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The barn porch finally had its bats installed.
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The husband gave me a pair of them five years ago and they’ve finally found their permanent home.
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Yes, they’re a little weird.
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But hey, so am I.
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And they make me smile.
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So what’s wrong with that?
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Because my blog is nothing if not educational.
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I shall never look at Peter Rabbit the same way again.
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Nope.
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I know you tried that, because I did as well. But the fact that it’s called a weenus? That’s the real headline.
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This is extremely good news… and may be cause for celebration. Cheers!
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Not being a mother, I admit this next one freaked me out a little.
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What! I’m getting tiny Sam Elliot and Wilford Brimley visuals here…
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May I just say… eww. Is the womb so cold a place every fetus has to don a fur coat they later consume? This falls under the category ‘I actually wish I didn’t know that.’
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I have never been to Disneyland. Point of fact? I never want to go to Disneyland. Alive… or dead. Though I’m sure it would probably be less annoying if I could haunt that obnoxious mouse ear wearing family from DuBuque.
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A card game of weird conversations? Count me in!
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Oh man, I might have to buy this.
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I’m dying.
🤣🤣🤣
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Carrie sounds a tad disappointed…. and who can blame her?
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The abyss!
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I live in Maine and have gone clamming… but never for those.
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If you have any to add… please feel free.
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Okay, I know I said my last weird experience post was the finale but after I blogged them all… I realized it actually wasn’t. The following is what I wrote three months after my mother passed. Her wish was to be cremated but she never told me what to do with her ashes. Being an only child I agonized over the decision, but knew that part of her should rest somewhere in New Jersey where she spent some of the happiest years of her life. It was an emotional trip for many reasons, but what happened on this particular day really hit home.
Rivergirl
October 20, 2014
I knew….
The third day of our trip started much like the first. My husband was up before dawn and went downstairs for the free…. but barely edible… hotel breakfast. Think watery eggs and rubber sausage.
I took a shower and as I was getting dressed, realized I should do what I had been putting off.
The purpose of our trip was to bring my mother home and I’d been stalling with walks down memory lane. I knew I wanted to spread half of her ashes at the Jersey shore where we’d spent many happy summers. She always loved the sea.
I stood there in the hotel room, feeling sad… missing my mom…. and set about the gruesome physical task. There’s something surreal about holding the remains of your loved one in your hands. The weight of a lifetime.
Of course I started crying. Wondering if I was doing the right thing, doing what she would have wanted. The grief flooded over me like a wave…
And then, when the task was done and she was evenly divided, I smiled…. because I realized I had double baggied her and she would have loved that.
Remember her fondness for baggies?
After I wiped my tears, I reached for my purse which held my much needed makeup… and saw something on the table. The table that had been perfectly empty a half hour before when I stepped in the shower.
I gasped. And started crying again….
It was my mother’s white bobby pin.
She was such a pill about them. Would never use any other color and they’re harder to find than you might think. She hoarded them… and started fretting when she was running low. They were in every room of her apartment, in every pocket of every coat and every sweater she owned. She was never without them…
But I didn’t carry them. Ever. And I certainly didn’t pack one to take on the trip with us. Why would I? My husband didn’t put it there, he was downstairs eating breakfast. I suppose a random white haired maid could have snuck in and dropped it while touching up her ‘do while I was showering…. but I’m guessing the odds of that are pretty high.
There’s no reason on earth why a white Bobby pin should have been on that table… except one.
My husband walked in the room a few minutes later, saw me crying and looked lost.
He didn’t believe me when I told him…
But I knew.
I knew she was there with me.
I knew.
To this day I still can’t wrap my mind around what happened. A physical embodiment of spirit? Get the straight jacket ready and tidy up the rubber room, River is on her way.
It’s been 7 years since that crazy bobby pin appeared out of nowhere, and if I think about it too long I begin to doubt it happened at all. But then I walk into our bedroom and look on my bureau under my passel of Alex and Ani bracelets…
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And I know.
I know it did…..
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I’m just going to keep putting these out here until I run out. If you’re reading them and seeing me differently, so be it. I’m finding it quite cathartic…. and as Bon Jovi says, It’s My Life.
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Weird experience #5, another from my days in the hospice with my late mother.
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The Crash.
Added: Wednesday, July 9th 2014 at 5:25am by rivergirl
As I said before, I brought a lot of pictures to my mothers hospice room. I hung them on the walls, taped them to the nightstand and tucked them in the tv screen. I wanted to surround her with love and happy memories.
There were many of me and my husband, and our pets and special times we had shared with my mother….
The nurses and staff loved it. They told me it lets them meet their patients in a different way, which considering the never ending sadness they deal with… I thought was very touching.
Most of the pictures were mine, but there were 3 framed photographs that had hung on my mother’s walls for 50 years… so I brought them too.
Here they are:
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My mother and her father on Jones Beach.
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My mother and father on their wedding day at the Stork Club.
And this one:
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A very old photo of my mother, in her 20’s, and her first love… Frank.
