Friday the 13th & Knights Templar

I've done a ton of research on this over the years and this is the best explanation I've come across.  And the one that makes the most sense.  Some might say that I'm romanticizing the Knights Templar and maybe I am.  But only a little.  If I tend to ramble on a bit, forgive me.  I love medieval history!  On the other hand, this is really just an overview.  There will be details left out.

First of all, in 1065 a.d. the Turks captured Jerusalem and slaughtered 3000 Christians and treated any remaining Christians so badly that people were stirred to fight in crusades.  In 1099, when Crusaders took back the city of Jerusalem, the Knights Templar (originally called Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ) were formed to protect people making pilgrimages to the Holy City.

Pilgrimages were made to confirm faith.
Some were made for healing, others for forgiveness, among other reasons.

The Knights had no church and no particular place to live.  In 1118, they were given space to live in the sacred enclosure of the temple on Mount Moriah.  Since this was being exhibited by priests as the Temple of Solomon, the knights were then called the Knighthood of the Temple of Solomon.  The name was shortened to Knights Templar.

Over time, the Knights were given land and, eventually gold, silver and other coinage.  As to why they were awarded such things, I did not investigate that deeply.  However, I am sure some was given as compensation, some was given in gratitude and some was given as bribes.  Some might even have been...appropriated.  The Knights were still men, after all.

Eventually, the Knights moved to France (where their first land grant was located), established rules of order and were honored by Pope Honorius and several kings.  In 1139, Pope Innocent II issued a Papal Bull which decreed that the Knights should pledge allegiance to no one but the Pope.

Pope Innocent II

Overall, the Knights were honorable men with strong ethics.  For example, Edward I of England ransacked the Knights treasury, taking the proceeds to the Tower of London.  Yet, in 1271, when Edward I was poisoned during a battle, it was the Knights' Master who sent the drugs that saved Edward's life.

In 1307, King Philip IV of France, who was already heavily in debt to the Knights, was refused a further loan.  In a fit of pique, he ordered the arrest of all Knights Templar in France.  It is recorded in French Masonic records that Templar ships left France heading for Scotland two days before the arrest of many of the Knights.

Now we get to the point!

It was Friday the 13th of October 1307 that the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, Jacques de Molay, and 60 of his senior Knights were dragged from their beds and charged with heresy and homosexuality.  Some were hung or burned that very night without due process.  Most gave admissions of guilt after several days of torture.  Pope Clement V (who was in cahoots with Philip IV) initiated enquiries into the order and thousands of Knights across Europe were arrested.  Most of them put to death--in various horrific ways--or imprisoned.  Death was preferable to prison since most of the imprisoned Knights were tortured or left to starve.

The chosen method of execution for Jacques de Molay, Grand Master of the Knights Templar, was immolation.

In 1312 the order was dissolved by the council of Vienne.  Anyone harboring a Knight was subject to excommunication or worse.  Much of the Templar property outside of France was transferred to the Knights Hospitallers, and many of the remaining Knights were accepted into the Hospitallers as well.  Of course, any property and assets that were in France was seized by King Philip IV.

King Philip IV of France c. 1295

So there you have it.  Most of this is backed up by records in various places.  I got some of my info as to dates, places and names from: http://www.middle-ages.org.uk/knights-templar-history.htm

Some information I have gleaned from various books and manuscripts that I've read over the years.  Aside from Jacques de Molay, whose execution was recorded, I will admit to a little bit of conjecture as to methods of execution and imprisonment, but that is based on what I have learned about such things in the Middle Ages.

So don't wish anyone a Happy Friday the 13th, because the original was anything but happy!

Life Goes On

It's been a week since I had to put down my sweet, blue-eyed kitty, Khai Namh.  He was such a funny cat and loved everybody.

Khai in his beloved basket.

I have the cutest, silliest pictures of him.  Due to injuries, he couldn't jump or climb very well, but sometimes, he just had to show me he still had it.

Climbing up to knock over the watering can full of water.

Mostly, he was all about finding unusual, but comfortable places to sleep.

He had a playful side.

And a pensive side, also.

I get through the days by knowing that I did all I could to get him well.  He just seemed to give up.  He wasn't eatiing, but as long as he was drinking, I was force-feeding him.  But once he stopped drinking, I knew that was it.  Maybe he had cancer.  Maybe his back and nerve problems bothered him more than I knew.  I may never know.

Still, I miss his him.  We used to call him "Fur Pen" because he was like the Pig Pen character from Peanuts, except with fur.  I had to vacuum a lot because of his fur.  I haven't had to vacuum since he passed away.

He was also the last direct link to my mom.  He was the Siamese she had wanted for so long.  When she got a call from the vet that he had a Siamese kitten for her--for free--back in November of 1999, she ran over the garbage cans in her hurry to get to the vet's office before he closed.

Ostensibly, Tabitha was brought home for my mom, but from the beginning, Tabitha chose me as her person.

I've kept busy this past week.  Trying to keep the sadness at bay, I've unpacked my books, hung curtains, sorted through boxes, cleaned out drawers and played with Tabitha.

Life goes on.  I've tried to sell some small pieces of furniture to replenish my bank account.  (Vets are not free.)  I can't believe how picky these resale shops are.  The only thing I could sell was a wooden rocking horse.  I kept lowering my price expectations and was still discouraged at what I got for it at Once Upon A Child.

And life still goes on.  I have to plan on doing laundry and getting my hair cut.

My sister and I are going to a cousin's wedding on July 24th.  Because it's a five hour drive downstate, we'll spend one night in a hotel and return on the 25th.  I wanted to go to the wedding.  To support my cousin and to see other cousins who live out of state.  Unfortunately, I learned that her brother from Massachusetts can't make it.  My daughter said that weddings are always fun.  My cousin is marrying a minister.  I imagine it'll be fairly sedate.  Nothing wrong with that!  I'm just disappointed there are cousins I won't be seeing as I hoped.  But the food should be good.  Church ladies usually are good cooks!  And I get to spend some one on one time with my sister.  She can be extremely funny.

I need to figure out what to wear.  I'm told it will be a casual wedding.

