March 17th, 2002

Chalkboard

(no subject)

Happiness, Gratitude, Loss, and Some Hair Pulling.



A Happy Saint Pat's To Ya!!!! Pinches to all who are not wearing the green.

Well, it's a good day today, I'm finally feeling better, and I love my life. I love my Scott, and my son, and my home, and I'm falling in love with my new kitten Ruby Dee, the rubber band girl. Things are looking up.

I'm about to go out to buy worms for Beau's leopard Geckos. I can't believe the paraplegic gecko is still living, and the vet would have had us put her to sleep. She seems fine, we just had to get her her own cave so she wouldn't fight with her pal, put her worms right in front of her, and keep her water nearby. She pulls herself around by her front legs.

I attacked my face today so it's looking pretty sore and irritated. I used a warm wash cloth to open my pores and then used this blackhead extractor (sorry if that's too grossly personal). I'm never sure if this is helpful or harmful, but I'd rather do it myself than have some facialist do it. It hurts so much more when it's someone else.

I bought a new gel wrist rest for my keyboard and a new mouse pad. I have a lot of mice pads but if they don't have the wrist rest my wrist hurts. I need to install my new keyboard and mouse but I'm such a procrastinator it just never gets done.

Beau is off with his blech, father, somewhere. I feel guilty saying anything bad about him, but the more distance I put between us, the more life I live without him, the more I realize how badly he and his family treated me, and the stronger I get. I had a bad night a little less than a week ago. I woke up crying and had this overwhelming sense of missing him. I cried myself to sleep and he showed up in my dreams.

I get confused sometimes about whether he really was/is such a jerk, or whether I've demonized him to get over the pain of how we ended things, the pain of the loss of a life partner. He has been making overtures for years, first wanting to get back together, then wanting to just be friends, go to the movies, etc., but when I contemplate having any kind of relationship with him, it sickens me. He has been so unbelievably uncaring and selfish since our breaking up, never offering any kind of help with his own son, leaving me in total heart wrenching pain and doing nothing about it, not even returning my calls when I would call crying and asking for some kind of closure or understanding, yet I hang on to the tiny decencies and make more of them than they are, the flowers on Mother's day he gave me one year, and I can't remember another, but I know there were some minor kindnesses. I turned over the divorce paperwork to our attorney, I just couldn't get myself to do it. This way it will get done and I will be free to move on with my life.

Saida's son Freddy is here, he's growing up so fast. He came in to thank me for his Game Boy Advanced and the game I gave him, and he was wearing cologne, Cool Water. He took chinchilla to play in his room. Chinchie needs to get out more so I'm glad.

Beau was supposed to call his Dad last night and tell him that he would have a friend until two today and to pick him up then, but of course he forgot, even though he promised he would call. When Robby showed up at noon, Beau panicked and came running up the stairs to my room. He's kind of like an animal in that way, venturing farther and farther away, then running to home base for safety. My rats do that when I take them out to play. They pick a spot close to me that feels safe, then begin their explorations from there. If anything startles them they quickly beat it back to home base.

I'm sure the kids stayed up all night playing because as soon as they got here, Steven fell asleep, and has been sleeping ever since. I told Beau to let Steven sleep and to go out with his dad for a couple of hours. When Steven woke up we told him Beau would be right back so he went up to Beau's room and passed out there. I'm not looking forward to being Mom to a grouchy tired Beau tonight, especially because this is my favorite TV night.

Oh wait, I forgot a story, Steven and his Mom had a fight, probably about cleaning his room or something and Steven told her to, "Shut up Bitch." He's only eleven. Can you imagine? I'm pretty liberal and permissive but there is no way on this Earth that Mr. Beau would say something like that to me, nunh unh. Whooooo no, no, no, no, no! After he said that, Beth slapped him across the head, then he hit her back and they started fighting like siblings, hair pulling and everything. She took him to her Mother's, then later he called her and asked to come back home and they made up. I feel so sorry for both of them. I asked Steven about it and he said, 'Yeah I said that, but you don't know how mean she was being."

Oh and that reminds me of another story, a sad one. We, (Beau, Steven, and I), were shopping for school supplies and things at Long's Drugs a couple of days ago, and there was this nice lady I kept running in to on every aisle. She was big like me, and African American, or a person of color, or black, or whatever I'm supposed to say that is loving and not hurtful. I only mention it because it was part of what was beautiful about her, maybe that sounds prejudiced in some way but I don't mean it to be. There has to be some room for loving people because of their color. I mean maybe someone would someday think I'm cool just because of my vibe, or my green eyes, dark hair, pale skin, and freckles, they'd just be loving my ancestors really, and the Irish/Italian in me, and that would be okay, so why isn't it okay to love someone because they're black? I thought she was beautiful, so there.