He was much older and very wealthy. He introduced a young, naive girl born to Austrian immigrant parents who lived in a cold water tenement flat…. to a world of art, culture and high society. They were together for many years, but never married. In 1957 he broke it off and introduced her to a junior partner in his firm….my father. They were married a year later.
I grew up knowing all about Frank. It was no secret she loved him and it in no way diminished the love she felt for my father. First love is first love. It never bothered me.
Now fast forward 50 odd years and her daughter is sitting alone with her in a hospice room waiting for the end. I cried. All day, all night, on and off for days.
During the first afternoon, I was sitting on the rock hard couch thinking about her life, my life and everything in between. I thought about my dad. About how much he loved her and what a good marriage they had.
And then I heard a crash.
The picture of my mom and Frank had fallen off the wall. It fell face down on the floor and the glass was smashed to bits.
No one had slammed a door, no one had knocked the wall from the next room. There was no seismic shock or tremor that rattled the building. No airplane flew too low and shook the windows. It just crashed.While all the other pictures stayed right where they were.
Apparently while my mother loving Frank didn’t bother me….it clearly bothered my dad. And he told me so in no uncertain terms.
The photo stayed face down on a side table until I brought it home after she passed.
Call it coincidence if you want….
But I know better.
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What is it they say? In for a penny, in for a pound. If you read this blog I wrote a week or so ago about a strange incident with my father’s antique clock…. and if you didn’t think I was a total nutcase, please continue and blame Swinged Cat .
He asked me to share my weird experiences a while back and that means telling stories from one of the worst times in my life, the death of my mother. So here’s another of the odd moments in my life I can’t explain.
Tick Tock….
Added: Tuesday, July 8th 2014 at 4:40am by rivergirl
As horrible as the passing of my mother was, there were a few moments I will treasure….for very different reasons. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to share them here.
When we moved her from the hospital to hospice, she was in pain…but awake and relatively alert. It was a lovely place and I had visions of spending time with her in the gardens listening to the birds…
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Sadly, that wasn’t to be as the cancer was too far advanced. Her decline was so rapid, strong medication was required.
After the first night of listening to her cry in pain, I gave the okay for maximum morphine. She rested more easily, but was so heavily doped up she was unaware of her surroundings. The gardens and peaceful sculptures turning gently in the breeze were more for me… and this lonely bench near the woods became my salvation when things got too heavy to bear.
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I went to her room the next morning loaded with flowers, framed photographs and personal items to brighten her space. But again…. she was unaware.
I stroked her brow, held her hand, and told her I loved her.
Nothing.
In the 5 days she was there, she only spoke once.
“Whose clock is that? I hear ticking.”
I was confused, as there were no clocks in the room. It meant nothing to me at the time. Just the gibberish of a heavily morphined mind.
Or was it?
Those of you who know me, know I am not a religious person. The hypocrisy of the modern church makes me cringe. And when the hospice staff asked me if I wanted a priest to sit with me, I said no. The thought of the black crow of death hovering over me spilling platitudes did not give me the least bit of solace.
So imagine my surprise when a quiet, unassuming lesbian chaplain became my confident during our stay. She listened, she consoled… she was there. We spoke of many things…least of all religion. I ended up spilling my entire history with my mother to her and felt a giant weight lift from my shoulders. They say that the right people come into your life at the right times…. that statement doesn’t seem so trite to me now.
She told me she believed that everyone has someone who helps them pass over. And it eased my mind to think that my father was waiting for my mother at the end of her journey.
She asked me if my mother had spoken and I related that one meaningless phrase.
Her eyes got wide, she bowed her head and then just stared at me. I couldn’t figure out what I was missing…. until she reminded me of the story I had told her the day before. The one about my father’s broken clock ticking after 29 years of silence.
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Make of it what you will…. but that lovely little woman held my hand and said she knew it was my father’s way of saying he was there. Waiting.
Tick, tock.
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You’re back! Even though your eyes hurt from rolling so far up in your head? I appreciate that. Try not to think of me differently, I’m still the same margarita swilling, rock obsessed, chicken loving Mainiac (capital M thank you very much) you know and love. This is just another quirk to add to the list.
So that was strange experience number two. My reading with a psychic. It seems odd all these years later to even admit that out loud, but the simple act of rereading my blog from that time has lightened my heart again. If I took nothing else away from that weird and wonderful night it was the fact that our loved ones are never really gone. I truly believe that now…. and it’s a great comfort.
So here’s my last episode of that spiritual adventure. The aftermath.
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I think I opened the floodgates….
Added: Wednesday, January 30th 2013 at 5:29am by rivergirl
Since my experience last Saturday, I’ve told a few close friends about the psychic I saw and how she made a believer out of me… if just for one night. I was a bit fearful of their reactions… expecting eye rolls and chuckles. But I swear it was like they were all waiting for that particular door to open so they could tell their stories.
It was completely bizarre…. A totally no nonsense conservative told me of visitations from his late mother. An old girlfriend I went to school with and thought I knew everything about, admitted she’s been seeing a psychic for 15 years. A down to earth grandmother of 7 told me about her numerous feelings of deja vu. A man that works with my husband, the most rigidly analytical mind in the office, brought these books for me to read and confessed he is a devout believer.