And life goes on and on...

Be Careful What You Ask For!

As I mentioned before, I've been watching a lot more television in the past year.  While I look forward to a few prime time shows, I mostly watch reality TV.  No, not Dancing with the Stars, Survivor, Biggest Loser, or American Idol.  I like  shows like Caught on Camera, My Cat From Hell, River Monsters and Haunted Collector.

You wouldn't think a show like River Monsters would have much in common with a show like Haunted Collector, but you'd think wrong.  The people are looking for something.  It's often hilarious when they when they find it!

Jeremy Wade wrestling a River Monster

It's funnier when you can hear the screams and swearing. I do not understand why they get so upset when they actually find something!  That's what they wanted, isn't it?  That's what they're getting paid for!



I most emphatically do believe in ghosts and psychic ability.  And I'm sure I'd be scared witless to actually encounter a ghost.  But I'm not out buying expensive equipment and charging people to find them.

In any case, I keep watching these shows and finding myself more amused than frightened.  Whether it's a ghost or a fish with a nasty set of teeth, I find it rather encouraging to see people do what they do best--even if they do shriek like a little girl.

A Woman's Gotta Do What a Woman's Gotta Do!

After years of dealings with places like the Social Security Administration, the Department of Health and Human Services, the Illinois Department of Employment Security and even the Department of Motor Vehicles (now called Drivers Services), I swore I would never again voluntarily sit amongst the masses waiting for my name to be called.  Never say never.

My apartment has little or no insulation.  There's no weatherstripping around the front door.  When I found out last summer that the building was in foreclosure, I didn't bother to even purchase curtains for the living room windows.  The mini-blinds don't offer much protection from the cold.  I have electric heat.  My electric bills have been, therefore, astronomical.

No longer a "service" provider, ComEd is a cold, inflexible entity staffed with drones and run by androids.  I have called them almost every month for the past 14 months.  Nobody I have spoken to was able the offer me any solutions other than refer me to their CARE program which in turn refers me to the local Will County Center for Community Concerns office.  It's a non-profit agency that helps low- and moderate-income people with programs like LIHEAP and HUD-based housing.

Don't get me wrong, it's great that there are places like WCCCC.  But why are they always in old buildings with outdated and/or worn furniture and bland colors?

 At WCCCC,  you can make an appointment for some programs.  For most things, it's a first come, first served basis.  What I needed was in the "most things" category.  You go, sign in and sit and wait. And wait. And wait.  Just to make things more interesting, the closest parking spaces are all metered.  They do make easier to take your money, though.  They have meters that accept credit and debit cards.  Isn't that nice?

I had checked Google Maps and found the location was less than five miles from me.  About a 10 minute drive.  They open at 8:00 a.m. but I got there at 8:30 a.m., hoping the initial rush had abated.  The place was full, but not packed.  I had optimistically paid for an hour on the parking meter.  After signing in, I found a seat and regretted not bringing my paperback book to read.  So I entertained myself by people watching.  There was a wide mix of ethnicities represented.

There was the family with four kids under the age of six.  They had to be there for some type of assistance and I thought about suggesting that the price of contraceptives would save them money in the long run.  The dad was this huge guy.    I imagine he had a hard time finding clothes if he was low on funds, however, I have to believe he could find a belt somewhere.  His pants kept falling down.  I was just glad he wasn't going commando.

Then there was the lady that was about my age.  She seemed perfectly innocuous.  Until she started talking to the kids in the above-mentioned family.  The oldest girl, who was about 5, was a pretty little thing with long lashes and a sweet smile.  She eyed the strange lady warily, but was always polite.  I have to say the mom taught her kids well.  Be polite, but watch out for strangers.  And the older lady was the epitome of Strange!  I didn't hear everything she asked, but she fired off questions like an AK47 fires ammunition.  What's your name?  What's your brother's name? How old is your brother?  What about your other brother?  Oh, that's your sister?  What's her name?  How old is she? And on and on.  The mom got called in and left dad with the four kids.  He was immediately encumbered with the baby boy, who decided it was time to eat.  This left the oldest girl to field the questions and shield her siblings.  Fortunately, mom came out quickly.  She quickly assessed the situation and hustled her family out.  Dad carrying the baby in one hand and holding his pants up with the other.

After about 50 minutes I realized I needed to feed the meter.  I was able to find out what number I was on the list at what number they were currently serving.  They were on number 14 and I was number 20.  So I trotted out and down the two blocks to my car and put in enough for an hour and a half.

Then came two ladies pushing an enormous stroller.  One stopped to sign in while the other parked the behemoth and sat down with the baby.  In the row in front of me.  Where I could see up close and personal the bright green bows the woman had affixed to her hair just above her temples, right at the hairline.  It took most of my self-control to keep my mouth shut.  I badly wanted to tell her she looked ridiculous.  It wouldn't even look cute on a child!  I tried to look elsewhere, but there wasn't much going on at the time.  The baby was fussing and, judging by the way he kept arching his back, was probably gassy.  But these two geniuses gave the baby a bottle.  Turns out, the one I thought was the mom was not.  The mom, who was more interested in her cell phone and pocket mirror, paid little attention until Green Ribbons got up to get another bottle.  The mom started berated Green Ribbons for only bringing four ounce bottles.  She was yelling that her son needed a full eight ounce bottle and Green Ribbons was stupid, blah, blah, blah.  The mom noticed me watching with undisguised disgust on my face and shut up.

Among the other notable personages was the one whose gender eluded me.  And the woman who used the bathroom every ten minutes.  I really prayed that I wouldn't have to pee while I was there!  Finally, my name was called.

The first thing I was told was that I did not qualify for LIHEAP assistance.  I was surprised because I had looked up the qualifications before going there.  Turns out there is a different qualification list for people on disability.  The rep helping me must've seen the dismay on my face because she quickly said they have a hardship program in place now.  She looked through my paperwork and said that she needed proof that my Social Security income was for Disability.  So we finished and signed the paperwork and she gave me a form to bring back with my proof of income type.  She told me to go to the Social Security Administration.  Forget that nonsense!

