Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...
Powered by Blogger.

There Was Almost A Death

Monday, June 27, 2016

We were out riding in the glorious weather yesterday. A perfectly, beautiful, much needed ride. There was no cloud that could be found in the clear, sunny, Portland sky. We changed things up a bit and rode down to NW 23rd. For those of you that know Portland you know how eclectic, and entertaining, it is down there. 

On the way it was amazingly awesome being able to smell the food carts, the flowers, the fresh air, At one point the song "Stuck In The Middle With You," came to mind when I looked ahead and I saw Mt. St. Helens to the left of me and Mt Hood on my right. Great, I thought, that song will be stuck in the recesses of my mind for days. I'm still hearing it. Luckily it's a kick ass song.

For those that aren't familiar with NW23rd, summertime is a magical time. Outdoor cafes, twinkling lights, great shopping, and fantastic people watching opportunities. There all types, as usual, out and about, even a woman painting a cow, a dude that sounded exactly like Louis Armstrong and playing a sax, interesting attire, dogs, and freaks! 

It was also totally entertaining to watch people that wanted to parallel park behind our bikes assess the situation. They would look at the bikes, look at the space, look at us watching them, and more times than not they would decide to leave the space open. However, a few brave souls were able to park there, not touch our bikes, therefore keeping their lives. 

We grabbed some Mexican food and enjoyed it at a sidewalk table in the cool shade of a street side tree right in front of our Harleys. We saw all types walk, waltz, glide, and run, past us. Here's a fashion tip for the millennial "men." You look absolutely ridiculous in your skinny pants, loafers with no socks, and cocky attitude, but at least you'll have something to look back on, and the way you looked in the year 2016 will give you a good laugh, as it does us adults now. Trendy isn't fashion, classic is, but hey, if you want your kids and grand kids laughing at your 2016 pics go ahead. The rest of us are already shaking our heads and laughing wondering how in the heck you can call that fashion. Although I do have to admit that it's much better than the trend of having your butt hanging out of your 30 times too large pants, it still looks ridiculous.

When we decided to leave it was hot and the roads crowded. Having lived in this area for nearly 20 years I know the back roads away from the, then packed, freeway. We decided to make a stop to get ice cream. We turned into the entrance of the plaza, I was leading. A guy in a white crossover cage ran a stop sign, didn't look to his right (where I was coming from) and damn near hit me. I had the right of way, no stop sign, and thank God I watch what's happening around me. I laid on the horn and I saw him watch me in his mirrors. He pulled into a space. I stopped right behind his death mobile, stared right back at him in the mirrors while trying to calm down and figure out what to do. He wasn't getting away without a lesson regarding driving in America, or anywhere for that matter.

He watched in his mirror as we sat behind him. He tried to pull into the space in front of him to exit the lot (dumbass) but another turned into it. He knew he had messed up badly and was then trapped. Since he had no exit I pulled into a space a car away, got off of my bike, and walked over in full gear, and knocked on his window. 

I could see, through the window, 911 was on the touch screen of his smartphone. Yeah a chick on a white and pink bike is REALLY scary right? He put down window, phone in hand,  and I said (nicely...believe me, it took every ounce of self control) "You ran that stop sign, you didn't even look the other way, you could have killed me and my boyfriend that was behind me." 

His eyes grew huge (as did those of his little blonde bipeds) when he heard I saw exactly what he did and I told him of his every move, he almost killed me and to please watch what he was doing. He canceled the 911 call, he knew he was in deep shit at that point. 

He looked back and saw my BF, that looks much scarier than I, and said, "I'm so, so sorry. I was looking for a parking spot. I was only looking for a parking spot." 

Me: "A parking spot? Well Sir, is getting a parking spot worth killing, or badly injuring another person?" 

He kept glancing in his mirror at my BF, Mr. scary, old school biker with a long silver pony tail, tats and tanned. I didn't look at my BF while I was speaking to the guy but I can imagine the look on my BFs face as he waited to see if he was going to need to stop a fight. I don't fight, but the guy could have very well jumped out and tried to intimidate me. That doesn't work with this girl. My BF was probably thinking, "Oh great. What kind of mess is she going to start that I'll have to finish." I kept my cool, on the surface, inside I was fuming.

