lovemyhouse's blog: 100% Chance of Rain

Blondy was up at 8:00.  Hasn’t gone back to sleep.  I am waiting for a shoe to drop.  Hopefully not on my head, but we’ll see. :-D

Will wonders never cease.  Blondy—on her own initiative—called to get the SNAP card replaced AND called the assistance agency that can help her get a GED and find a job. AND AND AND she is planning to find a way to get there—HERVERYOWNSELF!  OH…MY...GOOD...GRACIOUS…GOD!  (reeling back against the wall with one hand to my heart in astonishment)  ROFL

Salsa-ed a goodly chunk of the kitchen.  Been waiting for the jalapeno oils to start burning where they splatted on my arm, neck and chest.  Nothing so far, so maybe I escaped. :-p Hardest part was keeping Mickey Mutt out of the kitchen.  She eats anything and her butt would have been burning by morning!

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Just watched the news and wish I hadn’t.  Sad, heartbreaking day.  Hard to fathom why the people of Moore should have this horror thrown at them again. One long-time local weather person here, who knows better, called it a “once in a lifetime event.”  YOU REPORTED THE 1999 storm!!!!! What, is Moore populated by cats?  Do they HAVE any more lifetimes left to sacrifice?  Three times savaged in 14 years.  I think that is enough lifetime for an entire planet.  Please, God, let those kids be okay…

Here at home, a 28-year-veteran firefighter died working a condo fire this morning in Dallas.  The last communication from him was that he was trapped.  Anytime a law enforcement officer or fire fighter dies in the line of duty, it hurts me deeply.  I have a long history of needing both and feel a personal sense of loss each time.  But this particular time, the “I’m trapped” call opened up part of the hole again.  The FD spokesman was on the edge of losing control as he gave the information and he had to stop several times.  I have watched this man through many a television interview and have never seen him as he was this afternoon, never seen this level of pain and such a sense of helplessness.  It is heartwrenching to watch a strong, adult man struggle to not break down and cry like a little boy in sorrow.   I don’t want to hear that trapped call.  I don’t want to imagine what it must have been like for this man who gave so much of his life to his city.  And, in the end, gave it all.  I have tried for 25 years not to imagine what it must have been like for my mother, who almost made it out.  I don’t want to hear that trapped call.  I don’t want to feel again the sense of helplessness, that sense I couldn’t have done anything to save her—but that I should have.  We were in completely different states, not even talking to each other at the time, but I could have saved her.  That is what I told myself for years and years and years.  It was my fault, I should have done something, anything to get her out of there, try again to get her help.  I didn’t take action and she died.  Maybe I was right, maybe I was wrong.  The alcoholism would have taken her soon enough even without the fire.  Her blood alcohol was .28 on that late December afternoon; I am still astounded she was able to get as far as she did.  And she was in a older, rattle-trap mobile home that went up like it was doused.  Well, it was.  And that, too, weighted down the guilt.  But, no matter where or what or how, for years now, I have chosen to keep telling myself that…I...could…not…have…saved…her.  Most days, I believe it.  It is just afternoons like this one bring it back up to the surface.  And I have to start telling myself all over again.

Ain't no sun
Ain't no blue sky
The wind blows cold
Now that you've gone away
And tomorrow just like today
There's 100% chance of rain.

Fever is back and I feel sodden and discouraged.  Going to bed.  Maybe tomorrow I will feel stronger.  There’s always tomorrow…wait, did that one already.  Maybe I can work on Singing In The Rain?  Gene always cheers me up. :-)

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