I went home.  I fed the cats and ate lunch.  I signed onto ssa.gov and printed out a Statement of Benefits.

I drove back and found a parking space right in front of the building.  Then I realized I had no more quarters.  I was not about to use a card for 25 cents.  I considered just leaving it, after all I would only be a couple of minutes.  Then I found another quarter.  It was a dirt-encrusted quarter stuck at the bottom of the cup holder.  I figured it was worth a shot.  As luck would have it, it worked and I got a half hour on the meter.

I brought my paperwork in and was glad for the meter time because it took almost ten minutes for the receptionist to make copies and staple them together.  I also made point of saying they need to get to the rep asap.

All in all, I spent about four hours with all this, but it was worth it.  Three days later, my very large past due amount was paid.  Yay!

Now before you judge me, you must realize that I'd had $300 electric bills three months in a row.  When the fourth $300 bill came, I had to make a decision.  Pay the electric bill or buy groceries and sundries?  I decided on groceries.  I treated myself to a few luxuries like disposable hot cups, Puffs tissues and batteries.  Oh, and I went whole hog on a package of mini-pierogis.  Mmmm-mm.

I will not say I will never do this again.  But I sincerely hope and pray that I don't have to!

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

I had a very vivid dream last night.  Or rather early this morning.  Lucid dreams are at the end of the sleep cycle.  Anyway, this is what I dreamed:

I'm in a public sitting area, like at a library or a conference center.  I'm reclining in a comfortable arm chair with my feet propped up on a coffee table, ankles crossed.  Against the wall I'm facing are racks of books or magazines.  I'm talking on the phone and I think it's a business call, although not especially important.  In the dream, I am the same middle-age I actually am now.  I am not as fat as I actually am but still overweight.  However, I feel confident and upbeat.  I don't remember the phone conversation, just that I was talking when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye.  A forgotten but familiar dread creeps through my stomach as I realize who is there.  It is M-.  With him is his youngest son, all grown up of course.  I can hear their voices, but not the words.  I miss a beat in my phone conversation, but turn my attention back to my caller and hope that M- and son do not see me.  Slouched down as I am, and facing the wall, it's possible they won't.  The dread flows out of me and I am calm again.  I am speaking when I hear his voice hissing at me in anger.  Startled, I struggle to finish my sentence.  Suddenly, M- is in front of me.  His face is a bit older and hard.  He starts throwing money at me and saying something I don't catch immediately.  I end my call and focus on M-.   While I'm taken aback, I'm surprisingly unafraid.  I open my mouth to speak, but the money he is tossing at me gets in my mouth.  I sit up as I finally understand what he is saying.  He's telling me to do the job he taught me to do.  He taught me to kill and I am very good at it. A memory of myself as a young adult learning to shoot a rifle flits through my head.  He wants it finished.  I know who he wants killed, although I don't know.  He walks away while I spit out the last of the money.  I stand up and let the bills fall to the floor.  Fists clenched, I face him and his son.  I shout "No! Not anymore! I won't be a party to your evil!"  I am firmly resolved in this.  I will die myself before killing anyone.  Both men are surprised and...I wake up.

My waking emotions are calm.  While thinking it was a strange dream, I was not  disturbed by it.  Usually, I forget my dreams within an hour or so of waking.  This time, it's been much longer and I still remember almost all of it clearly.

I know what it means.  I didn't until I was halfway through typing it up.  I can even break it down into smaller parts which have their own meaning.  Such as talking on the phone indicates that I have a purpose now and have not been dwelling on the past.  But I won't belabor all the smaller points.  The gist is that I've had this "demon" lurking in the back of my mind for nearly 30 years.  I shut it up behind a brick wall, but every so often I would hear it roar and it always had a claw in my heart.  With this dream, my subconsious and the Holy Spirit helped me to evict the demon.  Is it dead?  No, I do not think so.  But it no longer occupies space in my head and the claw is gone from my heart.  A small pinhole sized scar will always be there, but it's very tiny and scars are signs of either stupid mistakes or battles won.  In this case, it signifies both.  Thank God!

Procrastination

"Procrastination is my sin. It brings me naught but sorrow. I know that I should stop it.  In fact I will--tomorrow!"  Gloria Pitzer

I have found myself falling into the very bad habit of procrastinating.  Case in point, this blog.  All kinds of ideas come to me at various times and I think "Oh, I will write a blog post about that!"  Even this post.  I've had the idea for over a week.

"Never put off until tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow."  Mark Twain

The way my life is right now, procrastination isn't such a problem--except to my peace of mind.  I can list some stuff on eBay today.  Or not.  I can write today.  Or not.

Even chores are not that big of a deal.  Who will see the sink full of dishes?  Who will care that the rug needs vacuuming?  However, I do stay on top of things like scooping the cat litter and sweeping.  And I cannot even get dressed without making my bed.  Could be my OCD tendencies.

Of course, there comes a time when those dirty dishes start to smell and the carpet has taken on a new coloration.  Sometimes something inside me just clicks on and I attack those chores with determination.

I could blame my Bipolar.  While that does make up a small percentage of my laziness, I think most of it is just a lack of enthusiasm and inspiration.  And accountability.  Approval from others is important to me, but if nobody is around, I get lackadaisical.

Then there is the need for resources to get some things done.  The most common resource needed is money.  I am not a good steward of my money.  I try to be.  Each month I have every intention of being careful.  I make lists for shopping, but I always find other things I need.  I still have a hard time buying for just one person. The urge to stockpile is quite strong.  I am my parents' daughter.  So, for example, when I find the need to do laundry, there is no money for the laundromat.

Ah well, I got this post done today!

"Tomorrow is often the busiest day of the week."  Spanish proverb

 

Blame it on Squirrels

I have a bird feeder.  Specifically, it's a suet cage that I suspend from a shepherd's hook.  I placed it in front of a window so the cats could watch the birds.  Unfortunately, the squirrels like to climb up and eat the seeds, too.

The squirrels love to tease Tabitha.

When the squirrels jump off the shepherd's hook, sometimes the suet cage falls off. Of course, I have to go out and pick it up and hang it again.  Seriously, I can't deprive my cats of their entertainment.

