Nobody’s Perfect: ME
Nobody’s Perfect
I just saw my girlfriend Rosa, from Puerto Rico. Her and her husband drove to Wisconsin to attend her son’s wedding, so we watched the dog. They came over tonight to pick up CHICO, and she showed me the wedding pictures and I had to ask her…was that a SnapChat one?
Most of them were.
Rosa introduced me to this app. You put it on your phone, and you can pick all kinds of effects. And some of these effects can make you look like the movie star you are NOT.
Any woman that spent 30 minutes putting on makeup, can tell you, it takes time to correct imperfections. This app puts makeup on you in seconds and you can instantly send it to your friends.
The picture above is Smapchat. It’s called “glamerous.”
And there I was: Hooked on selfies: “Why I look ten years younger!” I would tell myself. And then I realized that all these models you see on TV, splashed on the front cover of magazines…must have the same tech to make THEM look beautiful. What do they REALLY look like I wondered.
Tonight I looked at my phone and saw I had taken almost 100 Snapchats of myself.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!” I said to myself.
“Are you crazy?!”
So, I decided to get rid of them. And then I thought, it’s one thing for an older woman to try to make herself look younger, what happens to all those young girls who spend hours on social media getting depressed because they don’t look like Taylor Swift?
Some commit suicide.
Last summer, some of the old gals at the pool had this app, and they looked 30 years younger. All winkles are erased, and then I thought…there’s a danger here. Some of them started believing they really looked like that. Sort of how liars start believing the lies they tell all the time.
Liar Joe Biden could use a Snapchat.
I thought of dating sites. Men AND woman could be sending out these pictures…and show up and maybe NOT look like the picture the man or woman thought they were going to meet. Not good.
We have become a nation of youth, and beauty. And the population now is growing very old, being replaced gleefully by a younger invasion of NOT WHITE, as the elites so joyfully express. And yet, when was the last time you actaully saw a girl like THIS at the pool?
And yet, we have VERY old politicians.
Go figure.
Anyway, this tech is here to stay. And what do we do about it?
I’m hoping more of the elites and professionals who use this tech admit it. In the latest Indianna Jones movie they admitted they used tech to make Harrison Ford look younger. He did many interviews and looked his real age. I think more movie stars should do that.
Yep.LOL…No glamour…just a smile.
Yeah…I prefer the first one too.
Still…I wasn’t born pretty. And my mother never put beauty of any importance, so when I had buck teeth as a child, she told me…not to smile. “Stop it! She would yell at me.” Try living your childhood NOT smiling. I do a lot of it now.
She would also say: “You walk like a farmer.” So, I never thought I was ‘pretty’ in any way, and in this world where all men love beauty, it was a curse to grow up thinking you’d never be beautiful.
I look back now at my old pictures and think “Gee, I wasn’t THAT bad!” But it didn’t do me any good then, and much to my mother’s delight…she was happy that I didn’t become a ‘snobby’ bitch.
“Remember. There will ALWAYS be somebody better than you no matter how good you get at anything!”
She loved to say that. Well, why the hell try? I laugh at it now, but not a big confidence builder my mother.
My mother looke a lot like John Adams so I see her reasoning now.
Still we all love beauty, and the wisest of us know that beauty is also what comes out from inside.
In that respect, while the second picture is truly me..the first one shows the feelings from my soul through my eyes.
So, what to do? Men can stare at porn for hours, and never meet that dream woman. What do I do?
LOL…I’m getting rid of all those pictures. Nevertheless, I learned from Rosa…why get plastic surgery when you can just put an app on your phone?
What will they think of next?
Now, someone please me if there is a body makeover app…
Calling Mr. Speilburg…..I’m ready for my closeup.
The Betrayal of Best Friends
Nobody Remembers
When it comes to betrayal, nothing hurts more than to be betrayed by your closest friend.
Many years ago, when I was in high school, I had a very dear friend named Shelly. She used to crack me up. She was beautiful. She had dark hair, and didn’t live very far from my house. But, our Senior year, her parents got divorced. So, she and her mom moved to L.A. while her dad stayed here, and remarried.
Shelly and I wrote each other every other week. She got a job quickly, and so, one summer, I went out to L.A. to stay with her. I remember we were both big Cardinal fans, and so we went to see the Dodgers Play the Cardinals at Dodgers stadium. I had a crush on Jack Clark at the time, and that day, he ran into home plate and practically destroyed the poor catcher. It was also that day that he looked up at me leaning over the railings, and asked me to come down and he would sign an autograph. He was warming up with Ozzie. We were WAY up in the top bleachers and Shelly kept saying we CAN go down there. I kept saying…no that’s for the rich people, but somehow, we got down there and Shelly took a picture of us, and he signed a baseball for me, which I still have that ball which said “God bless, Jack Clark.” Then he asked me if I could come to San Fransisco. Well, I said, I don’t know. BUT…Shelly gave him HER telephone number and later I found out that he did call her, and SHE told him I wasn’t interested. I believe she was trying to get in good with him. I don’t really know if she did.
