Chicken and Sponge

The Woman Who Fell Off the Edge of the World, installment 44

    I’d waited until I’d heard hoards of people walking past the cabin on their way to the bar.  Clark had knocked and asked me to join them, but I’d begged off, showing him my book.  Being one of the rare readers around, he understood perfectly.  Or so he thought.  My book was a red herring.  I hadn’t started reading it yet and all I really wanted was the way clear as I headed up to Malcolm’s.

    It was only about 8:00 when I headed toward the Fish House.  There were still some people milling around right in front of the door I needed to enter.  I went to the phone booth instead.

    I tried calling Russell and got no answer.  So I took a deep breath and dialed the number for the Ranch.

    “Hello?”

    “Hey, Kitten, it’s me.”

    “Petey, Mom’s pissed!  Why haven’t you called?”

    “We’ve been busy and it’s not like I have my own phone.  A lot of other people use the pay phones and it’s hard to get one during break time and it’s a long way from where I’m staying.”

    “Well, you’re going to wish you’d called.”

    “Why?  What’s up?”

    “We’re up.  We’re coming up.”

    I didn’t say anything for a moment because Kitten’s words made no sense to me.

    “Huh?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Repeat.  I’m not understanding what you mean.”

    I could feel Kitten rolling her eyes, a bad family trait we all seemed to share.  “I mean, that Mom and Richard and I, against my will I might add, are flying to Pelican, Alaska.”

    “Why?”  I asked in horror.

    “To bring you home.”

    “But I don’t want to go home.”

    “Well, it sure would have been nice if you’d called once or twice to let Mom know that you’re alive and well and happy.  She saw some program on Lifetime or one of those networks about all the drugs in Alaska and she’s afraid that you’ll be sold into prostitution.”

    “Kitten, I clean fish.  For $5.75 an hour.”

    “Well, don’t point that out or she’ll think you’re brain-damaged from all the drugs.”

    We enjoyed a moment of silence while all this news started to sink in.

    “Ok.”  I said, trying to psych myself up, “Put Mom on the phone.”

    “Can’t do it.  She and Richard are away this weekend, some kind of ranchers’ get- together.”

    I groaned.  “When will they be back?”

    “Sunday night.  Monday morning.  Something like that.  You know how Mom is.  She never wants to give a definite time because she doesn’t want us to know what the window of opportunity is for doing anything she doesn’t want us to do.”

    “I hear you.  So you there alone?”

    “Kind of.  Not really.  Richard hired a new guy recently.  It was kind of strange. He just showed up right after Hal disappeared.”

    “What do you mean ‘Hal disappeared?’”  Hal had been working for Richard for years.

    “He didn’t show up one day and his stuff was gone out of the bunkhouse.  The next day this guy Ken shows up and asks for work.  He’s built like a cowboy, has the boots, so Richard is giving him a try.  He’s good-looking, but gives me the heebie-jeebies.  Also, he seems to know some stuff about working with horses, but I think he’s full of shit, so I don’t feel good about leaving him in charge while we fly up to Alaska, but Mom definitely won’t let me stay here with them so far away.”

    “Richard should ask someone else to watch the place.  Hell!  What am I saying?  Kitten, convince them they don’t need to come up!  It’s more important to stay down there.  I’m fine.  I’m fine.  Keep them at home!”

    Kitten snorted.  “Yeah, right.  Nice try.  Just prepare yourself because nothing is stopping Mom from coming up there.”

    “Great.  Just great.  I got to go, Kitten.  Do what you can.  Please.”

    “I’ll try, but you know it’ll do no good.  Ok.  Talk to you later.  Maybe I should say ‘see you later’”.

    “That’s enough of that.  Bye, Kitten.”

    “Bye, Petey.”

    And with that I hung up and headed up the stairs to Malcolm’s.

 

A New School

Finally! Sam is going back to school. For awhile I really thought that she was just going to stay at home forever. But this week was a major breakthrough. Not only did she go back but she picked a whole different school to go back to. She is officially a 13 year old high schooler. Not because she finished the other grades. Not because we thought it best for her. She is there because she chose to go there.

The other day I had her ready to go and she piled in the truck and we were off to the middle school. As soon as we got close to the school I heard " Miranda's school" coming from the backseat. Taken back a little, I thought, why not. So on I drove to the high school figuring that any school was going to do the trick for right now. When we got there Sam had no hesitation as she headed into the building. She was right at home with her new found school.

What amazed me the most was her calmness as she settled in with the other kids. After all, she hadn't met most of the kids that were there, or the aides of the classroom. She didn't need to be transitioned into the class at all. She was completely fine. Everything that the specialists will tell you that needs to happen for a move like this did not happen. Sam had made up her mind and that was that! What a great feeling it was to see and sense her relaxation. I think Sam is feeling really good about herself right now.

Vick and I have our own thoughts on why Sam has made the change. We feel the biggest reason being her sister Miranda. The two of them are very close even if they don't hang out with each other that often. Most of that is due to the nature of the disability. Now that the two of them are in the same school again, Miranda has told me that she will be able to see Sam whenever possible. I don't think Sam could have asked for a better bigger sister than the one she has. They are lucky to have each other.