Last night I noticed that the cage had been knocked off again, but I waited until this morning to get it.  When I'm running outside for something quick, like taking the garbage out or rehanging the suet cage, I don't usually bother with a coat.  And I leave the door open or just pull it to the jamb.  Fortunately today I grabbed my jacket because when I pulled the door to, it went too far.  When I heard the snick of the latch, my heart sank.  I literally felt a lump in my stomach.

You see, when the management group took over the building last summer, they changed the locks.  My door knob locks automatically, unless I twist the button on the inside to completely unlock it.  Except I hadn't twisted the button inside.  So when the door latched, it was locked.  With my keys inside. And my phone inside.  And me outside.

After berating myself for a couple of minutes, I went ahead and rehung the suet cage.  Then I considered my options for getting back inside.  I walked around the apartment and checked all the windows.  There were only two that were unlocked.  They were the two that showcased my Christmas tree--both at the front of the building.

I started with the side window because I could get to it more easily from the outside.  With Tabitha meowing and pawing the window from the inside, I was able to push the screen up out of the way.  The window took a bit more maneuvering since there was little to grab onto.  By shoving my fingers under the lip of the upper, fixed window, I was able to push the lower window up and open.

While blocking Tabitha from escaping, I assessed the situation.  The bottom edge of the window was even with my chest.  There was no way I could hoist my plus-sized self up and through the window.  I thought about dragging the outdoor storage box around from the front, but I happened to look at the front window and realized what I could do.

I replaced the side window and screen and went around the corner to the front.  Since I had placed most of the statuary in the storage box, I was able to get to the window fairly easily.  I raised the screen and the lower window as I had on the side.  Tabitha almost immediately tried to jump out.  Quick reflexes caught her as her leg muscles were bunching for the leap.  I credit those online games for keeping my hand-eye coordination strong!

To my left, inside, between the door and the window I had opened, was my small butler table where I kept my keys.  And, thank God, my keys were actually there!  Every once in a while I toss my keys in my purse, but this wasn't one of those times.  Finally, I had caught a break!  Now, I just had to reach them.  And keep Tabitha inside.

I tried to pull one of the plastic candy canes from the ground so I could snag my keys.  But the ground was too frozen and the candy canes wouldn't budge.  I thought of the straw broom, but that was too big.  And too dirty.  Getting more desperate, I turned sideways and reached to my left as far as I could with my right hand.  The keys were just out of reach, but I was able to grab the watering can I keep there.
By turning it upside down, I finally snagged the keys with the spout.  Thankfully, Tabitha's attention had been focused on my efforts, so she didn't try to get out again.

I replaced the window and screen and with a sigh of relief, let myself back into the apartment.

Interestingly enough, no cops showed up.  This was both a relief and a concern.  I did not want to have to explain my stupidity.  However, I hope that people knew I was the resident and that's why nobody called the cops.  And the fact that it was broad daylight.

Oh, I have subsequently locked both those windows.  What I'll do if I ever lock myself out again, I have no idea.

Out with the Old

Twenty-twelve.  It's been an interesting year for me.

I slogged through apartment hunting, threw myself into decorating, started a regime of better eating and walking, and tried to go with the flow of my new life.

Painting and decorating was a lot of fun.  I pushed myself to think outside the box with my colors and decor.  It may not seem like anything very different to some people, but for me it's outre'.

It took me three months to unpack everything.  I didn't wanted to have my stuff in piles just so I could say it was unpacked.  I wanted things where they made sense--at least as much as possible with very little storage space.

In June, when I found out that the building I'm in was in foreclosure, my knee-jerk reaction was to move right away.  Thinking I could take my time and find a nice place at an affordable price, I started looking at apartments.  When I hadn't found anything by the end of October, I decided to put the apartment hunt on hold until after the holidays.

Eating better and walking kind of faded over time, although I still try to get out and walk each week.

Mother's Day set off a depressive episode which wasn't helped with the foreclosure information.  But in November, I found my Christmas Spirit was bubbling forth.  I could hardly wait until after Thanksgiving to start decorating.  I had brought an artificial tree from my mom's house, but it broke when I started to assemble it.  The next day my sister offered me her old tree because she was getting a new one.  When I pulled out my decorations, I was pleased to find that things I had bought at different times and places matched each other and my dark blue wall.

I had a wonderful Christmas, even though I didn't have presents for anyone.  Now it's New Year's Eve and I find my Christmas Spirit waning.  Of course, New Year's has always been harder for me to deal with than my birthday.  The end of a year brings memories both good and bad.  And consequences of decisions--both good and bad.  The most difficult thing for me is spending another New Year's Eve by myself.  When my daughter was a child, I had her to focus on, but even she didn't totally dispel that sense of loneliness.

While I can only imagine how terrible it is to lose a soul mate to death or divorce, I can't help thinking, as Tennyson wrote: "'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."

Tomorrow I have to start apartment hunting again.  If I can't find a new place by January 9th, I'll have to sign a lease to stay here.  While I like what I've done with the place, I can't ignore the horrendous electric bill.  Not only is electric heat inefficient, but my apartment is very drafty.  I dread the frigid temperatures that January and February bring.  So maybe, it'll be in with the new tomorrow!

Boob Tube

It is a medium of entertainment which permits millions of people to listen to the same joke at the same time, and yet remain lonesome.T. S. Eliot

In my house, when I was growing up, TV was referred to as the "boob tube" not for any female anatomy reference but because it turns us into boobs, or idiots.

Years ago, when I worked in Corporate America, I used to record Jeopardy every week day.  When I got home from work, I'd watch it.  I never thought to cheat, either.  I mean, I could've paused the recording to think about the correct answer, er, question, that is. On weekends I would watch home improvement and gardening shows.

But there were a few prime time shows I liked.  I remember watching CSI: Crime Scene Investigations.  The first one.  I also remember watching Sisters.  Anyone remember that tear jerker?  It was a prime time soap opera, but it sucked me in.  I watched a lot of Nick-at-Nite 'cause I really liked some of those old shows, especially the Dick Van Dyke Show.  What a classic!  One of the very, very few shows I will watch over and over.

