. They sacrificed any time they had to work multiple jobs… just to send us all to parochial school. The uniforms were expensive along with the beanies and saddle shoes that went with them, all brought forth from whisper then reserves of money gathered by a cannery worker and a ‘landscaper.’ There are three subjects that go here, but only one will be written about for now. Often I lost that beanie, that piece of wool that escaped hairpins. It was a requirement to meet dress regulations and go to mass or confession. Anyway, yelling and spankings didn’t encourage that thing to stay on my head, my person or in the Book Bag (another story here).
I lost it again.
I was confined to my room on a Saturday. One of the few not spent in detention. It was a piercingly beautiful San Francisco day. The breeze kissed your soul. My room overlooked a tiny yard, but it was a real yard. There was a weeping willow and a big ‘pond’ to water the birds. There were flowers all along the fence line shouting for attention. The unruly crowd was kept from the putting green my dad grew, by an orderly concrete pathway that encircled the green. My mother had a prize rose bush that grew up the back of the two story building. The canes were tree trunks and the thorns were spikes.
There was a dinky little porch, complete with a yellow corregated fiberglass roof, just big enough to shelter the back door. I suspect it was Daddy-Built. There was a pipe that ran up beside the porch to disappear in the roof line above. The porch, my prize, was between my window and my parents window. There was a fairly good distance between each window and the roof of the porch. The best thing about being a kid is nothing can go wrong and you can fly.
I hate long blogs so I am going to stop for now. See you at the porch another day.
My parents were immigrants, and like most immigrants, they had little money. They sacrificed any time they had to work multiple jobs… just to send us all to parochial school. The uniforms were expensive along with the beanies and saddle shoes that went with them, all brought forth from whisper then reserves of money gathered by a cannery worker and a ‘landscaper.’ There are three subjects that go here, but only one will be written about for now. Often I lost that beanie, that piece of wool that escaped hairpins. It was a requirement to meet dress regulations and go to mass or confession. Anyway, yelling and spankings didn’t encourage that thing to stay on my head, my person or in the Book Bag (another story here).
I lost it again.
I was confined to my room on a Saturday. One of the few not spent in detention. It was a piercingly beautiful San Francisco day. The breeze kissed your soul. My room overlooked a tiny yard, but it was a real yard. There was a weeping willow and a big ‘pond’ to water the birds. There were flowers all along the fence line shouting for attention. The unruly crowd was kept from the putting green my dad grew, by an orderly concrete pathway that encircled the green. My mother had a prize rose bush that grew up the back of the two story building. The canes were tree trunks and the thorns were spikes.
There was a dinky little porch, complete with a yellow corregated fiberglass roof, just big enough to shelter the back door. I suspect it was Daddy-Built. There was a pipe that ran up beside the porch to disappear in the roof line above. The porch, my prize, was between my window and my parents window. There was a fairly good distance between each window and the roof of the porch. The best thing about being a kid is nothing can go wrong and you can fly.
I hate long blogs so I am going to stop for now. See you at the porch another day.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Ok, no panic here. I think I have this down. Why oh why did I sign up for this. I was getting ready to post thoughts for other nut cases to read. Now I have to watch what I say because La Familia will read all this. It is kinda cool, that way I don't have to tell everyone the same story. Well, maybe the embroidery changes, but the stories are still the same, basically, kinda. You know what I mean, it is the circle where the fisherman said his fish was 12 inches and it grew to Orca size in a few renditions of the story. I moved from NorthEast Florida to the west cost of Florida. I really get to see the sun set, just like Cali, but no smog. I feel oriented again. Nothing like growing up with the sun on the left and then moving somewhere that has the sun on the right. I kept going north when I meant to go south. I don't like directions that 'go right' I like directions that say 'go north.' You get the picture. Life is a little easier here that way. It is a challenge to be away from the kids, the youngest is 24, and not knowing anyone here. Thank goodness for the little lady in the box that sits on the dashboard. She tells me where to go, when I am speeding, how to get back home and when I am speeding. Fun adventure this weekend, went to an art store by the college campus, met some nice people and found out about the art exhibit at the college. Unfortunately, I work during the week. But there is another one in town so that may be up for a visit after thanksgiving. Also checked out a cute little restaurant by the Winn Dixie. (after church grocery shopping) It is very cool, very latino and jazzy. I will be back there again very soon. I can't speak Spanish but I love the sound of it. Maybe I will learn. One of the men at work told me I am only 17% Mexican since I can't speak Spanish.... I hate to think what else got me only 17%.