Still, I would have NEVER done that to her. Never.
Later I found out he was married, so it’s a good thing I didn’t go. But that didn’t stop me from going to the games. Jack Clark was an amazing batter. I remember the first time I saw a home run in my lifetime, he hit it high up into the upper deck…and I was blown away by the sheer power. Jack Clark never took steroids. He was a big man. A great player. Unlike the steroid use after the big baseball strike, Jack Clark was the real thing.
Now, did I ever forgive Shelly? Yeah, she ended up becoming a prostitute in L.A. and dying of a cancerous brain tumor at the age of 47. She grew up in the area of cold-water creeks, where the military dumped the radioactive waste from the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima. Josh Hawley, is trying to get money for all the poor people who died from exposure to the waste, which is still here of course. But, it’s too late for Shelly.
Even though Jack and I never got together, I never missed a game. And the game of baseball is much like life. If played without ‘rigging’ you can see a lot of comparison to life. You can hit a home run. Or strike out game after game. Most games are like that, and the people that get hooked on them…can cry when the season is over. They must go back to their dreary lives.
We just watched the Superbowl…and stupid me, since I don’t follow sports, assumed that Taylor and her super stud boyfriend were with San Francisco, that town being VERY liberal, as we all know that Taylor is a big Biden fan. No, Taylor was jumping up and down for Kansas to win. You would have thought she was the coach.
The game was fun, but clearly, they can rig any sport nowadays, and like a script, nobody realizes it. Sports have been rigged for years. Just like elections. There too much money in it. Not all of them of course, but the money making ones.
But I’m getting off theme.
Whenever I think of those days in the 1985’s, when the Cardinals went on to win the World series, I realized I was just a lonely woman. My mother felt sorry for me and said, “Why don’t you go to the ball games, maybe you’ll meet somebody.”
The only man I actually met was Jack. The rest of them would come up and speak. “We have a bet going, me and guys…how old are you?” And I always said “56.” I was much younger of course but really, moms advise was…needless to say…really off. She had good intentions.
My current husband had the same thing happened to him. He was on a mission with the Seals when he came home and found out his wife was sleeping with his best friend.
And I wonder…how many people in this world have been betrayed by their best friend?
So, can you trust anybody? Can you trust your best friend?
If you find someone you can trust, better hold to them. They are diamonds in the mud.
Besides, I didn’t know it then, but lots of ball players mess around on the road, and they have loving wives and kids at home.
But when I think back on those days I think of the song “The Boys of Summer.”
And I watched the boys play. What else did I have to do? No body would ask me out. At least I had something to do.
And when they were gone, the winter always came hard.
And then Spring always comes back eternal…doesn’t it?
And spring for most of human history has been hope for a new beginning..no matter what.
Somebody Tell Them to STOP!
Nobody Flashes
You know what drives me absolutely out of my mind? Women politicans WAVING their hands around because they were TAUGHT by some idiot that WAVING their hands around will make the audience believe them. It’s SOOOOO annoying. I want to reach into the screen and GRAB those hands and say, “What idiot taught you to do this!” Kamala Harris is not only brain dead when she talks, I think she is concentrating more on her hands than what she is saying…like she is thinking “Okay, I’ll wave both my hands THIS way…”
I want to scream.
Did you EVER see men do this? Trump, once in a while does a comedy routine as a joke, where he waves his hands around, but never, ever to make a point. He does very little and what he does is effective. Same with Elon Musk. Very effective. Very natural. Therefore you pay attention to the face, not his hands. And you pay ATTENTION to what the men are saying. Is it any wonder you don’t pay attention to these liberal ladies who think by waving their hands around they are doing a good job at communicating?
You know who esle does this? Nancy Pelosi. She ALSO drives me nuts. I couldn’t watch all of the video below (5 minutes was WAY too much) but Nancy has got the hand signals down pat. She never stops waving them, in fact, you tend to watch her hands and not pay attention to all the BS coming out of her mouth. So, maybe the liberal ladies use it to distract you from their BS.
I still remember her tearing up Trump’s speech back in 2017. This lady is ruthless and power hungry and has been taught by the best. I hated her for that moment. I really did. I was shocked. She should have been kicked out of Congress for that. But hey, free speech. Good to know Nancy was a bully.