When my daughter and I moved in with my parents, I remember watching Dark Shadows (I had been too scared to watch it when I was a kid) and a show called PSI Factor: Chronicles of the Paranormal which was a Canadian show that ran from 1996 to 2000.  Sometimes I watched X-Files.  The early years were pretty good, but the show got too intense for me.  Oh, I have seen every episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Buffy cast

Sometime after my dad passed away, I stopped watching TV, except when I was with my mom.  She liked all the old cop shows.

For several years I rarely turned on my TV when I was upstairs in my room.  My daughter would sometimes badger me to run on the Bears game.  Once in a while I would watch The Smoking Gun Presents: The World's Dumbest.  The video clips were hilarious.  At Christmas time I would watch a few Christmas movies.  But usually, when I went upstairs after being with my mom all day, I didn't watch TV.

Of course, mostly I would read.  I went on the computer (that was before Facebook).  I did Sudoku and Acrostics puzzles, too.

After my mom passed away last year, I felt compelled to watch the remaining episodes of Gunsmoke and Hawaii Five-O that were still on the Uverse dvr.  I'm not sure why, but I watched one a day until all the recordings were gone.  Weird.  I should have put that in my last post, I guess.

Anyway, for months after that, I rarely watched anything on television.  Even when I moved in February, getting cable was only urgent because I needed the internet hook-up and it was cheaper to get the TV & internet combo.  But it wasn't until I was sick in April that I started watching again.

I started slow.  Jeopardy, of course, was still a favorite.  I have a fairly basic package, but it has Discovery channel, Investigation Discovery and History channel.  So I would watch Dirty Jobs (love Mike Rowe!) and Unusual Suspects and stuff like that.  Reality TV without the idiots.  Well, except for the perps.

Then, my sister told me about The Big Bang Theory.  The first episode I watched was a rerun from a previous season, but I was hooked.  I love these guys!  Maybe because I can relate.  I was kind of a nerd in high school.  I guess I still am, sort of.

BBT cast

And a friend told me about Psych.  I enjoyed that show, at first.  But then Sean's wiseguy thing started to turn  me off.  There's new episodes coming in February.  I may check a few of them out, but otherwise, it's not a favorite any more.

But then it happened.  I remembered watching a couple of episodes of Criminal Minds way back when it was a new show.  So when I saw reruns on a couple of channels I started watching it again.  Then I started watching Law and Order: SVU which was another show I'd watched years before.  That led to Law and Order: Criminal Intent.  Not a good as SVU, but good enough.  Then the same friend mentioned NCIS, so I got curious.  Now I'm hooked!  I love how the techies on both Criminal Minds and NCIS are quirky.

Abby Sciuto - NCIS

Penelope Garcia - Criminal Minds

To balance out all the crime shows, I am also hooked on House.  I'd watched it--or tried to--once a couple of years ago, but my mom didn't like it.  Now, I avidly look for every rerun on any channel.

I'm not sure what TV is doing to my brain.  Am I turning into a boob?  An idiot?  I still read, although not nearly as much.  I'm on the computer more because I'm on Facebook and I'm selling on Ebay and Listia.  I don't want TV to worm it's way into my brain like some parasite.  Oh yeah.  I watch Monsters Inside Me, too.  And Haunted, when I remember.

Do I have to change the title of this blog?  Eh, not yet, anyway.  When I do read, I'm still fast.  I've worked my way through a few dozens books in the past few months, so I think I'm still good with the reading.  If I get too carried away with watching TV, somebody come slap me, okay?

It's Weird

Sometimes there are things I see or hear about or read about and I can't help but shake my head and wonder what's up with that?  I know, for some things, there are explanations for the item or phenomenon.  It still makes me wonder why.

Weather would be a perfect example.  Meteorologists can tell me about temperatures and wind and precipitation involved in "fronts" and "systems" but it's still weird to see:

• rain falling sideways
• the sun shining when it's raining (or raining when the sun is shining)
• fog
• hail during the summer

macaque

Then there are animals that make you wonder what God was thinking.  I've watched Discovery Channel and Animal Planet and they spout their theories of evolution and adaptation.  It's still weird to see:

• the platypus
• birds that can't fly
• mammals that can fly
• fish that walk on land
• deep sea creatures
• males who give birth

There are things that are within a person's control.  Decisions made, ideas not thought out, mistakes or just plain defiance of social norms.  It's weird to see (or hear):

• children named Number 16 Bush Shelter, Midnight Chardonnay, Fifi-Trixibelle , Moon Unit, Dweezil, Apple or Rumer.  The list goes on and on, but the little girl named Talula Does the Hula from Hawaii tops my list as the worst name.  Fortunately, a judge agreed and, at age 9, she legally changed her first name--against her parents wishes!
• the designs of roadways like "roundabouts"

• houses made of strange building materials

house made of plastic bottles

• houses painted...uniquely

• certain clothing choices

I know there's a whole lot more weird stuff in this world, but I'd need to write a book to put it all down.  Hmm, that's an idea...

Mothers & Daughters

I watched a movie today.  That, in and of itself, is unusual for me.  There aren't many movies made in the 21st century in which I have any interest.  But I remembered when this particular movie came out eight years ago, it sounded good.  So, I watched Spanglish.

The description of the movie was all about the love triangle that occurs between the husband, wife and housekeeper.  While that is a large part of the plot line, when all is said and done, I found the mothers and daughters theme to be equally strong.  Maybe even a bit more.

There's all these dynamics going on between the two mothers and their daughters, but there's also the wife's mother.  There's blame, jealousy, guilt and anger.  The thing that struck me most was that it is was so typical of many mother-daughter relationships.  Of course for the movie, some things are exaggerated.  But still...

For myself, I've blamed my mother for some of my negative traits.  But it wouldn't be fair if I didn't also give her credit for some of my virtues.  When she was alive and her physicality was diminishing, I felt burdened and, sometimes, overwhelmed.  Since she's been gone, I have felt--when I've had time--adrift and purposeless.