"No, it's not (trembling voice now) worth a life. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." 
Me: "Well maybe you'll watch next time, and I hope your kids (that were in the cage) have learned something as well. You really need to STOP at signs, lights, etc., turn your head and look before you kill someone.You didn't even slow down or attempt to look." Damn, I could have been a kid on a skateboard, a dog, a senior on a scooter, or with a walker. We had the right of way and this ignorant person did not even stop, let alone turn his freaking head to see if anything was coming.

I was proud of myself. I kept calm when all I wanted to do was smash his freaking windshield in with one of the "tools" strapped to my bike. He and I should both be very happy I kept calm and he was polite or he would be replacing the door on his cage as well as the windshield and I would be posting today asking for someone to bail me out of jail. 

Moral of the story, stop at signs and lights, STOP don't roll through, and please look both ways. I think everyone one in drivers ed should be required to take a motorcycle awareness class. Then they may be more aware and not kill one of us, a kid, someone's pet, or anyone they failed to see because they didn't look. 

Please everyone, please, look while you drive. Stay off your phones, no texting, stop when you should, and turn your head. Be safe for us all. 

Oh, and look what Chickey did to my leg while organizing the garage and forgetting I had let my bike warm up. Dumb move! 


The Day Began With Perfect Expectations....But....

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

As ribbons of light from the early morning sun streamed through my bedroom window I awoke with thoughts of sunshine, the smell of leather, and the rumble of pipes filling my still groggy mind.

It was a perfect day for for a much awaited ride on the bikes. As I downed my coffee I pulled my long blonde hair into a pony tail, jumped into my jeans, selected a shirt, socks, tied up my boots and was off to the garage to ready the baby to ride.

We warmed the bikes, checking all crucial components, geared up, and took off for what we thought was going to be an incredible day of feeling the wind, seeing the country, and being free for the day.

We were about three miles into our ride when one of the bikes sputtered, backfired, and quit. I had been leading and in my mirror saw the bike pulled to the side of the road.

I climbed off of my steel horse, took off my helmet, placed it on the road behind my bike (the sign of a rider in trouble) and walked back to see what was going wrong.

THIS is the signal for needing help

The bike would start then die, start then die. He placed his helmet on the road behind his bike. If you are a BIKER you know the sign that a brother needs help.

We happen to live in a rather affluent (read clueless) area where most "bikers" put about 1500 miles a year on their bikes. They're not bikers, they're people that own a Harley and a shirt.

People, everyone, if you see a motorcycle on the side of the road, with a helmet behind it on the ground, someone is asking for help.

We watched the "weekenders," probably at least 30 motorcycles, as they passed by and waved. ONE bike did stop, but there was nothing he could do, but he stopped!

I walked back to my bike, laid in the sun and awaited further instruction, help, or whatever was going to happen.

Miraculously a van stopped and a man with a baby got out. I heard a whistle signaling me to approach. As I neared the bike the man that had stopped looked familiar. Then he removed his sun glasses. It was a very good friend of my oldest son that I hadn't seen in years!

He had no idea who he was stopping to help, but he knew the signal and stopped. He helped us get the bike running well enough to get it home, then came over about an hour later and they tinkered with it some more.

Kyle, thank you. You are a gentleman, a biker, and a friend. I find it ironic the kid I have known for 15 years or so had no idea as to whom he was stopping to help and as it turned out it was his good friend's mom and her boyfriend.

People, riders, everyone, if you see a bike(s) with a helmet on the ground behind them they need help. Possibly they haven't been able to reach anyone because their phone had died, perhaps another reason, but at least stop and ask if they need something. If you don't feel comfortable at least pull up, crack your window and ask what the problem is. You could very well be the one that makes the difference between life and death.

As to all the "bikers" that waved and smiled as they rode by, sell your toy and take up golf. You're SO not bikers and you should be ashamed of yourselves.

I do have to say, all things considered, I'm very thankful it was Kyle, the guy in a mini van with a baby, that stopped. Thank you Kyle. You so rock!

It was planned to be a good day

Loving my pony tail in the mirror

At least I had a great view

Not a happy biker

Need some help here

Taking a break

Catching some rays
Help arrived! Divine intervention!