Nobody Knows, but there are video’s on line that will teach you how to do this. Next time you see a conservative women: Watch. When THEY talk, they almost never, EVER wave their hands, and so, they not only sound smarter, they look smarter. You pay attention to what they are saying.
You know what? After thinking about it, I hope they keep it up. It’s no wonder thousands of people are standing out in the freezing cold tonight to hear President Trump speak.
NOBODY would do that for Nancy. or Kamala. Hand wavers extraordinary pluto’s. Nobody would do that for Joe Biden. He can barely stand let alone wave his hands around.
So, people–this Nobody Wonders: Does the hand waving bother anybody else besides me?
Happy New Year! Plungers and Roses
Nobody Wonders
Here’s one last post for 2023:
I got a call from an old friend today. She moved away some ten years ago, and now lives by a river in Tennessee. It’s always good to hear from the people you know, who except for who you were and who you are now.
We started talking about her health and then she said this:
“The strangest thing happened to me a month ago, and I’m having these strange things happen all the time.”
“What? Tell me’ I said.
“Well, you might think I’m nuts…it’s kind of gross.”
You see my friend and her husband lived on a houseboat, and one day, the toilet stopped up pretty bad, right up to the top. Houseboats have different sewage systems as you know.
She said she called her husband, because they did NOT have a plunger. She was in a panic because of being on a boat. If it spilled over, it would be a big mess. He was supposed to go out and buy one, but for some reason, he came home instead. He looked around the boat for something, and then, looked OVER the side of the boat as the river was running by, and there it was.
A plunger. Floating right by her husband, and he reached over and picked it up.
“WHAT ARE THE ODDS?” she exclaimed. “I was wishing for a plunger and there it was, right out of the river.”
Then she went on. She said one day, she wanted a single rose. Not sure why, she didn’t say, but then she said, “Guess what?”
“A one stem rose went right by the side of the boat. I picked it up. I did not do anything but WISH for it.” She spoke.
But she knew, I believed her. I told her of all my coincidences and we got pretty excited, about how the universe can just HAND you something that you truly wish…in your heart. In your mind. It’s happened to both of us. I guess it was like the phone call that comes out of the blue when you are thinking of that person, but haven’t talked to them in a long time. Like this friend of mine. She NEVER calls me. Ever. I really needed to talk to someone as I was feeling a bit lonely. Her call was all I needed…
Because you see this morning, I was listening to Glenn Beck talk about the possibility of a Nuclear War, the power of A.I. and how real it was, and then we watched a movie on Netflick, another DISASTER movie. You know one of those “you will own nothing” movies which are shown on every cable movie station? Hour after hour. Humanity is killed, etc. It’s like you are being buttered up for hopelessness. I didn’t feel particularly good after that, so yeah, my friend’s phone call was perfect timing.
This afternoon, my husband and I took one of those horse bouncing toys that kids used to get in the 1950’s, to a neighbor’s house. It’s a young couple with a really cute little boy. I had saved that horse for over 35 years. I bought it for my son, who never touched it, (Any kind of ball were his thing) and I’d had hoped for a grandchild, but that seems to be lost forever. SO…I could sell it on eBay, but why?
We gave it to the young boy…who was happy to have such a big, brand-new toy.
What did I get out of all of this? Maybe that, somewhere, somehow, in the vast empty space and time, there is a power that comes to those when they need it the most. I’ve written a few blogs about this. It’s like “When you wish upon a star” magic.
My friend needed a plunger.
Our neighbors needed a wonderful toy that they probably couldn’t have afforded.
I needed someone to save me from suicide that long dark day so long ago. (Earlier blog)
So, I’m thinking. The world is such a mess. Evil is growing everywhere. Maybe- maybe if enough of us just WISH deep in our hearts that healing comes, the evil men trying to make us all slaves to their visions of utopia for themselves, MAYBE if enough of us just desire and want that to happen, deep in our hearts, maybe by some miracle, it will.
Jesus came once upon a time, and saved the world with kindness and wisdom. He was a miracle.
Maybe…this time around…we will get…HOPE. The hope we need, because God knows, they are trying to fill us ALL with hopelessness.
Before we got off the phone, my friend kept laughing after the discussion and said,
“I SHOULD have wished to win the Lottery instead of a plunger.” And she laughed.
This Nobody has a feeling that, this strange force beyond all reasoning knows EXACLY what you need…and what’s best for you.
You might not understand it, but some people call that ‘god.’ Some call it luck.
I call it the essence of universal love from the universe itself.
Nobody Wonders…about that the most. And will we ever figure it out?
Nobody Knows.
Everybody have a safe and Happy New Year…Let’s all ‘wish’ for the best…Okay? Right.
Stroking the Sensitive Nature of …
Nobody Cares: Stroking the Sensitive Nature of “WHAT?”