My own daughter has, in the past, blamed me for her own quirks.  I was suffering from anxiety and depression for a couple of years before I realized it and sought help.  Another couple of years later, I had developed Bipolar Disorder.  Those were some difficult years for both of us and my biggest worry was that my daughter's well-being would be compromised by my illnesses.  It didn't help that so many members of my family pretend there is nothing wrong with me.  My mother was the only family member who tried to learn about Bipolar.  I've always been grateful to her for that.

My daughter's teen years were...well, let's just say trying would be an understatement.  During my own teen years, I was a goody-two-shoes.  Mostly because I saw what being bold and assertive did for my older sister.  I didn't want to rock the boat.

My sister not only rocked the boat, she tipped it over a lot.  She seemed very confident and self-assured.  And she wasn't afraid or ashamed to speak her mind, often to her own detriment.  My then future brother-in-law came along and they balanced each other.

I wanted my daughter to be exposed to my sister's strong personality.  We spent a lot of time together.  Especially when my daughter and I lived with my parents.  My mother was very old-fashioned and my sister was much more liberal.  I was somewhere in between on that spectrum.  My daughter ignored the spectrum altogether.  It took me a long time to even start to understand my own child during her teen years.  By the time I was getting an inkling, she was grown.

It has taken a lot of self-control--more than I thought I had--to not interfere in my daughter's life after my mom died.  Well, to not interfere more than usual, anyway. She's still my child.  I care.  But she still thinks "outside the box" in a way I cannot completely grasp.

I understand perspective.  There's the allegory of the three blind men describing an elephant while each touches a different part.  My daughter would eschew the elephant and talk to the elephant trainer.  My own need for the whole truth would be to circumnavigate the elephant, climb under and on top to try to get the whole picture, but I don't know that I would turn to the trainer and get his opinion.  The thing is, unless we combined our information, we'd each still only have part of the
picture.

Anyway, at the end of the movie, the housekeeper (who grew up in Mexico) quits her job because she's fallen in love with the husband.  Also because she sees her daughter (who's about 12 years old) buying into the upper-class way of life with all it's deception and manipulation.  She apologizes to her daughter for having to make her (the daughter) make a decision about her (the daughter's) life at such a young age.  Then she asks her daughter, "Do you really want to change your life, or do you just want to be different than me?"  Or words to that effect.  The girl thinks about it and then says she is "her mother's daughter."

I found it sad and uplifting at the same time.  Sad because I don't know what my own daughter would have said under similar circumstances.  Uplifting because no matter what my daughter thinks, she is "her mother's daughter" and nothing will ever change that.

Not even--I have discovered--death.

"Truth" in Advertising?

I'm finding the apartment search a bit easier than last winter--at least in the respect of searching the ads and watching out for "For Rent" signs.  I'm a little more savvy at recognizing the scams.  And there are a lot of those!


The most prevalent scam is where the person posts an ad that seems to be a great deal.  Like a 2 bedroom duplex in Naperville for $600 a month.  Pets welcome!  So you send an email to them and find out that they had to leave the country because they're a doctor with UNICEF or a missionary or a teacher.  Many of them say they're in Lagos.

Lagos, Nigeria

I had to look it up because I thought Lagos was a city in Texas. Oops!

Anyway, they say they didn't have anyone to leave the keys with, so they have them with them.  All I have to do is send them the first month's rent and the security deposit (equal to the first month's rent) and they will mail the keys to me.  Uh huh.  And I'm the third cousin, twice removed to the Queen of England.  And as the robot said "Danger, Will Robinson!"

I wonder how many people actually fall for it, though.  Probably very few, but I still feel sorry for the any schmuck who gets caught up in the excitement and sends a money order as requested.  (No checks, please.  Of course, because you can stop payment on a check!)

I know at least one person who might've fallen for it.  At least many years ago.  He was always a bit slow. After forty some years he's been taken to the cleaners so many times he finally learned to ask other people before making decisions.  While I have no real fondness for this person that I know, I would still feel badly that someone took him for $1200 or whatever. And while he is in the minority, there are other people like him out there.  They are too trusting, too naive or too stupid to know better.

Another problem I've found in searching the ads is what I call the Carrot Ruse.  The landlord places an ad that screams NEAR PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION! NEWER APPLIANCES!! PETS WELCOME!!!  You notice how each successive statement gets an additional exclamation point.  No rent amount is listed anywhere.  "Near public transportation" means that the train is so close you can see the whites of the passengers eyes and the horn will make your ears ring for an hour.  "Newer appliances" mean post-1960.  "Pets welcome" means you will pay an extra amount each month plus a non-refundable pet security deposit.

Then there are a lot of little things like the misspellings, which can be amusing or confusing: "Well Maintianed", "Newly Remodled" and my favorite "Just steps to Lack Michigan!"

There are the ads that leave you wondering what it is, exactly, that they are advertising:  $589 / 1br - Want a 9th life? - (Contact JUngle JAne).   Really? A "9th life"?  And in a jungle?

Some ads need to be more specific with their adjectives: $755 / 1br - Eviction? Bad credit? 
THAT'S OUR SPECIALTY - (chicago & burbs) I don't want to be evicted and I sure as heck don't want to rent from someone with bad credit!

Then there are the euphemisms.  "Garden" apartment means you are in the basement with those tiny windows that let you see people's feet walking by.  "Cozy" means you'll have to lay on your bed to open your dresser drawers. "Rehabbed" means that the last tenant had a dog that chewed up the rug and scratched up the doors.  "Worth the Price" means it's so expensive you'll have to have a six-digit annual salary to live there.  "Rent Just Reduced" means the place is such a dump that nobody wants to live there and/or the landlord is a jerk. "Close to Everything" means you will have a constant barrage of noise from the businesses next door and the car and foot traffic going by.

But I'm learning to separate the wheat from the chaff, so to speak.  I've got a couple of leads on what I hope are nice apartments.  Tomorrow I go to see one in Lemont.  The exterior looks like a cement block, but maybe inside it's a gem!