If you're going to ride learn the signals.



The Shower

Sunday, May 15, 2016

I awoke this morning amidst a heavy feeling of foreboding. I had much to do and my first thoughts were to burrow beneath the blankets, close my eyes, and sleep throughout the day. It was a much desired wish that I knew could not be fulfilled. 

Mentally I ran down my list and knew there would be no way of getting through it unless autopilot was engaged and feelings set aside. The anticipation of entering my sanctuary at day’s end permeated the gaps in my thoughts.

Then the time came. I closed the solid, five paneled, cherry door, and studied the weary eyes that stared back at me from the mirror. I walked into the massive shower, turned on the waterfall head allowing the water to warm, then stepped out to ready myself for the release that would soon follow.

The tumbled marble was cool beneath my feet as I removed my clothing and dropped it in a heap on the floor. While waiting for the water to heat I studied my face. I looked tired, frustrated, and in much need of relaxation.

I examined my bare body. It didn’t show the strain I had been enduring. I could feel the tightness in my jaw, my neck, and radiating down my back. However, my skin looked soft, my tattoos, that are usually veiled by clothing, were vibrant, colorful, and brought a bit of a smile to my face. The diamond sitting in my navel shone brightly and I thought of other women my age and how differently we have chosen to care for, and express ourselves.

I noticed steam filling the shower and knew the time was right to step into the peace it would most certainly bring. I held my head back allowing the water to fall directly onto my face before it covered the curves of my body. I could feel the length of my long, blonde, locks touch the center of my back, and I sensed the heaviness of the day begin to lift.

I breathed deeply, for what seemed an eternity, before reaching for the shampoo and lathering my hair. With my eyes closed I took the steam into my lungs, massaged my scalp, then watched the foam form paths down my saturated torso as I rinsed the thick bubbles from my flaxen tresses.

Slowly, methodically, I finished the ritualistic, yet symbolic, cleansing of both body and soul. I took my time and enjoyed the solitude and the sound of falling water. I stood motionless as I consciously, and deeply, breathed in the warm, thick air. As I exhaled I allowed the weight, and burdens, of the day to escape and be carried down the drain by the heavenly, healing, water.

I stepped from the shower and covered myself in a thick, luxurious, Egyptian cotton, towel. I wrapped my still damp hair, wiped the foggy mirror, and saw a face with much less stress, and felt my soul had been liberated from the mishaps of the days that have passed.

I’m now relaxing in the comfort of my bed, my head resting on down filled pillows. The lights are dim and the only sound is coming from the television with the volume low. My eyes are heavy, my head is clear, and the the fight I have yet to finish can wait until another day. As for now it’s time to close my eyes, let sleep envelope me, and leave today in the past forever.

Sweet Dreams,


Allow It To Begin

Saturday, April 23, 2016

What does one do with emotions that can’t be told
That have to be bottled and buried in the depth of one’s soul

How does one express feelings that run so deep
Without being misunderstood or causing a rift into which one leaps

Where is the Sun when we need its light most
Where does one find peace without the past’s ghosts

I’m confident a time will indeed come
When there’s no further need to numb

A time that allows the mind, heart, and soul to calm
When anothers unconditional love covers old wounds with a soothing balm

Let the sun shine and allow the warmth in
Open your heart wide and allow the healing to begin

Don’t look to the past but forward instead
Run to the future and into the brightness ahead


Staring Death In The Face

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

It was unusually warm for an April day in the Pacific Northwest. It was a day every biker dreams of. The bright blue skies were cloudless, the wind minimal, and warm rays of the sun shone brightly on the chrome of the beautiful machines on which we rode.

We took off for a short ride to test out the bike we had just picked up from our friend. As I led he rode up beside me and motioned that we needed to stop for a minute or two. His chest was tight, his breathing labored, and his skin was pale beneath glistening beads of sweat.

We rested a bit, re-hydrated, and continued on. He wasn't feeling well so we headed home. It wasn't long before the crushing pains began, one after another without ceasing. He went outside to get some fresh air when the sensations in his chest became increasingly painful. He was light headed and I knew what we were dealing with was serious, but I had no way of knowing how serious those pains would turn out to be.