I can't tell you the joy that we feel about this milestone. Her ability to make a decision of this magnitude is large. Being able to cope with a huge change without any transitioning is a big sign of her progress. I think Sam is starting to come into her own. This progress has definitely reassured Vick and I that we made a great decision in bringing our kids to a school that they both like and are getting the education that they need.

Weightloss update. 9 lbs so far this month!

Sam and Miranda in their element.

An Incredibly Bad Week

This picture was taken a few years ago when my parents were visiting.  That is their dog Cowboy, the shaved Shitzu and our Hecate, who was having her own very bad day and was wondering what the heck that strange cat-sized, non-cat critter was who was obsessed with her.  Trivia:  What movie are we watching?

My bad weeks started at the end of the previous week.  Huh?  Remember, we told you.  Sam escaped, disappeared from plain view only to be found three gut-wrenching hours later, eating Halloween candy in some poor unsuspecting woman's bed.  That was a Saturday.  It was the opening act for the following week.  I won't bore you with all the details, mainly because it's 9:00 and past my bedtime.  Otherwise I'd do my usual and babble on and on.

If anything bad happened on Sunday, we really don't remember, because Saturday was so dreadful it was hard to compete.

But then Monday rolled around.  Mondays have a certain unpleasant flavor anyway.  But this particular Monday had a bad aroma as well.  Martin Luther King Jr. Day.  This meant that my kids were home from school, and my individuals from the group home were home from work.  All of them.  And as it so happens, one of them had an appointment with a neurologist in McMinnville, which is 22.5 miles from the group home (one way).  Repeat, this was a holiday.

Holidays at the group home, regardless of which holiday it may be, are kind of pleasant.  On the one hand, it's more challenging when everyone is home and possibly getting bored.  On the other hand, all the higher-ups are at home and have no intention of coming in.  So the atmosphere is more relaxed.  However, I and  co-worker had an individual to take to a doctor's appointment, and so we did.

Beautiful, sunny day.  Relatively short wait in the waiting room.  Our guy was mostly calm ( he is the calmest of all our people).  The neurologist?  Unbelievably arrogant and insufferable.  The organization we work for requires that we get a short summary from the doctor and a signature for all doctor visits.  This guy absolutely refused and said if we didn't like it, our guy could just get himself another neurologist.  Ah, if only this were possible.  Neurologists are a hot-ticket item, in very short supply. So I gave a saccharin smile, gave myself a case of TMJ, and told him that no, no, that would be just fine.  Then he left the room, my co-worker stretched out a cramp in her middle finger, and I rolled my eyes and made gagging noises.

Then we left.  Sort of.  We were heading to the car and I put my hand in first one pocket, and then the other.  Then I started over again, but hey, they're just jean pockets, not Carharts or a kangaroo pouch.

me:  I sure hope the keys are in my purse.

Shayna:  (worried expression).  Me too.

me:  Yeah, but I don't think so.  I never put the house keys in my purse, always my pocket.

Shayna:  You're sure they're not there?

me:  yep.

Flashback:  45 minutes earlier, as we headed toward the elevator, it came to Shayna's attention (don't remember how), that I hadn't locked the car.  Just so you know, I NEVER lock the car.  There isn't anything in it.  It's just the car and not a great car at that.  Plus it has one of those stupid "How's my driving?" stickers on it and a telephone number for cranky people to call--who usually turn out to be disgruntled employees of the same organization--world's biggest tattle-tales.  Anyway, Shayna ran back and locked the car.  She did so because she left her tiny purse in it.  Now I ask you, why bring the purse, if you don't need it and are only going to leave it behind?  And if the purse is that small, what good is it anyway?

Well, you guessed it.  Car was locked, keys inside.  22.5 miles from the group home.  Holiday.  No one in the office.  Our other staff was stuck at home with three challenging individuals, probably wondering where we were.

Remember, I NEVER LOCK THE CAR.  So the only problem we may have had would be somebody stealing the whole car.  But no, keys are locked inside with a minuscule purse.

I return to the hospital, location of the doctor's office, and ask if anyone from their maintenance office can help us.  That was a big no.  Someone said the police department used to help in these matters.  Well, that was a big no, too.  And as I'm walking back to the car to tell Shayna this additional bad news, I stepped off the sidewalk onto the grass, at least it looked like grass, but looks can be deceptive, and I went SLIDING out of control, and SINKING, into what turned out to be a hidden swamp, masquerading as a lawn.  My left leg plunged in, buried to the thigh.

Now I had one wet leg, including a soaked boot and sock, trailing green moss, grass, clumps of mud, and my leg reeked.  IT STANK!  And of course, no one noticed that I had on blue jeans with one stinky, wet, green-brown leg.  No, I didn't have to suffer comments like, "Oh, it looks like you fell down.  Hmm, too bad" said in the most blase' of voices from grown men who should have had a shred of sensitivity or common decency.  BUT DIDN'T.

So we returned to the hospital lobby where we tended to make people nervous.  Our individual, well, he constantly regurgitates his meals in his mouth, swallows, enjoying the whole meal again, gives a big smile, and then a scowl.  Then he does it again.  Shayna is a red-head who has died her hair black and looked not only less-than-happy, but dangerously unhappy.  As for me, well, you know what I looked like.  People walked in a big circle around us.