Appreciation--The Most Important Part

I've realized that hard water, laundromats or slanted floors don't mean a bloody thing if many of the most important people in your life aren't there to encourage, to praise, to help, to commiserate, to listen...

So I had to use a dozen shims and several small blocks of wood to level my appliances and dressers.  Who cares?  My friends chuckle and my sister helped.  I love them so much!  Even my sister-in-law (whom I've know since I was 7 years old) finally came and saw my place and all the work and decorating I did here in this apartment.  My brother hasn't, but, eh, I'm learning not to care so much, since he doesn't care about me.  It's a work in progress.

My daughter has been here once.  Two days after the movers brought all the furniture and boxes.  One day after my sister and I painted my bedroom.  There were boxes, shelving and furniture everywhere.  I've asked her to come.  I've come close to begging, but I haven't sunk that far--yet.

Now I already have some books packed up, but you can still see all the decorating I've done.  Last month, I drove to Summit to see her and her cat, Bebe.  We had a great day.  She bought me an outfit at Target.  But that isn't what made the day so great.  It was the one-on-one time.  The sharing of time, current events and plans.

It's the people I miss the most.  No, the beings.  I miss Jessicat, who had to be put down the week after Christmas.  I miss Emmy, who my sister helped find a home for before Christmas.  I miss my daughter, who is just too busy to come and see what her mother put so much time and effort into.  I miss her cat, Bebe, who spent so much time with me for six years.  And I miss my mom, big-time.

I hate talking on the phone.  But I miss being able to call my mom to share something funny that the cats did.  Or to tell her about the new book releases that she would be interested in.  I'd like to tell her that I love her one more time.  I'd like to make tea for us and sit with her and talk.

The thing is, having the people I love come, show an interest, and show they care about me, helps me deal with the grief.  I spent the first six months after my mom died being busy and physically active.  Once all the work, calls, searching, moving, painting, decorating and projects were done, my grief rose up and said "Time to deal with ME!"

I can't do it alone.  I saw my psychiatrist last Saturday.  He wants me to get a therapist again.  Fine by me.  Except I can't afford the $40 per session it would cost.  At least, not at the moment.  And then I have to spend at least one session bringing this person up-to-date on everything that has happened.

My sister can't stand people crying or being depressed.  She seems to think it's a weakness to let others see you when you're not upbeat and happy.  She accepts anger much more easily than sadness.  My friends listen, but they have crap going on in their lives, too.  Mostly, all three of my closest friends have spouses.  I realize that marriage takes work and that needs to be their primary focus.  But they do help and I appreciate that so much!

My advice to everyone is don't take the people you love for granted!  All of a sudden, they'll be gone.

Appreciation--Part VI--Spare Room

“Daughter of Eve from the far land of Spare Oom where eternal summer reigns around the bright city of War Drobe, how would it be if you came and had tea with me?” 
― C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

I always loved that line.  The land of Spare Oom.  I love the land of Spare Oom.

At the condo I had for five and a half years, I didn't have a spare room, exactly.  I had a huge front closet with shelving that held an enormous amount of stuff.  I also had the building's storage space right outside my back door.  Granted, I shared that, but out of the six units in my building, only two others used it.

Otherwise, I have always had a spare room.  Even in my first rental, after Brittany was born and took my spare room, I had a basement and an attic.  At my parents' house, there was a spare room and several storage spaces, not to mention the shed and the garage.  If you've seen older posts, you'll know how packed full of stuff they were, too!

So when I moved and found I had one closet for the whole apartment and no option for storage nearby, I gave up a part of my bedroom to create more storage space.

Now that I have to move for the second time in six months, I am trying to get, if not the land of Spare Oom, at least generous closets (plural!) or storage space in the building.

Hard Water and Electric Heat & Cooking Addendums

I just have to say that Lemi-Shine is abso-posi-lutely fan-freaking-tastic!!!!  Note the mixed and divided adjectives and overuse of exclamation points!  I googled the stuff before I bought it and somewhere around page 7 of all the hits, I found one lone comment about using it for washing dishes by hand.  Basically, since the main active ingredient is citric acid, unless you're sensitive to it, it's not going to hurt anyone or anything.  I have been adding this stuff to my dish water, to the water when I hand wash my delicates, and I use it to clean my stainless steel sink.  My glassware is clear, my metal bakeware is spotless and my ceramic mugs are bright!  When I wiped the stuff in the bathroom, I sprinkled Lemi-Shine on my sponge.  I could go on and on.  It really gets rid of the hard water spotting and clouding.  Believe it!

I also have to add to my gripe session on electric cooking.  I forgot to mention the bloody burners!  When I set a burner to medium, I expect it to stay at medium heat.  Noooo, these stupid things keep getting hotter and hotter and hotter.  I have to keep turning the burner down as I'm cooking.  Very annoying.  Now this could just be this particular stove.  The blasted thing also has its burner knobs on the back on top, so I have to reach over the hot burner to turn it off.  However, I do remember the electric stove at my condo.  It wasn't as bad as this one, but I do remember having to watch everything when it was on the burners.  Since I had a young child at that time, I lost count of how many times something boiled over!  I like to see flame.  I adjust the flame height and it stays where I want it.  Fie on electric heating and cooking!!

Appreciation--Part IV & V

I’m combining Items 4 and 5 since they’re both referring to natural gas for heating and cooking.

I do not understand why anyone uses electricity to heat or cook with.  It is very expensive!  There is a reason for the expression “now you’re cooking with gas!”  The expression came from an early advertisement for gas stoves.  Of course, that was back when people were switching from wood or coal burning stoves.  Still…it has relevance when comparing gas to electricity.

So yeah, I’m complaining.  BIG time.  But what does that get me?  Nothing, really.  Well, okay, at first it got me some advice.  And partly it was bluster because I was embarrassed that it took me six weeks to figure out that each room had its own radiator.  Oops.  But the issue still remains, electric heat and cooking is inefficient.

I know that there was natural gas being used before electricity.  Case in point: gas lamps.  They were thought to be the greatest thing back in the late 1800’s.  And they were, compared to open flames on candles and torches.  When Tom Edison did his thing, the powers that be switched the gas lamps to electricity.