I love my family and proud of them, Guy Karen Andi Deb (the Kitchen Bitch - I just love that name). You should read their blogs too. We are a large widespread family that loves and misses each other. Miss those intimate family dinners (24-42 people)all the laughing, story telling, laughing, eating, laughing, playing cards, laughing and in between all that loving each other.
I love my family and proud of them, Guy Karen Andi Deb (the Kitchen Bitch - I just love that name). You should read their blogs too. We are a large widespread family that loves and misses each other. Miss those intimate family dinners (24-42 people)all the laughing, story telling, laughing, eating, laughing, playing cards, laughing and in between all that loving each other.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Geez... have the years actually gone by? ...the road signs all blurr together? Yes and Yes. Actually, I forgot my user name and password. Actually had to email someone to get it..... thank you someone. Have you seen this years concept cars? The gas-less models run on various fuel alternatives. I hope they keep stick shifts. I favor them over automatics. Having learned how to drive a stick in San Francisco, it is hard to consider the positive side of automatics. (R U keeping up?)
Premature turns, stops and breaking have always sent me over the edge. I almost killed myself with an automatic. Forgot all about it, until I had to use a highway ingress... Stalled the piece of crap and cars behind me started to notice me very quickly.
Anything to be the center of attention.
I love convertibles, but always a stick shift. If there is no stick, this ride isn't interested. Having grown up in the City by the Bay, any side of the street, or even the middle of the street is cool with me. I just don't care to watch people walk anywhere they want.... even people who drive stick shifts. (keeping up with the inference?)
If I walk, it is on the way to my car.... remember my bias for convertibles with stick shifts. Have one now, complete with ground effects or body kits, whatever. A real head turner.
The next ride will need to be tricked out with some flash too, grill and rims. The cast aluminum rims are ok, but the flash of chrome on spokes is tooo cool. My little third ride, bless her heart, brought back old memories: car shows, racing, NOX, etc etc etc. She learned to drive in fifteen minutes, I swear. People ask her where she learned to speed-shift..... My Mom taught me.... isn't that a mind blower for these kids. Is there another way to shift... I like shift shock.
I was a big muscle car fan.... Super Bees, Hemi-Cudas, or wedge Plymouths, Dodge Chargers, Chevy Novas (No Va south of the border means it won't go anywhere... lol)... actually I was one of the few girls at the quarter mile track..... Loved racing... what a rush.... The track has been dug up and houses are there now..... Anyone remember the Freemont Drag Strip outside of San Francisco..... My very favorite days. 426 wedge Plymouth, smoking tires, rearing like a stallion with rollers on the back end to reduce sparking. Black, plain, no flash, no shine. Loved being in stealth mode until the little stallion blew the 'doors' off my prey.
Geez... have the years actually gone by? ...the road signs all blurr together? Yes and Yes. Actually, I forgot my user name and password. Actually had to email someone to get it..... thank you someone. Have you seen this years concept cars? The gas-less models run on various fuel alternatives. I hope they keep stick shifts. I favor them over automatics. Having learned how to drive a stick in San Francisco, it is hard to consider the positive side of automatics. (R U keeping up?)
Premature turns, stops and breaking have always sent me over the edge. I almost killed myself with an automatic. Forgot all about it, until I had to use a highway ingress... Stalled the piece of crap and cars behind me started to notice me very quickly.