So we had to start with the phone calls.  Keith is the guy who is in charge of all the vehicles for this organization and he is about as charming as swine 'flu.  He is a troll.  He is an impatient, sarcastic person with anger-management issues.  I would rather ram splinters up under my fingernails than have to call him and tell him that we'd locked the keys in the car.  And that we were in McMinnville.

Voice mail.  I left a message.

Shayna, meanwhile, was on her cell phone and had called the On-Call.  I didn't really know what the On-Call was for except to find replacement workers if someone called in sick.  Apparently they are also there to drive an extra set of keys 22.5 miles and help the idiotic "front-line teams" get their individuals home.  In fact, I found out yesterday, that this very gracious, helpful woman had made the comment that it was a damned good thing we'd had an individual with us or we'd have been on our own.

Keith called back.  Taken care of, I said.  Good, he replied.  Click.

OK.  I'm bored with my story.  We made it back.  Everyone was still alive.  Everyone was hungry and waiting for lunch.  However, the kitchen sink was seriously, definitely plugged AND the weekend live-in had put the griddle too close to the microwave and had melted the microwave door permanently shut.  No kidding.  She really did. I need to go to bed now so the rest of the lousy week will either have to wait or be skipped.  It's all a blur of unpleasantness anyway.

Answer to the trivia question:  Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

The Woman Who Fell Off the Edge of the World, installment 40-something or other

 In the previous installment, posted eons ago, Petra had finally signed up for a "volunteer" day and with Clark, Jaimie, and Loki, had worked for Creepy Bill in the Crab Plant for the morning and had then gone to the cafeteria  for lunch.  This installment takes place after lunch of the same day.

  

 

 

 

 

  My afternoon had been spent mostly with Clark.  Jaimie never showed up after lunch and when I spotted Loki, he was trailing after one of the engineers, looking puffed up and full of himself, according to Clark.

    So Clark and I hung out in the Crab Plant, pressured sprayed everything, lined up the cooker baskets and the chill-tank baskets, went upstairs and stacked more boxes, and then we generally screwed around.  We had sat on the back dock of the Crab Plant for some time, swinging our legs and staring out at the harbor.  Then it started to rain.  Just lightly, but wet, nonetheless.

    “Come on,” Clark said, “let’s get out of this rain.”

    “What are we going to do?”

    “Go to my room and hang out.”

    “Clark, I’ve made it this far.  I want to get at least eight hours in today.  I haven’t done volunteer work before.”

    “Hey, Baby, welcome to volunteer work.  We’re not clocking out, we’re just going to my room until almost 5:00.”

    I stared blankly at him for a moment, then nodded.  “Ok, then, let’s go.”

    I started toward the front of the building and Clark grabbed my arm and shook his head no.  He pulled me behind him as we walked on the water-side of the Crab Plant, around to the side and a set of stairs.

    “Quick,” is all he said, and we hurried up the steps, through the door and into a dark hall.

    The Ghetto…I’d been hearing about the Ghetto ever since I’d arrived in Pelican.  The guys who lived there whined a lot and were much more susceptible to depression.  Those who didn’t live in the Ghetto just shuddered at the thought.

    I was mesmerized.

    One long hallway ran the depth of the building and it was pretty dark and stark.

    “Up here,” Clark pointed up one step at the head of the hallway, “we have the restroom, affectionately known as the Shitter.  Two toilets, two showers for twenty-four guys.”

    “That’s crazy,” I said.  “That’s insane.”

    “Yes, it is,” Clark agreed with me.  “It’s also inhumane.  Now through this door is the Ghetto kitchen.  Enter at your own risk.”

    We walked in and I was properly horrified.  Dirty, dingy, worn-out filthy linoleum.  Holes in the walls in a few places.  Burnt on yuk on the stove.  Dirty dishes.  Gross, gross, gross.

    “Do people actually eat in here?”

    “People actually do.”

    We walked on.  “Through door number one is one group of guys.”  I started to walk in, but Clark held me back.  “Not that one.”

    “Why not?”

    “Because I’m your host and we’re going to my room, but they’re all basically the same.”

    “Here we are.  Through door number two.  Door number three contains the rest of the inmates, but my cell is through here.”

    I wouldn’t have understood if I hadn’t seen it for myself.  I hadn’t understood when guys had tried to describe the  Ghetto to me, but now I got it.

    “Woman entering,” Clark called out before we walked in.  Male heads popped out of doors one and three with startled curiosity.  “Make yourselves presentable…or at least quit masturbating for awhile.”

    I giggled.  Men came closer to view me, which was strange since I worked with most of them at one time or another, but it must have just been the novelty of a woman in the Ghetto.

    We walked through the door and it was dark, with four curtains hanging up and a variety of music drifting here and there, various smells, some extremely unpleasant like old, sour body odor, and some pleasant like after-shave and incense.  And drifting through the entire upstairs was the smoky green smell of marijuana.

    One of the four curtains abruptly parted.  “Hey, hey, Baby, you here to see Enrico?”

    I turned and glared accusingly at Clark.  “You didn’t tell me Enrico would be up here.”