I will admit, electricity for lighting is cleaner.  I’ve burned enough candles to know what happens to your ceiling when you have an open flame.  But for heating?  Phooey!  Yes, I said Phooey!  It’s a perfectly acceptable word and it is appropriate in this case.

I’ve lived in enough places to have used both forms of heating.  Actually, I my first rental used steam heat radiators.  But something had to heat the water, right?  Unless you’re lucky enough to have a natural hot spring running under your home that you can tap into.  But I digress.  I’ve compared the cost of electric heat to gas heat.  My parents’ house was approximately 1100 square feet divided into two stories.  My condo was 1000 square feet sprawled out on one level.  The gas bill at my parents’ house was less than my electric bill at the condo.  Of course, I had lights and appliances…  Sheesh!  I’m giving myself a headache.

Forget the heat issue—for now.  Cooking with electricity is a pain in the tuchus.  I’m slowly getting the hang of it.  The first pan of brownies I made back in February ended up like warm pudding.  (Actually, it was pretty tasty—I just had to use a spoon!)  The second pan was too dry.

I’ve worked out that I have to set the heat a bit lower and check what I’m baking a couple of minutes sooner than the time in the recipe.  The thing is, the longer something has to bake, the more you have to turn down the temperature.  I’m sure there is some ratio of time to temperature that my brother, the mathematician, could figure out.  I just try different temps and cross my fingers.

Maybe it's the other way around?

On top of that, the consistency of my ingredients can make a difference in the timing.  I made pumpkin bread that came out just a bit dry.  It was good, just that little bit over.  A few days later, I made a sweet potato/rutabaga bread.  (Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it…it was very tasty!)  The sweet potato/rutabaga loaf was noticeably more moist.  The same recipe, different main ingredient, same temp, same time.  But the rutabaga was much wetter to begin with since it came from a can.  Don’t even get me started on the seasonings I used.  I should’ve used cinnamon, but the recipe called for pumpkin pie spice since it was a recipe for pumpkin bread…  More digression, sorry!

What was I saying?  Oh, yeah.  To bake a snack pan of brownies, I turn the temp down just a little for the 10 minute bake time.  For the sweet bread, I turn it down nearly 25 degrees lower for the 60 minute bake time.  I’m getting the hang of it—mostly.  But I don’t like having to do all that.  It’s hard for me to remember all this stuff, although I am writing more things down.

Thankfully, the weather has been pretty good.  I ran the air conditioner three times last week.  And I try to put off turning it on for as long as possible.  I don’t know how efficient it is.  The fact that this apartment has very little insulation doesn’t help.

I can hardly wait for next fall and winter—NOT!

Appreciation--Part III

Twenty-five  years ago, my first rental unit had no shower.  Many people thought this was awful.  Not me.  For five years I lived with taking baths in a cast iron clawfoot tub.  It was deep and comfortable and I would soak and read.  As the water started to cool, I took my toes and turned the hot water on for a few minutes.  I could do that two or three times before the water was too cold to stay in any longer.  I loved bubble baths or scented bath oils.  Shaving my legs was almost a pleasure, it was so easy and convenient.  And the tub was surprisingly easy to clean.

Similar to what I had all those years ago.

At my parents’ house, I still occasionally took baths, although I couldn’t lounge in them like I had in my clawfoot tub.  When I got chicken pox at the ripe old age of 31, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I couldn’t have soaked in a tub of Aveeno Oatmeal Treatment.

When my father decided it was time to get a new tub, my mother and I convinced him to get a deeper tub than standard.  He did, except that it was also narrower.  It wasn’t a problem at first.  But when I moved back in with them after I sold my condo, I discovered it wasn’t comfortable any more.  I can’t imagine why.  I mean I’m pretty certain that tubs don’t shrink.

So for the past 13 years, I’ve mostly taken showers.  I think I took a bath maybe three times during that time.  But the tub was available.  How else do you wash a dog when there is no utility sink or a wash tub?  And I don’t know about you, but I used the edge of the tub for lots of things.  For instance, there has almost always been a cat that liked to sit on the edge of the tub while I showered.  It’s also where I put each foot to shave my legs and then again to dry them when I was done.

Now I have no choice.  Just a shower stall.  And not a good sized stall either.  When I first saw it, I was worried I’d get claustrophobia in there!  I don’t, thank God, but it’s a close thing!  I did, however, bleach it thoroughly before I used it.  I don’t know how many back ends brushed against the sides of the stall!

When the weather started getting warmer, one thing became apparent.  Shaving my legs in that stall was going to be difficult, if not downright impossible.  Even if there was a ledge in there to put my foot on, there wouldn’t be enough room to do so!

First, I tried to shave just putting my back to the water.  No good.  The shave cream was gone before I got more than one stroke done.  Next, I turned the water off.  Okay, that worked—until I turned the water back on to rinse and it came on cold!  Brrrr!  The third time, I turned the shower head until it was mostly off.  With just a trickle coming down, I started shaving.  I didn’t even get one leg done when I realized that the trickle of water was getting hot.  More than hot.  It scalded me!  I have a shower head that I can lift off and rinse everywhere, so the next time, I tried turning the head to the trickle and leave it hanging down.  Nearly scalded my calf and, when I went to grab it to turn the water on full, certain other more sensitive areas were almost burned!

The last few times, I shaved with no shave cream and then slathered really thick body lotion all over my poor abused legs.  My skin is already very dry just from getting older.  *sigh*  Add to that, this hard water is very tough on my skin.  It took me a few showers to figure out that it was the hard water making my knees look like a dried up old creek bed.  Now I’m scraping a razor over them without benefit of a soothing shave cream.  Or even a cheap shave cream.  The lotion I dug out is the thick lotion I usually use on my feet in the winter.  Although nothing with urea in it!

I’m considering getting a good electric razor.  Do they make such a thing?  With technological advances, electric shavers should be better than a razor!

Panasonic Close Curves

But, in the end, anything I do for my legs, isn’t going to give Khai a place to sit while I take a shower.  Sitting on the floor just isn’t the same, I guess.  Poor kitty!