I had a blog already in my mind today, and was very excited to write it, and then I called a friend about meeting for lunch. Stella is what you call the quintessence of an American woman. She’s 73, and still takes care of not only her own business, but manages her 360-acre farm, with about 40 cows, 15 chickens, a boatload of ducks, 8 horses and 6 cats. She runs her own truck business out of her house. She makes enough money to buy herself a brand-new Mercedes. (If you saw her red Corvette in an earlier post, you know she loves cars.) She rakes in hay every summer to feed the cows in the winter, she’s a one woman wonder. A rare woman indeed. She a good friend.
She plans to leave her farm to her daughter. Micky. I called today to make sure we would meet at 1, but her daughter answered the phone, and right away she started to talk to me.
“How do I convince mom to get a website for the business?” she asked me. Mom was outside. I told her I would try to talk some sense into her at lunch and then I said, “Just go ahead and build one yourself.” Because evidently, Stella was not exactly up for the idea. I gave her a few pointers, but she needs to find out herself.
She’ll do fine.
“If it draws business, your mom will just smile and say…Okay!” I told her.
It wasn’t too much longer after that, that Barb called.
“Hey, can we move the time closer to this morning?” she asked.
“Sure.” I mean, what the heck, I sometimes feel like a prisoner here at home, and I have always made my own time. My office can STAY a mess. I might grow some tomatoes.
Then she said, “Carla bumped her head in the chicken house and her speech is slurry and slow. I told her to drive herself to the hospital.”
“WHAT?” I was in shock. “You said she bumped her head and was slurring her words and YOU LET HER DRIVE?” Okay, I was a bit calmer, but I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.
“Yeah, well, at least she listened to me and took herself there.” Said mom. So proud of herself.
“Okay Stella…lunch is off. Get in your car, and hurry to that hospital. She could have had a stroke Stella, you don’t know, but you also don’t know what kind of care she will be getting. You need to be there to be in control of what’s happening.”
I was speaking from years of experience.
Stella wasn’t convinced…she thought it was just a bump on the head.
I knew that Stella had once been thrown from her horse, years ago, and was alone out in the field, and broke a lot of bones, and suffers still to this day with pain, but she refuses to let ANYBODY know it. She’s just so damn proud. Long story there, but it’s her nature. Don’t complain. Bear the pain. Be like a man. The farmers daughter grew up to make her dad proud.
I’ve had many discussions with her about how she believes she can do anything a man can do. I have to laugh, because she has a awful lot of MAN help around the farm.
So, I’m in a panic: 1st, because she LET Micky drive herself on winding country roads to the hospital, which was 20 minutes away, and 2nd, because she was still convinced, she could go about her day.
“Stella, let your phone business go for one day!” I spoke. I also know business is very slow right now. “She might have had a ministroke. My dad had many mini-strokes before his massive one. Once he fell on the golf course and they thought he was drunk. Then one day, I found him lying on the kitchen floor, and I said, “Dad, what are you doing lying there?”
“I was getting food for the dog.” He spoke. We took him to a local clinic who told us to take him to a hospital. We did. An emergency ward. He laid there from Friday night until Monday morning before he saw a doctor.
His brain had bled so severally, that they couldn’t see any brain for years.
So yeah, you have to watch them.
After I told her this, she said, “Okay, I’ll get to the hospital.”
Tonight, she just called, it’s about 8.30pm here, and told me that Micky had a stroke, her main artery in her neck was damaged, and they had her on blood thinners. And they told her she had Covid.
“For goodness’ sakes Stella, did they give her a vaccine? I talked to her on the phone and she didn’t sound sick at all. “Call her and tell her NOT to get the vaccine.”
“It will just make her sicker.” I warned.
“Okay, I’ll call her.” And then she once again, took credit for telling her to go to the hospital. Stella would NOT have gone to the hospital. In fact, she wanted to meet me for lunch. IN FACT, she then said, that they told Micky her artery would heal back…and she would just fine and “She’d better be because she has to work when I go to Africa.”
Now, here’s where ‘sensitive’ Joyanna comes in. Stella did not thank me for getting her to even GO to the hospital. I was a bit hurt by that. (that damn sensitivity)
But then I remembered that if your family has NO family history of strokes, you wouldn’t know the signs either.
My family has a history of strokes…and the history goes all the way back to JQA having a stroke on the House floor of Congress. Both my parents had hemorrhagic strokes and I took care of them at home for over 6 years. It’s the reason I quit the music business. They were both paralyzed. (Heavy smokers) Luckily, my husband had a job. We managed…but I had no sisters, or brothers to help, and they were both bedridden. My mother ended up on a stomach pump. Let’s just say it was stressful work. Dealing with all the hospital nurses, doctors, and home visits…I could write a book. A book that would rivil a Stephen King’s nightmare. (By the way, he’s become his own nightmare lately.)