    “He’s one of my roommates.”

    “Well, I didn’t know that.”

    “Baby,” Enrico purred, “come into my lair.”

    I obliged out of morbid curiosity, annoyance crossing Clark’s face.  “Don’t call it a lair, Enrico, that scares women off.”

    “Yeah, well you just walked in and that’s about it for women in this place.”

    “I hear you,” I said, “you can thank Lauren for that.  I have it on good authority that lots of women applied and Lauren didn’t want to hire any.”

    “Well, she hired you, didn’t she?”

    “Actually, no, Thelma did, and Lauren was not happy about it.  Come to think of it, Thelma hired the two or three women who will be here on the ferry on Sunday.  Lauren wasn’t happy about that either.”

    Both Clark and Enrico raised their eyebrows.

    Clark was getting antsy so I said my farewells with Enrico, who it turned out was on a supposed bathroom break from the Fish House.  He’d felt compelled to come up to his room and get high if he had to finish washing freezer plates.  His room had consisted of a double bunk bed and two small cabinets and a cheap wooden chair that held his boombox.

    Clark’s room had the only window in room 2.  Again, double bunk beds, two cabinets and this one had two chairs.  Clark had some cool Indian print cloth hung up on the wall and across the top of one of the cabinets.

    He put on some Tom-Tom Club and we laid back on his bed and listened.  He had the upper bunk.  Clark rubbed my feet for me and I could have died that moment and been content.  Rubber boots on concrete floors suck.  They do, they really do.

    “Who’s your roommate?”  I asked.

    He raised his eyebrow at me and didn’t answer.

    “Don’t you be raising that eyebrow at me and not answering my question.”

    “Petra, who do you think my roommate is?”

    “If I knew, I wouldn’t ask.”

    “Tim.”

    I was dumbfounded.  It showed.  I didn’t know why I didn’t know that.

    “Why didn’t I know that?”  I asked.

    “Probably because we traded around to try to get a decent set of guys in this room.”

    “So why is Enrico in here?”

    “Come on, Petra, you don’t think he’s so bad.  You’ve gotten used to him.  He’s a druggie, but he’s not a complete derelict like some of the guys who’ve been hired, and he’s not a big baby like some of the college boys.  Things are going to change.  You watch.  A bunch of people will get fired immediately after Halibut, maybe before, and Jeff already has a large group of college kids arriving on the next ferry.  And they’ll get put in here and up at the New Bunkhouse.”

    “Why didn’t you get to live in the New Bunkhouse?”

    “I didn’t want to.  This isn’t so bad if you get decent guys in your room.  Plus, this will clear out soon and have more privacy than the New Bunkhouse.  Plus I just don’t like it.  Totally lacking in character.”

    “Well,” I said, looking around, “plenty of character in here.  What?  Four double bunk beds, so eight guys to a room?”

    “Yeah, when we’re full to capacity.  And it makes the bathroom situation unbearable, and you saw the kitchen, but I eat in the cafeteria most of the time.  I’d like to live in the Old Bunk house, but I didn’t have enough seniority.”

    “Yeah, I’d like to live in the Old Bunk house, too.”

    “What exactly happened there?”

    “What do you think?  Lauren happened.  As usual.  I thought I’d hate living with her, but she’s almost never home so it’s ok.  I just don’t trust her.”

    We visited, listened to music, gossiped about any bit of dirt we’d heard on anyone.  Clark filled me in on Jaimie’s family—old hippies as suspected, kind of a crazy, loving, drug-saturated up-bringing.  My mother would shudder in horror.  Clark told me about his family.  I shared a little about mine, and then it was time.

    “Come on,” Clark said, smacking my butt, “time to go clock out.”

    I did so with very little guilt, since I saw so many of the guys who’d been in the Ghetto all afternoon also emerging and going down to clock out. 

    “Will I see you later?” Clark asked me.

    “I don’t know.  I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet.  Lauren’s home on Sunday so I may just want to enjoy the space before she gets back.  If you go out, stop by and pick me up.”

    “Ok.  I may just read tonight.”

    “Me, too,” I said, thinking of Malcolm and not reading at all.  “If I don’t answer I may just be doing some recreational sleeping.  See you.”

    And I sauntered away.

    Right before the harbor entrance was Pelican’s lone apartment building.  The ground floor, boardwalk-facing apartment had the door open, people spilling out and music pounding.  Big party.  Lots of fishermen.  And Creepy Bill.  He saw me and smiled.  Then he crooked his finger and tried to entice me in.  I just smiled and shook my head.  His smile slipped a little and the coldness in his eyes emerged.  I slipped on past.

 

Should Have Stayed in Bed

There are no bad Mondays for Hecate. 
  

The weekend hadn't been enough.  Oh, no.  Sam running off, having to call 911, finding her eating candy in some poor woman's bed after a three hour search, imagining her freezing outdoors without a coat and bare legs, lured into a car or crack house, oh no, that wasn't enough.  I had to have one of those Mondays that make Mondays so notorious.

First, I arrive at work to find that the weekend live-in had set the pancake griddle too close to the microwave and had melted the microwave door shut.  OK, maybe her weekend was as bad as mine, but the lunch I'd brought with me required a microwave.