Amidst protests, from a man unable to speak while the pains grew more frequent, I made the decision to call for the paramedics that were only about a block from our home. When they arrived they quickly attached leads to his body that led to their portable EKG unit and captured approximately six more events.

He was loaded into the ambulance and away they went while I followed in the car. As I entered the hospital I was rushed into a room filled with the cardiac team. They firmly requested I speak with him, touch him, and let him know I was there. He looked into my eyes as they pushed high levels of medications through the IV that had been inserted at home. They told me to tell him to stay here, not to leave, and I did. His eyes were foggy and uncertain as he said, "'l'll try." I told him no, he wasn't going to try, he would stay and not leave us. Once more he said he would try. The team told me to be more emphatic with him, and I was, I demanded he stay. Finally he relented and said he would.
I was then taken out of the room so they could attempt to shock his heart back into a normal sinus rhythm. Within minutes he was whisked away to have a heart cath performed. After what seemed an eternity they brought him out and told me what had actually happened in that ambulance.

He thought he had passed out. When he came to he spoke of nodding off and was told he didn't "nod off," he had "checked out." He was gone for over a minute before the vigorous CPR revived him. We weren't told until the night before his release that he had been originally given less than a 10% chance of survival.

He spoke to us of dreaming, dreaming of two white, faceless, figures that were speaking to him. He was unable to recall their words but he vividly remembered their presence. It was at that point I was instructed to only tell three people, his sons and his father, not only by him, but by the doctors as well. They wanted no interruptions for either of us during that uncertain, stressful, time. I had already called his sons and his Dad on the way to the hospital.

They sedated him heavily and placed him on a multitude of medications in the hopes of keeping his heart at a stable pace. He was hooked to various beeping, colorful machines, and carefully monitored though the critical hours that followed.

I had, at that time, been assured all was well with his heart, but there were spasms that they were trying to minimize. The cath had shown his heart to be perfectly healthy, and contrary to the "knowledge" of one, his condition had absolutely nothing to do with his lifestyle, or choices, but rather most likely a genetic defect.

I got home around 4 AM that Friday morning and was back at the hospital only hours later. Somehow word leaked out and the phone calls and texts began. The doctors instructed us to turn off our phones and keep people at a distance for the days that followed. Often times well meaning people freak and call not realizing that others too were calling, and that with every call, every text, the stress on the both of us would only increase so I was placed in the position of keeping his father and sons informed and others at bay.

That next morning he was more with it and again explained the experience. His chest was sore because of the life saving CPR that had been done en route. Doctors, many doctors, were in and out of the room and the decision was made to implant a AICD , an automatic implantable cardioverter-defibrillator. The device was designed to monitor the heartbeat. The device can deliver an electrical impulse, or shock to the heart, when it senses life-threatening changes in the heart's rhythm.  

We had to wait several days so a highly specialized MRI could be done before implantation of the device. The days of waiting were some of the most stressful we encountered and the doctors, knowing how critical it was to keep him as quiet and as isolated from the outside world as possible, allowed me to bring two of our dogs into the Cardiac ICU to help calm him. It was a good decision on their part and his blood pressure immediately decreased.

Monday morning the MRI was done, and Tuesday the surgeon took him back, created a pouch, with the incision made above his "Godspeed" tattoo per his instruction, implanted the device and placed two leads, a positive and a negative into the heart itself. The leads have threads at the end and are screwed into the heart to hold them in place until the heart can grow around them. The team then induced another cardiac arrest to test the device and he was soon back in his room to begin his journey to recovery. 

This morning we were finally given the ok to head home, or perhaps we were "kicked out." He did have a few cranky times, although I have to admit that he was pretty damned good for a man deprived of nicotine and caffeine for such a long period of time. 

Had I taken him by car, as he had asked, we would today be grieving the loss of an incredible man that is loved by many, but instead we have a happy, healthy man sound asleep and healing. And who knows, there could come a time when those leads can come in handy. You know, like if a battery dies on a bike trip we can just use him to jump start the bike.  :)

This next week is extremely important to his healing and we ask, again per order of the doctors as well as his preference, that no calls, or texts, be made unless initiated by him. He needs time to come to terms with what's happened. He needs time to rest, he needs time to begin the healing process, and he needs the time to de-stress. Remember that, even though we both know everyone is concerned and believes "one" phone call, or text will be fine, dozens of others think the same and with the avalanche of disturbances his recovery, and my re-charging, are both hindered. 