I was bound and determined not to put them in nursing homes, because they took care of me when I was little, and I figured it was my turn.
So yeah, I know a lot more about strokes, hospitals, the brain, than most people.
“I’m so sorry Stella, you must exhausted.”
But no, she sounded fine. “She’s coming home Friday and she’ll be just fine.” said Stella.
I wasn’t so sure…a rip in your neck artery? Uh…how long does that take to heal?
So, I think I’ll call Micky again on Friday, and say, “Get better, and spend some time on that laptop. It’s amazing what you might find. And try not to worry your mother. I think she’s still in shock.”
“And whatever you do, don’t let her drive the tractor.”
It’s in His Kiss: HIT BY A BUS
Nobody Wonders—How many men know this? Ladies? We don’t talk about it much, but how important is that first kiss?
I was thinking about this today. Imagining what my first kiss with my imaginary lover would be like. Mmmm…The first kiss to dream of. One to blaze into the sky: writing all its power into in the hippocampus as a fluster of red-hot, soul-searching, discomposed, explosion of millions of electrons flowing from the lips to the chest, to the groins, and then down to the knees, with the mind saying in wonder: “Now I’ve truly lived.”
Have I ever experienced that kind of kiss? Mmmm…let me think.
Do you remember your first kiss Ladies? To many men, it’s a means to an end, but to ladies…I’m not sure. That first kiss is important.
My first kiss happened in the 6th grade. I was standing in the hallway, between classes, and out of nowhere came Jim Baine. My first kiss was like being hit by a Mack truck. He was an 8th grader…but he was big, and rather good looking in a masculine way. I had noticed him walking in the hallways, and thinking “Well, HE’s way out my league.” Kisses and sex were not even on my mind. (Thank God.)
And then one day, I was just standing up against the lockers, not many people in the hall, and out of nowhere, he came up, pushed me hard up against the wall, and kissed me long, and hard, with deep affection and I was like…”WTH?” And then he walked away. Neither one of us said a word.
Okay. Well. There you go. I guess that was a “kiss.” Gee. What now? If that’s a kiss, what happens NEXT? I thought. Is it like wrestling? Would I survive? LOL.
That one kiss upset the whole school. You see, somebody saw that kiss and reported it to his girlfriend. By the end of that day, that girl, the meanest girl in the school, (Pam the golden Viking Slammer) who made it known she fought with brass knuckles, had gotten together about 30 of her friends, and decided to corner me in the hall and tell me they were going to beat me up. (sigh) All I kept telling them is that it was NOT my fault, and I could care less about him. He KISSED me! I kept repeating. If not for two brave boys in my class, standing between me and the mob, I might have gotten beat up.
So, I went home and ask my dad to teach me how to fight. I’m sure the teachers found out about the ‘plan’ to get that ‘she stole my boyfriend’ mob, and they were watching them, and so the next day, they all let me know, they would get me AFTER school.
Every day I went to school, and tried to stay away from her and her friends. Every day I came home and my brother and father taught me how to fight…fist fight. We had gloves, punching bags, you name it. It took many tries before I could land a good punch.
After a while I got sick of all the tension. The two boys kept by me, and protected me as much as they could, but I knew, one day, it would happen. Those boys couldn’t protect me forever.
So, I made a plan. I found out what bus “Pam” the blond Viking Queen of the middle school gang of terror was riding home on. I knew she would be alone without her backup, and I decided to challenge her.
I got on HER bus home. She saw me. It was a fall afternoon, sunny. And I was ready.
She got off the bus. So did I. I walked behind her and kept saying, “Come on Pam..fight me here. Right now. You want to beat me up? Here’s your chance. Come on. Do it. “
Well, that girl walked so fast, I think the leaves on the ground were flowing off the pavement. She went into the future she ran so fast. She broke into a run, and acted like she never even saw me. She was….scared. I guess she didn’t have her brass knuckles with her.
What happened?
Nobody in the school ever bothered me again. Nobody talked to me much either, but that’s nothing new.
You’ve heard these same bully lessons from boys, but it works for all bullies, I guess.
I think the boys spread it around that I had boxing lessons and it scared her. She said so much bad-ass rantings about how she was going to pulverized me, that even I was surprised she ran.
I went home and told my dad, “Dad, she just ran like a scared little girl?” My dad just smiled and change the channel.
My dad did tell me one thing: He said that a little guy can take a big guy out pretty easily. He had done it plenty of times. Even though, his older brother had broken his nose three times.