Next, I needed to take one of our individuals to a neurologist appointment.  Lo and behold, we should have all studied to be neurologists.  Then we could all be insufferably arrogant, rude, and much in demand.  He refused to sign the form that the organization I work for requires and said that if we didn't like it, find a new neurologist.  Knowing just how in demand his services are.

Then, leaving the appointment, I said to my co-staff, "I sure hope the keys are in my purse, and I don't think they are, because they sure aren't in my pockets."  Again, lo and behold, there they were, in the ignition.  Normally not a problem, because I NEVER lock the car. I'm not sure why.  Too trusting?  Figure that there isn't anything in the car to steal except a ball-point pen and that would be on a lucky day?  Or, hey, how about steal the whole car since the keys are in the ignition?

Well, the car hadn't been stolen, because my co-staff didn't want to bother with carrying her teeny purse around and had run back to the car before the appointment to MAKE SURE it was locked.

Martin Luther King Jr. Day (observed).  Our supervisor doesn't bother to respond to my texting.  If she had, I'm sure it would have been her standard answer of "Sucks to be you".  The other staff at the group home?  Hands full with the other three individuals who were home because it was a holiday.  Let me tell you, she had her hands VERY full.

The car was too new and too secure for a coat hangar to be any use.  Maintanence at the hospital would no longer break into people's cars for them.  Neither would the police department.

As I was returning from the hospital lobby with this unfortunate news, I stepped off the sidewalk, onto the grass, and went slip-sliding along the grass to land on my knees in a hidden swamp.  Leg:  soaked, green and brown with grass  stuck to it, stinking to high-heaven like the swamp it was.  Wet for the next four hours.  Adding insult to injury:  some guy says to me, "Oh, it looks like you fell down."  When I replied, that "Yes, I sure did", he said something like, "Oh, too bad."  I would have preferred my S.C's "sucks to be you."

What to do.  What to do?  I call the dreaded Car Ogre, the guy in charge of the organization's fleet of cars and dreaded by all for his over-developed sarcasm, anger-management issues, and lack of patience.  Oh, and his total lack of regard for humanity.  I got his voice mail.  Unfortunately, he called back.  Fortunately, my  co-staff had reached the On-Call supervisor, who managed to locate extra keys and was going to drive them to us, 25 miles away.

Yeah, we got back to the group home. To find the kitchen sink backed up, permanently clogged, totally inconvenienced.  So bad it had to wait for Tuesday, because of course, it was a holiday and there was no one  to contact.  Actually, there was, but didn't find out about that until Tuesday either.

What a week. Two  down, three to go..

Disappearing Act

She was right there! 30 feet in front of me. I couldn't believe I lost her, or more like she lost me(on purpose of course). She went around the corner and poof, pulled a David Copperfield stunt. She isn't that fast is she? Immediately I called Vick to come help look for her. Miranda came too and teamed up with her friend Janay and they went all over searching.

Once again we had to call 911 to let the search and rescue squad know Samantha was missing. I drove Vick home and then continued my search via the car. I backtracked where I lost her and drove through the neighborhood hoping I would see her cruising along. With no sight of her the thoughts started to creep through my mind.

Would she get in a strangers car? Has she been hit crossing the street? Did someone grab her? The panic started to set in more and more as the time passed. The cell phone would ring occasionally and it would be the sheriffs department to ask if I had any luck. All I could say was no and their response was the same. Where in the hell could she be!

Applebees. She has been asking to go to Applebees for a couple of days. Would she really head for Salem 14 miles away  and dark approaching? I called Vick and told her I was going to head that direction for a few miles to see. After driving 5 miles I turned around figuring she couldn't have gotten that far. On my way back the thoughts were savagely running through my brain. I calmed myself for a minute(which was hard to do), and tried to rethink her disappearance. Give it one last shot I kept telling myself.

So back to the last place I'd seen her I go. On my way there my phone rang and it was the sheriffs dept. again. He wanted to know if I had any info. I looked ahead and saw that he was driving right in front of me. I told him no, but thought he should join me at the spot I lost her. Guiding him there, we met up in just a few short minutes.

I realized at that time that Sam couldn't have possibly ditched me that easy. I surely would have seen her going to where ever she was heading. The only thought that came to me was that she was hiding somewhere. It had to be somewhere close I figured. Just then a man from the house next to where we were came up to me and told me he had watched Sam run around his car and straight into his neighbors house. She quickly closed the door behind her in order that I didn't see her.

I was hesitant to go look in the house even though I was more than anxious to know if she was indeed in there. It would be nice knowing she was at least safe. Not my house to make that decision though. The deputy sheriff felt the same. So we waited for his boss to arrive. In the meantime I tried looking in all the windows but I couldn't see her anywhere. I figured someone would call the police on my peeping tom actions, but I didn't get in any trouble. I credit this to the fact that the deputy was doing the same.

Finally they arrived. The anticipation was getting more than I could bear. They opened the door and slowly crept in as if they thought there was danger inside. Like they do on those cop shows on tv. It's only Sam I thought, if she was in there at all. I was hoping she was because if she wasn't, I didn't know what to do after that. As quiet as church mice they searched every room until they came to the last one, the master bedroom. As the door opened I noticed that the bed was a little messed up. On the other side of the bed was Sam. She was sitting there with a halloween bucket that had some candy in it and I'm sure she polished off every piece.