Anyway we kept running in to her. She was buying storage boxes and having massive amounts of storage box experience I was giving her advice. I heard her say she was looking for just the right kind of box to put her daughters things away. She wanted to keep all of her little dolls, music boxes and things safe forever. Her daughter had died, cancer, fucking cancer. Oh my God how sad. We talked for a long time about life after death, communicating with people who've passed on through dreams, the loss of a child and how devastating it is, her faith in God. She was so beautiful in so many ways and it was hard to let a brief experience with a passing stranger come to an end. Beau used to have a hard time with this. We'd meet a nice waitress in a restaurant on the road when we were traveling, and when he realized that we may never come through here again he would cry and say, "Mom I can't stand that I will never get to see my new friend again." Loss, separation, letting go, it's all so hard.

Chalkboard

(no subject)

Adoption Birthday Hurting

Well, it's that time of year again. The time when, as I near my birthday, I crave some kind of contact or closure with my birth family, (I'm adopted) the family who want nothing to do with me. I'm trying very hard not to reach out and attempt any contact, at least not before my birthday, because my birth mother will use this as an excuse to send some cruel, heartbreaking note on my birthday. "Be grateful for the family you were given and leave mine alone. You were the "product of a rape" and that's all you'll ever know." That's what she did last year, and once before. Clearly she knows when my birthday is, so when she writes a e-mail at eleven thirty, and sends it the night before, she knows I'll be reading it, first thing in the morning, on my birthday. This rejection of me on my birthday must hold some kind of extra mean significance for her, so I don't want to harm myself by letting this happen again.

How can I be the child of this woman, the sister of this girl, related by blood to these people who are so cold and hurtful, who have no empathy at all for me, none whatsoever? It frightens me how unempathic they are, how frightened and fiercely self protective. How a woman can marry a man and never tell him that she had a child and gave her away. What kind of marriage is that? What kind of life is that? A life of secrets and lies, certainly not the perfect Catholic one she pretends to.

The problem of course is this yearning for contact and closeness with family. This is something that any adoptee understands. Something my birth family do not. Or well, my Birth Monster, My Sister, my Uncle Orrie, and my Cousin. As far as I know, they are the only people who know about me. I have a brother and another sister. Maybe once I know that they know about me, and have rejected me as well, then I'll be able to let it rest, albeit with a terrific wounded hole in my heart, but at least I won't continue to harbor fantasies of someday being close to siblings who hate me.

The next thing to put to rest will be my search for my Father but that will take longer, all of Loretta's lies and protestations do not dissuade me. She was in love with the son of a wealthy family, someone who thought she wasn't good enough for him, that she was from the "toolies." Her cousin Mary told me this. My adoptive Mother told me this. She came to California to life with her cousin, to have me in secret. She cried in the doctor's office, showed the nurse a newspaper clipping that someone had sent her, someone who must have known about all of this. It was a society announcement and showed a photograph of a man and woman who were engaged or who had gotten married. She said, "Look at this, I'm here having his baby, and he's getting married."

The nurse showed the clipping to my adoptive Mother, who wishes she had kept it. She remembers his face but not his name, she thinks I look a little bit like him, but I really look like my Mother. Later Loretta made up this story about a rape, first stranger rape, then date rape. This is the story she told her kids, a convenient cover in case I ever tried to contact them. The thing I don't understand is how I can be the daughter of someone who hates so fiercely, with such intensity that she refuses to give her own child the opportunity of knowing her Father, and of being able to mend the past. If she is protecting me from something, then I think she would have told me a la, your Father's in the mob, so it's best left alone.

Better to allow me to think I carry the rape gene, and am the daughter of a brutal, sexual deviant, than to open up and tell the truth about her past. Lovely, Loretta, thank you. Maybe she was raped, but her not sharing any of the details, her being so closed and unwilling to share anything about my creation with me, makes me long to know more, yearn for the truth of my creation. I think my query is her karma. She can't rest as long as I can't. Again and again I ask myself, how can I have come from someone so cold and uncaring? How can this be my Mother?