“Dad, how come your nose is so crooked?” My older brother broke it three times.
“Why” He just felt like it.
That older brother died in WWII in the Pacific, in the battle of Midway.
Did my dad give me courage? Well, no–. Pam was bigger than me, and really mad.
So, my first kiss was rather. Like being hit by a bus. A bus of unintentional consequences.
I had a lot more to say tonight, about kissing, but it’s getting late, so maybe I’ll go on with this kissing subject in Part II.
Guys? Girls? Go ahead—I dare you to tell me about your first kiss.
In the meantime, I’m going back to my wonderful imagination.
Nobody Remembers the Cardinal and Disney
How magical Disney was and how sad I remember feeling when I first saw this scene. Snow White was dead! Oh no!
But then, the prince came, kissed her, and woke her up! Joy! Cue in the music and watch Snow White kiss Dopey, and ride off with her prince.
Happy endings, remember those? Disney was great at them.
This scene reminds me of my best friend from High School. Her parents got divorced and so she moved to L.A. with her mom. The next year, I flew out to visit her, and one of my fondest memories was going to Disneyland with her, and we sat on the steps of the Castle and watched the crowds leave at midnight. We talked about this scene. We both thought, at that young age, that Disney had betrayed us. Would we ever find true love? Why did he torture us? She didn’t think so, and I didn’t know. I certainly didn’t want to give up hope. We sat there for hours talking about life. My friend never married, and she died at 47, from a cancerous brain tumor. But before she died in Hospice I told her to “send me a sign”.
And this is what happened…
Her funeral was coming up, and I wanted to send something very special, so I went to the local flowership in the neighborhood. Two ladies ran the shop, a mother and daughter.
” I want to order a BIG ALL RED FLOWERS wreath, I told them. My friend was a BIG fan of the Cardinals in St. Louis.”
So, we were talking and all of a sudden both women started screaming. WTHeck I thought? What could possible make these two scream like that?
And there, flying around was a RED cardinal bird. It had flown in through the back door, all the way up to the front.
Both ladies seemed hysterical. So I said…“Hey, it’s only a cardinal, shhh…I’ll go catch it.
The little guy was standing still on the floor. I held out my hand, and sure enough, he got on. (What are the odds?)
I stood up, and slowly walked him over to the checkout counter. “See, it’s just a cardinal!” I stood there holding him up, and the ladies look at me as if I was missing a few screws.
“I’ll got out the back and let him go.” I finally said. I could tell they didn’t want me to stand there holding him even though I was having fun looking at him.
It was quite a walk to the back door, but the little bird sat still as can be in the palm of my hand.
When I got outside he didn’t move. I thought he’d fly away. But no. So I walked him over to the nearest tree, and tried to get him onto the branches. He just would NOT get on. Mmmmmm is he stunned I thought? No, he didn’t look stunned and I didn’t remember him hitting anything. He just kept looking at me.
After about 5 minutes of me trying to get him to get on a branch, and getting rather frustracted, I thought..and then spoke.
“Is this Shelly? It’s you isn’t it Shelly? This your sign? This is SO like you, always joking around! Shelly, you KNOW I can’t take you home! Mom and the dog are waiting for me in the car, you can’t go with me.”
The bird didn’t budge.
I started to laugh. Good thing there wasn’t any people around. I was talking to a bird. Really. After another few minutes, I put him on the ground. Didn’t want to, but I couldn’t spend an hour holding this little guy in my hand. So, in the grass he went. And then, Instantly flew away.
At the funeral, the next day, there was my wreath at the head of the casket.
And I still think to this day, that was Shelly’s sign. She had a wicked sense of humor. It would be just like her to do that. Tease me by not getting off my hand.
As for Disney? Like Elon Musk said, he would be rolling in his grave if he knew how WOKE Disney land had become. I’m glad I have the memory of spending that day with my best friend and sitting on the steps of that magical Castle.
So, what’s the point Joyanna?
Don’t lose your old VHS movies. Someday you will show them to your grandchildren, and know that the innocence of the young was once treasured by a genius of a man named DISNEY. Who KNOWS what will happen to that great American company in the future.
How a Horse Saved my life
The Child is Mother to the Woman. OR…How a Horse Saved my Life
Nobody Knows
This is going to be a HARD one to write. People don’t usually talk about horrors that happen in their childhood, but recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about this. A lot of what happens in our childhood affects us as adults. It makes us who we are.
Some of us have happy childhoods, two parents, some do not.
And I’ve come to the conclusion that people SHOULD talk about it. Preferably to your local bartender or drunk, skip the psychiatrist, they are pretty worthless when it comes to this stuff I’ve found.
Soldiers are committing suicide daily because they are just not talking about all the pain inside.