We both would like to thank you in advance for honoring our wishes and the orders of those in charge of his care. 

We love you all and will be back to normal as soon as possible. If any of you would like to send him cards, letters, etc. it would be greatly appreciated. Text me and I'll send you our address.



A Picture Speaks Volumes

Tuesday, March 15, 2016

I'm so very happy at this minute because I know my parents are snickering in Heaven and joyous someone has finally called this woman out.

I may be wrong, but it seems to me she might want to put as much effort into her business as she does in cyber stalking me.

Susan, remember the time you asked me to babysit your kids and your friend's kids for an entire day and paid me $5.00 and as you handed me the money said that I owed you a free babysitting? Remember how livid Mom was? 

I know I said in my last post of her and her other sister that I would get back to my normal posting, but this was too funny not to post.

This screen shot is from TODAY ONLY. Hilarious, or a better word would be sad.

At least this gave me a much needed laugh after dealing with doctors and lab work all day.



She Just Can't Help Herself

Monday, March 14, 2016

As I was a child I had a woman I admired greatly, that changed years ago. I wasn't sure why my Mom didn't like her, my mother had integrity and, although I knew Mom didn't like her sisters, she would never say why. There is a reason for this "family" problem being written about in a public forum at this time, and I'll get to it. I don't usually lower myself to the level of my Mom's sisters, but I'm sick of their shit, their stalking, their gossiping, and in my frame of mind right now, after seeing what I saw this morning, I'm calling their asses out and telling them exactly why Mom avoided them, Dad despised them, why my brothers won't speak to them, and why I won't speak to them.

My Dad did explain in depth of the reasons often, especially after Mom died when he was more free to speak without disrespecting Mom's desire to just ignore them. I didn't believe my parents, I'd never seen that side of my Mom's sisters as she and my father had. I was blind where my brothers were not. I'd lived in the Northwest since 1990 and my bothers witnessed much more first hand than I had during the time I had been living away from my native state.

In the time since my Mom died I've come to realize exactly why my parents felt that way. After Mom died her sisters were on my back before I could even grasp the idea my mother had been killed when they swooped in and attempted to force me to go through my Mom's things, to remove every memory of her from our house. I wasn't ready, Dad wasn't ready. They pushed, and pushed, and pushed, never appearing to stop and think that my Mom's kids and her husband were not, in any way, ready to have my Mother's things removed from our family home. We all needed time to process and grieve. Dad wanted to keep peace, I wanted to keep peace, so we decided to give in that one time in the hopes the continual pestering would stop.

We called one of Mom's sisters and took her up on her offer so she would quit hounding us. We didn't want them there for the simple reason we weren't ready, but Dad wanted to keep peace, looked at me and said, "This snake has never shed her skin. Be careful I don't want to be here when she is."

While she was there, directing every move, we came across a box that had written on it "Denia's pictures." Denia was my grandmother, my Mom's mom, an icon to me.

Mom's sister wanted that box, she hadn't even looked into the box, yet she was obsessed by it. I remained steadfast and told her no. I knew what the box contained, pictures my grandmother had of my Mom, my bothers and me as children, and pictures related to us. This is the same sister that my mom had to fight to allow me to have a few of my grandmother's things after her death, and that took years. On that note, the other sister took my grandmother's wedding ring after her death and gave it to her daughter, my grandmother had left it to me. She also took the jewelry my grandmother left to me because she didn't like what my grandmother left her. My cousin is a beautiful, gracious woman, and she had no idea, and there is no way I want it misconstrued that she had any idea of what her mother did. While we're on the topic of my grandmother, my grandmother had it written in her will that each grandchild was to receive a certain amount of money after her death. More about that in a bit.

After Mom's sister forced her will upon my family, invading our attempt to heal, she proceeded to tell everyone she encountered, it seemed, that I didn't want her there because I thought she was going to steal my Mom's things. How messed up is that? The thought never crossed my mind, I was was on auto pilot, as was my father, and we were trying to make our way through a horrible, horrible event in our lives.