My Mom, my adoptive Mother, has been so great about this lately. She wasn't too good about it when I was younger. She felt very threatened by Loretta Riggins Knisel, my birth Mother, (I just really felt like spelling it all out here, I used to be so protective about them, so careful not to put their whole names on the net, and now I could care less, they obviously don't care about me,) and thought she would come claim me and steal me away, or that I would love her more than my Mom. Fat chance of that.

Anyway here are the names of my family, just in case my other sister, and brother, or Father, ever decide to try to find me. I suppose they wouldn't search for me using their own names though, would they? Well, they might search their own names for fun, you never know. The sad thing though is that my Birth Monster has convinced all of them that I am a rape baby, the daughter of a monster who raped her, and who would want to have anything to do with half of that? I don't know the truth, I'd rather it be something different, but the story has changed so many times, and this is the one she's sticking by now, it makes her look better somehow and protects her from whoever my Father was and whatever consequences there would be if I found him. I have so many questions, so so many, and she has no interest in helping me answer them. How cruel is that? To not even be willing to fill out a medical questionnaire, to not care to help me know anything about my own Father? What kind of woman would do this to her own child? I wonder what she's like as a Mother, my sister Julie was cold and uncaring when I contacted her. I pray that Lorenda and my brother Ed or Ted won't be the same but for now I'm just waiting, waiting for what I don't know. My Mother has offered to hire a private investigator to see what he can dig up, but it was all so long ago and Loretta is so uncooperative, I don't know...

Anyway this is me
Jacqui Hyland or Jacqueline Hyland
I was born March 29th, 1962
My Birth Mother's name is Loretta Riggins Knisel
My Father may or may not be a man named Tommy Fadigan
My Sisters are Julie Knisel and Lorenda Knisel
and my Brother is Ted or Ed Knisel
They live in New Jersey.

I've Googled all of them and come up with a few things, but other than that, the trail is pretty cold. If any of you can think of anything let me know. I have a number and a e-mail address for Lorenda but I'm holding off on doing anything about it because of how hurtful and heart wrenching my contact was with my sister Julie. What was I thinking? I thought she would embrace me, be at least mildly interested in a long lost sister, but nope. What's harder is that we both share a love of the ocean. I'm an advanced open water diver, and am a nut for marine life of all kinds, particularly nudibranchs and jelly fish. She studied marine biology in college and went down in the Alvin to study deep sea vents and worms. How synchronistic is that. I was told that in high school my other sister Lorenda, loved theatre, then she majored in English. Another coincidence? Who knows. It all just hurts, but most especially because I feel like there is some man out there, someone who was a bastard at one time to my birth mother, but who forty years later, may be different, and this man may have a family, may have children who would also be my brothers and sisters, and who might be more welcoming that my Mother's side have been. Maybe not, but I'd like to know. If I am the child of a rape, then why can't she at least tell me the details of it, sure it must be painful, but I have a right to know the truth about my conception, the truth about who I am.

Happy Fortieth Anniversary of the Biggest Lie of Your Life Loretta. Happy Birthday to me.
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Chalkboard

(no subject)

Where My Books Go

ALL the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
Storm-darken'd or starry bright.

William Butler Yeats. b. 1865
Chalkboard

(no subject)

This one is for both of us.


A Conservative

THE garden beds I wandered by
One bright and cheerful morn,
When I found a new-fledged butterfly,
A-sitting on a thorn,
A black and crimson butterfly
All doleful and forlorn.

I thought that life could have no sting
To infant butterflies,
So I gazed on this unhappy thing
With wonder and surprise.
While sadly with his waving wing
He wiped his weeping eyes.

Said I, "What can the matter be?
Why weepest thou so sore?
With garden fair and sunlight free
And flowers in goodly store,"
But he only turned away from me
And burst into a roar.

Cried he, "My legs are thin and few
Where once I had a swarm!
Soft fuzzy fur a joy to view
Once kept my body warm,
Before these flapping wing-things grew,
To hamper and deform!"

At that outrageous bug I shot
The fury of mine eye;
Said I, in scorn all burning hot,
In rage and anger high,
"You ignominious idiot!
Those wings are made to fly!"

"I do not want to fly," said he,
"I only want to squirm!"
And he drooped his wings dejectedly,
But still his voice was firm:
"I do not want to be a fly!
I want to be a worm!

O yesterday of unknown lack
To-day of unknown bliss!
I left my fool in red and black;
The last I saw was this,
The creature madly climbing back
Into his chrysalis.

Charlotte Perkins S. Gilman. 1860
Chalkboard

(no subject)

Oh look what I found, I was browsing aorund Froggy's website and his lyrics page reminded me of a song I loved when I was little. I was going to ask him about it but decided I would look for it myself and I found this wacky lyrics web site.