I was thinking the other day about men of war. WWII men never talked about what they went through, most men that have gone through war…just don’t. The rule of thumb is, just forget it. Go on. Shit happens. BE A MAN. Watch some war movies. I recently saw a Vet on video crying uncontrollably because he wanted to end his life, he was crying for help. The police were trying to help him, but couldn’t. Oh, my heart.
So, Nobody Wonders, if not telling future generations about horrors of your life is wise? Have you noticed VERY few women talk about their abortions? Very few. They might say. Oh, I took showers with my dad all my life, but so what?
He’s the President, so it’s okay. (Biden) It’s treated as normal.
Is that good? Would we have less war if we knew the horrors? Less abortions? Less rapes? They show it in movies, but movies…are…almost just not real.
Elon Musk is the only man I can think of that has admitted he had a rough childhood because of his dad. He was beat up a lot. His dad was a monster. That took some guts being as famous as he is.
And I’m glad he did it.
And because of that, I have decided to look into my childhood, to analyzes myself, and decipher, what REALLY happened in my childhood horror.
While I’m at it, I wonder what happened in Obama’s and Hillary’s childhood? We can guess Bill Clinton’s…but that’s another topic.
I realized it wasn’t the horror itself, it was the way it affected my family forever.
THE HORSE
For background, I was a real tomboy growing up in the swamps of Naples, Florida. I played all day in the palmetto bushes and trees in back of our house. Sand everywhere, snakes, gators, it was fantastic to me. It was perfect, I was the happiest of happy kids.
Back then, the parents told the kids “Get out of the house, go play.” (LOL…I often wonder if my mother truly WANTED to rid of me…. anyway.)
It was about 3 that afternoon, I was about five, and all the kids were playing in the sandlot down by the railroad tracks, a good ½ mile down from our house. There weren’t many houses down there. And then, I saw it…
My first horse. It was golden. It was beautiful. Some older kid was on it, was giving rides to all the boys (I was the only girl) and oh, how jealous I was. My older brother got a ride and went home. It was the most magnificent creature I had ever seen. One by one, he gave all the kids a ride. Why won’t he give ME one? PLEASE! PLEASE! I was holding my hand up, jumping up and down, I couldn’t think of anything in the whole world I wanted to do more than to get to take a ride.
Why not me? Why?
These rides went on for about it seemed eternally, and then finally as the kids drifted off, the kid said to me, “Do you want to ride now?”
Oh boy! He put me up front.
I remember we left the sandlot, and went back into the woods. These were MY woods…I was confident. I’d walked these paths every day, but the feeling of the horse between my legs…felt like I was sitting on a heavenly seat of rolling ease. The smell was godly. The way the horse walked… strolling from side to side, as if time was not important. And it did lose track of time. I remember touching his mane. I didn’t even care about the guy behind me. I was in the most heavenly spot-on earth.
And then…I felt, the boy’s hand on my crouch. It was big. And it kept rubbing me, and he kept saying “Let me do something to you, it will only take a minute, your mom and dad did it. It will be okay”
Well, instinctively that did scare me, so I used the horse as an excuse.
“No, I want to keep riding.” So, minutes went by, and he kept asking, and I kept saying…no…no…and frankly, in my mind if that’s all I have to put with, him rubbing me (it didn’t hurt) even though it creeped me out. So be it.
Then by his words, I could stay on that horse longer. I didn’t want to get off.
Suddenly, I noticed it was getting dark. The shadows on the ground told me, it was getting late.
I knew I had to go home soon. I told him so. He kept saying it wouldn’t take long, and we could ride more…we just had to get off the horse for a minute.
“Okay, okay.” I spoke. Annoyed.
He led me to the bushes. Told me to lie down. And then, he started to take off my clothes. My pants…I started to cry…He looked as big as a gorilla in front of me, and I thought I saw him pull out a knife.
Later on, I wondered if it was his penis because I had never seen one, so my memory might be a bit fizzy on that, after all, I had a hard time seeing through my tears.
NOW…are you ready for the next part? This is where it gets interesting:
Right when he was going to put the ‘knife’ in me, I heard my mother scream my name…” JOYCE!!” at that exact moment in time.
I turned my head and screamed back as loud as I could “Mom! Mom! Mom!”
The giant got up, and left in the other direction. I somehow managed to put my clothes back on (I think) and ran out through the bushes…there was two cops’ cars there, headlights flashing and my mom, and all the time I ran to her I kept saying “Mom…it’s okay! I’m okay! He didn’t have a gun mom!” Over and over, I kept telling her not to cry, because he didn’t have a gun!”
Think about that. I was the adult, comforting the mother. The whole time, I was comforting my mother.