 RELIEF! I called home immediately to tell Vick and Miranda that we found her. Vick's big sigh of relief ended with a request for a bottle of wine. Absolutely I told her. I told Sam to get in the car and we headed out after checking with the sheriff to see if they needed anything else.

I can't believe that 3 hours had passed. It was as if it had just happened. To an extent I know how some people feel when their child is missing. Only because our outcome was solved in short order compared to some. I want to thank the Dallas sheriff's dept. for helping and most of all the next door neighbor for being so observant. You can bet the next time we go for a walk my cardio will be much better and she won't be able to ditch me again.

TV in our house

Here it is Sunday and football is on the tube. I got to watch the Vikings destroy the Cowboys before I headed to the hot tub for a quick soak. After the soak, a quick shower and back to the tv. What is this? That isn't football! Pro football players don't wear suits and ties while they play. Let alone have women standing by them. This is the damn Golden Globe Awards! My hi-def tv is broadcasting something other than football right now.

Very rarely do I care if football is on when it is the regular season. The only sport I love no matter what is baseball. I can watch any team play. But I am a die hard Mariners fan. But the Golden Globe Awards during the playoffs is a little much. We do have another tv in the bedroom but it isn't hi-def. Do you really need hi-def to watch that crap? I do for my sports.

I have given up on arguing with anyone over this kind of situation. It seems to me that the holder of the remote is king of the tube. Right now Miranda has a firm grasp on it and it doesn't look like she is going to let go anytime soon. I suppose I could trick her by asking her to do something for me but that would be a little shitty don't you think.

The only thing I don't get is why she doesn't dvr it like everything else she watches. That way she wouldn't have to watch the commercials. I guess I could dvr the game but then I would be watching it after I knew who won. As much as I check sports on the internet I would know. Oh well, at least they let me watch one game today. Maybe I can sneak in a NBA game later if I get control of the remote.

Getting off the subject, I guess you read that I got a job. I think my wife is more excited than I am and I"m pretty excited believe it or not. It is getting a little boring being at home by myself. When Vick was at home with me I never felt like sitting around doing nothing. This new job is a supervisor position. I get to watch my crew clean toilets and sinks and all that kind of great stuff. I have already done the pee test and fingerprinting. They won't let me work unsupervised until my background check comes back which could take up to 6 weeks. No big deal though. I'm sure I won't have someone watching over my shoulder. More like showing me a couple of things and then leaving for awhile. I think I will get to start this coming week sometime. It has been along time since I punched a timeclock. I really like the fact that I will be on my own. That way the standards of work are mine. It will be fun having a crew too. Cameraderie is one thing I like in the workplace. Well that is about all I know about my new job for now. As it progresses along I'm sure there will be some juicy shit to write about. You will have to check back every day to see if there is any new updates. Until then....  

Oh, Poor Neglected Blog...

This is such an unusual sight.  Snow in Dallas, Oregon.  During the kids' winter vacation from school (to which Sam refuses to return), the snow fell.  I had been praying against snow for days.  Luckily, as I fell miserably victim to a vicious head cold, the snow fell on the day I could no longer resist the germs.  And more luckily, this being Dallas, before the second day of my convalescence was over, the rain had returned and the snow was no more. 

Well, life continues to happen, whether it is written about or not.  I just realized that I have about a month until this site expires.  Or whatever.  One month until it's time to pay the piper again, and we've decided that hey, we don't want to pay.  Huh??? You ask.  This is the only blogging platform I know of where one has to pay.  Currently, it's $150/year.  It's also one of the hardest platforms to manage and navigate, being intended for bloggers much more tech-savvy than I.

So, I've been in a bit of a conundrum.  First, I had (actually have) a widget called site meter which is supposed to keep track of all my visitors and stats, so that I know how I'm doing.  At first, site meter was wonderful and would send me an email with all my stats every Saturday night so that I could measure my success or lack thereof.  But alas, they have been very inconsistent in sending me this info.  So I don't know if anyone other than my mother, sister-in-law, and Daria from Michigan ( who has turned into my on-line pen pal and makes me laugh hard enough to blow milk out my nose if I actually drank milk--wine out the nose would hurt so much worse) actually reads Chicken and Sponge.  And while I am certainly glad that they read, $150 platform is over-kill when I could go to another platform for a much more reasonable price, also known as FREE. 

Now, the Typepad platform was my original choice because I wanted a professional blog, meaning I wanted to make money, and I though this would be easier.  Currently, I've made about $22.  The Amazon store wasn't quite as straight-forward as I'd hoped.  I can certainly think of suggestions where Amazon could improve their affiliate program, mostly to do with how the stores are set up.  But also, I think it is bogus that I can't order anything for myself through my site and earn a commission.  Believe me, I was an Avon lady for more than 10 years (indeed, I was) and Avon was smart enough to realize that their representatives were also their best customers.  Many an Avon lady has made no money, but has been well-stocked in Skin-So-Soft, lipstick, and cologne in car-shaped decanters.  I still have Avon products in a box or two in our shop, slowly being used.  Why couldn't Amazon have been as wise?  After all, a sale is a sale is a sale.  But they don't allow it and that irritates me.