Back to my grandmother. Two of her daughters conveniently "forgot" my grandmother's wishes of the money she wanted her grand children to have after the sell of her farmland, but my Mom, my Mom on the other hand honored Denia's wishes and when my bothers and I bought out first houses Mom wrote us each a check in the amount my grandmother wanted us to have, with interest. Mom had integrity. I had no idea her sisters didn't honor my grandmother's dying words until I spoke to a cousin about what my Mom had done. My cousin was shocked, asked her Mom, and her Mom denied it. Dad always told me Mom's sisters were greedy and thought only of themselves, but I never thought they would steal from their own children and then lie about it. When I was speaking about what I had learned about the situation with my Mother, Mom never said a word, but looked at me in a knowing way, shook her head and rolled her eyes. I knew what she meant.

The sister that showed my family no respect for our grief due to my Mom being killed then showed her colors, as Mom had always insinuated, by calling me while I was driving from Texas to Oregon after my Mother's funeral and proceeded to scream at me, call me names, and throw about accusations for about two hours. I threw them right back because at that moment my Mom's avoidance of her, and my Father's words, suddenly made sense, especially when she ended with, "Don't tell Andy (my Dad) about this conversation." I called my Dad immediately. The woman, in my parent's opinions, as well as mine, and my brothers at the time, they may have changed their minds by now but I don't think so, but in my Dad's words, "That woman is batshit crazy."

My family was not ready to do as the sisters were trying to force us to do. They weren't in our place, they didn't know what we were going through, they wanted to force their wants onto our family. The second I left Texas for Oregon that woman came back, with the help of another woman, and they continued to do MY job as a daughter, they finished going through my Mom's things throwing things away, giving them away, and who knows what else, when in fact it was my responsibility as my Mother's daughter to go through her possessions. How do I know? My Dad told me it was my place and that my brothers would take care of his as his sons.

Dad was pissed at BOTH of the women that did that to me, to him, and to my Mom's memory. When my Dad died and it was time for my brothers to go through my Father's things I really hope those women didn't force themselves on my brothers as they did with my Father and me. While they may have been trying, in their minds, to be "helpful," they should have been sensitive to my family's grief and give us time, and the respect, to do it our way, not theirs.

Dad and I had many talks after Mom died where he spelled out everything, in detail, of why he and my mom detested her sisters. I do have to admit that one of my Mother's sisters stepped up to the plate and was there for my Dad when I couldn't be. She really did make an effort to care for Dad in his situation, and I appreciate her efforts and will be forever thankful to her for what she did for my first hero. Even with her generous efforts my father never forgot that when my grandmother was dying of lung cancer  he and my mom had given my grandmother several thousand dollars because of her situation. He was livid at one of the sisters, and her husband, specifically because they said they couldn't help because it would take their "vacation" money. Come on, your mother is dying of lung cancer, in great need yet your vacation was more important than the little life that was left of your own mother? Character check.

True to form though, after my father died, the same sister that had attacked and accused me after Mom was killed verbally attacked my brother's wife just as she did with me, although not as severe, it still shook my brother's wife to the core for no reason and the pain and tears she caused my brother's wife is inexcusable.

I was visiting that particular sister several years ago when she, her husband, and I went to dinner at one of my favorite places. They both started in on me as to why my brothers wanted nothing to do with them and how my brothers had hurt my Mom's sister's feelings. Why put me in that situation, there was no way on this Earth I was going to tell them of things my brothers had told me privately. If it was that big of a deal to them they should have gone TO my brothers and not BEHIND their backs, but that's their MO.  She shouldn't have been a bitch. My brothers did as my father had told us in the weeks before his death, and that was to stay away from them all.  He felt that when he died they would turn their gossipy, and bitterness, onto my brothers and me, and they certainly did so. How dare they be so insensitive as to attack grieving children whose parents had died so closely in time to the other one. 

My parents were PISSED about many things, one being my Dad's car being wrecked, one being that Dad was TOLD he was going to be taking my Mom's sister's son, whom they both despised, home with them from Colorado to Texas. Oh Dad was pissed, as was Mom. My bothers and I heard about that for years. They were pissed that they had to fight a sister for me to have some of my grandmothers items, they were pissed by their gossipy ways, they didn't like their pretentious attitudes, and their way of "playing nice to get info they would use to destroy," Dad's words.