The ride in the cop car was strange to a little kid. They took me to a doctor’s office who examined me gently and told my mom that I had semen on my stomach, and that…get this, I’d probably grow up to be promiscuous. WHAT? Trust me; I’ve never been promiscuous. One man woman, always. (Stupid doctor)
YEARS later, when my mother was in her 50s. She also told me that the same kid had a week before raped a young girl my age, killed her with a knife and threw her in a lake. She was dead. He was the sheriff’s son, and try as much as they could, they could prosecute him. They said he was ‘retarded.’ Can you imagine my parent’s anger that they couldn’t even prosecute him?
Analyzing…
For the next few days, I was left pretty much in my bedroom. Then one morning, after my dad had gone to work at his Phillips 66 station that my mother’s father had bought him, she came into my room with a huge belt and beat me. She was crying, hysterical, screaming, and I kept asking “What did I do? What did I do?” I was crying…Tell me, tell me!! Why oh why was she beating me? She had never done that before. But what was worse is that I did NOT know why? And she wouldn’t tell me. No matter how often I asked her to.
Kafka. No trial, no explanation. Nothing.
The rest of the week I stayed in my bed hugging my Raggedy Ann doll and looking at her heart. Thank GOD there was heart there. If my mother hated me, and I’d never know why, at least I had Raggedy Ann. I STILL have that doll.
Now, to this day, if there is any kind of whipping scene in a movie, I get up, leave the room or quickly change the channel. The emotional pain of the fury of the mother you love, always comes rushing back. She was not much of a hugger after that. She took care of her family, really great in every way…but love? REAL love, smiles, hugs?
That was not her style.
After that event, my father disappeared from my life. He was there, but never talked to me. Neither did my mother, until we were older.
My older brother became their star.
And I escaped into the world of books.
THE CHILD IS MOTHER TO THE WOMAN.
So, I’m 71, just now thinking back on all of this and how it affected my life. And I come up with two things.
- Think about it. IF I had NOT loved that horse so much, and had agreed sooner to get off, I no doubt would NOT be writing this. Recently I made a HORSE bedroom. Here’s a few pictures. Thank you.
- AND…if she had not called my name at that exact minute…I would be dead. That brings us to luck? Synchronicity? The universe saving me? Something.
- I think this sort of stuff happens all the time.
Recently, Mel Gibson released a film on children sex trafficking. Sound of Freedom. Everybody should see it. If you don’t think ANY kind of rape does not affect a person’s life, you might as well go join the cartels.
And I hope you get shot. We must ALL start protecting the children. My God. We must.
Being so far away from the incident I can imagine that probably my father blamed my mother for not watching out for me that day. I’m sure my brother didn’t let her know. It probably caused a major upsetting event in both their lives, and for many years. But they stayed married…for the kids.
Later on, in life my mother and I became close friends. I didn’t grow up to be a prostitute. (LOL) and I also shared the love of horses with her. Now, after being a parent, I can forgive whatever horror that she and my father went through after having this event happen to them. After all, as Jordan Peterson always says, Life is hard. VERY hard.
Look at the good side and be glad you survived. There is always another day as Scarlett claimed.
What did I get out of telling you this? I don’t know. Probably I don’t think enough people search their hearts for WHY their parents did the things they did. They are too busy living their lives, and if parents are cruel, they don’t look any further. What happened in THEIR lives to make them that way?
What were THEY going through? How does any human turn out to be a monster?
I’m not sure what to do, but you know what? I have a BEAUTIFUL room in my basement with nothing but horse pictures because in my mind, that horse, saved my life.
He did. He did.
About
I am a nobody. If the different classes of America were color-coded, I would be in the yucky brown, one rung up from the bottom. I grew up in Naples, Florida and live near the Mississippi River now with my husband and two dogs. I am part of the slowly disappearing middle-class. I was a musician most of my life: drummer/singer/keyboards—but I retired before the plastic surgery flu hit. I have no degrees, which could be a good thing…depending on how you view our educational system. I do have three patents…but that really doesn’t make me a somebody. The one thing that is constant in my life is my OPINIONS, which i have more than perhaps even Carl Sagan could have imagined…mostly political. (yes…my ancestors were crabby buggers)
Hopefully other nobody’s will put their opinions on my site. But, if you happen to be a somebody, you’re more than welcomed to help out.
It’s my Nobody Opinion that Nobody’s Perfect, and Nobody Cares, that Nobody Knows why Nobody Wins, and when that happens, Nobody Wonders, why Nobody Flashes, why Nobody’s Fooled, but then Nobody remembers that Nobody ALWAYS Reports the truth.
You can email me at joyanna_adams@yahoo.com
Joyanna Adams
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