So, the money didn't roll in and I was forced to find employment of other means.  Which means I work a forty-hour week before I get to sit down and write.  Writing is still where my interest lies, still where my heart is, and is still my life-long calling, my life-long goal.  I frequently kick myself in the butt for two decades of procrastination.

I know I've talked about this before.  Blog?  Or novel?  Or both?  This is the real conundrum.  I've explored other platforms and no, I haven't decided between Vox, Blogger, or doing My Space yet.  But the real question is, where am I going to focus?

I can now do video with any of those platforms.  I believe a little advertising can be done on one of them, but honestly, I'm indifferent to that.  I think we can take care of the money making through a little ingenuity.  I really want to get some Chicken and Sponge t-shirts printed up with pictures of Zeus and Louise under the banner.

I have my doubts that Mick will be able to write on the blog much longer either.  Sam continues to refuse to go to school so we are embroiled in a most distasteful mess with the school on this one.  The one thing we think would work, they refuse to do.  We want the aide who has had great rapport to work with her and we've been told in no uncertain terms that that will never happen again.  I'm ready to start going over people's heads and squawking like a squished cat, but by 4:00 p.m. when I leave work, I mostly just want to scrub my skin raw in a scalding shower and eat like a truck driver.  I hesitate to miss any work, though I may have to.  In the meantime, Mick is putting up with our home being invaded with people and trying to deal with Sam's shenanigans--like getting into stuff in our bathroom, my stuff, and then Mick tells me she's doing it while on the toilet taking a crap so he can't stop her because she needs her privacy and that's how I came to be minus three lipsticks, a bottle of expensive makeup remover, and I'm still finding toilet paper and q-tip ends stuck to the wall from when Sam filled the garbage can up with water and dumped it over her head...AND the other reason that Mick will probably be less inclined to write is...drum roll, please...Mick got a job.  I repeat, in this crappy economy, MICK GOT A JOB!

Now here is the crappy part of all that:  He will be working for an organization similar to the one I work for (I've recently been informed that we can't name the organization in any kind of social networking situation, including blogs, or we'll be fired.  Nice, huh?) but not the same one I work for.  The one Mick is going to work for pays better, the probationary period is only 90 days instead of 6 months, and they do merit raises.  So Mick will start out making $2.25 an hour more than I do and will probably get a raise after 90 days.  Even more importantly, he is supervising a crew of disabled adults on a couple of janitorial contracts.  Just supervising.  No cleaning.  I come home with bleach splotches on my clothes (maybe a little poop or drool on a bad day) and for more money, he's going to watch other people clean.  Hmmm.  Plus he really likes everyone he's met so far with that organization.  I've told him, "Keep your eyes and ears open because I won't hesitate to jump ship".  And I won't.  Of course, I can't complain too much since his good fortune is our family's good fortune.

More good fortune?  Mick's shift is 4:00 pm until midnight.  Mine is 8:00 am until 4:00 pm.  Mick's is located in Dallas, so less commute time, less gas.  Miranda will only have to watch Sam for a short while before I get home.  Excellent.  I can sleep in the middle of the bed until shortly after midnight.  Better and better.

But the blog.  What to do about Chicken and Sponge?  Posting may be sparse in the coming weeks while we decide and make the move.  Feel free to share your opinion and stay tuned.

Try, Try, Again

 

Our home and business in Pelican, Alaska.

Here we go. The school is going to send a couple of aides to our house this morning in the hopes they can help Sam transition back to school. The problem that Vick and I have is we think they are going to try and get her to go to the high school instead of the middle school, where she has been going since she is only in 7th grade.

We had a meeting the other day with school staff to talk about Sams reluctance to go back. I did alot of talking to let them know my opinion on this matter. After all we are Sams parents and live with her 24/7. Who would know her better? The school thinks they do. They are the ones that spent all that money on books, and learning to deal with an individual with a disability. We parents don't hold a candlestick to them. You would think they would be receptive to our feelings but when the meeting was all said and done it was the usual. They know what is best and they are going to do it there way. Even though they are going to be in our house. 

We are not new to dealing with Sams education. After many lengthy meetings and mediation when we lived in Alaska, we got a program set up for Sam that is as good as it gets. Unfortunately with us flying back and forth we weren't in one place long enough for Sam to benefit from her plan during the summer months. Summer school helps as it keeps her focused and she doesn't relapse from the previous year as easily. If your child needs that extra boost, fight for it and have it put in their IEP. Don't let the district tell you they don't have the budget for it. Budgets cannot be considered when setting up an IEP.

In about 45 minutes we will see how Sam is going to responde to the aides. She hasn't dealt with these people much and that isn't going to help matters any. All I can do is sit back and let the licensed educated ones show me the way. If they end up asking my opinion today I will probably blow a gasket. Or maybe I will just send them a bill. After all I do have a license in being Sams advocate!

Overnight Guest in an Autistic Household

The one, the only...Collette Costa!