These are two of my favorite songs of all time.

I've been wanting to find the lyrics to this since I was a little girl at Camp Tacaloma

Johnny Rebeck
Written By: Unknown
Copyright Unknown

Away out in the forest
There lived a mean old man
His name was Mr. Johnny Rebeck
And he could surely plan
All the neighbors' cats and dogs
Were always at his feet
So he invented a machine
That turned them all to meat

Hey Mr. Johnny Rebeck,
How could you be so mean
We told you you'd be sorry
For inventing that machine
All the neighbors' cats and dogs
Will never more be seen
They've all been ground to sausages
In Johnny Rebeck's machine

One day a boy came walking,
He walked into the store
He bought a pack of sausages
And placed them on the floor
Then he began to whistle,
He whistled up a tune
And all the little sausages,
They danced around the room

Hey Mr. Johnny Rebeck,
How could you be so mean
We told you you'd be sorry
For inventing that machine
All the neighbors' cats and dogs
Will never more be seen
They've all been ground to sausages
In Johnny Rebeck's machine

One day the darn thing busted,
The darn thing wouldn't go
So Johnny Rebeck climbed inside
To see what made it so
His wife she had a nightmare
While walking in her sleep
She gave the crank a great big yank
And Johnny Rebeck was meat

Hey Mr. Johnny Rebeck,
How could you be so mean
We told you you'd be sorry
For inventing that machine
All the neighbors' cats and dogs
Will never more be seen
They've all been ground to sausages
In Johnny Rebeck's machine




Senor Don Gato
(Version 2)
Written By: Unknown
Copyright Unknown

Oh Senor Don Gato was a cat
On a high red roof Don Gato sat
He went there to read a letter,
Meow, meow, meow
Where the reading light was better,
Meow, meow, meow
'Twas a love note for Don Gato

I adore you wrote the lady cat
Who was fluffy, white and nice and fat
There was not a sweeter kitty,
Meow, meow, meow
In the country or the city,
Meow, meow, meow
And she said she'd wed Don Gato

Oh, Don Gato jumped so happily
He fell off the roof and broke his knee
Broke his ribs and all his whiskers,
Meow, meow, meow
And his little solar plexus,
Meow, meow, meow
Ay Caramba cried Don Gato

Then the doctors all came on the run
Just to see if something could be done
And they held a consultation,
Meow, meow, meow
About how to save their patient,
Meow, meow, meow
How to save Senor Don Gato

But in spite of everything they tried
Poor Senor Don Gato up and died
And it wasn't very merry,
Meow, meow, meow
Going to the cemetery,
Meow, meow, meow
For the ending of Don Gato

When the funeral passed the market square
Such a smell of fish was in the air
Though his burial was slated,
Meow, meow, meow
He became reanimated,
Meow, meow, meow
He came back to life, Don Gato
Chalkboard

(no subject)

Oh yeay they have this one too.

Oh Playmate, Come Out and Play With Me
(Version 1)
Written By: Unknown
Copyright Unknown

Say, say, oh playmate,
Come out and play with me
And bring your dollies three
Climb up my apple tree

Shout down my rain barrel
Slide down my cellar door
And we'll be jolly friends
Forever more more more more more

Say, say, oh playmate
I cannot play with you
My dolly's got the flu
Boo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo

Ain't got no rain barrel
Ain't got no cellar door
But we'll be jolly friends
Forever more more more more more

Clapping Pattern

Clap your own hands together.
Clap both of your hands against your partner's hands.
Clap your own hands together.
Clap your partner's right hand with your right hand.
Clap your own hands together.
Clap your partner's left hand with your left hand.

And look what I have for Froggy;

Froggie in the Bathtub


Written By: Unknown
Copyright Unknown

I was playin with my froggie in the bathtub
On one very cold and rainy day
I was playin with my froggie in the bathtub
When, woops, he jumped and got away

My froggie is swimmin' in the bathtub
If you've ever been sittin' there you'll know
So if you feel a little splash (Woo!)
Or hear a little croak (Ribbet!)
It's just my froggie doin' the backstroke

Someone thought they saw him in the laundry
Once he ate up half the cookie jar
But playing in the depths of the bathtub
It's his absolute favorite place by far

Well that is the story of my froggie
He may not ever be seen again
So when you're sittin' in the bathtub
Doin what ya gotta do
Just remember my little song
And remember my froggie too