Anything to be the center of attention.
I love convertibles, but always a stick shift. If there is no stick, this ride isn't interested. Having grown up in the City by the Bay, any side of the street, or even the middle of the street is cool with me. I just don't care to watch people walk anywhere they want.... even people who drive stick shifts. (keeping up with the inference?)
If I walk, it is on the way to my car.... remember my bias for convertibles with stick shifts. Have one now, complete with ground effects or body kits, whatever. A real head turner.
The next ride will need to be tricked out with some flash too, grill and rims. The cast aluminum rims are ok, but the flash of chrome on spokes is tooo cool. My little third ride, bless her heart, brought back old memories: car shows, racing, NOX, etc etc etc. She learned to drive in fifteen minutes, I swear. People ask her where she learned to speed-shift..... My Mom taught me.... isn't that a mind blower for these kids. Is there another way to shift... I like shift shock.
I was a big muscle car fan.... Super Bees, Hemi-Cudas, or wedge Plymouths, Dodge Chargers, Chevy Novas (No Va south of the border means it won't go anywhere... lol)... actually I was one of the few girls at the quarter mile track..... Loved racing... what a rush.... The track has been dug up and houses are there now..... Anyone remember the Freemont Drag Strip outside of San Francisco..... My very favorite days. 426 wedge Plymouth, smoking tires, rearing like a stallion with rollers on the back end to reduce sparking. Black, plain, no flash, no shine. Loved being in stealth mode until the little stallion blew the 'doors' off my prey.
12.08.05
I'm still trying to figure out this thing-not that I make my living on a computer or anything! This has been an interesting quarter, (has it really been that long?)
Had a small setback and recovered from a t/i/a, that is awfully close to t/m/i and looks like the end of a whopping Friday Nite OUT. The stress at the job scene was terrible, even the Little Ride didn't want to park there every work day. I had to fight the steering wheel to pull into the lot. But at last I am free to look for another job here in sunny Florida (anyone in the winter states can be smug about their white Christmas, give me sand any day.) Trying to figure out if Scratchings is really related to me. Her blogspot is very bizarre and after visiting, I am always glad that I have an open subscription to virus ware. Also, I wonder how she has time for all the stuff she has there. It is all way interesting, but who has the time to find the stuff? I can hardly waite to see the Libra posting. Also, I wonder why LeeHaven dosen't say much about the maternal side of her family. well, I do.-back to the t/i/a. The neurologist infomed me when asked, what the mark on the mri means to me. It may / could mean a memory thing (I forget) and affects the area that may result in bizarre behavior and rash judgements. My ex-husband agreed with me that this must have happened a long time ago. It's nice to be friendly will all your ex-husbands.
I'm still trying to figure out this thing-not that I make my living on a computer or anything! This has been an interesting quarter, (has it really been that long?)
Had a small setback and recovered from a t/i/a, that is awfully close to t/m/i and looks like the end of a whopping Friday Nite OUT. The stress at the job scene was terrible, even the Little Ride didn't want to park there every work day. I had to fight the steering wheel to pull into the lot. But at last I am free to look for another job here in sunny Florida (anyone in the winter states can be smug about their white Christmas, give me sand any day.) Trying to figure out if Scratchings is really related to me. Her blogspot is very bizarre and after visiting, I am always glad that I have an open subscription to virus ware. Also, I wonder how she has time for all the stuff she has there. It is all way interesting, but who has the time to find the stuff? I can hardly waite to see the Libra posting. Also, I wonder why LeeHaven dosen't say much about the maternal side of her family. well, I do.-back to the t/i/a. The neurologist infomed me when asked, what the mark on the mri means to me. It may / could mean a memory thing (I forget) and affects the area that may result in bizarre behavior and rash judgements. My ex-husband agreed with me that this must have happened a long time ago. It's nice to be friendly will all your ex-husbands.
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