A couple of weeks before my Dad died he told me to be aware that one of the sisters would pretend to care in order to gather information to spread to the other and not to trust anything they said. Once again, while I did take in his words, I hadn't seen it personally, that is until he died.

Dad had it pegged. They played their roles perfectly as he had described. I guess I got off track a bit regarding my brothers and why they had avoided Mom's sisters, they listened to Dad and steered clear. In the time I had lived half a continent away they had witnessed just what my Father was trying to convey to me. My brothers were the smart ones.

After years of them stalking me when I fell apart after my Dad's death I got tired of the nasty comments two 70+ year old women would leave on my social media. Really? Old women dogging me on social media? I had never dogged them. I'd never publicly spoken of affairs, I'd never spoken of the knives hidden with the sweet talk of a southern woman, alcoholism, drug abuse, and I'd never spoken of their hatred for their children's choice of partners, their bitterness, their games, their lying to their children. I never once publicly spoke of the skeletons in their closets.

They not only attacked me on Facebook, or this blog, but on LinkedIn, Twitter, all of my social media sites. I blocked them on the ones I could, listened to my parents advice finally and cut them out of my life. They are gossipers with one mission, to make themselves feel better and cause discord within the family. One of them would come up with "anonymous" profiles just to throw nasty, unfounded, darts at me. The darts they threw at me were very familiar to the ones they threw at my brothers in other ways. The thing is, that I finally understood, they are exactly as my Father described. They, in spectacular explosions, exposed themselves. I could no longer deny what my parents had tried to warn me of.

Mom and Dad were correct. Now think to yourselves just why would "blood" be so hateful to take all that energy to make someone that had gone through extreme trauma over several years, much of which they didn't know of, nor care to know, and why would they speak so hatefully to me about my brothers, their wives, yes you as well sisters-n-law? Then comes another question, why would they make accusations when they have no concept actuality?

You may be wondering why I have gone off the way I have, which is unusual for me to do in public. They are continuing to stalk my every post on every site they can. The only reasons I can think of are that one, they have very boring lives, or two (most likely) they want more fuel for the fires they like to sit by and degrade others in the attempts to warm their cold souls. I should take it as flattery, but knowing their intentions, they're looking for another to devour.

I've asked them several times to stop stalking me, to grow up and act their ages, and they, well at least one the one that is the "information gatherer" as Dad called her, refuses to stop. So now it's my turn to switch up the game.

I track hits on my sites daily, and I saw this yet again this morning:

It came from my Mother's sister Susan Outslay Baker. That link will take you to one of her professional sites. I, in NO way, want anyone to make any ugly comments on her site, but if she can't stay out of my life, I don't think she would mind me allowing you into hers. She's the one with the false names she has used to leave nasty comments on my various sites. I won't put a link to her personal sites, nor to my mother's other sister's personal site. But if it's attention she's seeking, there it is. The world knows you know Susan. Grow up and keep your nose in your own business, not mine. Another word to you, and Sandra Clendenin, if I were you I'd think twice before attempting to pour your poison on my children. I know you are because I know who you are, but think twice. Remember the phrase, "Hell hath no fury?" Remember it, repeat it, memorize it. Have respect for once in your lives and don't attempt to contaminate my children, or my ex husband (he's aware of your tactics) with your sugary, southern, poison disguised as concern and false "love." Leave me and my family alone or you will see in technicolor exactly what that phrase means.  I'd remember this if I were you, my Mom and my Dad, made sure all of their grandchildren knew exactly what the two of you are about. Don't make the mistake of thinking you can charm them. They'll be nice, they'll be respectful, but they know the truth. My parents made sure they knew your games, and your actions since her death made them believers.

Feeling better now and ready to get back to regular programming as I feel their poison leaving my home. Oh, one more word of wisdom....we're all human. The two of you live in glass houses, it wouldn't be wise to throw stones, I know your skeletons.

Related Posts with Thumbnails

All Rights Reserved

© 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015

All rights reserved. Content, both written and original photographs, may not be copied or used in any way without consent.

  © Blogger template On The Road by 2009

Back to TOP