At first we only saw shoes, then calves in tights, the beginning of a black skirt, and Mick blurts out, "There she is!  There's Collette."  And then a woman with waist-length blonde hair descended on the escalator.  So not Collette.  I had my doubts with the matchy-matchy black outfit.

I feel special and so honored because we have at last had a visit from Collette, a remarkable woman we have known for years, and SHE STILL TALKS TO US.  We can say that about so few.  Not only that, but Collette is an intelligent person, and WE CAN SAY THAT ABOUT SO FEW!

While she is still talking to us, I will be interested to see if she ever overnights with us again.  Luckily, she has about a year for the experience to fade from her memory...(that's assuming that she travels home to beautiful Detroit, Michigan again next Christmas).  I expect many late nights, music festivals, and cocktails to aid her in this endeavor.

Collette is my favorite sort of guest.  All I have to say is, "Here's the refrigerator, here's the bathroom, here's where you're sleeping...any questions?  Great, make yourself at home".  And she knows that I mean that and she knows that I'm not going to fuss over her, I'm not going to wait on her, and if she can't find something, she can either ask of just plain snoop.   I'm not a great hostess.  I wish I were, but not enough to actually strive to be.  I also get very little practice.  Plus, the people who have stayed with us are family or close enough to family to not require fussing.

So here is what Collette got:  on night number one, we thought that it would be best if Collette stayed in Sam's room and Sam slept in Miranda's room because SAM ALWAYS WANTS TO STAY IN MIRANDA'S ROOM.  Except that night.

So what happened is this: Miranda made up both beds, Sam went to bed, and then an hour later when Miranda went to bed, it was to discover that Sam had switched beds with Miranda.  Miranda had been kicked out of her nest, all her blankets thrown onto the other bed because Sam only likes one blanket and a particular one at that.  Miranda didn't want to switch for two reasons.  One, her former nest had no waterproof pads on it and Miranda doesn't particularly need waterproof pads except if she decides to dump a glass of water or something in her bed.  Two, Miranda's former nest had the memory foam topper on it and Sam's no fool.  She wanted the comfy bed.

So here is what happened:  Miranda made her switch back, Sam was having none of it.  Sam picked up her blanket and pillow and headed for the couch.  Mick and I were having none of it because there was a fire in the woodstove and you all know how THAT story goes with our little pyro-daughter.  Plus, since she'd taken the couch, that left the love seat or recliner and neither of us is that much of a masochist.  SO, Mick opens his mouth and tell her to come lie down in our bed, so that when I step out of the shower five minutes later, I HAVE NO KING-SIZED BED TO SLEEP IN.  And I'm not sleeping on the couch.

So to Miranda's room I go.  Where I immediately re-discover why I have a memory foam mattress topper on our bed.  Yes, I'm a big whiney baby with lots of aches and pains and that is why my half of that king-sized bed resembles Miranda's nest:  five pillows for me, two for Mick, and extra blankets on my side (which he had the nerve to complain about this weekend, saying that MY blankets on MY side make him too hot because they hold too much heat in and that is why he has to throw off the blankets, to which I say "fine, I'm not going to be cold").

Story doesn't end there, even though it should because I'm being long-winded.  Middle of the night, Sam wakes up and throws Mick out and he ends up on the couch.  Then she keeps getting up and opening the door to her room to glare at that intruder (yes, Collette, Mick and I invited you to stay, but Sam did not), and every time she opened the door, THAT WOMAN WAS STILL THERE.  So Sam decided to be herself and watch Toy Story bonus features at top volume in our room from the middle of the night onward, where the sound reverberated throughout the household. 

The next morning, Miranda looks at us like we're idiots and says, "Why didn't you wake me up?  You could have had my bed and I would have slept with Sam."  Miranda not-so-secretly covets our bed.

Night number two:  I decide we need a large bottle of wine because I haven't been able to sit and enjoy a bottle of wine with Collette in ages.  We start a True Bloodmarathon because Collette has never seen it, but has wanted to and we have 17 episodes saved on DVR.  I drink three glasses of wine and am asleep on the couch by 5:00 p.m. 

Sam is happy to have her room back.  That means she has her TV back.  We checked for volume controls, but the set is too old, so that means that Sam would turn the volume way up, I'd get up and turn it down.  Sam would get up and turn it way up, I would get up and turn it down.  Sam would get up and turn it way up, I'd grit my teeth and get up and turn it down.  Sam would...the WORST OF ALL, the movie Sam has now chosen to watch at night is a family film called Buddy.  Buddy is a movie that has lots of screeching chimps, birds, a gorilla and I don't know what else except that IT IS OBNOXIOUS.  I repeat OBNOXIOUS.  I hope the appeal, the fascination, is short-lived or that movie may just kill me or at least significantly shorten my life span.  And Sam?  She sleeps through it.  As long as I leave the volume up.

Collette never complained.  She has slept on a lot of crappy couches in her time, so Miranda's spare full-sized bed may have made up for the screeching and vibrations emanating from Sam's television, as well as having to hear me get up and down, up and down, sigh.

Anyone who spends the night in a house where resides an autistic individual, should expect just about anything.  At least Collette didn't have anyone pee in her water glass.  Maybe she'll come back and visit again.