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I skimmed a few chapters of these and think this woman is a flake……but whatever. It was the thought that counts.
I guess what really struck me is most people don’t feel comfortable talking about this subject until they know you’re on board.
So… I’m putting it out there.
I told you of my mind blowing re-connection with my late father. Are any of you willing to share your other worldly experiences?
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I’d love to hear your stories… if you’re willing to share. And yes, I have a few more strange things in the archives. Experiences from time spent at my mother’s bedside during her last days in hospice. Maybe I’ll post those as well….
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If you’re back this morning it must mean you want to know how my reading with the psychic went back in 2013. Funny, eight years later and I still have to pinch myself when I think about it. Roll your eyes, scoff, write me off as a nutcase… I don’t care. I would have done the same if I hadn’t experienced it myself. You know me…I’m a pragmatic chicka. A realist. There have only been a handful of things in my life I can’t explain…. and this was one of them. So jump aboard the crazy train and thank Swinged Cat for opening up my archive with his request for sharing weird experiences.
My evening with spirits…. **Friends only**
January 29th 2013 at 9:47am by rivergirl
I’m not sure I know where to begin.
And if I start rambling, please forgive me…it was a very emotional experience.
The psychic was a lovely woman who made me feel completely at ease. There was no incense, no crystal ball, just a table and the prerequisite box of tissues. She instructed me at the beginning of the session not to volunteer any information. Only to acknowledge or negate what she said. So for all you skeptics, there was no way she was pulling details of my life from me since all I said for an entire hour was yes or no.
I have to say it felt surreal. The moment we started she told me there was a man, who she felt was my father, waiting for me. I won’t go into all the details since none of you knew him….suffice it to say she had him down cold. There was nothing she related that wasn’t completely accurate. She had his personality, his job, his appearance, his love for my mother, his wartime experience, his poor health, his dry sense of humor, his love of the sea. She saw him surrounded by books, artist’s brushes, animals and gardens. She spoke of his grief over the loss of his brother when he was young, of his regrets in not being able to watch me grow up, his sense of duty towards his widowed mother and awful sister.
(And let me tell you…she had her down pat also. My hateful aunt who the psychic called spoiled, entitled and bitter. Fittingly, she is as alone in death as she was in life. Nice to know you really do reap what you sow. 👍)
I think the most amazing thing I came away from this experience with was the knowledge that our loved ones are always with us. My father said he was glad I had found a good man who loved me. That we were secure financially, that we were happy. He knew my husband had been in uniform and was older than I. He spoke of the big building project we had undertaken (the barn!) and how well we worked together as a team. He said he had been worried for me in my early teenage years right after he died because I, how shall we say….ran a little wild. (Which I totally did!) He said he appreciated the fact that I care for my mother… and to please have patience with her… as he had to, for she is not a strong woman.
The psychic told me of my father being there the night of the Marine Corps ball and how lovely he thought I looked in my dress. Of how proud he was of me for finding my own voice after so many years of being a shy wallflower. (Yeah….I know, hard to believe but at one time I was.) He wanted me to know that our beloved beagle Hiram was beside him now as he had been in life….which made the animal lover in me rejoice. He told me to lead the life I wanted to lead…that it is the regrets we take with us. And even though I never felt neglected as a child, his biggest regret was that he worked too hard and too long and didn’t spend enough time with my mother and me. He spoke of many little childhood memories I had all but forgotten. He spoke of the grief he carried over the loss of my brothers and sister. (My mother had multiple miscarriages early in their marriage) As I said…it was surreal.
Though I did choke up a few times….I didn’t babble. Which is surprising because even after all these years, I can’t often speak of my father without crying. I think I might have been too stunned for tears. My jaw was probably hanging open half the time because even though this was exactly what I had hoped for…part of me didn’t believe it could really happen. I’d happily crossed over into the Twilight Zone… and no one could have been more surprised. But aside from the other worldly vibe? The over all feeling of the evening was peace.
And love….above all, love.
For 35 years I have missed my father…. and wished over and over again that he could have shared my life as a teenager, as a young woman, as an adult. And now, the most remarkable thing I realized?
He has.
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If you’re not familiar with the tradition , every year Google releases a map of the most popular Super Bowl food searches by state.
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Being game day, I’m posting this helpful hint of what not to eat while watching Mahomes take Brady down a peg. Maine clicked in with traditional nachos, but some other states seem to have lost their minds.
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Vermont went a different route. But then again, they usually do.
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Oh, hell no Nebraska.
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This just keeps getting worse.
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Jesus. Do people not know how to snack anymore?
Chia seed at the Super Bowl. WTF!
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You never know what you’ll find on the shelves these days.
And some of it I wish I hadn’t.
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I don’t care how healthy it’s supposed to be, that looks disgusting.
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I tried to talk the husband into buying these for the man cave bar, but couldn’t. And they were on sale too.
Shame, that.
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I don’t know about you… but I’m thinking any juice that comes out of a goat can’t be very sanitary.
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